Too Devious to Tame (The Giovanni Clan) (18 page)

Cool air skimmed across her cleavage when he fingered with her buttons. She went to help him, but he caught her wrists in one hand, and she froze at the sound of ripping Velcro.

"Giorgio?" She hated the wobble in her voice, the uncertainty and edge of panic. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. In the past they had enjoyed the lighter side of kink. Being restrained had always added that extra little bit of something to their sex life, and Giorgio was an extremely inventive and generous lover, but even as she told herself that, her muscles locked. Breathing became a struggle, and that ball of fear burst in her belly, obliterating her desire. Her hands balled into fists, and she dug her feet into the bed, twisting her hips to shake him off her with a hoarse, "No.
No,
I can't.
No!"

Giorgio released her immediately, and she darted off the bed, yanking the silken blindfold of her eyes as she did so. She grabbed the bed post for support and fought to get air into her lungs. She shook her head when Giorgio looked as though he was going to move toward her. Adrenaline rushed her system, and she swallowed past that lump of bile in her throat, threatening to make an appearance.

She could beat this, damn it, she had to. She wasn't that little slave girl anymore, sold to the highest bidder, forced to do her “Master's' bidding in the murky underworld of paid-for sex, where she'd had no choice at all. No, she was Jemima, and the man sat on that sumptuous bed watching her from under hooded lids, was not some sick, sadistic monster, out to torture her. He was Giorgio, her husband, the man she loved, the man whose baby she might be carrying even now. She suppressed a sob and concentrated on her breathing, like she'd been taught to do by the therapist she had seen whilst still at the hospital.

In through her nose out through her mouth—in, out, in, out—slowly her panic subsided, and when Giorgio's hand closed over the white knuckled grip she had on the bed post, she didn't flinch away, but leaned into his comforting warmth.

"Welcome back,
cara mia."

****

Giorgio rubbed his hands up and down her frozen arms and gave a silent sigh of relief when she didn't pull away. Whatever horrible nightmare his earlier actions had triggered, they seemed to have lost their terrifying hold on her. He smiled when Jemima looked around the room and frowned.

His aunt had surpassed herself. He should have known she'd been up to something when she'd made that outrageous suggestion of separate rooms. Like a puppet on a string he'd played right into her hands. When he'd charged through the door of the room he always stayed in when he was visiting, amusement had instantly replaced his earlier annoyance. White hot arousal had quickly followed. Bondage restraints had been placed on the head board, and a bottle of champagne rested in its bucket of ice on the night stand, next to an interesting array of couple's toys. Where his aunt had gotten them from, or how she knew which ones to get—and Giorgio couldn't fault her suggestions— he really didn't want to think about too much. After all, Aunt Stella had been a widow for many years now, and as far as anyone in the family knew she didn't have any gentlemen friends. Perhaps a quiet word in Alex's ear was in order.

"I thought she said … I don't understand." Jemima's voice still held a little wobble, but she seemed more like her usual self. She pushed away from him, and he reluctantly let her go. Her eyes widened as she took in the little assembly of goodies, and she threw him an uncertain look.

"I'm assuming this room doesn't normally look like this? They're not yours?" Again there was that look of vulnerability and barely suppressed fear, and Giorgio balled his hands into fists.

"Would it be a problem if they were,
cara mia?"
He pitched his voice as low as he could, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Talk to me. What happened just then? I hit a trigger—that much is clear, but you used to enjoy this?" He gestured to the restraints, and her mouth tightened into a white line.

Giorgio held out his hand, willing her to take it, and after what seemed like a small lifetime, she finally did. He interlinked their fingers and pulled her down to sit next to him. She came with only a little hesitation, and he cupped her chin, better to see her face. Tears shimmered on her eyelashes, and he kissed them away.

She pushed against his chest, and he released her with a sigh.             

"Lord help the bastards who made you so wary,
cara.
If I ever meet them, I will be not he held responsible for my actions." She looked startled and tried to disentangle her hand, but he wouldn't let her. "You don't have to talk about it. I read the report."

That got her attention. Her head shot up, and color stained her cheeks, whether in embarrassment or anger he wasn't quite sure.

"There's a report?" Her eyes flashed daggers at him, and he had to smile. That was more like it.

"
Si, cara,
of course there is. Don Luigi found out as much he could when you turned up in hospital. Renzo filled in some more details." A shudder went through her, and he pulled her back into his embrace. She tried to resist, and he almost didn't hear her strained whisper.

"I didn't want you to know the details. You must hate me."

"No,
tesoro.
You did what you had to do to survive in those circumstances. And you managed to get away. So many girls don't. It takes courage, and backbone, and determination to survive that, and you, Jemima, have that in spades."

She shook her head.

"No, I'm a stupid fool, who only hurts the people who love her. Had I not been so hell-bent on doing things my way, so convinced the world owed me, and I could get away with anything, I never would have fallen into that trap. You're the only decent choice in men I ever made, and look how I messed that up."

The words sliced his old wounds right open, and he fought against the tide of resentment threatening to engulf him anew. They had been different people then, and he really didn't want to talk about that now. He'd had plenty of time to mull over his own actions at the time, and he was uncomfortably aware that he, too, had been lacking.

"That was a long time ago,
cara mia.
I rushed you into that marriage. I'm not entirely surprised, in hindsight, that you balked. Had we stayed together we may well have killed each other."

"But I didn't…" She bit her lip and shook her head at whatever she read in his face then. He knew it must have showed his anger at where this was going. She had protested her innocence then, too, but he had been there, damn it, to witness firsthand her flirting with Luc Beauchamp, and the images in that manila folder would forever be burned into his mind, as were the scum's taunting words at the time.

"Never mind. You wouldn't believe me anyway." Jemima looked away and put a hand on her abdomen again in that subconscious, protective gesture, he'd seen far too many times in the Giovanni household. She had been doing that on and off all day, and he'd bet his aunt had noticed that, too. No doubt it was behind her sudden change of heart, and the setting up of this room. Stella was so determined to see him settled with a family of his own, she would forgive Jemima any manner of transgression, if she thought there was another Giovanni on the way.

Yet, still, Jemima had not shared her suspicion with him, and fuck it, he wanted her to. She seemed changed. No woman could go through what she had and not be changed, but did that mean she cared him for him in any way other than the physical, and a means of keeping her safe? And did he care? If Jemima was indeed pregnant, hell would freeze over before he allowed her to walk away from him. And if she never loved him back, it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. He'd fallen for this woman even harder the second time round, and he feared he would never recover, if she left him again, baby or no baby. But how he wished she would trust him enough to talk about her fears.

That wish burned a hole in his gut, and it made his voice much harsher then he intended it to be.

"I wouldn't believe what? That you were the innocent party back then? That it wasn't really you in Beauchamp's bed? So what did he do? Force his cock down your throat, did he? It sure as fuck didn't look like that in the pictures, and besides he took great delight in telling me in detail what a fantastic fuck you were."

She reared back as though he had physically slapped her, but he didn't seem to be able to stop the angry torrent of words coming out of his mouth—words that he had been too proud to say back then—words that needed to be said, now to clear the air, if they were to have any chance of moving forward.

"Did lover-boy not tell you about that part?" He grimaced at her shake of the head. "No? You didn't plan this with him in your little tete a tete, when you decided to steal my recipes? Twist the knife a bit deeper into the competitor's gut, by any means necessary? Of course, the truly ironic thing is that you were only a means to an end. He tried before, and he's tried since, not just with me. It's his
modus operandi
. I should have seen it coming. You were my weak link, the perfect way to get to me, and like the hawk he is, he swooped down for the kill."

In his agitation he'd started moving around the room without even noticing what he was doing. Up and down he paced, as he pieced it all together.

"And now he's got his clutches in Marco…"

"Marco? What has he got to do with any of this?" Jemima had pulled herself together and stood in front of him, interrupting his frantic paces.

"With us? Nothing, but he's Marco's business partner, and even though his vineyard is failing, he is resisting Marco's offer to buy him out. Beauchamp is up to something, and he's knee deep in some nasty shit."

"Then we have to stop him." Eyes blazing, hands on hips, Jemima looked ready to go into battle.

"We,
cara?"
His chest tightened, and he had to swallow past the lump in his throat at her emphatic nod.

"Too fucking right, us. If that prick thinks I'm going to let him wreak havoc a second time then he can think again. Elise is finally happy, and she's going to stay that way. What can I do?"

"You,
cara,
aren't going to do a thing. I don't want you anywhere near Beauchamp. Do you hear me?" The mere thought of Jemima anywhere near that man made his skin crawl, and she winced when he grabbed her forearms, and yanked her to him. Her breasts flattened against his naked chest, and her hands slid around his waist. With her hair in disarray and tumbling down into her cleavage, her lips still swollen from his earlier kisses, her skin flushed, and the deep pool of her amber eyes pulling him in, some of his anger fled. He loosened his hold on her arms, and he groaned when she pushed her hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

He framed her face, and she rose on tiptoes, meeting him halfway, as he bent his head to claim the lips that called him. Part of him screamed at him to be rough, to brand her, to make her forget about Beauchamp, to punish, and take what was his, but the other part of him, the one who wanted to cherish the trembling woman in his arms, won out. He traced the shell of her lips with his tongue slowly, savoring the taste of her, the way their breaths mingled, the way she sighed into the kiss, and molded herself to his body. Their tongues met and danced, taking it in turns to parry and thrust, until all the worries and hurts fell away, and it was the just the two of them, enjoying each other's bodies.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead on hers.

"I want to help, Giorgio. Trust me, please." The heartfelt whisper settled on his skin like bee-stings, and he reached behind him to disentangle her hands out of his pockets. He had to turn away, before he gave himself away and blurted out his feelings.

Her tentative touch on his shoulder blades had him grind his teeth together. She kissed his spine, and the pressure of her lips left a heated trail of awareness in its wake. His cock hardened to the point of pain, and he shut his eyes against the vivid image of Jemima on her knees, her lips wrapped around his prick. Only in his mind's eye it wasn't his dick, fucking her mouth, but Beauchamp's. Hands tied behind her back, she'd looked out of it, like a woman in the throes of ecstasy. At least that's what he'd interpreted it as at the time.

Knowing Beauchamp a little better now, another thought occurred to him, one so horrific, that he had to force his renewed denial out through gritted teeth.

"I don't want you near him."

"But," he spun round, and Jemima paled at whatever she read in his face. She took a step back and another, until the bed stopped her. He followed her step by step, and she swallowed hard when he pushed her down to sit. "Giorgio, I…"

"I mean it. You're not to go near him. I won't risk you, and…" He swore and ran a hand through his hair. This was getting them nowhere. "Besides you cannot leave the house until we get the all clear from the Don."

"And when will that be, exactly? I can't stay hidden forever, and what about Elise? What if they think she's me? Oh this is all such a mess."

She stomped her foot and glared at him, as though this was his fault.

"Elise is safe, I told you that before. In fact, I even doubt they're still looking for you, but I promised
Zia
Stella, that I would keep you under wraps, until we crossed all the t's."