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‘I’m not—’
‘I mean you should exhibit these.’ He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Have you shown them to anyone, to a professional?’
‘You’re the first person who has seen them.’
He held her gaze, his own darkening. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, and wordlessly Emma nodded.
The moment spun out, stretching and shifting into something else as their gazes remained locked and Emma’s breath shortened. A log popped in the fireplace and embers scattered across the hearth, but neither of them so much as twitched.
The desire Emma had felt before now crashed over her in an overpowering wave, obliterating rational thought, obscuring everything but this moment. She wanted this man more than she’d ever wanted anything or anyone before, and as she saw the heat blaze in his eyes she realised with a thrill he felt the same.
Slowly, deliberately, Larenzo reached one hand out towards her, his fingers first skimming her cheek and then his palm cradling her face. The warmth of his palm against her cheek felt electric, every nerve ending she had tingling and quivering with awareness. Larenzo’s thumb brushed her mouth, and her lips parted in expectation as a tiny gasp escaped. If he kissed her, she’d be lost. And she knew she wanted to be lost.
His hand tensed briefly against her cheek, and for a terrible second she thought he was going to drop it and move away. This glorious moment would be over. Then he brought his other hand up to frame her face, cradling her between his palms before pulling her inexorably towards him, his lips coming down on hers, soft and hard, cold and hot, everything all at once as a thousand new sensations blazed through her and her mouth opened to his kiss.
Larenzo hauled her towards him, her legs sliding across his as she straddled him, felt the hard press of his arousal against the juncture of her thighs and excitement pulsed hard inside her.
He was kissing her deeply now, with a hungry urgency that Emma felt in herself as she drove her fingers through his hair and pressed even more closely against him, her body arching instinctively as Larenzo pressed back.
After an endless moment that still didn’t seem long enough, Larenzo broke off the kiss, his breath coming out in a rush.
‘I wasn’t going to do that.’
‘I wanted you to do it,’ she whispered. She couldn’t bear it if he stopped now.
He leaned his forehead against hers, their bodies still pressed together, both of their hearts thudding. ‘I want you, Emma. I think I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.’
A thrill ran through her at this simply stated fact. ‘I want you too.’
‘But I can’t offer you anything other than this night.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘A few hours at most. That’s all. That’s all it could ever be.’
‘I know,’ she said softly. When he’d kissed her, she hadn’t thought of anything but the moment, yet she acknowledged now that she’d never have expected some kind of commitment from a man like Larenzo. ‘I don’t want more than this night,’ she told him. ‘I’m not looking for some kind of relationship, Larenzo, trust me. I just want you, tonight.’
He leaned back a little so he could look into her face. ‘If you’re sure...?’
She nodded, amazed at just how sure she was. Everything about this night had been surreal, even magical. This felt, bizarrely and yet completely, like the logical and necessary conclusion. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Then come with me.’ He untangled himself from her and rose from the rug in one fluid movement, holding his hand down to help her up. With their fingers linked he led her silently upstairs to his bedroom.
Emma gazed at the king-sized bed with its navy silk sheets she’d changed herself and felt a tremor of—what? Not fear. Anticipation. And a little nervousness, because, while she was sure, this was still a new experience. An entirely new experience, and she didn’t want to admit to Larenzo just how new it was, how unlike her this decision had been.
He glanced back at her, his fingers still twined with hers. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he asked quietly, his gaze sweeping over her. ‘Cold feet? I wouldn’t mind.’ He let out a ragged laugh. ‘Well, I’d mind, but I’d understand.’
‘I’m not having second thoughts.’ She swallowed, lifted her chin. She wouldn’t tell him about her inexperience. It didn’t matter to her, and she didn’t want it to matter to him, or put him off. ‘Are you?’ she challenged, and he let out a soft huff of laughter.
‘Definitely not.’ He tugged her towards him. ‘Come here, Emma.’
And she came willingly, her breasts pressing against his bare chest as his mouth came down on hers once more and for a few blissful, buzzing seconds she forgot everything but the hunger and need for this, for him.
Larenzo reached down and with one swift tug he had her T-shirt up and over her head; the feel of her breasts brushing the crisp hair on his chest was so intense it almost hurt. She’d never felt so much, felt so alive, not when she’d been on top of a mountain or deep in the ocean. All her adventures paled in light of this.
She let out a gasp that he muffled with his mouth, his hands sliding down her back and then cupping her bottom as he settled her against his arousal.
He moved his mouth from her lips to the curve of her neck, the touch of his tongue against her sensitive skin making her shiver.
Then he drew her to the bed, laying her down on top of the silken sheets and covering her body with his own.
She twined her arms around his neck and arched up towards him, craving the connection of their bodies fused in every place. Of being that close to another person...even if it was just for a single night. A few hours. And she knew Larenzo needed it too, craved it as much as she did. She was giving him herself, the only comfort she could offer him now.
Larenzo slid a hand between her thighs, slipping her pyjama shorts down her legs and then tossing them on the floor. The feel of his fingers against her most sensitive flesh had Emma arching upwards again, her head thrown back as sensations fizzed and popped inside her.
And then they exploded and her breath rushed out on a ragged cry as Larenzo worked magic with his fingers and left her boneless in his arms.
‘Oh...’
‘That’s just to start,’ he promised with a soft laugh, and then he tossed his own pyjama bottoms aside before he slid seamlessly inside her—and then stopped. ‘Emma...’
She saw the confusion on his face, the uncertainty, and knew he’d guessed her inexperience. ‘You haven’t...’ he began slowly and she answered by tilting her hips up.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said fiercely, and as her body found its instinctive rhythm Larenzo matched it, burying his head in the curve of her shoulder as his body surged into hers.
If she’d felt any pain or discomfort, it was long gone as the exquisite friction of Larenzo’s body created a pleasure deeper and fiercer than what she’d already felt at his experienced hands.
She let out another long, ragged cry as the sensations exploded inside her again and with a shudder Larenzo emptied himself into her and then was still.
They lay like that for a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’ he asked quietly.
Emma could still feel him inside her, still feel the bone-melting ripples of pleasure that had utterly rocked her moments before. ‘Because like I said, it didn’t matter.’
‘I might have done things differently...’
‘I liked the way you did things.’
He laughed softly then, his arms tightening around her. ‘Thank you, Emma,’ he said quietly, and she wasn’t quite sure what he was thanking her for. She propped herself on her elbows to gaze down at him, and saw the ravages of both grief and pleasure on his face. She had no regrets, and yet she still wished she could smooth the furrows of worry from his forehead. She brushed his hair from his eyes instead, savouring the feel of him.
‘I should be thanking you,’ she said, and Larenzo smiled faintly before glancing out at the night sky; the moon was on the wane, dawn only an hour or two away. ‘You should sleep.’
Did he want her to leave? Uncertainly Emma started to roll off him, but Larenzo clasped her to him once more.
‘Stay,’ he said, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Stay until morning.’
And so she did.
CHAPTER THREE
THEY CAME AT DAWN. Larenzo heard the first car drive up, the crunch of gravel, the sound of a car door shutting quietly, as if they were trying to hide their presence. As if they could.
He stilled, every muscle tensing, Emma still in his arms. Emma. He would spare her an ugly scene. She deserved so much more than that, but that was all he could give her now.
Slowly he slipped from the bed, doing his best not to disturb her. She sighed in her sleep and turned, her tousled hair falling across one cheek, a tendril lying across her breast.
He gazed at her for a moment, drinking her in: the golden, freckled skin, the wavy golden-brown hair, her lashes fanned out on her cheeks, although he knew if she opened her eyes, they would be golden-green. His golden girl for a night, gone in the morning.
At least he would be gone.
Quickly Larenzo turned, reaching for his jeans. He pulled on a rugby shirt and ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath. And looked one last time at Emma, at freedom and happiness, pleasure and peace. He’d known them all with her last night, and now they were nothing but memories. Resolutely he turned from her and left the room.
* * *
Emma awoke to the thud of boots on the stairs, the sound of stomping down the hall. She was still blinking the sleep from her eyes, one hand reaching for the sheet to cover herself, her mind barely processing what she’d heard, when the door was thrown open and three men crowded there, all of them glaring at her. Her heart seemed to still in her chest, everything in her going numb with horror as she stared at these strange men.
‘What—?’
They spoke in rapid Italian, too fast for her to understand, although during her two years in Sicily she’d become fairly conversant in the language. Still, she understood their tone. Their derision and contempt.
She clutched the sheet to her breasts, her whole body trembling with indignation and fear. ‘Chi sei? Cosa stai facendo?’ Who are you, and what are you doing? They didn’t answer.
One man, clearly the leader of the pack, ripped the sheet away from her naked body. Emma gasped in shock. ‘Puttana.’ He spat the single word. Whore.
Emma shook her head, her mouth dry, her body still trembling. She felt as if she’d awakened to an alternate reality, a horrible nightmare, and she had no idea how to make it stop. Where was Larenzo?
One of the men grabbed her by the arm and yanked her upwards. She came, stumbling, trying futilely to cover herself. He reached for her T-shirt and shorts discarded on the floor and threw them at her.
‘You are English?’ he asked, his voice clipped, and she nodded.
‘American. And my consulate will hear—’
He cut her off with a hard laugh. ‘Get dressed. You’re coming with us.’
Quickly, clumsily, Emma yanked on her clothes. Dressed, even if only in flimsy pyjamas, she felt a little braver. ‘Where is Signor Cavelli?’ she asked in Italian.
The man eyed her scornfully. ‘Downstairs, at the moment. But he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.’
Emma’s mouth dropped open. Prison? What on earth was he talking about? Were these awful men police?
‘Come on,’ the man commanded her tersely, and with her mind spinning she followed the men downstairs.
Larenzo stood in the centre of the sitting room, his eyes blazing silver fire as he caught sight of her.
‘You are all right? They didn’t hurt you?’
‘Shut up!’ The words were like the crack of a gunshot as one of the men slapped Larenzo across the face. He didn’t even blink, although Emma could see the red imprint of the man’s hand on Larenzo’s cheek.
‘They didn’t hurt me,’ she said quietly and the man turned on her.
‘Enough. Neither of you are to speak to one another. Who knows what you might try to communicate?’
‘She has nothing to do with any of it,’ Larenzo said, and he sounded scornful, as if he were actually in control of the situation. With an icy ripple of shock Emma saw that he was handcuffed. ‘Do you actually think I’d tell a woman, my housekeeper no less, anything of value?’
The words, spoken so derisively, shouldn’t have hurt. She knew, intellectually at least, that he was trying to protect her, although from what she had no idea. Even so they did hurt, just as the look Larenzo gave her, a look as derisive as those of the carabinieri, did.
‘She’s nothing to me.’
‘Even so, she’ll be taken in for questioning,’ the man replied shortly and Larenzo’s eyes blazed once more.
‘She knows nothing. She’s American. Do you want the consulate all over this?’
‘This,’ the man snapped, poking a finger into Larenzo’s chest, ‘is the biggest sting we’ve had in Sicily for twenty years. I don’t give a damn about the consulate.’
They’d been speaking Italian, and, while Emma had caught the gist of it, she still didn’t understand what was going on.
‘Please, let me get dressed properly,’ she said, her voice coming out croaky as she stumbled over the Italian. ‘And then I’ll go with you and answer any questions you might have.’
The man turned to glare at her with narrowed eyes. Then he gave a brief nod, and, with another policeman accompanying her, Emma went upstairs to her bedroom. The man waited outside the room while she pulled on underwear, jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a fleece. She brushed her teeth and hair, grabbed her purse and her passport, and then, just in case, she took her backpack and put a change of clothes, her camera, and her folder of photographs in it. Who knew when she’d be able to return? Just the realisation sent another icy wave of terror crashing through her.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she left the room. The man accompanied her downstairs; the front door was open and she saw several cars outside. Larenzo was being shoved into one. She turned to the man.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Palermo.’
‘Palermo? But that’s nearly three hours away—’
The man smiled coldly. ‘So it is. I’m afraid you’ll have to be so inconvenienced.’
Three hours later Emma sat in an interrogation room at the anti-Mafia headquarters of Palermo’s police department. She’d been given a paper cup of cold coffee and made to wait until finally the man who had made the arrest back at Larenzo’s villa came and sat down across from her, putting his elbows on the chipped tabletop.
‘You know your boyfriend is in a lot of trouble.’
Emma closed her eyes briefly. She was aching with exhaustion, numb with confusion and fear, and she missed Larenzo desperately even as she forced herself to remember she hadn’t actually known him all that well. Until last night. Until he held me in his arms and made me feel cherished and important. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘Whoever he is. He’s going to prison, probably for the rest of his life.’
Emma licked her dry lips. ‘What...what has he done?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I have no idea. All I know is he was—is—CEO of Cavelli Enterprises.’ And that when he kissed her her mind emptied of thoughts. He made her body both buzz and sing. But then words began to ricochet through her, words Larenzo had spoken to her last night. It’s my own fault. What had he done?
The man must have seen something of this in her face for he leaned forward. ‘You know something.’
‘No.’
‘I’ve been doing this for a long time.’ He sounded almost kind. ‘I can tell, signorina. I can tell when someone is lying.’
‘I’m not lying. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know what Cavelli Enterprises did.’
‘And if I told you Larenzo Cavelli was involved with the Mafia? You wouldn’t know anything about that?’
Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. ‘No, I certainly wouldn’t.’
‘It didn’t concern you, the amount of security he had for that villa?’
She thought of his insistence on locking the doors, the elaborate security system. ‘No.’
‘Don’t play dumb with me, signorina.’
‘Look, maybe I was dumb, but I really didn’t know.’ Emma’s voice rose in agitation. ‘Plenty of people have detailed security systems.’
‘Cavelli never said anything to you?’
Again his words raced through her mind. The grief on his face, the resignation she’d heard in his voice, the sense that everything was over, that this was his last night. He must have known they were coming to arrest him. He must have realised his activities had been discovered. Even so she couldn’t reconcile the man she’d known, however briefly, with the Mafia. And yet as tender a lover as Larenzo had been, he was still virtually a stranger. She had no idea what he’d got up to when he’d been away from the villa. No idea at all.
‘Signorina?’
‘Please,’ Emma said wearily. ‘I was his housekeeper. I barely saw him. I don’t know anything.’
Eight endless hours later she was finally released from the police. When she asked about returning to the villa, the man at the desk shook his head.
‘The villa is being searched by the police. Everything there is potential evidence. You won’t be able to go back for some time.’
And so Emma headed out into the busy streets of Palermo, mopeds and sports cars speeding by, her mind spinning as she tried to think what to do now. She had no real reason to go all the way back to the villa. She had nothing of value there but a few clothes and photography books.
But where could she go?
She ended up at a cheap hotel near the train station; she sat on the single bed, her backpack at her feet, her whole life in tatters.
She told herself she was used to moving on, and it would be easy enough to look for a new job. She could spend some time with her father in Budapest while she decided where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do.
And yet that prospect seemed bleak rather than hopeful; she might be used to moving on, but she hadn’t been ready this time. She’d liked her life in Sicily. The villa had been the closest thing she’d ever known to a home.
And as for Larenzo...
She’d known, of course she’d known, that their one night together wasn’t going anywhere. But it had still meant something. She’d felt a deep connection to him last night, an understanding and a tenderness... Had it all been false? According to the police, he was a Mafioso. The inspector had told her they had incontrovertible evidence, had said there were photos, witnesses, files. Everything to convict Larenzo Cavelli of too many horrible crimes. Extortion, the police had said. Theft. Assault. Organised delinquency, which was the legal term for involvement in the Mafia.
Faced with all of it, Emma knew she had no choice but to believe. Larenzo Cavelli was a criminal.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, Emma went to an Internet café to arrange her passage to Budapest. Yet as she clicked on a website for cheap airfares, she realised she didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to traipse around Europe, taking odd jobs, at least not yet. She wanted to go somewhere safe, somewhere far away from all this, to recover and heal. She wanted to see her sister. Quickly Emma took out her mobile and scrolled through for Meghan’s number.
‘Emma?’ Concern sharpened her sister’s voice as she answered the call. ‘You sound...’
‘I’m tired. And a bit overwhelmed.’ She didn’t want to go into the details of what had happened on the phone; they were too recent, too raw, and she was afraid she might burst into tears right in the middle of the Internet café. ‘My job in Sicily has ended suddenly, and I thought I’d come for a visit, if you don’t mind having me.’
‘Of course I don’t mind having you,’ Meghan exclaimed. ‘Ryan will be delighted to see you.’
Emma pictured her tousle-haired three-year-old nephew with a tired smile. It had been too long since she’d seen him or her sister. ‘Great. I’m going to book a flight for tomorrow if I can.’
‘Let me know the time and we’ll pick you up from the airport.’
Twenty-four hours later Emma touched down in New York and, after clearing immigration, she walked straight into her sister’s arms.
‘Is everything okay?’ Meghan asked as she hugged her tightly. Emma nodded wordlessly. Nothing felt right at that moment, but she hoped it would soon. All she needed was a little time to get over this, and then she’d be back on the road, taking photographs, looking for adventure, as footloose as ever. The prospect didn’t fill her with anything except a weary desolation.
She spent the next week mainly sleeping and spending time with Ryan and Meghan; she wanted to shut the world out, but she couldn’t quite do it, and especially not when her sister looked up from The New York Times one morning, her eyes narrowed.
‘I’m just reading an article about how business CEO Larenzo Cavelli was arrested for being involved in the Mafia.’ Emma felt the colour drain from her face but said nothing. ‘Wasn’t that your boss, Emma?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s why your job ended?’
Emma nodded jerkily as she poured some orange juice. ‘Yes.’
‘You were working for someone in the Mafia?’
‘I didn’t know, Meghan!’
Meghan sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. ‘Of course you didn’t know. But good gracious, Emma. I’m so glad you’re here, and you’re safe.’
Emma closed her eyes briefly. She could picture Larenzo as he braced himself above her, his face suffused with tenderness as he gave her more pleasure than she’d ever known or thought possible. And then just hours later, when she’d heard the thud of the boots in the hall, the men glaring at her as they ripped the sheet away from her body...
‘So am I,’ she said quietly. ‘So am I.’
After that she couldn’t shut out the world any more. She read in the newspaper that Larenzo had confessed to everything, and there would be no trial. Within a month of her arrival he’d been sentenced to life in prison.
Two days after that, Emma realised she hadn’t got her period that month. One three-minute test later, she discovered the truth. She was pregnant with Larenzo Cavelli’s child.
CHAPTER FOUR
Eighteen months later
‘LOOK AT ME, Aunt Emma!’
Emma waved to her nephew as he clambered to the top of the climbing frame at the playground near her sister’s house. It was late October, and the leaves of the maple trees in the little park were scarlet, the sky above a cloudless blue. It was a beautiful, crisp day, and yet even so she couldn’t keep herself from picturing the mountains of Sicily, and remembering how clear and pure the air was up there at this time of year.
Shivering slightly in the chill wind, Emma told herself to stop thinking about Sicily. She would never go back there. Never see the Nebrodi mountains again. Never see Larenzo Cavelli again.
Which was just as well, considering the man was a criminal.
Instinctively her gaze moved to the stroller a few feet away, where her daughter Ava was sleeping peacefully. She was ten months old, born on Christmas Eve, and Emma still marvelled at her. Still marvelled at the way her own life had changed so drastically.
When she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d been shocked and numb for days, as well as embarrassed that she hadn’t even thought about birth control when she’d been with Larenzo. That was how much he’d affected her. How much she’d wanted him in that moment.
Meghan, as eagle-eyed as ever, had guessed she was pregnant within a matter of days, and Emma had ended up telling her sister everything.