Tall, Dark and Italian: In the Italian's Bed / The Sicilian's Bought Bride / The Moretti Marriage

‘I’m sure you’re only saying that,’ she murmured, forking a curl of radicchio into her mouth. ‘But it was kind of you to do this. I appreciate it.’

‘I did not do it out of kindness.’ Rafe was stung by the implication that there could be no other reason for him to want her company. He swallowed another mouthful of pizza, licking the melted cheese from his lips before continuing tersely, ‘It is I who should thank you for accompanying me to Viali.’

Tess hesitated. ‘I don’t know why,’ she said at last. ‘It would have been easier for everyone if I hadn’t been there.’

‘I think we covered that some miles back.’ Rafe was impatient. ‘Can we not forget the reasons why we started out on this expedition and concentrate on the here and now? Are you not enjoying yourself, is that what all this is about?’

Tess cast a brief glance his way. ‘All what?’ she queried tensely and he blew out a weary breath.

‘You know,’ he told her flatly. ‘Ever since we left the albergo, you have been as—as jumpy as a cat. What did I do? What have I said to upset you?’

‘Nothing.’

The answer came far too quickly and Rafe thrust his pizza aside and got abruptly to his feet. ‘If you would care to finish your salad in the car, we can leave immediately.’

‘No.’ That answer came quickly, too, but this time it was accompanied by an embarrassed glance at his face. ‘Please, I didn’t mean to annoy you. It’s just—well, I’m sure there are places you’d much rather be than here.’

‘And if there are not?’

Her tongue appeared between her teeth and he felt the sudden tightness in his loins as she wet her lips. ‘You’re sure you’re not just saying that?’

‘No.’ He hunkered down beside her, one hand moving of its own accord to cup her cheek. He tilted her face to his. ‘Believe me, cara, at this moment there is no place I would rather be than here.’ His eyes darkened as they rested on her mouth. But only for a second. He was on dangerous ground, he realised, aware of what he really wanted to do. Withdrawing his hand abruptly, he got to his feet again, looking down at her. ‘Bene,’ he said tensely. ‘Enjoy the rest of your meal. I will not be long.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Where are you going?’

Rafe stifled a groan. He wondered how she would react if he told her the truth. That he was desperate to put some space between them before he did something unforgivable. He didn’t just want to stroke her cheek or make casual conversation as they’d done in the car. He wanted to put his tongue where hers had been a few moments ago, to cover her mouth with his and find a partial release of his frustration in a kiss.

‘I thought I might take a walk,’ he offered at last. ‘I need to stretch my legs.’ And cool my libido.

Tess’s eyes moved from his constrained features to the undulating water and he glimpsed the wistful look that crossed her face. But, ‘Okay,’ was all she said and it was left to Rafe to feel a heel for behaving so callowly. He’d brought her here, per amor di Dio. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t control his rampant desires.

‘Io—come with me. If you wish,’ he said, before he could stop himself, and she sprang eagerly to her feet.

‘You don’t mind?’ she asked, dropping the carton containing the remains of her salad onto the sand. He gave a faint smile of acquiescence. It seemed the decision had been made and he would have to live with it. It wasn’t as if he wanted to leave her alone.

Tess left her shoes with the rest of their belongings, practically skipping across the sand to dip her toes in the cooler waters of the gulf. She shivered dramatically, laughing as the incoming tide swirled about her ankles. She was like a child, he thought ruefully. As natural and uninhibited as his own children had been before adolescence, and their mother’s desertion, had had such an impact on all their lives.

‘Oh, this is heavenly,’ Tess said, linking her fingers together and stretching her arms above her head in obvious delight. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me.’

‘I am happy you are enjoying yourself,’ he said politely, forcing himself not to linger. He was quite sure she was unaware of the effect she had on him but it was far too easy to imagine his hands circling that deliriously bare midriff as he tumbled her onto the sand.

Unknowingly, he had quickened his step and by the time he realised it and glanced over his shoulder Tess was some distance behind him. She was following much more slowly, splashing through the shallows, her delight in her surroundings apparently dissipated by his indifference. Once again he felt the familiar pangs of guilt. It wasn’t fair of him to spoil the day for her.

Despite his reluctance, he waited for her to catch up with him, but now she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She halted beside him, her eyes seemingly glued to the yacht that was now disappearing over the horizon. She had obviously sensed his ambivalence and misread the reasons for it.

‘What is wrong?’ he asked, as if he genuinely didn’t know. ‘It is very hot, is it not? Have you had enough?’

‘Have you?’

Her retort caught him unawares and he didn’t have an answer for her. ‘It is—getting late,’ he said lamely, although it was barely three o’clock. ‘I would not want you to get burned.’

She lifted first one arm and then the other, looking at them as if she hadn’t considered them before. But she didn’t look convinced. Despite the fact that the skin of her shoulders looked slightly sore, she gave a careless shrug. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said without conviction. ‘If it’s what you want.’

Rafe stiffened. ‘What I want does not signify.’

‘Oh, I think it does.’ He caught a glimpse of indignant green eyes, quickly averted. ‘I should have realised before. When you said you were going for a walk. You didn’t really want me to come with you, did you?’

‘Io—’ Rafe was nonplussed. He hadn’t realised he had been so transparent. ‘That is not true.’

‘I don’t believe you, signore.’ She used the term deliberately, he was sure, and it infuriated him. ‘All this—buying the food, bringing me down here—was just a way of appeasing your conscience.’

Rafe’s jaw dropped. ‘Appeasing my conscience?’ he echoed, stung by the accusation. ‘Why should I feel the need to appease my conscience? I have not done anything wrong.’

Yet.

‘You feel as if you have,’ said Tess doggedly, and for a moment he wondered if she’d read what he was thinking. He hoped not. And, to his relief, she seemed to confirm it. ‘You think you’ve upset both your daughter and me,’ she continued. ‘So you decided to pacify one of us with a peace-offering. In this case, an hour of your precious time, right?’

‘Wrong.’ He was annoyed by the objectivity of her reasoning. Not least, because it was so far removed from the truth. ‘When I invited you to have lunch with me, it was because I wanted to. Not for any other reason.’

‘So why do you want to cut the afternoon short?’ she asked impulsively. ‘Am I keeping you from some important previous engagement?’

‘No.’ His breath gushed out in a rush. ‘I am sorry if I have given you that impression.’

‘Well, what else can I think when you seem determined to avoid me?’ she countered, looking up at him now with a wary, uncertain gaze. ‘You seem to—to blow hot and cold in equal measures. I—well, I don’t know how you really feel’

Rafe’s good sense deserted him. ‘I was not trying to avoid you,’ he said huskily. ‘If it seemed that I was—and I am admitting nothing, you understand?—perhaps it was because I find you far too—appealing, no?’

He’d shocked her now. He could see it in the face that she turned up to him. But, what the hell, he’d shocked himself, and that was far more disturbing.

‘You don’t mean that,’ she said, and he knew that this was his last opportunity to escape the consequences of his outburst. He had only to tell her he was teasing and he might be able to get out of this unscathed.

But he didn’t do it.

‘I do mean it,’ he said, the words coming even though his brain was trying desperately to silence him. ‘You are—enchanting. And beautiful. And I would not be a man if I did not find you desirable, mi amore.’

Her lips parted then, and, although he sensed she was as uncertain of the good sense of what they were doing as he was, she didn’t move away. Instead, she came a little nearer, her toes brushing the front of his loafers, those clear green eyes keenly searching his face. Almost involuntarily, it seemed, she lifted her hand and stroked the roughening skin of his jawline, and Rafe could no longer control the instinctive hardening between his legs.

‘So—do you want to kiss me?’ she breathed barely audibly, and the quicksands of passion moved beneath his feet.

‘Tess—’ he said hoarsely, and even then he thought he might have found the will to resist her. Yet when her hand dropped to the open neckline of his shirt and he felt those tentative fingers against his bare skin, he totally lost it. The groan he uttered was purely anguished, and his hands found her shoulders to haul her into his arms.

Her lips were already parted, inviting the hungry invasion of his tongue. He didn’t disappoint her. One hand moved to grip her nape, angling her face towards him as his mouth fastened greedily over hers. His kiss both enticed and seduced, drawing a response from her that sent his head spinning. He felt his own gnawing hunger controlling his actions as his senses whirled out of control.

Her arms wound around him, her palms spreading against the damp curve of his spine. She must have been able to feel the heavy weight of his erection throbbing against her stomach but she didn’t recoil from him. When his hand cupped her buttocks, bringing her into intimate contact with his arousal, she arched against him, letting him feel how responsive she also was to his touch.

A sexy little moan emerged from lips that were already wet and swollen from his kisses and his conscience resurfaced. Dio mio, he thought, if he didn’t stop this soon he would go all the way. He was in real danger of acting out the images that had been taunting him all morning, and while he couldn’t deny he wanted her, she was simply not for him.

She was too young, for one thing, and she probably saw this as just a pleasant adjunct to her holiday. She’d had a tough time of it so far, what with Ashley’s disappearance and her stepmother breathing down her neck. Not to mention his own less-than-subtle hints about what he thought of her family. He wasn’t conceited, but he could quite see that having him lusting after her might offer some compensation. Particularly if, as seemed likely, she had little experience with older men.

His own feelings were less straightforward. And however tempting making love with her might be, he still had enough sense to step back from the ultimate betrayal. He could do without any more complications in his life, he thought cynically. From his point of view, it would be a recipe for disaster.

Which was why, when he lifted his mouth from hers, he didn’t succumb to the urge to slide his hands beneath the hem of her tank top and let his thumbs caress the undersides of her breasts. He wanted to. Dio, he wanted to feel her pert nipples taut against his palms and to take those firm mounds of flesh into his hands. Instead, stifling a groan, he gripped her forearms and put her gently away from him, feeling every kind of a heel for having led her on in the first place.

Her confusion was obvious and he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t been able to hide his body’s reaction to her and in her book there was probably only one conclusion to this affair. But when he met her troubled gaze with eyes that were deliberately regretful, she soon got the message. She took a stumbling backward step before turning and hurrying away along the beach.

‘Cara!’ He couldn’t use her name, that would be too familiar. ‘Cara,’ he called again. ‘I am sorry. I do not know what came over me.’

She muttered something then, but she was too far away for him to hear it. But he could imagine it wouldn’t be complimentary and who could blame her? He had behaved abominably and she deserved so much better. She was bound to think he had as little respect for her as he had for her sister.

Chapter Eight

THE wind chimes woke her.

Tess had thought that she wouldn’t sleep, but surprisingly enough she’d fallen into a deep slumber as soon as her head touched the pillow. Perhaps it had been the heat or the tiring quality of the journey, she mused, rolling onto her back and staring up at the dust motes dancing in the rays of sun seeping through the blinds into the bedroom. Or more likely it had been the stress, she thought bitterly, as the remembrance of the previous day’s events hit her. Oh, God, she had behaved so stupidly. And that after the embarrassment she’d suffered at Maria Sholti’s hands.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Tess rested her elbows on her knees and pushed frustrated hands into her hair. The whole outing had been a mistake, from start to finish. Castelli should never have taken her with him, and, just because he had, she shouldn’t have run away with the idea that he was attracted to her.

How had that happened? All right, he’d given her some pretty smouldering looks, but he was an Italian, for God’s sake. Italians were supposed to be the most romantic race in the world, weren’t they? She’d obviously read more into it than he could possibly have meant. She should have been on her guard. After that scene at the Sholtis’ hotel, she should have been wary of any uncharacteristic behaviour on his part. A man who could treat his daughter so coldly was surely not to be trusted.

Yet what had happened on the beach hadn’t been entirely her fault, she consoled herself. She’d provoked him, yes, and he’d responded. It had been as simple—and as complicated—as that. She should have let him take his walk alone.

She should never have tagged along. If she’d stayed and finished her salad she wouldn’t be berating herself now.

And she wouldn’t be facing the ignominy of further humiliation when she saw him again.

If she saw him again, she amended, though she really had little expectation that she wouldn’t. Ashley was still missing; Marco was still missing. And until that particular problem was solved, she was going to have to live with it. And with him.

She threw back the sheet and slid her legs off the bed. Sitting here brooding about it wasn’t going to achieve anything. The gallery wouldn’t open itself, and, despite her anger with Ashley, she had promised to look after the place in her absence.

All the same, as she stood in the shower she couldn’t help reliving the agony of the ride home. Although Castelli had attempted to restore their earlier camaraderie, he had been fighting a losing battle where she was concerned. Her own responses had been monosyllabic, she remembered, cringing at the way she’d blocked his every overture. She’d let him see exactly how hurt she’d been, and he must have been so relieved when they’d reached San Michele and he’d been able to drop her at the gallery. She’d probably convinced him she was no better than Ashley, after all. He no doubt considered he had had a lucky escape.

With thoughts like these for company, Tess didn’t spend long in the shower. Towelling herself dry, she contented herself with running a comb through her hair before dressing in a lemon chemise top and a green and blue Indian cotton skirt. Canvas boots completed her outfit and, after viewing herself without enthusiasm in the mirror of the carved ar-moire where Ashley kept her clothes, Tess left the apartment.

The morning passed, thankfully without incident. The only visitor she had who wasn’t a would-be customer was Silvio and he seemed to find nothing amiss with her appearance.

‘Cara,’ he exclaimed, his use of the familiar endearment reminding her painfully of Castelli, ‘how are you today? You are feeling better, spero?’

‘Better?’ Tess frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Mas, ieri,’ said Silvio, wide eyed. ‘Yesterday. You close the gallery early, no? Naturalmente, I think you are not well’

‘Oh.’ Tess felt her face heat. ‘Um—yes. I did close early. You’re right. But—’ she couldn’t tell an outright lie ‘—it wasn’t because I was ill.’

‘No?’ Silvio gave her an inquiring look and she knew she had to elaborate.

‘No.’ She paused. ‘I—it was such a lovely day, I decided to—to take a little time off.’

‘Ah.’ Silvio regarded her with narrowed eyes. ‘And you enjoyed this—this time off?’

No.

‘Very much,’ she said, deciding one white lie was in order. And then, to distract him, ‘Isn’t it hot today? I’ve got the fan going but it just seems to be moving the air around.’

‘It is warm air,’ he pointed out drily, and she wondered if he was entirely satisfied with her reply. ‘So, do you have any plans for lunch?’

‘Lunch?’ Tess had the feeling she would never want to eat lunch again. ‘Oh—no.’ Then, realising what was coming next, ‘I’m too busy to think about lunch. Taking time off is all very well, but it just means the work piles up in your absence.’

Silvio glanced about him at the empty gallery. ‘It does not seem so busy to me.’

‘Oh, it’s paperwork,’ said Tess, realising she was having to lie again. ‘Honestly, you’d be surprised at the number of enquiries Ashley gets about this or that artist. And then there are the bills…’

‘In other words you do not wish to have lunch with me,’ remarked Silvio flatly. ‘You do not have to—if you will forgive the pun—draw me a picture, Tess. It is obvious some other man has—what do you say?—beaten me to it, no? Who is he, eh? Do I know him?’

‘No!’ Tess spoke impulsively and then, realising her words could easily be misconstrued, she hastily amended her answer. ‘That is, there is no other man, Silvio. Um—not here, anyway,’ she added, her face burning with embarrassment. ‘I just can’t keep taking time off, that’s all. It wouldn’t be fair to—to Signor Scottolino.’

Silvio shrugged. ‘As you say.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Si. Anch’io, cara.’ Me, too. He gave her a small, strangely knowing smile. ‘Do not work too hard, ragazza. All work and no play is not good, no? Ciao!’

Tess breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared through the open doorway and, deciding she’d earned a strong cup of black coffee, she went to put water into the pot. But she couldn’t help wondering if Silvio’s visit had been as innocent as he’d pretended. Could he possibly have seen her leaving with Castelli the day before?

Of course he could, but if he had there was nothing she could do about it now. And, besides, she had a perfectly legitimate excuse for the outing if she was asked. But she wouldn’t be. Silvio had said his piece and no one else was interested. Except Maria and her husband, she amended. And they knew nothing about what had happened after she and Castelli had left the albergo.

Thank goodness!

By midday Tess was feeling a little more relaxed. Her fears that Castelli might decide to pay her another unexpected visit had not been realised, and, with her stomach reminding her that she’d not had any breakfast that morning, she decided to slip out to the bakery to buy a sandwich for her lunch.

She’d only closed the gallery for a few minutes. The bakery wasn’t far. But when she came hurrying back along the parade of shops she saw a woman trying the door with obvious impatience. With the blinds pulled up, it appeared that the gallery was open, and Tess thought it was just her luck that a customer had arrived in the short time she’d been away.

‘Mi scusi,’ she called, reaching the woman just as she was turning away. The woman turned back and Tess saw she was older than she’d thought. ‘Eccomi, signora. Posso aiutare?’ Can I help you?

Dark brows arched aristocratically over equally dark eyes. The woman was tall and exquisitely dressed in a taupe silk suit and high heels. Because of her height, she towered over Tess, her whole manner one of undisguised condescension.

Yet for all that, there was something familiar about her. Tess knew she’d never seen the woman before but the annoying sense of familiarity remained. Tess had barely registered the fact that she reminded her of Maria Castelli when the woman spoke, and her words gave substance to the thought.

‘Miss Daniels, e?’ she inquired coldly, looking down her long nose at Tess in a manner intended to intimidate. ‘Ah, si. You recognise the name. Let us go inside, Miss Daniels. I desire to speak to you.’

‘All right.’ Tess was too taken aback by this turn of events to offer any resistance and she unlocked the door and allowed the older woman to precede her into the gallery. Then, gathering herself, she said, a little less submissively, ‘Do we know one another, signora?’

The woman didn’t immediately proffer a reply. Instead, she stood in the centre of the floor surveying the paintings that lined the walls with evident dislike. They were not all good paintings, Tess acknowledged, but some of them weren’t at all bad. They didn’t deserve the contempt with which they were being regarded. Her visitor was acting as if they were little better than trash.

Or perhaps she’d got it wrong, she mused suddenly. Perhaps it was she whom the woman considered to be trash. That would fit if she was some relation of Maria Castelli—or rather Maria Sholti. And despite the relief she’d felt at Castelli’s non-appearance, now she felt a growing sense of resentment that he should have sent this woman in his place.

The woman swung round at last. ‘I know of you, Miss Daniels,’ she said, and Tess had to remind herself of what she’d asked moments before. ‘My son has spoken of you to me. I am Lucia di Castelli.’ She said the name arrogantly. ‘The boy your sister has corrupted is my grandson.’

Tess caught her breath. So this was Castelli’s mother. She should have guessed. The similarity wasn’t totally confined to his daughter.

But Castelli wasn’t going to help her now and, holding up her head, she said stiffly, ‘We don’t know that Ashley has done anything of the kind.’

‘Oh, I think we do, signorina.’ Lucia was scornful. ‘I cannot think of any other reason why a woman approaching thirty should encourage the attentions of an impressionable child, can you?’

‘Marco’s hardly a child,’ protested Tess indignantly. ‘In England, boys of sixteen can be quite—mature.’

‘And there you have it, Miss Daniels.’ Lucia’s lips curled. ‘As you say, in England things are very different indeed. Young single women think nothing of having a child—children—with several different partners. Marriage is considered an outdated institution and the church’s teachings are ignored. That is not how things are done in Italy, Miss Daniels. Here we respect our institutions, we respect our elders. And we expect visitors to our country to do the same.’

Tess licked her dry lips. ‘You paint a very unattractive picture of my country, signora,’ she said, keeping her voice calm with a definite effort. ‘But I can assure you that we are not a totally godless society. As with everything, the truth lies somewhere in between.’

Lucia snorted. ‘You would say that, naturalmente.’

‘Yes, I would.’ Tess gained a little confidence from the fact that the woman didn’t immediately contradict her. ‘We are not heathens, signora. And how honest is it for a woman to marry one man and have an affair with another? Is that considered acceptable in Italy?’

A faint trace of colour entered Lucia’s cheeks at her words. ‘You have been speaking to Rafe, have you not?’ she demanded harshly, shocking Tess by the vehemence of her tone. ‘Of course you have. That is why he is so—so sensibile to your feelings. He sees in you a justification for his own actions.’

‘No!’ Tess was horrified. She’d spoken impulsively, never thinking that Castelli’s mother might associate her words with her son’s divorce. ‘I mean, yes, I’ve spoken to your son, signora. You know that. He thought I might know where Ashley was.’