Mistress, Mother...Wife? Page 11

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘The housekeeper and her daughter?’ Dante shrugged, as though surprised by the question. ‘Giovanna is the mother and Ester the daughter. No doubt they’ll immediately fall in love with Tia when they meet her—both of them adore children, and Ester has a little son of her own. Anyway…like I said, you look tired. You should have a leisurely bath, then an early night. I’ll join you later.’ He turned away from her.

  ‘I hope you don’t regret sharing what you just shared with me?’ Concerned, as well as disappointed that he seemed intent on spending the rest of the evening without her, Anna restlessly coiled a long strand of her bright hair round her finger. ‘Do you?’ she pressed.

  ‘Go to bed, Anna. We’ll talk again in the morning.’

  ‘Why don’t you answer me? I don’t want to go to bed and leave you brooding here on your own.’

  A faint smile appeared on his fine-cut lips as he turned to survey her.

  ‘So you want to be my rescuer again? Just as you tried to rescue me from my morose mood all those years ago?’

  Fielding the comment, Anna lifted her chin. ‘Is it so wrong of me to want to reach out to you? To show you that I care about how you’re feeling?’

  Remaining silent, Dante looked away again.

  With frustrated tears making her eyes smart, Anna swung round on her heel and marched out of the room.

  After watching the coloured house lights reflect off the dark lake for a long time, Dante stepped back into the drawing room at around one in the morning. The Campari on the rocks he’d made himself was barely touched. Leaving the crystal tumbler on a rosewood table, he stretched his arms high above his head, grimacing at the locked tension in his protesting muscles.

  With everything he had in him he wanted to join Anna in the stately canopied double bed. But how could he when he knew she must secretly despise him for the way he had conducted himself in the past? It had even prevented her from getting in touch with him to tell him about Tia. No, it was Anna who was good and deserving of help…not him. Fear of failure and loss had been the dark, soul-destroying forces he’d been guided by. And because his associations with Italy had been tainted with hurt from his childhood he had fled to England to make his fortune, consciously choosing to lose his accent and forget his roots to reinvent himself as the untouchable businessman, the ice man.

  All in all, it didn’t make a pretty picture. Bringing Anna and Tia here had raised painful spectres from his past when he’d started to believe he had let them go. What he wanted most of all was a new start for himself and his family—not to focus on his past mistakes and feel unworthy again. But could he blame Anna if ultimately she couldn’t forgive him for his deplorable history?

  Intensely disliking the feeling of not having his emotions under control the way he wanted, Dante scrubbed an agitated hand round his shadowed jaw. He’d be better in the morning, he told himself. A few hours’ solid sleep and he’d be more like himself again. Reaching for the button on a discreet wall panel that controlled the lighting, he pressed it, lingering for a solitary moment as the room was plunged into darkness.

  Tonight he wouldn’t seek comfort in Anna’s tender arms, as he ached with every fibre of his being to do. Somehow, after practically dismissing her on her first night in Como, he didn’t believe he deserved it. Instead, he would retreat to one of the other palatial bedrooms and spend the night alone.

  She’d left the curtains open, and in the morning, sun streamed into the room, straight at her. Anna had to shield her eyes. Her spirits plunged in dismay when she realised that Dante hadn’t joined her as he’d promised he would. He’d been absolutely right about her being tired, but she was shocked at the speed with which she’d fallen asleep. She had remained in that condition up until now too. She was in a strange country, and a strange house, as well as beginning a month’s trial period of living with him. You’d think any one of those things would have kept her awake…but, no.

  A deep sigh of regret escaped her. She should have stayed with him last night—should have found a way to reach him, to let him know how much she cared. If she’d stayed then he would have seen that she didn’t agree with his unspoken belief that he didn’t deserve love and care. He would have seen that Anna was fiercely loyal to the people she cared about. Yet she was still wary of disclosing her feelings when there was the ever-present fear that he might want to take away her autonomy.

  But right now she needed to see her little girl and see how she was faring. She too had slept in a strange room, in a strange bed. Glancing at the clock by the bedside, she gasped when she saw the time. What kind of a mother was she that she could blithely oversleep and leave her child to fend for herself?

  Guiltily grabbing her pastel blue cotton robe from the end of the bed, she yawned—and then couldn’t resist peering out at the wrought-iron balcony and the sublime view of the sun-dappled lake. A canopied boat full of early-morning tourists floated leisurely by. She caught her breath. There was a real holiday atmosphere in the air that to Anna was just like a dream. Even more so when she thought about spending her time here with the two people she cared most about in the world.

  Tia had apparently long vacated her bed. Seeing clothes scattered round the pretty room, with its lovely antique furniture and tall open windows, Anna realised she had even dressed herself. Had Dante taken her downstairs for breakfast?

  Laughter and the suggestion of jovial conversation drew her to the high-ceilinged oak-beamed kitchen. As she hovered in the doorway, conscious of the flimsy robe she had hastily flung on over her white cotton nightdress, she dragged the edges together and stared. Two women—one younger, and one perhaps just past middle-age, both dark-haired, with strong-boned Italian faces and bright eyes—were bustling round the kitchen, carrying plates of food to the table and beaming at Tia, who sat there with Dante just as though she was in her absolute element.

  As if he intuitively knew she was there, Dante turned in his high-backed oak chair and smiled. Any words Anna might have been going to say utterly dried up. Bathed in the sensual sea of his storm-coloured gaze, she felt her limbs turn as weak as cooked strands of tagliatelli.

  ‘Buongiorno, ‘ he greeted her, his low-pitched ‘bedroom’ voice sounding slightly husky.

  Flustered, all she could manage right then was an awkward nervous smile. Rising from his chair, Dante crossed the room to kiss her cheek, his lips lingering warmly at the side of her face so that her senses were crowded by his fresh clean scent and disturbingly arousing body heat. His fit lean body was encased in fitted black jeans and a loose white linen shirt, and frankly he was more sinfully tempting than any honey or sugar-laden breakfast she could think of.

  Unquestioningly aware of the devastating effect he had on her, he smiled for a second time into Anna’s mesmerised dark gaze and curved his arm round her waist. ‘Come and meet Giovanna and Ester,’ he urged, leading her across the stone-flagged floor to the long oak table where the two women had paused in their serving of food to furnish Anna with twin welcoming smiles.

  They greeted her in their native Italian, but then the younger woman said in faltering English, ‘It is—is so nice to see you—I mean to meet you, signorina.’

  ‘Please,’ Anna said warmly, taking her hand, ‘call me Anna.’

  ‘Mummy? Why aren’t you dressed yet?’ Tia demanded, her mouth crammed with ciabatta bread and jam. ‘Do you even know what the time is?’

  ‘Yes, I know what the time is, Tia Bailey, and I know I’ve slept in—but I was more tired than I realised. And by the way, Miss Bossy Boots…did you forget to say good morning?’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy, but me and Daddy have been up for ages and ages!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The early bird catches the worm…isn’t that what they say?’

  Seeing the teasing glint in Dante’s eyes, Anna felt a rush of dizzying warmth flood into her chest. Stooping to kiss the top of Tia’s curly blond head, she felt her heart warm doubly when sh
e detected no tension whatsoever in her child about this new unfamiliar situation. Very quickly, it seemed, she had made herself quite at home.

  Glancing round at the rest of the company, she became uncomfortably conscious that she was still in her nightwear. ‘I’m so sorry I got up so late. I’d like to return to my room to dress, and then I’ll be back down as soon as I can—if that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course it’s okay.’ Dante’s tone was slightly irked. ‘There aren’t any rules about what you can and can’t do here, Anna. This is your home. Giovanna will keep some food hot for you in the oven until you return.’

  By the time Anna returned to the kitchen Giovanna had disappeared upstairs to make the beds, and at Dante’s request Ester had taken Tia into the gardens for a while so that she could play. The woman had beamed at him, clearly jumping at the chance to spend time with his engaging little daughter.

  Staring down into a mug of strong sugared black coffee—his troubled mind hadn’t allowed him to sleep at all well last night—he glanced expectantly towards the door as Anna appeared. She was wearing a lemon tunic dress, with sleeves that ended just past her elbows and a hemline that finished just above her knees. Her long shapely legs were bare. With her stunning auburn hair left free to tumble down over her breasts unhindered she was a vision of loveliness that put Dante’s already charged senses on hyper-alertness. The mere sight of her acted as an incendiary flame on his frustrated libido, making it virtual agony to stay sitting and not go to her and haul her urgently into his arms.

  ‘Tia’s in the garden with Ester,’ he said instead, knowing that would be the first thing that would concern her. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ Moving to the table, Anna briefly squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned her arms over a chair. ‘I can’t tell you how good that coffee smells.’

  ‘I’ll get you some.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m quite capable of helping myself. I don’t want to disturb you when you look so relaxed, just sitting there.’

  She brought a mug of the steaming beverage she’d poured from the percolator back to the table, and sat down opposite him. She looked so pretty, fresh and artless that his heart pounded with longing. Replaying their conversation of last night for the umpteenth time in his mind, he wondered if she would ever truly be able to accept him for himself and not hold his past against him.

  ‘Tia indicated you were up early. Couldn’t you sleep?’

  Tumbling headlong into the liquid depths of her big brown eyes for a moment, he edged the corner of his mouth into an almost painful rueful grin. ‘No, Anna. I could not sleep. Did you think I could without you in my bed?’

  Blushing, she stared down into her coffee cup for long seconds. ‘I would have stayed with you last night. talking downstairs, I mean.’ She lifted her gaze to his. ‘But you clearly didn’t want me to. Whenever I try to get close to you, Dante, it seems you push me away. Do you intend on doing that for ever?’

  His grin vanished. What could he tell her when his whole system was in such an agony of need? Mental, physical, spiritual. He could go mad with it all. He pushed his mug of coffee from him with such force that the dark liquid slopped messily over the sides. He heard Anna’s shocked intake of breath even as he rose, but he was suddenly beyond worrying about anything but the powerful need to hold her, to breathe her in as though she was life-giving air in the increasing sense of claustrophobia that seized him, the prison of his past that had kept him in the dark for so long.

  Hauling her out of her chair against him, Dante buried his face in her hair while his feverish hands desperately sought the warmth of her body through her thin cotton dress.

  ‘Anna. Oh, Anna…’

  Sensing her tremble, he tipped up her face and plundered her mouth until his lips ached and his heart thundered as though it would burst inside him.

  ‘Do you want me, Dante?’ As she dragged her mouth away from his, her voice sounded broken and tearful.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I want you. I always want you! Are you going to punish me for that?’

  ‘No, my angel.’ She pushed back some of the dark blond hair that had flopped onto his brow, and her touch was so soft, so infinitely tender that Dante couldn’t speak. His muscles all but screamed with the tension that built inside him, and he prayed for it to ease soon.

  ‘You punish yourself enough without me doing the same,’ she finished sadly.

  Uttering a dramatic oath, he slid his arm beneath her and lifted her high against his chest. Bereft of words, because devastating emotion had right then robbed him of the ability to speak, he carried her out through the door and up the winding staircase with its ornate wroughtiron stair-rail to their bedroom…

  ‘What are you looking at? ‘

  In front of the stunning cheval mirror, brushing out her long bed-tangled hair, with the balcony doors slightly ajar to allow in a delicious thermal of sultry Mediterranean air, Anna glanced over her shoulder at Dante with a smile. Bare-chested and tousle-haired, he lay back against the bank of white silk pillows with the kind of lascivious, knowing look that made her insides clench and her toes flex hard.

  An impossible ache arose inside her that all but begged her to join him in bed for another greedy helping of wild reckless loving. She could hardly credit her own body’s hungry libidinous needs. Already tingling and aching from the voracious homage her lover had paid to her in bed, Anna was seriously torn between rejoining Dante and going down to the garden to give some attention to Tia, and to thank her generous-hearted young minder for looking after her.

  ‘I’m looking at you. Where else do you expect me to focus my gaze when you stand there in that thin robe that hugs every delicious curve and reminds me that I should never have let you get out of bed?’

  ‘Well, you’ve got to stop looking at me like that—or I’ll be a wreck for the rest of the day because I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else but you! And I want to see some of the sights of this beautiful place, Dante. For instance that medieval monastery you mentioned.’

  He got out of bed, stepped into black silk boxers, then moved barefoot across the polished parquet floor to join her. Such a simple human manoeuvre shouldn’t look so mouthwateringly arresting, but when a man had a body as fit and compelling as Dante Romano’s, it did.

  ‘So…a ruined medieval monastery is preferable to looking at me, is it? ‘ he teased, his hands settling over her hips while his mouth planted a hot, sexy little kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

  Anna’s loosely tied cotton robe slid off one satiny shoulder as the languorous heaviness between her thighs returned.

  ‘I—I didn’t say that,’ she moaned, readjusting her robe over her shoulder, then trying to disentangle herself from her lover’s arms. ‘What are Giovanna and Ester going to think? I already got up late, and then you persuaded me back to bed. They’ll think I’ve got no morals or sense of decency at all!’

  He laughed. It was such a spontaneous, joyous sound that Anna could hardly credit him as being the same man who had been so gripped by inner turmoil and pain earlier.

  She’d cradled him in her arms for a long time after that first stormy coupling they’d fallen into when they’d come to bed, because she’d sensed he needed it. It had been all the more poignant because even a strong, powerful man like him needed the reassurance that he was cared for, she realised—even when his whole demeanour practically screamed to deny it.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about them. They are both women of the world. Besides…Giovanna put her head round the door about ten minutes after we came up here and saw that we were…busy.’

  ‘What?’ Covering her face with her hands, Anna groaned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, my God…how am I ever going to look the woman in the eye again? ‘

  ‘Beautiful Anna…you are making far too much of this when there really is no need. We already have a daughter. Don’t you think that Giovanna and Ester have already guessed that we’ve been intimate?’

 
His teasing gaze brimmed with laughter again, and Anna lightly hit him on his toned tanned bicep. ‘That’s not funny!’ Whirling away from him, she grabbed up her clothes from the arm of the chair, where she’d carelessly thrown them earlier, and headed for the sumptuous marble bathroom. ‘You are utterly impossible—you know that?’

  Dante was still grinning from ear to ear as she dramatically slammed the door shut.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AMBLING through the quaint cobblestoned streets and alleyways of the bewitching lakeside town, Dante glanced at the titian-haired beauty beside him and wondered what he’d done to deserve the sense of satisfaction and contentment that kept washing over him.

  Wearing a shift dress printed with pink poppies, her bright hair streaming loose down her back like Millais’s Ophelia, she was the most eye-catching woman in the vicinity. More than that, the buzz he got from just holding her hand, strolling along like any other entranced tourist, couldn’t be measured. All the money and success in the world couldn’t match the pleasure of it. And as he walked Dante saw his home and the stunning Renaissance architecture that abounded with fresh eyes.

  Another first was that for once he was simply being himself. It didn’t matter who he was or where he came from. He’d shed the ‘billionaire businessman’ persona with alacrity, and there was such a euphoric sense of liberation about that that he almost wanted to announce it to the world. Instead, his hand lightly squeezed Anna’s. In return, he received a traffic-stopping smile.

  Tia was the only thing that was missing to make the day absolutely perfect. She had begged to be allowed to go with Ester and collect her son Paolo from kindergarten, after which she’d been invited to stay for lunch and to play with him for the afternoon. With Anna’s consent first of all, Dante had agreed that she could go. He wouldn’t have if he hadn’t trusted Ester and her mother, Giovanna, completely. Giovanna had been his mother’s closest and dearest friend, and that was how she and her daughter had come to take care of Dante’s house for him—both when he was there and when he was away.