Italian Deception: The Salvatore Marriage / A Sicilian Seduction / The Passion Bargain

Looking down at the small baby she held cradled in her arms, ‘It will never be like that between you and me,’ she vowed softly. ‘You, my precious, will have my lifelong love.’

Luca appeared, striding into the nursery like a dynamic force wearing one of the sombre dark suits she’d grown used to seeing him in over the last week. He looked tired, drained to the dregs of his energy by too much heartache and too many painful, emotion-stripping formalities to deal with. But his face softened into a smile when he saw Shannon cradling the small pink bundle in her arms.

‘She’s been unplugged,’ he exclaimed in soft surprise as he came down on his haunches to brush a gentle finger along the baby’s pink cheek.

‘Half an hour ago.’ Shannon smiled too. ‘They just came in and took out the leads and tubes and handed her to me.’

‘May I take her?’ he requested, and without hesitation he received the tiny person into the crook of his arm.

Straightening up, Luca strolled away to the window, his dark head bowed as he gazed down at his brother’s child. She was exquisite. A tiny pink rosebud Angelo would have fallen instantly in love with.

Well, I’ve done it for him, he thought adoringly. Angelo’s daughter was never going to feel the loss of her father’s love, he vowed, and lowered his head to seal the vow with the light brush of his lips to her petal-soft cheek.

‘I must formally register her birth soon,’ he remarked as one thought led him onwards. He’d become quite the expert on the official procedures required for registering birth and death, he mused. ‘This little angel needs a name.’

‘She already has one,’ Shannon said, then flushed when he lifted his eyes to send her a sardonically questioning glance.

‘Well, this is interesting,’ he drawled, and he glanced back at the baby. ‘It seems you have a name no one else knows about, mia dolce piccola. Perhaps your Aunt Shannon would like to share it with us?’

Aunt Shannon suddenly looked distinctly defensive. ‘I call her Rose,’ she murmured. ‘It—it’s Keira’s middle name.’

‘I know it is,’ Luca said quietly. ‘I was merely wondering if there was a second or two when you considered giving all of us an opportunity to offer up our own suggestions …?’

He could see by the frown pulling at her brow that there had not been a second when she had considered such a thing. ‘I haven’t gone over your head and made it official. It’s just my name for her,’ she then said uncomfortably. ‘If you have any objections then just—’

‘I like it,’ he cut in, making that point clear, though his eyes narrowed slightly as a sudden suspicion began to play with his head.

If Shannon had decided on the baby’s name without consulting with anyone else, could it be that she was harbouring ideas of possession that did not include anyone else?

He studied her tired face with its blue eyes set in saddened darkness and the downward turn that had taken virtual permanent control of her beautiful mouth. Her skin looked so delicate it reminded him of finely stretched silk—touch it and it would tear apart.

His gaze drifted lower, moving over the black jeans that made her legs look more slender than ever and the navy-blue top that hid nothing he couldn’t picture for himself. She barely ate and it was showing. She barely slept—though he was aware that she did not know he listened to her as she paced his apartment in the dead of night. She was beautiful but bruised, beautiful but lost in her own world of grief that shut out everyone else.

But he had plans for this baby. He had plans for her aunt. Aware though that this was not the time to voice those plans, he continued amiably, ‘If I could make a small addition—for my mother’s sake, you understand. We could name her Rosita, use Rose as our name for her and add Angelina, in Angelo’s memory—what do you think?’

Shannon thought it sounded so beautifully appropriate that it brought the ready tears to her eyes. ‘Yes, I would like that,’ she whispered and was too lost in thoughts of Angelo and Keira to notice how the baby girl had just become fully Italian.

‘Here …’ Luca said, and gave her back the baby, watched the tears drift away to be replaced with a loving smile and was quietly satisfied with the smooth way he had handled this. ‘Say your farewell, then we must be going …’

They had the ordeal of a double funeral to get through tomorrow and Shannon needed something to wear. She knew this because they had discussed it over breakfast this morning and she had reluctantly agreed to let him take her shopping. But by the scowling expression she sent him he knew she had changed her mind.

‘No way,’ he firmly vetoed the look. ‘You need the break from here and a change of scenery—I need the same. You never know,’ he added lightly as she stood up and without comment went to lay the baby down in her cot. ‘We might even catch ourselves enjoying it.’

Oddly enough they did enjoy themselves. Luca took her back to the apartment for a quick shower before they headed into the city. Shannon changed into the only dress she had brought with her to Florence—a deep sapphire-blue long-sleeved knit thing that clung to her slender figure and highlighted the colour of her eyes. She applied some make-up for the first time in a week, brushed out her hair and decided on impulse to leave it loose. Slipping her feet into a pair of slender-heeled shoes, she then went to look for Luca—and found him in the sitting room stretched out on one of the brown sofas reading a magazine while waiting for her, just as he used to do.

The familiarity of the pose brought her to a standstill in the doorway. It jolted her right out of her comfortable fog. He looked so achingly beautiful, so long and dark and sleek and so much her kind of man that her heart turned over. When he caught sight of her standing by the door, the sight of his easy smile took away her ability to breathe.

When he tossed the magazine aside to rise lithely to his feet she knew she had got herself into deep trouble here because everything about him was drawing her to him, like that old magnetic pull they used to share. He’d changed his suit for casual dark grey trousers and a soft black leather jacket worn over a wine-red shirt. In sharp suits he was expensive and dynamic; in casual clothes he became—dangerous.

And now he had gone still—other than for slumber-dark eyes, which were roaming over her as if he too were only just seeing her for the first time this week.

‘Quite an exquisite transformation,’ he murmured softly, and began walking towards her.

Shannon watched him come through guarded eyes because she knew what he was thinking. He was thinking—mine—sex—I want. She recognised the sensually possessive gleam. Her stomach muscles gave an agitated tingle, the tips of her breasts stirring in their old electric response to him.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, then bent to touch her mouth with his and maintained the light contact until he felt her lips quiver before he lifted his head again. ‘Ready to go?’ he enquired with subtle innocence.

Her uncertain nod came with an equally uncertain frown because she knew that kiss had been a deliberate gesture—like a warning foretaste of what was to come.

Did she want what was to come? She didn’t know yet—she didn’t even know if she wanted to leave here at all feeling as unsettled and confused as she did.

‘Then let’s do it,’ he said, as if he were answering the questions she was asking of herself.

They drove into the centre of Florence, winding through the back streets until they reach the pedestrian zone where Luca parked the car. It was warmer than it had been since she’d arrived in Italy and the sun was bright so she left her coat in the car and they set out walking.

Luca settled a hand at her waist as if it had every right to be there. The top of her head reached to just above his shoulder; every time he spoke to her he turned to look her deep in her eyes. She could feel herself becoming mesmerised yet couldn’t seem to do anything about it. Even though she knew he was deliberately building the intimacy between them, she was just too susceptible to slap him down.

That was the trouble with tragedy and grief, she excused her own weak behaviour—it sapped your strength to fight.

They turned heads as they walked together. It had always been this way for them because they made such a striking contrast—he the tall, dark man of Florence and she the white-skinned slender creature with hair that flamed.

A man stopped to utter something candidly naughty about them to Luca in Italian and when Shannon made the translation she couldn’t resist an impulsive laugh. Luca grinned, white-toothed and wicked. The stranger looked momentarily shocked at Shannon’s laughing response, then he was grinning as he went on his way leaving them to do the same.

They reached the great Duomo cathedral with its gleaming white ribs set against terracotta tiles. As they walked beneath its mighty shadow Shannon did what she knew she had been aching to do and slipped her arm around Luca’s lean waist.

Luca didn’t want it to stop. He did not want to take her into one of the élite shops on Via dei Tornabuoni and snuff out her lingering smile by shrouding her in black mourning clothes. So he diverted them into the elegant café Giacosa and ordered cappuccino and pastries, which they shared while he carefully set her talking about her life in London and her graphic design business until she was talking away with all her old zest and enthusiasm, shooting him questions, picking at his brains—and other parts of him, just as she used to do.

It was mad, he knew it. Allowing himself to become bewitched again was a fool’s way to go. But he had plans for Shannon and if those plans were a poor excuse for letting her inch her way back into his system then he was ready to fool himself that he was in control.

Shopping in Florence was a serious occupation. No one knew how to shop better than the Italians. They were born with an innate sense of class and unquestionable style. Luca was no different, so it was he that decided on a suit because of the sleek, timeless classicism of its beautiful fabric and wonderful cut. After buying the suit they window-shopped on Via dei Tornabuoni, stopping to buy bag and shoes, before moving on to Via dei Pecori to select the rest of the things she required. The moment an assistant settled the first black veil on Shannon’s head Luca saw the change come over her face and knew she’d remembered why they were doing this, so he distracted her with an extravagant showering of expensive lingerie, which made her blush, then smile.

They took her purchases back to the car, then Luca suggested that they walk down to the river to watch the sun go down. Shannon agreed, aware that he was peeling back the years to a different time when everything was wonderful and they used to do this kind of thing often. Luca was as irresistible as he had been back then. Smiling, talking naturally with him while holding hands as they strolled along the Lungarni and onto the Ponte Santa Trinita to watch the sunset on the Arno, was like dipping her hand into very hot water—and discovering that she liked it.

‘Oh, just look, Luca …’ she prompted softly as the river turned into a silk ribbon of fire and warmed the famous face of the Ponte Vecchio—the next bridge in the line. ‘How do you ever get used to looking at this?’

They were standing shoulder to shoulder against the bridge looking down the river, but he turned at her words to run his gaze over her face tinted golden by the sun and her hair shot with flames. ‘I don’t,’ he said.

Inner flutters took flight in her stomach because she knew he was referring to her, not the view. She glanced at him. ‘Now that was corny,’ she chided, ‘and very un-Italian of you.’

‘It is the truth—why pretend?’ He shrugged lazily.

She was suddenly racked by a cold shiver as the cool water rising from the river touched her skin. ‘I’m cold,’ she said and pushed away from the bridge to begin walking back the way they had come, aware that she’d left Luca still leaning there absorbing the change in mood.

He soon caught up with her, though, his leather jacket arriving across her shoulders along with his arm to hold it there. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured a trifle stiffly.

‘Prego,’ he drawled with a lightness that told her he was going to ignore the mood change and his arm remained where it was across her shoulders, casual yet intimate and possessive.

‘Where shall we eat?’ he asked after a moment.

‘It’s too early for dinner.’ For an Italian, anyway.

‘You prefer to go back to the apartment now?’

No, she didn’t. Going back meant making a decision about what came after they got there and she knew she wasn’t ready to do that yet. But she was also remembering his liking for the super-smart restaurants frequented by the Florentine élite. Etiquette was everything in those places, along with a seriously adhered-to code of dress.

‘Somewhere small and casual, then,’ she said carefully.

He smiled. ‘The prompt was not necessary, cara.’ It was his turn to chide. ‘I was thinking of that little place we used to go to off Via Delle Belle Donne—you loved the panzanella there, if I recall …’

Its warm, cosy atmosphere was just what Shannon needed. She relaxed again. The food was delicious and the man she shared it with was—perfect.

He sat across a small table with the candlelight flickering on his golden face and fed her small titbits of food with the tips of his long fingers, plied her with a crisp, dry white wine. And he talked, mesmerising her with deep-timbred tones soaked in intimacy and he did it in Italian to force her to concentrate only on him. When she spoke he dipped his eyes to watch her mouth move, kissed it with those eyes to make her lips tremble, then flicked his gaze back to her eyes to make her aware that he knew what was happening to her.

It was the foreplay in a long seduction, she knew, because she’d been caught up in its spell so many times before. He was making love to her with his eyes, with his voice, with every intimate weapon he had in his super-sensual armoury.

‘Why?’ she asked him suddenly.

‘Because I want you,’ he answered, not even attempting to misunderstand the question.

Faults and all? she was about to challenge when his fingertips came up to rest against her mouth. ‘Don’t question me—ask yourself what you want.’

She wanted him, she admitted. She had always wanted him. She wanted tonight to go on for ever and the past to disappear altogether and for the sadness of tomorrow to never come.

So when he kissed her as they left the restaurant she let him, his hands gently crushing her shoulders beneath his leather jacket, the light brush of the bodies a teasing taster for what was to come.

On the way back to the car Luca suddenly left her side with a murmured excuse and disappeared into one of the little shops that sold everything. He came out a few minutes later carrying a box, which he handed to Shannon with a lopsided grin. It was a box of chocolate-coated truffles, more confirmation of what they were going to be doing soon because they always used to indulge in chocolate-coated truffles, feeding them to each other while reclining on the bed, still wearing the bloom on their naked flesh from a long, slow loving.

He was pulling out all of the stops here to recreate their old magic. And she was so busy blushing that she almost missed his other hand slipping something small into his pocket, and even then she just assumed it was some folded paper Euros and dismissed the incident to the back of her head in favour of—other things.

They continued walking towards Duomo with anticipation beating a tender pulse of its own. They got into his car as that pulse grew quicker. They drove without speaking, which speeded it all the more. They climbed out of the car and arrived at the basement lift. He reached out to press the call button at the same time that his other hand drew her close.

‘You’re trembling,’ he said.

She tried a laugh that didn’t quite work, then his mouth was capturing hers and they were kissing so deeply she was unaware that the lift had arrived until he broke away to manoeuvre them inside its cool metal casing. Then he was propping her up against the wall with his body while he activated security. They rode the lift with his hands cupping her hips, and his lips pressing small kisses all over her face.

She did not push him away. She did not say no to this, so why was she beginning to feel anxious the closer they came to that point at which she was going to move beyond the point of saying no?

The lift doors opened; their bodies separated as they stepped out.

Everything was the same—everything. The cream walls, the inlaid floor—Apollo standing to one side of the arch. Electric lights burned, softly activated by a time switch so no one ever arrived here in the dark.

She moved on legs that felt like sponge now, her heart beating oddly in her breast.

Did she want this?

Luca was behind her—close behind her. The lift doors closed and he was turning her round to face him again, capturing her eyes and keeping the past safely merged with the present with the luxurious dark promise burning in his. His jacket was taken from her shoulders and tossed aside on a nearby chair. His hands replaced it, closing over slender shoulders, then stroking down her arms before moving to the tingling base of her spine where he pressed her into arching contact with his body and recaptured her mouth with a deep, deep kiss that sent the question marks flying away.

They moved on to her bedroom, the door closing them into their carefully constructed world where no outside forces were allowed to intrude. She put the box of truffles aside on a chest of drawers, then wound her slender arms around his neck, her head tilting sideways as her mouth searched for his again, lips parted, warm and pulsing with invitation. The breath shuddered from him as he accepted the invitation and he shuddered again when she rolled her tongue around the inner tissues of his mouth. They were joined—already—even without the rest of what was to come. It had always been like this for them.

They kissed like that for ages, immersing themselves in a deep, dark, sensual mist. He stroked her arms, he stroked her body, he slid his hands beneath her hair and slowly slid down the zip to her dress. She sighed at the pleasurable caress of his fingers against the silk-smooth flesh on her back, stretching and arching in perfect accord with his demands as he urged her arms down so he could peel the dress away. The tight cuffs on the sleeves snagged on her hands and he gave a sharp tug to get them free. Then he was collecting up her wrists and kissing them as if to soothe away that small piece of violence—because violence had not been allowed to come into this room with them. It belonged to the past when they’d fallen on each other in a rage of untrammelled lust.

No, she thought, don’t remember that, as another moment of indecision feathered her skin.

The dress slithered to the floor, and Luca followed its progress with the dark glow of his eyes while his hands moved on to unclip her bra. Pretty cups of blue lace trailed away from two pale globes with protruding crests of tight rose-pink. He licked one of them and she released a gasp of pleasure, closing her eyes on that unwanted moment of question in favour of this. Her shoulders went back, her head tilting with them so as to lift her breasts up towards his mouth.

Luca laughed; it was a soft and low sound of recognition. She had always been a delightfully receptive lover. He moved his tongue to the other breast and elicited the same response. In the right mood he could make her come just by standing here doing this and nothing else.

But not tonight, he told himself as he sent his hands stroking across skin like satin, gently moulding her slender body then bringing the arching of her hips into contact with the waiting thickness between his. She felt the thrust of his penis and moved against it, instinctive and unreserved when it came to pleasuring the senses.

‘Undress me,’ he said.

She opened her eyes, blue slow to focus, but smiling a siren’s sensual smile when they did. She reached out to free buttons, smoothing back fabric to reveal the power built into his chest and scraping fingernails through the dark springy hair that covered finely leathered dark golden skin. The shirt fell away and she leant forward to trail wet, warm kisses from one bulging pectoral to the other while her fingers went to unzip his trousers so they could slide inside to explore.

It was a touch like no other. Luca closed his eyes as a wave of desire rolled over him. His breath scored his throat and she whispered something incoherent. When he opened his eyes he saw her tongue running a moist circle around her lips and he knew why it was doing it.

She could hide nothing—never could. Heat roared up from the pit of his very essence and on a growl he picked her up and took her to the bed, bent to throw back the quilt, then laid her on the cool white sheet. She watched him strip off his clothes, still hiding nothing of what she wanted as she followed his movements with her sensual eyes and matched them by stripping away stockings and blue panties, long legs slithering against white linen giving him tantalising glimpses of womanly folds hidden within a burnished copper cloud.

His mouth wanted to swoop and take possession. But not yet, he thought and gave his hand the pleasure of sliding between those restless thighs as he came down beside her, leaving his mouth free to take what it needed from her hungry, hunting mouth.

They kissed, they touched, they rolled together; when he plunged fingers inside her she groaned in shuddering delight. He knew everything about her, where to touch, what to do to launch her into space.

‘Need you,’ she kept on saying over and over. ‘Need you—need you,’ until he was dizzy with hearing it, with triumph, with a need of his own that piled on the heat.

Her hands weren’t still. He might know Shannon inside and out but she was as well acquainted with him. She knew where to stroke to get his senses roaring, she knew how to torment him and earn herself a flame-hot response, until his blood sang and his breathing became ragged. By the time he let her guide him into her he was already lost to everything but her and this raging pleasure.

She arched her hips in hungry welcome; he made his deep, plunging thrusts without holding anything back. She clung where she could and he rode her like a man chasing after something he should never have lost. The heat of her electrified his senses, her tightness enclosed the length of his shaft. Their mouths were fused, their hearts thundering, their flesh bathed in sweat, limbs gripping or clinging, all parts of them trembling in a hot and gasping journey towards the mercurial finish.

She toppled first, taking him with her, the rippling response of her orgasm fiercely exciting his own. He groaned and kept on groaning with each shuddering stab of his body that released his juices into the path of pulsating muscles that greedily gathered them in.

Eventually it slowed, the tight, speeding rush of the senses steadied, tension eased and he became aware that Shannon was taking his full weight. He slid away from her, then lay on his back with his eyes closed, waiting for the silver-white flood of deep satiation to become a slow ebb.

After a while he found the energy to look at her. She hadn’t moved at all. Levering himself up onto a forearm, he looked down to find that her eyes were still closed and she looked quite pale. Had he hurt her? Anxiety shot tension back into his shoulders because he could have done; there had been moments there when he had been lost in a blackness that had roared in his head.

‘OK?’ he asked huskily and touched his lips to her soft lips, then gently fingered some damp strands of hair from her cheek.