Modern Romance March 2020 Books 1-4

‘How is advertising your wares going to help if you’re already struggling to keep up with demand?’ He took a sip of wine. ‘Talk me through that one.’

‘Siena thought we might be able to employ out-workers. You know, women who can’t do regular hours because they have young children. It means...’ She gave an almost embarrassed shrug of her shoulders. ‘It means we could increase production and widen our reach.’

‘And make you a household name in the process, I suppose?’

Her voice sounded defensive. ‘That was never my ambition, Salvatore.’

‘But it looks like it might happen anyway.’ He pushed away his plate and lifted his champagne glass in a toast. ‘Congratulations. I guess that means you’ll be able to start looking for a place of your own very soon.’

It hurt.

Lina bit her lip. It hurt way more than it should have done, mainly because she hadn’t been expecting it. It was a curve ball, as they said over here. Lina had been busy cooking a surprise meal and buying a bottle of champagne because she wanted to share her good news with him. And he just wanted her out of here.

Well, of course he did. That had been one of the conditions for letting her live here in the first place. That she would be here for a few weeks and no more. What had she expected? That wall-to-wall sex would have made him start reconsidering his initial intention that she leave, and he’d tell her she could carry on living in the cottage for as long as she liked? In your dreams, Lina. In your dreams.

‘You’ve barely touched your dinner,’ she observed.

‘I could say the same about you.’

‘I thought you liked it.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘You ate it on that beach in Sicily as if it were going to be your last ever meal. I can remember it as if it were yesterday.’

He shrugged, lifting his hands in a silent gesture of apology. ‘I guess it’s like buying a shirt when you’re in a foreign country—it never looks quite the same when you wear it at home, does it?’

‘No. I guess not.’ Lina felt deflated as she cleared away the dishes and carried them down into the kitchen and she was standing over the sink when she sensed, rather than heard, Salvatore enter the room behind her. She could feel the sudden, subtle change in the atmosphere. The way it became charged with electricity—like the heavy, thick thrum of air you got just before a thunderstorm.

For once he didn’t tease her about her opposition to dishwashers as he sometimes did if he caught her washing up coffee cups in her little cottage. Did he guess she didn’t want to meet his probing gaze right then, that she was terrified he would read something of her emotional turmoil in her eyes? Did he realise how stupid she felt because somewhere along the way she had fallen for him, despite all his warnings to the contrary? Was that why he walked across the room and wrapped one hand around her waist, using the other to lift up a heavy curtain of hair so he could kiss the back of her neck, his lips brushing lightly against her skin. And wasn’t it infuriating that she could feel a whisper of response shivering its way down her spine, despite the discord of the meal they hadn’t shared?

‘Did I mention that I have to fly to Rio de Janeiro first thing tomorrow morning?’ he murmured into her hair.

‘No, you didn’t tell me.’ She dunked a saucepan into the hot, soapy water and tried not to react to that seeking kiss. ‘How long will you be gone?’

‘A couple of weeks.’

‘Right.’ She tried to stop her breathing from become ragged even though all she could think was that they’d never been parted for that long before and, more crucially, he was only announcing it now—at the last minute. Do you think you’ll be back in time for the party?’ she asked calmly.

‘I’ll do my best.’

It was not the answer she’d wanted but it seemed it was the only one she was going to get. She closed her eyes and wondered what he would do next.

She wanted him to leave.

She wanted him to stay.

He turned her around and started to kiss her and, to her shame, she let him. No, that wasn’t strictly accurate. There was no shame involved in any of this—only pleasure. She was giving as good as she got and kissing him back with a fervour which felt angry as well as hungry. And maybe those two words were easier to muddle up than she’d initially thought. It felt as if she wanted to punish him. Which she did. As if she wanted to hurt him as much as he had just hurt her. It might have been wrong but it felt so right and he laughed softly against her lips, as if he were trying to provoke her into an even more passionate response. And he was getting one, because now it was rapidly getting out of control. Her hands flew to his shoulders as he bent her back towards the table and his teeth were grazing at her breasts though the thin jersey of the red dress. Her nipples puckered into painful points as he rucked up her dress and she heard his ragged murmur of desire. She felt so wet and she could hear the rasp of his zip as roughly he freed himself, followed closely by the sound of crashing china and cutlery as he swept it off the table and it hit the kitchen floor.

But Lina didn’t care and she didn’t stop. She didn’t think anything could have stopped her right then, she wanted him so much. He ripped off her panties, damp, tattered fabric fluttering down to join the other debris, to the accompaniment of her own slurred words of approval. She was barely aware of him tearing open a condom and putting it on before opening her thighs and positioning himself. He thrust right up to the hilt and never had he felt bigger or harder or more aroused. She came so quickly it took her by surprise—though not him—for he gave a moan of relieved satisfaction as he followed her, his jerking body taking a long time to subside afterwards.

He buried his head in her curls, which were spread like a black cloth over the table, and when she turned her head to survey the shattered glass and crockery, she could see the pasta already congealing, like tomato-covered snakes. She had wondered if he might show remorse or regret, but there were neither as he brushed his mouth over hers in a careless kiss, before slowly following the direction of her gaze.

‘To hell with domesticity,’ he grated. ‘There’s only one thing I want to see you doing in my kitchen, Lina, and it’s this.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE DECORATED STORE looked as if Christmas had arrived early and there was barely an inch to move. Lina hovered near the entrance, busy scanning the new arrivals who were being waved through by security guards, and trying not to look as if she was waiting for someone—which of course she was. She gave a quick glance at her watch. Where was he? She could see Siena walking towards her—her cream chiffon evening dress floating behind her like a cloud—and she smiled at the designer who had been so kind to her.

‘What are you doing hanging around by the entrance instead of out there basking in the glow of your success?’ Siena questioned.

Lina’s smile didn’t slip. She’d been producing it at regular intervals since the party had kicked off with a blast of Sicilian music, cascades of twinkling rainbow lights and non-stop pink champagne. No need to tell Siena that she was waiting for Salvatore and didn’t have a clue what time he was getting here. That he hadn’t called her since the day before yesterday, saying that the line was bad and his schedule busy. Or that there had been several long, awkward silences throughout a conversation he clearly hadn’t wanted to have. Was that why they had talked about the weather, and how long the flight had taken and whether the famous Brazilian feijoada dish was as delicious as everyone said it was. Because ever since that night when they’d had sex on the kitchen table, it had felt as if there were more than just the gulf of a different country between them. And she couldn’t quite shake off the dark ache of foreboding, for she suspected things were ending between them.

She looked at the designer, who was twisting a long rope of pearls around her finger. ‘I was just looking out for Salvatore’s car.’ Lina shrugged. ‘Because I’m guessing people will want to see him.’

‘Oh, people always like to see Salvatore di Luca.’ Siena slanted her a wide smile. ‘But you’re the star here tonight, Lina, and don’t you ever forget that. You can be perfectly successful in your own right, with or without your billionaire lover.’

Lina wondered if that was simply a kindly intervention from the older woman, warning her not to rely on a man who was only ever going to be a temporary fixture in her life, but she nodded, even if right then she didn’t really believe it. ‘Thank you.’

‘You are going to speak to the journalist, aren’t you?’ Siena continued. ‘He says he’s a little worried. He thinks you’ve been avoiding him all evening.’

‘But... I’ve already given an interview to Trend magazine.’

‘Yes. I realise that.’ Siena twirled her pearls round and round her forefinger. ‘But the local paper has a very popular gossip column, which is bread and butter for people in the luxury-brand business. It shouldn’t be too onerous. Just tell him a bit about yourself. How you got started and what you like doing in your spare time. Readers love that kind of thing.’

A sudden lump sprang up in her throat and Lina swallowed because this was the bit she was terrified about. What could she possibly say to elaborate on the basic facts of her life—that she enjoyed sewing little beads and sequins onto squashy pieces of velvet and making each one different? That she enjoyed pottering around in Salvatore’s huge gardens whenever she got the chance and felt a distinct sense of achievement that she had finally managed to get the frosty Henry to warm to her a little. But her main passion was for Salvatore, and that was the trickiest part of all.

Because her feelings for him had grown in a way she’d never planned. Maybe that was why the power balance between them had shifted so radically that she now felt as if they were living in different dimensions. And it had all happened since she’d cooked him that wretched meal. Since she’d stupidly tried to take their relationship onto another level.

Nervously, she swallowed. ‘Must I?’

‘It’s essential,’ said Siena firmly. ‘In fact, here’s Brett Forrester now and he’s heading our way. Look, why don’t you take him over there, away from the music deck—go and stand over by the evening coats, where it’s quieter?’

Lina’s heart was racing as she watched the journalist making his way towards them. Brett Forrester was a man in his late forties with a ridiculously over-long blond fringe flapping into his eyes, which she thought might have looked better on someone two decades younger. Ditto his leather jacket and very tight jeans. Shunning the champagne, he seemed welded to a tumbler of whisky, from which he constantly sipped, and he gave Lina a critical once-over as Siena introduced them before diplomatically drifting away in her cloud of chiffon. The greetings over, he raised his arm and a woman with an enormous camera instantly appeared by his side.

‘We’ll get some shots of you now, and a few more when your boyfriend arrives,’ he said, his voice very slightly slurred.

A flash exploded in Lina’s face, and she blinked in alarm.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Lick your lips, honey. Stop looking so scared. Camera’s not going to bite you—and don’t forget this is all for your benefit.’

Was it? Lina wondered why this whole evening was suddenly starting to feel as if she’d released a monster from a cage. She hadn’t realised just how many people would be attending, or that they’d be crammed into the huge space of Siena’s store like sardines in a tin. The music was too loud and the half-glass of pink champagne she’d drunk was already giving her a headache. In fact, the only friendly face she’d seen all evening had been Sean MacCormack—the soap actor she’d sat next to at the charity gala when she’d first arrived in the city, and Salvatore had insisted on buying her that designer dress, which she hadn’t worn since. But she had worn it tonight because it was the only thing in her wardrobe which was halfway suitable and, despite Salvatore’s preferences, she had worn her hair up—mainly to showcase some of the jewellery which the store also stocked. Which was why she currently had two waterfall diamond earrings dangling by the sides of her neck, along with a matching bracelet which flashed rainbows whenever she moved her wrist.

At least tonight’s party had proved an effective distraction, barely giving her time to think, let alone brood about how bad it had been between her and Salvatore before he’d flown to Rio. Awful didn’t come close to the way that night had ended. She had insisted on clearing up the mess they’d created on the kitchen floor and had insisted he help her. At first he hadn’t believed she meant it—as if someone like him shouldn’t have to participate in something as ordinary as housework. But she had held firm, her emotions still running high after the furious words they had shared and the highly charged sex which had followed.

‘Do you think it’s magically going to clean itself?’ she had demanded. ‘Or that one of your staff should have to deal with it in the morning? You were the one who threw everything on the floor!’

‘I didn’t hear you objecting at the time!’ he had flared back.

He had been angry and moody and she had felt...weird. As if he’d used her, even though she’d enjoyed every second of it and had been an active participant. She’d figured out that the best thing to do would have been to have taken herself off to her cottage and spent the night apart from him. To have given them both the space she’d suspected they needed to cool down.

But something had held her back from walking away from him. Maybe it was because sometimes, in the darkness of the night, she felt closer to him than at any other time. Not necessarily during sex, but afterwards, when he would lie stroking her hair, his voice lazy and reflective. As if within the enclosed space of their bedroom none of the worries and cares of the outside world existed. As if, for a few brief moments, he allowed all the barriers with which he surrounded himself to crumble to the ground.

And that was why she had allowed him to take her in his arms and kiss her again, once they’d finished scrubbing at the kitchen tiles. Because in the face of all her growing insecurity about the future, his embrace had felt comforting and safe. And that was just an illusion, she reminded herself bitterly.

And then she looked up and saw Salvatore standing on the other side of the crowded room, his eyes trained unwaveringly on her, and everything else just faded away. Lina’s heart burned, as if someone had punched a red-hot fist to the middle of her chest. She’d told herself she was going to get over him and prove she didn’t need him—emotionally or physically. But what power on earth could ever make her immune to him?

Salvatore felt a stab of awareness as his eyes connected with Lina’s and a wave of something extraordinary flowed through his body like a powerful surge of electricity—an effect she had on him which no other woman had ever been able to match. Two whole weeks had passed yet it seemed he was still susceptible to her particular magic. But she could make him angry as well as filling him with desire, and he was angry now, because he didn’t want to feel this way.

Not about her.

Not about anyone.

His gaze scanned over her and he realised she was wearing exactly the same outfit as the night he’d taken her to the gala ball, when he hadn’t recognised her. But tonight he wasn’t having any difficulty recognising her, despite the rigid gown and intricately coiled hair. Because no amount of face paint or gilding could deflect from a sensual and earthy beauty which needed no artifice. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man beside her—some creep of a journalist he thought he recognised. And as the man moved closer, Salvatore experienced a savage jolt of something which felt like possessiveness. His throat dried. Or was it protectiveness?

He began to walk towards them and flinched as a flash went off in his face, but he carried on walking, weaving his way through the crowd and ignoring the sound of people vying for his attention and the hopeful smiles of so many women, until eventually he reached Lina. The man with the ridiculous hairstyle brightened and held out a hand, which Salvatore ignored.

‘Hi! Brett Forrester of San Fran Daily. We’ve met before. At the races last year. Do you remember?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Salvatore repressively, but the other man failed to take the hint and leave.

‘So, what do you think about your girlfriend’s designs, Sal?’

Salvatore felt his fists tighten as the nickname he never used took him right back to the schoolyard. Suddenly, he had the urge to lash out, in a way he hadn’t wanted to do since those circling fights when the other kids had taunted him and called his mother puttana. Did Lina guess at his discomfiture—was that why she put her hand on his bunched forearm, her fingers acting as the gentlest of restraints, just as the blue-white flash of a camera exploded around them?

‘We don’t have to stay, you know,’ she said, very quietly, blinking against the bright light. ‘We can leave any time you want.’

He resented her understanding tone. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need her kindness or her soft compassion. That he could manage perfectly well on his own. ‘But this is your night, Lina,’ he answered dangerously. ‘Surely you want to enjoy every second of your success?’

Did the journalist sense the sudden scent of conflict in the air? Was that why he pulled out a notebook and a pencil? ‘Tell me how you two met.’

Salvatore’s gaze was stony. ‘That is not for public consumption.

Still the journalist didn’t give up. ‘But you’re both Sicilian, yes?’

‘Listen to me,’ said Salvatore in a voice of silken finality. ‘The evening has obviously been an absolute triumph for Miss Vitale, though in future it might be better if you gave your subject matter a little more personal space. And that’s the only quote you’re going to get from me, Forrester. Understand?’

‘But—’

‘The only quote,’ affirmed Salvatore grimly.

Maybe it was the ripple of danger in his voice which finally convinced the journalist to retreat, leaving Salvatore alone with Lina and the furious beat of his heart. She was looking at him nervously, as if she couldn’t quite gauge his mood. And the crazy thing was, neither could he. It was as if he didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of what was going to come out of it next.

‘I’m glad you managed to make it,’ she said, her voice edged with a kind of desperation as if she was trying to pretend nothing was happening.

What was happening? he wondered as a waiter came by with a tray of drinks and he took a crystal beaker of fizzy water to slake his thirst before looking around the room. ‘This is some party,’ he observed softly.

‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You mean you don’t?’

‘I didn’t say that, either.’ He gave his empty glass to another waiter. ‘But doing seedy interviews with journalists like Brett Forrester has never really been my scene.’

Her teeth were chewing on the gleam of her lips. ‘Nor mine.’

‘Neither do I enjoy the way I was ambushed by the paparazzi from the moment I arrived.’

She looked at him acidly. ‘Then maybe you should have surrounded yourself with security!’

He glared at her. ‘Maybe I should!’

Her voice dipped into an angry whisper. ‘Why did you bother coming at all, when you’re in such a filthy mood?’

‘I suppose I wanted to support you.’

‘Forgive me for saying so, Salvatore, but this doesn’t feel remotely like support.’

He knew that. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from the bitter words which were tumbling out from somewhere deep and dark within him. Because something bitter had begun to harden inside him. Something which was making it difficult for him to breathe. He looked around to where one of Siena’s assistants was standing in front of a queue of people, tapping out frantically on her tablet—presumably compiling a wait-list.

‘You’ve come a long way from the woman who just wanted to make a living,’ he observed softly. ‘You’ve changed, Lina.’

She was shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. ‘Of course I’ve changed,’ she whispered. ‘I had to. Didn’t you change when you came here? Didn’t you feel you had to do that, so that you’d blend in? Or do you think I would have fitted into this glitzy city if I’d just bombed around on my little bike, wearing dusty old sneakers and frumpy clothes? Maybe that’s what you would have preferred me to do?’ she added, into the charged silence which seemed to have enveloped them. ‘To have stayed exactly the same as I was.’

He stared at the tight shiny spirals of black hair which were coiled on top of her head. At the heavy satin gown which effectively ironed out every one of her luscious curves. At the diamonds which dazzled at her neck and her wrist, their blue-white fire almost as bright as the photographer’s flash.

‘Yes,’ he ground out. ‘That’s what I would have preferred. Because you don’t look like Lina any more.’

‘And yet when I did look like Lina and behave like her—doing that very traditional thing of cooking a Sicilian meal for you as a surprise—that wasn’t right either, was it?’ she questioned. ‘In fact, you acted as if I had committed a terrible crime.’

‘Because I didn’t sign up for domesticity!’ he retorted. ‘I didn’t want some West Coast recreation of a life I left behind a long time ago!’

She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Do you want to know something?’ she said, at last, her voice low and trembling. ‘That I had stupidly started to care for you? Yes, I admit it—even though you had warned me against doing so—I had fallen into the same trap as so many others! I cared because I liked the man you were underneath all the trappings. In fact, sometimes I found myself wishing you didn’t have all that damned money, because it suits you to think women are only interested in your wealth, doesn’t it? Just like I wish your mother hadn’t deserted you and your father hadn’t neglected you afterwards. But we can’t rewrite history, Salvatore, no matter how much we’d like to. And you will never heal from the wounds of your past—because you’ll never allow yourself to!’

‘That’s enough,’ he snarled.

‘No. No, it’s not enough. I’ve listened to you often enough when you laid down all your terms. The least now you can do is to hear me out. Because no woman is ever going to be right for you, are they? There is no female on earth who could possibly fulfil your exacting and contradictory demands—because they are unachievable!’

‘Too right, they are. And do you want to know why?’ He stabbed his fingers into the air, in a way she’d seen him do once before. ‘Because I don’t want all that stuff! I don’t want domesticity and living by the clock. And I don’t want children, either—do you understand? Children who become the unwilling victims of the mess their parents make of their relationships! I’m not seeking the chains which other men strive to anchor themselves with. So why don’t you do yourself a favour, Lina—and stay away from me?’

Lina’s throat was so dry she could hardly breathe and the fitted dress felt as tight as a shroud. She would have run out of there—she wanted to run out of there—but she couldn’t. Not with these stupidly high heels and a wall of people in front of her. But importantly, she knew she shouldn’t run away, even if it were physically possible. Not with her potential future lying in front of her. Here there were potential clients and potential backers and she couldn’t just storm out of there because her heart felt as if it were breaking. Siena had taken a chance on her and given her the opportunity of a lifetime and now her efforts were finally beginning to bear fruit. And this had been what she’d wanted, hadn’t it? In fact, her ambition had over-vaulted itself and not only had she achieved far more than she would ever have believed possible, but Siena had told her that a lot more lay ahead.