Modern Romance March 2020 Books 1-4

‘Salvatore,’ she moaned, against his lips.

‘More?’

She ground her hips against the mattress. ‘Yes.’

His movement became more intense, the position of his fingertip uniquely provocative.

‘I’ve been thinking about doing this ever since you left my bed this morning,’ he bit out roughly.

‘So have...so have...’ But her sentence was destined never to be finished because an orgasm had begun to clench its way through her body and Lina cried out as she began to convulse with the first of those achingly sweet spasms.

The sound seemed to galvanise him into action but he waited until her body was no longer shuddering, before reaching for a condom and stroking it on. And then he moved on top of her and pushed deep inside her, his face dark with fierce concentration. At first, his movements were slow and considered and somehow Lina realised he was waiting for her to have another orgasm before giving into his own. That first fluttering realisation gave way to a heavy beat of expectation, which kept on growing and growing until suddenly her rainbow world was splintering all over again and he was choking out his own gratification.

Afterwards, her arms tightened around him until the sound of his breathing grew less ragged. Tentatively, her tongue flicked out to taste the salt of his skin and she could feel the hardness of one hair-roughened thigh as it lay sprawled over hers. It felt intimate. Intensely intimate—as if they were the only two people in the world. As if all that perfect physicality had forged a special bond between the two of them. As if all the barriers they had both erected around themselves had just slipped away. And somehow that made what had just happened seem perfectly acceptable. Did sex always make you feel like this? she wondered dreamily as she reached out her finger to trickle it slowly down his chest. But her innocent gesture seemed to stir him into action and, even though she could have stayed like that all day, he now seemed determined to move away from her. Suddenly he was rolling onto the other side of the bed and it was as if a giant canyon had sprung up between them.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, before wondering if that was the kind of thing you were supposed to say at a time like this.

Salvatore heard the soft uncertainty in her voice and guessed what she wanted. She was probably craving reassurance, keen for him to offer something tangible in terms of a relationship now that they’d been intimate again. But he couldn’t do that, and what had just happened should never have happened. He felt a surge of anger, knowing he should have left well alone. He should have blocked out her intoxicating allure, which had reeled him in for all the wrong reasons. He should have sent her away to the other cabin and ignored the urgent throb at his groin which had made him lose control. Because she was wrong on so many counts. Too sweet. Too trusting. Too innocent and untried for a man with his track record of emotional coldness. He would hurt her and he had no right to hurt her, though maybe he wouldn’t tell her that. Better she think of him as indifferent, rather than understanding.

Or try to change his mind.

‘We need to get a couple of things straight before we land,’ he drawled. ‘The sex we’ve just had was amazing, for sure, but it hasn’t actually changed anything. It was just a moment of physical desire which demanded some kind of release. That’s what sometimes happens between a man and a woman. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘I think I’d have to be pretty stupid not to,’ she said.

Salvatore hesitated. He was finding this much harder than he’d expected, mainly because she looked so damned beautiful lying there, her olive limbs sprawled against the sheets with indolent abandon. But he steeled himself against the sudden bewilderment which had clouded her lovely features. ‘You’re going to be staying in my home and that’s something which has never happened before. I like my own space and the idea of a lover being around all the time fills me with dread.’

‘I suppose I should thank you for your honesty,’ she said.

‘I am nothing if not honest, Lina.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Up until now your life has been protected—by your mother and by the constraints of a small community. But you’re going to be living in a big city from now on and you need to learn how to protect yourself. I’m not your guardian and I’m not your boyfriend.’ His mouth twisted as he stood up and looked down at her. ‘And a naïve young woman clinging to me like a limpet has never been on my wish-list.’

‘I have no intention of behaving like a limpet,’ she said, with a sudden proud tilt of her chin.

That one simple movement was enough to stir the beginnings of another erection, and Salvatore nearly reached for her again, before stopping himself. Because Lina Vitale could so easily become a millstone around his neck—and that would be way too high a price to pay for the fleeting pleasures of sex.

A chill of awareness whispered over his skin.

She knew no one in San Francisco other than him.

Despite her undeniable sweetness and the lure of her lush body, from now on she needed to be off-limits.

He would provide her with a temporary home, yes. He would ensure she met some of his contacts so she could find herself a job. And once she had gained some independence he could filter her out of his life, for good. He could move her on, having taught her a very important lesson.

That she must never grow to depend on him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘WE’RE HERE,’ SAID Salvatore curtly as the car glided through noiseless electronic gates to draw up in a sheltered inner courtyard.

They had flown into San Francisco—over the iconic bridge and the wide sweep of water which it straddled—before making their way to Salvatore’s home. He lived in an area called Russian Hill and Lina thought she’d never seen anywhere quite so affluent. Yet from the outside, the property was relatively unassuming, with tall gates concealing the building from prying eyes. But once those gates had closed she found herself staring up at a modern four-storey building, set in surprisingly extensive grounds, studded with brightly flowering shrubs and heavily loaded citrus trees, which reminded her of home.

‘Like it?’ Salvatore questioned, his eyes on her face.

She nodded, not terribly interested in his real estate, but at least it was good to have something to focus on other than the way he had been keeping his distance from her since they’d fallen onto that bed together, high up above the world, in the clouds. Sex on a plane. Nobody could deny that her world was opening up in all kinds of unexpected ways. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said dutifully.

The front door was opened by a sombre-faced man, wearing a formal dark suit. ‘This is my butler, Henry,’ said Salvatore.

His butler?

‘It’s good to have you back, Signor di Luca,’ Henry said, with a pronounced English accent and the faint semblance of a smile.

‘This is Nicolina Vitale, Henry. She’s going to be staying here for a few weeks until she’s settled in the city. I thought we could put her in one of the vacant cottages. The one furthest from the house might be best.’

‘Certainly, Signor di Luca. One of your assistants telephoned earlier and the farthest cottage is already prepared,’ Henry answered. ‘Perhaps you would care for me to give Miss Vitale a tour around the compound?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ Salvatore pulled his phone out of his pocket and briefly scanned the screen, before shooting Lina an absent-minded look. ‘Look, I need to work. Henry will answer any questions you may have and you and I will eat dinner later, as it’s your first night here. Eight o’clock, on the terrace. Okay?’

‘Thank you,’ said Lina, watching him walk away and wondering what on earth she could find to say to the intimidating butler. But she hadn’t exactly had much conversation with Salvatore over the past few hours, had she? In fact, their erotic encounter seemed to have created a great space between them. He had treated her with the same polite detachment as he had the stewardesses who had been serving them drinks and food during the transatlantic flight. And Lina had been left trying to focus on that wretched magazine—trying to blot out the aching in her breasts and the memory of him feasting hungrily on her nipples.

She followed Henry through the house and tried to drink it all in, but it wasn’t easy for her to get her head around the fact that one man could own a property this big. It was all clean lines and uncluttered space which contained sleek, modern furniture. A space-age kitchen led into not one but two dining rooms, one of which was reached by a glass elevator. The basement housed a carefully lit subterranean art gallery as well as a private cinema, and outside were more seating areas amid tangles of fragrant climbing plants, and a long, cantilevered swimming pool. The highest point of all was the dining terrace, with its sweeping views all the way to Alcatraz and everything in between.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Lina politely, though in truth she found it all a little overpowering. ‘Have you worked for Salvatore for very long?’

‘Five years,’ said Henry. ‘I first met Signor di Luca at a weekend house party in England when he poached me from the host, and I’ve been with him ever since.’ He gave the hint of a smile. ‘He tends to inspire loyalty among his staff.’

‘Just how many staff are there?’ questioned Lina.

‘He has a full-time chef and Shirley, who helps out when Signor di Luca chooses to dine at home. And, naturally, there are cleaning staff, gardeners, drivers—the usual kind of thing.’

Lina nodded sagely, as if the concept of personal staff was something she encountered every day of the week.

‘Was there anything else you wanted to know, Miss Vitale?’

‘No, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you, Henry. And, please, I’d much rather you called me Nicolina.’

Henry nodded but gave no outward response to her request, other than indicating she should follow him, before leading the way through the grounds to a compact cottage surrounded by trees.

Once the butler had gone, Lina stared out of the window, watching the light beginning to leach from the sky and thinking how surreal this all felt. Because it was surreal. One moment she had been living in a village with practically nothing and the next she was staying in the grounds of a billionaire’s mansion, being shown around by a butler.

She had no real place here, she realised. Only a temporary one. Just as she had no real place in Salvatore’s life. He had seduced her on the plane and she’d let him. Actually, she’d felt herself powerless to do anything else. It had been like a river she’d once seen after the rains, when the water had swollen and banks had burst—flooding everything in its path. And that was what it had been like with Salvatore. That sweet tide of desire had been overwhelming and maybe she needed to think how best to defend herself from feeling that way in the future.

She unpacked her case, then enjoyed a long shower in a bathroom of unspeakable luxury, and, after she’d untangled her curls and dressed, decided to email her mother. They might have parted on bitter terms, but she needed to know that her only child had arrived safely. She switched on her old computer, the glow from the screen dominating her line of vision so that for a while Lina forgot all about Salvatore di Luca and the Californian sky outside her window.

Salvatore walked out onto the wide sweep of terrace and at first he didn’t notice her. The light had almost faded from the day and he was preoccupied, as he’d been from the moment he’d arrived at the office, where the staff had seemed surprised to see him working so soon after a long flight. He couldn’t blame them because usually he would have spent the afternoon relaxing. He might have swum in the pool or worked out in the gym. But not today—and he knew why. He’d been afraid of running into Lina. Afraid of reliving the way she’d made him feel during the journey from Sicily, when he had felt himself being sucked into that sensual maelstrom despite his determination to resist her. But he hadn’t resisted her, had he? He’d allowed her uncomplicated Sicilian beauty to lure him into an unforgettable mile-high encounter—the memory of which he suspected would never leave him.

He’d come home just an hour ago but even a long, icy shower had failed to cool the heat in his blood, and now his attention was caught by the woman sitting on the terrace in front of him, her profile etched starkly against the fiery glow of the setting sun. She was leaning back against a bank of cushions on a low divan, her posture outwardly relaxed as she gazed out at the city view, but her shoulders were hunched with that expectant air of someone who was waiting.

Waiting for him, he thought, and that realisation filled him with an instinctive shiver of disquiet.

She must have heard him for she turned, unable to hide the quick flash of pleasure in her eyes, which she instantly tried to disguise with a look of polite interest.

‘Salvatore! You’re back.’ She was speaking softly in Sicilian dialect, which itself was disorientating. Was that because it made him think of the past—and of a homeland from which he had been so keen to distance himself? He wanted to tell her to speak only in English, which he knew was unreasonable, yet their spoken bond only added another unsettling layer to his dealings with her. And he wondered yet again what strange sorcery she possessed which was capable of cutting through his habitual iron-hard control.

She scrambled to her feet, the skirt of her cotton dress whispering like a summer breeze, and Salvatore felt a sensation of something unfamiliar as her black curls rippled down around her shoulders. Lust, yes—there was definitely plenty of that, along with an instinctive appreciation for her natural beauty, but there was another flicker of apprehension, too. Don’t let her get used to this, he found himself thinking. Don’t let her think he wanted this kind of cloying homecoming every night.

‘Yes, I’m back,’ he said smoothly as he ran his finger around the collar of his shirt. ‘Did you settle in okay? Did Henry give you the full guided tour?’

‘Yes, he did. The tour was amazing and the cottage is lovely.’

Heaven save him from sustained small talk, he thought acidly as he lifted his hand to summon the portly figure of a woman who had silently appeared in the shadows, switching rapidly to English as he spoke to her. ‘We’ll eat as soon as you’re ready, Shirley.’

‘Very good, Signor di Luca.’

He half filled two glasses of Gavi and handed one to Lina, but he noticed that she barely tasted the drink, cupping it in her hands as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. It was probably completely unconscious, but in that moment she looked so...fragile as she sat there, so clearly out of her depth that Salvatore felt a sudden wave of compassion—and empathy. Because hadn’t he once been exactly where she was now? Hadn’t he once gazed around at the sumptuous surroundings of billionaire homes and felt as if he’d fallen onto an alien planet?

‘So.’ He put his glass down on one of the low tables and fixed her with an encouraging smile. ‘Did you manage to amuse yourself while I was out?’

Lina nodded as she wrapped her fingers around the cold glass of wine. ‘I wrote to my mother and let her know I’d arrived safely and then I started looking online to see what kind of jobs I might be able to find. Soft furnishing companies which need people to sew cushions, or drapes—that kind of thing.’

‘And is that what you want to do?’ He frowned. ‘What about all those dreams you talked about?’

She shrugged. ‘They don’t just happen.’

‘Couldn’t you make them happen?’

Lina swirled her wine around in her glass. It was so easy for him to talk. What would he say if she confessed she was terrified her ambitions might wither under the brightness of the Californian sun? ‘I have to have some money coming in first,’ she said. ‘And then I’ll see. I have savings, but I’m going to be very careful about how I spend them.’

‘Well, that sounds like a very sensible plan.’ His voice was grave but she could see the faint upward curve of his lips. Was he inwardly laughing at her? she wondered.

But Lina pushed aside her concerns as she sat down at the table, determined to enjoy her dinner. The meal began with a creamy fish soup, which Salvatore called chowder, followed by a fillet of perfect fish, served with its own little jug of sauce. She tucked into every course with a keen appetite, putting her dessert spoon down at the end to find Salvatore studying her, with what looked like amusement sparking from his narrowed eyes. ‘It’s good to see a woman who enjoys her food,’ he observed.

‘I was hungry.’

‘I could see that. Don’t look so defensive. I meant it. Most women order a plate of rabbit food and then just pick at it.’

‘That’s why they stay so slim.’

‘Don’t ever think you don’t have the perfect body, Lina,’ he said softly. ‘Because you do.’

It was like a rock being dropped into a still stretch of water—the relative calmness of the meal disrupted by the sudden violent splash of memory. Powerful and erotic memory. Silhouetted against the glittering backdrop of the city, Lina thought how unbelievably virile the tycoon looked in a shirt the colour of an oyster shell—the silky material emphasising his broad shoulders. It was weird to think they had been eating their meal so primly when just hours ago he had been deep inside her body. Yet his words were unexpected and they changed the atmosphere completely. His quiet praise made her feel almost confident. Was it that which made her ask the question she’d been longing to ask him all day?

‘Do you think you’ll ever go back to Sicily?’

His voice was repressive, his powerful body tense as he put his coffee cup down. ‘I doubt it.’

Lina pushed her dessert plate away. Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about Sicily—but they had to talk about something, didn’t they? Otherwise every time she ran across him she was going to feel increasingly agitated.

Focus on something other than the curve of his lips and the carved contours of his face, she told herself fiercely. Ask him something easy.

‘Where are your parents?’ she asked suddenly.

Almost imperceptibly, his knuckles tightened. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It’s a normal question. Nobody in the village knew anything about them. Apparently your godfather never talked about them, even when he was well. I was just thinking how proud they must have been of your success.’

Salvatore stilled. Funny how a guileless statement like that had the power to tug you back towards a darkness and a past he tried to keep out of bounds. ‘My parents never got to see it,’ he said coolly. ‘They were dead by then. They died a long time ago. Long enough for everyone to have forgotten about them.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘What happened to them?’

There was a pause and Salvatore felt a flicker of irritation. Didn’t she realise from his tone that he didn’t want to talk about it? That over the years he had built a high wall around his emotions? An impenetrable barrier, which discouraged investigation into his past—a concept easily accepted by a culture which was keen to live in the moment. But Lina Vitale was looking at him with such genuine compassion shining from her eyes that Salvatore felt some of his usual resolve melt away.

Was it because she was Sicilian and they were speaking quietly together in dialect that he found himself wanting to break the most fundamental of his self-imposed rules and talk to her on a level he never usually engaged in with other people? Or because she looked so damned lovely that he needed to distract himself from giving in to what he most wanted to do—which was to carry her off to his bedroom and ravish her over and over again, until she was shuddering out his name and biting her little white teeth into his bare skin?

And he wasn’t going to do that any more. He’d demonstrated quite enough powerlessness around her. He needed to claw back some of the control which had so disturbingly left him on the plane today.

But she was still looking at him and something about her soft gaze was making him want to spill it all out. And why not? It wasn’t as if he cared about what had happened in the past, was it? Not any more. He had schooled himself to ensure he didn’t really care much about anything, or anyone. A brief explanation might provide a welcome diversion from the rise and fall of her breath, which was making her luscious breasts move provocatively beneath her dress. And mightn’t talking about it prove to himself once and for all that the past no longer had the power to hurt him?

He swallowed the last of his wine and put the glass down. ‘My father was a fisherman, though not a particularly effective one,’ he began, arching her a questioning look. ‘You know what they say about fisherman’s luck?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘Getting wet and catching no fish,’ he explained, with a rare flash of black humour which made her smile. ‘As a consequence we had very little. We were among the poorest in one of the poorest villages on the island. The bottom of the heap, if you like. And it made my mother...discontented.’

She didn’t say anything. If she had, he might have clammed up. But as her silence washed over him with purifying calm, he found himself continuing.

‘A life of poverty wasn’t what she had signed up for. She was a beautiful woman who had always attracted the attention of men and that made my father jealous. Jealousy is an ugly trait,’ he added, his mouth twisting. ‘I could hear him shouting at her at night-time, when I was trying to sleep. He used to accuse her of flirting. Of wearing clothes which were too tight and lipstick which was too red. Sometimes their rows were so loud they used to wake up the neighbours and all the local dogs would start to bark. And she used to taunt him back. She told him he couldn’t even provide for his family. She said he wasn’t a real man.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Living with them was like watching a never-ending boxing match, with each one circling the other, waiting to make the killer blow. Like having a bomb ticking away in the corner of the room, just waiting to go off.’ It hadn’t felt like life, it had felt like existence—a claustrophobic prison from which he’d been unable to escape and which had soured his appetite for close relationships in the years which had followed.

‘Go on,’ she said, in a voice so soft it was barely audible.

He drew in a deep breath, surprised by the ease with which he was saying it, as if someone had sweetened a mouthful of poison and made it almost palatable. ‘One day, when my father was out on his boat, a travelling salesman came by the house—a slick stranger who seduced her with the promise of silk stockings and a better life. By the time I got home from school she had already packed her things and was getting ready to drive away in his fancy car.’

He was lost in the past now; he could feel it sucking him back into a great gaping vortex of darkness. His mother had crouched down and told him she would send for him just as soon as she was settled but something inside him had known she was lying. He would never forget the kiss-shaped mark of lipstick she’d left behind on his cheek, which he had scrubbed afterwards until his skin was red raw. Or the way the salesman had looked right through him, as if he were invisible—a tedious little obstacle which had been put in their path. His father had erupted with a heartbreak which had made the young Salvatore flinch with shame. Crying big savage sobs, he had thrown himself down on his knees in front of his straying wife, his shoulders shaking as he’d begged her not to go.