Modern Romance March 2020 Books 1-4

But she had. She and the salesman had driven away in a cloud of dust. And Salvatore had been left with his father’s grovelling display in front of the small crowd who had gathered there. Just as he’d been left with his own sense of confusion and outrage. In that moment he had recognised the humiliation that women could heap upon men, and how a man could let his obsession for a woman make him lose his mind. He had never forgotten either of those lessons. And he had been right about his mother’s lie, because she had never sent for him, despite the promise she had made. ‘My mother and her lover were killed in a car crash the following year,’ he added grimly. ‘And soon after that, my father was lost at sea.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘They called it an accident, but I never considered it one, for he lost the will to live after her desertion.’

‘Oh, Salvatore.’ Her voice trembled and he could hear the soft note of tenderness in her voice. ‘That’s...that’s awful.’

He shook his head and held up his palm. ‘Platitudes are not necessary, Lina,’ he said, hardening his heart to the way she was looking at him, as if she wanted to cradle him in her arms and take away all those bitter memories. And that was why he didn’t ever talk about it, he reminded himself grimly. He would not be seen as a victim. As someone to be saved, or pitied, or rescued. Because he’d managed to mastermind his own rescue and he’d done it all himself. ‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted your sympathy.’

There was a flicker of a pause. ‘Then why did you tell me?’

‘Maybe I just wanted to make it clear what has made me the man I am. To make you understand that I mean it when I say I don’t want any long-term emotional commitment. Perhaps now you can understand why.’

‘Because you don’t trust women?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Because I know my own limitations. I just don’t have the capacity to care, Lina—or the willingness to do so. I’ve always been that way and that’s the way I like it.’

He saw the clouding of her eyes just as his phone began to vibrate on the table and he snatched it up, glad of the interruption. He listened intently for a few moments before terminating the call and rising to his feet, his heart twisting with something inexplicable as he looked down into her big, dark eyes. ‘I need to deal with this call and then I’m going to turn in for the night,’ he said abruptly. ‘But stay as long as you like and ring for anything you need. Shirley can get you coffee—’

‘No. I mean, thank you, but no.’ With a fluid movement she rose from the table. ‘I’m tired too and I’d like to turn in.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’d show me the way? This place is so big I’m terrified of getting lost.’

The last thing he wanted was to escort her back in the seductive light of the moon. To imagine the bed which lay within the little cottage and think how good it would feel to sink down on it with her in his arms and to lose himself in her sweetness. The spiralling tension which had tightened his groin into an exquisite ache made him want to refuse her innocent request, but wouldn’t that imply that he couldn’t trust himself around her?

He stayed silent as they walked through the grounds, trying to concentrate on something other than the whisper of her skirt in the light breeze and the way it swayed over her curvy buttocks. But as she stopped in front of the door, with the scent of flowers heavy and potent in the night air, and the black curls streaming over her thrusting breasts, he felt a rush of desire so powerful that he almost succumbed to it.

It would have been so easy to take her into his arms and kiss her. Too easy. Despite everything he’d said on the plane, he was beginning to realise that resisting Lina Vitale might not be as simple as he’d thought. Would it hurt to retract his words? To override his original intentions and give into the most powerful sexual attraction which had ever come his way? Surely it was insane to deny them both what they wanted, when this kind of physical chemistry was so rare.

He swallowed. Maybe, at a later date—when he was certain she could accept his boundaries and his limitations. Because if—when—he had sex with her again, it would be at a time of his choosing. When he was certain Lina understood that he was the one in the driving seat. The one with all the control. He would make himself wait, because not only would it increase his hunger, it would prove he didn’t need her. Maybe the time would come when they could be friends with benefits, yes, but it could never be anything more. And in the meantime, he needed to ensure she had some kind of focus other than him.

He stopped outside her doorway and looked at the moonlight-dappled darkness of her hair. ‘One of my charitable foundations is giving a gala ball tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come along?’

‘You mean, as your guest?’

Deliberately, he downplayed it. ‘Why not? You’ll get a chance to meet some people. Contacts which may come in use, if you’re going to start looking for a job. You might actually find something to do with your life which is a little more exciting than sewing drapes and curtains. Isn’t that what you came here for?’

‘Yes, yes. Of course it is. It’s just that...’ She hesitated as she fingered the flared fabric of her dress before lifting her gaze to his. ‘I’ve never been to a ball before.’

‘I don’t imagine they’re a big feature of life in Caltarina,’ he said drily.

‘Which means I don’t have anything suitable to wear,’ she continued. ‘And there won’t be time for me to make anything suitable.’

‘No problem. I can buy you something.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant, Salvatore. I can’t possibly let you do that. You’ve already been more than generous.’

‘The subject isn’t up for debate’ he said coolly. ‘I can afford it and you can’t. You can add it to the list of things you say you’re going to pay back.’

‘I say it because I mean it!’ she clarified fiercely. ‘I’ll pay back every cent.’

He gave a slow smile, because in that moment she reminded him very much of himself. ‘Okay. Now go and get some sleep,’ he said softly. ‘It’s been a long day.’

He turned and walked away and Lina watched him, still trying to absorb everything that had happened. He’d told her about his childhood, which had made her heart bleed for him. Things which had made her want to wrap her arms around him and comfort him and try to take some of his pain away. She bit her lip. Her own mother might have been stupidly strict, but at least she’d been there for her. And Salvatore’s face had looked so stern as his story had unfolded, his troubled features shadowed by the flicker of candlelight. He had obviously intended to convince her that the past no longer had the power to affect him, but Lina had detected the faint dip of vulnerability in his voice. She had seen the ravaged expression which had darkened his face when he’d described his mother driving away in the salesman’s car. And she had died before they’d had an opportunity to resolve their broken relationship. Of course it must still hurt, no matter how hard he tried to deny it to himself. She suspected he’d buried it away so deeply that he’d never really allowed himself to grieve.

And his father had left him, too. So wrapped up in his own bitterness and heartache, he had neglected the little boy who must have been missing his mother—and, in so doing, had managed to destroy yet another area of trust.

Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her, leaning heavily against it and closing her eyes. Had she thought he might kiss her when he’d walked her to the moonlit cottage? Yes, she had. Of course she had. And even though she was starting to realise that she couldn’t just keep being available whenever he snapped his fingers, she couldn’t deny that she wanted him.

But she couldn’t afford to behave like a passive puppet around this undeniably sexy and charismatic man, because she had come to America to make something of herself.

Not to get her heart broken.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE KNOCK ON the cottage door sounded imperious and Lina felt a ripple of apprehension as she opened it to find Salvatore standing there, his muscular physique dominating the star-sprinkled sky behind him. And despite all her intentions to do otherwise, her heart began pounding frantically beneath the fancy fabric of her new dress.

It was a little under twenty-one hours since she’d last seen him. Twenty-one hours of trying to get to know some of the staff a bit better and asking Henry if there was anything she could do to help. Answer: no. In theory, twenty-one hours to build up some immunity against the charismatic tycoon. So why hadn’t it worked? All the stern talking-tos in the world didn’t seem to have changed her body’s instant response to him, which was as powerful as ever.

It was as if she’d been stumbling around in the dark for a long, long time and Salvatore had suddenly become her bright, hard focus. Whenever he was around her skin felt sensitive—her limbs weightless and her senses soft. It was as if the very substance of her was capable of dissolving whenever he was in the vicinity.

He flicked his gaze over her and Lina wondered if she’d imagined the brief flash of disbelief in his eyes. She doubted it. Hadn’t she experienced a similar reaction when she’d stood in front of the mirror a little earlier and surveyed the image reflected back at her? She shifted her weight on her stiletto heels because she was doing everything she could to avoid getting a blister this evening. She wasn’t used to wearing an evening dress, nor shoes this high, and as she waited for Salvatore’s verdict on her appearance her already jangled nerves felt even more frazzled. It was exactly as she’d thought. She looked a disaster. She was going to let him down. She would turn him into a laughing stock. ‘You don’t like it?’ she said.

There was a pause as he continued to study her with an unhurried scrutiny which was making her nipples tighten.

‘You look different,’ he concluded eventually.

It wasn’t the reply she’d wanted but maybe it was the only one which was appropriate. Because she felt different. She felt... Lina shook her head, but not a single hair of her perfectly coiffed head moved, thanks to the careful ministrations of the in-store hairdresser. It was difficult to describe exactly how she felt. Disorientated might be a good place to start. She’d never been to an upmarket department store before, nor been assigned a personal shopper—but apparently this was perfectly normal when you possessed the platinum store card to which she’d been given unfettered access by Salvatore di Luca. But nothing could have prepared Lina for the lavish interior of the sumptuous San Franciscan store, nor the expensive outfits of her fellow customers, who glided over the marble floors as if they had been shopping there all their lives. Never had she felt quite so poor or provincial.

Her relief at being given guidance by the personal shopper was tempered by the realisation of how many of the dresses—which all looked remarkably similar—she was expected to try on.

After countless hours she ended up with a simple floor-length robe in cobalt-blue—which wasn’t her usual style or colour, but which she was assured made her look stunning. The shopper had arranged for a make-up artist to apply unfamiliar cosmetics to Lina’s face and, in the brand-new and restrictive underwear which was containing her curves beneath the dress, she felt like a sausage about to burst out of its skin. She was dressed up like a painted doll in an expensive dress so narrowly cut that she had to take ridiculously tiny steps in order to walk.

Salvatore was still looking doubtful.

‘I’m not sure it suits me,’ she said, thinking that the same thing certainly couldn’t be said for him. With a dark dinner jacket clinging to his broad shoulders and impeccably cut trousers emphasising the length of his powerful legs, the Sicilian tycoon looked cool, handsome and impossibly inaccessible.

‘You don’t like it,’ she continued when he failed to contradict her, her hands falling to her sides and brushing impatiently against the heavy material.

‘I didn’t say that. You look chic and sophisticated,’ he amended smoothly. ‘Wasn’t that supposed to be the whole idea?’

‘I guess so,’ she said, but suddenly Lina felt like a fool. In principle the idea had seemed so simple—in reality, less so. Buy a poor girl a fancy dress and then take her to the ball. Why hadn’t either of them stopped to consider that a Cinderella-type transformation might not work in her case, since the raw material was too rough to ever be properly smoothed off at the edges?

He glanced at his watch. ‘Since we’re already fashionably late and the car is outside, we really ought to leave. Are you ready?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go. You go without me. You’ll have a better time.’

‘Falling at the first hurdle?’ His blue-hued gaze was direct and mocking. ‘I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that, Lina. Or have you had a sudden personality change from the woman who begged me to take her to America so she could start a whole new life? Isn’t this what you wanted?’

On one level she was aware he was goading her, but somehow it worked. Because what else was she going to do, if she pulled out? Hang around the estate all evening and risk annoying Henry, or ruffling the feathers of the chef, who wasn’t expecting either of them to be home this evening?

‘It’s true. I can’t back out now.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘You’re right.’

‘I nearly always am.’

His arrogance almost made her smile and, ignoring the matching cobalt clutch bag which the in-store dresser had insisted on foisting upon her, Lina grabbed one of the embroidered velvet bags she’d brought with her from Sicily. With its distinctive beading and flouncy tassel, it was obviously home-made and didn’t particularly match the severe dress she was wearing. But at least it was hers—she had made it herself—and right now it felt like the only authentic part of her appearance.

The waiting limousine purred them through the steep streets until they reached a luxury hotel, not far from the glittering waterfront. Soaring up into the starry sky, its floodlit pillars reminded Lina of a Grecian temple she’d once seen in a book. Outside, thick scarlet ropes kept back hordes of onlookers brandishing cell phones, and the whole scene was illuminated by the bright flash of paparazzi cameras.

She could feel herself freezing, wondering how on earth she was going to get out of the car in front of such a massive crowd of people. Her legs were so wobbly that, once again, she was paralysed by fear. She shook her head. ‘I can’t go in there,’ she husked.

‘I thought we’d already had this conversation,’ he said, not bothering to hide the boredom in his tone. ‘Of course you can.’

‘My heels are too high.’

‘They look pretty good to me.’ She saw the glint of something vaguely unsettling in his eyes as he focussed his gaze on her footwear. ‘You can hold onto me if you’re worried about your balance.’

‘Salvatore, you don’t understand.’ Lina clutched the handle of her little velvet bag. ‘I’ve never been anywhere like—’

‘I understand better than you think.’ He cut across her words. ‘Don’t you think I’ve experienced exactly what you’re going through right now, Lina? Or do you imagine I was admitted to these types of glittering affairs with open arms? That society matrons didn’t feel they had to lock up their daughters whenever I put in an appearance, while their billionaire husbands nervously watched their backs in case I deposited a blade in between their shoulder blades?’

‘Did they?’

‘Yes, they did. They saw me as a threat.’ His mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘Because I was. My hunger to succeed made me ruthless and my determination to escape the shackles of my past drove me on. I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way to get what I wanted.’ There was a flicker of a pause. ‘Can’t you try and do the same?’

Lina shook her head. ‘That’s easy for you to say. People don’t judge you on your appearance or whether you can walk straight in a pair of shoes so high you feel as if you’re on stilts. You’re a man.’

‘Then don’t let yourself be judged,’ he urged. ‘Wasn’t that one of the reasons you left Sicily? Don’t forget how much you wanted to get out of there. It’s not going to work for you unless you’re prepared to be brave.’

It was difficult to think of bravery when he was sitting so close to her, making things more complicated than they needed to be. She thought how much simpler it would be if she hadn’t had sex with him. Wouldn’t that have made it easier to concentrate on what lay ahead, rather than on the tingling sensation that his hard thigh was mere millimetres away from hers?

‘Maybe I should just have stayed where I was in Caltarina and ridden out the storm,’ she said.

‘And done what? Carried on slaving away doing something you didn’t really like, for a woman who took you for granted? Squandering your youth and your beauty while the years passed you by?’ Suddenly he put his hand on her forearm, but with the impersonal touch of a dentist patting a child’s arm and reassuring them that it wasn’t going to hurt. ‘You don’t have to do that any more, Lina. You have a chance to make something of yourself here. A career, most certainly, if you’re prepared to work. And a husband, perhaps, in time. Isn’t that what most women of your age want? Some all-American boy who can provide you with the white picket fence and roses round the door.’

Lina could tell he was trying to reassure her and supposed she should feel grateful for that, but the stupid thing was that his words hurt. They hurt far more than they should have done. She turned her head to stare fixedly out of the window, blinking furiously, terrified by the sudden threat of incipient tears. How dared he talk so casually about the husband she might or might not one day have, as if he didn’t care about her? To paint a picture of a future which most definitely didn’t include him?

Because he doesn’t care.

He’d made that clear. Right from the start.

He had told her very definitely she was not what he was looking for. That no woman could give him what he wanted other than sex. So maybe it was time she started believing him.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Okay. You’re right. Let’s go in. I’m ready now.’

‘Take my arm.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m not—’

‘Take it,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Anything is preferable to spending the night in the emergency department if you’re genuinely afraid of tripping over on those killer heels.’

That did make her smile, and she nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks.’

But Salvatore could feel the nervous pressure of her fingers as they ascended the marble stairs leading into the famous Westchester Hotel, in a flurry of flashbulbs. He didn’t know why she was so worried about her appearance, not when she looked so arresting. In fact, he’d barely recognised her, and not just because her hair had been intricately fashioned on top of her head, drawing his attention to her delicate profile and the graceful line of her neck. He’d found himself thinking that the style was light years away from the billowing curls which had flowed from beneath her dusty crash helmet as she had ridden away in the Sicilian sunshine. That young woman had been replaced by a sophisticated socialite with darkened lashes and provocatively gleaming lips. He’d never seen her wearing make-up before, just as he’d never seen her voluptuous body sculpted in a way which seemed to have made her exceptional curves disappear. She no longer looked like the vibrant woman he had seduced—more like an identikit version of the type of partner who usually graced his arm.

Did that make her more or less desirable? He couldn’t quite decide. It certainly made her seem more...manageable.

He could hear the ripple of interest from the milling crowd as they entered the ballroom and every head in the place turned to look at them, though that came as no surprise. His appearance at this kind of events always excited fascination—though never more so than when he had a new woman in tow. The press were always trying to marry him off—as were the matrons who had once spent so much time trying to shield their daughters from him. Yet there hadn’t been a woman on his arm for a long time. There had been speculation that his heart had been broken or that he was conducting an affair with a married woman, but neither of these were true.

The reason for his lack of a partner he put down to a growing cynicism about the way his fortune impacted on those around him, especially women. It had at first made him feel deeply uncomfortable, and then to grow exceedingly bored by the predictability of it all. He’d discovered that as his wealth grew, so his lovers had started going out of their way to accommodate him. To be understanding and undemanding. They made sure they were up to date on current affairs and knew a healthy amount about his various businesses. He’d noticed too that they became increasingly daring in the bedroom—or out of it. No matter how high-powered their working lives, at the end of the day they’d all seemed cast from the same mould. They suggested newfound erotic diversions alongside their determination to craft the perfect mille-feuille pastry, as if by combining all these attributes and presenting them to him in a sleek and very sophisticated package it would make them the perfect wife material.

But he wasn’t looking for a wife. He never had been. To him, marriage had always seemed something to avoid. And even though some of his best friends had recently succumbed—Lucas Conway and Matteo Valenti being two cases in point—Salvatore’s fixed stance on matrimony hadn’t altered. He suspected that his distrust of women had been the reason why he’d been so susceptible to a brief fling with someone like Lina—a simple country girl who seemed to possess no airs or graces. That night with her had been the first time in a long time that he’d felt control slipping away, and it had disturbed him. And he had succumbed to her again during the flight from Sicily, despite his determination to resist her.

But he had clawed back that temporary loss of control, hadn’t he? He hadn’t kissed her after dinner last night, despite his overwhelming desire to do so. He had concluded that maybe he would wait a little longer before he made love to her again, but when he’d called for her tonight and seen her dressed up and ready to go out, his resolve had wavered, big-time.

He wanted her.

He wanted her now.

‘Salvatore?’

Lina’s soft Sicilian accent broke into his thoughts and Salvatore focussed his attention on the fractured light from one of the chandeliers which was painting rainbow hues over the dark coils of her hair.

‘What?’

‘Is that Siena Simon over there?’

He glanced across the ballroom in the direction of her gaze, where a glamorous woman in a pale dress was surrounded by an adoring group of younger men. ‘Yes,’ he said absently. ‘What of it?’

‘Gosh.’ Lina felt a flare of disbelief as Salvatore confirmed that one unbelievable fact—because the world-famous American dress designer had long been a hero of hers. Everyone in Sicily went wild for SiSi clothes, though not many people could afford to buy the real thing. ‘I’d love to meet her.’

Salvatore flickered her a brief smile. ‘Then why don’t you go up and say hello?’ he suggested softly.

‘I can’t just walk over there and introduce myself!’

‘Why not? You can do anything you set your heart on. It’s called networking and it’s what you have to do if you want to get on in the big city. Go on.’

His tone was weirdly encouraging but Lina’s heart was in her mouth as she walked across the ballroom and hovered nervously on the edge of the circle until one of the flamboyant young men noticed her and drew her in. And that was when she was introduced to Siena Simon. Clad in a sculpted cream gown, the international designer was gracious as she extended her hand, though her gaze kept flickering to the little velvet bag which was dangling from Lina’s arm. And even though Lina wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, she found herself confiding that SiSi clothes were the most popular rip-offs on Sicilian market stalls, and Siena actually laughed.