Modern Romance March 2020 Books 1-4

Lina told herself to leave this one, too. To maybe change the subject and ask him about that woman on the far side of the restaurant who was clearly trying to catch his eye. But the newly liberated Nicolina Vitale wasn’t intending to spend the rest of her life being a moral coward by avoiding subjects which had the potential to be tricky, was she? Hadn’t she done that too often in the past, with her mother? Played safe to keep the peace—and look where that had got her.

Last night in bed, she had felt like Salvatore’s equal—and wouldn’t someone who was truly equal refuse to be a coward and ask the difficult questions, questions that previously she wouldn’t dare ask, just in case she didn’t like the answers? She lifted her water glass and took a sip from it. ‘Why?’

He said nothing more until the waiter had placed the food in front of them and, although he gestured for her to help herself, Lina didn’t move.

‘I think we both know the answer to that. Because it’s pretty obvious to me, at least, that I can’t seem to resist you, despite all my best intentions.’

‘Okay...’ she said uncertainly, wondering why his words sounded more like an insult than a compliment.

‘But you’re worlds away from my usual kind of partner, Lina.’

Lina had been about to help herself to a portion of avocado, but now she put the serving spoon down, strangely repulsed by the sight of all that glistening green flesh. ‘And what’s your usual kind of partner?’

He picked out every word with forensic care. ‘Women who know the score. Who understand the way I operate.’ His blue eyes darkened, like sudden storm clouds appearing on a summer’s day. ‘And if we are to continue like this as lovers, you need to know the score too. I can offer you fidelity and generosity for as long as we’re together, but commitment is a non-starter. So if you think this is going to end with a golden band gleaming on your finger, then it’s over as of now.’

It took Lina a moment to realise what he meant. ‘And you think all women want to marry you—is that what you’re trying to say?’

‘In my experience, yes.’

Lina shook her head because his poise was breathtaking, as was his cool arrogance—unless he was simply telling her the facts as he saw them. But maybe it didn’t matter what motivated his words, she either agreed to his terms, or he walked. He would and could do that, she realised. Despite all the push-me, pull-me stuff he’d been doing these past few days—if he thought she was getting serious, she wouldn’t see him for dust. Even if he missed the sex, it wouldn’t be for long. You only had to look at the expressions of some of the women in this restaurant to know that here was a man who was universally lusted after. He would soon replace her with someone else, someone who was more his ‘type’.

And Lina wasn’t ready to let that happen. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to turn her back on this incredible awakening, because of some kind of misguided idea that deeper emotions had to be involved. You didn’t have to be in love to do what they were doing. Those kinds of beliefs belonged in storybooks, or within the repressed confines of the tiny village into which she had been born. Hadn’t she come to America to shake off those old-fashioned assumptions?

‘Well, I don’t want to marry you,’ she said, making sure she kept her voice very quiet in case someone overheard and thought he was actually proposing to her. ‘That’s not the reason I’m here. I told you back in Sicily that I had dreams and they haven’t gone away. And Siena has shown me that I might be able to make those dreams a reality. I’m never going to conquer the world, I’m sensible enough to realise that, but if I can make a decent living for myself, then I’ll be satisfied.’

She could see the sudden hard burn of his eyes. The sudden tightening of his lips. ‘I’m glad we understand each other, Lina,’ he said softly, casting a rueful glance down at the untouched food in front of them, before lifting his charged blue gaze to her. ‘And since you’ve brought up the subject of satisfaction, let’s take it one step further. It doesn’t look as if either of us are going to do this meal justice—so what do you say we get out of here so that we can spend the rest of the afternoon in bed?’

Lina’s heart was thumping as she stared back at him across the table. He had suggested going back to have sex as coolly as if he were calling for the bill, and part of her wanted to do that, despite the callous things he’d said. Because now she knew something about his background, didn’t that make his cynicism more understandable? He’d been lied to and deserted at an impressionable age by his mother—the one person he should have been able to rely on above all others. Why wouldn’t he develop an aversion to close relationships after an experience like that? Then he had grown spectacularly successful and perhaps been targeted as much for his wealth as his rugged beauty, though she would have desired him just as much if he’d been a poor fisherman, like his father. And wasn’t there a part of her which wished he were? That he came unencumbered, without all the homes and staff and fancy aeroplanes.

But Salvatore wasn’t looking for understanding or compassion. His needs were simply physical and Lina needed to cultivate a similar mindset if she wanted this to continue. And she did. Why let her own emotional vulnerability spoil her very first sexual relationship?

But even so...

He needed to understand that from now on she wouldn’t be a pushover. That he couldn’t just click his fingers to have Lina Vitale fall in with his plans. That he needed to respect her as well as desire her.

‘Tempting,’ she said. ‘But I can’t really afford the time right now.’

She saw his look of surprise.

‘You’re kidding?’

Lina shook her head. ‘I told you, I have a sewing machine to buy and materials I need to order so that I can make my handbags. I promised Siena I’d have three prototypes with her as soon as possible so I need to get on with that.’ Her smile was serene but maybe that was because her words were making her feel positively empowered. ‘And since you know the city better than I do, perhaps you could take me shopping?’

CHAPTER TEN

A RED LIGHT on Salvatore’s desk was flashing and the disembodied voice of his assistant echoed around the vast office.

‘Miss Vitale on three, Salvatore. Are you in, or out?’

It was a question his assistant had asked him many times in the past when a woman had called, and his answer would inevitably provide some clue about the state of whatever relationship he happened to be in. During those early days of heady sex, he was usually indulgent if a lover rang him at the office, although he never encouraged it. A couple of weeks in and he was prepared to be tolerant, but by the one-month mark he was inevitably irritated if he was disturbed—because by that stage there seemed little to say to a woman which couldn’t wait until later.

Yet with Lina it seemed to be different. It had been different from the start—and all the times in between. Like that surreal afternoon when she’d turned down the opportunity to go to bed with him—and had him accompanying her to bizarre fabric wholesalers, in areas of the city he hadn’t even realised existed.

And she had been true to her word about working hard. Each day she spent working in her little cottage before emerging blinking into the light like a little animal which had been underground, her eyes tired from sewing but with a look of immense satisfaction on her face as she sewed handbag after handbag.

Her hand-crafted wares had been snapped up by Siena Simon and, after a little questioning on his part—for Lina was nothing if not modest—he’d discovered they were creating something of a buzz, not just in San Francisco, but beyond.

Salvatore had been quietly impressed with her endeavours, for there had only ever been one other woman he’d shared a living space with before Lina, and she couldn’t have been more different from his idle, entitled mother.

He was just perplexed that he seemed content spending more time with her than was usual with a woman. Was it because she was living on his property that he found himself unable to keep her at his preferred emotional distance? Or because she spoke to him exclusively in Sicilian dialect—a language which nobody else in his orbit understood? Their shared tongue locked them both in a private world which sometimes felt achingly familiar, yet, at others, darkly claustrophobic. He had expected to be bored with her by now. For the allure of the simple country girl to have become tarnished by exposure to the bright lights of the city, but to his surprise—though it hadn’t been a particularly welcome one—that hadn’t happened.

And his thoughts were growing increasingly troubled.

Because hadn’t he become faintly obsessed with the Sicilian dressmaker? Hadn’t he found himself endlessly fascinated by the way she slowly brushed those waist-length black curls, knowing he was watching her? Her eyes would sometimes meet his with the faintest hint of mockery lurking in their bourbon depths, as if in silent acknowledgement of his vehement demand that she never wear her hair up again.

Hadn’t he broken the rule of a lifetime and taken her to every damned tourist destination in town, watching almost indulgently while she cooed her way through each tour with breathless delight? And hadn’t her genuine enjoyment of San Francisco’s famous sights made him view his adopted city with a different, less cynical eye? Yet most of all, he relished those intimate moments when they were alone together and he could observe her soft wonder as he pleasured her. She never shut her eyes when he was inside her. That smoky bourbon gaze was always fixed unwavering on his. Sometimes the intimacy of that made him uncomfortable—sometimes not. All he knew was that her voluptuous body pleased him immensely, as did her generous nature. She never used sex as a weapon, or a bargaining tool as had happened in the past. In fact, she never asked him for anything. There had been no ‘casual’ references to diamonds or pearls. She hadn’t even hinted that she might like to use one of his cars. For a man who was forever being tapped for money, this was a first.

But Salvatore was discovering disturbing parallels between himself and his father. Because his father had been obsessed with his wife, hadn’t he? He’d let his hunger for her rule his life. And that had been his downfall. It had taken Salvatore a long time to realise why his mother had been so cruel to her husband, in a way which had impacted so negatively on all their lives. It had taken adulthood and his restless flight to America before he was able to work it out for himself, through his own relationships. Only then was he able to understand the inevitable power struggle which existed between a man and a woman, and how finely balanced it was. He’d discovered that some women despised men who loved too much and craved the ones who did not love at all. He’d had that demonstrated over and over again. His emotional indifference seemed to have inspired slavish adoration from the opposite sex. Or perhaps he was simply seen as a challenge. As a prize to be won.

Men who loved made themselves vulnerable, he realised.

And he was never going to be vulnerable again.

Wasn’t it time he proved that—not just to Lina, but to himself?

‘Salvatore?’ His assistant’s voice broke into his reverie. ‘Are you still there? Do you want me to put Miss Vitale through, or shall I tell her you’re in a meeting?’

Salvatore’s mouth tightened. And wasn’t it insane how disloyal it felt—to contemplate colluding with his assistant to tell a blatant untruth to Lina? She had never rung him at the office before, had she? What if she was in some kind of trouble—what if she needed his help? ‘Put her through,’ he gritted out.

‘Salvatore?’ Lina came on the line and just the way she said his name was like having cool water sprinkled on a heated brow.

‘Is something wrong?’ he demanded.

‘No, nothing’s wrong.’

Relief gave way to desire and he could feel it coursing through his veins, but infinitely more disturbing was the sudden race of his heart in response to her soft voice. ‘Then why are you calling me at the office?’ he growled. ‘I’m working.’

‘Yes. I know that.’

He could hear the sudden insecurity which edged her words but forced himself not to react to it. Because she needed to know that this kind of behaviour was a sure-fire way to hasten the end of their relationship, and he wasn’t quite ready for it to end. Not yet. ‘What can I do for you, Lina?’

‘I just wondered what time you would be home.’

It was the most mundane of questions and it filled Salvatore with a cold dread because it embodied the kind of cloying domesticity he had spent his life avoiding. ‘You called me to ask me that?’ he questioned, not bothering to hide the faint incredulity in his voice. ‘I’ll be home before seven, same as always. Why do you need to know?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she answered hurriedly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Lina replaced the telephone with nervous fingers as she tried to block out Salvatore’s terse response to her question, wondering why he had gone so cold on her. Maybe she shouldn’t have rung him at the office, but surely it was okay just this once—when she was preparing a surprise for him. And she wanted to surprise him, as well as celebrate her own good news. To give something back. Because hadn’t he been incredibly generous towards her? Hadn’t he taken her in against his better judgement and given her a roof over her head, thus allowing her to find her feet? Yes, she had promised to pay him back—and she would—but that was going to take time.

She began to crack eggs into the flour and to mix them together, the rhythmical movement reminding her of a thousand pasta dishes she’d made back home. But these days she felt completely different from the woman who had endured that miserable existence. At first she hadn’t been able to believe that life could be like this—that every day could feel special—and she knew much of that was down to Salvatore. It had been hard to get her head around the fact that someone could make you feel funny and sexy and desirable, without even really trying.

Sometimes he would turn up at her cottage if he finished work early, looking utterly irresistible in his suit, his immaculate appearance marred only by the loosening of his tie, which had the effect of making him appear rakish. And even though she would remind him that they weren’t supposed to be seeing each other until later, she would invite him in, as casually as if he were paying nothing more than a social call, just in case one of his staff happened to be passing. But the moment the door had closed behind him, she would be pushed up against the wall while he kissed her as if he were trying to suck all the breath out of her lungs and she’d be tearing at his clothes like a wild thing. Sometimes they didn’t even make it as far as the bed. It was electric between them. It always had been—he’d told her that more than once. Lina could feel the sudden rush of warmth to her cheeks and wondered if every woman felt like this in the early stages of a relationship. As if you’d discovered a new kind of power, but, weirdly, as if you’d lost a different kind of power in the process.

Because lately it hadn’t been all roses and moonlight and she’d been plagued by doubts, which she couldn’t seem to push away, no matter how hard she tried. Nagging doubts which lurked in the shadows of her mind, just waiting to spring on you when you least expected them. She’d started wondering if she had allowed herself to become a victim of her own self-deception.

She’d thought...

What?

That she could neatly compartmentalise her life, so none of the edges would overlap? That she could sew all day and deliver her little handbags to Siena’s store, where later they would appear on the arm of a mannequin, or on one of the tables or glass shelves, all at an eye-wateringly marked-up price? That she could do all this and try to pretend the other stuff wasn’t happening. The stuff which felt real but which wasn’t real. Stuff which involved Salvatore. Because, somewhere along the way—during all the meals and the tourist trips and the sex-filled nights—something had changed. Her fixed ideas had shifted and altered and the subject of sex didn’t seem so black and white any more. She knew all about the whole friends-with-benefits thing because Salvatore had painstakingly explained it to her. She’d thought she understood it. She had signed up for it knowing it was all he was prepared to offer and convinced herself she was okay with it. She’d thought she could handle it.

But suddenly she was having difficulty handling it because something had changed. In her, not him. Not suddenly and not overnight. It had been like the drip, drip, drip of a leaking tap which somehow managed to fill an entire bath before you realised it. At first she’d thought it was because of the sex. That the response he drew from her eager body was the reason for the erratic see-sawing of her mood. But the dreamy aftermath of yet another shuddering orgasm didn’t explain away the yearning in her heart as she bit back the tender words she was longing to say to him. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and whisper her lips across his mouth at the most inappropriate of times. She felt as if she was falling in love with him.

Her fingers dug into the pasta dough. These were just complicated feelings for a man who didn’t want emotion—the trouble was that she wasn’t sure how to deal with them. Because she didn’t want to feel this way. She wanted to wake up one morning and be free of all this aching and yearning deep in her heart. Yet instinct warned her that wasn’t going to happen. The same instinct which knew the relationship would eventually run out of steam, unless she had the courage to push it in a different direction.

Was it a flicker of her newfound confidence at work which made her willing to give it a try? Her handbags were proving surprisingly popular and had been flying out of the store. It seemed that rich women were prepared to pay a lot of money to own something so obviously handmade. Siena Simon had become a big fan of her work, prompting her to talk to the features editor of one of the biggest fashion bibles in the country, which had produced an exciting result. Which was part of the reason for this meal. But only part of it. Lina felt her chest tighten with apprehension. Because she wanted to give Salvatore something which all his billions couldn’t give him. She ran her fingertips over the gleaming purple flesh of the aubergine. Some heart. Some thought. Some care. Something which had been made from...not love, no, because that would freak him out. But surely it was okay to demonstrate her deep affection and her gratitude to him, by cooking him a simple meal.

Her preparation finished, she stole a quick glance in the kitchen mirror at the hair which she’d tied back so it wouldn’t flop in the sauce. A smile curved her lips as she touched her fingertips to an imprisoned wave. Better unpin it before Salvatore got home...

At first he couldn’t find her. In fact, he couldn’t find anyone. The house was unusually silent and there was no sign of Henry, or Shirley, who often served dinner.

Salvatore flared his nostrils, like an animal finding itself in unknown territory which had begun silently sniffing the terrain for threats. There had been a faint foggy drizzle in the air tonight and the table had been set for dinner in the smaller of the two dining rooms, rather than out on the terrace. Tall lit candles flickered a golden light show across the creamy walls and the air was thick with the scent of cut roses. Almost automatically he noticed crystal glasses and a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket and a feeling of disquiet whispered down his spine. Just then Lina came running up from the kitchen, her cheeks pink with exertion, a scarlet dress clinging to her abundant curves and her luscious curls bouncing around her shoulders. Usually, he liked her in red, but tonight his senses were on alert and he wasn’t quite sure why.

‘What’s going on?’ he questioned. ‘Where is everybody?’

‘It’s Henry’s night off and I told him we didn’t need any replacement help.’ She smiled. ‘And I gave the chef the night off.’

He stared at her. ‘You did what?’

‘I didn’t think you’d mind. He works very hard and seemed very pleased to have an unexpected free evening. I’ve cooked you something myself instead.’ Her smile became a little uncertain. ‘We don’t need anyone else.’

‘That is beside the point,’ he said impatiently. ‘Since when did you start taking over roles which were never supposed to be yours, Lina? Or did you think that several weeks of sharing my bed has given you carte blanche to exert your will and start dismissing my staff whenever you saw fit?’

‘No! Of course I didn’t.’

‘Then why didn’t you run it past me first?’

‘Because...because it was supposed to be a surprise.’

Ever since the day when he’d arrived home from school to discover his mother ready to drive away with that slimy salesman, Salvatore had had an abiding contempt for surprises. But from the dark hurt he could see clouding her eyes, he wasn’t going to tell her that, in case she switched to unwanted sympathy. The last thing he would be able to stomach would be her compassionate tears on top of everything else. ‘Fine,’ he said, forcing a quick smile. ‘Why don’t you just serve it up?’

He could see from her pinched expression that she was feeling wounded and, while that didn’t make him feel particularly good, he was unwilling to repent. Because hadn’t he been soft around her? Too soft, maybe. Had he been blinding himself to the truth because it had suited him to do so? Intoxicated by her vibrantly passionate nature and their unique sexual chemistry, he had ignored the very obvious signs that she was starting to care for him. He plucked the champagne bottle from the bucket and began to tear off the foil. And that was the last thing he wanted.

He had just poured out two glasses when she carried the steaming dish into the dining room and Salvatore felt his stomach heave as he detected the familiar smell. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, even though he knew damned well what it was.

‘Pasta alla Norma,’ she said, just a little too brightly. ‘Your favourite.’

But it didn’t feel like his favourite right then. It felt as if two very different worlds had just come crashing together, leaving him disorientated by the fall-out. Ignoring the generous portion she served him, he slanted a questioning glance at the glass of champagne which he handed to her. ‘Are we supposed to be celebrating something?’

She sat down opposite him and he realised he hadn’t even kissed her and somehow that seemed very relevant, because this was the first time he had ever looked at her without desire. And she was the one who was killing it, he thought furiously. Destroying a perfectly good relationship with high-handed behaviour and her manipulative attempts to rein him in with an unwanted domesticity which felt like the doors of a jail clanging closed.

‘It’s kind of a celebration,’ she said, with a smile.

He forced himself to go through the motions of appearing interested although his mood was so dark, all he could manage was a single word. ‘Oh?’

‘The good news is that my bags are selling well and the store is very pleased—more than pleased. In fact, it’s as much as I can do to keep up with demand and Siena has spoken to a features editor at Trend magazine.’

‘A features editor at Trend magazine?’ he repeated blankly.

She nodded, and her thick black hair shimmered in the candlelight. ‘It’s the number one fashion bible and they want to do a piece for their accessories issue. And Siena thinks we should have a party at the end of the month, to make the most of all the publicity. Open some champagne and invite some of the city’s movers and shakers, that kind of thing.’