The Italian's Innocent Bride Page 3

  She nodded. “That’s because I’ve had time to analyse it. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I have come to believe that you liked the mirror I held up to you. But that you couldn’t ignore who you really are. Not for long.”

  “I see.” He clamped his lips together. Her analysis was far closer to the truth than he liked. He shifted a little in the chair and fixed her with a brooding stare. “This walk down memory lane is fascinating, but it does little to change the facts of your current situation.”

  She had forgotten how sexy his accent was. And how completely it could turn her body to a weak, pulsing puddle of need. “My current situation,” she agreed with more venom than she knew she felt. “Not yours. You have no business being here.”

  His smile was more of a wolfish grin. “You seem to think my presence is negotiable. The sooner you accept that it is not, the better it will be for both of us. I’m tired of arguing this point with you.”

  “I just don’t understand why you’re pretending that you care.”

  He leaned forward in the plastic seat. “I married you. I do not consider my responsibility to you to have ended just because you divorced me.”

  “Because I divorced you?” She stammered in disbelief. “I might have divorced you, but you left me little choice.” She coughed, as her vitriolic statement sent shots of pain through her throat.

  “An assessment we can certainly discuss when you are not in such obvious pain.” He stood, and surprised her by putting a hand on her soft, blonde hair. It drew her gaze sharply; her large blue eyes honed in on his face in confusion. His touch was gentle, as he ran his fingers over her head. “You must rest, cara. For once, don’t argue with me.”

  Jane opened her mouth to point out that she only argued with him when he was being completely unreasonable, but his expression of gentle sympathy forestalled her. “Fine,” she agreed thickly.

  She had been disciplined about forgetting Carlo. Even her dreams she had managed to control, to keep thoughts of the man she’d been married to at bay. But seeing him again sparked something inside of her, and as she drifted to sleep now, she saw only Carlo.

  * * *

  Four years earlier.

  Her feet were aching. And it was little wonder. Jane was nearing the end of a double shift at the busy Mayfair restaurant. The subdued daytime customers had morphed, as if by magic, into the wine-fuelled, sleazy post-work crowd. The wealthy and entitled clientele were precisely the reason Jane preferred her day roster. Though the tips were better at night, she had never liked the groping and leering that seemed to go along with them.

  Jane slid a tray back under the bar and did her best not to look in the man’s direction. But something about him kept drawing her gaze. As she flicked her blue eyes to the corner of the bar, she felt her pulse give a little jerk of recognition. He was actually one of several men. Six at the table, and another at the bar. But he was the only one she noticed.

  He was tall. And not just because she was barely five and a half feet. He was tall by anyone’s standards, and broad shouldered. He might have been wearing a hand crafted suit and designer shoes, but there was an animalistic rawness to him that spoke of feral strength and magnetism. His skin was golden like honey, and his eyes dark like coal. His face boasted of the kind of perfection that an expert sculptor would be proud of – a firm nose, a square jaw, cheekbones that were slashed into his face – surrounded by a mop of dark brown hair that fell to just above his collar.

  Those eyes, rimmed by thick lashes and straight brows, were honed in on her, as though he knew her. As though he was searching for something in her heart-shaped face. His expression was unmistakably fascinated. Jane was powerless to look away. Beneath the white cotton shirt she wore, her nipples tightened in an unfamiliar pang of yearning. Slowly, his lips lifted, to hint at a seductive smile, and Jane flushed. She dragged her eyes away, pretending to scan the rest of the crowd while her breath raged out of control.

  She did her best to ignore him, but eventually, she had to move to the table, simply to do her job. With a pulse that was hammering so loudly it was all she could hear, Jane approached the group. For the first time, she looked at the other men. All similarly dressed, though none of them had even a hint of the appeal of the one, gorgeous customer.

  Her smile encompassed the group and intentionally avoided looking at him. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”

  “Shall we finish with some port?” One of the older guests suggested.

  “I can bring you some menus if you’d like to see our range,” Jane responded efficiently.

  When the older man nodded, she turned on her heel and moved back towards the bar. Unbeknownst to Jane, the handsome man followed her.

  “Let me take those,” he said, his accent like black pepper and desert spices. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the bound wine lists, brushing her hands as he did so.

  “Oh.” Jane sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes shone with desire; she darted her tongue out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. “That’s okay. I can do it.”

  His grin made her stomach dip and churn. “I’m sure you can.” He leaned forward, so that he could whisper into her ear. “But if I do a favour for you, perhaps you’ll return one for me.”

  Her insides slicked with an unknown moistness. “What do you mean?”

  “When do you finish work?”

  She swallowed, and looked past him, to the clock on the wall. “Not for a while.”

  His laugh was soft; lightly mocking. “Fine. I can wait. Have a drink with me.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  He grinned. “Then have a talk with me.”

  She bit down on her lip. “But… why?” Surely someone like him could have his choice of sophisticated women.

  “Because I have been watching you all night and I am intrigued.”

  Jane’s laugh was shaky. “Intrigued? By me?”

  “Absolutely by you.” He lifted a hand and lightly cupped her hip. “Why does this surprise you?”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Because you’re… errr… very…” She squeezed her eyes shut, agonized by her gauche immaturity. “You don’t look like someone who would be intrigued by me.”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong. Let me spend time with you when you finish. Please.” It was the please that did it. The juxtaposition of his confidence bordering on arrogance, with the obvious fact that he felt strongly enough to plead with her.

  “Okay.” She nodded, her heart bursting in her chest as she heard herself agree. “Just a drink.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink?”

  She shrugged, and flashed a small smile at him. “I also don’t agree to go on late night dates with men from the bar. I guess people can change.”

  The waiting was excruciating. As the restaurant slowly emptied, and she and the three other staff returned it to its usual state of order, she was conscious of his eyes on her. Her hip seemed to burn from the brief contact they’d shared. And she wanted to tell her boss that she wasn’t feeling well, just so that she could speak to him again.

  Finally, the manager of the restaurant gave her a nod. “Off you go, Janey. Thanks for tonight.” He handed her an envelope of her tips, which she folded into her back pocket, as she simultaneously looped her handbag off the staff rack.

  Her heart was pounding as she crossed to where the man was sitting. His companions had left. He was alone. Focussed alternately on her, and a newspaper.

  As she approached, he scraped back his chair. “You are finished?”

  She nodded, her mouth too dry to form words.

  “Good. Come with me.” He put a hand in the small of her back and gently propelled her into the cold night air. She shivered, and he shrugged out of his coat. “You do not wear a jacket?”

  “I forgot it,” she lied. She’d lost it, and couldn’t afford another. She still had a month or so before winter truly set into the capital. She was waiting as long as she could before purchasing another.<
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  “Silly,” he said quietly, as his broad, strong hands wrapped his own fine woollen coat around her slender frame. He stopped walking, and put his hands on her shoulder. Gently, he buttoned her up, taking such great care that Jane gasped.

  “What is your name?” He asked, his dark eyes probing hers. He knew it, of course, but it seemed liked the right thing to say.

  “Jane Lang.”

  “Jane Lang?” He smiled, and it transformed his whole face. She was the girl he’d been looking for. It was all the confirmation he needed. “You sound like a superhero.” He’d thought it the first time he’d discovered her name. Jane Lang.

  She wiggled her brows. “How do you know I’m not?”

  He put a finger beneath her chin, so that he could hold her face still and examine her beauty in detail. “I don’t,” he agreed finally. “But I’m looking forward to finding out.”

  When he removed his hand, she felt cold all over. Until he put an arm around her waist and pulled her against his frame.

  “Aren’t you cold?” She asked, after they’d walked to the next street corner in silence.

  “No.” He turned the corner, pulling her with him. “Here we are.”

  He paused outside an enormous Victorian townhouse, on the edge of a private square.

  “You live here?”

  He shook his head. “I live in Rome. But this is my London home.”

  Jane nodded, though that kind of lifestyle was completely foreign to her. “I thought you meant we were going somewhere. Like a bar.”

  He paused with the key in the door. “I thought we would be more comfortable here.”

  Jane’s cheeks flushed, and she had the distinct impression that she was completely out of her depth. “Oh, I… um…”

  He laughed softly. “You are very beautiful when you are nervous.”

  She shook her head. “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “And what idea is that?” He asked, pushing the door inwards and stepping backwards, to allow her entry.

  Jane stepped inside, despite the hint of misgivings she was experiencing. The corridor was immaculate. Shining floorboards and tall ceilings with intricate, perfectly preserved plaster roses.

  “I’m not… I’m really not the kind of girl who, um…”

  He began to loosen her buttons, so that he could slide it from her. She shivered again, but this had nothing to do with his removing the coat. Her whole body was reverberating with a foreign, and intense, drag of need.

  “I think you are beautiful, cara,” he said, and now, he put both hands on her hips. His thumb padded against her flat stomach; his fingers dug into the flesh at her back. “And I have wanted to kiss you all night. But even someone like me can see that you are young. Perhaps inexperienced. I will not rush you.”

  Jane swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You want to kiss me?” Her eyes dropped to his lips, and she sucked in an audible breath as she imagined what that would feel like.

  “Is that a problem?”

  Jane bit down on her lip and shook her head from side to side. Her long blonde hair was caught in a high ponytail and it flipped behind her.

  “Are you saying you want me to kiss you?”

  Jane groaned and lowered her face. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. Not, um, romantically.”

  Something like lead weighed down on Carlo’s chest. “You have never been kissed by a man?”

  “Or a woman,” she joked with a small shrug.

  “I see. And if you have never been kissed, it means that you have never…”

  She nodded, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. “So I’m sorry if you thought that I would… that I wanted…”

  He shook his head, his expression impossible to comprehend. “How old are you, Jane Lang?” Though he knew that, too. He was buying time, to give himself a minute to understand how she could be untouched at her age.

  “Nineteen.”

  “And you have never met a boy you liked?”

  She shook her head.

  “Fascinating.” He padded a thumb across her lower lip. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

  Jane’s pupils were enormous, her cheeks flushed with desire, as slowly she nodded.

  Carlo lowered his head, so that his lips were just a breath from hers. “I’m very pleased to hear it.”

  His lips were warm and gentle on hers. The pressure was slight, the contact minimal. Jane moaned softly as flames of desire began to flicker through her body, tormenting her soul, and her arms lifted of their own accord to wrap around his neck. She parted her lips, and he took advantage of her surrendering to the kiss, to deepen it. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, teasing her, tormenting her, promising her a world of sensation and delight.

  His fingers lifted to her hair, and he released her ponytail, so that he could slide his fingers through its lengths. He trapped his hand against the back of her head, and held her against him, and his mouth continued to plunder her warmth. “You are stunning,” he moaned against her, and his free hand lowered to her shirt. He lifted it from the waistband of her jeans and ran his fingers over her skin. Goosebumps spread across her flesh, and she cried out as desire, unexpected and foreign to Jane, threatened to burn her alive.

  “Oh, God,” she mumbled, as her hands pushed at his shirt, wanting to touch and feel him.

  Carlo stepped back from Jane, his chest heaving with the exertion of his breathing. Jane lifted trembling fingers to her burning lips. Her eyes swarmed with emotions as she stared at him.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she whispered into the cold hallway.

  His black eyes sparked with certainty. He had come to find Jane Lang only to reassure himself that she was alive and well, but now, he had an entirely different purpose in mind. “My name is Carlo Santini. I’m the man who is going to marry you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The townhouse looked as it always had. The white walls and black wrought iron fence created an imposing impression. Jane had installed lavender window boxes to soften the harshness of the grand property.

  A frisson of remembered fear ran through her as she recalled the last time she’d walked inside her gate.

  Carlo stood, his hand on the door, waiting for Jane to step out of the chauffeured Bentley. She put one stiletto clad foot on the sidewalk, and then the other. Three days after the attack, the pain had subsided completely. The scar would take time to disappear, though.

  “This is your home?” Carlo asked, his dark eyes scanning the frontage with undisguised curiosity.

  “Yes.” She ignored the hand he offered for support.

  She walked gingerly through the gate, fishing her keys from her handbag on autopilot. As she reached the tiled entrance way, she froze. Someone had mopped up the blood from the tiles, but the scarlet stain had remained in the grout.

  Carlo’s gaze followed Jane’s, and a grim line set across his features. The visual evidence of how much blood had been lost incited a deep fury in his gut. Wordlessly, he reached down and took Jane’s keys from her numb fingertips.

  Because he was all-powerful, he inserted the correct key into the lock on his first attempt. It was so like Carlo that Jane shook her head. She breathed in the familiarity of her home with relief. It was just as she’d left it. She flicked a light switch, coating the house in a warm glow, and moved down the hallway.

  “The house is very like you,” Carlo said, and Jane couldn’t be sure if it was a compliment or not. She looked around and tried to see it through his eyes. When first she’d moved in, she’d been too heartbroken to do anything to the place. She’d bought the simplest furniture, and only what she’d absolutely needed. A bed, an armchair and a small table. Over the years, though, her own taste had crept in. She’d hounded local vintage markets and stocked up on an eclectic range of mismatched chairs. Six sat around an old oak table, each chair a different colour. Her sofas were crafted by a local artist – vintage leather stripped from an ol
d aeroplane had been moulded around a Scandinavian frame. A large felt mat, in bright colours, spread across the floor, like a misshapen rainbow.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, deciding to take it as a compliment. “Can I get you a coffee before you go?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know I do not intend to go anywhere, cara. Not until I know the threat to you has passed.” Her pink lips pouted in a way that made him ache to kiss her. “A coffee would be welcome, however.”

  Jane glared at him. “Carlo,”

  “Jane,” he responded in kind, walking towards her with a slow and even gait.

  The Jane he’d married might have pressed herself backwards against the wall, intimidated by his obvious strength. But leaving Carlo and losing their baby had coated Jane’s heart in an implacable layer of steel. She stood her ground, her blue gaze unwavering as he moved closer and closer, until his body was almost touching hers.

  “Why are you so afraid to let me help you?”

  She swallowed, but did not look away. “I am not afraid,” she contradicted quietly. “But you’re a long way in my past and that’s how I like it.”

  Carlo’s black eyes were heavy as they scanned her face. “Unfortunately, Jane, I’m not as far in your past as you’d like to believe.”

  She frowned, not sure exactly what he meant.

  He kissed her swiftly, before he could rethink the wisdom of it. His mouth moved over hers, and it immediately felt as though he’d slipped down a rabbit hole, back in time. They fit together as well as they ever had. His lips possessed hers with a hunger that shocked even him.

  He had thought he was over her. That her particular brand of innocence and sweetness had been ruined by the way in which she’d left him. But his body stirred immediately, as his mouth tasted hers.

  She was wearing an expensive looking dress; navy blue with lace across the neckline. Demure enough, with long sleeves and a high neckline, still he yearned for her. He was overcome by the need to touch her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor, without allowing his mouth to break the contact of their kiss.