Nothing Lasts Forever (The Montebellos Book 4) Page 4

  “I’m fine.” Her eyes sought Rafaello, her stomach squeezing with disappointment to realise he wasn’t looking at her now. All his attention was caught by his niece, lifting Cara into his arms as he approached Yaya. Something tightened inside of Lauren, an ache she would have said she was used to but that still had the power to catch her unawares from time to time. “Once Yaya is settled, I’ll leave her to your care.”

  “You don’t have to run off. There’s heaps of food, and these lunches are always a lot of fun.”

  Fun. Lauren pushed the idea far, far away. “No, thank you.” She winced at how the words came out, hearing the tightness in them, the lack of civility. “Sorry,” she softened the rejection. “I prefer to keep some boundaries in place while I work.”

  Alessia’s expression was sympathetic. “I can imagine that’s very important in your line of work.”

  Professional respect bound them. “And yours?”

  “I suppose so, though I don’t practice much these days.” She ran her hand over her slightly-rounded stomach. “Just a couple of days a week for now, and only in the small local practice.”

  “I imagine you have your hands full.”

  “You could say that.” She gestured towards her daughter, so that Lauren found herself looking at Raf and Cara once more. She really didn’t need to see Rafaello Montebello as a doting uncle to flesh out the image she already had of him.

  “How old is she?”

  “One – going on twenty one,” she joked. “Full of attitude and confidence.”

  “And I bet you wouldn’t have it any other way?”

  “Nope.” There was something about Alessia that relaxed Lauren. She found herself wishing she could simply put aside all her hang ups and rules and acquiesce to the multiple invitations she’d had – and agree to stay. But the temptation was a warning and she heeded it.

  “You’ll let me know if Yaya needs me?”

  Alessia frowned for a moment at the sudden break in their pleasant conversation, but then nodded. “Of course.”

  “She shouldn’t over-tire herself.”

  “I know,” Alessia nodded. “But she’s so happy to see them all.”

  “Yes,” Lauren sighed. “I gather the family has been trying not to overwhelm her.”

  “You can see why,” Alessia laughed softly. “So many grandsons, and Yaya determined to know everything about each of them.”

  The obvious love in the room pulled apart some vital part of Lauren’s DNA. She cleared her throat and smiled tightly. “I think at this stage it’s important for her to see as much of her family as possible. I don’t feel that the risks outweigh the benefits.”

  Alessia’s eyes lingered on Lauren’s face. “You think she’s going to die?”

  Lauren turned to face Alessia. “Isn’t that why you hired me?”

  Alessia’s smile was bitter-sweet. “It’s a precaution. I like to cover all my bases. But no, Lauren. I still have hope. Yaya is a fighter, and I don’t think she’s done with this life yet.”

  Lauren’s heart shifted in surprise. Hope was an almost foreign concept to her. She’d seen far too much of life to leave room for wishful thinking, but she found the other woman’s perspective refreshing enough to not point out her own scepticism.

  “I hope you’re right.” She smiled stiffly. “Excuse me.”

  He watched her through the glass windows as lunch swirled around him. Happy conversation – except for Gabe who sat like a vortex of pain and grumpiness in the corner – with laughter and relief. Because for a moment, things felt almost like normal. Yaya at the head of the table was quieter than usual, watchful, tired, but so happy, so radiant, that he felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. After all, they had the best healthcare money could buy – a team of nurses assembled from a private clinic in Switzerland and a stroke expert managing her recovery. But there was also Lauren.

  Lauren who specialised in death. Lauren who dealt with terminal patients. Lauren whose job was to ease someone’s passing. Lauren with her distracting curves and icy blonde hair, full pink lips and wide blue eyes. Lauren who watched him even when he knew she didn’t want to. Lauren whose eyes clung to him like she was drowning and he was the only one who could save her. Lauren who’d run away from him time and again. Lauren who’d become an unbearable distraction to him at a time when he wanted, more than anything, to focus on Yaya.

  So? Couldn’t he do both?

  Besides, right now, Yaya was surrounded by everyone she loved in this world. She wouldn’t notice if he disappeared for a few minutes.

  Standing, he grabbed his wine glass and a spare, half-filling it with the Montepulciano grown on the property before making his way from the room. He slipped through the glass sliders onto the terrace, striding towards Lauren before she could realise he was approaching. It gave him the advantage – and a chance to observe her more closely. She was, as she’d said she would be, reading, but drawing closer he saw the book was a Jane Austen novel and that surprised him. He wouldn’t have thought her a romance fan. When he was almost at her side she blinked, lifting her gaze, her expression showing displeasure and then locking into a mask of tight containment – a mask he’d seen each time they’d spoken and always felt an answering temptation to remove.

  “Wine?”

  She eyed the glass mistrustfully then shook her head. “I don’t drink while I’m working.”

  “You said you’re always working. So you don’t drink?”

  She shook her head. “I – sometimes.”

  He put the glass down onto the table beside her. “Would you like something else? A tea? Mineral water?”

  “I’m fine.” The words were impatient and dismissive. He ignored her tone, taking a relaxed-seeming seat on the lounger beside her, stretching out with his hands clasped behind his head. “Alessia already offered.”

  “Ah. That was over an hour ago.”

  She frowned. “How do you know?”

  “You were talking to her over an hour ago, then you came out here. Where you’ve been, ever since, despite the fact there’s a place set for you at the table.”

  Her frown showed consternation. “Yaya shouldn’t have asked for that. I don’t expect to be included in social events.”

  “Is that a hard and fast rule?”

  “It’s not one I’ve ever needed,” she muttered, returning her attention to the pages of the book. “Most of the time, the families I work with are very pleased for me to fly beneath the radar.”

  His laugh was unplanned. It burst from him, showing disbelief. “You are not someone who would easily fly beneath any radar.”

  The slightest hint of pink touched her cheeks. He felt a rush of pleasure – and power – a desire to see more of such a reaction. Genuine responses, responses that showed him - and reminded her - that she was a flesh and blood woman.

  “Look, Rafaello,” she turned to face him, her eyes swimming with emotions he didn’t understand. “You don’t need to keep me company. I like being by myself, I really do. You don’t need to include me in family stuff. So whatever you’re doing out here, you can just…stop.”

  “What if I don’t want to include you in family stuff?” He said quietly, his eyes roaming her face, never more determined than now to win someone over.

  “But you keep –,”

  “I didn’t invite you to lunch because I wanted you to spend time with my family.”

  She was quiet, brooding, thoughtful.

  “I wanted you to come to lunch so I could look at you. Because I like looking at you.”

  She gasped, drawing in a sharp breath, her lips forming a perfect ‘O’.

  “I wanted you to come to lunch so I could have an excuse to brush my hand against yours as I passed you a drink,” he reached for her book now, lifting it away and doing exactly as he’d said, brushing his fingertips over hers lightly, then letting them linger against her thigh.

  The gasp turned into a slight moan, husky and almost silent. />
  “But what I’d prefer is if you’d agree to come to dinner. With me. Later tonight.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, totally lost, shaking her head once then pausing, her eyes wide with confusion.

  “Meet me in the drive at nine,” he said quietly, leaning a little closer, wanting, more than anything, to kiss her hard on those soft, sweet lips.

  “I can’t.” The words were dragged from her, and her eyes swept shut, as though pushing him away and blocking him out. “I really can’t.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  She blinked, staring at him with a host of emotions clouding her face. “I want to.” Her voice sounded different. Thick and emotional, unlike the cool measured way she usually spoke to him. “I can’t believe how much I want to, but I…it’s not possible.” She swallowed, the column of her throat moving gently.

  “Why isn’t it?”

  Her laugh lacked humour. “You’re persistent.”

  “Yes.” She angled her face away but he reached out, taking her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “And I want you.”

  Another gasp. This time, when her mouth opened, he shifted his thumb upwards, running it over her full, lower lip, teasing her with his touch. Her eyes swept shut and now it wasn’t in an attempt to block him out so much as to savour his touch.

  “It’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not interested in a relationship.” The words were tremulous but there was a hint of her cool self returning, as though bit by bit she was reclaiming her icy control.

  “Ever?”

  “Ever,” she confirmed, the word like steel.

  Perhaps she’d expected another reaction, but Raf’s first feeling was relief. He didn’t remember much about his time with his parents – he had only been three when Gianfelice had taken custody of them – but he remembered the emotions. The feeling of rejection. Of pain. Of loss. Of a broken heart. At three he was too young to put it into words, to make sense of those emotions, but he understood now: his parents’ rejection had put him on guard, and taught him that any deep emotional commitment was best to be avoided. The emptiness of hurt had never left him.

  His voice gave little of that turmoil away, his tone remained impassive. “Then it’s just as well I’m not asking you to date me, Lauren. Think of me as a relationship-free zone.”

  Her teeth sunk into her lower lip again, causing desire to riot inside of him. “What does that mean?”

  It meant he wanted to sleep with her, as he did with women generally. It meant that he wanted to make her his, physically, for as long as it suited them both, and then walk away, as he always did. Untethered, free, unhurt, whole, safe. It meant he had no temptation, in even a small part, of getting involved with anyone, let alone a woman who made an art form of pushing people away.

  He leaned closer, conscious that if he didn’t move his body they’d be in view of his family. He stood, bringing himself over her chair so she was shielded from view. He didn’t touch her, but he kept his mouth close to her ear so that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

  “It means that I want to make you mine. It means that I want to rip those clothes off your body and cup your breasts with my hands, running my fingers over your nipples before lifting you against a wall and taking you again and again until you’re screaming my name, until my name is the only Goddamned word you know.” He felt her shuddering, tight breath. “It means I see the way you stare at me, as though you’re trying to remember what I look like without clothes, as I was the night we met. It means I want you to do what you will to my body. And then, when it’s over, you can go back to pretending you don’t notice me. How does that sound?”

  Chapter Four

  SLEEP HAD EVADED HER for hours. And was it any wonder? Every time she’d closed her eyes, Rafaello’s words had rushed through her, his face clouding her mind, so all she had to do was breathe in and she could taste him on the tip of her tongue. Her fingertips tingled with an ache to reach out and grab him, just as they’d done earlier that day.

  She’d wanted, more than anything, to lift her hands to his shoulders and grab on, to angle her face closer to his and beg him to kiss her.

  A fierce sense of disloyalty had made that impossible. Thom. Her husband. It didn’t matter that he’d died years ago, the pledge she’d made to him still gripped her heart, making it impossible to think of anyone else making love to her.

  So she’d shaken her head and told him it wasn’t possible, and then she’d asked him to leave her alone. He’d stared into her eyes for several seconds before grinning – a grin that said he understood how conflicted she was – and he’d left. She’d drunk the damned glass of wine in about ten seconds flat, needing something to quell the flood of nerves overtaking her system.

  It was worse than that, because Yaya was busy with family today, so Lauren didn’t even have the distraction of her work to keep busy. She’d finished Persuasion – her favourite Austen by a mile – then gone for a long walk around the property, exploring all the little gardens and walks she had been too busy to enjoy. There was a large potager full of vegetables and bordered by fruit trees, a citrus grove, and beyond that rolling hills filled with vines.

  But vines reminded her of wine, particularly the beautiful red wine she’d used to calm her nerves after Rafaello had left her in peace, so she’d immediately turned around and gone back into the Villa.

  A quick check on Yaya had shown her engaged with Fiero and Elodie, a smile on all their faces as Yaya flipped through an old photo album Lauren had seen many times – her wedding photos.

  Seeing Yaya on her wedding day had been hard for Lauren, but she’d pushed her own feelings aside to indulge the older woman’s fond recollections, listening patiently as she’d talked about what it had been like to marry someone like Gianfelice. All the while, Lauren stayed quiet, not responding with how she knew exactly what it was like to walk down the aisle towards the man you loved, and wanted to spend your life with.

  She was restless, and it had nothing to do with work and everything to do with Rafaello. More specifically, the offer he’d made.

  It means I want to make you mine.

  A frisson of excitement ran down her spine as she contemplated exactly what that meant, and how it would feel to be possessed by him. She imagined his tanned hands curling around her hips, holding her still so he could lose himself inside of her and every bone in her body turned to mush. With a soft groan, she pushed back the duvet and stood, padding towards the door. She was wearing grey track pants and a singlet top, but in a concession to modesty, despite the hour, she paused to grab her white cotton robe, wrapping it around her midsection and cinching the waist tightly.

  It was another perfect summer night, the moon cutting across the countryside so a slice of silver danced in the air. Lauren paused to stare at it as she moved downstairs, and before she could fathom where she was going, her feet moved one in front of the other, carrying her towards the salon the family had gathered in that afternoon. She pushed the door inwards, so distracted by her thoughts that at first she didn’t hear it.

  But a moment after entering the room, when it was too late to leave again, music breathed courage into her soul, so that it danced inside her.

  Rafaello.

  She heard his name like the beating of a drum, over and over, imperative and urgent.

  He was sitting at a piano she hadn’t even noticed earlier that day, his fingers running deftly over the keys, the moonlight drifting across him casting him in a light that was magical and ethereal and which seemed to have its own gravitational force. She was drawn to him, just as she had been that afternoon.

  She had to leave while she could!

  Too late.

  He looked up, his eyes pinning hers, and his fingers slowed, then stopped, the music coming to an abrupt halt. Except she could still hear it, the notes replaying over and over, her body responding, her blood dancing through her veins.

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nbsp; He closed the lid softly, his eyes hunting hers, and he remained silent, waiting for her to speak. To stay or go. Waiting for her to choose. The weight of that decision was like bricks against her belly – right and wrong. Want and need versus her heart’s fidelity.

  It was too hard to decide, too hard to know what to do and so she cleared her throat, pushing an awkward smile to her face. “I didn’t know you play.”

  She must have walked into the room because his body relaxed a little. A second later she was halfway to the piano. She stopped, confused.

  “All my life.”

  Despite the tension that was flooding her, her lips quirked at that. “All your life?” She queried, teasingly. “You must have been some clever baby.”

  His only response was to stand up and begin to walk towards her, slowly enough that if she wanted to she could have stopped him at any point.

  “I never learned to play an instrument. I’m not musical. I can’t sing – not in key, anyway. But I love music. Listening to it, that is.” She was babbling. He stopped right in front of her, pressing a finger to her lips, silencing her. His proximity was enough. She couldn’t string two words together now.

  “Why are you here?”

  She furrowed her brow. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “No?” Their eyes locked and she felt her resolve crumbling. What was she doing?

  “I didn’t come looking for you.”

  “Ah,” he nodded slowly, his face angled to hers, his torso separated from her breasts by barely an inch. “Would you like me to leave?”

  Oh, God. Feelings twisted her gut. He was giving her another chance – telling her to choose. Stay or go. Yes or no.

  Heaven help her, why couldn’t she push him away as she had any other man who’d shown interest in her? Why couldn’t she remember that this was wrong on a personal level, not to mention completely unprofessional?

  His hands lifted, pressing to her hips first then slowly guiding higher, pausing in line with her breasts. She held her breath as he moved them inwards, cupping her breasts, his fingers grazing her nipples lightly so she trembled silently.