The Italian's Innocent Bride Page 9

  “I’m not ashamed,” she responded. “I just don’t get it. Why you?”

  “Why me, what?”

  She breathed out a breath of pent up feeling. “None of the other men I’ve known have made me feel like… this.”

  Something in Carlo went very, very still. He pushed up, higher along her body, and held himself so that their eyes were level. “The other men you’ve known? Is that a euphemism for ‘had sex with’?”

  Jane’s cheeks flushed prettily. At least, Carlo might have found it pretty if he weren’t falling into some kind of catatonically jealous state of rage. “Oh.” Jane bit down on her lip nervously. “I just mean that you’re the only man that seems to make rational thought impossible.”

  Carlo wished she could backtrack the admission, but the words had lodged deep within his soul. “You left me three years ago.” It killed him to speak the words, but he knew he had to. “You had every right to be with other men.”

  Jane’s blush deepened. “I don’t want to talk about it with you. Not right now.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to insist on an answer.”

  “Insist?” She wriggled beneath him, but he kept his weight pressed down on her slender frame. “How are you going to do that?”

  His smile had a sinister edge. “I could keep you as my prisoner.” He was only half joking.

  Jane shivered. “Why does it matter?”

  Because you’re mine.

  “Why do you want to keep it a secret?”

  She huffed moodily. “I don’t.” Her eyes were uncertain. He was so much more adept at these kinds of conversations. Jane always felt that she was being led through a maze of his making, like a rabbit chasing a carrot.

  “So there have been other men?”

  Jane closed her eyes. “One man.”

  Carlo could have keeled over. He felt hot and cold, angry and bereaved. He didn’t speak. He knew Jane would continue, now that she’d cracked the vault.

  “It happened a year after I left you. I… I wanted to prove to myself that I was over you.”

  Carlo was glad her eyes were closed. His expression was a thundercloud that might have silenced her if she’d seen it.

  “And?” He prompted, finally, his voice holding a faraway quality.

  “And I wasn’t.” When she looked at him, her gaze was laced with accusation. “It was a disaster.”

  He had never felt so jealous in his life. It was an emotion he knew he would never be able to tolerate. The thought of another man making love to Jane had permanently switched something inside of him. He had been possessive of her, and he’d lost her. And another man had taken her.

  He pushed away from Jane, and sat on the edge of the bed. His breath seemed to burn in his throat. He stared out of the window, but saw nothing.

  Jane looked at his flawless, tanned back, and felt a clench of guilt. He was hurting, and she knew why. She reached out and traced her fingertips down his spine. He was as still as a stone.

  “I liked him. He was very different to you.” She leaned back against the pillows, letting her hand fall to her side. “He was sweet. Only a year older than me, and easy to get along with. We had fun together.”

  Carlo’s gut was bursting. He felt like he was going to be sick.

  “You know, movies. Dinner. Nothing serious. It wasn’t even remotely intense.”

  It was the kind of relationship she deserved. With the kind of man who deserved her. He stood and paced across to the window. His hands were on his hips; his shoulders squared.

  Jane pulled the duvet up to her chin. Confessing this to Carlo had made her feel feverish. And yet she’d owed him nothing. Their divorce had been final. She had never expected to see him again.

  “We were over,” she said emphatically. “I told myself that you could have come after me. That you hadn’t, because you hadn’t wanted me anymore. So when Roger began to get… umm… amorous… I just went with it.”

  Carlo closed his eyes, and braced himself against the wall. The sound of his tormented breathing was the only noise in the room for so long, that he wondered if Jane was going to say anything else.

  “It only happened once.”

  Carlo groaned silently.

  “You and I were over,” she repeated.

  And though he knew it wasn’t fair, jealousy was zipping through him, sending his self-control into a tailspin. “As if we could ever be over,” he retorted angrily.

  Jane’s own emotions were going haywire. She sat up straight, and glared at his back. “You can’t seriously be annoyed about this,” she said with disbelief. “I find it hard to believe you were faithful to me when we were married. At least I waited until long after the divorce had come through.”

  Carlo’s face blanched white. “I did not cheat on you.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “And so you and this Roger fucked?” He demanded, spinning around and shocking her into silence with the mask of distress he wore. “He kissed you and moved within you? His hands ran over your breasts, and your arse, and you wrapped your legs around his waist?”

  Jane began to shake like a leaf, and tears clogged her throat. “We were over,” she whispered again, but it only seemed to make Carlo angrier.

  “Did he make you scream as I do?”

  “Don’t be disgusting,” she said quietly. Her eyes dropped from his furious gaze. Her insides were trembling; her heart was banging so loudly that she could hear blood in her ears.

  “Oh, I’m dying to know, cara. Did you come again and again in his arms, as you do in mine?”

  “Stop it!” She screamed, lifting her hands to her ears and covering them. “Stop it!” She screamed again, closing her eyes to block him out.

  Carlo strode across to her and eased her hands from her ears. His face was without emotion now, like the eye of the storm. Jane hadn’t even realised she’d been crying, until Carlo’s tongue pressed against her cheek and chased a tear. Jane sobbed louder, the pain of the past an unbearable weight against her chest.

  Carlo kissed her with all of the emotions they managed to arouse. Somehow, he removed his jeans, kicking them off before Jane was even aware. In the same movement, he pushed aside the bed linen, and brought his body close to hers. He nudged his arousal towards her entrance, his dark eyes intent on hers. “Do you want this?”

  Jane wanted to be close to him. She wanted to know that he understood. That she hadn’t ruined what they had once shared. The guilt she’d felt after being with Roger had cured her of ever wanting to be with another man. Though she had divorced Carlo Santini, she had felt every bit as at fault as if she’d still been married to him.

  She nodded now. It was almost as if coming together could erase what she’d done. He thrust deep inside of her, watching as pleasure immediately bent her expression.

  Carlo moved again, and again, stoking her fires until Jane was almost at the edge of her sanity. Then, he withdrew, and hovered just beyond her reach. “Tell me he meant nothing,” Carlo demanded angrily.

  Jane blinked in confusion. The pleasure she was wading through was a fog, making her brain slow. “What?”

  “I want to hear you say that this other man was a mistake.”

  Jane shook her head, sanity and sense warring with desire. “I… Carlo… please.”

  His lips were a grim line, and despite the strength of his erection, Jane was beginning to feel like she’d fallen into yet another trap. Another of Carlo’s expertly carved mazes. Her heart ached, but her insides were burning with need.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “Tell me he meant nothing.”

  Jane was crying again, her whole body shaking as grief tumbled through her. For Carlo, the only man she’d ever loved, was using her body against her. He’d taught her to feel. He’d written the manual on what made Jane tick, and now he was using that desire to punish her.

  He thrust into her again, and she arched her back, begging him again and again
to release the dam of need. But again, Carlo pulled away from her, making her cry out in frustration.

  “He was a mistake,” Carlo drawled, using his fingers to tease her, to keep her on the very edge of sanity. Jane dug her palms into a pillow, and lifted her hips, seeking him, needing him.

  Carlo’s laugh was harsh, and it cut Jane’s heart in two.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep running through his maze, hoping it would all work out.

  “You are a mistake. This is a mistake,” she yelled fiercely, pushing at his chest with all her might. He was so shocked that he fell backwards against the bed. He had not expected her to take a stand against him.

  Before his eyes, Jane seemed to be transforming into something and someone else altogether. Her face was pink from desire, but her features were wiped of emotion. Her eyes were moist from unshed tears, but there was no light in them. Just a cold, dark nothingness. She smoothed her nightgown over her hips and walked slowly away from his bed.

  “Jane. Wait.” She didn’t stop. She didn’t even pause. He swore and leaped from the bed. When he reached her, he reached for her hand, but she spun around, her face contorted with so much pain that he let go instantly.

  “Do not touch me. Ever again.”

  Carlo cursed loudly, and watched her walk further and further away.

  “Jane. Please don’t go.”

  Jane paused, her hand on the door. “You brought me here because you wanted to protect me. What you failed to understand is that you’re the one I need saving from.”

  “Jane…”

  “Stuff you, Carlo. Just leave me alone.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Carlo kept replaying those crucial ten minutes in his mind. And every replay ended exactly the same. With Jane leaving, rightly thinking the very worst of him.

  In his defence, the idea of Jane with another man had brought out every animal urge he possessed. He had felt a feral level of possession for her, and the certainty that she’d gone to another man’s bed had made him temporarily insane.

  But the hurt he’d seen on her face… he didn’t know how he could ever set it to rights. The bed smelled of her. He allowed himself to pick up a pillow and press it to his face.

  His gut clenched with regret. What had he done?

  So she’d gone out with another guy.

  One guy, in three years. Three years after hearing nothing from Carlo. Nada. Zip. Niente. He hadn’t so much as sent her a Christmas card. She could have remarried in the time it had taken him to get his act together.

  He threw the pillow across the room with a guttural cry, then stood and stormed over to the window. Rome spread beneath him, but even the stunning view did nothing to quell his dark mood. He would go to her and apologise. He would find a way to erase what had just happened, because he had to. He couldn’t face losing her again.

  A movement beneath the window caught his attention, and he scowled, leaning closer and scanning the driveway. A small white car, a fiat, was pulling to a stop. A taxi, he saw with a frown. His heart began to drop as Jane, a bag over one shoulder, stepped into it. It was unmistakably her. The blonde hair he’d run his fingers through only a little while earlier had been styled into a loose bun, and she’d changed into a pair of black pants and a pale pink sweater, but it was Jane.

  He had not thought, for a single second, that she would actually leave his compound, and his protection.

  His temperature sky-rocketed as he watched the taxi pull out of his home and head towards the city. Panic gripped him. As angry as she was with him, someone out there still wanted to hurt her.

  Carlo had thought he could not feel any worse. He had hurt her, perhaps beyond repair. But he’d also pushed her right back into harm’s way.

  He looked around for his phone, and saw it on his bedside table. He snatched it up, and dialled her number by heart. It rung out. He made a sound of frustration and dialled again. This time she hung up on him, without even letting it ring out. The third time he dialled her number, it went straight to voicemail. She’d switched her mobile off.

  He groaned and dialled Elisabetta’s number instead.

  “Si?” She spoke down the line in her usual no-nonsense way.

  “I have a problem. I need your help.”

  Elisabetta, had she not already been sitting down, would have fallen off her chair. Carlo Santini did not make a habit of asking for help. Nor did he sound desperate or worried, as he did in that moment.

  “What is the matter?”

  “It’s Jane.” Every fibre in Elisabetta’s body seemed to spark with electricity. Her military training flooded to the forefront.

  “Has she been taken?”

  “God, no.” Carlo could only pray no harm would come to her, because of his stupidity. “We argued. I was… I was… I was unreasonable. She’s upset.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “She left. I don’t know where she’s gone.”

  “When?”

  “Only a few minutes ago. In a taxi.”

  “Right. I’ll pull the security feed and get the number plate. I’ll be able to track it through the depot, but it will not be instant. At least it can give us an idea of where she’s headed.”

  Carlo nodded. Yes, that was good. He hadn’t thought of that. “Thank you.”

  Elisabetta disconnected the call, resisting the urge to tell her boss and friend that he’d been an idiot. He already sounded as though he would never forgive himself. No good could come from making him feel even worse. Her priority was finding Jane.

  She set to work, quickly navigating the Italian officials so that she could secure the necessary clearance to track Jane’s taxi. She only hoped she could find her quickly. Her eyes dropped to the computer screen, where her London replacement had emailed over yet another death threat. This time, it was far more sinister. A photograph of Jane, taken at close range, standing on Carlo’s balcony. Someone knew where she was, and it was highly likely they’d watched her get into the cab too. Elisabetta suspected she was not the only person tracking Jane’s movements. Unfortunately, whomever else was chasing Jane had the definite head start.

  * * *

  Jane’s eyes were stinging behind her oversized Balenciaga sunglasses. She stared across the square without really taking in the activity. People moved like an excited wave. Tourists mingled with locals, gypsies and children were color and noise. She was an unmoving object in the centre of it all. A solitary figure, cradling a milky coffee while everyone around her ate lunch and drank wine. She stared at the detailed architecture that surrounded her, wondering distractedly why she hadn’t come here more.

  In a whole year of marriage, she’d done surprisingly little sightseeing. She’d watched the city from high up on the hill, rather than rolling up her sleeves and getting to know it.

  Carlo had not included her in his life, but why hadn’t she made a life of her own? Why had she sat at home and waited for him? Why had she let herself be miserable for so long? Rejected and dejected, when this glorious city was at her feet.

  She hunched her shoulders over and continued to watch, as a chubby toddler toppled to the ground and began to wail. Her mother quickly scooped her up, holding her to her chest and patting her back comfortingly.

  Jane looked away. She had reconciled herself to the fact that she’d lost their baby, but seeing other little children still left her with a metallic taste in her mouth.

  She lifted her coffee cup and sipped it, barely tasting the weak, warm drink. She had been holding it for almost an hour, all the while waiting for the reality of her situation to seep into the comprehension centre of her brain. But her coffee was almost empty, and still, nothing made sense.

  Jane tried to look at her situation with Carlo in a rational way, but it still made no sense. At first, he’d been demanding and adoring. He’d shadowed her like a sexy, intense lover. He’d made her think she was more valuable than all the diamonds in the world. Their wedding had been simple. A registry office affair in Chelsea, followed by
lunch at an exclusive restaurant in Belgravia. They’d spent their wedding night in his London home, and honeymooned on a small island he owned off the coast of France.

  But almost as soon as they’d arrived in Rome, he’d become distant. He’d found ways to keep her from coming to evening events he was obliged to attend, and after awhile, she’d been so offended that she’d stopped asking. He’d kept going, though, and her lonely life had been forged.

  Jane had left him, because she could no longer stand being a peripheral, probably unwelcome, part of his life.

  And he’d let her go.

  So what if she’d tried to make a new life for herself? It’s not like she’d fallen into bed with Roger a week after leaving Carlo. It had been a year after their divorce, and he’d been the only one. She’d felt disgusting after sleeping with him. Like she’d somehow erased Carlo from her body and mind, by sleeping with another man.

  Poor Roger had been summarily dismissed, and never spoken to again. Even the idea of resuming a friendship with him had felt impossible.

  Carlo did not deserve her allegiance. He had pulled her into his web, overpowering her completely, and in every way. Once he’d had her where he wanted her, he’d ceased to find any value in her.

  “You know, you should try coffee the Italian way.”

  Jane frowned at the unwelcome intrusion, and lifted her head to locate the source of the voice. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re American?” The man asked, his handsome face twisting into a smile as propped a hip against her table. A gesture of comfort, she presumed he was settling in for a chat. The very last thing she wanted.

  “No,” she demurred, looking across the square instead. She stared at the ornate detail on the front of the church, waiting for the man to move away. He didn’t.

  “Australian?”

  She smothered a sigh and flashed him a tight smile of dismissal. “No.”

  “Ah! You are going to make me guess, eh?” His accent was different somehow to Carlo’s. His manner was different too. This man was handsome and friendly, but Jane had no interest in being chatted up.