Kitabı oku: «The Secret Kept From The Italian», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

‘OH.’ THE WORD was a soft gasp as Maisie looked at this man, this beautiful man, who was so obviously still grieving. Her heart ached for him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He jerked one powerful shoulder in a shrug. ‘Thank you.’

‘I have a little brother. I can’t imagine...’ She couldn’t bear to lose Max. Not after everything else. He was all she had, and now that he’d finished university he was living his own life, claiming an independence that made her feel both proud and sad. It was finally time to chase her own dreams, but sometimes that was a lonely occupation.

‘Yet you lost your parents.’ Antonio shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled towards the window, his shuttered gaze on the city skyline. ‘How did that happen?’

‘A car accident.’

His shoulders tensed and he stilled. ‘A drunk driver?’

‘No, just someone going too fast. Ran a red light and ploughed head-on into their car.’ She took a quick, steadying breath. Five years later it still hurt. It was no longer the fresh, stinging, open wound, but more the ache of an old but deep injury that would always be a part of her. ‘The mercy was they both died instantly.’

He let out a huff of utterly humourless laughter. ‘Some mercy.’

‘It’s something,’ Maisie said quietly. Sometimes it had felt like all she had. ‘How did your younger brother die?’

Antonio didn’t answer for a moment; Maisie felt instinctively he was wondering how much to say. Debating how much to tell her. ‘The same,’ he finally answered tonelessly. ‘A car accident.’ He paused. ‘Just like your parents.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He nodded in acknowledgement, his jaw tight. ‘It’s hard, sometimes, to think someone’s recklessness caused the death of someone you love, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Antonio said, his voice flat. ‘Very hard.’

‘Was it someone going too fast, or—?’

‘Yes.’ He cut her off, his voice terse and flat. ‘Someone was going too fast.’

Belatedly Maisie realised he might not want to rake over such details. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and impulsively she crossed to him and laid one hand on his arm. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves and her fingers curled over his bare forearm, the skin warm and taut beneath her palm. An arrow of sensation pierced her core, surprising her with its intensity. She nearly snatched her hand away, and yet for some reason she didn’t. Couldn’t.

They remained that way, both frozen, for a few taut seconds and then Antonio slowly turned. Maisie saw the heat in his piercing blue eyes, and she felt it in herself, a flood of warmth and need that doused all rational thought. She stared at him, knowing she couldn’t hide her expression, her desire. She’d been wanting only to comfort him; at least she thought she had, but now she felt something else entirely. Something overwhelming.

She drew a breath and it hitched audibly. Antonio’s eyes flared again. Maisie stared at him, feeling trapped, but in a wonderful way. An exciting way.

‘How old is your younger brother?’ Antonio asked quietly, and the exquisite tension didn’t break, but it lessened. Maisie took another careful breath and removed her hand from his arm; already she missed the warmth of his skin.

‘He’s twenty-two now.’

‘So he was seventeen when your parents died.’

Surprise and a strange kind of gratification rippled through her at his swift recall. ‘Yes.’

‘What did you do? Without your parents?’

‘Worked.’ She didn’t want to get into the whole tedious sob story of her parents’ sudden death, the ensuing shock that they had no savings and her family home had been double-mortgaged. Money had always been a concern in Maisie’s childhood, but she hadn’t realised what an overwhelming fear it could be until after her parents’ death. But surely a man like Antonio Rossi, with his yacht and his houses and his glittering career, didn’t want to hear about that.

‘Worked,’ Antonio repeated slowly, his gaze searching her face. ‘Did you take care of your brother?’

‘Yes.’ Maisie couldn’t keep the ferocity from her tone. Max had been everything to her after her parents had died. She was still finding it hard not to have him at the centre of her world. Even with her new life in the city, she missed him. She missed him needing her, but of course he hadn’t needed her for a while. Not emotionally, anyway.

‘What’s his name?’ Antonio asked softly, and for some reason his interest nearly undid her.

‘Max,’ she whispered. ‘He just finished university in the spring. He’s doing an internship on Wall Street.’

‘Wall Street.’ Antonio gave a low whistle. ‘Sounds like you’ve done a good job.’

‘I tried.’ Maisie dragged her gaze away from Antonio’s eyes with effort. ‘But we were talking about you.’

‘Were we?’

‘What was your brother’s name?’

Antonio hesitated, and Maisie realised it was an intimate, even invasive question. She understood instinctively that he didn’t talk about his brother; that already she was privileged to know as much, or really as little, as she did. ‘Paolo,’ he finally said, and the word escaped from him on a reluctant sigh. ‘He was five years younger than me. He died ten years ago today.’

‘Today...’

‘Hence the whisky.’ He let out a humourless laugh. ‘I always find January sixteenth one of the hardest days of the year.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged, his gaze sliding away from hers. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I know that.’ She smiled sadly, wanting to touch him again, to offer him that basic comfort, and yet afraid of his response—and hers. ‘But I also know how much it hurts. And I’m sorry that you’re hurting in that way. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’

‘No.’ He glanced back at her, his gaze heavy-lidded now, turning sensual. ‘You are a very kind person, Maisie. You have a generous heart, to give so much to people and probably receive less in return.’

She laughed uncertainly. ‘That makes me sound a little bit like a doormat,’ she observed.

‘Not at all.’ He cocked his head. ‘Is that how you feel?’

Surprise flared through her at his perception, because the truth was she’d always felt, in the darkest corner of her heart, that she gave more to Max, loved him more, than he did her. But that was the nature of their relationship, wasn’t it? There were only two years between them but she’d become both mother and father to him. She’d had to. And she’d wanted to, but...sometimes her life had felt dreary, thankless. Sometimes she’d wondered if there was anything more, even as she missed his active presence in her life now. ‘Maybe a little,’ she admitted, and then felt wretched. How could she begrudge her brother anything, never mind her own love? ‘Not really...’

‘Shh.’ Antonio pressed his finger to her lips, utterly silencing her. ‘You don’t have to apologise for your feelings. It’s already obvious to me how much you care about your brother, and how much you’ve sacrificed for him.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ Maisie whispered, her lips brushing his fingers with every syllable. He kept his finger there, pressed to her lips, light as a feather and yet feeling like the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced.

His gaze was dark and hooded as he replied, ‘Because it shines from you. Love and...and goodness.’

From someone else it would have sounded like sentimental flattery, but Antonio’s tone was so gentle and sincere, with a touch of sorrow that made Maisie ache. No one had ever said such things to her before. No one had ever even noticed all she’d done for Max. All she’d given up for herself. And somehow this beautiful stranger had.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and Antonio pressed his finger more firmly against her mouth, a caress that Maisie felt to her core. She shuddered, unable to stop herself, and Antonio smiled.

‘So loving,’ he murmured as he traced the outline of her lips with his fingertip. ‘And so lovely.’

Maisie remained transfixed under his touch; the touch of his fingers felt as if he were imprinting himself on her soul. She’d had a few boyfriends over the years, but none of them had been serious—there had been Max to think of, and life was so busy, working full-time and trying to keep up with her music. Those boyfriends’ kisses and clinches hadn’t affected her the way Antonio Rossi did, by simply touching her lips with the tip of his finger. Not remotely.

Some hazy part of her brain was telling her that she needed to stop this nonsense and get back to work. Finish her shift and go home and forget the dangerous magic that was being wrought in this room, making her insides fizz and the air shimmer.

Antonio trailed his finger from her lips to her chin and then down to the hollow in her throat, where her pulse beat frantically. He rested it there, his brows drawn together as he studied her. He glanced at her from underneath heavy-lidded eyes and then he dropped his finger lower, undoing her coverall and skimming under the plain white T-shirt she wore beneath, with the cleaning company’s insignia on the breast pocket.

Shock and desire crashed through Maisie in a double wave and the half-full tumbler of whisky dropped from her nerveless fingers and fell onto the floor, the alcohol soaking into the carpet and filling the air with its pungent scent.

She gasped and looked down in horror. ‘Oh, no...’

‘It doesn’t matter...’

‘It does. I can’t leave a mess in an office I’ve just cleaned.’

‘Then we won’t leave it.’

He smiled, the wry yet intent look in his eyes as good as telling her that this was not going to serve as a distraction from his true purpose, or at least not for long. Yet what did he, magnetic sexy billionaire that he was, want with her?

Of course, the answer was glaringly obvious. Maisie blinked, rooted to the spot, as Antonio fetched a cloth and some carpet cleaner and began to scrub the stain.

He wanted sex. That was what rich, powerful men wanted with women like her. The only thing. Yet here he was, cleaning the carpet for her. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand herself, and how she could actually be tempted by such a sordid proposition.

Sex with a stranger. That was what she was actually thinking about right now. Yet perhaps Antonio wasn’t thinking of sex at all; perhaps he was just being kind, a little flirty, humouring the housekeeper. Pure mortification shot through her, turning her insides to ice and her face fiery. Hot and cold, that was how she felt. Hot and cold right through.

Antonio tossed the cleaning supplies back onto her trolley and then straightened, turning to her with a wickedly sexy smile.

‘Now, then,’ he said. ‘Where were we?’

She was blushing, right to the roots of her hair. Antonio noted her change in colour with interest, just as he’d noted the way she’d responded to his finger against her lips. And he’d responded, desire arrowing through him along with something deeper. He’d meant what he said when he’d told her she was loving and good. She seemed, at that moment, like the most uncomplicated, honest and kind person he’d ever encountered, and he craved that as much as he craved her body. Well, almost.

Maisie tilted her chin a little, her eyes flashing emerald fire. ‘Where were we, exactly?’ she asked, her voice a little croaky yet full of challenge and bravado.

Antonio smiled. ‘I think,’ he murmured as he skimmed his fingers along her cheek, her skin like warm satin under their tips, ‘we were right here.’

Maisie closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as if she had to endure his touch and yet Antonio knew better. Her whole body trembled as if she was strung through with a wire and he was plucking it. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered.

‘I haven’t even kissed you yet.’

She opened her eyes, shocked despite everything that had already happened, the tension crackling in the air. ‘Yet?’

‘Yet,’ Antonio confirmed. ‘Surely, Maisie, you know it’s only a matter of time? You want me and I want you. Very much. I want to forget all the grief and sadness, and I want to remember...this.’ Gently, so she could pull away if she really wanted to, he drew her towards him. Their hips bumped and her breasts brushed his chest. Her body quivered and her eyes looked like huge, glassy pools, the colour of ferns.

Part of him, a large part, wanted to drive his hands through her wild, auburn hair and plunder her mouth, lose himself in the oblivion of lust with no thought to the wide-eyed woman before him.

But of course he couldn’t do that. Maisie was too lovely for such coarse treatment. So he took his time, letting his gaze move slowly over her as she adjusted to being so near to him, the shift in their bodies as well as the shift in the air. Flirtation had turned to anticipation. Expectation.

‘You’re very lovely,’ he murmured as he wound a reddish curl around his finger, tugging it gently so she had to come even closer. ‘Very, very lovely.’

‘So are you,’ she returned on a shaky laugh. ‘But you must know how handsome you are.’

He laughed, because there was something so delightfully refreshing about her artless candour. ‘Maybe you could show me.’

She sucked in a breath and then shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know how.’

He tugged that curl again. ‘You could kiss me.’

A lovely pink blush washed over her face in a tide of colour. ‘I...couldn’t.’

‘You could.’

‘I wouldn’t know how,’ she repeated, her face even fierier now.

‘So I’m meant to do all the work and seduce you?’ he teased gently, and she bit her lip.

‘You don’t have to,’ she muttered, looking away. ‘It’s not like I’m asking.’

He laughed softly, enjoying the repartee as much as the delicious anticipation of her kiss. ‘I’m asking,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I’m demanding.’

‘Demanding...?’

‘Kiss me, Maisie.’

She turned back to him with wide, shocked eyes. He would have thought she was offended except for the flare of excitement in their emerald-bright depths, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip as she considered his request—no, his demand.

‘You’re looking at my mouth like it’s a mountain to climb,’ he observed wryly. They’d barely touched and he was finding it hard to hold on to his light, laughing manner. The need was growing inside him—a torrent, a torment, and soon it would be overwhelming.

‘It feels like it,’ Maisie admitted. ‘I’m not... I’m not adventurous.’

‘But you want to kiss me.’ It was a statement, not a question. He saw and felt her answer in the tremble of her body, the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to moisten her plump pink lips.

‘Yes...’

Antonio drew back a little. ‘You sound uncertain.’ But only a little.

‘This is so outside my realm of experience,’ Maisie said on a huff of disbelieving laughter. ‘I feel like I’ve fallen into a fairy tale or down a rabbit hole.’

‘Then enjoy the ride,’ Antonio suggested. He wondered briefly about warning her that this was a one-night stand, a brief moment of pleasure. But he didn’t want to break the mood and surely it was obvious? Relationships didn’t start between strangers on an empty office floor at two o’clock in the morning. Maisie seemed refreshingly honest and artless, but she wasn’t dumb.

‘Enjoy the ride,’ she repeated slowly, savouring each word as if it were a sip of fine wine. ‘Now, that’s something I don’t think I’ve ever done before.’

Antonio raised his eyebrows. ‘No?’

‘No. Definitely not.’

‘Then maybe now is the time.’

Maisie took a deep, slow breath and raised her resolute gaze to his. Antonio felt a blaze of triumph burn through him; he knew that look. She’d made up her mind.

‘Maybe I should,’ she said, and then she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, feather-light, whisper-soft. Antonio remained still under her hesitant caress, waiting to see what she would do next. She drew back, frowning a little. ‘Didn’t you...didn’t you like it?’

‘Of course I liked it,’ Antonio was quick to reassure her. ‘But how can I be satisfied with barely a mouthful when what I really want is a meal? A feast?’ He let her see the heat simmering in his gaze as his mouth dropped to her lips. This really was the most interesting and exquisite foreplay, and like nothing else he’d ever done with a woman. ‘Kiss me again, Maisie.’

And she did, this time pressing her body as well as her lips against his, one slender hand curling over his shoulder. It was clumsy and hesitant and somehow perfect. This time Antonio couldn’t keep from responding. He spanned her waist with his hands, revelling in her softness, and drew her even more snugly against him, so their bodies were in sensual alignment. He felt a shudder go through her at his obvious arousal, and he paused, waiting for her to catch up. To take the next step.

And she did, kissing him again, her tongue darting out to touch his lips like a shy butterfly. Antonio captured her mouth against his own, deepening the kiss, plundering her silken depths as he’d been longing to.

Need roared through him, his blood rushing through his veins, pounding in his head. He’d meant to go slowly, to be civilised and controlled about the whole thing, but all his careful plans fell apart as Maisie gave herself to him so generously, so artlessly. He backed her up across the room, all the way to the sofa, and his last remnant of self-control kept him from practically throwing her onto its leather cushions. Instead he laid her down gently, and she stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

‘Antonio...’

His breath came out in a ragged hiss as he stared down at her, aghast at the possibility of her having second thoughts. ‘Do you want me, Maisie?’

‘Yes...’ Her voice wavered and Antonio cursed himself for having rushed things.

‘Do you want this?’ He gestured to the space between them, the look in his eyes surely leaving no confusion as to what he meant.

Maisie lay on the sofa, her pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted, her expression dazed and full of desire. She drew in a long, slow breath, her gaze searching him, asking silent questions Antonio didn’t know how to answer. He waited, fists clenched, everything taut and expectant, as he braced himself for her reply.

‘Yes,’ she whispered finally, and her head fell back against the cushions. ‘Yes, I do.’