Marriage Made of Secrets Page 5

  Reynaldo Marinello and Tina Sanchez were the Posh and Becks of Italy. The renowned footballer’s engagement to his pop-star girlfriend six months ago had sparked a media frenzy, which Ava normally tried to avoid.

  Witnessing the post-earthquake devastation in Bali, however, had sparked a need to raise awareness and money for disaster-stricken areas through her photography—which meant she couldn’t afford to turn down lucrative assignments like these.

  The Marinello pre-wedding catalogue would entail photographing various members of the prestigious Marinello family around the Lake Como area, with special emphasis on the bride and groom. Mind-numbing work, but if it enabled her to stay close to Annabelle she didn’t mind one little bit.

  Almost an hour later, Ava removed her earphones as a maid entered with a tray that held a tall pitcher of homemade lemonade and pastries. On her heels, Cesare strode in, carrying a wide-awake Annabelle, who in turn clutched a bright red toy horse with flowing mane.

  ‘Mummy, Papà woke me up,’ her daughter said. ‘I had a bad dream.’

  Irrational guilt sparked as Cesare’s cool gaze met hers.

  ‘She tells me she has bad dreams sometimes. You didn’t tell me about them,’ he said almost conversationally, but she didn’t miss the steely undertone.

  ‘The doctor said it was to be expected, after her trauma.’

  ‘Look, Mummy, I have a pretty horsey.’ Annabelle’s demand helped her tear her gaze from Cesare’s accusatory stare.

  ‘I can see that. It’s gorgeous.’ She tried to keep her voice light.

  ‘Papà got it specially for me.’ Her daughter’s wary gaze darted to her father. At his smile, hers widened a touch.

  ‘You’re a lucky little girl,’ said Ava. Her laptop trilled as it shut down.

  Cesare’s gaze zeroed in on it and she was mildly surprised the machine didn’t incinerate under the laser beam of his disapproval.

  Shoving it aside, she stood. Cesare’s scent, coupled with the freshly washed smell from her daughter, caused an intense pang of pain to dart through her.

  Hastily, she stepped back and busied herself with pouring drinks, refusing to let her mind flash back to the hallway incident. Annabelle gulped her drink down and immediately jumped down again, ready to reacquaint herself with her home.

  ‘I asked if there was anything else I should know. You didn’t think I needed to know about her nightmares?’ he rasped fiercely.

  Ava bit her lip. ‘They started last week, after I sent Rita home. She calms down when she knows I’m nearby.’

  Cesare swore fluently under his breath. ‘I needed to know, Ava.’

  She nodded. ‘This was why I wanted to come back. She’s always been happier here.’

  His jaw clamped so tight a pulse kicked in his temple. ‘You will tell me everything, no matter how small or insignificant. Agreed?’

  The power behind his words rocked her to the core. From near total distance to this fierce protectiveness of Annabelle made her reel. That she had a destructive force of nature to thank tightened chaotic knots in her stomach. ‘Agreed.’

  After several seconds, he relaxed.

  ‘So,’ Cesare drawled, his gaze following Annabelle, who’d picked up Ava’s iPod, inserted one earphone and was now dancing around the room, ‘your commune didn’t just teach you to eat, pray and love, did they also teach little girls how to dance like eccentric rock stars?’

  Ava found herself taking her first easy breath since she’d arrived back home. ‘Just because you can’t dance to save your life doesn’t mean you can look down your nose at others. Besides, she gets her dancing gene from me.’

  ‘No doubt about that,’ he drawled.

  ‘Watch it!’

  Annabelle danced over to them. ‘Can I have a biscuit, please?’

  Cesare picked up the plate and held it out to her. ‘It’s called biscotti. Try saying it, piccolina.’ He smiled with undisguised pride when she pronounced it perfectly.

  Ava swallowed but the solid lump wouldn’t move from her throat. Blinking away sudden tears, she jumped up and picked up her laptop.

  ‘If you don’t mind watching her, I’ll go and put this away.’

  ‘Then we can swim, Mummy? You promised.’ As a prize for being good on the plane, she’d promised her daughter the earth—and a long swim when they got home.

  ‘Yes, we can, so don’t have too much lemonade, okay?’

  As she left the room, she felt Cesare’s incisive gaze probing her back. Her steps quickened, defiantly trying to outrun the calm, completely rational voice asking if she knew what she was letting herself in for.

  * * *

  They weren’t in the salone or at the pool when she returned five minutes later, dressed in an orange one-piece swimsuit and white shorts with a loose white shirt over the top. Ava was about to return indoors when she heard her daughter’s voice.

  Following the flower-lined pathway that curved round the villa, she stopped in her tracks. Cesare and Annabelle were bent over a rose bush, admiring a trio of butterflies fluttering from one bud to the other.

  It wasn’t the picture of wonderment on her daughter’s face that stopped Ava’s heart. It was the look of intense pain reflected in Cesare’s face as he gazed at Annabelle. He looked so starkly distraught that she leaned her hand against the wall to steady herself.

  And immediately pulled back with a gasp as the baking concrete singed her hand. Cesare glanced up. In an instant the look was gone. If it hadn’t registered for more than a few seconds, Ava would’ve thought she’d imagined it. She held her breath as he straightened up and strode to her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he questioned coolly.

  ‘Hot wall, bare skin. Bad idea. Should remember that.’

  He claimed her hand and examined the heated flesh. ‘There’s some ice on the table. I’ll put some on it for you,’ he said.

  She glanced at Annabelle.

  ‘She’s enthralled with her butterflies for now. Come.’ The word was more command than suggestion.

  ‘Seriously, it’s nothing.’

  He cast her a grim smile and marched her to the poolside. ‘Is that why you’re grimacing? Because it’s nothing?’

  ‘Fine, it hurts like hell. Satisfied?’

  Pushing her into one of the padded seats, he sat opposite her. ‘Why do women always say it’s nothing, when clearly it isn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’ve probably known more women than me. You tell me.’

  He didn’t deny it. Just smiled in that oh-so-smug way that made her yearn to kick him. Hard. ‘Normally, it’s just a way of attracting more attention.’

  Irritation grew, along with her already heated temperature. He’d used the fully equipped pool house to change into swimming trunks in the time she’d gone upstairs and his bare muscular thighs almost imprisoning hers were covered in short silky hairs that taunted her with their luxuriant promise. The reaction it caused to her body was as unwelcome as it was unstoppable.

  ‘You think I burned myself deliberately to get your attention? You really think I’m that pathetic?’ Why did her voice sound so husky? And why, when he hadn’t even administered the ice on her stinging palm, were her nipples peaking so painfully?

  He smiled, wrapped several ice cubes in a linen napkin and placed it in her palm. ‘No, cara mia. Because you’re not most women.’ His gaze captured hers, the tawny depths smoky, intense and way too captivating for her sanity.

  ‘Thank you. I think.’ Foolish pleasure stole through her, accelerating her already racing heartbeat.

  ‘Prego.’ The deep, softly muttered word flowed over her overheating senses.

  Everything fell away. The sound of the water splashing against the side of the pool, the warm buzzing of bees in the afternoon air, the sound of boats on the
lake. Everything, except the heat radiating from Cesare’s eyes, the warmth of the fingers curled around hers and the emotions rippling through her. His gaze traced her face. When it lingered on her lips, it took all her willpower not to lick them in shameless anticipation.

  Unavoidably, her own gaze fell to the sensual curve of his lips; lips she’d tasted mere hours ago.

  Heat collected and oozed between her legs, stinging with a need that gripped with relentless force. Realising she hadn’t taken a breath in a dizzyingly long time, she sucked in air through her mouth.

  The sound ripped through their sensual cocoon, intensifying the tension arcing between them. Cesare swallowed, the movement of his strong neck making her pulse skitter and her fingers yearn to caress his skin.

  His fingers convulsed around hers. Her gaze returned to his face and found his attention riveted on her breasts.

  Desire wove a dangerous path through her as she remembered how much he’d once loved her breasts. How he’d used to mould them, shape them with his hands and worship them for what seemed like long, endless hours while he murmured heated Italian words in homage.

  His gaze darted back to hers and she knew he was remembering too. Remembering how he’d loved them even more when they grew fuller with her pregnancy.

  She couldn’t take it any more. Her eyelids grew heavy, her blood thickening with unbearable yearning even as she tried to pull away.

  He held her easily.

  ‘Cesare...’ She wasn’t sure whether she was pleading or protesting.

  His eyes darkened to a burnished gold. He wanted her too. Desperately. The thought sent delight racing through her veins at the exact moment he gave a strangled groan.

  ‘Cesare, please.’ She wasn’t even certain that she wanted him to answer the sexual need clawing through her. All she knew was that she wanted answers.

  She saw his withdrawal even before Annabelle’s distressed voice reached them. ‘Papà, they flew away. I wanted them to stay but the butterflies flew away!’

  ‘Mi dispiace, piccolina, but these things happen. It wasn’t meant to be.’

  She knew his words were directed at her. He continued to stare at her as he curled her fingers over the napkin and placed her hand on the table.

  She closed her eyes, willing away the intense pain spiralling through her. Breathe...just breathe. In. Out. Over the sound of her fracturing emotions, she heard Cesare soothe his daughter’s disappointment.

  What about me? What about this gaping ache I carry inside because I don’t know what’s happened to us?

  Questions crowded in her head as she sat there, the ice doing its job to soothe her palm while, inside, confusion congealed into a tight ball behind her breastbone. Slowly it dawned on her that she’d let it happen again; she’d let Cesare toy with her emotions, disrupt her thought patterns until she wasn’t sure whether she was coming or going.

  Dear Lord, she’d been in his presence less than half a day and already she’d let him weave his potent spell around her twice. What was wrong with her?

  Intensely irritated with herself, she let Cesare take over entertaining Annabelle, listening to her delight as he swam up and down the pool with her on his back.

  Dinner was brought out to the poolside just as the sun started to sink over the lake. Annabelle started to flag soon after with the effects of jet lag. By the time Cesare carried her upstairs, she was almost asleep.

  Weariness sapped Ava as she lingered over Annabelle’s bedtime story. For a moment she contemplated walking through to her own suite, crawling under the covers and letting the whole world fall away.

  No. She straightened her spine.

  Cesare had demonstrated in the last year that he could erase her comprehensively from his life. That he had every intention of continuing to do so.

  But, for the sake of her sanity, Ava needed to know why.

  * * *

  Cesare picked up his wine glass and tried to marshal his thoughts. But even thinking had become a gut-wrenchingly difficult task. Unbidden, the scent of Ava’s orgasm rose to torture him. Dio, he’d been close—so close—to experiencing that sweet heaven again. But he knew, as much as it killed him, he had to walk way. And continue walking away. Every single time.

  For Roberto’s sake, as some small, pitiful measure of penance for what he’d done to his brother, he couldn’t give in to the craving.

  Besides, the last thing he needed on top of the trauma and devastation life had thrown his way was the complication sex brought. Especially the uncontrollable kind that always felt a heartbeat away whenever he touched Ava.

  This afternoon he’d boldly laid down his plan for ensuring he and Ava wouldn’t run into each other more than necessary for the next few weeks. But already he saw the plan unravelling. The incident in the hallway and the few hours he’d spent with her by the pool had refuelled the sizzling attraction he’d tried and failed to bury. An attraction he had no right to rekindle. Or crave.

  That only left him with one option.

  Light female footsteps approached. Cradling his wine glass in one hand, he watched Ava emerge onto the terrace, child monitor in hand and a look of fierce determination in her eyes.

  Although his heart sank a little, a part of him welcomed the situation.

  Because, if nothing else, being caught in the middle of an earthquake had hammered home just how unpredictable life could be. He’d ruined his brother’s life. He refused to remain in a situation where he could ruin another.

  He’d tried to reason with Ava. Now it was time to be cruel to be kind.

  She stopped in front of him and set down the monitor. ‘I’m hoping being home will make them stop, but if she has another nightmare we’ll hear her.’

  He merely nodded. A flash caught and drew his attention to his wedding ring. He’d slipped it on when he’d lunched with his mother during his quick stopover in Rome. His parents had suffered enough in the last month; the last thing he’d wanted was to distress them further by exposing the state of his marriage.

  Before him, Ava shifted from one foot to the other. Then she exhaled. ‘What you said this afternoon...about things not meant to be. What did you mean?’ she demanded, her arms once again crossed in battle stance.

  He took his time to twirl his wine glass, allowed his gaze to rise slowly from her bare, stunning legs, linger at her rounded hips, past her deliciously full breasts, to capture hers.

  His grim smile felt as strained as the tightening in his groin. ‘When we met, I was blown away by your beauty. You were sexy, vivacious, with a reckless streak that drew me like a moth to a flame. And the sex...’ His breath stalled, his pulse kicking up another dangerous notch. ‘The sex was unbelievable, better or quite possibly the best I’d ever had.’ Her shocked gasp bounced over him and disappeared in the night breeze. ‘Unfortunately, I let it blind me into making an unforgivable error.’

  Her eyes darkened. ‘What was that error?’ she whispered.

  He threw back his drink in one greedy, hopefully fortifying gulp and set the glass down. ‘I think you’ll agree that catastrophe has a way of bringing into sharp focus what’s important.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Two things became clear to me in the aftermath of the earthquake, cara mia. The first was that my daughter means more to me than my life itself and I would rip my heart out before I let anything remotely close to that devastation happen to her again.’

  The fire in her eyes told him she felt the same. For a moment, he didn’t want to utter the next words, but he knew he needed to. ‘The second was that I...as deliciously tempting as you were...as mind-altering as the sex was, bellissima, I know now that I should never have married you.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I SHOULD NEVER have married you.

  Ava stabbed the trowel deeper into the soil, oblivio
us to the heat and sweat cascading down her face. A grim smile stretched her lips as she recalled the horror on Lucia’s face when she’d asked for the gardening supplies.

  But it had been that or go mad from replaying that statement in her head over and over. Agata Marinello’s endless text messages every two seconds hadn’t helped to improve her disposition either.

  Hard physical labour was what she needed. Bone tiredness meant she would collapse exhausted into bed at night and fall asleep without torturing herself with thoughts she had no business thinking.

  For the past week, Cesare had stuck religiously to the schedule they’d set out on her return. He spent time with Annabelle in the morning while she met with the Marinellos; she took over in the afternoons and they had supper with their daughter before they took turns giving her a bath and putting her to bed.

  Living under the same roof as Cesare was going smoothly. The truce was working. She should’ve been happy.

  She wasn’t. A very unladylike snort escaped her throat. How could she be when she was constantly in knots over Cesare’s behaviour? The man had proved himself a champion at avoiding her, yet she could feel his presence as closely as the air on her skin. Could sense his gaze on her from his window when she played at the pool with Annabelle or when they went down the jetty to watch the luxury boats sail by. What was frustrating her most was the longing she could sense in his gaze.

  Cesare yearned to spend more time with his daughter, but he was keeping away because of her. Had she really got it so wrong? Had her need for a family blinded her to the fact that she was setting up that family with a man who didn’t want the full package?

  Pain ripped through her and her fingers stilled as she tried to recall for what seemed like the millionth time, when things had started to change.

  Cesare had been shocked by her pregnancy, even though he bounced back almost immediately. Hell, she was sure he’d been ecstatic.

  He’d been a godsend during her pregnancy. Unbelievably, the sex had been her favourite part of being pregnant—the seemingly innocent back rubs that had often reached very pleasurable conclusions.