Marriage Made of Secrets Read online

  Cesare slammed the door to his study and paced the room. A dark part of him registered his anger was irrational. As irrational as the fear he’d felt when he’d had to leave Ava and Annabelle three weeks ago to rush to Roberto’s side. Then, as now, he’d felt as if his life was ripping apart with the same deadly intent as the earthquake had.

  He detested the hellish, out-of-control feeling.

  The past weeks’ events—the earthquake, Roberto’s death, the soul-shaking despair of not being able to control anything in life had only cemented his belief that he shouldn’t have married Ava.

  So why should he be angry now that she wanted out?

  ‘Basta!’ he swore under his breath. Glancing at his watch, he stalked to the phone. It was still early on a Saturday morning, and it was about time his lawyers earned their fat monthly retainer.

  ‘Ciao!’

  Cesare pulled the phone from his ear, surprise spiking through him when he realised whose number he’d dialled.

  ‘Buon giorno, Celine.’

  ‘You sound surprised even though you called me.’ Her bewilderment matched his.

  ‘Perdono, I was calling someone else,’ he said.

  Celine’s laugh was a little strained. ‘Maybe it’s Fate forcing us to finish last night’s conversation.’

  He sighed. ‘I’ve told her. She knows everything.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad, Cesare. I allowed Roberto to push me away and I’ll never forgive myself for not being there for him until it was almost too late. We barely got a chance to say goodbye before he was gone. I’m glad you’re not making the same mistake...’ Her voice broke.

  Pain tightened in his chest before he forcefully hardened his emotions. He wasn’t in the mood to enlighten Celine that he and wife couldn’t be further apart if they tried. ‘I appreciate what you did for Roberto, just as I appreciate what you’re doing for my fam—for me. Ciao, Celine.’ He quickly ended the call and threw the phone on his desk.

  His jaw tightened against the helplessness that dogged him and he had the feeling Fate wasn’t done with him yet.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his head but there was no erasing his mind’s fixation on a particular woman. A woman with hair the colour of a glorious Tuscany sunset, peach-perfect skin dusted with freckles as countless as the stars. Emerald-green eyes that sucked him into seductive pools in which he wanted to happily drown.

  The arousal that had plagued him since she returned throbbed to life, an insistent beat of desire that pounded through his system like a relentless drumbeat.

  It would all go away. He just needed the right focus. One call on Monday to his lawyers to set divorce proceedings underway and this feeling would go away.

  Satisfied that he’d regained some control, he left the study.

  Lucia was laying out the breakfast things and turned at his approach. The usually stern face of the woman who’d been part of his household for longer than he could remember relaxed into a smile as she regaled him with Annabelle’s antics of the day before.

  Cesare had noted the change in his household since his daughter’s return. The household staff who normally went out of their way to avoid him now smiled openly and even exchanged greetings instead of hurrying away when they saw him coming.

  As he poured himself a coffee, he admitted to the lightness in his own heart since Annabelle’s return. But there was also a stab of pain so acute his hand shook. He’d almost lost her once. He had no intention of doing so again.

  She was the only child he would bear; she would one day inherit the di Goia fortune. Which meant she had to be prepared. And, for starters, a daughter who spoke more English than Italian was simply unacceptable.

  ‘You look like you’re plotting world domination.’

  Ava stood framed in the terrace doorway, dressed in a short white sundress. The sight of her long bare legs sent volcanic heat surging through his veins.

  Sunlight flamed hair brightened by the Balinese sun. Her fair skin never browned enough to tan, but it glowed with a healthy hue and shimmered as if she’d smoothed a special lotion over it.

  He watched her glide on bare feet towards him. In all the time he’d known Ava, he’d only seen her wear shoes when they went out and, even then, at the earliest opportunity she kicked them off. Instruments of torture, she called them. He’d never objected because he found her unadorned feet extremely sexy. He’d never have imagined he had a foot fetish before he met her.

  But then he was equally fascinated with her fingers, with her lips, with the delicate bones of her clavicle and the sweet temptation of her round, supple breasts.

  Madre di Dio! he cursed as his insane desire for her rose to torment him again.

  Hips swaying beneath the soft, clingy material, she reached the table, chose the chair next to him and folded herself into it. Immediately the subtle scent of her perfume hit his nostrils, sending desire surging higher.

  ‘Should I be afraid?’ Her voice was a husky rasp in his ears. He had to concentrate hard to remember what she’d said.

  He forced a smile. ‘I am plotting, cara, but not world domination. What I desire is much smaller, but no less important.’

  Unease entered her eyes but she tried to mask it. When she looked away and poured her tea, he couldn’t resist the irrational urge to tease her, to pay her back for the suffering he endured. Hell, he knew it wasn’t her fault that he found her so alluring, so damned beautiful that all he wanted to do was bury the stiff, pulsing part of himself inside her, but he felt rattled enough not to heed caution’s voice.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what it is?’ he asked softly.

  The teapot shook and she set it down. That small betrayal was quickly masked because when she glanced at him the deep endless pools of her eyes were clear and calm. But they still drew him in like a siren’s call.

  ‘Not particularly, but I get the feeling you’re in a sharing mood.’

  He smiled. ‘I am indeed. Annabelle doesn’t speak any Italian.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘What?’

  ‘My daughter does not speak Italian.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘And whose fault is that? English is my first language, not Italian.’

  ‘But you have a great handle on Italian. Or at least you did when we were together.’

  She shrugged and he cursed himself for being distracted by the delicate movement of her shoulder. ‘Since I seem to have misinterpreted so much of what you said to me in Italian, maybe I didn’t have as great a handle on the language as I thought.’

  He deserved that but it didn’t make him seethe any less. ‘I want her to learn my language.’

  To his surprise, she nodded. ‘I don’t have any objection. Lucia is already teaching her. She’s a very quick study. I’m sure she’ll pick it up easily enough.’

  Her easy capitulation unsettled him even further. Seeing his reaction, she shrugged again. ‘I’m determined to be hysteria-free from now on, Cesare. Deal with it.’

  ‘Deal with it?’ He wasn’t sure why that particular statement made him angrier.

  ‘Do you mind taking care of Annabelle this morning? I know we’re supposed to spend weekends with her but I need to check out the lighting for the blessing in the church and the caretaker can only make today.’

  ‘Where is this church?’ he bit out.

  ‘The Duomo in Amalfi.’

  ‘I’ll drive you there.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  He set his coffee down. ‘Sì, there’s every need. If we all go together then we don’t break the agreement to spend time with our daughter. Where is she, by the way?’

  ‘She took a detour to the kitchen to ask Lucia to put blueberries in her pancakes. But—’

  Before she could protest further about his decision to drive into Amalfi wit
h her, Annabelle flew onto the terrace, her hair streaming behind her like a fast-flowing river. His heart caught with joy, then sang with pride when she greeted him in halting Italian.

  ‘Buon giorno, piccolina,’ he responded, trying to keep his voice steady.

  * * *

  Ava watched the play of emotion on Cesare’s face as he lifted Annabelle onto his lap for a kiss. Another sliver of unease darted through her. On the surface, Cesare’s request that Annabelle learn Italian had seemed innocuous. But she couldn’t dismiss the anxiety that settled in her stomach like a lead balloon.

  Was she blowing everything out of proportion, just like she’d blown her importance to Cesare out of proportion? Maybe Cesare was being exactly what he claimed—an Italian father with the natural urge to speak his language with his child.

  Her fingers stilled on the banana she was peeling for Annabelle and she watched father and daughter converse—one voice a deep, gravelly tone, the other a childish but attentive copying that filled her heart with equal measures of pride and pain.

  As if sensing her gaze, Cesare glanced up.

  The breath left her lungs and her heart careened around her ribcage like a crazed animal seeking freedom.

  Even after Annabelle grabbed her banana and settled in her seat to munch on it, he continued to stare at her. Heat arced between them, just like it had from the very first time they’d met.

  Once again the stinging betrayal of her need echoed between her legs. A helpless moan escaped her before she quickly disguised it as a cough.

  His eyes darkened nevertheless.

  ‘Stop it,’ she muttered fiercely.

  He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Can’t help it.’

  ‘Try harder!’ Or she was scared she’d spontaneously combust the way her pulse was skittering out of control.

  Tawny eyes narrowed. ‘Is that an order?’

  ‘It’s a friendly health warning.’

  His smile was pure male arrogance, his gaze unwavering as he sipped his coffee.

  ‘My parents wish to see Annabelle. I also have a few meetings in Rome, so it would be a good time to make it happen.’

  ‘How are they coping with...’ she paused, her glance sliding to Annabelle ‘...with what happened to Roberto?’

  A flash of pain passed over Cesare’s face, his eyes straying to Annabelle. ‘As most parents would, I expect.’ His gaze returned to Ava. ‘They need not know about our...situation just yet. I don’t want them upset.’

  Ava abandoned the pretence of eating and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘They know we’ve lived apart for a year, Cesare.’

  ‘But my mother assumes since we’re both here, living under the same roof that we’ve resolved our differences. Once the summer is over, we’ll update them on what they need to know.’

  Against her will, but because she didn’t want to cause any further distress to newly bereaved parents, she nodded. ‘When were you thinking of going to Rome?’ Annabelle’s grandparents doted on her and she’d never deny Orsini and Carmela di Goia the chance to see their granddaughter.

  ‘Monday morning. I have meetings in the afternoon.’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  He drained his coffee. ‘If you agree, Annabelle will spend the night with my parents on Monday. I’ll pick her up on Tuesday and we’ll return on Wednesday.’

  ‘Two nights...’ She would miss her child but the time away would help her put her feelings regarding Cesare into some sort of perspective.

  Being constantly around him, waging a seemingly hopeless battle with her feelings had become draining. In a way, this was a blessing in disguise.

  The time would also be useful for a drive down to Amalfi to scout out some more locations for the wedding catalogue.

  She tried not to be distracted by the play of his hair-dusted bicep as he reached over and plucked a peach from the bowl. ‘I suppose two nights isn’t so bad. Is Lucia coming with you?’

  ‘No, she isn’t.’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea—’

  ‘You think I’m incapable of taking care of our child?’ A hard glint entered his eyes, chilling the skin on her arms.

  ‘It’s not that,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘Annabelle can be a handful, especially when she gets tired. I just think it’s a good idea to have some help, that’s all.’

  ‘Which is why you’re coming with us,’ he said.

  ‘Me? But I wasn’t—I didn’t...’

  ‘Wasn’t that the agreement? We spend every day with our daughter?’

  ‘Yes, but what about my work? I have a meeting with Reynaldo and Tina on Monday morning.’

  He frowned. ‘What time will you be done?’

  ‘About eleven.’

  ‘Bene, we’ll leave at midday.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘If you want a swim with Papà after breakfast, then go easy on those pancakes, piccola mia.’

  ‘Will you swim too, Mummy?’ her daughter asked.

  ‘Yes, she will,’ Cesare answered for her. ‘Mummy is not in any danger because she’s barely eaten a thing.’ His disapproving gaze moved from her barely touched plate to her face, and challenged her to refute his words.

  The discreet but extremely rude finger gesture she used in his direction produced an amused smile. Then his gaze released hers to travel at leisure down her face to the frantic pulse beating at her throat.

  Unable to stand the sensual heat any more, she set back her chair and stood.

  ‘I’ll just go and change.’ As she walked away, a saucy thought entered her head. Since she’d got here, Cesare had teased and taunted her sexually.

  Well, two could play that game.

  In her room, she quickly selected her skimpiest bikini, one bought for her trip to Bali when she’d been under the delusion that she could save her marriage.

  She tried it on now and nearly lost her nerve. The bright green Lycra material—where there was any—clung to her skin in a blatantly provocative caress.

  Flushing, she pulled a matching green shirt over it, grabbed a bottle of sun protection and hurried out of the room before she changed her mind. With each step towards the pool, she reiterated to herself the purpose of her actions.

  She’d never been a pushover. On the contrary, she’d learned very early on in life to push back when pushed. Cesare had pushed her buttons enough.

  The moment she shrugged off her shirt and caught his gaze, her heartbeat screamed out of control. Where sexual heat had burned lazily in his eyes before, this time they blazed with pure volcanic heat. The sheer power of it made her stumble to a halt. Heat rushed up and engulfed her whole body. Uncertain, she stood at the edge of the pool.

  Cesare’s face set into hardened lines. His nostrils were pinched and his jaw was clamped tight as if holding himself by a bare thread. He couldn’t have made it plainer that she’d succeeded in pushing him to his very limit.

  She wanted to run as fast as she could back to her room, tear the bikini off and burn the damned thing. But she couldn’t move. Concrete-heavy limbs remained riveted to the tiles, her whole body drenched in a need so strong it took her breath away.

  His gaze slid downward, his expression growing tighter as it travelled over her and back to her face.

  Finally, he turned to his daughter, made sure her armbands were secured, then he swam to the side of the pool.

  In one vault he was beside her. ‘What the hell are you trying to do to me?’

  She fought to hold a smile in place. ‘Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?’

  He stared down at her, and then proceeded to circle her. When he reached her back, she heard a harshly drawn breath.

  Despite her intentions, she cringed at the soun
d because she knew what he was seeing. Three fragile lines barely held the bikini together. It would take little more than a tug for it to disintegrate.

  ‘Santa Maria. You’ve never played this dirty before,’ he croaked.

  ‘I’m...sorry?’

  ‘You’re not sorry. You’re trying to punish me, make me want you so badly, I can’t see straight.’ His mouth was next to her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

  Heat fired through her but she refused to back down. ‘I’m merely playing your game, Cesare. Question is, what are you going to do about it?’

  He gripped her arms and whirled her to face him. ‘You want me to demonstrate the thousand different ways I want you? Now, in front of our daughter?’

  ‘I—’ Words failed her as shame racked through her. This wasn’t the outcome she’d wished for when she’d brazenly flung on the costume. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘You wanted to make me suffer, sì? Consider yourself successful. I’m burning for you, Ava. Make no mistake about that.’

  Helplessly, she shook her head.

  Without warning, his lips captured her lobe and he bit her less than gently. She barely managed to smother her gasp as hot darts of desire pelted her from head to toe. But, before she could completely melt under his assault, he’d released her.

  By the time she’d opened her eyes, her shirt, warm from the sun, was once again around her shoulders. Cesare stood behind her until she’d folded her arms into them.

  She started to move away but he grabbed her waist.

  ‘Are you satisfied now? Are you pleased with your little experiment?’ He pulled her back against him. The solid imprint of his arousal burned hot against her back. This time she couldn’t suppress her moan. But it was a moan of frustration and regret because she knew, much as she’d wanted him to suffer, she’d only succeeded in prolonging her own suffering.

  ‘Yes,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Good, because this is as far as you’re ever going to get, Ava.’

  Her heart cracked and her legs threatened to give way. ‘Why? Have you developed a premature ejaculation problem?’ she mocked, unwilling to concede defeat despite every atom in her body wanting to slink away in shame.