The only sound in the room was her raspy breathing.
“You touched a nerve.” He grimaced, and forced something close to a smile to his face. “I don’t like to speak about her.”
“The woman you thought you loved?”
Another grimace. “I told you, it wasn’t love. It was a battle zone.”
Sympathy pressed into her, but her own hurts were still there, making it hard to accept his apology and move on, so she sat quietly and waited.
“It was…a mess. I was a mess. Worse than that, I was ashamed of the way I behaved, of the things I did.” His eyes were heavy with emotions she couldn’t decipher when they met his. “I didn’t want you to learn what I’d done, and to judge me for it. I didn’t want you to look at me and see me as the man I was then.”
The confession did something to her, shifting inside of her, making her heart burst and twist painfully. She hadn’t expected his vulnerability; she hadn’t expected him capable of such an emotion. She ached to make him feel better. Different. She ached to absolve him of pain and worries.
“Everyone does things they’re ashamed of,” she said, after a moment. And then, with some more thought, “And I find it hard to believe you capable of anything really terrible, to be honest.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
Her eyes shifted to his. “Are we going to argue again?”
He shook his head, his eyes holding regret. “No.” He stood up, pacing away from her and drawing a seat to her side. He sat there, his expression serious. “How do you feel?”
She batted his question away. “What happened, Benedetto?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t read it in the papers.”
“I didn’t.”
His expression was neutral, but it was with great effort, as though he was trying hard to keep a lid on complex emotions. He reminded her then of his reputation as a ruthless, determined entrepreneur. Only with the greatest willpower could anyone achieve what he had in business.
“I met her at a masquerade ball. I didn’t know who she was that night. Everything was… perfect.”
A sharp burst of jealousy flared inside Cleopatra.
“I like things to be simple. Prior to Melinda, I hadn’t been in a relationship for more than a week. I like women who come and go, easily, no mess, no fuss, no emotions. I spend time with women who understand the way I am, who know I don’t want to offer anything more than this. My business has been my life and my sole focus for a long time.”
Cleopatra nodded, even as something like nausea was biting against her. She sipped her wine to hide it, afraid he might misinterpret it as criticism.
“Melinda was different. I was intoxicated by her – there’s no other word. I honestly thought I was in love from that first moment. I had never known anything like it.”
She nodded, her mouth dry. She couldn’t speak.
Nor did he, so the room was completely quiet.
After several moments, she reached across, putting a hand on his knee. “And?”
“She was married.” His eyes were filled with self-recriminations and disgust when he turned to look at Cleopatra. “I didn’t know, that first night. I would never have taken her home with me. But I did. She came back the next night. And the next. And it wasn’t until a week later she told me about her husband. They’d argued, the night of the ball. She’d been angry. She’d wanted to hurt him, not to fall in love.”
Cleopatra drew in a sharp breath, anger filling her. “She had no right to put you in that position!”
“No, she didn’t,” he agreed, the words like a whip. “But once I knew, I should have walked away.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. I wish now that I had. I cannot understand why I didn’t. I feel as you do about infidelity.”
“You were in love.”
His grimace darkened his face. “I thought I was in love. I have long since accepted there is no such thing. But I was stupid, and I was selfish. I didn’t care about their marriage, I didn’t care about her husband. I was…”
“Intoxicated.”
A smile flickered across his mouth, but it lacked any real warmth. “Si.”
“What happened?”
“He found out. It was not pleasant.”
“I can imagine.” She frowned. “Are they still together?”
“Yes. She’s pregnant. Or she was, last I heard. She’d probably had the baby by now.” A frown curved his lips.
Cleopatra’s eyes flared wide. “Is it his?”
Benedetto laughed out of nowhere, a gruff sound. “You think perhaps I am secretly a father?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“Firstly, because we broke up more than a year ago,” his smile now set her soul on fire. He sobered, his expression shifting to one of earnestness. “And secondly, because you are the only woman I’ve ever had unprotected sex with.”
And despite his confession, pleasure grew in her belly.
“Oh.”
He shrugged. “In any event, thanks to her husband – he’s a famous Italian film director – what should have been a private heartbreak turned into a public scandal, with our every step dissected in the media.” His jaw tightened. “I am a very private man, cara, and this was the antithesis of private. It was messy and ugly and worst of all, I couldn’t even claim the moral high ground. He was right to shame me, right to eviscerate me. I deserved it.”
“Oh, Benedetto,” she shook her head, sympathy swelling in her chest. “You made a mistake, but so did she. It was her marriage, her infidelity…”
“Initially, yes, and if I’d ended it when I learned the truth, then I would agree with you. But I didn’t. I thought I was ‘in love’ with her by then.” He said the words with cynicism. “But really, I just didn’t want to play second-fiddle. I didn’t want something I considered ‘mine’ to be taken away. I wanted to end their marriage. I wanted her to leave him.”
Something like panic flared inside Cleopatra as she imagined a world in which that had been the case – this marriage would never have taken place. He’d have been married to Melinda by now, raising Alfredo, and she’d have been alone.
“Did she say she would?”
His eyes shifted to Cleopatra’s thoughtfully. “Yes.” A muscle jerked in his jaw.
“That must have been so hard for you,” she said, after a moment, when she could trust herself to speak without her voice wobbling.
“The hardest part was losing.” He grimaced. “Jack helped me see that it wasn’t about her, in the end, but about my own ego. I like to win – and I’m used to winning. I’d decided I wanted her and I found it hard to accept she wouldn’t want me.”
Cleopatra put a hand on his leg without thinking, a consoling hand intended to soothe, but the second she did and she felt his strength beneath her fingertips, awareness danced through her, quick-footed and urgent.
“I don’t like to speak about it – about her. I never do. I hate what I did. I cannot believe I allowed myself to get embroiled in an extra-marital affair. And I took that out on you, Cleopatra. You did nothing wrong. You said nothing wrong. This was all me. I’m sorry.”
Her stomach twisted inside of her, and she shook her head, dropping her eyes to her lap. His fingers beneath her chin surprised her, even though they shouldn’t have – she’d felt his gentle touch there often enough. He guided her face upwards, until their eyes met, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and husky.
“I will try to do better in the future, cara.”
“Why?” Was all she was capable of – a question that barely even made sense.
“Because you deserve that of me.”
His smile was tight, and his eyes dropped to her lips, so she held her breath and wondered, for a moment, if he might kiss her. She wanted him to. She needed him to. Her own lips parted in a silent invitation, and the fingers beneath her chin lifted so his thumb could pad over her lower lip. His jaw tightened, his expression dark. “I was so ang
ry with her and when you asked me about it, I felt it all again. I felt like it was infiltrating this – our marriage – you, and I didn’t want that.”
She pressed her palm flat to his body, feeling his beating heart beneath her skin. “It’s not. It’s in the past – your past. Holding onto that anger and resentment will only hurt you in the long run. You have to let go of it.”
Surprise moved briefly across his features. “I have. I barely think of Melinda.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve let her shape who you are,” Cleopatra murmured.
“No,” he shook his head. “She didn’t shape me, cara. She simply reminded me of the reason I am this way. I work alone, I live alone, I trust very few people, perhaps because people are inherently unworthy of trust.”
Sympathy stretched inside of Cleopatra. “I don’t think that’s true.”
His smile was slightly mocking. “Because you are the opposite to me.” He leaned closer, curving his hand around her cheek. “You have every reason to feel as I do, and yet you continue to see the world through a veil of goodness and innocence.”
“That’s not completely true,” she demurred. “Look at the way I’ve turned my back on my brother – even when he’s reached out and tried to connect with me.”
“You regret that?”
She shook her head, but a frown formed on her lips. “It’s hard to know how I feel.”
“You should meet him,” Benedetto said gently. “He’s a good man. You will be glad to know him.”
Something like hope lifted inside of her, but she instantly pushed it away. “Maybe we’re more alike than either of us realise.”
He arched a brow in a silent invitation to continue.
“I’ve been alone so long – not by choice so much as by necessity – that I can’t easily imagine letting someone in. Once my mom died, I had no one, and I never really let that change. Mr –,” she shook her head, biting back the name she’d almost mistakenly said. “The man I worked for first, who fell in love with me, was the first person I found myself spending time with and confiding in, and it was – well, a disaster.” She pulled a face.
“Love is a disaster,” he said it with a smile on his face, but she felt the darkness of the sentiment, the stirring of disapproval in his eyes. “I can promise you one thing right now to ease your mind –I will never complicate this by wanting more from you than we’ve agreed. I will never love you.” He brought his face closer, and she held her breath, but it didn’t stem the acidic feeling low down in her abdomen. “This is a marriage of sense; we’re both safe here.”
She nodded, but his words were lodged in her mind, jamming up any thought process. I will never love you.
She should have been reassured, but she wasn’t. His statement was like a barb in her side and she had no idea why, but they made her stomach ache in a bad way.
His lips buzzed hers and she moaned, softly, because his kiss almost did the impossible. His kiss almost made it better, and that was enough for now.
11
IT WAS HOURS LATER when Cleopatra stifled a yawn, and Benedetto leaned back in his chair, regarding her thoughtfully.
“You’re tired.”
She was. It had been a long day, with Freddie’s temper being particularly exhausting, but at the same time, she was having such a lovely evening and she didn’t want it to end.
She shook her head, and Benedetto laughed.
“Yes, you are. Come.” He stood, his eyes scanning her body in a way that sent arrows of heat and need shooting through her. “Bed.”
Her eyes held his, desire lurching through her. “My bed?” The question was innocent enough, but his eyes flared wide and his smile showed a hint of regret.
“Yes, your bed.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “Really?”
Desire flashed inside her, hard and urgent.
“You’re injured.”
“My ankle’s sprained,” she said with a husky laugh. “I’m not exactly on my death bed.”
He scooped down and lifted her to his chest. His eyes held hers, and she could feel the battle raging inside of him. She wanted him. Despite the fact they’d been together only hours earlier, she felt a renewed urgency. “I want you.” It was a simple statement; an invitation.
His low groan was all the confirmation she needed that he felt the same, yet there was a growing presentiment of disaster in her gut, and she couldn’t say why, but something was filling her with fear. She ignored it.
“I’m not used to having someone in my life.” The confession pricked at her pain, lifting it, easing it. “I didn’t expect you to be … like this. Our marriage has surprised me.”
More pleasure, mixing with pride. “Me too.”
“You are different to anyone I’ve ever known.”
Her lips twisted dubiously. “Perhaps that’s just because you’ve kept me around long enough to get to know me?”
He laughed, shouldering open the door to her bedroom. “There is some truth in that, but no, cara. You – the woman you are – is fascinating to me. I find myself telling you things I haven’t spoken of to another soul.”
Instead of placing her on the bed, he carried her through to the generous bathroom that was attached to it, and seated her on top of the marble vanity.
His eyes met hers as his fingers connected with her waist, curving around the fabric there, lifting her shirt slowly up her sides. Goosebumps danced across her flesh. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you shower.” The words were raspy, coated with the desire that was so much a part of them.
“Oh.” A husky sound of agreement and pleasure. She lifted her hands above her head, wordlessly encouraging him to lift the shirt further.
He didn’t take his eyes from hers as he did so, but once it was gone, dropped to the floor, his hands curved around her back, finding the clip of her bra and when he snapped it open, he brought his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly, hungrily, and she leaned forward, her body melding to his, need in every single cell of her body.
“I want you,” she said again, and he lifted his head just high enough to hold her gaze for several seconds.
“I was such an asshole today.” He cupped her face with both hands. “I shouldn’t have been angry with you. I shouldn’t have walked away from you. I shouldn’t have gone to the office rather than sorting this out.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, and it was so sweet, so out of keeping with the sensual heat that flared between them, that she felt everything inside of her go mushy and soft. “Forgive me.”
And the command of the last statement had her laughing and nodding. “I already have.”
“I won’t act like that again.”
She nodded, because she believed him, and because something inside of her was jumping up and down, demanding she say something – but she didn’t know what. She only knew she had a barrage of words locked deep inside of her and no idea how to access them.
He reached to his left, turning the shower faucet on, and then gently guided her off the marble bench top. She winced when her foot connected with the ground. “Lean on the bench,” he commanded, crouching down, and unzipping her skirt, sliding it over her hips, letting it drop to ankles.
Naked before him, she felt nothing but a rush of desire, particularly when he began to strip his own clothes off.
“You are so…” she ran her eyes over his muscular chest, pleasure bursting inside of her. “Hot.”
He laughed. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been called that before.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have.”
His eyes sparked with hers and then he was lifting her again, this time holding her against his body, her feet just a few inches off the ground as he moved her into the shower. Water hit her instantly, warm and soft against her flesh. She smiled as he kept an arm clamped around her back, offering full support, and used the other to reach for a bottle of liquid soap.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You think I do
n’t want to?” His smile was pure sensual heat and her body flashed in awareness. He sponged her all over, his touch light and exploring, lingering between her legs, and on her breasts, so by the time he shut the water off and lifted her wet body from the shower, she was practically on fire with desire.
He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her body while still keeping the weight off her foot.
“Benedetto,” she didn’t know what to say, but her eyes hooked to his, and his bore into hers, a question in one, an answer in another.
“Your ankle…”
“Take me to bed,” she insisted.
She felt that war being raged inside of him once more, and blinked with mock innocence.
“I’m sure it’ll help keep my mind off the pain…”
He laughed softly. “Well, in that case.” He scooped her up once more, cradling her against his chest before laying her carefully in the middle of her bed. Barely a second after she’d hit the mattress, he was there, his mouth on hers, his tongue duelling with hers, his body a weight on hers she had been craving and needing with all of herself.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and her heart burst inside of her – she didn’t want to think about how right this felt, how completely, utterly perfect. She just wanted to feel – and not worry that she was feeling too much.
“Well?” He scanned her face. “What do you think?”
She arched a brow at him. “Oh, you know. It’s just your average private island,” she lied, shaking her head and laughing. Because there was nothing ordinary about Vista Mare. Dotted just a little north of Sicily, the island was covered in green, completely wild and undeveloped, with the exception of a southern beach. A house had been built there, on the edge of the sand, so you could step straight from the white-washed, rendered building onto the beach.
The house itself was stunning – not because it was grand or particularly luxurious, but rather, because it wasn’t. “It’s so sympathetic with the environment,” she said, eyeing it wistfully. Bougainvillea scrambled over a small timber structure to the side of the main house, spreading bursts of pink as far as the eye can see, and geraniums ran opportunistically from two terracotta pots on either side of the door. A hedge of rosemary delineated the house from the sand, and the house itself was modest in size, with a red terracotta roof and turquoise window frames.