The Consequence She Cannot Deny Read online

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some things to finish off, so I’ll leave you here. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’ He slid his fingers gently down her cheek. ‘Take care, cara. The champagne might tempt you to have some fun after all.’

  Then he slipped off into the party. Her eyes strained to watch him go but he moved quickly from the dimly lit lounge, through the loggia and out into the velvety blackness of the night.

  Coral felt the loss of his closeness like a chill and hugged an arm around herself. But it was better this way. At least the decision was out of her hands.

  She took another sip of wine and made an effort to mingle. The rooms were emptying...after-parties were being arranged. Those were not where she wanted to be. Much better to be fresh and full of energy for tomorrow.

  And to sleep in a cold, lonely bed tonight.

  She finished her drink and put it down. She grabbed her wrap, tugged it around her shoulders, stepped past the few remaining people and went out into the night.

  Buggies were waiting to take the guests back to their villas, but she was too buzzed to fall straight to sleep. She started to walk along the path, but a minute alone in the moonlight and she was regretting her bold move. Her shoes pinched mercilessly and the wind whipped at her bare legs. And she could hear voices ahead—male voices.

  As the path opened out onto the road she realised these weren’t some revellers having fun. The voices were angry. It was an argument. As she neared she realised it was Raffaele and Salvatore. And someone else—a woman.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Salvatore. You’re getting married in a few days. Either you call it off or you learn to control yourself!’

  Raffaele turned to the woman. ‘You—get to your villa and stay there. And remember what you signed. Because if this gets out I’ll know the source!’

  Suddenly, Salvatore lurched forward and tried to take a swing at Raffaele.

  Raffaele stepped aside and caught him by the wrist. ‘For God’s sake calm down,’ he said, shoving him away, but Salvatore swung again.

  Coral watched open-mouthed as Raffaele grabbed Salvatore by the shoulder and threw him against the buggy. Salvatore bounced and stumbled back towards him.

  ‘You think you’re so perfect, Raffa? You might have the world fooled, but you don’t fool me. You’re no saint when it comes to women. You’re just better at covering your tracks than I am.’

  ‘I know I’m not perfect, but I’m not about to get married. And I’m not making a fool of myself in front of a bunch of strangers.’ Raffaele’s voice was low, controlled.

  ‘Oh, really? You think I don’t know what you’re up to?’ said Salvatore.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Go back to the house. I’ll sweep up here.’

  ‘Admit it! That little tart you were with earlier! How convenient that she landed the job looking like that.’

  Raffaele grabbed him by the collar. ‘I think you’re forgetting yourself now, Salvatore. Go back to Kyla.’

  ‘What else has she got going for her? You never work with amateurs, so what’s going on?’

  ‘Enough of your paranoia. You’re drunk.’

  He threw him into the buggy and Coral sank back into the bushes. It was too personal, too painful to watch. She heard the screech of tyres on the gravel and a mouthful of abuse.

  Then nothing but cold, moonlit silence.

  She stood staring at her shoes and listening to her heartbeat ease. Then she stepped back out onto the road—and right into the path of Raffaele.

  He looked grim. ‘You heard that?’

  She looked up into his face—at the stern set of his jaw and the dark frown on his brow.

  She nodded. ‘But you don’t need to worry that I’ll say anything.’

  He looked around, ran his hand over his right fist, which she noticed was bleeding.

  ‘I know that. I trust you. And I apologise for the remarks he made.’

  ‘Don’t. He was just saying what other people are probably thinking.’

  ‘You’re still banging that drum, Coral? You really think that I would give you an opportunity because of how you look?’

  He was angry. Even though he was speaking quietly she could tell he was holding it in. He’d spent the whole day trying to button down the whole Salvatore and Kyla thing, only to have it all thrown in his face, so she understood. But he had to respect her point of view.

  ‘I don’t know, Raffaele. Some people might claim you would.’

  ‘Well, those people are fools. I kissed you because I was attracted to you. I would have taken it further, but I respect you. Even if I don’t agree with you.’

  ‘I know that now.’

  ‘Do you? Really?’

  ‘But it’s what others think that’s the problem...’

  ‘No, Coral, the problem is you. Caring more about what gossips say than anything else.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical? What are you doing other than stage-managing Salvatore’s whole life? Papering over the cracks so the world can’t see the truth?’

  He flashed his icy gaze on her. She’d really hit a nerve.

  ‘You’re very perceptive for someone so naïve.’

  ‘I say what I see.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical? The truth is more than words. It’s about actions, too. Or lack of, in your case. I think in the old days a girl like you was called a tease.’

  ‘Rejection hurts, does it, Raffa?’ she said, stifling the sting of his bitter words. She wasn’t a tease. She wanted him so badly. There was nothing she wanted to do more than give in to his magnetism.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s never happened.’

  His eyes glittered in the moonlight. They fell on her lips, her eyes. Angrily. Hungrily. She couldn’t look away.

  ‘Hmm, Coral? Are you so sure you say what you see?’

  ‘I try,’ she whispered. ‘I really do try.’

  In the distance, the sea crashed home on the rocks. She shivered and pulled the stole around her shoulders.

  Raffaele seemed to soften. ‘Come on. I’m going to take you back to your villa now,’ he said quietly. Then he took her hand firmly and started along the path. ‘Before I want to take you to mine.’

  They reached the door of the villa and she fumbled for the key. He stood back while she opened it and stepped inside, and then in the darkness of the hallway her phone lit up and started singing its silly tune. She ran forward to answer it, but it stopped ringing.

  ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘Missed it again.’

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked, stepping inside.

  ‘Yes, it’s my mother. I still haven’t spoken properly to her. Do you mind?’ She called back, but it went straight to voicemail. ‘I can’t believe we keep missing each other.’

  He walked past her into the villa’s small kitchen.

  ‘Call her again. I’ll fix you a drink.’

  She sighed and followed him into the kitchen, throwing her little handbag down on the table.

  ‘There’s no point. She’ll turn the phone off now. Blocking the world out. It’s what she does.’

  ‘Is there something wrong? Something serious?’ he asked, reaching for two brandy glasses.

  ‘You could say that,’ she said. ‘It’s depression. When it takes a hold it’s impossible to get through to her. She’s an artist, as I told you. She’s always had highs and lows.’

  Lows that got so incredibly low nobody could reach her.

  ‘Can’t she take medication?’

  ‘She can and she does. But it’s not that simple. She won’t get help for the real reason—the underlying reason.’

  ‘Which is...?’

  Coral hesitated. She never, ever
divulged the reason for her mother’s depression. It hurt so much even to say the words aloud. But for some reason, as she stared at his profile, watched him pour brandy into glasses, his arm flexing with gentleness and strength, she heard the words slip from her mouth.

  ‘My father.’

  She’d said it. Her voice cracked, as if the words were rusty, but she’d done it. The swirling grey mist, the anonymous man who was never discussed—there he was. The secret was out.

  ‘What about him?’

  Raffa cocked an eyebrow as he twisted the lid back onto the bottle.

  ‘Well, that’s it. I don’t really know. She never speaks about him. We never speak about him. She finds it too upsetting, though God knows I’ve tried. In every way I know how.’

  ‘I take it they’re separated?’

  He came towards her with the two brandies and passed one to her. The liquid burned her tongue but it felt good, warming and strengthening her.

  ‘They were never together, as far as I know. Not really. He was her boss and he dumped her when he found out she was pregnant. She’s never recovered.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘I’m sorry—that must have been awful. For both of you.’

  She could feel a thickening in the back of her throat that had nothing to do with the brandy. She swallowed, willing the emotion away. This really wasn’t the time.

  ‘He’s the last thing on my mind. I don’t know anything about him—and, anyway, what could I possibly find out that would make up for what he did? Mostly I don’t dig any more because I don’t want to cause her any more hurt.’

  They sat in the kitchen, facing each other across the table. Her handbag lay discarded, the phone’s unlit screen like a beacon, reminding her of her mother’s neediness. Quickly she picked it up and turned it face-down. Then she loosened the stole, touched her hair and twisted her bracelet around. Anything other than think about home right now.

  ‘What about your hurt? Doesn’t she realise that you’ve got feelings too?’

  The thickening in her throat got worse. She reached for the brandy.

  ‘Oh, it’s fine. I used to make up stories to cover up the fact that he wasn’t there when I was growing up, and then I went through a phase of trying to find out who he was. I read every letter in the house and went through everything I could find. All I know is that he was her boss when she first came to London. That’s it. Anyway,’ she said brightly, determined to change the subject, ‘it’s nothing like what you’ve had to deal with. I suppose this must feel odd? Kyla taking over the old villa you grew up in?’

  ‘The villa? No. What’s past is past. The present is much more interesting.’

  He lifted the bottle of brandy, poured them both another drink, and with each soft splash of liquid in their glasses it felt as if the air was being cleansed, the ghosts banished.

  ‘You look beautiful tonight.’

  She smiled, raising her glass to meet his, grateful for the change in mood.

  ‘Saluti...’ he said.

  ‘How does anyone resist you?’ she said.

  ‘You’re the only one who’s ever tried.’

  ‘I’m made of stern stuff, Signor Rossini.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see.’

  The soft light from the lamps bathed the side of his face in gold as the slight smile slid from his lips. Her gaze landed there, in that shadowy space where her tongue could slide. If she wanted it to...

  ‘So, your photo shoot tomorrow—any ideas?’

  She swilled the brandy around her glass and took another sip.

  ‘Maybe something fresh and natural. We didn’t use any of the casual clothes. That would be a lovely counterpoint to the high glamour of today. We could do it on the beach.’

  She flicked her eyes up to see what he thought, but as usual he was giving nothing away. Totally unreadable.

  ‘Do you have an opinion?’

  ‘I do. But it might not be what you want to hear.’

  ‘I value what you think.’

  ‘OK. I think that you and I need to talk about this thing between us. You need to acknowledge that it’s real. And that it’s going to happen sooner or later.’

  The brandy caught at her throat and she spluttered.

  ‘I thought you were talking about the job tomorrow?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re deluding yourself if you think that we’re not going to take it further.’

  ‘You sound very confident.’

  ‘I am confident. About everything. Always.’

  He spoke so simply, so matter-of-factly, and stared at her so intensely that she began to feel the air thicken, making it hard to breathe.

  ‘We could enjoy ourselves right here, right now. Or we could wait until you come to your senses and come looking for me. But it won’t be long, cara. I can sense you right now. You’re burning up.’

  He was right. Her body had fired up with every word. Desire was seeping through the room like the scent from an exotic candle, flooding the space and making her languid with longing.

  ‘Am I? You really think you’re so irresistible?’

  ‘I think you want me more than you’re admitting even to yourself. I’ve made you realise what passion runs in your veins.’

  He put his glass down. She trailed every movement. The way his eyelashes closed over his brilliant eyes as he glanced down, then up. The shapes and shades of his cheeks, hollowed in the half light. The inviting swell of his lips as he curved them into a mocking smile.

  ‘Since the moment we met you’ve wanted me to make love to you. You stood in my house totally undone and I could have taken you to bed there and then. But I respect you.’

  Fire ran through her veins, lighting up every sensual area. She crossed her legs, squeezed her thighs together as her sex swelled and pulsed.

  ‘Respect me?’ she said, her voice a whisper.

  ‘Of course. You’re an intelligent, beautiful, ambitious young woman. You’re amazing. And I want to make love to you.’

  His hand slid across the table and lifted hers. She looked down at the long, blunt fingers, the strong, broad palm. A lover’s hands. He lifted her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Raffaele...’

  She wanted to tell him how right he was—that she’d never ever seen a man like him. A man who lit up a room, who drew everyone’s attention. A man who commanded not just one empire but two. Who looked after himself and looked out for his adoptive brother, even when his brother kicked back so viciously. A man whose life was cursed and blessed in equal measure.

  Yes, she longed for him. She longed to see every last inch of his perfection. To taste him and make love to him. To have him make love to her.

  But everything her mother had drilled into her, everything Mariella had warned her about, was right here in front of her. If she followed her heart she would have a night of passion. A night she’d remember for the rest of her life.

  And then what?

  She withdrew her hand and crushed her eyes closed. ‘It’s not going to happen,’ she said, as firmly as she could muster. ‘No matter how much you think I want it, I don’t.’

  ‘You don’t? Well, that’s my mistake. I’m definitely losing my touch.’

  ‘Maybe I’m not a good multi-tasker, but I can only focus on one thing at a time. And right now I want to get my head straight for the morning.’

  No, I don’t. No, I don’t. I want this. I want you, the voice in her head screamed.

  She sighed. She felt as if she was standing at the edge of a precipice. Everything she’d ever wanted was on this side. But now there was another choice. A different path. And it felt so compelling, so completely and utterly right, to jump. To lean across and kiss him.

  If only he woul
d take the decision out of her hands...

  But he was looking at his phone again, shaking his head.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, standing up. ‘It’s a big day.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll have a shower and then go to bed.’

  She stretched her arms over her head in a ludicrous fake yawn.

  ‘Night, then,’ she said, but he had already put his phone to his ear.

  ‘Scusami?’

  He walked into the lounge, murmuring in Italian.

  She pushed herself up from the table and wandered through the hallway to the bathroom, kicking off her heels. She felt her bare feet sink into the rug as she went, cursing and questioning and doubting what she had just done.

  What if she had missed the chance of a lifetime?

  Behind her she heard a door close and she stopped dead, listening.

  She heard the murmur of his voice. Deep and low. Sensually wrapping round vowels like a caress.

  She unclipped the crystal earrings and bracelet. She squirted lotion on cotton wool and dragged the eyeliner from her eyes. Then she unzipped the dress, slipped it off her shoulders and let it slide in a sensuous swoosh over her thighs to the floor.

  She was in her best underwear—silvery satin balcony cups that held her breasts high and high-waisted, sheer-panelled knickers. What a shame he wouldn’t see them. She turned in front of the mirror and twisted to the side, looking to see the perfect curves he’d said she had. Suddenly she felt very, very feminine.

  In the next room he was still talking. She brushed her hair and let it hang down heavily on her shoulders, then closed her eyes, remembering his appraisal of her body earlier. How the very heat of him had made her melt. How his hands had skimmed her waist and how he’d stopped just short of her breasts. How he’d rubbed at her nipples with his eyes. And how they’d responded.

  She unclipped her bra and released her breasts. Her nipples were pink and proud. Dear God, she was ready for his touch. He was right. She had been ready since she’d seen him at the airstrip.

  There was no sound coming from the lounge. She paused, listening, but made no attempt to put on her robe or cover her nakedness. As each moment ticked past her body screamed for his touch. She should go back out there and find him.