Sins of the Past (8 page)

‘Is that a protest,
cara?
If it is, then I can tell you now that it’s only a hollow one. We both know you’re a glutton for punishment, don’t we?’ His breath fanned her hair, warm and unutterably sensual. ‘But even punishment,
carissima,
can be sweet.’

He bent his head then, allowing his lips to brush the corner of hers, so lightly the action might not even have warranted being called a kiss. The barest contact of that slightly roughened jaw against hers was more arousing than she could ever have dared to contemplate. That, with those hands that could turn to steel and yet whose touch was spine-tinglingly tender now as they lightly shaped her shoulders, turning her head to mush and her legs to jelly.

A sick excitement trembled through her as his mouth breathed a sensuous path along her hairline, holding her rigid, poisoning her self-respect and every last principle she held dear.

‘Let me go.’

He laughed softly, aware from the gut-tight tension in her
and the way her voice faltered that she could no more hide the way he affected her than she could fly.

‘Why? Because you can’t accept you want me? You’re still a liar, Riva, whether you like it or not—to yourself, if to no one else. Admit it,
carissima,
when you tricked me into making love to you, with your feminine wiles and your amazing act of sophistication, you finally bit off more than you could chew.’

Yes, he was right, she thought, despairing with herself, because nothing she had ever fought for in her life was as insurmountable as her battle against this lethal attraction to him.

Refusing to acknowledge that, at least, she murmured, ‘I didn’t try to trick you.’

‘No? Pretending to be experienced and far less gauche than you actually were? But that isn’t the case now, is it, Riva? From the way you responded to me the other day I should not be surprised if you could match my own level of expertise. If I remember correctly, you were keen to get started. But has it lived up to all it promised, that loss of innocence you were so eager to sacrifice? I can’t say it sits too well on my conscience that I was the one who led you on to that path.’

‘Don’t let it bother you,’ she breathed, wondering what he would say if he knew there hadn’t been anyone else since her reckless behaviour with him. ‘I’m sure you’ll get over it.’

‘Sì, forse.
Maybe. The question is,
cara,
will you? A woman, I believe, always remembers her first lover, and the imprint of my hands are like brands on your body, are they not? Still burning—scorching the life out of you as the memory of your untutored hands on my body still leaches the life out of mine.’

Incredulity widened the green eyes looking up into his. Had she made that much of an impact on him? Despite all his motives? In spite of using her as a pleasurable tool for his own premeditated ends?

Soft laughter fanned her hair as the hand travelling down
her back slipped under her tunic and cupped her small buttocks, pressing her shockingly against him.

‘See,
cara,
if you don’t believe me.’ The warmth of his hand burned through her skirt beneath her tunic, and she closed her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the flame that sprang to life in her from the rock-hard evidence of his arousal. ‘Small you might be, but we fit superbly,
carissima.
How long will you hold out, I wonder, before you’re forced to admit that you want what you had no qualms about taking from me last time. Pleasure—and of the highest order—regardless of the price you had to pay to get it.’

And he alone knew what that price had been!

But he would wear her down if he could. Overwhelm her with his dangerous persona and his heart-stopping promises of paradise—just as he had done before. Only she was much too scarred by her previous involvement with him ever to fall under his spell a second time.

‘Not any more, Damiano. As you pointed out,’ she added, remembering how this conversation had started, ‘there’s someone else now, who keeps me far more amused than you ever could!’

She didn’t know if she managed to break free, or if he simply let her go.

Back in the house, she spent the next hour or so unable to concentrate—especially when he came in and stood looking over her shoulder while she was working on her laptop on her new concept for concealed additional lighting.

She should have been finished ages ago, she thought, her body tense as cat-gut, every nerve straining, while she willed her jumpy fingers to work over the keys. Her shoulders slumped in relief when he moved away from her and, without saying a word, left the room.

At least she was nearly finished here today! she thought, gratified, reaching for her cell phone to speak to a lighting specialist about the particular fittings she had in mind.

Realising her mistake—she couldn’t get a signal, even from
the terrace—she was putting the phone aside when she noticed the display showing
‘One Missed Call'.

A quick scroll to the relevant menu showed that it had been Kate Shepherd.

Ben!

All the worst possible scenarios started racing through her mind. He’d had an accident! Been taken ill! Why would Kate ring her while she was at work unless something was terribly wrong?

‘He wouldn’t eat his lunch,’ Kate told her after Riva had rushed outside into the courtyard to return the woman’s call. ‘It’s probably because he’s been so irritable all morning and it’s affected his appetite. But I’ve got a malted milk drink I could tempt him with—at least he’ll be getting some protein. I just wanted to check with you that that’s all right.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Riva assured her, weak with relief as her initial worries drained away. ‘He isn’t sleeping very well,’ she went on to remind Kate. He hadn’t been for the past few days, and the previous night he’d been awake so long that she hadn’t managed to get back to sleep until after four a.m. ‘I’ve got a particularly important job on at the moment that’s made me rather edgy. I think I must have passed on those vibes to Ben—which is why he’s been so restless at night—but it isn’t doing either of us any good.’

‘He’s probably just unsettled because you aren’t your usual relaxed self. Don’t worry. He’ll get through it,’ her friend promised, just as Damiano emerged from the house. ‘You both will.’

‘Thanks,’ Riva uttered, quickly ending the call.

‘Problems?’ he enquired, those perceptive eyes touching on the way she snapped her cell phone shut, much too unsettling, far too aware.

‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she said, a little too brightly.

‘Is something not going to plan?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ she stressed with her stomach muscles tightening up.

His mouth compressed in wry acceptance. ‘Why didn’t you use the landline inside?’

The tension in her stomach was like a vice now, squeezing her intestines. ‘I prefer to be independent,’ she bluffed.

He looked at her quizzically before tilting his chin skywards. ‘Even in this?’

It had started to rain since they had come in, a soft yet relentless drizzle that was already gleaming on his thick black hair and dripping from the shrubs that bordered the front of the house.

Grabbing at straws, Riva said, ‘I didn’t realise it was raining until I came out.’

He didn’t believe her, she realised despairingly. She would have to be witless not to realise that.

‘Why don’t you just admit you were making a personal call—and one you didn’t particularly want me to hear?’

‘That’s your view,’ she retorted, swinging away from him. ‘Anyway, I hadn’t realised there was a law against personal calls.’

‘There isn’t,’ he said succinctly, his soft shoes crunching over the gravel. ‘As to my view—I’d be inclined to call it gut instinct, and my instincts are usually right.’

Not to mention his powers of observation as to body language—her defensiveness and how quickly she had reacted in breaking off that call! But her professionalism couldn’t look well in his eyes when she’d dashed in almost late for her meeting with him this morning, fallen asleep under a tree and now used up time he was paying her for—or rather the studio—in making private calls.

‘Look, it’s been a bad few days for me, all right?’ she disclosed, in an effort to vindicate herself, coming to a standstill to appeal to the implacable authority in his face. Doing so, though, made her stomach flip, as if she was riding a roller-coaster. Which working for him was—emotionally, at any rate, she thought, raking agitated fingers through her bright damp hair.

She looked feisty, Damiano thought. And tousled, as though she’d only just clambered out of bed.

And with that tunic gaping open, revealing the pale, delicate structure of her throat …

He had to pull his thoughts up sharply to take in what it was she was saying.

‘I’m not usually such a mess.’ Riva felt herself growing hot under the dark intensity of his eyes. ‘But I’ve got a few problems going on in my life right now.’

He dipped his head in the subtlest of acknowledgments. ‘Anything I can help you sort out?’ he offered.

As if! Riva thought, smarting from his derisive impudence, and wondering how any man could be so indecently attractive. It was because of him that she and Ben were having such a tough time at the moment, if only he knew it! And if she was stupid enough to let Damiano D’Amico into her life it would only cause more havoc than she was experiencing now.

‘I think I can just about deal with it on my own.’

I always have, she thought grievously, without any help from you. Even when her mother had been there to help she had always been concerned over what state of mind the woman might be in—whether her demanding little grandson might be too much for Chelsea to cope with.

As she turned away again that velvet voice came after her, with inexorable authority this time. ‘Get rid of him, Riva.’

She stopped dead in her tracks, clutching her phone to her breast, her shoulders pulled back, her spine so stiff she thought it might snap as she pressed her eyelids tight against the emotion she couldn’t let him see. He had meant the boyfriend who didn’t exist—not the son he had fathered whom he didn’t know, whom she was determined he would never meet. Yet the significance of his words took on a different meaning, one that immobilised her with a cruel and tearing speculation.

Would he have asked her to do that if he’d known about her pregnancy from the beginning? Did he think her so far
down the social scale—so far removed from the circles he moved in—that it would have come easily to him to dismiss not only her but the child she was carrying? Buy her off with the money to pay for what to him would have been no more than a minor inconvenience?

Emotion turned to hot tears in her eyes, ridiculing her for wanting to believe that he would have been too ethical to act in that way. She had never once considered having an abortion. Not even when her mother—strung with concern for her daughter—had once gently but firmly suggested that Riva might think about that option. A termination had never—ever—been on the cards.

Mortifyingly, he was stepping in front of her, tilting her pain-scarred features with the aid of a forefinger.

‘I see,’ he said grimly. Because he did. Or thought he did! She was having boyfriend trouble and he wasn’t very pleased about it.

She sniffed back a tear, feeling like a drenched clown, with rain dripping off her hair onto her cheeks and her mascara probably running down her face with it.

‘You don’t,’ she berated, pulling angrily away from him.

F
ORTUNATELY
Damiano hadn’t carried out his threat of insisting that Riva stayed at the Old Coach House, but she hadn’t ruled out the possibility that he might.

Strung up as she had been since she had started working for him, she was glad to be able to spend the next few days in the office, gathering information for the materials she would need, working out time schedules for the various jobs, preparing a final brief for Damiano’s approval.

The night before she was due for her next meeting with him at the house, however, she was so on edge she couldn’t get to sleep, and then Ben had a mild tummy upset to cap it all.

He feels threatened, she thought guiltily, remembering her conversation with Kate, blaming herself as she sat cuddling him, stroking his soft tousled hair.

‘I can’t get to Mr D’Amico’s today,’ she called to tell Olivia the following morning, even though Ben seemed a bit better than he had been the previous night. But she’d made up her mind. Her child came first. ‘Ben hasn’t been well. I can do some work from here, but I’ve arranged to meet Damiano at the house at ten. I was wondering …’ She felt cowardly even suggesting it. ‘Could you possibly ring him? Tell him I’ve rung in sick?’

Fortunately the woman agreed to, keen not to burden her most valued client with the domestic issues of her staff.

Relieved, Riva managed to coax Ben into eating a boiled egg and some toast, cut into soldiers as he liked it, after which he fell asleep on her lumpy settee, still in his dinosaur pyjamas, lulled by the occasional tinkling of the wind chimes which were hanging above the back door, through the archway to her little kitchen.

He felt secure now she wasn’t dashing off to work this morning. The knowledge didn’t help her to feel any better about leaving him for so long every weekday, even if he was very fond of Kate Shepherd.

But Riva knew all about insecurity. Her father had only come home when it had been preferable to the alternative, and her mother had always had to be somewhere else in order to provide for them. Then, on top of that, there had been the trauma of her mother’s emotional breakdowns, which was another reason Riva was so determined to build a career for herself—a secure future—even if Damiano did seem hell-bent on shaking that security at every given opportunity, so that Ben wouldn’t have to experience the fears and instabilities that she had known.

Now that he was asleep she went into his room to change his bedspread and popped it into the washing machine. That done, she grabbed the opportunity to take a quick shower, leaving the bathroom door ajar so he would know where she was if he woke up.