The Forbidden Ferrara Page 12

  ‘You think not? I’ve got news for you—we’re going to have big problems. Sex is just sex! You can’t build on it. Especially not the type of Olympic sex you go in for. With you it’s all about performance! That’s not emotional, it’s just physical.’

  ‘“Just physical” has had you panting and begging for the past three hours.’ Reaching past her, he grabbed a towel. ‘If it was an Olympic performance you were looking for then between us I’d say we produced a gold for the team.’

  ‘Get away from me.’ She planted her hands on his bronzed chest and pushed, but he stood with his legs braced, all rocksolid muscle and glorious male nakedness. ‘I don’t want wall sex, floor sex or bed sex. I don’t want any sex! In fact I never want you to touch me again!’ She pushed past him and grabbed her own towel from the heated cabinet, noticing that the rose petals had been turned to mush by the water from the shower.

  Finally, she thought wildly, something that was truly symbolic of their relationship.

  Wrecked, ruined and a total mess.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘MAMMA!’

  Unnoticed by all concerned, Santo watched as Luca wriggled his way out of Dani’s hold and sprinted across the sand to Fia. She scooped him up and hugged him tightly, her smile illuminating her whole face as she lifted him and swung him round.

  ‘Oh, I missed you so much! Have you been good?’

  Observing that outpouring of love and affection, Santo ground his teeth. Only an hour earlier he’d sat across from her as she’d eaten her breakfast in frozen silence. Not once had she looked at him. Any attempt on his part to engage her in conversation had resulted in monosyllabic answers.

  Unable to understand how she could be upset after a night of spectacular sex, Santo’s mood had grown darker with each passing minute.

  Clearly the night had fallen seriously short of her romantic expectations, but what had she been expecting? He wasn’t such a hypocrite as to pretend that their marriage was a great love match. That was just the story he’d given to the press to lure them away from the truth and ensure that Luca was protected from gossip. Granted the whole rose petal thing hadn’t been one of his better ideas, but he’d taken her mind off them fast enough. The sex had been nothing short of mind-blowing. How could utterly mind-blowing sex have such a negative impact? Surely she should have been delighted that they were so compatible? He’d felt energized and optimistic that his hastily arranged marriage might prove to be more satisfactory than he’d ever imagined. He’d been dragged kicking and screaming into that state by his principles and his overwhelming love for his son. If his wife ended up being a hot fantasy in bed then that was a bonus.

  His thoughts interrupted by the delicious sound of Luca’s giggles, he turned his head to search for the cause of such hilarity and saw the two of them engaged in a tickling match that had both of them rolling on the sand. Luca tickled Fia’s neck clumsily and she produced the expected response, squealing with laughter and pretending to wriggle free of him, a reaction that earned her more giggles. Santo watched that tangle of golden limbs with mixed feelings. Whatever he thought of her behaviour, she loved their son, there was no doubt about that. And Luca brought out a side of her he’d never seen before.

  She was a different woman. Warm, approachable and open as she shared all of herself with her child.

  Their enjoyment of each other was infectious and, without even realising what he was doing, he strode forward to join them, leaning down to join in the tickle. His son chortled and twisted and Santo’s hand brushed against the side of Fia’s breast.

  Instantly the warmth faded from her eyes and she sprang to her feet, her expression shifting from happy to hostile in the blink of an eye. ‘I didn’t see you arrive. I thought you were on the phone.’

  The immediate change in her stoked his temper. Luca had stopped giggling and was staring between them, confused. Acting on instinct, Santo scooped the child into his arms and then leaned forward to deliver a slow, lingering kiss to Fia’s soft mouth. Heat shot through him but he banked down his own needs and kept the kiss sweet and not sexual.

  When he lifted his head, her cheeks were pink and her eyes every bit as confused as their son’s had been.

  Something flickered there, something he couldn’t quite identify.

  ‘Never,’ he said softly, ‘send me that angry look in front of our child again.’

  ‘Mamma,’ Luca said happily and Santo smiled at him even though he could feel the hot rays of fury burning from Fia.

  ‘Sì, she is your mamma.’ And she is very angry with me. ‘And now it is time we went home.’

  That announcement was greeted with the same enthusiasm as an imminent storm warning.

  She extracted herself from his hold and took a step backwards. ‘I’m not going back to your apartment. I’m going to my restaurant today. And Luca is coming with me.’

  ‘I agree.’ Santo put Luca down on the sand. ‘You need to get back to your business, and so do I. And Luca clearly has a good relationship with Gina so I’m happy for her to provide additional care while you are working. That arrangement can stay.’

  ‘You’re happy—’ The outrage in her response died as he covered her lips with his fingers.

  ‘Later,’ he purred softly, ‘you can thank me for preventing you from saying what you wanted to say in front of our child. Your animosity is unsettling him, tesoro, so from now on you will moderate your emotions unless we are alone together. That was your rule, by the way. Console yourself with the knowledge that I’m more than happy to fight you on whatever level you wish, on whichever surface you prefer once he is in bed.’ Her mouth was warm against his fingers. He wanted to dip his finger inside, then his tongue, and then—

  Her eyes darkened. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. Then her gaze slid to Luca, who was watching both of them closely. ‘Your apartment is not a suitable place to raise an active toddler. Don’t eat that, chicco—’ Her tone altering from cool to caring, she reached down and removed the sand from Luca’s fist before scooping him up protectively.

  ‘I happen to agree with you, which is why we will not be using the apartment.’

  ‘You said we were going home.’

  ‘I have five homes.’ Santo wondered how he could still want her so badly after a night of cataclysmic sex. ‘I agree that the apartment isn’t suitable for our immediate needs so I’m moving us all into our house on the beach.’

  ‘Your childhood home?’

  ‘The position is perfect and the structure sound. I’ve been renovating it for the past six months and, with a few overnight adjustments, it’s perfect for a family. It has many useful features which I know will appeal to you—’ he paused ‘—including a boathouse.’

  He’d expected her to be delighted. She’d spent half her childhood hiding out there, hadn’t she? She obviously liked it.

  But there was no sign of the gratitude he’d been expecting. Instead her cheeks lost the last of their colour. She seemed about to speak, but then clamped her mouth shut and stared over the bay, struggling for control.

  When she finally spoke, she was perfectly composed but she didn’t look at him. ‘We’ll live wherever you want us to live, of course.’

  The implication being that she would be going under sufferance.

  Having expected gratitude, Santo felt a rush of frustration. He’d grown up in a family that always said what they thought. Dani said what she thought so often he frequently wanted to throttle her. Family gatherings were noisy. Everyone had an opinion and didn’t hesitate to express it, usually at high volume and invariably simultaneously. He wasn’t used to having to read a female mind. ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he said tightly. ‘Living there will allow you to continue to run your business, visit your grandfather and still sleep in my bed.’ That comment brought the colour back into her cheeks but still she didn’t look at him.

  Conscious of Luca, Santo bit back the comment that tasted like acid on his tongue. ‘We’ll be leavin
g in twenty minutes. Be ready.’

  Confused and unsettled, Fia threw herself back into her work. And if the memory of that tender kiss lingered, she tried to eradicate it by reminding herself that it had been for the benefit of her son. There was no tenderness in what she and Santo shared. There was heat—plenty of heat. It was physical. Nothing more.

  Having tried to diminish it in her mind, it was doubly frustrating that she kept thinking about it. Relieved to have something to distract her, she didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed to discover that the Beach Shack had flourished in her absence.

  ‘That chef Ferrara sent over here was good. He kept the menus the same, Boss.’ Ben put a basket of glossy purple aubergines down on the floor. ‘These look good. We put pasta con funghi e melanzane on the lunch menu. Are you happy with that?’

  ‘Yes.’ It felt good to throw herself back into her job and frustrating to discover that work didn’t provide the distraction she needed. It didn’t matter what she did, her brain kept returning to the moment the two of them had slammed into the wall, so desperate for each other that they’d thought of nothing but the need to slake their mutual lust. For years she’d longed for an experience powerful enough to overshadow the memory of the night she’d got pregnant with Luca, and now she had it tenfold.

  ‘Er … is something wrong?’ Ben gave her a nudge. ‘Because you don’t look as if you’re concentrating and that’s a dangerous way to be around a naked flame. You might burn yourself.’

  It was a perfect description of how she felt after the previous night. As if she’d been scorched by a naked flame. Her entire body was still smouldering from the heat they’d produced together. Fia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to blot out the vision of smooth, powerful shoulders encasing her as he drove them both hard towards a shattering climax.

  ‘Boss?’ Ben’s voice intruded on the erotic vision. ‘Er … Fia?’

  She gulped and snapped herself back to the present. ‘What?’

  ‘You look … distracted.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she croaked. ‘I just want to get on with the job. Right?’

  Ben looked at her oddly. ‘Right.’

  ‘I’m just a bit tired. I need to concentrate, that’s all.’ She stared at the basket of glossy aubergines and for a moment she couldn’t remember what she was supposed to do with them. All she could think about was the sensual curve of Santo’s mouth as he bent his head to kiss her, of the skill of his fingers and the way he—

  Furious with herself, she muttered something rude in Italian under her breath and Ben wisely scooped up the meals she’d plated up and retreated to the safety of the restaurant.

  Gina was less sensitive. Being a typical girl, she wanted details. ‘I read that article that said the two of you had been secretly in love since you were young—’ she sighed ‘—that’s so romantic.’

  No, Fia thought grimly, frying aubergine slices until they were brown and softened. It was PR on his part, but to tell the truth would be to subject Luca to gossip so she kept silent and went along with the ‘long lost love’ scenario that the whole country seemed to find so heart-warming.

  Only she knew that the truth was very different.

  Santo had married her not because he had feelings for her, but because he wanted their son. The irony didn’t escape her. She was the envy of millions of women. She’d married a superrich, supersuccessful, super-sexy man. She’d married a Ferrara.

  Her first glimpse of her new home had left her reeling. She wasn’t used to living in such luxury. Santo’s modifications had made the most of the villa’s enviable position right on the bay. Acres of glass gave it a contemporary feel, while making the most of the spectacular views of the bay and the nature reserve that pressed up against their land. No one could fail to fall in love with the house, but Fia’s favourite room was the large, airy kitchen. If she’d designed it herself, this was what she would have chosen. It wasn’t just a room to cook in, it was a room to live in—the heart of the home, with glass doors opening onto a terrace bordered on one side by a fruit orchard, so that picking a fresh orange for breakfast meant simply stepping outdoors and pulling one from one of the many trees. It was a place for family celebrations, for cosy breakfasts and intimate dinners. It was perfect.

  She took Luca back to the villa late that afternoon, gave him tea in the beautiful kitchen and allowed him to explore. His discovery of what was clearly intended to be his bedroom drew gasps of delight and excitement.

  ‘Boat!’ He clambered onto his new bed, built in the shape of a boat, complete with curtains as ‘sails’.

  ‘Yes, it’s a boat.’ Watching the delight on his face lifted her spirits and she had to concede that the room was beautiful. A little boy’s dream.

  A window seat was padded with overstuffed, beautifully appliquéd cushions, each reflecting the nautical theme. Baskets overflowed with toys and shelves were stacked with more books than the average bookstore.

  ‘Your daddy doesn’t understand the word “moderation”,’ Fia muttered, and with that single thought her mind, which she’d managed to distract for all of five minutes, was right back in the night before. No, he certainly didn’t understand moderation. But she’d been as bad, hadn’t she? Wall, floor, shower—

  ‘Mamma red—’ Luca looked at her and she blinked and snapped herself back to the present.

  ‘Mamma hot.’ She took his hand and went next door to what was presumably intended as a guest bedroom. It was a pretty room, with a tiny balcony and a view overlooking the private cove beneath the villa.

  ‘Mamma sleep here,’ Luca said happily, crawling onto the bed and bouncing on it.

  Fia stared at him for a long moment and then smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘Mamma sleep here. What an excellent idea.’

  There was no earthly reason why they had to share a bed.

  While Luca ran back to his bedroom and set about turning the place upside down, she removed her clothes from the master suite and transferred them to the spare bedroom. Then she bathed Luca, who now had his own nautical bathroom to match his nautical bedroom, read to him and then allowed Gina to take over so that she could return to the restaurant for evening service.

  A hectic evening improved her mood. She hadn’t seen or heard from Santo all day, presumably because he was equally busy with his project to bring the Beach Club up to the standard of the rest of the group. Maybe this could work, she thought. If she played it very, very carefully, she wouldn’t even see him. And if she kept very, very busy she might even stop thinking about him every second of the day.

  Testing that theory, she plunged herself into her work, creating dishes, talking to her customers, interacting with her staff. By the time she’d finished for the evening, it was late.

  She walked across the sand back to the villa, pausing for a moment to look at the boathouse that had provided her with sanctuary on so many occasions when she was younger. It stood at the far end of their private beach, but Fia couldn’t bring herself to go there. She couldn’t bring herself to confront the memories. She’d known loneliness before but she was fast discovering that there was nothing quite as lonely as a cold, empty marriage. And hers was still in its infancy.

  The villa was silent. Gina had clearly retired to bed in the staff apartment, which was situated in an annexe.

  Of Santo there was no sign.

  Relieved to avoid confrontation, Fia settled herself in the guest bedroom. She took a shower and slid into the large, comfortable bed, her legs aching with tiredness after a day on her feet.

  She was already drifting off when the door crashed opened, flooding the room with light.

  Santo stood silhouetted in the doorway, his eyes homing in on her like a hunter locating his escaped quarry. ‘Just for the record,’ he said smoothly, ‘hide-and-seek is a game for children, not adults.’

  ‘I wasn’t playing hide and seek.’

  ‘Then what the hell are you doing in here? When I come home from work I don�
��t expect to have to search for you.’ The combination of his lethal tone and the darkening of those eyes sent nerves fluttering through her.

  ‘You were expecting me to wait up and bring you your slippers?’ He was so extreme, she thought. Another man might have waited until morning, or just opened the door and had a civilized conversation. Not Santo. He virtually broke it down.

  He prowled into the room, circling the bed like a dangerous animal gauging the best method of attack. ‘Did you really think I’d let you sleep here?’

  ‘It is my choice where I sleep,’ Fia muttered, holding the silk sheets firmly around her, which was ridiculous, of course, because nothing so flimsy would protect her from a man like Santo.

  ‘You made that choice when you married me. You’ll sleep in my bed tonight and every other night.’ Moving so swiftly she didn’t have time to react, he ripped the sheet from her fist and scooped her into his arms.

  ‘Get off me! Stop behaving like a caveman.’ She twisted in his grip but he simply grasped her more tightly, his superior strength making it impossible for her to escape. ‘You’ll wake Luca!’

  ‘Then stop yelling.’

  ‘He’ll see!’

  ‘And what he will see is his father carrying his mother to bed,’ Santo growled, as he strode towards the master suite, ‘which is a perfectly acceptable scenario. I have no problems with him knowing his parents sleep together.’ Kicking the door shut behind him, he walked over to the enormous bed and deposited her in the middle of it.

  ‘For God’s sake, Santo—’

  ‘Let me give you some tips about how to make a marriage work. First, withholding sex is not going to improve my mood,’ he said coldly. ‘Second, I can have you flat on your back within five seconds of making the effort so let’s cut the pretence. It’s one of the few things we have in common.’

  ‘You think you’re so irresistible.’ Fia shot upright, intending to run for the door, but he came down over her, flattening her to the bed with his superior weight, pinning her arms above her head with one hand.