A Reputation to Uphold (18 page)

‘Is marriage to me so distasteful, Eva?’ There it was again. A sharp edge of something close to a sting. Oh, he tried to hide it, lighten it with a wry tone, but it was there, she knew. As if she’d offended him. ‘Or is being tied down with my child so distasteful?’

‘No,’ she insisted, forking her fingers through her hair, pulling to redirect the pain shredding her heart. ‘No!’

‘Then speak to me,
cara
,’ he said, frustration lacing his accent. ‘You make no sense.
Maledizione
! One minute I am at the Gala, staring at the Diva, and tonight I am lying in bed with Eva. Beautiful young Eva, who told me she wanted three children. Two boys and a girl.’

Every muscle in her body froze. ‘I...I told you that?’ Grateful for the dark night sky, she felt heat flush up her cheeks at the untimely reminder of one of her more excruciatingly gauche attempts at figuring him out.

‘
Sì
,’ he said, unfazed.

A sharp, sweet ache pierced her chest. The kind where if she were alone she would be gasping for air, rocking to make the pain abate. So she had no idea how she found the strength to stand tall, to even speak. ‘That Eva doesn’t...’ Exist any more. ‘She’s...she’s...’ Gone. Grew up in the real world.

Turning her back on him, knowing she was being a coward for doing so, she faced the lapping froth of the incoming tide, stared at calm waters rippled with the silver reflection of the moon. ‘I decided a long time ago that life isn’t for me.’
Tell him, tell him—it’s the only way to change his mind.
‘Because there’s a good chance, a
high
chance, I might get sick. Like my mother...and my grandmother.’

The clammy air grew thicker still, swirling around her with a tension she couldn’t grasp. Then his voice came to her, dark as the sky above, smooth as the richest velvet, touched with warm understanding. ‘Ah, Eva, finally I see you.’

Crushing her lips together, she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in a deep shuddering breath, inhaling the fresh salty tang of the sea.

‘Does Finn know this?’ he asked.

‘No. I don’t want him worrying. He didn’t take Mum being sick so well.’ With one hand she pulled her hair over one shoulder and rubbed a silky strand between her fingertips. ‘So
please
don’t tell him.’

More silence. And still she couldn’t turn. Look at him. For fear of what she might see. Pity? Or maybe remorse. For surely it was dawning on him that he might be stuck with a wife who waited for the axe to fall.

Heat. Scorching heat seeped into her back. As if he’d moved closer and she could feel the almighty strength he exuded rolling off his body in pulsating waves. Yet he didn’t touch. Not once. Even as her heart begged him to take her in the lashing strength of his arms and tell her everything would be okay. Even as she hated that weakness. That need. Knew it was far safer not to need a living soul.

‘Look at me,
cara
.’

She couldn’t—she couldn’t. ‘Dante—’ her voice was thick, clotted with tears, trembling ‘—I’m so sorry. I’m just as much to blame. I should have thought of protection myself.’
Oh, God
. She should
never
have succumbed to the temptation of him. ‘I never want to put a child through what I went through.’

The touch of his warm fingers curling over the balls of her shoulders made her flinch. ‘Look at me!’ he demanded with a quiet, savage intensity, spinning her around to face him.

‘I am not your father, Eva. I am not a weak man. I will be there for our child. I swear it.’ Sincerity scored his face. ‘I am strong enough and powerful enough to shield him from every storm and I will
never
let you down. You believe me,
Sì
?’

Eva nodded slowly, dazed by the ferocity of his declaration.

‘Say it, Eva!’

Words burst from her lips. ‘I believe you.’ She did. Absolutely.

In that moment Eva had never wanted to touch him more. To kiss, to ease the stark pain haunting every angle of his riveting bone-structure.

And why was he looking at her in that way? As if he was about implode with the emotions pummelling his body. She’d do anything to know what he was thinking. Anything. Was he regretting every second of this night?

He reached up and brushed a damp tendril of hair from her brow before his gorgeous face came closer, closer. While her hopeful heart missed a beat waiting for his kiss.
Yes, please—kiss me, make love to me, show me you still want me, make me forget.

Warm lips touched her brow. Tender. Amiable. The notion that this was the first kiss she’d ever hated spread through her mind like a blood-red stain. ‘Stay until we know,
cara
.’

‘I can’t. The boutique is in enough trouble as it is and I have orders to go out. Dresses to finish.’

Frustration oozed out of his taut frame as he pulled back. As if he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. Eva knew better.

All the times she’d dreamed of marrying Dante, his proposal was never sewn by the threads of honour. All the times she’d secretly dreamed of having his baby—all thick, dark, yummy hair and amazing deep umber eyes—it was never trapping him by the treacherous hands of fate. But back then she’d been living in fairy tales. But this? This was reality.

Tipping her head skyward, she gazed at the diamante-studded brilliance. Focused on the biggest, brightest star.
I’ve messed up big style this time, Mum. I just couldn’t help myself. He’s my weakness. But you always knew that, right?

Thousands of pinpricks stabbed her clogged throat. A solitary tear escaped, trickled down the side of her face.

‘Ah, Eva...’ he said, sweeping her into his arms bride-style and enveloping her in his white-hot heat.

Weaving her arms around his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck as he carried her into the house. And the lashing strength of his arms was the final dent in her armour. Or maybe it was the way he peeled the white sundress from her body and made love to her with a slow, seductive, exquisite intensity she was powerless against. He made her forget, he made her feel alive, so gloriously alive. So by the time she shattered in his arms he had her oath to stay one more day.

One more day in paradise.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

D
ANTE LEANED AGAINST
the door-jamb of his kitchen, crossed his arms over his naked chest and contemplated the pitfalls of an idyllic mansion while the frantic pounding of his heart slowed.

There she was.

Rooting through the cupboards, her caramel tresses rippled down her back and his eyes devoured her half-dressed state, her habitual bra smothered by a white silk vest and matching shorts laced with baby-pink ribbons.

Eva St George. Soon-to-be Eva Vitale if his hunch proved correct.

After receiving the marriage contracts through from London, he’d gone to check on her before returning to his own suite—one cold bed, blood freezing in his veins.

Although in hindsight he should’ve known where he’d find her. How many times had he caught her wandering the St George kitchen in the dead of night, hips swaying in a natural hypnotic rhythm, sensuality drenching her glorious body in a light sheen as she prowled to satisfy her sweet tooth.

So young. Happy. Carefree.

An astonishing contrast to the heartbreaking vulnerability he’d been faced with on the beach. A woman who virtually hid from the world. All sass and obstinacy gone. Replaced by a fragility so un-Eva-like he’d worn a dagger in his gut ever since.

An off-key humming invaded his thoughts and he focused back on Eva, now on her tippy-toes, stretching sinuously to reach the top shelf. ‘A-ha!’

Dante smiled knowingly and eased back against the door-jamb to drink her in. Quench his thirst.

Pulse flipping into high gear, he watched her twist the lid from
his
jar of chocolate spread and delve deep with a long-handled café spoon. With a swirl of her hand, she plucked it free and popped the glob of chocolate between her pink lips.

Eyes closed, Eva moaned in sheer ecstasy.

That was it. Lust—white and hot—poured down his spine, pooling in his groin, and he growled long and low.

Time slowed as she caught sight of him, jumped nigh on a foot in the air and let go of the jar.

Dante jolted forward as the thick glass smacked the travertine with a dull crack, the splatter of rich chocolate and hazardous shards inches away from her bare feet.

Eva slammed her hand over her left breast, ‘Oh, my God—you gave me the shock of my life, you idiot!’

Willing his heart to calm, his gaze jerked up from her perfect little feet. ‘Did it satisfy your craving,
cara
?’

Cheeks pinking, she gave her head a little shake. ‘No, not really.’

Dante lips curved in a half smile. ‘I know exactly what will.’

‘You do?’

‘
Sì
.’ He closed the space between them, coming to a stop at the outer edges of the jar disaster. Holding out his arms, he beckoned her with a flick of his curled hand. ‘Come to me.’

His guts took a deft kick when she hesitated, those mesmerising eyes wary, guard up.

Heart thudding, he counted four beats before her chest swelled on a loaded inhalation and she leaned forward, holding out her arms.

Dante lifted her clean off the floor, swivelled and plonked her on the black granite island in the centre of the vast space.

‘Do you have a brush so I can clean up?’ she asked.

‘Stay there.’

‘It’s a good job you have flip-flops on.’

He didn’t bother telling her he’d learned long ago not to walk anywhere without shoes. Paved streets in the dead of night when his mother was entertaining had been sole-splittingly hazardous.

Within five minutes he’d cleared the debris and opened one of the wide cases lining the kitchen with a tug of the lever handle.

Kerthunk
went the door, with a suction sound that brought a sexy-as-hell curve to her lips. ‘Freezer.’

‘And what do you think,’ he said, ‘I could tempt you with in here,
Tesoro
?’

Hands either side of her hips, she launched off the bench and shot to his side.

‘Please tell me you have macadamia nut or...or chocolate cookies...or—’ Trailing off, her brow furrowed as she looked up at him, sussing him out with eyes as warm as the rarest emerald.
Affection
? No, he must be wrong.
You’re as cold and dark as your father, Dante. How can anyone love you?

‘Dante, did you hear me?’

He breathed through the twist in his guts. ‘Sorry,
cara.
Say again?’

‘Is your favourite still Tiramisu?’

‘Naturally,’ he said, grabbing all three, relishing the icy bite on his palms. ‘Where would you like to feast?’

‘Outside. My balcony. I have the most delicious view.’

‘I guarantee the mosquitoes will find you just as tasty,
tesoro
.’

‘Who cares? I feel like living dangerously.’ Words so lightly voiced, yet he could sense an underlying meaning behind them. And for the hundredth time he asked himself how the weight of her health risk had affected her. For clearly she bore it alone.

Cristo
, his soul ached for her.

Twenty minutes later they were ensconced on a soft-cushioned swing seat, the sound of the waves lapping, the palms swishing in the breeze, dawn hovering on the horizon, heaped spoons in hand.

Lips cold, his tongue laced with coffee creaminess, his apparent genius was trying to figure out a way to approach the bra subject when she coughed out a laugh—

‘Hey, do you remember the night I persuaded you and Finn to drive me to a twenty-four-hour store for ice cream?’

Like a vault opening wide, Dante allowed the memories to slither through the cracks of his mind. Eva, all huge green eyes peering up at him from between thick, gorgeous hazel lashes, begging him and Finn to drive her.

‘It was a disaster,’ she went on. ‘Finn got pulled for speeding, managed to dodge three points by promising Dad would sing at the policeman’s wedding—’

The tension in his midsection eased with a smile. ‘
Sì
, I remember.’ As if it were yesterday.

‘It took us hours to find this store and what happens?’

‘No ice cream,’ he said.

‘I was devastated. Then Finn scored with the shop girl and you were...’ she swallowed ‘...stuck with me.’ Was it his imagination or did she literally choke on the word
stuck
? ‘Boy, were you furious. Then again, you always were. People used to say Finn was day and you were night. I saw you as more of a thunderstorm. Dark and ominous. So angry.’

If he’d ever harboured the notion that Eva might think differently from his mother, that statement quashed it in a nanosecond.

‘I did buy you a box of chocolates,
cara
, so the night was not a complete washout.’

‘Yes, you did. I can’t believe you remember that.’

The sensation of her stunned eyes searing over his face made him turn. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ she whispered, shaking her head, attention back to the deep tub.

Maybe it was the hot crackle in the air, maybe it was the tension pulling taut. Whatever it was, Dante scooped another spoonful of Tiramisu and got back to topic. ‘Did your father ever sing at that wedding?’

Lapping the base of the spoon with the flat of her pink tongue, she smiled. ‘Yes, I think he did. I think Mum made him.’ Her brow pleated. ‘I can hear her now:
Nicky baby, you have to, Finn promised
. The look on my dad’s face.’ Spoon hovering in mid-air, her lips flattened as she gazed out to the ocean, unseeing. ‘Pure indulgence. I forgot how he used to look at her.’

‘Maybe you buried the good memories,
cara
.’ In a vault. ‘Buried under a weightier memory of his betrayal.’

‘Yes,’ she said, nodding, still staring out to sea. ‘So many broken promises. So many lies. Even I lied to her beautiful pale face and every time my heart broke a little more. I burned newspapers so she wouldn’t see photographs of his women. Told her he was on tour. Told her
anything
to stop her heart from breaking while she was in pain. She’d given him her heart and he betrayed her—he betrayed us all when we needed him so desperately and I’ll never forgive him or myself.’ Her voice cracked, making his stomach tighten. ‘I should never have lied to her, Dante. Wherever she is, I just hope she forgives me.’