Learning to Trust (11 page)

“It happened to me because I let it. It was my fault, always. One of the first things they teach you in rehab is to take responsibility for your own actions. Blaming someone else is a crutch. Nobody made me take that first snort of coke. Nobody forced the needle into my arm. I did it. I could have stopped, but there didn’t seem much point, and then I couldn’t stop. I tried a couple of times, but I didn’t care enough to make a real effort. Byron went the same way.”

“Why, sweetheart, why?”

She gazed up into his agonized face. “Lots of reasons. Not just one. One reason made me take that first step, and then others made me continue. And it was fun. Dangerous. Wicked. It made people look.” And made life a little more bearable. Just enough to take the edge off.

He kissed her as if he needed to, as if he needed her to keep him sane. She responded the same way, their lips opening, and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she felt like she was coming home.

It felt right, as if every lover she’d had before this had been a rehearsal for the real thing. She could afford to relax into this just for one night, surely. She sucked on his tongue, stroked it with hers. His groan reverberated through her mouth to her whole body. Tingles arose where his hands lay, but gentler, not as violent as some of their previous encounters. She pressed against him, finding comfort in his warmth and the way his bigger frame enveloped hers.

She heard the door open but didn’t look away until he finished the kiss and, after gazing down at her for a second or two, gave his attention to whoever had entered.

A man she didn’t know, but Jon took his time. He released his hold on her and glanced up. “This is the American consul, sweetheart. Mr. Karshalti, this is Bellina Mazzanti Forde.”

The man, a large African American, blinked. He stared at her before pursing his lips and frowning. “I’ve met your mother.”

“Many people have.” With those words he jolted her right back to the world she never wanted to see again. The world she’d have to at least acknowledge before she left once more. Every time a man had said those words, she’d always wondered if he meant in the biblical sense. All too often she’d been proved right.

“Your mother came to the Embassy in New York asking if we could find you. No wonder we couldn’t. You don’t look anything like the Bella Forde I remember.”

“I changed.” She felt no obligation to indulge his curiosity. “But I don’t have a valid passport anymore. I still have my old one.”

“If you give it to me I can get the renewal fast-tracked.”

“How fast?” Jon demanded.

“Twenty-four hours. You must realize that the authorities here want you gone. There could be a blood feud starting from this, and they want to stop it before it starts.”

“What exactly are we talking about here? Will they follow us to the States?”

Lina slid off Jon’s lap and went to the coffee machine that rested on the long table taking up one side of the room. With the two men in the room, strangers, she didn’t want them seeing her as uncomfortable or dependent. The fact that she wanted to be dependent right now didn’t mean a thing. She had to start thinking again. The cuddle and the kiss were a pleasant respite, that was all.

If she had to go back, she’d do it on her own terms. She listened to what the consul had to say. His answers were the difference between Milan and New York.

“I don’t think they will. The new criminal organizations are profit based. Families and honor all disappeared years ago with the older ones. The younger members of the Mafia never subscribed to the ideal, anyway. They deal with the East, not the West, for the most part, and they just want you out of the way. They do have contacts in the States, but we don’t expect them to cause any trouble for you.”

“How do you know that? Have they been in touch?”

“No. We’re guessing, based on previous behavior. It’s an unusual case because they haven’t claimed it. Usually the Colleghi will admit to an outrage the minute they’ve done it, or they’ll make it obvious. It adds to their reputation.” He paused and glanced at the Italian agent still sitting next to the door. “The authorities here find it hard to contain all the criminal activity that goes on in Naples. It’s a great landfall for any number of smugglers and illegal traffickers. In a way it helps to have a few big organizations, because they keep the others in check. The anarchy that followed the downfall of the previous regime was hugely difficult to contain.” And there were things he wasn’t saying. That places like this could prove open sores, places where terrorists could obtain a hold. The bigger criminal organizations would help to keep them out, since their presence wasn’t usually helpful to making profit. Unless your business happened to be gunrunning. The Colleghi could do deals with the terrorists on more equal terms, leave the place less of a security risk for governments. Between anarchy and organized crime, the latter was sometimes the better of two evils. Not that anyone in authority would ever admit that, especially when the streets were running with garbage and heroin.

Who’d have thought an explosion in a quiet, downmarket street in Naples would cause so many ripples?

Karshalti glanced at her and then away again. The man was nervous now that he knew who she was. She guessed that two such high-profile people involved in this mess made him more than uncomfortable, especially when those people were Americans. They could poke the fire and actually stand a chance of getting someone to listen to them. And if the press found out they were involved, it would shine an unwelcome spotlight on the area.

“The Colleghi deal in drugs and knockoff goods, imported from the Far East,” the consul said.

So they could have murdered Byron. But why? And how had he known she was here? Or had he been sent the same way she had? Maybe the nuns hadn’t chosen Naples blindly. Maybe someone pointed them in that direction. But it didn’t make sense. She had no contacts here.

“Franco Falconi paid his protection every month until recently. We think that’s the main reason for the explosion, but the bomb isn’t typical of the Colleghi. That doesn’t mean a great deal, except that for some reason they didn’t advertise what they’d done. Maybe they found out who Ms. Forde was, and knew that would get the Americans involved. Now that I know her true identity, that makes a lot more sense.” Karshalti paused and stared at her, until the gurgle of the machine told her the coffee was done.

She found it a relief to turn her back on him. Okay, so in her borrowed sweatpants and top, and with her unruly, mousy hair she didn’t look like the pampered socialite of a few years ago. But he’d obviously recognized her once Jon told him who she was.

She gave the consul a coffee first, then the Italian agent, exchanging a sympathetic smile with him. The woman was supposed to come back tonight to use the other bed in this room, as they’d decided not to leave her alone at all. She wondered if they’d still do that. Then she poured coffees for herself and Jon, and finally took them over to the bed and sat next to him.

They stood or sat, nursing coffees nobody wanted, except the agent, who slurped his down greedily. “I won’t go unless I know Franco is safe. So expedite his passport, and his family’s too.”

Jon breathed out, a long, slow sigh and she realized he hadn’t been sure of her response. She’d as good as told him she’d go. But she could do nothing else. For Franco’s sake, she couldn’t leave him and his family blowing in the wind. She had to make sure they were okay. “What about the nuns?”

“I’m sorry?”

She paused, realizing belatedly that she was about to release more of her story than she wanted to. But what the fuck, she’d come this far. “They helped me kick the habit. Then they sent me here.”

Karshalti moved to the table and put down his mug. “I was going to ask you about that. Why didn’t you go home?”

She shrugged. “There’s nothing for me there. My mom raced through what money my dad left us. So I came here. I stay at the café because it’s close to the college where I’m studying.” She forced a smile. “I guess I’ll have to transfer my studies to the States now.”

“What course were you doing?”

“A certification in social work. I wanted to do that when I qualified.”

The stillness when the consul stared at her sent a shock through the room. Obviously he hadn’t expected that answer.
Once a party girl, always a party girl.
Well fuck him and everybody who thought like him. She sipped her coffee. It was vile. The Italian agent couldn’t have any taste buds. That coffee sachet must have been there a very long time.

She glanced around for somewhere to put her cup. Jon took it from her and placed them both on a side table. “I have a room at the Romeo. Any chance I can take her there?”

Regretfully the consul shook his head. “We can’t guarantee your safety there. You booked the room under your own name, I guess.”

Jon nodded. “Exactly.”

His high-profile approach didn’t work all the time, then. “We’d rather you stayed away, or stayed here, Mr. Brantley.”

“Here.” Jon reached for her hand, and she let him clasp it.

“Give us your key card and we’ll send someone for your stuff. Did you use the safe?”

With a grimace, he nodded again. He probably had a wad of cash in there. She’d have done if she’d had the means. Cash went places credit cards couldn’t. “I’ll give you the combination.”

The consul nodded and headed for the door. “I’ll send a couple of our guys along to help.” He glanced at the Italian. “No offense.” The Italian spread his hands in a placatory gesture. “We’ll get you out of here with as little fuss as we can and as fast as we can.”

In fact it took two days. The first night she slept wrapped in Jon’s arms, with the female cop in the other bed. Although they could hardly get busy, his presence comforted her. Reaching out for him in the night and actually finding him there went a long way toward making her easier in her mind.

The next night he somehow persuaded the cop to sleep in the next room, leaving them alone for the first time since he’d come back. She watched TV, mindless programs that Jon wouldn’t understand because they were in Italian, but he didn’t take the hint and go to bed. Instead, halfway through a dubbed version of an American hospital show, he reached for the remote and turned it off. “If you want to watch that, you can do it when we get home. I want you, Bella.”

“That sounds silly in Italian. Bella.”

“I know. But it sounds good in English. Or do you want me just to call you ‘Beautiful’?”

She laughed. “That sounds silly, too.”

“Not if it’s true.” He tucked his finger under her chin and turned it, at the same time tilting it up to receive his kiss.

She couldn’t protest because his mouth was on hers, urging her to open her lips in a sweet admission of need. In the end it turned out as natural as reaching for him in the night. She curled an arm around his neck and felt his breath sigh over her, warmly caressing her cheek.

Still kissing her, he lifted her and carried her to the bed they’d shared the previous night. But where she’d slept in a pair of new and distinctly ugly pajamas, tonight she’d sleep naked. As would he.

He laid her down and undressed her gently. He lifted her T-shirt over her head and was smiling when she pulled her head free from the clinging fabric. “We can sleep if you want to. I can take it.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

This might be their last time together. She’d behave as if it were, as if they would part, because she knew, even if he didn’t, that they’d have to spend some time apart. She needed to get her life together and he needed to concentrate on burying and mourning Byron. And finding out more about his death.

Not tonight. In this shabby hotel room on this bed they had their last chance before the deluge hit them. She had no doubt that it would come.

She sat up to unfasten her bra and he watched her, his eyes lambent with need. He lifted one hand and traced the red line the bra had left on her breast, soothing and arousing at the same time. She raised her head, sat up straighter, and reached for him. He came, too slowly for her, so she grasped a handful of his shirt and dragged him close. She’d never found kisses addicting before Jon, but a kiss with him meant far more than with anyone else.

His caresses remained soft, gentle, and she sensed that he needed this as much as she did. He needed to take care of her, to soothe her. For his sake and hers, she let him. He stroked her skin, running his palms up and down her back, as if stroking a sensitive creature. She reveled in his care, nestled closer to him before drawing back and tugging at his shirt. He took the hint and helped her undo the buttons, then shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. She moved closer and he held her before she lifted her head for his kiss.

By mutual consent they removed their jeans and underwear, moving quickly but without undue haste. They knelt on the bed facing each other. He touched the pale curls that clustered around her pussy. “You should get your hair back to its real color. It’s almost white, isn’t it?”

“It looks that way in some lights.” She paused. “In nightclub lights. But it’s blond and you can see it in the daylight. Just that I didn’t go out in daylight much, unless I needed to shop.”

She remembered a time, darting from shop to shop, expecting and receiving the kind of reverence only big-spending, wealthy customers ever received. She didn’t miss that part. She’d always hated the obsequious behavior some assistants had subjected her to. But she missed the shopping. Something she’d have to persuade him she never thought about anymore, but it was a lie. She hated lying to him, even for his own good.

He lifted a strand of the hair on her head, but sifted through the curls at the top of her legs at the same time, brushing her clit seemingly by accident. She shivered in response, opening her legs a little. He touched his mouth to the strand. “Don’t cut it. Keep it like this. I want to see it in its full glory.”

He dropped the strand and kissed her forehead, her nose, working his way down to her mouth. When he reached it he took her in a deep kiss, caressing her mouth with his tongue, tasting every part of her. He slipped his fingers through her hair to cup her scalp, holding her steady while he kissed her.

Lina moved close, pressing her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. His fingers worked gently between her legs, but with purpose. He took her clit between finger and thumb and rubbed it, stimulating the hard knot of nerves inside. She gasped and squirmed, but returned so he could do it some more. He obliged, and drew his mouth away from hers, only to come at her from a different angle, shaping the kiss in a different way. He thrust his tongue in her mouth with an urgency that grew with the wetness below. His fingers, slick with her juices, slipped and he pressed his thumb right over the center of her clit, sliding his finger through her wet cleft to her opening. He barely breached her but she felt wholly open, wide for him.

And it felt so right.

He urged her to lie back on the bed, sliding his hand down from her head to the center of her back to support her. She leaned back, trusting him to lay her down. She stared up into his smiling eyes and she smiled back, glad that they could do this one more time before they went home and everything changed. One way or the other they’d never be like this again.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, unruly with waves. “You need a haircut.”

“I’ve been busy lately.”

She loved his voice, the way it rumbled through his whole body so that when she flattened her hand against his chest she felt the vibrations.

He leaned over her and then moved to kneel between her legs. When he gazed down at her, she opened her legs, shamelessly exposing every part of her to his attention. Right now, he owned her because she gave herself to him. Every part. He seemed to understand, spreading his palm over her stomach, watching as he stroked her, his hand so big it made her feel miniature. And she loved it. “I want to see you as you should be. Perfumed, your hair in bright waves, silky so I can touch it and run it through my fingers. I want you happy.”

“I am.” She reached up, clasped his arm, but not to stop him. Only to touch him. He bent down, kissed her so his cock rested against her belly. Hard and needy, it left a bead of liquid on her skin and she felt the need as she’d never felt before to take him into her mouth and taste him properly.

Only he wouldn’t let her. When she moved to sit up, to drift her lips down his body, he pushed her back down, gently urging. “Not tonight. Later. I want you, Lina, and I need to reassure myself that you’re here and safe. You weren’t the only one in shock.”

He was right. He saw the results of the explosion, the blackened and raw ruins of the café. He’d had no way of knowing if she was alive or dead until he’d battled his way through the authorities and the barriers the police had thrown up to protect her and Franco. He’d had to travel for fourteen hours without knowing. She’d have gone insane if that had been her. Instead he’d held her, soothed her and supported her, never showing a moment’s weakness in front of anyone else.

“Then do what you need to do. Because I want it, too.”

Even now, when their connection was so much more than it had been before, he remembered to protect her. To protect them both. He smiled as he slipped the sheath on, rolling it down his cock with a sensuality that made her mouth water. He glanced up at her face. “If you wanted to do this bareback, I would. Do you?”

She shook her head, awed by the trust he gave her. He’d take her at her word. After all she’d done, all she’d proved herself to be, he’d still accept that she told him the truth. She didn’t deserve it, but she loved that he gave her that much trust. “Not now,” she said. “We can talk later.” Another time. She didn’t want to break the moment now.

He tilted his head so he could deliver a deep, passionate kiss to her, and she took it and gave it back, slipping her tongue into his mouth almost shyly. He took it, supported it and sucked gently on it as he sank down and touched her clit with the head of his cock. So smooth and hot, she could have come from that alone. But she wanted to wait. She could have come when he manipulated her clit, but she wanted it to happen when he was inside her body.

She widened her legs, curved them around his waist and he entered her without help, as if his cock knew its own way without guidance.

Sighing, she arched her back, her body craving the joy of his. He plunged deep, giving it to her and she felt the hard column glide past her G-spot. He did it repeatedly, driving again and again into her, angling his entry so he touched her sweetest spot with every stroke. His lower belly caressed her clit, the coarse hair stroking her, sending tingles and then shots of pleasure straight to her brain.

Moaning softly in delight, she arched up to him and he kissed her, driving his tongue into her mouth in sync with his cock’s hard, hot plunges. Helpless to resist, unable to hold back any longer, she exploded. Paroxysms of joy rocketed through every part of her, rendering her his slave. Now and always, she’d come to him. Come for him.

She cried into his mouth and realized why he didn’t let her shout his name. With agents outside the door and one in the next room she might be embarrassed, but she wanted to assure him that wasn’t so. She’d never feel embarrassed about expressing this ecstasy, not with him.

His grip tightened and froze and she felt the deep, hard pulses as he expelled the seed that would have made her pregnant, if not for the protection. She didn’t care. She wanted him bare, and one day she would have her ambition. She promised herself she would.

But not tonight.

He held her until morning. She awoke once and they made love again. They’d gone past sex that night, but what they created remained fragile, something to build on, or deny. That was up to whatever happened next. Although she wanted to fight for him, she knew she shouldn’t. He had other business to complete before he could come to her and she could give herself to him. Maybe never.

They had a slight argument the next day when Jon wanted to get a stylist, turn her into what she had been and leave the country with a blaze of publicity. “No, I can do all that once we get to New York. It’ll help to obscure the trail.” Nearer the truth was that she felt suddenly, unaccountably shy. Uncertain as to what she would be once she changed the way she looked.

Shock set in with a vengeance that second day and she’d clung to Jon, sitting on his lap watching mindless television. She switched channels when the news bulletins appeared, until Jon stopped her and asked her to translate. She did. He became aware of how the politics of Naples affected the whole of Italy, and how much of a knife-edge the country balanced on. His shock made her laugh. “Italy has survived that way for a very long time. It’s the way things happen around here.”

“Getting out quietly” involved cattle-class tickets on a standard flight. Hardly something Jon was used to, but he managed better than she did. Until he pulled up the seat rest between them and held her tightly, muffling the screams of the babies and the inane conversations going on around them. Most of the plane’s occupants were tourists, excitedly chattering after their holiday. Normally they’d have amused her, but she was too tired and heartsick to think of anything except the nightmare she’d walked into fewer than four days ago.

She had a new passport, two pairs of jeans, four tops and some underwear to her name, with the college notes that she’d been carrying at the time of the explosion. That was all she had to show for five years in Italy.

Franco didn’t live at the café so he and his family could arrange for their belongings to be packed and shipped. They were seated half a dozen rows farther back, so all they could do was chat generally. The police had warned them not to talk about their experiences on the plane, or anywhere else in public.

At the moment Lina was too tired and shocked for much to penetrate, but it would soon. Already fragments of sensation were returning to her, and the sheet of glass that had seemed to stand between her and the real world lowered bit by bit. When it dropped completely she wanted to be somewhere private. Completely private.

Jon had treated her with the kind of gentleness and consideration that she’d needed at first. Now she needed some space on her own to breathe and take stock. Her future would never again include someone else controlling her. While away, she’d learned the habit of self-dependence and she liked it. Already she was thinking about what she could do when she got back.

She’d need somewhere to live. If her mother had married someone rich, perhaps he owned a house or apartment building big enough that she and her mother could stay in the same place for a short time. Just until she found her feet. She wanted to continue her studies. But she’d need some kind of job to see her through, which, considering her history, might prove hard to get.

By the time the captain had asked them to put on their seat belts she’d regained control of her wayward emotions. She could smile at Jon and murmur, “Thanks. I feel much better now.”

“You’re not alone,” he began.

She interrupted whatever he was about to say next, afraid he would make a commitment he might later come to regret. “I’ll be fine now. I’ll go home with my mother, find somewhere to live and get on with my life.”

His eyes widened. “I thought you’d come home with me.”

She shook her head. “You have enough to cope with. If you have a memorial for Byron, let me know, please.”

She was sorry for the hurt she caused. She saw it in his eyes, the edge of shock, then sorrow. Let him think she cared more for Byron—for now.

But no. She couldn’t play games with him. It wasn’t fair. “Listen, Jon, it’s not you, it’s not Byron. I don’t ever want to depend on anyone else again. Or anything else. I want to be me, to have a life of my own. You understand?”