Sins of the Past (7 page)

‘Was it worth it?’

She gritted her teeth to avoid saying something rude. But she said it anyway. ‘Don’t you have anything else on your mind but my current love-life?’

He leaned back on his chair, surveying her with disturbing directness.

‘With you around …’ his gaze moved over the black silk tunic she had thrown over a neat black skirt with an insolence
that made her mouth go dry ‘… I must confess to that being extraordinarily difficult,
cara.’

Growing hot under that masculine regard, and scolding herself for even letting it affect her, she snapped back, ‘Let’s forget the false endearments, shall we?’

He merely laughed softly in response. ‘Ah, yes. I forgot your propensity for always speaking the truth.’

She moved straight past him, intending to get on with the matter in hand—which was to show him the plans she had come up with for her intended design.

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ He meant about her late night being worth it.

‘It was stupendous!’ she flung at him with a buoyancy she was far from feeling, dumping her briefcase down on the table and tossing back the flap. She hated his taunts and his ridiculous conjecture, hated
him!
And it didn’t help her mood in that she couldn’t stop worrying about Ben.

Watching her from under his lashes, Damiano didn’t like the way her answer had made him feel.

He supposed he deserved it, provoking her like that. He wasn’t normally a man who got his kicks out of quizzing a woman over her sexual behaviour.

The truth was he was jealous! Well, not jealous, exactly.
Santo cielo!
That was far too strong a word to describe what he felt about a woman who was not only a gold-digger but who was far too economical with the truth. She did, however, fascinate him, and he had already come to terms with the fact that he still wanted her. Therefore he intended to have her—in his bed, at least. And what he wanted he always got, through sheer determination, hard strategy and unwavering focus.

But who was this man who kept her awake until all hours—even on a week night? He couldn’t deny that it made him sick to his gut when he thought of some other fortunate man holding her slim, naked body in his arms, giving her the pleasure he had given her, his masculinity augmented by her petite womanhood.

Despite what he had said about her faking those cries of pleasure, experience alone told him that in that at least she hadn’t lied. She had been as out of control as he had been the night he had made love to her. And he had been her first lover. There was no getting away from that.

So who was this man who left her sleepless and pleasured now? Was it serious? Was that why she didn’t mind risking her job for him? Or was he just some casual acquaintance for a good-time girl who enjoyed living it up every night?

Such speculation didn’t do anything to improve his mood—or his opinion of her—as he pushed himself to his feet.

‘What have you got for me?’ he demanded, in a voice that could cut through stone.

‘I’ve tried to meet your requirements,’ she stated, taking out a folder of her basic designs, trying not to be affected by his glacial tone.

All she wanted to do at that moment was telephone Kate and find out how Ben was, but from the last time she’d been there she knew she couldn’t always get a signal on her cell phone through the thick walls of the old building, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask to use one of the landlines in the house. No way was she going to risk letting Damiano find out about Ben.

‘I’ve added a different perspective on the electrics for a lady who’s getting on in years and might appreciate a little more light,’ she told him, pulling out her laptop, her mouse and a few glossy brochures, ‘but I think I’ll need to do a bit more work on that while I’m here.’

‘Do what you like,’ he snarled when she’d finished explaining, and left her to it.

She was immensely relieved when he popped his head round the door a little later and said he was going out.

Grabbing her opportunity, as soon as the sound of his car died away Riva raced outside into the sunshine and rang Kate Shepherd on her cell phone.

‘He’s perfectly all right,’ the woman told her reassuringly.

‘He’s been making things with modelling clay all morning, and now he’s having a nap.’

Immensely relieved, Riva went back inside and carried on with her planning. After a while, as it was so pleasant outside, and because a few of the changes Damiano had suggested looked like taking her past lunchtime, she took the tuna sandwiches she had made the previous night and went and found a sunny spot beside a tree in the overgrown grounds of the old manor, her car rug spread out beneath her on the grass.

Ben was all right. She hugged that knowledge to her like a warm cushion as she lay back under the tree with her head resting on her bent arm, wondering what Damiano would say if he knew he had a son.

Tell him, Chelsea had advised, more philosophical about what had happened than Riva could ever be. In view of what Damiano had found out, who could blame Marcello for not wanting to marry her? her mother had said, defending her fiancé. Making excuses for him, Riva thought grievously, because she’d loved him.

But Riva wasn’t as forbearing or as forgiving towards Marcello’s nephew. Damiano D’Amico was still the cold-hearted louse who hadn’t wanted her or her mother to be part of his uncle’s life, who hadn’t cared about seducing Riva or stealing her heart for his own cold-blooded ends, and then finally ripping it to shreds. Ben might be his son, but that didn’t change a thing. Damiano had still ruined Chelsea’s life, Riva thought vehemently, and subsequently hers when she had been robbed of her mother. So why should she feel guilty about not telling him? She and Ben were safe and happy as they were. She had no intention of doing anything that might change that through a misplaced sense of duty!

Suddenly she was aware of a shadow falling across her—a long, dark shadow blocking out the sun.

She shivered, noticing that while she had been lying there the tree overhead had shed all its leaves in a damp, decaying blanket all around her. Bare branches were reaching out to her
like gnarled dark fingers, getting closer and closer, threatening her, threatening everything she cared about—loved.

Ben!

Terrified, she bolted upright.

‘Spiacente.
‘ She felt a strong hand on her shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ The deep caressing tones were incongruous with the harsh images of what she now realised had been just a dream.

‘I must have nodded off.’ Her hand flew to her temple. ‘Oh, gosh! I’m sorry …’ What must he think of her? she despaired, feeling doped and headachy. She was tired because of the sleep she had lost last night, but he must think her lazy, a shirker, sneaking off from her job the minute his back was turned.

‘It’s all right—I’m not your time-keeper,’ he said smoothly, those ebony eyes picking up on the sandwich bag with some discarded orange peel inside that testified to her lunch. He stretched out an arm to help her up.

She ignored it and, grabbing the left-overs of her meal, scrambled to her feet unaided. Her heart was thumping just from seeing him standing there, without inviting intimacy with him as well! She had been so keyed up since meeting him again—which was probably the reason Ben wasn’t sleeping very well. He had sensed it—and now that bizarre dream only reflected her state of mind.

Automatically she glanced up at the tree, just to make sure it still had all its leaves. It did. The afternoon, though, had turned cloudy and cool.

‘Thinking of climbing it, Riva?’

She looked at him quickly, catching that familiar mockery in his voice. ‘What?’

‘Didn’t you and your mother once spend two days in a tree, protesting about the onward march of progress?’

Brushing crumbs off her clothes, Riva cringed, remembering the meal one newspaper had made of the incident, distorting the truth out of all proportion.

‘We were trying to preserve a playing field that developers wanted for two fast-food outlets and a car park. One last green area of land where the local children could play and indulge their imagination, run around and get some fresh air, instead of spending all their leisure time stuck behind computers, playing mindless violent games and packing calories!’

‘What happened?’

‘The fast-food brigade won.’ Developers. Capitalists. People like him. She stooped down and grabbed the rug with both hands, shaking it so aggressively that it sent a little shower of crumbs in his direction. ‘And before you say anything else, I didn’t lie down in front of that digger—I tripped!’

Something like amusement lit those amazingly dark eyes. Or was it surprise, Riva wondered, in discovering he’d been wrong?

Good! she thought trenchantly, before her mortified gaze dropped to his arm.

‘What is it?’ Damiano enquired.

‘You’ve got a piece of lettuce stuck to your sleeve.’ A piece with salad cream on, she realised shrinkingly, as those long steady fingers picked it off, revealing a small grease mark staining the immaculate cloth.

‘Do you want me to sponge it off for you?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said with a grimace.

She had started walking back and he fell into step beside her, too big, too close and far, far too disturbing for her equilibrium. ‘What I want to know,’ he stated, changing the subject, ‘is what makes a girl like you imagine she can take on the world. Fight developers—losing battles.’

‘As well as seducing wealthy men for every penny I can get?’

His profile was as hard as a cliff-face. Perhaps he didn’t like being reminded of just who had been the seducer and for what purpose!

‘How did you get into it?’ he pressed, clearly refusing to be baited by her sarcasm. ‘You look too small and fragile to
take on the establishment, Riva. Councils. Huge corporations. And, yes … even me.’

A thread of sexual tension pulled treacherously at her insides.

‘What would you prefer I did? Just keep quiet, lie down and let the whole world walk right over me?’ Even you, she appended, but didn’t say it. Damiano D’Amico, she had long ago accepted, was someone she could never take on and win. ‘I didn’t
get into
anything, as you put it. Mum never liked injustice.’ It seemed wrong calling Chelsea that, as if she was betraying her mother’s wishes in some way now that the woman wasn’t around to pull her up on it. ‘She believed in fighting causes for the underdog, and I went along with her in the beginning because … well, because I just did. I was an adolescent and thought it was good to try and put the world right. Later I tagged along because …’ Because Chelsea had needed her, wanted her support, and because she’d wanted to keep an eye on her mother, because she’d always worried about her, been scared that she might go that one step too far. Sometimes, she ruminated, startled to realise the turn her thoughts were taking, it had felt as if she’d been the adult and her mother the child.

‘Si?’
Those keen eyes were studying her pale, strained countenance, expecting her to continue. Eloquent, multilingual, with that unwavering self-assurance, she guessed that, unlike her, he would never be lost for words.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she exhaled, turning away.

She could see the coach house through the trees, a pleasing blend of gables and sun-washed stone like the manor it used to serve. One day someone would probably destroy that too, she thought, eager to get back to work. To lose herself in her designing and planning and anything else that might take her away—mentally and physically—from the disturbing orbit of the man walking so purposefully beside her, a dangerous mixture of strength and oozing sensuality that made her head spin and her legs feel as though they didn’t quite belong to her.

‘So who is he, Riva?’

‘What?’

‘The man who steals so much of your sleep at night that you have to catch up during the day.’

A flame of colour touched her cheeks. ‘That’s none of your business!’

‘If it happens when you’re working for me, it is.’

Heavens! Why had she been so stupid?

‘Don’t worry,’ she snapped at him. ‘The work will get done!’

There was a little gate at the end of the tree-lined path leading to the courtyard, only wide enough for one person to pass through, and she gave a shocked little gasp when he moved with calculated precision to effectively block her way.

‘Who is he?’ he demanded to know.

‘Look …’ She swallowed nervously. His hard, obstructive body was a disturbing threat to her equilibrium. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve been skiving. I’ll take the job home and put in extra overtime if it makes you happy.’

‘That isn’t good enough.’

Defiance flared in her eyes. ‘Well, it’s the best I can do!’

‘Perhaps I might get the best out of you if I telephone Olivia and insist that you stay here—with me—while you’re doing this job for my grandmother.’

She couldn’t believe he had the audacity to be saying this.

‘Contrary to what you might think,’ she breathed, determined to enlighten him, ‘Olivia Redwood doesn’t have quite that much dominion over me.’

‘But I do.’

Riva caught her breath, feeling a tight, tense sensation in her chest.

He was right, she admitted silently. He’d said he wasn’t her time-keeper, but he sure as hell could make life uncomfortable if she didn’t jump to his every command. And if he did insist
on her staying at the Old Coach House, what would she do about Ben?

‘And what are you suggesting?’ It was taking every ounce of her courage to stand here and face him like this, challenging him when she knew how ruthless he was, when she was about as capable of outwitting him as a sardine was of outwitting a shark. ‘That I sleep in your bed?’

His cruel wide mouth curved in a parody of a smile. ‘Is that what you want, Riva? I would have thought you’d learned your lesson the first time, but I see that that clearly isn’t the case.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ she warned, panicking as strong hands pulled her close—close enough to feel the warmth emanating from the lean, hard length of his body. And yet the only contact between them were those firm, determined hands resting on her shoulders.