‘One night he phoned me up to rage that life wasn’t worth living and the very next day he drove his car into a tree and died instantly.’ He swallowed. ‘And I don’t think it was an accident.’
‘You’re not blaming yourself for what happened are you, Vito?’ she asked him as she registered the almost unbearable pain in his voice. ‘Because you must know we are only ever responsible for our own actions and not for anyone else’s.’
‘You think it’s that easy?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Yes, I do feel responsible. Of course I do. My family was a total mess and I should have kept well away from the fallout of my parents’ toxic relationship. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d lied to Alessandro and told him I knew nothing about his parentage. Whether he would still be alive.’
‘Don’t you think everyone does that? That at some point in our lives we find ourselves wishing time had a rewind button?’ Flora demanded. ‘I remember I had a bad cold when Mum went off on her last climb and I used to think that if I’d asked her to stay, then she wouldn’t have been caught in that terrible storm on the mountain. But you can’t turn the clock back and even if we could, it still might have turned out completely differently.’
‘Yes, I know all this,’ he said impatiently. ‘But you need to know why I treat coupledom like kryptonite, Flora. Because families are just a path to pain and loss. People get hurt and I don’t want to be around that kind of emotion, ever again. Do you understand?’
Yes, she understood but Flora saw little point in trying to dispute his cold-blooded certainty by pointing out that there were always exceptions. She’d asked him the reasons behind his aversion, not to try to talk him out of it. And since he had told her, he must trust her to some degree—and wasn’t that an unexpected bonus? So, instead of talking she wriggled closer, placing her hand on the flank of his hip and it felt like something of a victory that he didn’t push her away. She held her breath as some of the tension left him and when she let her fingers drift over his belly, a different kind of tension entered his body.
When she inched her fingers down to clasp his rocky shaft within the palm of her hand, he groaned. And soon after that she climbed on top of him and took him deep inside her, orchestrating their movements with the clench of her muscles, until at last he cried out and pulled her down so he could claim her lips in a hard, sweet kiss.
And in the end, the question of whether or not she should stay the night became academic because next time Flora opened her eyes, it was morning and the space beside her was empty.
Pushing the hair back from her face she surveyed the room. Her expensive silk dress was lying on the rug, next to a pair of abandoned suede shoes, and there was Vito’s immaculate dinner suit beside them—carelessly discarded. Flora bit her lip with remembered pleasure and leaned back against the pillows as Vito walked in.
He was completely naked—long, muscular limbs emphasising his strength and power. He moved like the natural predator he was, she thought—this golden alpha man who made women’s hearts hurry. The richness of his skin gleamed like oiled-silk and his black hair glittered with tiny beads of water, which he was rubbing at with a tiny white towel. But despite his undeniable magnificence and the abundance of thrills he had given her throughout the night, it was the fact that he had confided in her which gave her an inner glow. Hugging that knowledge to herself like a precious gift, she smiled up at him.
The smile he slanted back was lazy and contented—like a leopard at the zoo which had just been fed. As he raised his ebony brows at her in mocking question, Flora could feel the flush of colour in her cheeks as he walked over to the bed and dropped the towel. Keep it light, she told herself. Don’t scare him away with feelings.
‘So,cara, what do you say?’ he murmured. ‘Friends with benefits,si?’
He got into bed beside her, his mouth tracing a slow line down her neck and Flora would have defied any woman on the planet not to have agreed to his drawled suggestion.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘YOU AREN’T WEARINGyour engagement ring.’
Meeting Vito’s curious stare from across the other side of the table, Flora quickly glanced down at her bare finger. To be honest, she’d completely forgotten she wasn’t wearing it but probably explained why her left hand felt so delightfully liberated this morning. ‘Oh, I took it off yesterday when I was helping Mafalda make focaccia—’
‘You were helping Mafalda make bread?’ he elucidated, his surprise apparent.
‘Yes. She’s a brilliant cook and she’s offered to teach me. She practises her English and I practise my Italian—and all the time I’m getting insights into Italian cuisine and life. And it means I’ve got something to do while you’re working all the hours god sent,’ she remarked, without rancour.
‘Vero,’ he agreed, picking up his newspaper and using it as a clear deterrent not to progress with this particular topic.
Faced with the black-and-white barrier of financial news, Flora pushed her plate away, knowing she hadn’t been completely transparent with him. She could have explained that not only was the ring too heavy for her finger, or that the stone would have become encrusted with dough—she also felt it was a bitvulgar—when all Mafalda wore was a narrow wedding band which somehow seemed a lot more meaningful than the expensive gemshesported. Or that she’d been in a store the other day and seen someone covetously eyeing up the glittering rock, and had been terrified they might try and cut her finger off and make away with their prize. And yes, one of Vito’s bodyguards had been standing at a discreet distance away, but even so—it had rattled her. Why hadn’t she told Vito the truth—that she had never really liked it?
She knew why and the reason was making her feel increasingly uncomfortable. Because the easy honesty she’d once enjoyed with her ex-boss had slipped away, like sand trickling through an egg-timer, and Flora knew the precise moment when it had happened.
When they’d started having sex again.
Because sex was about so much more than release.
It was about power, and bargaining and control. Those were the downsides…
The upsides were the incredible vulnerability and intimacy which flooded through her whenever she was lying next to Vito, skin on skin. When she felt as close to him as she could possibly be and revelled in the blossoming confidence of her own sexuality. When she started wondering if this strange relationship of theirs could go the distance. Or if it could ever turn into love.
She bit her lip, alarmed by her residual foolishness and resolving to push it to the edges of her mind. Because what was the point of goingthere?
The room was flooded with pale sunshine which turned Vito’s thick hair blue-black, and the air was richly scented with coffee. On the table were bowls of fruit, creamy yoghurt and freshly bakedcornettiand Flora was aware that the scene could have been lifted straight out of a romcom film about a newly married couple who were expecting their first child together.
Except that they weren’t married and they weren’t a couple.
Friends with benefits, yes—and she wasn’tcomplainingabout that aspect of their relationship. Why would she? She got to sleep with Vito every night and wake up next to him. And sometimes, during those private hours of darkness she was exposed to aspects of his character which would never have revealed themselves in daylight. Occasionally his hand would skate across the faint curve of her belly and Flora would hold her breath, waiting for words about the baby which never came. The elephant wasn’t in the room so much as in her stomach, she thought wryly. Only then, he would start making love to her again and she would be able to think of nothing but his touch.
Yet sometimes he made space for her in his busy diary and they did things together, and those were the days she treasured above all else. He showed off his adopted city and the surrounding areas and she grew to adore Italy. They ate in amazing restaurants or drove out to Lake Como or Bergamo, and Vito seemed to enjoy her bemusement when they explored the more avant-garde collections in Milan’s many art galleries. All this was intoxicating stuff—but in the most unexpected of ways.
