Massimo had the urge to snap that of course he could do these things, but the truth was that he hadn’t even considered them as real options. He hadn’t considered much of anything that was rational, truth be told. So he gave his brother a grunt of acknowledgment that made his brother’s lips quirk up into an ironic smile. But thankfully, Alessandro kept his mouth shut.
Massimo charged out of his brother’s office and returned to his, slamming the door behind him. He came to a stop at a long window and looked out on the rooftops of Milan, the city spreading out in front of him. How could all his money and prestige and power count for nothing right now? What was the point of all this if he was still stuck here in agony? Because he ached for Catarina. He told himself he just wanted her in his bed, but even the thought of talking to her was enough to ease some of this relentless need. Just like his father. Massimo scowled, but he still picked up his phone.
Giuseppe d’Avalos answered on the first ring.
“Is Catarina at home?” Massimo’s question was rough and abrupt, but it was the only way that he could stop himself from asking the question that pressed in his mind: Why hadn’t Catarina returned his calls?
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Everything seemed to collapse inside him, and he didn’t bother keeping the dread from his voice. “What do you mean?”
“She left for our flat in the city,” d’Avalos said slowly. “I believe her words were something about dealing with this on her own.”
Massimo heard the man’s pointed emphasis on the wordson her own, so he clung to the last thread of politeness and ended the call, then asked his assistant to find the address of the d’Avalos home in Milan.
Suspicions lurked in the back of his mind. Had she indeed left for their Milan flat, or was this story just a cover for yet another disappearance, this time more remote and difficult to track? The thought stirred a familiar frustration mixed with something far more dangerous, far more desperate.
Massimo left immediately, stalking through the streets of Milan, trying to shake off some of the ominous thoughts that raced through his mind. He glared through the crowds of people on the sidewalk, all lost in their own worlds, so blissfully unaware of the torment that reverberated through him. His plans, his family’s name, his sanity—Catarina was jeopardizing it all.
Massimo arrived in front of the tall building where she was supposedly staying, and the scent of roses blew by him in wisps, taunting him. The building was older and newly renovated, with gargoyles, stone flourishes and ostentatious columns as if to mark the legacy that the residents held in the city. He frowned as he walked through the marble corridor, muttering a few words about his fiancée to the doorman, who had his magazine open to the same article Alessandro had been reading. He looked at the photo of Massimo in the paper, then back up to the man in front of him. With a nod, he walked to the elevator and keyed it to the top floor.
The elevator groaned and creaked as it slowly made its way upward, trying his patience. The walk hadn’t helped with his growing unease. Instead, a steely determination had grown as he’d stormed through the streets of Milan. He would demand that she answer his calls.
You might want to think back to what happened the last time when you demanded the terms of what I will or will not do.
Her words echoed inside him, laced with the soft temptation of her voice, and he felt the last shreds of his control fraying. He had spent his entire life making sure he would not be ruled by his emotions, and yet this appalling raw ache inside him was driving his every thought.
The elevator rattled to a stop and the doors slid open. Massimo barely registered the polished marble floors or the plaster flourishes that decorated the hall as he stalked to her door, raised his hand and knocked. He listened impatiently for her footsteps. Was she in the flat, as she’d said? Or had she fled yet again? Fleeing was exactly what his mother would do, he thought bitterly. How often had his mother left at a critical moment, giving only clues about her destination, expecting Massimo’s father to chase her? He had to tame these brushfires of emotions and shake this feeling that was too much like despair. Because if Catarina had left, he knew he would scour the earth to find her. Which meant he was living out his worst nightmare. He was, indeed, his father’s son.
Massimo was shaken out of these disturbing thoughts by the sound of soft steps behind the door, then the turn of the lock. The door opened, and she was in front of him, so breathtakingly beautiful his chest hurt. She was barefoot and wore a sundress in a pale shade of green that came down in a V, showing off her deliciously full breasts and cinching at her narrow waist. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, and there were no traces of makeup on her lovely face. Catarina did not look like the proper society woman he had contracted to marry. Instead, she was a version of the woman he had seen in the Norwegian house, the one who wasn’t keeping herself under careful control. He wantedthiswoman, he realized. He stared at the creamy skin that her dress revealed, thinking of the opportunities he had missed to taste every inch of it. Before he called the helicopter, he should have taken her to his room and let the fire between them burn one more time. He had squandered his chance.
Now he could not touch her. From the beginning, her touch had caused earthquake after earthquake, each one rattling him to the core, shaking the foundations that he had built his life on. He had given in to the temptation when they were alone, telling himself it was part of a careful seduction strategy, but in his heart, he knew that was a lie. Massimo had given in because no one tasted like Catarina. And when she had touched him, even the possibility of a baby born out of wedlock had not mattered. In that moment, he hadwantedfor her to be pregnant with his baby, regardless of the fallout. Which was madness. The last thing he wanted was to bring a child into the world while the Carandini name still carried the stain of the past. Children were not supposed to factor into this marriage until far, far in the future. And yet, in that moment, he had wanted a baby with Catarina, deeply and irrationally. Which was why he needed to stay away from her. But the siren’s song of her voice and her body and every other element of her was irresistible, so the only option left was to tie himself to the mast of this marriage plan as they moved forward.
Catarina’s eyes were wide, and she looked a little startled to see him. A burst of unwanted lust flared inside him, followed by frustration.
“Why did you ignore my calls?” he demanded.
The wonder dissolved from her face, and he silently cursed his heavy-handed outburst.
“Was I supposed to be available to you whenever you needed me?” she asked, and her achingly beautiful voice was cloaked with icy politeness. “I apologize.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. Why was he so hotheaded with this woman? He had never once struggled to maintain control with anyone else. It defied reason. Belatedly, he was aware that they were having this exchange in the hallway. In his experience, curious eyes and listening ears were everywhere, so ready to feed the next slice of juicy gossip about the Carandini family to the paparazzi.
“I’d like to move this discussion inside,” he said. “Please.”
The wordpleasewas a concession, along with the fact that he had resisted his instinct to order her, to demand what he wanted, an instinct he was increasingly understanding as desperation. And maybe she understood this because her polite expression softened just a fraction. After another breath, she stepped aside and indicated for him to enter, then closed the door behind him.
The hallway was bright and unexpectedly modern for the era of the building, but there were traces of its original form in the patterns of the wood floor and the intricate plaster flourishes around the doorways. Massimo noted each of these details, trying to divert his attention from the way the soft material of her dress so perfectly highlighted the roundness of her full rear. He ached to close the distance between them, to hitch up her skirt, plant his hands on her hips and take her against this carefully arranged wall, full of priceless art. He ignored the inconvenient stir in his groin and followed her into the living room. Catarina took a seat in a white armchair by one of the large windows that overlooked the city. At the far end of the room, sunlight reflected off the deep ebony of her piano, with books of music propped, one on top of the other, in front of the open keyboard.
He turned to her and focused on the reason he had come. “I called your phone several times. You didn’t answer.”
She sighed. “My phone is in the kitchen, and the ringer is off. I needed some time to think.”
Logically, he was aware that the harder he pushed Catarina, the more she seemed immune to his frustrations. Yet, it still was a struggle to soften his tone. “And did this thinking lead you to any conclusions?”
“No conclusions, but things are becoming clearer, as you promised,” she said with a polite smile.
He recognized that smile from the first day they had met. Her words were perfectly agreeable, though he was sure her thoughts were very far from that. The idea that this woman held in her hands a decision that would affect his life, a decision that he had no control over, was too disturbing to contemplate. Massimo had built an entire life around never having to be at someone else’s mercy. His life was his own to control, and yet this control had slipped from the moment Catarina had entered his life.
