The Italian's Bold Reckoning (Hot Italian Nights Book 4) Read online

  Instantly he felt the tremors ripple through her. Her hands clutched him like claws, as if she held on for dear life, and her pelvis rocked his as the tremors grew stronger. So strong that an answering judder started at the base of his spine, curling round his body till suddenly there was no him and her. They were one being, utterly consumed by the fiery power that ripped through them like a bolt of lightning.

  Except instead of obliterating them, this fire kept burning and burning as new waves of sensation burst upon them. He heard her high, keening cry, drowned by the sound of him bellowing her name, and then, an age later, there was only exhausted bliss, and the pair of them, clinging like the sole survivors in a world blasted clean and bare.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  The first glimmer of dawn blushed the sky beyond the window as Angela floated back down to earth, her heart still thrumming and her soul singing.

  She lay, clasped in Matteo’s arms, her head on his chest rising and falling with each shuddering breath he snatched.

  Neither she nor Matteo had slept. They’d spent the night making love, and still they were no nearer quenching their need for each other. Angela suspected not even time would do that. He was her soulmate, the one man to make her feel like the woman she wanted to be.

  She still couldn’t quite believe they were here, together, sharing the aftermath of ecstasy.

  In between making love they’d talked, sharing confidences, hopes and the heartbreak of the past twelve months apart.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Matteo’s voice, a rasp of deep pleasure across her senses, created a curl of wellbeing deep within.

  ‘About how stupid I’ve been. You deserved better than a wife who ran at the first sign of trouble.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ He pulled her closer, so her slick body nestled even tighter against his. ‘It’s in the past, tesoro. Leave it there.’

  Angela squeezed her eyes shut, emotion overwhelming her anew. ‘Not many men would take that attitude. You’re a remarkable man, Matteo De Laurentis.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ There was a burr of humour in his tone. ‘I want you to remember always how remarkable I am — intelligent, handsome, and a sex god too.’ His hand slid down her flank, brushing her hip. ‘But the blame for what happened isn’t yours alone. I should have been more supportive, less wrapped up in the film I was making, more aware that you felt…out of place. The transition from self-absorbed bachelor to good husband takes a while.’

  Angela turned, propping herself up above him, hot flesh to hot flesh, heart to heart. She felt like she’d come home.

  The wonder of it still rocked her.

  Matteo’s spare, sculpted features were more than handsome in the dim light. But it wasn’t his good looks that made emotion heave through her, it was the man beneath. She was sure she didn’t deserve him but there was no way she could give him up.

  She lifted one unsteady hand and traced the proud line of his brow. ‘I should have had the courage to fight for you. I let my insecurities blind me to what I had.’ Angela swallowed hard. ‘I’d spent most of my life being told by my father that I’d never amount to anything, that my place was in the house, looking after him. Even though I thought I’d moved on from that mindset, when crisis hit, something inside convinced me what we’d shared had been an illusion. It was almost as if I’d been expecting to find you’d tired of me.’

  ‘Never.’ His large hand cupped her face. ‘I fell in love with you just the way you are. Complex, talented and vibrant. We all have self-doubts. It’s just a matter of learning to manage them.’

  His touch against her smile felt good. ‘That’s what I’ve been doing. When I was in Australia I lived with my sister, Sonia. We hadn’t been really close since our parents split and separated us. But we clicked instantly and she helped me look at my life.’

  While Angela had grown more introverted and shy under their father’s domineering presence, Sonia, growing up with their warm, supportive mother, was far more confident and willing to take risks.

  ‘She helped make me over. And convinced me to see a counsellor about my self-esteem issues.’ She paused. ‘It’s an ongoing project but I feel stronger.’

  Matteo framed her face with both hands, his gaze intent. ‘Tesoro mio, I applaud you wanting to improve yourself. I can think of some areas I need to improve too, like my impatience, and my tunnel vision when I get engrossed in a project. But don’t ever think I need a made-over version. I just want you.’

  Angela drew an audible sigh, hearing his unmistakeable sincerity. No-one had ever made her so happy.

  ‘Just so long as you know my image change is still pretty fragile. I’m not suddenly going to become an extrovert who loves parading on the red carpet, but I’ll give it my best shot.’

  Angela tilted her chin, facing down the insidious little voice that sounded so like her father’s, telling her Matteo had only made love to her because of her glamorous makeover. That he’d fallen for her new look, not the real her.

  She hated that voice and one day she’d banish it totally. Meanwhile she refused to let the doubts take hold. She’d never again let anything come between herself and the man she loved.

  ‘Angelo mio.’ My angel. Matteo lifted his head, his lips brushing hers in a delicate caress that sent a pang straight to her heart. ‘This is about us, not the outside world.’ His lips tilted up in a smile that was a blast of pure sexual allure. She felt it in every secret, sated place. ‘I’ll be very happy to spend lots of nights at home, enjoying private pleasures.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

  ‘So do I.’ His kiss was full of promise. When he ended it he pulled her head down to his shoulder and wrapped both arms around her so they lay sprawled together, touching down the full length of their bodies. ‘Now, it’s time to sleep.’ His voice blurred on a huge yawn. ‘I haven’t slept properly since you arrived. I’ve been living on caffeine and frustration.’

  Angela snuggled closer, her pulse aligning to the steady thud of his heart beneath her.

  ‘And when we wake,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll convince you once and for all, that I want you just as you are.’

  Even dazed with love and sexual gratification, Angela heard the erotic promise in his words. She doubted either of them would have the stamina to move for a week, but as sleep closed over her, she was smiling in anticipation.

  *

  The sun was high when she woke. Blearily she squinted at the sliver of sky visible between the almost-closed curtains. The first blue sky in a week. It felt like a sign. Probably because Matteo lay stretched beside her, an arm over her waist. The possessive gesture, even in sleep, made her heart quicken with pleasure.

  Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Angela lifted her wrist, peering at the watch she’d forgotten to take off last night. Noon! She’d never slept so late.

  For a second she panicked, thinking they were both appallingly late, till she recalled there was no filming today. Matteo had had the foresight last night, as he’d swept her into the hotel and past the manager’s desk, to ask that a hold be put on their calls. Which meant they wouldn’t be disturbed.

  Beside her Matteo shifted in his sleep, mumbling something she couldn’t catch. In the daylight she saw the lines of weariness around his mouth and recalled him saying he hadn’t been sleeping. Had he lost weight too? His features, while still ridiculously attractive, looked more spare than she remembered.

  Which meant Angela should not wake him up and suggest they shower together. No matter how tempting the thought.

  But now it had surfaced the idea of a shower was irresistible. She’d fallen into bed still wearing makeup. She’d feel fresher, and more attractive, after a shower.

  Gingerly she moved Matteo’s arm, sliding out from beneath it. It took a while to locate and gather up her dress and discarded shoes. She smiled as she found one shoe nestled under his jacket where it had been discarded last night. Minutes later she tiptoed out the door a
nd back to her own room.

  *

  Matteo groaned as he rolled over. He was torn between wanting to sleep for ever and needing the reassurance of his wife in his arms. If it weren’t for his body telling him what a phenomenal night he’d had with Angela, he might have believed it a dream created by months of longing.

  But it was no dream. He grinned, recalling what they’d done, and his blood pumped faster. They’d been even better together than before, something he hadn’t thought possible.

  But better even than the sex, was knowing she was here, his again. He’d make damned sure she never left him again.

  Lying on his back, he reached for her.

  His eyes snapped open.

  No Angela. The bed was cold.

  He jack-knifed up, scanning the room.

  No sound from the bathroom. No spill of scarlet on the floor where he’d tossed her dress. Her scandalously provocative sandals had disappeared too.

  Matteo ripped the sheet away and strode, naked, to the closed bathroom door. Inclining his head, he knocked and listened for her answer.

  Nothing.

  Heart filling his chest and gut swirling with foreboding, he opened the door.

  Empty.

  Matteo blinked at the bright sunlight streaming into the bathroom, making the vast expanse of marble gleam.

  It was late. Of course she was gone. No doubt she was in her own room, showering and dressing, too considerate to wash here where she might wake him.

  Relief shot through him, easing his tense frame.

  Once he’d finally let himself relax, his abused body clock had caught up with him, punishing him for so many days with too few hours’ rest. Nothing, short of Venice sinking into the sea, or his wife deliberately waking him, could have wrenched him out of that deep sleep.

  Yet, even as he told himself everything was fine, that Angela was in the next room, not on the other side of the world, Matteo felt rattled.

  He stalked across to the dress trousers draped where they’d landed last night on a gilded chair. Not bothering with boxers, he shoved his legs in and hauled them up. He’d go commando and shirtless if it meant seeing Angela sooner.

  In fact, he decided as he zipped up his trousers, he might tempt her into sharing a bath. Perhaps he’d ring room service and—

  He was reaching for the house phone when he saw his own phone on the chair where it had dropped from his trousers. It was switched to silent but there was a call coming in. Angela?

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Matteo? At last. I’ve been calling half the day. I thought you’d fallen in a canal or something.’ It was the distinctive voice of the publicist working on the film project.

  Matteo raked his hand through his hair. He wasn’t ready to deal with work.

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t have time—’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to make time.’ Her tone, usually sultry, with a hint of invitation when she spoke to him, was clipped. ‘We have to decide what approach to take to those photos. That story will definitely feed public hunger for gossip about you but it’s counterproductive to—’

  ‘What photos? What story?’

  There was a moment’s silence in which Matteo found time to note how alone he felt without Angela wrapped in his arms.

  ‘The photos of you and Gina Moretti. The story that you were having a red hot affair with her till your wife arrived in Venice and interrupted you.’

  Minutes later, after a truncated conversation, Matteo trawled through the photos that were splashed across social media and several newspapers.

  Damn it! Didn’t the press have anything better to do than create stories without getting the facts?

  He snorted at the thought. He wasn’t so naïve. This sort of piece was grist to the mill for many. A few snaps showing what might be something compromising, an article, or in this case a dozen or so, full of innuendo and speculation plus quotes from anonymous sources ‘close to Matteo and Gina’. Hey presto, you had a piece of fiction created solely to grab public attention.

  If he weren’t married, he mightn’t even mind so much. But he was.

  To a woman who’d already deserted him once for imagined infidelity.

  His stomach plunged towards his bare feet.

  Surely Angela wouldn’t be sucked in by these lies.

  Then he looked again at the screen before him. He and Gina were holding hands, looking about a breath away from a hot, heavy kiss, and as the reporter said, they weren’t on the film set. They were on the balcony of Gina’s hotel room.

  Matteo ground his teeth. It was about the only thing the reporter had got right.

  Matteo cleared the screen and called Angela. He could just walk down the corridor and knock on her door but that would take precious minutes. He needed to hear her voice now, saying she didn’t believe any of this trash.

  The call went straight to message bank.

  Matteo spun on his bare foot and strode to the door, his pace picking up as he loped towards Angela’s room.

  She didn’t answer the first knock. Or the second. He paused, hauling in air to oxygen-depleted lungs and forcing himself to wait.

  Maybe she was in the bathroom. He checked his messages. Scores of them, mainly from the publicist but some from his family, one from Niccolo and another from Gina.

  Gina! Belatedly his brain clicked into gear and he realised she wouldn’t welcome this any more than he did. He dialled her number, rapping again on Angela’s door, but that call went to voice mail too.

  Great! His wife and the woman he was supposed to be having an affair with were both incommunicado.

  ‘Angela? Are you in there? We need to talk.’

  Utter silence met his words. Which meant either his wife was out, or she refused to see him.

  He leaned his head against the solid door, feeling abruptly as if he’d been sucker-punched in the belly.

  After all they’d been through. After the soul-searching and blaming, after last night…

  Matteo shook his head. He couldn’t believe Angela would turn her back on him after last night. But then he hadn’t believed she’d left him the first time either.

  Just as well he was leaning against the door. He needed something to hold him up as his world shattered around him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  ‘What?’ Gina raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. ‘You said to wear something eye-catching.’

  Angela shook her head and bit back a smile as she surveyed the actress. She shouldn’t be amused, not with this press tornado threatening to engulf them all. Who knew what damage it would do to their reputations and the success of the film on which they were working so hard?

  ‘Eye-catching, I said. Not something to give every man in the vicinity heart palpitations.’

  For Gina had taken Angela at her word, arriving in a dress of candy pink and white polka dots that should clash with her hair but instead made her look sexily seductive. The fifties-inspired dress, with its figure-hugging fit and straight skirt with a slit up the back, showed off her luxurious curves to perfection. Add in killer shoes in candy pink, pouting lips painted the same colour and designer sunglasses that screamed ‘movie star’, and it was no surprise men were not just looking, but actually crossing San Marco Square to get closer.

  Gina laughed, the sound husky and attractive. A waiter threading his way through the outdoor tables almost lost a tray of drinks at the sound.

  Just as well Angela knew she had no reason to be jealous of the actress. She really was stunning.

  ‘You should talk. Though I shouldn’t be surprised after seeing you in that scarlet dress last night.’ Gina led the way to a table at the front of the outdoor café, in full view of the busy square. ‘You’re looking eye-popping yourself.’

  Angela resisted the urge to twitch at her new dress as she subsided into a chair across the table from Gina. The dress, in a greeny gold that her sister claimed did wonders for her eyes, wasn’t what Angela wou
ld usually wear out for coffee. The skirt floated in soft folds above her knees and the neckline plunged into a wide V, exactly matched by another V that felt like it bared half her back.

  She settled into her seat and her pretty new gold and green bracelet of Venetian glass beads tinkled and caught the light. She’d bought it days ago, as if buying fripperies might distract her from the heartbreak of losing her husband.

  But now she didn’t have to worry. Matteo was hers. And she was determined to fight for him, no matter what stories the paparazzi concocted.

  ‘Smile, bella,’ Gina whispered. ‘You’re looking fierce. That’s not what we’re aiming for.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Angela smoothed her brow and focused on her companion, trying to block out the buzz of attention they were receiving. ‘You’re so much better at this than I am.’

  The other woman shrugged, a movement that somehow highlighted her voluptuous curves. It struck Angela that if she had believed the scandalous story in the press this morning, she’d be jealous as hell of this gorgeous screen siren.

  ‘Practice, bella. Just focus on something nice. Like what you and Matteo did after he abducted you from last night’s party.’ Her smile widened as Angela felt warmth flood her cheeks. Not in embarrassment but remembered pleasure. ‘There. That did the trick. You look like a woman who’s been thoroughly loved.’

  Angela leaned back in her seat, acknowledging the satisfied glow. ‘That’s because I am.’

  *

  ‘You need to calm down, Matteo,’ Niccolo advised under his breath. ‘You’re scaring the tourists.’

  Matteo gritted his teeth and clattered down the steps of another arched pedestrian bridge, shouldering his way through a mob of people milling around a tour guide holding a furled umbrella like a flag. A couple recognised him and Niccolo, excitedly raising their cameras to snap them before they disappeared.