Unfinished Business with the Duke Read online

  Gio had been completely unattainable back then. When she’d been fifteen and he’d been nineteen the four years between them had seemed like an eternity.

  But it hadn’t always been that way.

  When Issy and her mother had first come to live at the Hall, and Gio had appeared that first summer, the two of them had become fast friends and partners in crime. To a nine-year-old tomboy who was used to spending hours on her own in the Hall’s grounds, Gio had been a godsend. A moody, intense thirteen-year-old boy with brown eyes so beautiful they’d made her heart skip, a fascinating command of swear words in both English and Italian, and a quick, creative mind with a talent for thinking up forbidden adventures, Gio had been more captivating than a character from one of Issy’s adventure books.

  Best of all, Gio had needed her as much as she’d needed him. Issy had seen the sadness in his eyes when his father shouted at him—which seemed to be all the time—and it had made her stomach hurt. But she’d discovered that if she chatted to him, if she made him laugh, she could take the sad look away.

  At fifteen, though, when she’d first formulated her plan to lose her virginity to him, her childhood friendship with Gio had slipped into awkward adolescent yearning.

  She’d been gawky and spotty, with a figure her mum had insisted on calling ‘womanly’ but Issy thought was just plain fat, while Gio had been tall, tanned and gorgeous. A modern-day Heathcliff, with the looks of a Roman god and a wildness about him that drew every female within a twenty-mile radius like a magnet.

  At nineteen, Gio already had a formidable reputation with women. And one night that summer Issy had seen the evidence for herself.

  Creeping down to get a glass of water, she’d heard moaning coming from the darkened dining room. Getting as close as she could without being spotted, she had watched, transfixed, as Gio’s lean, fully-clothed body towered over a mostly naked woman lying on her back on the Duke’s oak table. It had taken Issy a moment to recognise the writhing female as Maya Carrington, a thirty-something divorcée who had arrived for the Duke’s weekend house party that afternoon.

  Issy hadn’t been able to look away as Gio’s long, tanned fingers unclipped the front hook of Maya’s black lace push-up bra, then moulded her full breasts. Issy had blushed to the roots of her hair at the socialite’s soft sobs as Gio traced a line with his tongue over her prominent nipples, then nipped at them with his teeth as his hand disappeared between Maya’s thighs.

  Issy had dashed back to bed, her glass of water sloshing all over the stairs with her palm pressed against her pyjama bottoms to ease the brutal ache between her legs as her ragged breathing made her heart race.

  She’d dreamt about Gio doing the same thing to her that night and for many nights afterwards, always waking up soaked in sweat, her breasts heavy and tender to the touch, her nipples rigid and that same cruel ache between her legs.

  But Gio had never stopped treating her like a child. During that last visit two years ago, when he’d paid so much attention to Maya, he’d barely even spoken to her.

  Then, the day before, something magical had happened.

  He’d appeared at the school gates on his motorbike, looking surly and tense, and told her the school bus had been cancelled and her mother had asked him to give her a lift home. She hadn’t seen Gio in two long years, and the feel of his muscled back pressing into her budding breasts had sent her senses into a blur of rioting hormones. She’d spent today reliving the experience in minute detail for her starstruck classmates, but in reality she’d had to make most of it up, because she’d been so excited she could barely remember a thing.

  And then this morning she’d caught him looking at her while he was having breakfast with her and her mother, and just for a second she’d seen the same awareness in those turbulent brown eyes that she had always had in her heart.

  She didn’t have a schoolgirl crush on Gio. She loved him. Deeply and completely. And not just because of his exotic male beauty and the fact that all the other girls fancied him too. But because she knew things about him that no one else knew. Unfortunately, her attempts to flirt with him that morning had been ignored.

  It was past time to take matters into her own hands.

  What if Gio didn’t come back again for another two years? She’d be an old woman of nineteen by then, and he might have got married or something. Tonight she would make him notice her. She would go to his room and get him to do what he’d been doing to Maya Carrington two years ago. Except this time it would be a thousand times more special, because she loved him and Maya hadn’t.

  But the last thing she’d wanted to do was discuss her plans with Melanie. It made Issy feel sneaky and juvenile and dishonest. As if she was tricking Gio. When she really wasn’t. She should never have mentioned the motorcycle ride. Because Melly had latched on to the information, put two and two together and unfortunately made four. And now she wouldn’t let the topic drop.

  ‘What will your mum say?’ Melanie asked in a stage whisper.

  ‘Nothing. She’s not going to find out,’ she whispered back, pushing aside the little spurt of guilt.

  Up till now she’d told her mother everything. Because it had been just the two of them for so long Edie had been a confidante and a friend, as well as her mum. But when Issy had tried to bring up the subject of Gio as casually as possible after breakfast her mother had been surprisingly stern with her.

  ‘Don’t hassle him. He has more than enough to deal with,’ Edie had said cryptically while she pounded dough. ‘I saw you flirting with him. And, while I understand the lure of someone as dashing and dangerous as Gio Hamilton, I don’t want to see you get hurt when he turns you down.’

  The comment had made Issy feel as if she were ten years old again—sheltered and patronised and excluded from all the conversations that mattered—and still trailing after Gio like a lovesick puppy dog.

  What did Gio have to deal with? Why wouldn’t anyone tell her? And what made her mum so sure he would turn her down? She wanted to help him. To be there for him. And she wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by a man who knew how, instead of the awkward boys she’d kissed before.

  But everyone treated her as if she was too young and didn’t know her own mind. When she wasn’t. And she did.

  She’d wanted to tell her mum that, but had decided not to. Edie had looked so troubled when they’d both heard the shouting match between Gio and his father the night before, coming through the air vent from the library.

  ‘Do you have protection?’ Melanie continued, still talking in the stupid stage whisper.

  ‘Yes.’ She’d bought the condoms months ago, just in case Gio visited this summer, and had gone all the way to Middleton to get them, so Mrs Green the pharmacist in Hamilton’s Cross wouldn’t tell her mum.

  ‘Aren’t you worried that it’ll hurt? Jenny Merrin said it hurt like mad when she did it with Johnny Baxter, and I bet Gio’s…’ Melanie paused for effect. ‘You know…is twice the size. Look how tall he is.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said, starting to get annoyed.

  Yes, it would probably hurt a bit, she knew that, but she wasn’t a coward. And if you loved someone you didn’t worry about how big their ‘you know what’ was. She’d read in Cosmo only last week that size didn’t matter.

  The bus took the turning into the Hall’s drive and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to get home. There was so much to do before dinnertime. She needed to have a bath and wash her hair, wax her legs, do her nails, try on the three different outfits she had shortlisted for tonight one last time. This was going to be the most important night of her life, and she wanted to look the part. To prove to Gio she wasn’t a babyish tomboy any more, or a gawky, overweight teenager.

  She felt the now constant ache between her legs and the tight ball of emotion in her throat and knew she was doing the right thing.

  As the bus driver braked, she leapt up. But Melanie grabbed her wrist.

  ‘I’m so j
ealous of you,’ Melanie said, her eyes shining with sincerity. ‘He’s so dishy. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.’

  ‘It won’t,’ Issy said.

  Gio wouldn’t hurt her—not intentionally—of that much she was certain.

  So much had changed in the last few years, but not that. Before she’d fallen in love with him he’d been like a big brother to her. Teasing her and letting her follow him around. Listening to her talk about the father she barely remembered and telling her she shouldn’t care if she didn’t have a dad. That fathers were a pain any way. Things had been difficult, tense between her and Gio since she’d grown up—partly because they weren’t little kids anymore, but mostly because he’d become so distant.

  His relationship with his father had got so bad he hardly ever came to visit the Hall any more, and when she did see him now his brooding intensity had become like a shield, demanding that everyone—even her—keep out.

  But tonight she would be able to get him back again. That moody, magnetic boy would be her friend again, but more than that he’d be her lover, and he’d know he could tell her anything. And everything would be wonderful.

  Issy crept through the darkness. Feeling her way past the kitchen garden wall, she pushed the gate into the orchard. And eased out the breath she’d been holding when the hinge barely creaked. She sucked in air scented with ripe apples and the faint tinge of tobacco.

  Kicking off her shoes, she stepped off the path onto the dewy grass. It would ruin the effect slightly, but she didn’t want to trip over a root in her heels. After waiting for nearly three hours for Gio to come home she was nervous enough already, falling on her face would not be the way to go.

  She pressed the flat of her hand to her stomach and felt the butterfly flutter of panic and excitement. Squinting into the shadows, she saw the red glow of a cigarette tip and her heart punched her ribcage. He’d always come to the orchard before whenever he argued with his father. She’d known he would be here.

  ‘Gio?’ she called softly, tiptoeing towards the silent shape hidden beneath a tree burdened with summer fruit.

  The red glow disappeared as he stamped the cigarette out.

  ‘What do you want?’ He sounded edgy, dismissive. She ignored the tightening in her chest. He was upset. He didn’t mean to be cruel.

  She didn’t know what his father and he had been shouting about this time, but she knew it had been bad—worse than the night before.

  ‘Is everything all right? I heard you and the Duke—’

  ‘Great,’ he interrupted. ‘Everything’s great. Now, go away.’

  As she stepped beneath the canopy of leaves her eyes adjusted to the lack of light and she could make out his features. The chiselled cheekbones shadowed with stubble, the dark brows, the strong chin and jawline. He stood with his back propped against the tree trunk, his arms crossed and his head bent. The pose might have been casual but for the tension that crackled in the air around him.

  ‘No, I won’t go away,’ she said, surprised by the forcefulness in her voice. ‘Everything’s not great.’

  His head lifted and the hairs on her nape prickled. She could feel his eyes on her, even though she couldn’t make out his expression, could smell his distinctive male scent, that heady mix of soap and musk.

  ‘I mean it, Iss,’ he said, the low tone brittle. ‘Go away. I’m not in the mood.’

  She stepped closer, feeling as if she were encroaching on a wild animal. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said, her voice trembling but determined. ‘What did he say, Gio? Why are you so upset?’

  She placed a palm on his cheek, and he jerked back.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ The words were rough, but beneath it she could hear panic.

  ‘Why not? I want to touch you.’

  ‘Yeah?’ The snarl was wild, uncontrolled. But before she could register the shock he grabbed a fistful of the silk at her waist and hauled her against him.

  Her breath gushed out, adrenaline coursing through her body as he held her hips. She could feel every inch of him. The thick ridge of something rubbed against the juncture of her thighs, and she squirmed instinctively.

  He swore. Then his mouth crushed hers. The faint taste of tobacco made all the more intoxicating by heat and demand.

  He cradled her head, held her steady as his tongue plunged. She gasped, her fingers fisting in the soft cotton of his T-shirt as she clung on. She opened her mouth wider, surrendered to a rush of arousal so new, so thrilling, it made her head spin.

  He lurched back, held her at arm’s length. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Kissing you back,’ she said, confused by the accusatory tone.

  Why had he stopped? When it had felt so good?

  ‘Well, don’t,’ he said, his voice sharp. His fingers released her and he crossed his arms back over his chest.

  ‘Why not?’ she cried. She wanted him to carry on kissing her, to keep kissing her forever.

  ‘Issy, go away.’ The anger sounded almost weary now. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m not some kid you can practise your kissing technique on. And I don’t take little girls to bed.’

  ‘I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman, with a woman’s desires,’ she added, hoping the line she’d read in one of her romance novels didn’t sound too cheesy.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Her confidence deflated at the doubtful tone. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I’m nearly eighteen,’ she said with bravado. Or rather she would be in six months’ time. ‘And I do know what I’m doing.’ Or at least she was trying her best to know. Surely he could teach her the rest?

  The silence seemed to spread out between them, the only noise the pummelling of her own heartbeat and the hushed sound of their breathing.

  He reached out and traced his thumb down her cheek. ‘For God’s sake, Issy, don’t tempt me,’ he murmured. ‘Not unless you’re sure.’

  ‘I am sure. I have been for a long time,’ she replied. He needed her. She hadn’t imagined it. The thought was so thrilling she locked her knees to stay upright.

  He cradled her cheek. She leant into his palm.

  ‘I want you, Gio,’ she whispered, covering his hand with hers. ‘Don’t you want me?’

  It was the hardest question she’d ever had to ask. If he said no now she would be devastated. She caught her breath and held it.

  He pushed his fingers into her hair, rubbed his thumb against the strands. ‘Yeah, I want you, Isadora. Too damn much.’

  Her breath released in a rush as he pulled her close and his lips slanted across hers. The kiss was sensual, seeking this time, his tongue tracing the contours of her mouth with a tenderness and care that had her shuddering.

  He leaned back. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ he said, searching her face, his hands framing her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘You won’t hurt me. You couldn’t.’

  Dropping his hands, he linked his fingers through hers. ‘Let’s take this inside.’

  Nervous anticipation made her stumble as he led her through the moonlit gardens and the gloomy shadows of the house’s back staircase, his strides long and assured and full of purpose. She took the stairs two at a time, the first tremors of doubt making her legs shake. When he shoved open the door to his room on the second floor her heart beat so hard she was convinced he would hear it too.

  He reached to switch on the light and she grasped his wrist.

  ‘Could you leave the light off?’ she blurted. She let go of his arm, desperate to disguise the quiver in her voice.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  She scoured her mind for a viable excuse. If he knew how inexperienced she was he might stop, and she couldn’t bear that. ‘It’s…it’s more romantic,’ she said.

  He seemed to study her in the darkness for an eternity before he crossed the room and opened the drapes, letting the moonlight flood in.

  ‘Issy, I don’t do permanent,’ he said as he came back to her. He b
rushed a kiss on her forehead. ‘You know that, right?’

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. That would change, she was sure of it, once he had the proof of how much she loved him. She draped her arms over his shoulders, calling on every ounce of her fledgling skills as an actress. She’d told him she wasn’t a little girl. It was time to stop behaving like one.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Driving her fingers into the short hair at his nape, she took a deep breath of his scent, revelled in the feel of him as he pressed her back against the door, captured her waist in hot palms.

  ‘Good,’ he muttered, as his teeth bit into her earlobe.

  She shuddered, letting the delicious shiver race down her spine as his lips feasted on the pulse-point in her neck. The hot, vicious ache at her core throbbed in time with her deafening heartbeat. She reminded herself to breathe as he drew the zipper on her dress down, tugged her arms free. The shimmering silk puddled at her feet. She clung to his neck, the heady thrill making her dizzy as he bent and lifted her easily into his arms.

  This was really happening at last. After years of fantasising, her dreams were coming true.

  Silvery light gilded his chest as he cast off his T-shirt. He unfastened his belt and she looked away, suddenly overwhelmed. He looked so powerful, so strong, so completely male. The mattress dipped as he joined her on the bed. His hand settled on her midriff, drew her towards him. She felt the heat of his big body, the thick outline prodding her thigh.

  His face looked hard, intent in the shadows, as his deft fingers freed her breasts from the confining lace of her bra.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Issy’ he said, his voice low and strained as one rough fingertip traced over her nipple. ‘I want to look at you properly. Let’s turn on the light.’

  She shook her head, mute with longing and panic. ‘Please—I like it dark,’ she said, hoping she sounded as if she knew what she was talking about.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But next time we do it my way.’ Her heart soared at the mention of next time, and then he bent his head and captured the pebble-hard nipple in his teeth.