Unfinished Business with the Duke Page 5

  A sob escaped as sensation raw and hot arrowed down to her core. She arched up, bucked under him as he suckled. Damp heat gushed between her thighs.

  Her hands fisted in the sheets as she tried to cling to sanity. Tried to stop herself from shattering into a billion pieces.

  ‘Open your legs for me, bella.’ The urgent whisper penetrated, and her knees relaxed to let his palm cup her core.

  Strong fingers probed, stroked, caressed, touching and then retreating. She cried out, begged, until he stayed right at the centre of ecstasy. The wave rose with shocking speed, and then slammed into her with the force and fury of a tsunami.

  She struggled to find focus, to claw her way back to consciousness as hot hands held her hips. He loomed above her in the darkness. ‘Dammit, Issy, I can’t wait. Is that okay?’

  She couldn’t register his meaning, but nodded as he fumbled with something in the darkness. Then she felt it—huge, unyielding but soft as velvet, spearing through her swollen flesh. A heavy thrust brought sharp, rending pain. She strained beneath him, a choking sob lodged in her throat.

  He stopped, tried to draw out. ‘Issy, what the—?’

  ‘Please, don’t stop.’ She gasped the plea, gripping shoulders tight with bunched muscle. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’ And it didn’t. Not any more. The overwhelming pressure, the stretched feeling, had become a pulsing ache, clamouring for release.

  He swore, but pressed back in slowly, carefully. Her hands slipped on slick skin, hard sinew, her jagged breathing matching the relentless thrusts. She heard his harsh grunts, her own sobs of release as the tsunami built to another bold crescendo, threatening so much more than before. Her scream of release echoed in her head as the final wave crashed, exploding through her as she hurtled over the top.

  ‘For God’s sake, Issy. You were a bloody virgin.’

  Her eyelids fluttered open—and the bedside light snapped on, blinding her.

  ‘I know.’ She threw her arm up to cover her eyes, registering his temper. What had she done?

  Tremors racked her body as afterglow turned neatly to aftershock.

  ‘Shh. Calm down.’ The hammer-beats of his heart thudded against her ear as he settled her head on his chest, gathered her close. ‘I’m sorry, Iss. Stop shaking.’ He brushed the locks from her brow. ‘Are you okay? Did I hurt you?’

  She opened her eyes. The soft light illuminated his features clearly. Love swept through her, more intense, more real than ever before as she saw the worry, the concern.

  A smile spread as euphoria leaped in her chest. ‘Yes, I’m okay.’ She snuggled into his embrace and sighed. Despite the soreness between her legs, she’d never felt more complete, more wonderful in her life. ‘I never dreamed it could be that amazing.’

  He shifted back. Holding her chin, he lifted her face. ‘Wait a minute. I asked you.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’

  ‘I don’t…I don’t understand,’ she stammered, chilling as he took his arm from around her and sat up.

  Whipping back the sheet, he turned his back to her and stood up. As he paced across the room, the sight of his naked body had the heat between her thighs sizzling back to life. But then she noticed the sharp, irritated movements as he yanked on his jeans, pulled on the T-shirt.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, her pulse stuttering. She clasped the sheet to her chest. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was the moment when they were supposed to declare their undying love for each other.

  He twisted round, sent her a look that had colour rising in her cheeks.

  ‘I asked you if you were a virgin.’ The harsh tone made her flinch. ‘Why did you lie?’

  ‘I…’ Had he asked? She gave her head a quick shake. ‘I don’t…I didn’t mean to lie.’

  ‘Sure you did.’ He flung the words over his shoulder as he grabbed a bag from the closet, swept the few personal items on top of the dresser into it. He ripped open the top drawer, scooped out his clothes, shoved them in too. The tense movements radiated controlled anger.

  Tears stung her eyes, swelled in her throat. ‘Please, Gio, I don’t understand. What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m leaving. What does it look like?’ He slashed the zipper closed.

  Facing her at last, he slung the holdall over his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you. I should have stopped once I realised what was going on. But I couldn’t. And that’s on me. But whatever game you were playing, it’s over now.’

  ‘It’s not a game.’ She clung to the sheet, kneeled on the mattress, desperate to hold on to her dream. This was a silly misunderstanding. He loved her. He needed her. She needed him. Hadn’t they proved that together?

  ‘I love you Gio. I’ve always loved you. I always will. We were meant to be together.’

  He went completely still, and then his eyebrow rose in cynical enquiry. ‘Are you nuts? Grow up, for heaven’s sake.’

  The cruel words made her shrink inside herself. She sank back, her body quaking as she watched him stamp on his boots and walk to the door.

  He couldn’t be leaving. Not now, not like this, not after everything they’d just done.

  ‘Don’t go, Gio. You have to stay.’

  He turned, his hand on the door handle. She braced herself for another shot. But instead of anger she saw regret.

  ‘There’s nothing for me here.’ His voice sounded hollow, but the bitterness in the words still made the agonising pain a thousands times worse. ‘There never was.’

  A single jerking sob caught in her throat and the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t cry, Issy. Believe me, it’s not worth it. When you figure that out, you’ll thank me for this.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Present

  Issy released her fingers to ease their death grip on the handle of her briefcase.

  How could every damn detail of that night still be so vivid?

  Not just the anguish and the pain, but the euphoria and the hope too—even the intense pleasure of their lovemaking. How many times had she played it over in her head in the months and years that had followed? Hundreds? Thousands?

  Way too many times, that was for sure.

  She forced herself to ignore the pressure in her chest at the thought of Gio’s parting words that night. They couldn’t hurt her. Not any more. All her tears had dried up a long time ago.

  Gio had been right about one thing. She should thank him. He’d taught her an important lesson. Never open your heart to someone until you’re positive they’re the prince and not the frog. And don’t be fooled by fancy packaging.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Frank called cheerfully from the front seat. ‘Wait till you see what the lad’s done with the place. Amazing, it is. Must have cost a fortune by my reckoning.’

  Issy drew a deep breath, eased it out through her teeth. No more ancient history. She had enough of a mountain to climb just concentrating on the here and now.

  She glanced out of the window. Only to have her fingers tighten on the briefcase again.

  Amazing wasn’t the word. More like awe-inspiring, Issy thought as she stepped out of the cab onto the newly pebbled driveway and gaped at the magnificent Georgian frontage of her former home. Gio hadn’t just restored the Hall, he’d improved upon it. The place looked magnificent. The bright sand-blasted stone gleamed in the sunshine. The columns at the front of the house had always looked forbidding to her as a child, but a terrace had been added which gave the house a welcoming Mediterranean feel.

  Having failed to persuade Frank to take a fare for the journey, she bade him goodbye.

  As the cab pulled away, she gazed up at the Hall. Why did Gio’s transformation of the place make her feel even more daunted?

  She adjusted the strap of her briefcase and slung it over her shoulder.

  Don’t be silly. Remember, this isn’t about you, or Gio, or the Hall. It’s about the theatre—and shutting the fat lady up long enough to see out another s
eason. Absolutely no more trips down memory lane allowed. The past is dead, and it needs to stay that way.

  ‘Hey, can I help you?’

  She glanced round to see a young man strolling towards her. Her fingers locked on the strap.

  Curtain up.

  ‘Hi, my name’s Isadora Helligan.’ She thrust out her hand as he approached. ‘I’m here to see Giovanni Hamilton.’

  Stopping in front of her, he ran his fingers through his sandy-blond hair and sent her a quizzical smile. ‘Hi, Jack Bradshaw.’ He took her hand and gave it a hearty shake. ‘I’m Gio’s PA.’ He put his hand back in his pocket. ‘I’m sorry, I keep Gio’s diary, but…’ He paused, looking a little perplexed. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  Not quite.

  ‘Yes,’ she lied smoothly. ‘Gio made it himself a week ago. He must have forgotten to tell you.’

  If Gio was going to kick her out, he would have to do it personally.

  ‘No problem,’ Jack replied. ‘It won’t be the first time. Creative geniuses rarely pay attention to the little details.’ He extended his arm towards the Hall. ‘He’s finishing up with the planners on the pool terrace. Why don’t you come through?’

  As Jack led the way, Issy found herself too busy gazing at all the changes Gio had made to get any more nervous thinking about what she had to do.

  How had he managed to get so much light into the interior of the building? And how come the place looked so spacious and open whereas before it had always seemed poky and austere?

  The nerves kicked back in, though, as she stepped out onto the pool terrace and saw Gio. Tall and gorgeous and effortlessly commanding in grey linen trousers and an open-necked shirt, he stood on the other side of the empty pool, chatting with a couple of men in ill-fitting suits who were several inches shorter than him. Almost as if he sensed her standing there, staring at him, he turned his head. She could have sworn she felt the heat of his gaze as it raked over her figure.

  Her stomach tensed as an answering heat bloomed in her cheeks.

  She watched as he shook hands with the two men and then walked towards her over the newly mown grass. And was immediately thrown back in time to all the times she’d watched him in the past.

  She’d always adored the way Gio moved, with that relaxed, languid, confident stride, as if he was completely comfortable in his own skin. He’d always been the sort of man to turn heads, even as a teenager, but age had added an air of dominance to that dangerous sex appeal. Unfortunately, the full package was even more devastating now. Tanned Mediterranean skin, the muscular, broad-shouldered physique and slim hips, that sharply handsome face and his rich chestnut-brown hair which had once been long enough to tie in a ponytail—to annoy his father she suspected—but was now cut short and fell in careless waves across his brow.

  Was it any surprise she’d idolised him once—and mistaken him for the prince? Thank God she didn’t idolise him any more. Unfortunately, the assertion didn’t seem to be doing a thing for the heat cascading through her as he took his own sweet time strolling towards her.

  Her heartbeat spiked, her nerve endings tingled and adrenaline pumped through her veins. She fidgeted with the bag’s strap, trying to bring her breathing back under control.

  Good grief, what on earth was happening to her? Had the extreme stress of the last few months turned her into a nymphomaniac?

  Her knees wobbled ever so slightly as he drew level, a sensual, knowing smile tilting his lips.

  ‘This is a surprise, Isadora,’ he said, pronouncing her full name with the tiniest hint of Italy. ‘You’re looking a lot more…’ His gaze flicked down her frame. Her knees wobbled some more. ‘Sophisticated today.’

  ‘Hello, Gio,’ she said, being as businesslike as she could with her nipples thrusting against the front of her blouse like bullets.

  Trust Gio to remind her of their last meeting. No way was he going to make this easy for her. But then she hadn’t expected easy.

  ‘I’m sorry to arrive unannounced,’ she said, looking as meek as she could possibly manage. ‘But I have something important I wanted to discuss with you.’

  His gaze drifted to her chest. ‘Really?’

  She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her inappropriate reaction. Why hadn’t she worn a padded bra? ‘Yes, really,’ she said, a little too curtly. ‘Do you mind if we discuss it in private?’

  If he was going to humiliate her, she’d rather not have an audience. Several of his employees were already staring at them from the other side of the pool.

  ‘There are workmen all over the house,’ he said calmly, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable as they fixed on her face. ‘The only place we’ll be able to have any privacy is in my bedroom.’

  What? No way.

  Her mind lurched back as the memories she’d been busy suppressing shot her blood pressure straight into the danger zone. But then she noticed the cynical curve of his lips and knew it wasn’t a genuine invitation. He expected her to decline. Because he thought she couldn’t handle the past, couldn’t handle him.

  Think again, Buster.

  ‘That’d be great,’ she said, even though her throat was now drier than the Gobi Desert. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind?’ she added with a hint of defiance.

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied, not sounding as surprised as she’d hoped. He lifted his arm. ‘I believe you know the way,’ he said, every inch the amenable, impersonal host.

  Blast him.

  They climbed the back staircase without a word. His silent, indomitable presence starting to rattle her. How could he be so relaxed, so unmoved?

  She cut the thought off. Of course he could be. What had happened in his bedroom all those years ago had never meant a thing to him. She pushed the residual flicker of hurt away, clinging to being businesslike and efficient. If he could be, so could she.

  But even as the rallying cry sounded in her head he opened his bedroom door, and she had to brace herself against the painful memories. She caught his scent, that dizzying combination of soap and man, more potent this time without the masking hint of tobacco, as he held the door for her to walk in ahead of him.

  Colour flooded up her neck as she stepped into the room where he had once stolen her innocence. And destroyed her dreams.

  The walls were painted utilitarian white now, the bed a brand-new teak frame draped with pale blue linen, but the memories were all still there, as vivid and disturbing as yesterday. She could see herself kneeling on the bed, the sheet clutched to her chest, her heart shattering.

  ‘So what exactly is it that’s so important?’

  She whirled round to see him leaning against the door, his arms folded over his chest, his expression indifferent. She held the briefcase in front of her, tried to control the rush of emotions. He was goading her deliberately. She had no idea why, but she wasn’t going to let it mean anything.

  ‘You offered me money. A week ago.’

  His brows arrowed up. Seemed she’d surprised him at last.

  ‘I wanted to know if the offer’s still open,’ she added.

  ‘You came here to ask me for money?’

  She heard the brittle edge and took a perverse pleasure in it. Good to know she could rattle him too.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Well, now,’ he said, pushing away from the door and strolling towards her. ‘So what happened to the woman who has principles and wouldn’t dare lower herself to take anything from me?’

  He stopped in front of her, standing so close she could feel the heat of his body.

  ‘It was you who said that? Wasn’t it?’

  ‘I apologise for that.’ She lifted her chin to meet his gaze, refusing to take a step back. She knew perfectly well he was trying to intimidate her. She should never have said those stupid things, but he had provoked her. ‘But I didn’t think you cared what I thought,’ she finished, knowing perfectly well her comments hadn’t bothered him in the slightest.

  He ran a
finger down her cheek and she stiffened, shocking desire coiling in her gut at the unexpected touch.

  ‘You’d be surprised what I care about,’ he murmured.

  She stepped back. Forced into retreat after all. How was he still able to fan the flames so easily?

  ‘I should go,’ she said hastily, her courage suddenly deserting her.

  What on earth had possessed her to come here? He would never give her the money. All she’d done was humiliate herself for no reason.

  But as she tried to step around him and make a dash for the door he grasped her upper arm.

  ‘So it wasn’t that important?’ he said, a challenging glint in his eyes.

  Spurred on by desperation and an unreasonable panic, her temper snapped. She yanked her arm out of his grasp. This wasn’t a game. Not to her anyway. ‘It was important. Not that you’d ever understand.’

  She’d always been willing to fight for what she believed in. He’d never once done that. Because he’d never believed in anything.

  He laughed, the sound harsh. ‘Why don’t you show me, then?’ Holding both her arms, he hauled her closer. ‘If you want the money so much, what do I get in return?’

  ‘What do you want?’ She hurled the words at him, angry, upset, and—God help her—desperately turned on.

  His fingers flexed on her arms. ‘You know what I want.’ His jaw tightened. ‘And you want it too. Except you always had to sugar-coat it with all that nonsense about love.’

  The barb hit home, but did nothing to quell the flames licking at her core.

  ‘Sex?’ She huffed out a contemptuous laugh. Not easy when she was about to spontaneously combust. ‘Is that all?’ She pressed closer, rubbed provocatively against the thick ridge in his trousers. Past caring about pride, or maturity, or scruples, as temper and desire raged out of control.

  He thought she was still the fanciful naïve virgin who expected love and commitment. Well, she wasn’t, and she could prove it.