Unfinished Business with the Duke Read online

  Mounting the stairs to the upper balcony, Issy watched Gio stroll across the terrace, those damn denims hugging his gorgeous butt like a second skin.

  She dragged her gaze away and took a moment to admire the almost as phenomenal view of Florence at dusk. In the enormous bedroom suite she slipped into jeans and a simple white wraparound blouse, and stared at the king-size mahogany bed dominating the room. The reckless thrill cascading through her body at the thought of what the nights and days ahead would hold had the hot, heavy feeling turning to aching need.

  She huffed out a breath.

  Okay, abstinence had never been an option. Not where Gio was concerned. He was too irresistible. And trying to distract him from the inevitable would only end up frustrating them both.

  But that did not mean he got to have everything his own way. He’d railroaded her into boarding that plane, then exploited the hunger between them to get exactly what he wanted. Mindless sex with no strings attached.

  Well, fine, she didn’t want any strings either. But it wasn’t as easy for her to simply dismiss their past. And she wasn’t quite as adept at separating sex from intimacy, the way he was. And the reason why was simple. She’d never had sex with a stranger before. Or not intentionally. But she could see now that was exactly what Gio was. Now.

  Finding a lavish en suite bathroom, she spent a few extra minutes brushing out her hair, washing her face and reapplying her make-up. And struggling to slow the rapid ticks of her heartbeat.

  She’d once believed she knew Gio and understood him. And from there it had been one short step into love.

  After that first night she’d always thought the reasons why she’d been so foolish were simple. She’d been young and immature and in desperate need of male approval. She’d lost her father at an early age, and it had left an aching hole in the centre of her life that couldn’t be filled. Until Gio had appeared, a sad, surly but magnetic boy, who had seemed to need her as much as she needed him.

  But now she could see there had been another, less obvious reason why she’d fallen in love with a figment of her own imagination.

  Even when they were children there had been an air of mystery about Gio. He’d always been so guarded and cautious about any kind of personal information.

  She had talked endlessly about her hopes and dreams, about her mum, about her schoolfriends, even about the shows she liked to watch on TV. Gio had listened to her chatter, but had said virtually nothing about his own life, his own hopes and dreams in return. She’d never even had an inkling he was interested in design. No wonder she had been so surprised about his success as an architect.

  And then there had been the wall of silence surrounding the ten months of the year he spent in Rome, with his mother.

  As a teenager, Issy had been totally in awe of Claudia Lorenzo—like every other girl her age. A flamboyant and stunningly beautiful bit-part actress, who had fought her way out of the Milan slums, Gio’s mother had reinvented herself as a fashion icon, gracing the pages of Vogue and Vanity Fair while on a merry-go-round of affairs and marriages with rich, powerful men. Not all that surprisingly, Issy had quizzed Gio mercilessly about ‘La Lorenzo’ in her early teens.

  But Gio had always refused to talk about his mother. So Issy had eventually stopped asking, conjuring up all sorts of romantic reasons why he should keep his life in Rome a secret.

  Issy squared her shoulders and ran unsteady palms down the stiff new denim of her jeans. Why not use this week to dispel that air of mystery. To finally satisfy her curiosity about Gio? She’d always wanted to know why Gio kept so many secrets and why he seemed so determined never to have a permanent relationship. Once she had her answer, his power to fascinate her, to tantalise her, would be gone for good.

  Gio was unlikely to co-operate, of course—being as guarded now as he had ever been—and it would be hard not to get sidetracked while indulging in all the physical pleasures and revelling in the sights, sounds and tastes of the beautiful Tuscan capital.

  But luckily for her she was a master at multi-tasking, and she never backed down from a challenge. Skills she’d perfected while running the theatre and handling everything from actors’ egos to imminent bankruptcy. Why not put those skills to good use?

  So she could enjoy everything the next few days had to offer. Get over her addiction to Gio’s superstar abilities in bed. And finally get complete closure on all the mistakes of her past.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘SO why are you so petrified of commitment?’

  Gio choked on the expensive Chianti he’d been sipping, so surprised by Issy’s probing question he had to grab his napkin to catch the spray. He put the glass down on the restaurant’s white linen tablecloth, next to the remains of the mammoth T-bone steak they’d shared. ‘Issy, I’ve just eaten about a half pound of rare beef. What are you trying to do? Give me indigestion?’ he said, only half joking.

  Where had that come from?

  Everything had been going surprisingly well till now. Their sightseeing trip had been less of a chore than he’d expected. Issy had always been sexy as hell, but he’d forgotten how refreshing, funny and forthright she was too.

  Perhaps because she was still a little jumpy, she’d hardly stopped talking since they’d left the villa, but rather than annoying him the mostly one-sided conversation had brought back fond memories from their childhood. For a boy who had been taught as soon as he could speak that it was better to keep his mouth shut, listening to Issy talk had made him feel blissfully normal. Having her chatter wash over him again tonight had reminded him how much he’d once enjoyed just listening to her speak.

  The only time she’d been silent was when he’d whipped his classic Vespa through the streets of Florence with her clinging on like a limpet. Which had brought back another more visceral memory of that first wild ride aboard his motorbike.

  After that he’d needed a distraction. Her warm breasts pressing against his back had not done a great deal for his self-control. So he’d had the inspired idea of taking her on a private tour of the Uffizi while he cooled off. But as they’d walked hand in hand through the darkened Vasari gallery and she’d peppered him with questions, a strange thing had happened. He’d watched Issy’s face light up when she took in the Renaissance splendour of Boticelli’s Primavera, heard her in-drawn breath at the ethereal beauty of Titian’s Venus, and he’d really started to enjoy himself.

  He’d taken a few dates here before, but none of them had been as awestruck and excited by the beauty of the art as Issy.

  When they’d got to Latini for a late dinner, Issy had devoured the rich, succulent Tuscan speciality with the same fervour. But, as he’d watched her lick the rich gravy from her full bottom lip, enjoyment and nostalgia had turned sharply to anticipation.

  As much as he’d enjoyed Issy’s company over the last few hours, her avid appreciation of the art and her entertaining abilities as a conversationalist, he didn’t want to talk any more. And especially not about his least favourite subject.

  But before he could think of a subtle way to change the subject, she started up again.

  ‘You’re always so adamant you don’t do permanent. You don’t do the long-haul,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit peculiar? Especially for a man of your age?’

  ‘I’m only thirty-one,’ he said, annoyed. It wasn’t as if he were about to pick up his pension.

  ‘I know, but isn’t that when most men are thinking of settling down? Having kids?’

  That did it. Forget subtle—he wasn’t having this conversation. No way. ‘Why do you care? Unless you’re angling for a proposal?’ he said, a bit too forcefully.

  Instead of looking hurt or offended, she laughed. ‘Stop being so conceited. A man with your commitment problems is hardly the catch of the century.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ he grumbled, not as pleased as he would have expected by the off-hand remark.

  Propping her elbow on the tab
le, she leaned into her palm and gazed at him. ‘I’m just really curious. What happened to make you so dead set against having a proper relationship?’

  ‘I have proper relationships,’ he said, not sure why he was defending himself. ‘What do you call this?’

  She giggled, her deep blue eyes sparkling mischievously in the candlelight. ‘An improper relationship.’

  ‘Very funny,’ he said wryly as blood pounded into his groin.

  Signalling the waiter, he asked for the bill in Italian. As the man left, laden with their empty plates, Gio topped up their wine glasses. ‘Let’s go back to the villa for dessert,’ he said. Time to stop debating this nonsense and start debating which part of her he planned to feast on first. ‘And discuss how improper.’

  Seeing the heat and the determination on his face, Issy struggled to keep the simmering passion at bay that she was sure he’d been stoking all evening.

  Every time his fingers cupped her elbow, every time his palm settled on the small of her back, every time his breath brushed across her earlobe as he whispered some amusing story or anecdote in her ear, or his chocolate gaze raked over her figure, her arousal had kicked up another notch. And she was sure he knew it.

  But she wasn’t going to be distracted that easily. Not yet anyway.

  ‘What’s the matter, Gio. Don’t you know why you can’t maintain a relationship?’

  He drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic taps doing nothing to diminish the intensity in those melted chocolate eyes. ‘It’s not that I can’t,’ he replied. ‘It’s that I don’t want to.’ He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, a confident smile curving his lips. ‘Why would I bother if it will never work?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ she asked, stunned by the note of bitterness.

  ‘People get together because of animal attraction,’ he said, adding a cynical tilt to his smile. ‘But that doesn’t last. Eventually they hate each other, even if they pretend not to.’ He took her wrist off the table, skimmed his thumb across the pulse-point. ‘It’s human nature. Relationships are about sex. You can dress it up with hearts and flowers if you want. But I choose not to.’

  Issy sucked in a breath, shocked by the conviction in his voice and a little hurt by the brittle, condescending tone.

  The evening so far had been magical. So magical she had been lulled into a false sense of companionship to go with the heady sexual thrill.

  From the moment Gio’s vintage scooter had careered down the steep cobbled hill into the city, his rock-hard abs tensing beneath her fingertips and the wind catching her hair, the sexual thrill had shot into her bloodstream like a drug. She was in Florence with a devastatingly handsome man who knew how to play her erogenous zones like a virtuoso. Why not ride the high?

  But as the evening wore on it wasn’t just the promise of physical pleasure that excited her.

  Their first stop had been the world-famous Uffizi art gallery, where an eager young architectural student who worked as a night-guard and obviously idolised Gio had ushered them into a veritable cave of wonders of Italian art treasures.

  Gio had taken courses in art history as part of his degree, and hadn’t seemed to mind answering her endless questions. He’d regaled her with fascinating stories about the paintings on display, and talked about his love of art and architecture with a knowledge and passion so unlike the reticence she remembered about him as a boy it had captivated her.

  When they’d stepped out of the gallery, darkness had fallen, the cloaking spell of evening giving the city a new and enchanting vibrancy. The tourists had all but disappeared, no doubt retiring to their hotels after a day spent sightseeing in the merciless August heat, and the locals had reclaimed their streets. Crowds of young, stylish Florentines, posing and gesticulating, spilled out of bars and cafés into cramped alleyways and grand piazzas, illuminated by neon and lamplight. As she’d clung on to Gio and watched Florence and its inhabitants whip past, Issy had been assailed by a powerful sense of belonging. Tonight, with Gio beside her, it didn’t seem to matter that she didn’t speak a word of Italian and couldn’t have looked less Mediterranean if she tried. She knew it was a fanciful notion, conjured by the city’s enchanting allure, but it had brought with it a buzz of anticipation to complement the desire coursing through her veins.

  What if she and Gio could become friends again, as well as lovers, during their weekend of debauchery?

  The meal had been equally glorious. The small but packed trattoria wore its centuries-old history on its smoke-stained walls and in the sensational tastes and textures of its signature dish. Gio was clearly a regular. The head waiter had clapped him on the back and led them to the only table which wasn’t communal as soon as they’d arrived.

  Issy suspected Gio had entertained hundreds of other women here before, but she refused to care. This was a few days out of time for both of them. A chance not just to indulge in the intense physical attraction between them, but maybe also to renew the precious childhood companionship they’d once shared before misunderstandings and maturity—and one night of misguided sex—had destroyed it.

  But how could they do that if Gio insisted on shutting her out and treating her as if her view on love and relationships was beneath contempt?

  Maybe she’d been young and foolish at seventeen, and she’d certainly made an enormous mistake picking Gio as her Mr Right, but she intended to carry on looking—and she resented him implying that made her an imbecile.

  She tugged her hand out of his. ‘That’s all very interesting, Gio. But what about love? What about when you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with?’

  ‘You don’t still believe that’s going to happen, do you?’ he said with an incredulous laugh.

  ‘Yes, I do. It happens all the time. It was exactly like that for my parents,’ she said with passion, her temper mounting. ‘They adored each other. My mum still talks about my dad, and he’s been dead for twenty-one years.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he said, sounding sceptical. ‘But that would make your parents the exception, not the rule.’

  She heard the tinge of regret, not quite drowned out by his condescension, and her temper died. ‘What makes you think your parents aren’t the exception?’

  He stiffened at the quiet comment, and she knew she’d hit on the truth. Gio’s cynicism, his bitterness, had nothing to do with his opinion of her but with the terrible example his own parents had set.

  Although the Hamiltons had divorced three years before she and her mum had come to live at the Hall, lurid stories about the split had fed the rumour mill in Hamilton’s Cross for years afterwards.

  Two impossibly beautiful and volatile people, Claudia Lorenzo, the flamboyant Italian socialite, and Charles Hamilton, the playboy Duke of Connaught, had indulged in years of vicious infighting and public spats, before Claudia had finally stormed out for good, taking their nine-year-old son back to Italy with her. The brutal custody battle that followed had made headlines in both the local and national press. Although Issy had never understood why the Duke had fought so hard for his son when he’d treated Gio so harshly during his court-ordered summer visits.

  As a teenager, Issy had found the concept of Gio as a tug-of-love orphan both fabulously dramatic and wonderfully tragic, like something straight out of Wuthering Heights, but she could see now it must have been a living hell for him as a child. And could easily have warped his view of relationships ever since.

  ‘Your parents were selfish, self-absorbed people,’ she said. ‘Who didn’t care about love or each other.’ Or you, she thought. ‘But you shouldn’t let that make you give up on finding a loving relationship for the rest of your life.’

  Gio groaned, dumping his napkin on the table. ‘Will you give it a rest? You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  It wasn’t quite the reaction she’d been hoping for, but she wasn’t going to give up that easily.

  ‘I know enough,’ she countered. ‘My
mother and I heard how your father shouted at you and belittled you. And I saw for myself how much it upset you,’ she persevered, despite the rigid expression on his face. ‘On that last night, when I found you in the orchard, you’d just had a massive row with him. You looked so upset. So…’ She trailed off as he turned away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. And she realised something she should have figured out years before.

  ‘That’s why you needed me that night. That’s why we made love,’ she said softly, her heart punching her throat. ‘Because of something he said to you.’

  His head swung back, his eyes flashing hot, and she knew she’d touched a nerve.

  Whatever his father had said that night had made him reach out to someone, anyone, to ease the pain. And, thanks to circumstance, that someone had been her.

  The revelation shouldn’t really matter now. But it did. She’d believed for ten years that their first night had been a terrible mistake, brought about by her immature romantic fantasies. But what if he really had needed her—just not in the way she’d thought?

  ‘We didn’t make love,’ he said flatly. ‘We had sex.’

  She didn’t even flinch at the crude words. ‘What did he say?’ she asked, her heart melting at the anguished frown on his face.

  ‘Who the hell cares what he said? That was a million years ago.’

  It wasn’t a million years ago, but even if it had been it was obvious it still hurt.

  ‘Dammit, you’re not going to let this go, are you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Fine.’ He dumped his napkin on the table. ‘He told me I wasn’t his son. That Claudia had screwed a dozen other men during their marriage. That I was some other man’s bastard.’

  Shock reverberated through her body at the ugly words. ‘But you must have been devastated,’ she murmured. How could the Duke have harboured that nasty little seed in his head all through Gio’s childhood? And then told his son? ‘But what about the custody battle. Why would he…?’