The Italian’s Convenient Wife

Italian Husbands

Catherine Spencer

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

CALLIE had been eighteen the last time that deep, dark Mediterranean voice had seduced her into forgetting everything her mother had taught her about “saving” herself for the “right” man. The kind who’d greet her at the altar with a full appreciation for what her pristine white gown and flowing veil signified. The kind who’d cherish the prized gift of her virginity on their wedding night.

Eighteen.

Nine years and a lifetime ago.

Yet although the phone awoke her from a deep sleep at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, she recognized at once who was calling. And so did her heart. It contracted as painfully as if a huge fist had closed around it and was squeezing the very life from her body.

“It is Paolo Rainero, Caroline,” he said. And then, as if she needed further clarification, “Ermanno’s brother. Your sister’s brother-in-law.”

And my first love. My first lover. The only one.

Callie cleared her throat. Swallowed. “Buon giorno,” she said, groping for the bedside lamp, and wished her Italian rolled off her tongue with the same fluid, exotic ease that he brought to English. “What a surprise to hear from you after all this time, Paolo. How are you?”

He let a beat of time pass before answering, and in that short but endless silence, any fledgling hope she’d entertained that he was in the U.S., and wanted to renew acquaintance with her for the pure pleasure of her company, shriveled and died. Fear slithered up her spine, leaving her skin unpleasantly clammy, and she knew with sudden, chilling certainty that he had nothing good to tell her.

As if to ward off the blow he was about to deliver, she asked with desperate good cheer, “Where are you calling from?”

“Rome. Caroline—”

“Are you sure? You sound as close as if you’re just next door. I’d never have guessed you’re half a world away. It’s amazing what—”

He recognized her mindless babble for the delaying tactic it was. “Caroline,” he said again, cutting her off more forcefully this time, “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

The children! Something had happened to the children!

Her mouth ran dry. Freed from the vicious hold, her heart hurled itself into a punishing, uneven beat somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. “How bad?” she asked shakily.

“Very bad, cara. There has been a yachting accident. An explosion at sea.” He paused again. Another horribly telling hesitation. “Ermanno and Vanessa were aboard at the time.”

“With the children?” She forced the question past parched lips.

“No. With four guests and a crew of six. They left the children with my parents.”

A thread of relief wound its way through her mounting dread. “And? Don’t leave me hanging like this, Paolo. How badly is my sister hurt?”

“I’m saddened to have to tell you, there were no survivors.”

The softly lit room swam before her eyes. “None at all?”

“None.”

Her beautiful, generous, loving sister dead? Her body blown to pieces, mutilated beyond recognition?

Callie scrunched her eyes shut against the horrifying images filling her mind. Clutching the phone in a white-knuckled grip, she whispered, “How can you be so sure?”

“The explosion was visible for miles. Other yachts in the area raced to the scene to lend assistance. Search and rescue vessels went into immediate operation. Their efforts met with no success. It was clear no one could have survived such a blast.”

“But what if they were thrown into the sea and made it to shore? What if you stopped searching too soon? Vanessa’s a strong swimmer. She might—”

“No, Caroline,” he said. “It is not possible. The devastation was too great, the evidence, too…graphic to be mistaken for anything other than what it was.”

He had never before spoken to her with such kindness; with such compassion. That he did so now nearly killed her.

A huge balloon of grief rose in her throat, almost choking her. A sound filled her ears; echoed repeatedly in the dimly lit bedroom. A sound so primitive, she could barely conceive that it poured from her.

Paolo’s voice pierced the black, terrible mists enveloping her. “Is there anyone with you, Caroline?”

What sort of question was that? And by what right did he, of all people, dare to ask it? “It’s not yet dawn, and I’m in bed,” she said rawly. “Alone.”

His voice caressed her. “You should not be, not at a time like this.”

Not in bed? she wondered. Or not alone?

“You are in shock, as are we all,” he continued, clarifying his remark. “Is there no one you can call on, to help you get through the next few hours until the necessary travel arrangements are in place?”

“Travel?”

“To Rome. For the funerals. They will take place later in the week. Naturally you will attend.”

Naturally! Nonetheless, she bristled at his tone, so clearly that of a man not accustomed to being thwarted. Some things never changed.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “How are the children coping?”

“Not well. They’re old enough to understand what death means. They know they’ll never again see their parents. Gina cries often, and although he tries to be brave, I know that Clemente sheds many a private tear, too.”

Pushing aside her own grief to make room for theirs, Callie said, “Please give them my love and tell them their…their aunt Callie will see them soon.”

“Of course—for what it’s worth.”

Anger knifed through her, intense as forked lightning. “Are you questioning my sincerity, Paolo?”

“Not in the least,” he replied smoothly. “I’m simply stating a fact. Of course the twins are aware they have an aunt who lives in America, but they don’t know you. You’re a name, a photograph, someone who never forgets to send them lovely gifts at Christmas and on their birthdays, or postcards from the interesting foreign places you visit. But you found the time to come to see them only once, when they were infants and much too young to remember you. For the rest, you depended on their parents to bring them to America to visit you—and how often did that occur? Two, three times, in the last eight years?”

His sigh drifted gently, regretfully, over the phone. “The unfortunate truth is, Caroline, you and the children are almost strangers to one other. A sad case of ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ I’m afraid.”

He might see it that way, but Callie knew differently. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of those two adorable children. She spent hours poring over fat albums of photographs depicting every stage in their lives, from when they were just a few hours old, to the present day. Her staircase wall was filled with framed pictures of them. Their most recent portraits occupied pride of place by her bed, on the mantelpiece in her living room, on her desk at the office. She could have picked them out unerringly in a crowd of hundreds of children with the same dark hair and brown eyes, so well did she know every feature, every expression, every tiny detail that made them unique.

Strangers, Paolo? In your dreams!

“Nonetheless, I am their aunt, and they can count on me to be there for them now,” she told him. “I’ll leave here tomorrow and barring any unforeseen delays, should be with them the day after that.”

“Then I’ll send you the details of your flight later today.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself, Paolo,” she said coolly. “I can well afford to make my own reservations, and will take care of them myself.”

“No, Caroline, you will not,” he said flatly. “This has nothing to do with money, it has to do with family looking after family—and regardless of how you might perceive it, we are inextricably connected through the marriage of your sister to my brother, are we not?”

Oh, yes, Paolo, she thought, smothering the burst of hysterical laughter rising in her throat at the irony of his question. That, and a whole lot more than you can begin to imagine!

Mistaking her silence for disagreement, he said, “This is no time to quibble over the fine print of our association, Caroline. No matter which way you look at it, we have a niece and nephew in common, and must rally together for their good.”

How nauseatingly self-righteous he sounded! How morally upright! If she hadn’t known better, Callie might have been fooled into believing he really was as honorable and responsible as he made himself out to be.

“I couldn’t agree more, Paolo,” she said, with deceptive meekness. “I wouldn’t dream of turning my back on the twins when they need all the emotional support they can get. I’ll be in Rome no later than Tuesday.”

“And you will allow me to make your flight arrangements?”

Why not? Pride had no place in the tragic loss of her sister, and Callie was having trouble enough holding herself together. She couldn’t afford to squander her strength when she had much bigger battles to wage than besting Paolo Rainero on the trifling matter of who sprang for the price of her ticket. She could pay him back later, when everything else was settled. “If you insist.”

“Eccellente! Thank you for seeing things my way.”

You won’t thank me for long, Paolo, she thought. Not once you discover that when I come home again, I’m bringing those children with me!

Outside the converted eighteenth-century palazzo whose entire top floor housed his parents’ apartment, the traffic and crowds, both so much a part of everyday Rome, went about their noisy business as usual. Immediately beyond the leather-paneled walls of his father’s library, however, a mournful hush reigned. Dropping the receiver back in its cradle, Paolo left the room and made his way down the long hall to the day salon where his parents waited.

His mother had aged ten years in the last two days. Weeping and sleeplessness left her beautiful eyes ringed with shadows. Her mouth trembled uncontrollably. Silver, which surely hadn’t been there a week ago, glinted in her thick black hair. She clutched his father’s hand almost convulsively, as if only by doing so could she anchor herself to sanity.

“Well? How did she take the news? Is she coming for the funerals?” Cultured, wealthy in his own right, influential, and deeply respected in the international world of high finance, Salvatore Rainero did not surrender easily to defeat. But Paolo heard it in the subdued tone with which his father uttered the questions; recognized it in the slump of those broad, patrician shoulders.

“She’ll be here.” Paolo shrugged wearily, his own sense of loss lying heavy in the pit of his stomach. “As for how she took the news, she was shocked, bereft, as are we all.”

His mother dabbed at her eyes with a fine linen handkerchief. “Did she mention the children?”

“Yes, but nothing that you need to worry about. She sent them her love.”

“Does she have any idea that—?”

“None. Nor did it occur to her to ask. But she was unprepared for my call and most probably not thinking clearly. It’s possible she might wonder, over the next two days. And even if she does not, once they’re read, we won’t be able to hide the terms of the wills from her.”

His mother let out an anguished moan. “And who’s to say how she will react?”

“She may react any way she pleases, Lidia,” Paolo’s father said grimly, “but she will not create havoc with our grandchildren, because I will not allow her to do so. In declining to take an active role in their lives for the past eight years, she forfeits the right to have any say in their future.” His fierce gaze swung to Paolo. “Did you have to work hard to persuade her to let us bring her over here at our expense?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good!” A spark of triumph lightened the grief in the old man’s eyes. “Then she can be bought.”

“Oh, Salvatore, that’s cruel!” his wife objected. “Caroline is mourning her sister’s death too deeply to care about monetary matters.”

“I have to agree,” Paolo felt obliged to add. “I suspect the poor thing was so numbed by my news that I could have persuaded her the moon was made of cheese, if I’d put my mind to it. Once she gets past the initial shock of this tragedy, she might well change her mind about accepting our offer. We met only briefly and nine years ago at that, but I remember her as being a singularly proud and independent young woman.”

“You’re wrong, both of you.” His father heaved himself up from the sofa to pace the length of the room. “She was anything but proud in the way she threw herself at you after the wedding, Paolo. If you’d given her the slightest encouragement, you’d soon have followed in your brother’s footsteps, and found yourself at the altar, too.”

Again, Paolo’s mother spoke up, unnaturally vigorous in her defense of someone she hardly knew, he thought. “You’re being unfair, Salvatore! I spoke to Caroline at length when she was here, and she was very excited about starting her university studies that September. I don’t believe she’d have abandoned her plans, even if Paolo had encouraged her.”

But there was no even if about it, Paolo thought, a disconcerting pang of shame rising from the ashes of the murky memories suddenly looming up in his mind. Despite his many other excesses in those days, alcohol wasn’t among them. But the night of his brother’s wedding, he’d had too much champagne to remember much beyond the fact that the bride’s pretty sister had been young, impressionable, eminently desirable and willing—though not nearly as experienced as she’d pretended to be.

One night with a novice had been enough to make him regret having seduced her. He wasn’t accustomed to his women being so generous, so trustingly naive. Caroline’s wide-eyed innocence, her sincerity and simple goodness, unnerved him—him, Paolo Giovanni Vittorio Rainero, a man afraid of nothing and no one. But she’d made him look too deep inside himself and he hadn’t liked what he saw.

He was the one who came from a long line of blue bloods, yet beside her he felt undeserving; an emotional pauper with little of worth to offer a girl who could have been a princess. She deserved better than what he could give her.

Facing her the next morning…well, in all truth, he hadn’t. Couldn’t. Her lowered gaze, the crushed disappointment touching her lovely mouth, and knowing he was the one who had put them there, had been more than he could bear. Hangover notwithstanding, he’d made a fast escape.

He hadn’t expected to run into her again, when he stopped by his parents’ apartment, a few days after the wedding. But he’d recognized at once that her earlier infatuation for him had metamorphosed into chilly disgust. A week had been more than long enough for her to realize Paolo Rainero wasn’t at all her kind of man.

Judging from the tone of their recent phone call, time hadn’t exactly mellowed her opinion of him. If his parents’ hopes for the future were to be realized, he was going to have to work very hard to polish his image, and charm her into compliance by whatever means necessary.

The realization did not sit well with him. In fact, it left a distinctly bad taste in his mouth. Seduction for seduction’s sake, whether or not it involved the physical, had long since lost its flavor, especially when it came with a hidden agenda.

“Where are the twins now?” he inquired.

“Tullia took them to the park,” his father said. “We thought a change of scene would be good for them.”

Paolo thought so, too. Huge bouquets had arrived daily since the accident, tokens of sympathy from the family’s vast circle of friends and acquaintances. The overpowering scent of lilies filled the apartment with funereal solemnity. There’d be enough of that at the church on Saturday, and again on Monday, when the immediate family accompanied the remains to the island for the private burial rites.

His mother drifted to the balcony overlooking the rear courtyard. “I don’t know how the children would cope without Tullia,” she said fretfully. “She’s been with them since they were babies, and they cling to her now. They seem to need her more than they need us.”

“And they need us more than they need an aunt they wouldn’t know from Adam,” Salvatore interjected, slipping an arm around her waist and leading her from the room. “Come, Lidia, my love. Stop worrying about Caroline Leighton and start looking after yourself. You’ve barely closed your eyes since we heard the dreadful news, and you need to rest.”

She went unresistingly, but turned in the doorway at the last second. “Will you still be here later, Paolo?”

“Yes,” he said, his glance locking briefly with his father’s and correctly reading the plea he saw there. “I’ll be here for as long as you both need me. You can count on me to do whatever must be done to keep our family intact.”

Although determined to keep such a promise, he hoped he could do so and not end up despising himself for the methods he might have to employ.

The Air France Boeing 777-200 touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris just after eleven o’clock on the Tuesday morning, completing the first leg of her journey to Rome. She’d left San Francisco exactly ten hours earlier, which wasn’t such an inordinately long time to be in the air, especially not when she’d reclined in Executive Class comfort the entire distance. But the fact that it was only two in the morning, Pacific Standard Time, played havoc with Callie’s inner clock, not to mention her appearance.

She’d never been able to cry prettily, the way some women could, and her face bore unmistakable evidence of weeping. It would take considerable cosmetic expertise and every spare second of the two hours before her connecting flight to Rome, to disguise the ravages of grief. But disguise them she would, because when she faced Paolo Rainero again, she intended to be in control—of herself and the situation.

Perhaps if, after deplaning, she’d been less involved in plotting her strategies, she might have noticed him sooner. As it was, she’d have walked straight past him if he hadn’t planted himself so firmly in her path that she almost tripped over his feet.

“Ciao, Caroline,” he greeted her, and before she had time to recover from the impact of Paolo Rainero’s voice assaulting her yet again out of the blue, he’d caught her by the shoulders and bent his head to press a light, continental kiss on each of her cheeks.

She’d wondered if she’d recognize him. If he’d changed much in nine years. If the dissolute life he’d pursued in his early twenties had left only the crumbling remains of his formerly stunning good looks. Would the aristocratic planes of his face have disappeared under a sagging layer of flesh, with his sleek olive skin crisscrossed by a road map of broken veins? Would his middle have grown soft, his hairline receded?

She’d prayed it would be so. It would make seeing him again so much easier. But the man confronting her had lost nothing of his masculine beauty. Rather, he had redefined it.

His shoulders had broadened with maturity, his chest deepened, but not an ounce of fat clung to his frame. The clean, hard line of his jaw, the firm contours of his mouth, spoke of single-minded purpose. There was dignity and strength in his bearing. Authority in his somber, dark brown gaze.

He had a full head of hair. Thick, black, silky hair that begged a woman to run her fingers through it. And only the faintest trace of laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

Stunned, she stared at him, all hope that he’d prove himself as susceptible to the passage of time as any other man, evaporating in a rush of molten awareness that battered her with the force of a tornado.

It wasn’t fair. He’d shown a flagrant disregard for the frailty of human life, driving too fast, living on the edge, and daring death to slow him down. At the very least, he might have had the good grace to look a little worn around the edges. Instead he stood there, splendidly tall and confident—and still dangerously attractive, despite the tragic reason for his coming into her life again.

Woefully conscious of her own disarray, both physical and mental, and unable to do anything about either, she stammered, “Why are you here?”

He smiled just enough for her to see that he still had all his teeth, too, and that they were every bit as white and even as she remembered. Amazing, really. She’d have thought some irate husband would have knocked a few of them out by now. Paolo had had quite a taste for other men’s wives, when he wasn’t seducing virgins.

“Why else would I be here, but to meet you, Caroline?”

She wanted to smack him for the way he seemed to suck the oxygen out of the atmosphere and leave her fighting to breathe. “Well, in case you’ve forgotten, you booked me all the way through to Rome, and we’re not even in Italy yet.”

“There’s been a slight change of itinerary,” he said, rolling his R’s in melodic cadence. “You will be traveling the rest of the way with me, in the Rainero corporate jet.”

“Why?”

He lifted his impeccably clad shoulders in a shrug. “Why not?”

“Because there’s no need. I have a ticket on a regular flight. All other considerations apart, what about my luggage? The inconvenience of my not showing up—”

“Do not concern yourself, Caroline,” he purred. “I have seen to it. By standing here throwing up obstacles, you inconvenience no one but me.”

Another thing about him remained unchanged. He was as arrogant as ever, and it was still all about him! “Well, heaven forbid you should be put out in any way, Paolo!”

He regarded her with benign tolerance, the way she might have regarded a fractious two-year-old trying to bite her ankle. “You are exhausted and sad, cara, and it’s making you a little capricciosa,” he decided, relieving her of her carry-on bag with one hand, and cupping her elbow with the other.

“That shouldn’t come as any surprise, all things considered!”

“Nor does it, which is why I thought to spare you the tedium of spending time waiting here in a crowded airport, when it is within my power to have you already safely arrived in Rome before your originally scheduled flight leaves Paris.”

“I don’t mind the wait.” She tried ineffectually to squirm free of his hold. “I’m actually looking forward to the chance to freshen up after being cooped up in an aircraft for ten hours.”

“Be assured, the company jet has excellent facilities, all of which are at your disposal,” he countered. “Come, now, Caroline. Allow me to spoil you a little, especially now when you have all you can do to hold yourself together.”

Supremely confident that he’d overcome her objections, he swept her out of the terminal and into the back of a waiting limousine. After a brief exchange with the uniformed driver, Paolo joined her, settling himself beside her close enough that his body warmth crept out to touch her.

Unnerved, she inched farther into the corner as the car joined the traffic heading out of the airport toward the city center. Noticing, he smiled and said, “Try to relax, cara. I am not abducting you and I intend you no harm. You’re perfectly safe with me.”

Safe with him? Not if he was anything like the man he’d been nine years ago! Yet his concern seemed genuine. He appeared more tuned in to her feelings, and less focused on his own. Could she have misjudged him, and he had changed, after all?

Callie supposed anything was possible. Heaven knew, she was nothing like the girl he’d seduced, then cast aside so callously. Perhaps they’d both grown up.

“Ah!” His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned past her to look out of the window. “We’ll soon be there.”

Huddling even farther into the corner, she said, “Where’s ‘there’ exactly?”

“Le Bourget. It’s the airport most commonly used by private jets.”

Soon—much too soon for Callie’s peace of mind—they arrived, and in short order had cleared security, passed through the departure gate and were crossing the open tarmac to where a Lear jet waited, its engines idling. Buffeted by the wind, she mounted the steps to the interior, and barely had time to fasten her seat belt before the aircraft was cleared for takeoff.

Was she crazy to have allowed Paolo to coerce her into changing her travel plans? she wondered, as Paris fell away below, and the jet turned its nose to the southeast. Did he have an ulterior motive? Or was she looking for trouble where none existed?

“You’re very silent, Caroline,” he observed, some half hour later. “Very withdrawn.”

“I just lost my sister,” she said. “I’m not exactly in a party mood.”

“Nor am I suggesting you should be, but it occurs to me you might wish to discuss the funeral arrangements….” He paused fractionally, his long fingers idly caressing a glass of sparkling water. “Or the children.”

“No,” she said, turning to stare at the great expanse of blue sky beyond the porthole to her left. “Not right now. It’s all I can do to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never see Vanessa again. I keep hoping to wake up and find it’s all a horrible dream. Perhaps once I’ve seen the children, and your parents…. How are they coping with this terrible tragedy, by the way? Your parents, I mean?”

“They’re even more devastated than you claim to be.”

Sure she must not have heard him correctly, she swung back to face him and found him watching her with chilling intensity. “Are you suggesting I’m faking how I feel, Paolo?”

Raising his glass, he rotated it so that its cut crystal facets caught the light and flung it at her in a blur of dazzling reflections. “Well, if you are,” he said silkily, “it wouldn’t be the first time, would it, cara?”

There was nothing kindly in his regard now, nothing compassionate, nor did he pretend otherwise. In that instant, she knew that she should have listened to her instincts. Because, in stepping aboard the Rainero corporate jet, she’d made a fatal mistake.

She’d put herself at the mercy of a man who, whatever his stated reasons for meeting her in Paris, no more cared about her now than he had nine years ago. He was exactly the same callous heel who had ruined her life once, and given half a chance, he’d do the very same thing a second time.

CHAPTER TWO

“SO YOU don’t bother to lash out at me for such a remark?” he drawled. “You don’t take exception to the fact that I imply you’re less than honest?”

Swamped in an anger directed as much at herself as at him, Callie retorted, “Don’t mistake my silence for an admission of guilt, Paolo. It’s simply that I’m floored by your audacity. You may rest assured I take very great exception to your accusation.”

“But you don’t deny the truth of it?”

“Of course I do!” she spat. “I have never lied to you.”

“Never? Not even by omission?”

Again, she was left speechless, but from fear, this time. He couldn’t know the truth—not unless Vanessa or Ermanno had told him.

Oh, surely not! They stood to gain nothing by doing so, and would have lost what they most cared about.

“You’ve turned rather pale, Caroline.” Utterly remorseless, Paolo continued to torment her. “Could it be that you remember, after all?”

Less certain of herself by the second, Callie fought to match his offhand manner. “Remember what, exactly?”

“The day your sister married my brother—or more precisely, the night following the wedding.”

So her secret was safe, after all! But as relief washed over her, so, too, did a wave of embarrassment. “Oh,” she muttered, helpless to stem the heat flooding her face. “That!”

“That, indeed. Let me see if I recall events accurately.” Ever so casually, he tapped the rim of his water glass. “There was a moon, and many, many stars. A beach with powder-soft sand, lapped by lazy, lukewarm waves. A cabana that offered privacy. You in a dress that begged to be removed…and I—”

“All right,” Callie snapped. “You’ve made your point. I remember.”

As if she could forget—and heaven knew she’d tried hard enough to do just that! It was the night she gave him her virginity, her innocence and her heart. Not even the slow passage of nine years could dim the clarity of those memories….

“Isn’t he the most divinely handsome man you’ve ever seen?” Radiant in her pearl and crystal encrusted wedding gown, Vanessa had peeked from behind the drapes fluttering at the French windows of the suite set aside for the bride and her attendants. In the grounds below, her groom chatted with the more than three hundred guests who’d arrived that morning in a flotilla of private yachts, and were now milling about the terrace.

As weddings went, Callie supposed this one came as close to fairy-tale perfection as reality could get. Isola di Gemma, the Raineros’s private island, was aptly named—truly a jewel, set in the shimmering Adriatic, some thirty miles off the coast of Italy.

But, like her sister, she barely noticed the huge urns of exotic blooms framing the flower-draped arch where the ceremony was to take place, or the rows of elegant white wrought-iron chairs linked together with white satin streamers. Instead she inched out onto the narrow Juliet balcony, the better to spy on the groom’s tall, dark-haired younger brother, busy adjusting the gardenia in the lapel of his white jacket.

He’d landed by helicopter on the island the night before, arriving just in time for dinner, and Callie’s mouth had run dry at the sight of him. Charming and handsome, with a worldly sophistication to match his good looks, he reduced the young men she usually dated to pitifully clumsy boys.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since. She’d even dreamed about him. Vanessa’s wedding might be a fairly tale, but in Callie’s opinion, the best man was the stuff princes were made of.

“Yes,” she breathed to her sister, leaning over the balcony to get a better view. “He’s…divine.”

Perfect. God-like!

As if he could read her mind, he glanced up, trained his gaze directly on her, and sent her a slow, conspiratorial smile, as if, between them, they harbored a secret too deliciously wicked to be shared with anyone else. At that, an unfamiliar sensation trickled through her, startling and sweet. Suddenly weak at the knees, she clutched the balcony railing.

“Come away from there, both of you,” their mother had scolded. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride beforehand, and while having the maid of honor fall headlong from an upper floor balcony might amuse some people, I doubt it would impress your future father-in-law, Vanessa.”

How true! Salvatore Rainero had made scant secret of the fact that he had reservations about his son’s marriage to an American. That he considered Audrey Leighton and her two daughters socially inferior, and quite possibly fortune hunters, had been apparent from the outset, but Ermanno had remained adamant. He intended to marry Vanessa with, or without, his father’s approval.

Fortunately his mother, Lidia, had scoffed at her husband’s suspicions, and given the couple her blessing, thus smoothing over the tensions threatening their future. Whatever his other personality flaws, Salvatore was a doting husband who adored his wife. If she was willing to embrace into the family their son’s choice of a mate, he’d swallow his misgivings and indulge her wish to throw a lavish wedding.

And lavish it was, with champagne enough to float a boat, a feast worthy of royalty—the Raineros actually had been members of the nobility in times gone by, which probably accounted for Salvatore’s elevated notions of grandeur—and a two-foot high wedding cake created by an army of Rome’s most renowned bakers and pastry chefs. For Callie, though, the high point of the whole affair had been when the best man escorted her onto the dance floor and took her in his arms.

She melted in the warmth of his dark-eyed gaze, in the bold intimacy of his hands sliding down her spine and urging her close. Intoxicated by his scent, by the sheer power of his masculine aura, she let him mold her body to his, and cared not one iota that his father scowled from the sidelines.

“So beautiful una damigella d’onore outshines the bride,” Paolo murmured hotly in her ear. “It is my good fortune that my brother chose to marry your sister, and left me with the greater prize.”

No boyfriend had ever spoken to her with such unfettered, lyrical passion, nor held her so close that she could feel the hard thrust of his arousal pressing against her, undeterred by a pair of finely tailored black trousers or the folds of a silk chiffon bridesmaid’s gown.

No boyfriend had dared slide his arm so far around her waist that he could brush his fingers up the under-slope of her breast and, in so doing, incite a wash of heat between her legs.

All of which, she concluded dizzily, was what separated the man from the boys.

Later, he danced with his mother, the mother of the bride, and the other four bridesmaids. Waltzed sedately with an elderly widowed aunt. Twirled the flower girls around the terrace, much to their shrieking delight. Boogied with other men’s wives, then returned them to their husbands, flushed and breathless and decidedly reluctant to let him go.

Finally, with the wedding festivities reaching a fever pitch of laughter and music and wine, he sought out Callie again.

“Come with me, la mia bella,” he urged, tugging her by the hand beyond the flare of twinkling lights illuminating the terrace, and into the shadows of the garden. “Let me show you our island, made all the more lovely by moonlight.”

The mere idea left her quivering with anticipation, but, “I think we’re supposed to stay until the bride and groom leave,” she replied primly.

“But they will not leave,” he assured her, snagging an open bottle of champagne chilling in a silver wine bucket. “Italian weddings do not end with the setting sun, cara mia. They are celebrated well into the small hours of the morning. We will return before anyone has the chance to miss us.”

She fought a brief, losing battle with her conscience, knowing her mother wouldn’t approve of her abandoning her maid-of-honor duties to run off with the best man. But wedding decorum couldn’t hold a candle to Paolo’s magnetic pull.

Fingers entwined with his, she followed him as he skirted the shrubbery separating the garden proper from the shore. The moon cast a path of hammered silver over the sea, and feathered in black the clumps of grass lining the beach.

“It’s breathtaking,” she whispered, entranced by the sight.

But Paolo grinned, his teeth blindingly white against the night-dark olive of his skin, and dragging her farther away from the light and music of the wedding, said, “You have seen nothing, yet, bella. Follow me.”

She knew the first thread of uneasiness, then. What, after all, did she really know about him? But as if he sensed her sudden qualms, he cupped her chin and, raising her face to his, said thickly, “What, Caroline? Are you not at all the woman I took you for, but a shy, untutored girl, unused to the attentions of a man like myself? If so, you have but to speak out, and I will take you back to your madre.”

“No,” she said, the faintly scornful laughter in his voice spurring her to recklessness. “I want to be with you, Paolo.”

He kissed her then, a hot, openmouthed kiss drenched in passion. She’d never been kissed like that before, with such ardent finesse. Never savored the heated taste of a man. Never realized that the thrust and retreat of his tongue in the dark moist confines of her mouth could arouse an elemental craving for the same invasion, there in that cloistered, feminine part of her no boy had ever stirred to awareness.

Conscious of the dull, sweet ache in her lower body, she let him guide her around a small outcropping of rock, to a secluded crescent of beach. A cabana stood in the lee of the low cliff. A private, safe place, perfect for an illicit tryst.

Without a word, she went inside with him. Let him pull her down beside him on a long, cushioned bench. Laughed, and pretended she was used to champagne, drinking it directly from the bottle, as he did.

It coursed through her blood. Stripped away her inhibitions. She felt his hands toying with the tiny straps holding up her gown, the cool play of night air on her bare breasts.

In some misty recess of her mind, it occurred to her that she should stop him. But he was flicking his tongue in her ear, whispering, in Italian, words of love no sane woman could resist: tesoro…bella…te amo…

Then his mouth was at her breast, and she was clutching handfuls of his hair and gasping with startled pleasure. She wanted more, and so did he. She heard his muttered curse, and the whisper of fragile chiffon splitting.

He pressed her down on the bench, ran his palm under her skirt. Up her legs. Between her thighs.

She stiffened, not so much afraid, as embarrassed. She didn’t want him to discover that her satin panties were damp…there, in that private place.

He stilled his hand immediately, and lifted his head to look at her. Although moonlight filtered through the latticed window openings, his face was shadowed, preventing her from reading his expression clearly, but she heard again the sudden doubt in his voice. “You want me to stop, cara mia? You are, perhaps, not as eager or willing as you led me to believe?”

“Of course I am!” she whispered, at once desperate and terrified. Desperate for him to continue, and terrified that he would.

“You are sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” she cried, as if, by protesting loudly enough, she could silence the voice of conscience battling to be heard, and listen only to the yearning in her heart. “I want you to make love to me, Paolo.”

When he seemed still to remain unconvinced, she took a hefty swallow of the champagne. Then, riding high on the false courage it gave her, she put the bottle aside and did the unthinkable. She clamped her thighs together, imprisoning his cupped hand against her. At the same time, she reached down and dared to touch him.

He was so hard and big that the fabric of his trousers was pulled taut. Enthralled, she shaped her fingers delicately over the contours of his erection.

Confined though it was by his clothing, his flesh throbbed. She could feel it. And all because of her!

His muffled groan of pleasure filled her with a heady sense of female power. All sleek muscle and tensile strength, he stood well over six feet tall. In physical confrontation with any other man, he would doubtless prove a formidable opponent. Yet she, at only five feet six inches, and weighing no more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, held him captive in the palm of her hand, both literally and figuratively. He was her prisoner; her slave!

Bolder by the second, she unsnapped the fastening of his trousers and inched open his fly. Wove her fingers inside his briefs until, freed at last, he sprang, hot and heavy and smooth as silk, into her hand.

She cradled him. Stared in dazed wonder. She wasn’t entirely ignorant. She knew how men were put together. In the privacy of their rooms at the exclusive all-girls’ boarding school she’d attended, she and her friends had pored over forbidden magazines and giggled furtively at illustrations that left little to the imagination. But nothing she’d learned had prepared her for the power and primitive beauty confronting her now.

“Oh!” she breathed, drawing tiny circles along his length until she reached its tip.

Any notion that she was in control fled then. With a low growl, he sent her skirt floating up around her waist, yanked off her panties and flung them carelessly to the floor. Looming over her, he pushed her legs apart and drove inside her.

Pain, sharp as slivered glass, pierced her champagne-induced euphoria, and she bit his shoulder to silence her cry. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It should be slow and lovely and tender. He should be holding her close and telling her he loved her, not pulling away with a shocked, “Dio! You are vergine?”

Vergine—virgin!

Fiercely she locked her arms around his neck and tugged him down until her breasts lay flattened by his chest. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, Paolo. I’m not a virgin.” And it wasn’t a lie, not really, even if it would have been, if she’d said the words a few minutes earlier.

“But yes!” Supporting his weight on his elbows, he stroked her cheek with trembling fingers. His voice was ragged with regret, his touch gentle. “Tesoro, I would not have treated you so…would not have brought you here—”

“Hush!” she protested softly, and when he went to withdraw, held his sleek, pulsing flesh captive between her thighs. Because, surprisingly, the discomfort had passed and so had the fear. Now, her body welcomed his invasion. Craved it, even. “This is what I want, it’s what I need…please, Paolo!”

He remained unconvinced, however, and afraid her introduction to intimacy would end before it had properly begun, she relied on blind instinct to guide her, tilting her hips and rocking against him in flagrant invitation.

His response was immediate and powerful. Seeming driven by demons he couldn’t control, he gave a moan of despair and drove deeply inside her, again and again, as if trying to outrun the enormity of something he wished he’d never started but hadn’t a hope of stopping.

Finding herself again in unknown territory, Callie tried to respond appropriately to the wild ride she’d initiated. She wasn’t sure what was expected of her, or how it would end, but she was very sure that she didn’t want to disappoint him.

She found, though, that it wasn’t so difficult to match her rhythm to his, or to murmur his name with heartfelt desire. When the tempo of their lovemaking increased, her little cry of pleasure was unpremeditated. When she dug her nails into his shoulders, she did so with unrehearsed joy and a real sense of anticipation.

Then he spoke, his words urgent with command. “Si,” he panted, cupping her bottom and seeming to hold himself on the brink of destruction. “Don’t hold back, tesoro! Let it happen now! Let me feel you come!”

And at that, she froze.

Come? She didn’t have a clue how to come! But she knew she was supposed to, and she knew if she didn’t that she’d disappoint him after all, and she’d seen enough movies to have some idea of what orgasm was all about, and what did one more little deception matter at this stage of the game? So she thrashed her head from side to side, jiggled convulsively up and down on the bench, and uttered a long-drawnout, breathy, When Harry Met Sally kind of “Ooh! Ooh, Paolo, yes!”

It seemed to work because, after a brief, disbelieving pause, Paolo tensed, shuddered violently, then collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving.

It was over. She’d survived her ordeal by fire and emerged relatively unscathed—or so she believed until he pulled away from her, and drawled, “We’ll take a rest, then try that again, Caroline. And the next time, you will come.”

She wished the earth would open up and swallow her. But by then too deep into a charade entirely of her own making to escape, she continued the lie. “I don’t know what you mean, Paolo.”

“No,” he said, disgust and amusement layering his voice. “I’m well aware of that. But it will be my pleasure to educate you in the fine art of true sexual completion. And when I am done with you, cara, you’ll never again have to pretend to come—at least, not when you’re with me.”

“You’re looking more ghastly by the minute, Caroline. Decidedly unwell, in fact. Are you feeling airsick? If so, I can have the steward bring you something to ease your discomfort.”

The past had roared back to haunt her so vividly that it took a moment for Callie to resurface in the present, and realize the man observing her with mild concern now was the same man who’d humiliated her so thoroughly nine years before.

“No,” she said, sipping her water to settle her queasy stomach. He, and not the jet, was the one making her feel ill. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“And I’m hardly convinced! Did I perhaps strike a nerve? Nudge your conscience a little?”

How complacent he was, lounging carelessly on the settee next to her. How insufferably sure he wielded the upper hand.

“You reminded me how callous you are,” she said. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten.”

“Callous?”

“That’s right. Only a complete cad would hark back to one insignificant night buried in the past, when his brother and sister-in-law have been recently killed and left two children orphans.”

“Hardly orphans, Caroline,” he replied, not the least put out by her comment. “The children have grandparents and an uncle who care deeply about them.”

“They have an aunt, too. And I care every bit as deeply about them as do you or your parents.”

“Yes?” He stroked his jaw idly, and shot her a glance half-hidden beneath his thick, black eyelashes. “Unless I’m mistaken—and I seldom am, by the way—we’ve already had this discussion, not two days past. For reasons which defy explanation, you chose to be nothing more than an aunt-in-name-only to the twins, which makes your professed deep attachment to them rather difficult to swallow.”

So here it comes, Callie thought. At last we’re getting down to the real heart of the matter.

Somehow controlling her voice so as not to betray the apprehension rippling through her, she said, “I’d find that remark offensive, if it weren’t so ludicrous. As it is, your arrogant assumption is nothing short of laughable. You have no idea what kind of connection I feel for those two children.”

He shrugged, an elegant, carelessly dismissive gesture. “I repeat, it is hard to imagine you feel any connection at all, considering how little time you’ve spent with them.”

“We lived half a world apart. Not exactly ideal for dropping by whenever the mood takes you.”

He indicated the plush leather upholstery in the aircraft cabin, the fine crystal and china on the mahogany table, the monogrammed linen napkins. “Thanks to advances in aerospace engineering, not to mention comfort, the world grows smaller every day, Caroline.”

“I lead a very busy life, and so did my sister.”

“Indeed, yes.” He nodded. “She traveled widely with my brother. He was heavily involved in the family automobile business, particularly as it pertained to our foreign dealerships.”

“I know that. Vanessa and I kept in close touch, even if we didn’t see each other often.”

“Then you must also be aware that once Clemente and Gina started school, they weren’t always free to accompany their parents. They stayed, instead, with their grandparents.”

“And your point is?” Although she tossed the question at him nonchalantly enough, Callie sensed where the conversation was leading, and another ominous chill ran up her spine.

“That my mother and father have invested a great deal of time and effort in the well-being of their grandchildren.” Leaning forward, he leveled a telling stare her way. “And that, in case you’re wondering, is the real reason I chose to meet you in Paris. Because if you harbor any notion that you’re going to disrupt the status quo, I intend to disabuse you of the idea before we touch down in Rome. I will not have my parents made any more upset than they already are.”

Unfortunately that would probably be unavoidable, but Callie decided now was not a good time to tell him so. Instead, choosing her words carefully, she said, “I don’t take pleasure in inflicting unnecessary pain on anyone, Paolo. It’s not my style.”

“My father will be particularly glad to hear it. My mother is suffering enough. He won’t tolerate you, or anyone else, adding to her misery.”

Ah, yes! The refined, reserved, decidedly suspicious Signor Salvatore Rainero thought all he had to do was snap his fingers and the rest of the world would gladly leap to accommodate his wishes.

Well, Ermanno hadn’t, and nor was Callie about to do so. Not that she relished heaping more grief on the Raineros who were unquestionably suffering greatly, but they weren’t the only ones with rights.

“Just so that we understand one another, Paolo, I won’t be bullied, not by you or your father. I have just lost my only sister—”

“And I, a brother. That should not make us enemies.”

“It seems not to make us friends, either, all your talk on the phone about my being family notwithstanding.”

“There is family, and then there is family, Caroline. You would be making a mistake to interpret my words as being anything more than an attempt to offer you comfort and sympathy at a time when you need both. My loyalty, first, last and always, lies primarily with my blood relatives.”

Goaded beyond caution, she shot back, “So does mine. Whether or not you like it, the twins are related as closely by blood to me as they are to you Raineros, and I promise you, I’m not about to take a back seat on your say-so. Far from it, Paolo. I intend to take a very active role in my niece’s and nephew’s future.”

His jaw tightened ominously. Fixing her in a glance so lethal that she shivered, he said softly, “Then I was mistaken. We are indeed fated to be enemies—and you should be aware that I make a formidable foe, my dear. Ask anyone who’s ever crossed me, and they’ll tell you I take no prisoners.”

CHAPTER THREE

IN CONTRAST to the bright day outside, the Rainero family crypt was dim, and terribly, terribly cold. The kind of cold that seeped into a person’s bones. A dead cold. Even if the sun had been able to penetrate the thick stone of the outer walls, its heat would have been rendered ineffectual. Not even raging fire could touch the vault’s smooth, thick marble floor and interior walls. They were impervious.

For Callie, this final part of the funeral proceedings was the most difficult to bear. The church in Rome had been filled with people, with human warmth and emotion. The swell of the organ, the scent of incense, the flowers, the ritual of prayer and hymns—they’d spoken of hope, of eternity. But here, on Isola di Gemma, with only the immediate family and a priest present, the finality of death hit home with a vengeance.

The small gathering of mourners formed a semicircle. Beside her, somber in a black suit and tie, Paolo stood with his head bent and his hands clasped at his waist.

Next to him, his mother wept silently, the tears running unchecked down her face. Her hands cupped the shoulders of the grandchildren in front of her, keeping them close, letting them know they were not alone.

Salvatore Rainero completed the group, his face unreadable, but Callie knew, if it had been left to him, she would not have been included in this final ceremony. Ever since her arrival at the Raineros’s Rome apartment, he had remained civil, but distant.

Nor had he been the only one. The children had greeted her with faces shuttered with pain and eyes downcast.

“Hello,” she’d murmured, her heart breaking for them. “Do you remember me?”

“You’re our aunt from America,” Gina replied politely, “and Mommy’s sister.”

“That’s right. She brought you to visit me when you were three, and then again when you turned five.” She knelt down and drew them into a hug, “Oh, my darlings, I’m so dreadfully sorry about what’s happened. I never thought that the next time we were together…”

Her voice broke and she fought to hold back the tears. “You still have your nonna and nonno, and your Uncle Paolo, but I want you to know that you have me, too, and I love you very much.”

They stood stiff as boards, tolerating her embrace because they were too well-mannered to push her away. But she felt their indifference anyway, and it hurt. It hurt badly.

In marked contrast, their grandmother had held out her arms and welcomed Callie with soft murmurs of sympathy. Lidia’s kindness, when she had her own burden of grief to bear, had filled Callie with guilt.

Small wonder Paolo was so protective of his mother. She was a woman who gave first to others, and thought of herself last. That she would shortly face losing her grandchildren to a virtual stranger would be a devastating blow.

Not that Callie had any intention of denying either grandparent access to the twins, nor Paolo, either, come to that. Her reasons for claiming the children weren’t based on malice or vengeance. They had to do with promises made over eight years before, when the children were newborn. But the Raineros would soon discover what Callie had realized long ago: that even with the best intentions, maintaining close ties with someone who lived half a world away was difficult at best.

Of course, in her case, there’d been more to it than a matter of miles. At nineteen, the only way she’d been able to cope with her situation had been to put geographical distance between herself and her children.

When Vanessa and Ermanno had first suggested adopting the twins, it had seemed the best solution. Best for the children, at least, because what had Callie to offer them but a heart full of love and not much else?

Her sister and brother-in-law, on the other hand, could give them the kind of life every child deserved: a stable, comfortable home, the best education money could buy, and most important, two parents. Wasn’t having both a mother and a father every child’s birthright?

At fifteen weeks pregnant, and beside herself with worry and grief, Callie had thought so. But as time passed, she had grown increasingly less sure. They were her babies. She had conceived them and carried them in her womb almost to term.

With the sweat pouring down her face and no loving husband at her side to cheer her on, she gave birth to them. Heard their first tremulous cries. And when they were placed in her arms, they’d filled the huge empty hole in her heart left by the man who would never know he’d sired the two most beautiful, perfect children in the world.

Give them up? Not as long as she had breath in her body! But in the end, and even though it had nearly killed her, she’d made the sacrifice. For their sakes. Because they deserved better than what she could give them. Because she was only just nineteen and hadn’t the wherewithal to support one child, let alone two. Because in allowing Vanessa and Ermanno to adopt them, they’d be with family and she’d know they’d always be cherished and loved. Because, because, because…

Who could have foreseen how tragedy would intervene and give her a second chance to take her rightful place in her children’s lives? And it was her right, wasn’t it? She was their birth mother.

Her gaze slid again to where they leaned against their grandmother, their little faces pinched with cold. Gina had cried herself to sleep last night and rebuffed Callie’s attempts to comfort her. She’d wanted her nonna. Natural enough, Callie had reasoned, but that didn’t soften the blow of rejection.

Clemente’s sadness was more contained. He said little, but the loss showed in his eyes—a mute uncertainty where, two weeks before, there had surely been absolute faith in a parent’s indestructibility. In his child’s world, the elderly might sometimes die, but mothers and fathers never did.

A sudden sob welled up in Callie’s throat. So much loss and sorrow for all of them, but especially the children. How could she justify tearing them away from everyone dear? How could she expect them to uproot themselves from the familiar, and settle in a foreign place, with a woman they barely knew?

And yet, how could she walk away from them again, when Vanessa had told her that, in their wills, she and Ermanno had named Callie the twins’ sole guardian. Ignore her dead sister’s wishes?

Promise me you’ll take over, if something should happen to us. Lidia and Salvatore are past the age where they can keep up with two active children on a full-time basis, and Paolo is no more fit to be a father than he is to look after a puppy. But you, Callie, you’re the perfect choice…the only choice…

Was she, after all? Had too many years gone by? Unsure of anything but a renewed sense of loss, Callie covered her mouth to suppress a sob.

A hand in the small of her back took her by surprise. “This is hard, I know, but lean on me, cara,” Paolo murmured, urging her close. “It will soon be over.”

He was wrong. It would never be over. No matter how things were resolved, someone would end up being dreadfully hurt.

The jolt of compassion, of the urge to pull her into the shelter of his arms and protect her, shook Paolo to the core. He’d thought himself armed against her. Believed his alliance with his parents too invincible to be breached by the one person who could wreak utter havoc and heartbreak on his family.

After their confrontation en route from Paris to Rome, that Caroline was capable of just such action was a foregone conclusion. He’d seen the determination in the tilt of her chin, in the sparks shooting from her lovely blue eyes. Had heard the implicit threat behind her declared intent to play a very active role in the twins’ future.

The insecure, anxious-to-please young maid-of-honor at his brother’s wedding had turned into a steely-spined woman on a mission. That, since her arrival, she’d shown hints of a softer side, especially in her dealings with his mother and the twins, was something Paolo had done his best to ignore. She was, after all, intelligent enough not to alienate those she most needed as allies.

Yet all that notwithstanding, her smothered sob touched him profoundly. All at once, she was not a one-person army bent on war, but a sadly outnumbered creature badly in need of a defender. The quivering droop of her mouth, the sheen of unshed tears glimmering in her eyes, rendered her powerless.

She had walked alone, with her head held high, as the family made its way through the grounds to the crypt. But when the brief burial ceremony ended, he tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow and, disregarding the censure in his father’s surprised glance, escorted her back to the villa.

“I remember the last time I was here,” she said quietly, stopping on the limestone path to gaze at the sea, turning dark now as the sun sank lower. “I never dreamed that when I came back again, it would be to bury my sister.”

He clasped her cold hand and squeezed it gently. “None of us did, Caroline.”

A tear sparkled on her lashes, clung there a moment, then broke free to trickle down her cheek. “I miss her desperately. Even though we lived so far apart, she was always there when I needed her.”

“I know. She loved you very much.”

“Yes. Far more than you can begin to understand.”

The rough edge of passion suddenly charging her grief, overlaid his sympathy with mistrust. In the last six years, as he’d gradually taken more control of the family business interests, he’d learned a lot about reading other people. His finely tuned instincts told him now that Caroline was hiding some sort of secret, one so onerous that even indirect reference to it left her eyes haunted with a sorrow that had to do with more than her sister’s death.

Although he wished it could be otherwise, instinct also warned him to unearth that secret before she used it as ammunition in the custody battle he knew was in the offing. Anxious not to alert her suspicions, he said casually, “Before he takes the motor launch back to the mainland, Father Dominic will stay to commiserate with my parents, over a glass of wine. I can’t speak for you, but I’ve had about all I can take of well-meant homilies on everlasting life. Right now, all I know is that I’ve lost a brother, and you’re the only person who really understands what I’m going through. Will you take a walk through the gardens with me, before the sun goes down completely?”

“I’d rather be with the children.”

He’d been afraid she’d say that, and had his reply all ready. “Jolanda will be supervising their early dinner. You’d be better off spending time with them later, before they go to bed.”

“Who’s Jolanda?”

“Our resident housekeeper. She and her husband live on the island and keep the villa prepared for whenever the family decides to visit. You don’t need to worry, Caroline. She’s known the children all their lives. They’re very comfortable with her.”

She shrugged, drawing his attention to how narrow and delicate her shoulders were beneath her black silk coat. “I suppose a little fresh air can’t hurt. Anything’s better than the scent of lilies. They used to be one of my favorite flowers, but all they are now is a reminder….”

“For me, too.” He steered her along a side path that wound through the manicured grounds. “Ermanno never liked them, either.”

“Were you and he very close?”

“Very, especially in the last few years. He was my mentor, my hero. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d never have amounted to anything more than a rich man’s idle son, with no ambition beyond catering to my self-indulgent lifestyle. I’d probably be dead myself, if it hadn’t been for him.”

He stopped, momentarily unable to continue as the absolute truth of his last statement hit home, and underlined yet again the extent of his personal loss. He could see the disgust on Ermanno’s face, hear it in his voice, as clearly as if it were just yesterday that he’d taken Paolo by the scruff of the neck, shaken him like a dog with a rat, then flung him down in the dust.

You make me ashamed to admit you’re my brother! You bring disgrace to the Rainero name, to everyone and everything you touch. What will it take for you to behave like a man, instead of a spoiled boy? How often will you break our mother’s heart before she turns her face to the wall and gives up, because living with the fear of what you’ll do next is more than she can bear? How many wrecked cars, and broken hearts, Paolo? How many fathers out for your blood, because of your treatment of their daughters? How many husbands seeking vengeance for their ruined marriages?

Well, this time the Rainero name and money won’t get you off the hook. This time, you take your punishment, and it starts with facing our father. Did you know he had a heart attack when the police showed up at his door to tell him that you’d been arrested for brawling, and that he lies now in a hospital bed, with no guarantee that he’ll survive? Do you even care?

For once, Paolo had had no glib answers. No pitiful excuses or shifting of blame. After a night in jail, with the dregs of Roman society keeping him company, he’d seen himself through Ermanno’s eyes, and it had sickened him.

At his side, Caroline gave a start of surprise. “What do you mean, you’d probably be dead yourself?”

“I was not a model son,” he said, soberly. “It took seeing my father clinging to life in a hospital bed, and knowing that I had put him there, for me to recognize the error of my ways.”

“Now that you mention it, I remember Vanessa telling me he’d been ill. Some sort of cardiac problem, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Fortunately his willpower was stronger than his heart. He made an amazing recovery.”

She made a face. “He’s the type who would.”

Too amused by her candor to take offense, he said, “You don’t much like him, do you?”

“No,” she said bluntly. “He never thought the Leightons were good enough to be associated with the Raineros.”

“As he got to know your sister better, he changed his mind about that. He even went so far as to say she was like a daughter to him.”

“I suppose he didn’t have much choice but to accept her. At least she didn’t put his life at risk, the way you say you did. Exactly how did you bring that about, by the way?”

“I publicly embarrassed him. He is a very proud man—too proud, some, including you, might say. But he was always a loving father, and it hurt him very deeply when I showed myself to be less than deserving of his affection, let alone his trust.”

“You appear to get along well enough now. How did you redeem yourself?”

“I accepted responsibility for my actions. Instead of taking for granted the privileges that came of being the son of wealthy parents, I started earning them. I took my intended place in the family business.”

“Sat behind a fancy desk in a fancy office, and dished out orders to underlings, you mean?” she said scornfully.

“No, Caroline. I started at the bottom, taking orders and learning from men often younger than myself, and worked my way into a position of authority only after I’d earned their respect. To coin a phrase often used in America, I smartened up.”

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

This time, he understood her tone, and the oddly closed expression on her face. “Yes,” he said. “And that brings me to a subject we’ve both avoided mentioning, except briefly. I refer, of course, to the night of my brother’s wedding.”

She went to pull her arm free of his. “I really don’t want to talk about that again.”

Trapping her hand, he said, “I’m afraid we must. At the very least, allow me to apologize. I deeply regret having behaved the way I did. I’m afraid I treated you very unfairly that night.”

“You did a lot more than that!” she cried heatedly, then clapped a hand to her mouth as if she’d accidentally bitten off the end of her tongue and was trying to stem the flow of blood.

Curious at her outburst, he said, “What do you mean, Caroline?”

“Never mind,” she mumbled. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If it can cause you such distress all these years later, it certainly does.” Tugging her to a stop, he turned her to face him. “What were my other sins?”

“Well, you’re so proud of how smart you are, so figure it out for yourself, for heaven’s sake!” All flushed and flustered, she glared at him. “It wasn’t just that night, it was…it was the next day…and the next week.”

Again, she seemed on the brink of some revelation which, at the last second, she thought better of. “But we were together just that one time, Caroline.”

“Yes, and you couldn’t have made it any clearer I’d better not expect a repeat performance!”

“Did you want one?” he asked, refusing to acknowledge the untoward stirring of desire such a prospect inspired.

“Absolutely not!” she said, vehemently. “But that was no reason for you to parade another woman under my nose.”

“There were always other women in those days, cara.”

“And you made it abundantly clear that I was just one of them.”

“Mea culpa! My behavior was inexcusable.” He cupped her chin, again forcing her to meet his gaze. “But without trying to shift blame, I feel justified in pointing out that you were not entirely without fault. You let me believe you were sexually experienced when, in fact, you were anything but.”

“I’m surprised you even remember!”

“Such bitterness, so long after the fact, is out of all proportion to the incident,” he said, regarding her thoughtfully. “What aren’t you telling me, Caroline? What’s been eating at you all this time, that you’re still so full of anger toward me?”

She grew very still, and very pale. “Nothing. Seeing you again, here on this island, just brings everything back, that’s all.”

“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“You…laughed at me. Made me feel inadequate…hopeless at sex.”

“Then I should have been horse-whipped. You were a novice, yes, but you were enchanting, too. Ethereal in a gauzy confection of a gown that made you look like a princess.”

And with skin as fine as purest silk…and flesh so firm and tight that a man would have had to be made of stone not to respond with blind, untempered passion…!

“Never mind trying to flatter me at this late date, Paolo,” she said coolly. “I know I made a fool of myself.”

A vicious streak of desire licked through his blood. “What if it isn’t flattery? What if I’m finally admitting to a long-overdue truth? You’re a beautiful woman, Caroline, and I don’t believe for a minute that I’m the first man to tell you so.”

She blushed and ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, drawing his eye to the delicious curve of her mouth, and leading him to wonder how many men had tasted it in the last nine years. She was more than beautiful; she was exquisite. Fine-boned, delicately featured…and seductively feminine, in a refined, understated way. How had he managed to dismiss all that, the first time around?

She held the collar of her coat close to her throat and shivered, although her color remained high. “I think I’d like to go inside now.”

“Do I embarrass you by speaking so frankly?”

“No, but I’m surprised. We’ve been pretty much at odds ever since Paris. In fact, you’ve barely addressed a single word to me in the last four days, and now you’re suddenly full of compliments. Forgive me if I find that rather suspicious.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “I’m having second thoughts about you. Perhaps I’ve misjudged you. Isn’t that possible?”

“Possible.” She tilted her shoulder in a tiny shrug. “But not probable.”

“Then perhaps you misjudge me.”

“Equally possible, I suppose.”

“And just as improbable?”

“I’m willing to keep an open mind on the matter.”

A curious lightness filled him, blurring the sharp edges of his grief. Tucking her arm firmly in his again, he said, “Then I propose we call a truce, at least for now.”

Thoughtfully she tipped her head to one side, a slight movement only, but it was enough to send her hair sliding over her shoulder in a fall of cool, blond silk. It took all his self-control not to catch it in his hand and let it spill between his fingers. “I guess it won’t hurt to try.”

He wasn’t quite so sure. All at once, none of the truths to which he held fast seemed quite as absolute anymore.

“I have decided we shall remain here for another week,” Salvatore announced, when the adults congregated in the day salon for coffee, after dinner. “This is a peaceful place, a place to start the healing.”

“Another week?” Callie glanced from Lidia, to Paolo.

Neither seemed inclined to question the head of the household. Typical, she thought. The master speaks, and the other two jump to obey his commands. “I’d hoped to be back home by then.”

Salvatore inspected her down the length of his aristocratic nose. “We have no wish to detain you, if you’re in a hurry to leave us, Caroline.”

“It’s not that I’m in a hurry, Signor Rainero. You’ve been more than kind hosts and I’m grateful. However, I have obligations in San Francisco.”

“And they are uppermost in your mind at this time, are they?”

How smoothly he managed to shift the context of her words and leave them cloaked in unflattering connotation! “Not at all,” she said, meeting his gaze defiantly. “But I came here in a hurry and left others to take over my responsibilities at work. I hardly feel entitled to be absent any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“I understand.” He waved his hand as if he were bestowing a benediction. “You are a career person. I confess I had forgotten. In my family, you see, the women are content to be wives and mothers. That is their career.”

“What happens to those who don’t want to marry or have children?”

“There is no such creature,” he said, scandalized. “To have a husband and bear his children is an honor no self-respecting Italian woman would reject.”

Callie couldn’t let such an arrogant, outdated remark go unchallenged. “You’re living in the dark ages, if you believe that!”

Paolo directed a look at his father and smiled. After a barely perceptible pause, Salvatore smiled, too, albeit thinly, and said, “I daresay I am a little out of touch. Tell me what it is you do, my dear, that you find so absorbing.”

A little unnerved by his abrupt turnabout, she said, “I’m an architect.”

“You must be very clever. What is your area of expertise?”

“I specialize in the restoration of Victorian houses.”

“An admirable undertaking.” Salvatore nodded approval. “We are not so different in our thinking, after all, in that we both recognize the importance of preserving the past. You must have spent years acquiring the knowledge to embark on such a career. Remind me again where you attended school.”

“In the States,” she replied evasively, suddenly uncomfortable at being the center of his probing attention. He could nod his handsome head and twinkle his dark eyes all he pleased, but he had a mind like a steel trap, and it was busily at work trying to put her off balance.

Nor was he the only one. Not about to let her get away with such a vague answer, Paolo said, “You’re being much too modest, Caroline. As I recall, you won a scholarship to one of America’s Ivy league universities. Smith, wasn’t it?”

“Smith?” Salvatore sat up straighter. “Then it’s small wonder you don’t have time for marriage or children. It would be a pity to waste such a fine education. How long were you there?”

“I wasn’t,” she said, desperate to steer the conversation into safer channels. “And I didn’t say—”

But Paolo cut her off. “You mean, you didn’t go to Smith, after all? Why ever not?”

“What does it matter?” she shot back irritably. “The point I’m trying to make, if you’d do me the courtesy of letting me finish a sentence, is that I never said I didn’t want children. In fact, I shortly hope to take on just such a responsibility, and very much look forward to doing so.”

“You’re getting married?”

“You’re pregnant?”

Almost simultaneously, Salvatore and Paolo fired the questions at her.

“Neither,” she said, aware that she’d painted herself into a corner. But there was no escaping it now, not unless she wanted to give the impression she didn’t care what happened to her niece and nephew, and really, what was the point in delaying the inevitable?

Bracing herself, she said, as tactfully as she knew how, “I’m talking about Gina and Clemente. I know this probably comes as a shock to you, and please be assured I’m not trying to be deliberately hurtful, but I’m well able to provide a home for the twins in the States, and I’m wondering if their living with me might be good for them, at least for a while.”

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