The Good, the Bad and the Wild (16 page)

‘Can you tell me,’ Don Vincenzo asked, contemplating
his glass, ‘has Niccolo read his father’s journal?’

She shook her head. ‘No, he hasn’t.’ She didn’t elaborate, deciding Vincenzo didn’t need to know the whole truth—that Nick had refused to read it.

The old man bowed his head. ‘So that does not explain his dislike of me.’

‘Nick doesn’t dislike you,’ she countered, her sympathy for the duca increasing. She was beginning to realise that this reunion meant a great deal to the old man, and not just for reasons of heredity. Did he hope to forge a relationship with his grandson to replace the unhealthy relationship he seemed to have had with his son? From what she knew about Nick, she suspected the duca was doomed to failure but she didn’t want to add to his pain. ‘Nick doesn’t even know you,’ she continued. ‘I just think he’s a little overwhelmed by the whole…’ She paused, trying to think of a suitable explanation for Nick’s animosity. ‘By the prospect of the title.’ She finished lamely, knowing perfectly well Nick was as disdainful of the duca’s title as everything else.

‘But Niccolo cannot inherit the title.’ The duca lifted his head, concern making his voice crack. ‘The rules of primogeniture are clear on the matter. I can only pass the title to a legitimate male heir.’

She had known, and now wished she hadn’t
said anything. She laid her hand on Vincenzo’s gnarled fingers. ‘Don’t worry about that, I’m sure Nick doesn’t expect—’

‘Does Niccolo know he cannot inherit the title?’ the duca asked carefully.

‘Nick doesn’t want the title.’

Eva’s head whipped round at the abrupt interruption. Nick stood on the edge of the terazzo, his legs crossed at the ankle and his hip propped against the low stone wall.

How long had he been standing there? From the stark look on his face she suspected quite a while and her heart fluttered uncomfortably. Had he heard her presuming to know what his thoughts and feelings were on the subject of his inheritance? And worse, had he heard Don Vincenzo talking about his son? She was suddenly grateful he hadn’t taken her up on her offer to read the journal. While it might help him to forgive his mother, did anyone really need to know they had been conceived in such a reckless, loveless way?

‘Niccolo, you have joined us.’ The old man stood, his face carefully wiped clean of emotion. ‘We are indeed honoured.’ The pleasure in Vincenzo’s voice was tinged with irony.

Seeing Nick’s brow furrow, Eva felt a slight smile tremble on her lips at the evidence of his frustration.

Nick might want to despise his grandfather—and believe he had nothing in common
with the man—but she had a feeling he wasn’t going to find it as easy as he had probably assumed to deny his heritage. The Duca D’Alegria was a man of honour and integrity, a man for whom family and tradition meant a great deal, but more than that, the man had a sharp intelligence and a dry wit. Surely even a loner like Nick would find that hard to resist?

As the two men continued to spar over Prosecco and canapés it occurred to Eva that she would miss watching the two of them lock horns as they got to know each other over the next two weeks.

But the wistful thought cleared abruptly as the three of them were led into dinner by Eduardo and Nick’s hand settled on her lower back under the pretext of directing her into the dining salon. Heat from the brief touch shimmered through her entire body before she could step out of reach. As Lorenzo the footman held out her chair she looked up to catch Nick’s eyes watching her, his heavy-lidded gaze dark with knowledge.

As Eva choked down the first course of asparagus tips wrapped in Parma ham, she let the men’s stilted conversation wash over her and studiously avoided meeting Nick’s gaze again. She was way out of her depth here.

Nick wasn’t vulnerable, or insecure—he was reckless and unpredictable and a dangerous man to get involved with, on any level.

She had to leave the palazzo before she did something monumentally stupid. Again.

‘Don Vincenzo, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to return to the UK tomorrow after I’ve done the client presentation?’ Eva heard the clatter of Nick’s cutlery but kept her gaze fixed on their host.

She’d waited through their starter, a pasta course of crab linguini, an entrée of rabbit cacciatore and summer vegetables and a dessert of strawberry tiramisu, listening to Nick’s monosyllabic answers to all his grandfather’s questions, while apprehension tightened her stomach and she struggled to swallow a single bite.

Vincenzo lifted the bottle of wine they had been sharing out of its wine bucket and topped up her glass. His gaze drifted past her to Nick, whom she suspected was glaring at her, but she had to be grateful he hadn’t said anything. At last Vincenzo addressed her. ‘I never speak of business while I am dining, Eva. It is an Italian’s prerogative to do everything in their power not to spoil their digestion.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The tension stretched taut, but she soldiered on. ‘I understand completely, but maybe we could discuss it tomorrow then,’ she added hopefully, not wanting to be put off. This was her way out, because she was very much afraid that her resolve wasn’t going to stand up to more than one night in the room next door to Nick.

‘I have arranged for you to travel to Milan tomorrow to see Luca, while I take Niccolo on a tour of my properties in Riva del Garda,’ Vincenzo said easily. ‘But once you have shown your research to my solicitors, I see no reason why you should not return to London.’

Eva sent him a tremulous smile. It was a lifeline, if not much of one. Surely she could keep her hormones in check for a couple of days. ‘Thanks, that would be—’

‘Eva comes with us to Riva del Garda.’

Eva whisked her head round, to find Nick sipping his wine, his gaze willing her to challenge him. ‘She can see the lawyers another day.’

‘Excuse me, but it’s not your decision to make,’ Eva said through gritted teeth. How dared he presume to intervene? This was her job. ‘It’s up to Don Vincenzo when I—’

‘Now, now, children.’ Vincenzo gave a gruff laugh, holding up his hands to silence her tirade. ‘While my grandson’s manners could do with improvement,’ he said, casting a quelling glance at Nick, ‘he is right. There is no rush for Luca to see the presentation. You are more than welcome to accompany us to Riva del Garda, Eva.’ Vincenzo rang a small bell, signalling the staff to clear their plates. ‘In fact, I insist you come. It is a magnificent little town, full of history. You will enjoy it.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ Eva said politely, her jaw tense as she realised Nick had managed to manipulate
the situation again without even trying. ‘And I appreciate the invitation, but I—’

‘It is settled, then,’ Vincenzo announced, steamrolling over her objection. ‘I will inform Luca to expect you another day.’

Eva was forced to nod her assent as her lifeline vanished. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she murmured, her jaw so rigid now it was a wonder she hadn’t cracked a tooth. It seemed Nick and his grandfather had more in common than just their looks, she thought as Lorenzo whisked away her dessert plate.

‘Do you mind if I excuse myself, Don Vincenzo?’ she said laying her napkin on the table. She needed to get out of here, before she gave into the overpowering urge to give Nick a good solid whack on the shins under the table. ‘I’m exhausted.’

‘No of course not.’ The old man rose too, shooting Nick another stern look when he remained seated. To Eva’s silent astonishment, Nick took the hint and, throwing his napkin onto his plate, pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

As she dashed back to her room through the palazzo’s corridors she conceded two things: even if Don Vincenzo managed to teach Nick some much needed manners, he would never be remotely civilised—and she needed a new plan. Fast.

When she reached the bedroom, she flipped
the lock, then eyed the connecting door that led to their shared bathroom—which she already knew didn’t have a lock.

Dragging an inlaid-gold armchair that stood next to an antique writing desk across the thick silk carpeting, she propped it under the gilt handle, tried the door, then stood back to admire her work. Okay, it was a little desperate and extremely lowering to realise she didn’t trust herself to resist that hungry look in Nick’s eye should he pay her a surprise visit.

But at least she had a new and brilliantly simple strategy to keep him—and herself—under control. For tonight at any rate.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rafe’s mane of midnight black hair caught the wind, the tempest of emotion on his face as wild and unyielding as the thunderous roar of the sea pounding the ship’s deck. ‘Ye shall not deny me another night, Shanna,’ he yelled. ‘I own ye now.’

‘Take me then,’ Shanna hurled the words through the lashing rain. ‘But you shall never own me,’ she cried, the fire in her belly igniting as his manhood plunged deep.

E
VA
groaned and closed her favourite book. It was no good. However hard she tried, instead of seeing Rafe the Pirate Captain and Shanna the fiery beauty who had brought him to his knees, she kept seeing Nick and herself. But Nick wasn’t the one being brought to his knees.

Her head shot up at the muffled thump on the balcony. An all-too-familiar silhouette appeared in the open terrace doors. She shrieked
and jerked upright in bed—and
The Pirate’s Captive
flew out of her hands and landed on the carpet with a thud.

‘Nick!’ The figure strolled into the room. ‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.

‘Paying you a visit,’ he said, his breathtakingly handsome face illuminated by the dim light from the bedside lamp. ‘What does it look like?’

She leapt out of bed, determined not to be caught lying down, and cursed her own stupidity. Her brilliantly simple plan had a major flaw. The palazzo had no air conditioning, so she’d left the balcony doors open to let the lavender scented breeze from the gardens cool the still air. She’d noticed the neighboring balconies on the bathroom and Nick’s room, but hadn’t given them a second thought, because they were a good three feet apart. How on earth had he got across? Without breaking his neck?

‘You can’t come in here.’ She headed towards him, deciding to lead with her temper and ignore the pump of adrenaline making her limbs tremble. ‘You have to leave.’ She thrust her forefinger towards the balcony doors to point him in the right direction. ‘Now.’

Instead of following her perfectly succinct order, he walked right past her. ‘That’s gratitude for you,’ he said lazily. ‘When I’ve just risked life and limb to safeguard your reputation.’

She slapped her palms on her hips.
‘My reputation?’
she snapped. ‘You’re in my room in the middle of the night!’ she whispered furiously.

Just because her breasts were tingling beneath the skimpy silk of her nightgown, and she’d been imagining him ravishing her on the deck of a pirate ship she definitely did not want him here. ‘How is that going to safeguard
my
reputation?’

‘No need to get your knickers in a twist,’ he countered, the statement making her uncomfortably aware that she had no knickers on to get in a twist. ‘No one knows I’m here.’

Before she could tell him that was hardly the point, he gestured to the chair propped against the bathroom door and swore softly. ‘I knew it,’ he muttered, exasperated. ‘You barred the door.’ His eyes drifted down her frame. ‘Now how childish is that?’ he drawled, a slow smile appearing.

Her nipples puckered into hard points, so she crossed her arms over her chest.

‘It’s not childish,’ she muttered, the swelling in her breasts and the pounding between her thighs making it impossible to maintain an adequate level of scorn in her voice. ‘Certainly not as childish as climbing about on balconies in the middle of the night,’ she added.

He shrugged, picking up the summer dress she’d left flung over a chair. ‘I wanted to see you.’ He raised the dress to his face and took a deep breath.

She forced down the blip in her heartbeat at the possessive tone, the sensual gesture. ‘Well I don’t want to see you,’ she countered, and tried to make herself believe it.

‘What have we here?’ he murmured, spotting something on the floor as he flung her dress on the bed. Bending down, he rose holding her discarded paperback. ‘Well, well, I never would have guessed it.’ He gave a gruff laugh, examining the battered cover—which bore a colourful illustration of a bare-chested Rafe and an all but bare-breasted Shanna in an extravagant clinch. ‘You read porn.’

She gasped. ‘It’s not porn.’ She tried to grab the book, but he held it easily out of reach. ‘It’s romantic fiction.’

He chuckled. ‘Girly porn, then.’

‘It’s not porn of any kind.’

‘Let’s read it and see.’ He held the book down, began to rifle through the pages.

She snatched the paperback out of his hands. ‘It’s
not
porn,’ she said, whipping the book behind her back. ‘You’ll have to take my word for it.’

No way was she letting him read the book, especially the passages she’d dog-eared. It would only inflame the situation—and her. And her body was already on fire. His big body brushing hers as he backed her into a corner.