The Italian's Revenge

‘Around five—why the inquisition?’ he asked dazedly.

‘Marietta left here straight after you last night and arrived back half an hour before you say you got back,’ she informed him. ‘Is that the standard time-lapse for secret trysts these days? Only it’s best to know the form when I start some trysts of my own.’

‘You think I was with Marietta.’ He began to catch on

at last. ‘Madre di Dio,’ he sighed. ‘When are you going to try trusting me?’

Not in this lifetime, Catherine thought bitterly. ‘How long will you be away?’

‘About a week—’ He went to say more, but Catherine beat him to it.

‘Staying where?’

‘The company apartment—where else?’ he sighed out heavily. ‘Catherine, it was you who told me to keep her out of the way,’ he tagged on impatiently. ‘And that is exactly what I am trying to do!’

‘Enjoy yourself, then.’

Wrong thing to say, she realised as he suddenly leapt at her. She was trapped in his arms before she could gasp. And his mouth, when it found hers, was intent on taking no prisoners.

Yet—what did she do? She surrendered was what she did. Without a fight and without dignity she let her head tilt backwards, parted her lips—and let him do whatever it was that he wanted to do.

The slave for her master, she likened, not even bothering to be disgusted with herself as her fingers turned into claws that took a grip on his head and she let the power of his hungry, angry passion completely overwhelm her.

And his hands were everywhere, yanking off her little jacket, raking up her top, and the flimsy lace bra she was wearing beneath it, was no barrier at all against those magic fingers. She started whimpering with pleasure. He laughed into her mouth, then reached up to grab hold of one her hands and dragged it down to press it hard against his rising sex.

‘Now this is what I call enjoying myself,’ he muttered, as he transferred his mouth to one of the breasts he had prepared for himself.

As he sucked, and sensation went rampaging through her, the telephone by the bed began to ring. His dark head came up. It would be Marietta, telling him to get a move on.

‘Answer that and you’re dead,’ Catherine told him, and to state her point her fingers closed more tightly around him.

On a growl of sheer sensual torment he caught her mouth again, sent her mind spinning, drove her straight back out to where they’d both briefly emerged from, while the ring of the telephone acted like a spur to every single sense they possessed as she slowly eased her grip to begin sliding her palm along the full throbbing length of him with the intention of finding the tab to his trouser zip—

He stepped away from her so quickly she barely registered what was happening. And as her confused eyes focused on the wicked grin slashing his arrogant features she realised why he had stepped away as abruptly as he had.

Or he would not have escaped without injury. Vito was well aware that his wife could be a little hell-cat when she wanted to be, and the grin he was offering her was one of triumph, because he knew he had just stage-managed his own very lucky escape.

‘Hold that thought,’ he commanded. And with one flashing, gleaming dip at the way she was standing there—looking utterly ravaged without the ravaging—he had the damn audacity to wink! ‘I will be back to collect the rest at the end of the week.’

He was gone before she could answer. And as she stood there blinking bemusedly at the back of the door, unable to believe she had let him do this to her, the telephone kept on ringing with a ruthless persistence that was Marietta.

Yet what did she find herself doing? She found herself standing there loving the sound of that ringing telephone, knowing that Marietta must be seething in frustration while she stubbornly hung on there, waiting for one of them to answer. And also knowing, by the length of time it took the ringing to stop, that Vito had needed to take time to compose himself before going to find Marietta.

* * *

It ended up being a strange week all told. A long week that made her feel a bit like a bride marking time before her big day—though she was truly annoyed with herself for feeling like that.

The man leaves one decidedly provocative taunt hanging in the air and you respond to it like this, she scolded herself crossly. But it didn’t stop her from feeling pumped up with a waiting expectancy which had her almost floating hazily through the ensuing days until Vito’s return.

The man was her weakness, his body a temple at which she worshipped whether she liked it or not. Control was a no-word where he was concerned. It always had been. Weak of the mind, weak of the flesh and weak of the spirit was what she was.

So she tried very hard to combat all of that by throwing herself into a whirl of activity that didn’t seem to achieve anything. She had lunch each day with old acquaintances, put out feelers about a job, then found herself in no rush to take one—though she didn’t understand it, since she had thought a job was her number one priority if she was going to make her life bearable here.

Another thing she learned was that Luisa was no part-time grandmother. She adored Santo. In fact she loved nothing better than to have her grandson with her all day and every day. She did things with him, took him places with her, was always interested in everything he had to say. And Santo blossomed under her loving attention. Not that he hadn’t been happy with just Catherine back in London, because he had been—very happy. It was just that watching from the sidelines how Luisa treated Santo made Catherine realise why Vito was the man he was. Luisa seemed to instinctively instill confidence and self-belief into Santo, and she would have done the same for her own son.

A son who rang home every evening religiously. Spoke to his mother, spoke to his son—and spoke to Catherine.

Neither of them mentioned Marietta during those telephone calls. Catherine wouldn’t in case the wretched woman was there in the room with him and would therefore know that her existence worried Catherine. And Vito didn’t mention her because, Catherine presumed, Marietta was right there with him and he didn’t want Catherine to know.