A Shadow of Guilt

Valentina was sitting up on the bed holding the robe to her naked chest, in shock, for a long minute afterwards. Gio had left the room, pulling on his shirt as he did with just a curt, ‘I’ll wait outside.’

She

felt cold all over and yet still hot and tingly inside. The sense of something momentous being ripped out of her grasp was huge. There was an awful sting to his rejection of her because she was a virgin, a sting that cut much deeper than she liked to acknowledge. To avoid looking at that far too controversial subject, Valentina allowed anger to rise into her overheated brain. How dared Gio react like that?

The anger gave her the impetus to move and with stiff arms she pulled on the robe and belted it tightly around her and stalked out to the living area. When she emerged it was to see the rigid lines of Gio’s body as he looked out the window with his back to her. He clearly knew she was there as she saw him tense even more.

Valentina resisted the urge to pick something up and fling it at his head. Instead she said with saccharine sweetness, ‘I’ll just go and divest myself of my virginity and be back so we can continue where we left off, shall I?’

Gio whirled around, arms crossed and muscles bunched. Tension stamped all over his features. He looked wild and uncivilised and it made Valentina feel even hotter.

‘You should have been honest with me.’

Valentina crossed her arms and laughed out loud. ‘You are such a hypocrite! You just told me that you’ve slept with women and not even remembered their names—how do you know that they weren’t virgins?’

Gio winced. Why on earth had he spilled his guts like that? He’d never articulated to anyone how empty and meaningless those two years were. How low he’d sunk.

He tried to ignore how achingly sexy Valentina looked in nothing but the robe with her dark hair spread out across her shoulders. Frustration coursed through his veins, making his body hurt. He bit out, ‘They weren’t. Believe me.’

Valentina taunted, ‘So I should preface every kiss I have with a man with “By the way I’m a virgin”?’

Something dark went into Gio’s gut at the thought of her kissing any other man. ‘Yes, especially if every kiss ends up with you lying half naked on a bed.’

Valentina sucked in a gasp at the injustice of that comment and felt the prickle of humiliating tears. All she could think of right then was how ardently she’d thrown herself at Gio, how she’d begged him to kiss her. Make love to her. She’d been gyrating on his lap like some kind of an exotic dancer. He’d tried to stop her, had asked her twice if she wanted this, and each time she’d said a resounding yes.

As if sensing her turmoil Gio uncrossed his arms and put out a hand. Valentina backed away and fire raced up her spine, obliterating any lingering desire. ‘I hate you, Giacomo Corretti. And I wouldn’t sleep with you now if you were the last man on this earth.’

Valentina whirled around and hated that tears were blurring her vision. She dashed them away and went back into the bedroom where she ripped off the robe and dragged on her clothes, every move she’d made and kiss she’d just given this man running through her head like a bad B-movie.

When she re-emerged she stalked straight to the main door, turned the key and had her hand on the handle before she felt a hand on her other arm. Instantly sensations ran all the way down to her groin and her still-sensitive breasts peaked.

‘Look, Valentina, wait—’

She ripped her arm free and looked up into Gio’s face. The contrition she saw there sent her over the edge. She could handle anything but not this … pity. She lifted a hand and before she was even aware of the impulse, it had connected so hard with his face that his head snapped around. Trembling all over from an overdose of adrenalin and emotion she said, ‘Don’t touch me again. Ever.’

The first day of the Corretti Cup race meeting was dawning and Gio stood in his study office looking out the window at the hive of activity in every corner of the racetrack. It was usually his favourite time of the year but this year he was impossibly distracted. Distracted by a five-foot-seven chestnut-haired, amber-eyed temptress and a level of sexual frustration he’d never known could exist. Not to mention the ever-simmering cauldron of emotions in his gut—ever since he’d seen her again. Gone was the numb shell that had been encasing him since he’d returned to Sicily.

Valentina.

Her name was on his mind, his lips, every waking moment. He could still feel the sting of her hand across his face. It had been no less than he’d deserved. When he’d realised she was a virgin he’d reacted viscerally. He could never be the one to take that prize from her. It would be a travesty. Yet she had been ready to give it—in the heat of the moment. Gio knew damn well that in the aftermath Valentina would have realised the magnitude of what she’d just done and with who, and she would have felt nothing but disgust for giving in to such base desires.

Grief for Mario—talking about him had defused something between them, but no way was it strong enough to withstand the bitter and deep anger she undoubtedly still felt towards Gio. The chemistry that sizzled between them had obscured that momentarily.

She might hate him for rejecting her now, but he’d saved him and her from that simmering enmity deepening even more.

Gio knew all this and repeated it over and over again to himself but the truth was that he was lying to himself. Because for all of his lofty assertions to Valentina that he didn’t sleep with virgins, all he wanted to do was close the gates to his racetrack, turn everyone away, find her and put her over his shoulder like a caveman. And then he wanted to take her to a quiet place and make love to her until they were both weak and sated.

Until she was no longer a virgin. Until she was his and no one else’s.

Valentina should have been focusing on the task at hand—the first day of the Corretti Cup—but her mind kept veering off track back to the other evening and the excruciating humiliation of having Gio reject her because she was a virgin.

Even now, hot tears pricked her eyes and to counteract the weak emotion she stabbed a fork with unnecessary zeal into a piece of pork. She felt so conflicted … the hate she’d always felt for Gio was disturbingly elusive now. She wanted to think of his rejection, hold that to her like a cold justification, but she kept thinking about what he’d told her.

He’d ripped apart a huge part of her defence around him by revealing what he’d gone through after Mario’s death.

And then he’d taken her in his arms … and Valentina had turned into a complete stranger. She’d begged him to kiss her, to make love to her. Self-disgust filled her now. Few men would turn that down … and Gio had merely proved himself as susceptible to a warm willing body as the next man. What he hadn’t counted on was her unwelcome innocence.

The hurt that seized her in the pit of her belly reminded Valentina that his rejection had cut far deeper than she wanted to acknowledge.