The Sicilian's Scandalous Secret

‘I have five homes.’ Santo wondered how he could still want her so badly after a night of cataclysmic sex. ‘I agree that the apartment isn’t suitable for our immediate needs so I’m moving us all into our house on the beach.’

‘Your childhood home?’

‘The position is perfect and the structure sound. I’ve been renovating it for the past six months and, with a few overnight adjustments, it’s perfect for a family. It has many useful features which I know will appeal to you—’ he paused ‘—including a boathouse.’

He’d expected her to be delighted. She’d spent half her childhood hiding out there, hadn’t she? She obviously liked it.

But there was no sign of the gratitude he’d been expecting. Instead her cheeks lost the last of their colour. She seemed about to speak, but then clamped her mouth shut and stared over the bay, struggling for control.

When she finally spoke, she was perfectly composed but she didn’t look at him. ‘We’ll live wherever you want us to live, of course.’

The implication being that she would be going under sufferance.

Having expected gratitude, Santo felt a rush of frustration. He’d grown up in a family that always said what they thought. Dani said what she thought so often he frequently wanted to throttle her. Family gatherings were noisy. Everyone had an opinion and didn’t hesitate to express it, usually at high volume and invariably simultaneously. He wasn’t used to having to read a female mind. ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he said tightly. ‘Living there will allow you to continue to run your business, visit your grandfather and still sleep in my bed.’ That comment brought the colour back into her cheeks but still she didn’t look at him.

Conscious of Luca, Santo bit back the comment that tasted like acid on his tongue. ‘We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes. Be ready.’

* * *

Confused and unsettled, Fia threw herself back into her work. And if the memory of that tender kiss lingered, she tried to eradicate it by reminding herself that it had been for the benefit of her son. There was no tenderness in what she and Santo shared. There was heat—plenty of heat. It was physical. Nothing more.

Having tried to diminish it in her mind, it was doubly frustrating that she kept thinking about it. Relieved to have something to distract her, she didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed to discover that the Beach Shack had flourished in her absence.

‘That chef Ferrara sent over here was good. He kept the menus the same, Boss.’ Ben put a basket of glossy purple aubergines down on the floor. ‘These look good. We put pasta con funghi e melanzane on the lunch menu. Are you happy with that?’

‘Yes.’ It felt good to throw herself back into her job and frustrating to discover that work didn’t provide the distraction she needed. It didn’t matter what she did, her brain kept returning to the moment the two of them had slammed into the wall, so desperate for each other that they’d thought of nothing but the need to slake their mutual lust. For years she’d longed for an experience powerful enough to overshadow the memory of the night she’d got pregnant with Luca, and now she had it tenfold.

‘Er…is something wrong?’ Ben gave her a nudge. ‘Because you don’t look as if you’re concentrating and that’s a dangerous way to be around a naked flame. You might burn yourself.’

It was a perfect description of how she felt after the previous night. As if she’d been scorched by a naked flame. Her entire body was still smouldering from the heat they’d produced together. Fia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to blot out the vision of smooth, powerful shoulders encasing her as he drove them both hard towards a shattering climax.

‘Boss?’ Ben’s voice intruded on the erotic vision. ‘Er…Fia?’

She gulped and snapped herself back to the present. ‘What?’

‘You look…distracted.’

‘I’m fine,’ she croaked. ‘I just want to get on with the job. Right?’

Ben looked at her oddly. ‘Right.’

‘I’m just a bit tired. I need to concentrate, that’s all.’ She stared at the basket of glossy aubergines and for a moment she couldn’t remember what she was supposed to do with them. All she could think about was the sensual curve of Santo’s mouth as he bent his head to kiss her, of the skill of his fingers and the way he—

Furious with herself, she muttered something rude in Italian under her breath and Ben wisely scooped up the meals she’d plated up and retreated to the safety of the restaurant.

Gina was less sensitive. Being a typical girl, she wanted details. ‘I read that article that said the two of you had been secretly in love since you were young—’ she sighed ‘—that’s so romantic.’

No, Fia thought grimly, frying aubergine slices until they were brown and softened. It was PR on his part, but to tell the truth would be to subject Luca to gossip so she kept silent and went along with the ‘long lost love’ scenario that the whole country seemed to find so heart-warming.

Only she knew that the truth was very different.

Santo had married her not because he had feelings for her, but because he wanted their son. The irony didn’t escape her. She was the envy of millions of women. She’d married a superrich, supersuccessful, super-sexy man. She’d married a Ferrara.

Her first glimpse of her new home had left her reeling. She wasn’t used to living in such luxury. Santo’s modifications had made the most of the villa’s enviable position right on the bay. Acres of glass gave it a contemporary feel, while making the most of the spectacular views of the bay and the nature reserve that pressed up against their land. No one could fail to fall in love with the house, but Fia’s favourite room was the large, airy kitchen. If she’d designed it herself, this was what she would have chosen. It wasn’t just a room to cook in, it was a room to live in—the heart of the home, with glass doors opening onto a terrace bordered on one side by a fruit orchard, so that picking a fresh orange for breakfast meant simply stepping outdoors and pulling one from one of the many trees. It was a place for family celebrations, for cosy breakfasts and intimate dinners. It was perfect.

She took Luca back to the villa late that afternoon, gave him tea in the beautiful kitchen and allowed him to explore. His discovery of what was clearly intended to be his bedroom drew gasps of delight and excitement.

‘Boat!’ He clambered onto his new bed, built in the shape of a boat, complete with curtains as ‘sails’.