Somehow guilt had taken center stage. She should have been there for Riccardo when he’d been struggling. His account of coming home to find her gone had torn her heart out. No matter what she’d been going through, she should have been there for him.
She’d been incredibly selfish. Not only with her marriage. With her life. She’d had a dream for herself. To leave Mason Hill and never look back. But in pursuing that dream she’d hurt a lot of people. Her parents, Lisbeth—who’d been left alone and defenseless, even if she had been too young to come with them—and her brother, who’d been left with her and Alex’s work on the farm. And, although she would do the same thing over, she’d had to leave to be who she was now, she was starting to realize that by being so wrapped up in herself she’d neglected the people she loved.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze. Even now she was here and not with Lisbeth, helping her through her treatment.
When she got better, Lilly was going to bring her to New York to stay with her. She was going to make up for leaving her alone in Iowa.
* * *
“What are you thinking about?”
Riccardo’s idly delivered question was one of the few he’d uttered over their evening meal at the beachfront restaurant on Barbados’s south coast. It pulled her out of her thoughts and focused her attention on the man sitting across from her. Not that she’d been able to avoid acknowledging how good he looked. Dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, he had a relaxed and dangerously attractive air about him that every woman in the restaurant had already noticed. Including the Hollywood A-lister and the Mediterranean Princess sitting at right angles to them.
He hadn’t looked at one of them.
“So?” He lifted his hand and waved it at her.
She took a sip of her wine—just because Riccardo had refused alcohol tonight it didn’t mean she had to. “Is this going to be your new occupation? Analyzing me at every moment?”
His gaze narrowed. “Until I’m sure you’re telling the truth—si, it is.”
She waggled her fingers at him. “No secrets left here. I’m an open book.”
Except I still love you desperately.
“You’re thinking about something.”
About how she’d like to skip dessert, rush home and enjoy that incredible body of his as the final course... Which was absolutely, positively not going to happen.
His mouth tilted up at the corners. “You know the rules. You look at me like that—we leave.” He reached into his jeans pocket and threw his wallet on the table.
She stared at the wallet, her heart pounding. “I wasn’t looking at you like that. And we should at least look at the dessert menu.”
“Why? You never eat dessert.” He handed his credit card to the waiter. “Tell me what happened to your wedding rings.”
She set her glass down with a jerky movement. “I told you I’m not sure where they are.”
He lifted a brow. “I may be a lot of things, tesoro, but I’m not a fool. You’re far too careful with things to lose them. So where are they?”
Her gaze slid away from his. “I’m not sure you want to know.”
He lifted his brow higher.
“They might be in the East River.”
“Scusi?”
She swallowed hard. “I threw them off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
His jaw dropped. “You threw your fifty-thousand-dollar engagement ring off the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“I was angry.”
“You were angry?” For the first time in their married life her husband looked speechless.
She lifted her chin. “The day I left I was so mad, so hurt. I had a clinic in Brooklyn and on my way back I lost it. I felt so betrayed—about Chelsea, about what you’d done to us—that I asked my cab driver to stop and I just...”
“Threw them in,” he finished grimly.
“Sure I can’t get you anything else?” Their waiter popped a leather folder on their table.
“I wanted to have a liqueur.” Lilly searched desperately for anything that wouldn’t involve them being alone together.
“We can have one at the villa.”
“I’d prefer to have it here.” She looked desperately at the little bar that sat beside this restaurant on the beach. There was loud Calypso music playing and lots of locals hanging out on the front patio. “Why don’t we have one there? It looks like fun.”
He followed her gaze. “Trying to avoid the inevitable, Lil?”
“I’m trying to have a good time. You might try that every once in a while.”
The antagonism that flared in his gaze made her stomach do a little flip. He threw some money on the table and stood up.
“One drink.”
Breathing deeply at her momentary reprieve, Lilly settled herself on a stool at the beachside bar and smiled at the tall, dreadlocked Bajan bartender.
He eyed them up. “On your honeymoon?”
Lilly choked.
“I wish we were,” Riccardo interjected drily. “The signora would like a drink.”
Mr. Dreadlocks, whose hair reached further down his back than her own, shifted his oh-so-cool gaze to her. “What can I get you?”
“How about the house specialty?”
He blinked. “The house specialty?”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“Lewis,” he introduced himself, sticking a hand out. She took it, then he did the same to Riccardo. “The same?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. But make mine a half—I’m driving.”
Lewis pulled about five different bottles off the shelf and started mixing. Lilly could tell she’d made a big mistake by the time he got to bottle number three, which had no label on it and looked as if it was a home brew.
Riccardo held his glass up to hers, a challenging glitter in his ebony eyes. “Bottoms up.”
It was so strong it was all Lilly could do not to plug her nose and drink it that way. Those who liked straight alcohol might have found it passable, and Riccardo wasn’t having any trouble with it, but for Lilly, who wasn’t used to drinking liquor neat, every sip felt like a fire in her mouth and throat.
Every sip was also making her feel looser and much less inhibited. She permitted herself a good look at her droolworthy husband. Imagined stripping off that T-shirt and exploring every inch of his hard pecs and chest. Would allowing herself one more night be such a huge mistake? After all, it wasn’t as if this was easy, being here in such a romantic place. Maybe after this weekend, back in New York, she’d be able to keep a much firmer grip on her head.
Determinedly she rattled on to Lewis about how much she loved the island and asked him a million questions about himself.
Riccardo drained his glass and set it on the bar. “Time to go.”
She scrunched her face up and downed the rest of her drink. She was going to need it. She was definitely going to need it. Lewis waved goodnight and made them promise to come back.
Their walk to the car was filled with a weighty silence that played on Lilly’s nerve-endings like a bow. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire.
“What the hell was in that drink?” she muttered, leaning against the car while Riccardo opened her door.
He whipped the door open, then pushed her back against the Lamborghini. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt as he leaned down and took her mouth in a hard, punishing kiss that told her he was still furious about the rings. But it was the heat behind it that made her feel light-headed.
This was going to be off the scale.
* * *
Riccardo considered himself a skilled driver, but there was no finesse in the way he handled Charles Browne’s sleek sports car as they drove the windy coastal road home. Lilly was all over him. It was all he could do to keep the car on the road with her unbuttoning his shirt and sliding her hands over his chest.
“Lilly,” he groaned. “What are you doing?”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Racecar Driver?” she taunted, sliding her hands to his belt. “A little distraction and you can’t cope?”
He sucked in a breath as she tugged hard on the leather. “I never should have let you have that drink.”
“So true,” she murmured. The rasp of his zipper was agonizingly loud in the quiet confines of the car. “Too late now.”
Her fingers brushed over him. He jerked so hard the car went sliding across the road. He shoved her away from him and yanked hard on the wheel to avoid a ditch. “If you want to live, keep your hands off me.”
She slunk back against the seat. He glanced at her impatient expression. Dio. What had gotten into his wife? He hadn’t seen this Lilly since—when? He couldn’t remember.
His body throbbing with an urgency that was near combustible, he started inwardly reciting the specs of the engine under the Lamborghini’s hood. One after another he went through the parts, until he’d exhausted every single screw and cap and they were on the side road to the villa.