Suddenly, Alex released his hold on her, standing up and putting as much distance between them as possible in one fluid movement. He was breathing hard, and she could see the press of his arousal against the front of his slacks. Could see that what he said was true. That he wanted her with a ferocity that he could not deny. That he would in fact love nothing more than to do everything he had just said.
And she wanted it. So badly that it echoed inside of her. An empty, aching need that only he could ever fill.
“We cannot, Gabby,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, the word torture.
“Because I have committed so many grave sins already. I have hurt so many people. Gabriella, I will do nothing but hurt you. And it is the last thing on earth I want to do.”
That was why she let him go. That was why she didn’t press. Because of the desperation in his voice. Because of how much he wanted to turn away from this. Because of how difficult it was for him. She would not add to his torture. Not after what she knew about him. Not after what he had told her about his parents, about his brother.
So she did nothing but nod slowly. Did nothing but watch him turn and walk out of the room all the while she sat there, shaking.
She felt cold suddenly. Where before she had only been hot.
She thought back to an earlier conversation they’d had as she sat there on the floor of her library, shivering. She had told him that one was much less likely to get scarred if they stayed in here. She almost laughed. Because she would never forget this. His words, his touch, was branded into her, a scar that would never heal. One that she had acquired—of all places—on the library floor.
It had been her place. The place she had always felt safe. Her refuge.
But it was his now. Irrevocably.
She was afraid it was the same for her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GABRIELLA AVOIDED HIM for the entire plane ride. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. Confessing those things to her. Saying those words to a virgin.
To a woman that he could never touch. Not any more than he already had.
So, he had allowed her to avoid him. On the plane, then again in the car as she had stared out the window, gazing at the unfamiliar city skyline. And he had watched her reflection in the window, uncaring about the buildings that had become so familiar and mundane to him. New York City failed to enthrall him. What fascinated him was seeing them through her eyes. Wide and glistening as she took in everything around her, her mouth open slightly. Her lips looked so soft. He would give a good portion of his fortune to kiss them again.
He continued to think about her lips as they arrived at his penthouse in Manhattan. Normally, after this much time away from work he would go directly into his home office and set about catching up. But tonight… Tonight it simply didn’t appeal.
The first thing he did when they arrived was set the painting up in the living room, taking a step back and looking at it for the first time since they had taken it from Isolo D’Oro.
“It’s beautiful,” Gabriella said, looking around the space, then at the painting. “All of this. I can’t quite believe that I’m here.”
“Yes,” he said in agreement. But he didn’t mean the view or his penthouse were beautiful. He meant her. Always her.
So then he looked at the painting to avoid looking at her. Close study of Gabriella’s features could only lead to ruin. He had been so taken with the woman in the painting upon first viewing that he hadn’t noticed much of the surrounding objects. For the first time he noticed that everything on the table of the vanity was painted in loving detail. That it was all very purposeful. The woman was wearing a necklace, the reflection of which could barely be seen in the mirror. Emeralds, and white diamonds. On her finger, almost entirely concealed by the tumbling locks of her dark hair, he could just make out the hint of a ring. There was a box, ornate and beautiful, certain to contain more jewelry. A tiara, set next to a beautiful bracelet. His breath caught, and he took a step closer. There was a book set on the vanity, as well.
That meant…
He moved closer still, scanning the surface of the table. Yes. There they were. A small pair of earrings.
“The Lost Mistresses,” he said.
“What?” Gabriella asked.
“This is all of them. The artifacts my grandfather sent us after. They are all in this painting. The painting is the last one.”
He turned to look at Gabriella. She was staring at him, her dark eyes wide. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t think you’re being fanciful when you thought there might be a deeper link between our grandparents.”
“But the painting… It was by someone called Bartolo.”