The Sicilian's Mistress

‘Don’t talk down to me like I’m some little kid!’ Stefano rounded on her furiously. ‘You’re not much older than I am. But Gianni’s years older. He’s almost a different generation! You’ve got much more in common with me—’

‘Let’s just forget you ever said this stuff,’ Milly cut in tautly. ‘You have to know how I feel about your brother—’

‘And how does he feel about you?’ Stefano slammed back, the words slurring. ‘He jets in, takes you to bed and jets off again. All he does is use you…can’t you see that?’

‘I won’t discuss our relationship with you,’ Milly said shakily, seriously stung by that assessment.

‘Don’t tell me I leave you stone-cold. I won’t believe you. I’ve never met a girl who didn’t think I was something special!’ Stefano launched at her like a spoilt little boy, needing to blow his own trumpet. ‘I’d treat you like a queen, Angel.’

‘I’ve had enough of this, Stefano. I’ve only ever thought of you as Gianni’s brothe

r and I’m going to forget this ever happened, just like you’ll want to forget it tomorrow morning,’ Milly forecast witheringly. ‘Now I’m going to call a taxi so that you can go home.’

‘I’ll call my own cab when I’m ready to leave,’ Stefano informed her truculently. ‘This is Gianni’s place, not yours. I’ve got every right to be here if I want to be!’

While he angrily paced the room, his clumsy gait telling her that he was a lot drunker than she had initially appreciated, a wave of sick dizziness ran over Milly. But the look of utter misery in Stefano’s brown eyes still hit her hard, making her feel responsible, even though she was well aware that she had never done or said anything which might have encouraged him. ‘Look, it’s just a crush, Stefano. That’s all it is—’

‘It’s not a crush! I really, really love you!’

Nausea stirred in her stomach. ‘But I’m not attracted to you—’

‘You could be if you’d let yourself,’ Stefano had flung stubbornly. ‘I may not be the stud Gianni is, but I’m no teenage virgin!’

Milly’s nausea grew suddenly worse. ‘Look, let yourself out. I’m not feeling well. I’m going to bed!’ she gasped as she raced like a maniac for the privacy of the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom.

She was horribly sick. As she slowly recovered from that bout, she heard what she assumed to be the slam of the front door on Stefano’s departure. She meant to go and do up the locks and switch out the lights, but she ended up going for a shower instead. She was exhausted, and very upset. And her distress was exacerbated by the conviction that she would have to keep the whole messy episode a secret from Gianni.

How could she confide in him without causing friction between the two brothers? She didn’t want to be the source of the smallest conflict between Gianni and his only living relative. And, although she didn’t acknowledge it at the time, she was also afraid to add any further stress to their own relationship.

So, although Milly desperately longed to reach for the phone to talk to Gianni about what had happened, she resisted the temptation and staunchly told herself that it would all blow over. Stefano had got drunk to make that foolish declaration. When he sobered up, he would be angry that he had made a fool of himself. He would stay away from her from now on.

She pulled on a nightdress and climbed into bed. The bedroom door was still ajar. The light in the corridor was still on. Too weary even to get out of bed to turn it off, she stuffed her face in a pillow and went to sleep. It didn’t once cross her mind that she might not be alone in the apartment…

With an angry shiver, Milly sank back to the present. She still found it so hard to credit that the reckless, selfish arrogance of a teenager unable to tolerate rejection could have devastated her life.

CHAPTER NINE

AS THE limo which had picked Milly up at Charles de Gaulle airport wafted her through Paris that evening, her every thought was a memory…

Gianni had bought her the finest chocolates, perfume, and taken her to dine at exclusive restaurants. His knowledge of Paris related only to the exclusive haunts of the rich. Milly had returned the favour by making him queue up for ice-cream from her favourite parlour, browse for books, wander through the flea markets, enjoy the jazz festival and watch French plays in the Shakespeare garden in the Bois de Boulogne.

Employing the keys which had been waiting with her passport for her to collect, Milly let herself into the townhouse on the Rue de Varenne. As she discarded her coat, her heart was beating very fast. She scolded herself for her nervous tension. Everything would be different. Since Gianni had retained the house for his own use, he would have made sweeping changes. The vibrant colours, exotic throws and comfortable furniture she had favoured would have been superceded by classic shades, cool elegance and superb antiques.

So it was a real shock for Milly to walk into the spacious reception rooms and see everything exactly as she had left it three years earlier. Her steps quickened as she took a tour and finally hurried upstairs to the bedroom they had once shared. The connecting door stood wide on the fabulous marble bathroom.

Milly focused on the giant bath, her breath catching in her throat as she remembered the night she had bathed in bubbles and Gianni had stolen that photograph. Racing after him, clutching a towel, she had cornered him in the bedroom.

‘Give me that camera!’ she had yelled furiously.

‘Come and get it,’ Gianni had invited, stunning dark eyes brimming with vibrant amusement as she had dripped all over the carpet.

‘Gianni…I’m warning you!’

As he had stood there, naked but for a pair of silk boxer shorts, his lithe, bronzed body a powerful enticement, a wolfish grin had slashed his mouth and sent her treacherous pulses racing. ‘Dio mio, you’re so sexy when you get aggressive.’

Milly had made a wild grab for the camera, but Gianni had cast it aside and caught her up in his arms to crush her mouth with hungry urgency under his.

‘I want that film destroyed,’ she had told him breathlessly, a long while later, still trembling from the raw potency of his stormy possession.