The Italian's Passionate Revenge

Everything in her longed to scream, Now! She just managed to hold it back, but her will was melting into compliance. She wanted him on top of her, inside her, driving her further and faster until she could find the blazing release that was now all she cared about.

Thank goodness he too had reached the edge! She could see his arousal, rising unmistakably from the dark hair between his legs. There was a kind of savage satisfaction in knowing that, like her, he was reacting to the point where control was impossible. She parted her legs, seeking the moment when he had no choice but to enter her and they would become equals in desire and incitement, so that she could conquer him at the moment he conquered her. That would be a kind of sweet revenge.

But instead of settling over her he dropped his head and laid his mouth gently over hers. Incredibly, it was a chaste kiss, almost reverent, lips barely touching.

‘Goodnight,’ he whispered. ‘Sleep well.’

He slid quickly off the bed, picked up his clothes and walked out of the door.

She lay, too stunned to move or to think straight. From behind the door she could hear his movements, and it dawned on her with horrifying force that he’d really gone.

Having inflamed her desire to the pitch of madness, he’d walked away without a backward glance, leaving her unsatisfied and desperate. Determined to show his power over her, he’d done it as coolly and brutally as possible.

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No!’

She leapt off the bed and hurled herself at the door, but even as she wrenched it open she heard the front door close behind him and his footsteps fading outside.

‘No!’ she screamed.

For a blinding moment she was on the verge of rushing after him and hauling him back by force, but mercifully something stopped her. That would be to hand him the ultimate victory-even more satisfying to him than the one he’d already achieved.

Slowly, breathing hard, she made her way back into the bedroom and across to the window. The light was out and she could stand there, unseen. In a moment he strode from the building, went to his car and drove away without glancing up to see if she were there.

Her body was still thrumming with the passion he’d so cynically evoked, while her heart was possessed by hatred. The tension between them almost destroyed her and it was maddening to be unable to do anything except pace the room, hands clenched, fuming.

But there was one thing she could do and she did it, seizing a vase and hurling it at the wall. It made a satisfying crash, but left her feeling no better. She headed for the bathroom and stood under the shower while freezing water splashed over her. It cooled her body, but not her raging heart.

Vincente didn’t call her the next day, and her anger grew. Another cold shower helped, but only a little.

On the following day there was a knock on the door, and she opened it to find a lad holding a huge bouquet of red roses.

‘Signora Carlton?’

She signed for it, closed the door hurriedly and looked for the note. It was brief:

I have to make a tour of factories and knock some heads together. I’ll call you when I get back. Vincente.

‘To hell with him,’ she muttered. She knew what he was doing-sending her one message in the flowers and another in the curt letter. She knew which was the real one.

She chucked the flowers in the bin.

Now Elise was glad she’d rediscovered the fashion school. She could occupy her brain; she spent several days there, bringing work home and staying up late into the night.

‘It’ll be wonderful having you back,’ the principal said when she officially signed up for the next term. ‘I hope you’ll make a career of it this time.’

‘Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to stop me.’ Under her breath she added, ‘Nothing and nobody.’

Every second day another bouquet would arrive, but there were no more notes. Just the blazing beauty of red roses, with their confusing message.

‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said aloud. ‘This is how you think to keep me on the hook. You think I’ll be confused and worried. You think I’m missing you, dying for you to knock on that door so that I can throw myself into your arms. Think again!’

Always the roses went into the bin, but as the days passed the gesture became less fierce. After a while she began keeping one rose back. Just one could do no harm.

She spent hours going around the best fashion shops in Rome. She’d visited them before, but as a shopper. Now she returned as a student, mentally preparing herself for when term started.

When she wasn’t exploring the shops she practised drawing clothes, refining her skills, experimenting with ideas. She became more and more absorbed until the phone rang one afternoon and at first she didn’t hear it.

She finally answered, expecting it to be Vincente. But the voice was feminine and gracious.

‘I am Signora Farnese, mother of Vincente,’ she said. ‘I have heard so much about you, and I can wait no longer to meet you. Will you give me the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight? Vincente is still away, so we shall be quite private.’

‘Thank you, I should like to.’

‘My car will call for you at seven o’clock.’

Elise dressed with great care, choosing a dress of embroidered ivory silk with a matching jacket, and dressed her hair in a style that was elegant and slightly severe.

The limousine appeared on the dot of seven, and took her on a journey towards the countryside that lay south of the city. It was dusk and the lights were coming on, lighting up St Peter’s, glowing in the River Tiber.

There were more lights on the Palazzo Marini when it finally came into view. She’d checked the place out on the Internet, but the reality of the Renaissance building was still breathtaking.

Vincente’s mother was a small, bright-eyed woman with a gentle manner and a strong likeness to Vincente. She laughed at Elise’s expression.

‘Yes, my son takes after me, doesn’t he?’

‘Signora,’ Elise said hesitantly, ‘how did you know who I was, and where to contact me?’

‘I have friends all over Rome,’ the Signora said with a little smile. ‘Some of them were at the shareholders’ meeting. Others…’ She gave an elegant little shrug.

‘Others were everywhere,’ Elise finished.

‘And they’re all terrible gossips. I’ve never known my son so-shall we say?-absorbed. I knew that I simply had to meet you.’

She spent the least possible time showing Elise around the Palazzo before indicating a short flight of marble steps.

‘Up here is my own apartment,’ she said. ‘Let us go there and be comfortable.’

Her rooms were cosy, with everything on an intimate scale.

‘I feel easier here,’ the Signora said with a smile. ‘I get lost in that huge building. I wasn’t born to grandeur and I can’t really get used to it.’

A small table had been set for supper on a balcony overlooking a view of lavish gardens, with Rome in the distance.

Her hostess treated her royally, serving the very best food and wine. She was in her seventies, and clearly frail, but her gentle manner was enchanting. She seemed to like Elise at once, and was soon confiding in her.

‘I thought I would never have a child,’ she said. ‘My first two babies were stillborn so when Vincente lived it was like reaching heaven.’

‘And you never had any others after him?’ Elise asked.

‘No, but I did have a nephew, my sister’s son, who came to live with me after she died. He was-ah, here is our fruit.’

The maid had entered with the next course and the Signora was diverted. She seemed to have a butterfly mind that flitted from topic to topic. She asked about her guest and Elise gave a carefully edited version of her life, and an even more discreetly edited version of how she’d met Vincente.

‘I’m being very obvious, aren’t I?’ the Signora said at last. ‘But I do so long for