Afterwards, as she lay with her head resting on his chest, listening to the strong, fast beating of his heart and feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, all was silent in the bedroom.
Except for the rather loud and insistent rumble of her stomach.
She burst out laughing, self-conscious but mostly amused. ‘Apparently I’m starving.’ She sat up straight, turning her face towards his. ‘I hardly ate today,’ she said after a moment, thinking back to her shopping trip and then the time she’d spent styling her hair and applying make-up.
‘Why not?’
He stroked a hand over her back as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and his touch stirred a deep sense of rightness right down in the bottom of her soul.
She chewed on her lower lip. ‘Just busy, I guess. I don’t suppose there’s anything here though...?’
‘If so then someone’s going to find themselves out of a job tomorrow.’
‘Why?’ she asked, looking around the darkened room. Only a few candles remained alight, flickering lazily against the white walls.
‘Because I retain a full-time housekeeper to maintain this estate.’
‘Estate? What is this place?’
His hand stilled on her back and then resumed its contact, as though he couldn’t bear not to touch her. ‘It is what you would call a bolthole,’ he said after a small pause. ‘My own little slice of the world.’
‘Why would you need a bolthole, Mr Morelli? Is it for when your hordes of admirers and past lovers get too much?’
It was meant to tease him, but his face flashed with true annoyance. ‘There is significant media intrusion in my life—something you might have noted if you’d been with me more.’ He winced at the way that had sounded and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m sure you’re no stranger to that sort of invasion.’
‘No,’ she agreed, and she wasn’t offended or upset—only interested. ‘Though staying on the plantation as often as I did meant I wasn’t really a figure of much interest,’ she said quietly, conveniently glossing over the articles that had been so painful to her teenaged heart. The articles that had so callously compared her boring appearance to her mother’s legendary beauty.
‘You’re lucky,’ he said, taking her statement at face value. ‘For years I was followed everywhere I went, with paparazzi eager to catch a photograph of the kind of mess I’d get into next.’
His wink hid genuine pain; she wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did.
‘Including your escapade with that very much married Brazilian model?’
He grunted. ‘Apparently.’
She expelled a soft breath—a sigh that meant nothing. It simply escaped her lips without her knowledge.
‘I didn’t know she was married,’ he surprised her by saying gruffly. ‘We didn’t have that kind of relationship.’
She nodded thoughtfully. ‘What kind of relationship did you have?’
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and then pushed out of the bed, striding across the room and grabbing a pair of shorts.
‘You don’t want to talk about it?’ she asked as he pulled them up his body, leaving them low on his hips.
‘I’m happy to talk about it if you would like. But let’s get you something to eat as we speak, hmm? I don’t want your energy fading.’
She hid her smile and stood, keeping a sheet wrapped around her as she moved.
His laugh was mocking. ‘Why are you covering yourself?’
She sent him a droll look. ‘Because I’m naked.’
‘And you are worried I might see you?’ He crossed the room, dislodging the sheet from beneath her arms, dropping his head to kiss her shoulder. ‘Really? After what we’ve shared?’
Her cheeks flushed pink and something inside Pietro twisted painfully. So her innocence wasn’t just a question of virginity. It was simply her. She had a sweetness, a naivety that was so unusual he doubted he’d ever seen anything like it.
‘You’re wearing something.’
‘Yes, but I don’t look like you.’ He grinned, pulling her close. ‘I want to see you.’
‘Believe me, I feel the exact same way.’
His laugh was a little off-kilter, but he stepped backwards and slowly slid his briefs from his body so that he was completely naked.
‘Better?’
Emmeline felt as though she’d eaten a cup of sawdust—her mouth was completely dry. ‘Uh-huh.’
He laughed, kissing her cheek, and then reached for her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and she grinned.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘First time I’ve held hands with a guy. Other than my father.’
He pulled a face that perfectly covered the way his heart was rabbiting about like a wild thing in his chest. ‘I don’t want to think of your father right now.’
Or the fact that he had cancer. Was dying and lying to his only daughter. Nor the fact that he was using Pietro to cover that lie.
Emmeline’s laugh covered the unpleasantness of his thoughts. ‘Sorry. It’s just this is all so strange.’
‘Si. Quest’e verita.’
He pulled her after him, out through the door and down the stairs, and for the first time Emmeline spared a thought for the dwelling they were in. It was a very unassuming rustic farmhouse. Large terracotta tiles lined the hallway and the walls were cream. The furniture was nice, but certainly not designer.
‘It came like this.’ He answered her unspoken question.
‘When did you buy it?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Here.’
He guided her into a kitchen and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it before releasing her fingers from his grip. He opened the fridge and she watched, waiting.
‘Five years ago.’
‘Why?’
He thought about not answering, but what was the point in that?
‘I’d broken up with a girlfriend. The press thought we would get married. So did she, I suppose. It was a messy split. Acrimonious. Bitter. Public.’ He grimaced. ‘I learned a lot from that experience. Most of all the importance of having somewhere to go when things get heated. I should have taken the time to calm down.’
‘You didn’t?’
He shook his head, pulling a box out of the fridge and opening it. ‘I stayed in Rome.’
‘That was bad?’
He laughed.
