Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #5-8

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

R OMANO LAY ON the giant bed, wide awake.

Again.

This was unconscionable, he thought, throwing the rumpled covers away from his sweat-sheened skin. He was a man who had taught himself to sleep with enviable deepness, once he had trained himself out of the nightmares which had once haunted him. But not tonight. He gave a bitter laugh. Nor last night either. He stared out of the window, where the bright silver of a crescent mood was etched starkly against the black sky as he tried desperately to concentrate on something—anything—other than the image of flashing emerald eyes and copper curls and a pair of rosy lips which had poured forth a stream of insolent criticism. But the memory of Kelly Butler was more persistent than any fever.

He let out a ragged sigh, knowing it wasn’t simply her beauty which was making him feel like a man obsessed. He stared at the lacy flicker of moonlight which was dancing through the leaves outside his window. Because hadn’t her insolence rankled? How dared she take him to task over his perceived failures as an uncle? She had no right to speak to him like that. Not even a member of his own family would dare to do so. Come to think of it, he couldn’t think of a single other person who would have had the temerity or the courage to address him with such brutal frankness.

Yet somehow her words had bothered him—or, rather, the sentiments behind them had. Was he a bad uncle to little Rocco? He frowned. He put money into the child’s account every month and had written his will so that Rocco and his sister and any future siblings would inherit every euro of Romano’s estate. Sì , it was true he didn’t interact much with him, because he was stricken with a strange kind of paralysis around children. Up until the age of five he had existed without the company of other children. His heart had become stony, his spirit deadened. What kind of example would he be for the little boy—what could he offer him, other than cynicism?

He lifted up the glass of water at his bedside and put it down again. He needed something stronger than water. A slug of grappa perhaps, which might blot out his restlessness and help him get the rest he craved.

Pulling on a pair of jeans, he failed to grab a T-shirt or sweater, even though the night was cold. Because the chill on his bare torso might benefit him. It might even serve as the non-wet equivalent of a cold shower, he reasoned with a savage trace of humour.

The night-time creaks of the castello were familiar but, as he descended the curving staircase, he could hear unusual clinking and thudding noises which definitely weren’t. He frowned. Had he left a window open, so that a bird could fly in? Was an owl or a bat currently incarcerated in the bowels of the castello and wreaking havoc? Following the distant sounds which eventually led him to the scullery, he pushed open the door, totally unprepared for the sight that greeted him—which managed to be both domestic and erotic—of Kelly Butler with her back to him, bent over one of the sinks, seemingly lost in thought. For a moment he stood in silence, allowing his gaze to absorb the unexpected vision she presented to his cynical gaze.

Her thick red curls were tied back in a black velvet band and her hands were deep in soapy water, with a row of crystal glasses draining neatly on the side. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas of a type he had never seen before—certainly none of his lovers would have dreamed of sporting such robust-looking nightwear. Because these weren’t made of gossamer-fine silk which whispered against the flesh—intended to reveal almost as much as they concealed. These, he noted sourly, were made of a thickly unattractive material he had once heard described as… He frowned. What was it? Winceyette? Sì. The word had been so extraordinary that he’d never forgotten it. Disbelievingly, he registered a pattern of bright sprigs of cherries splashed against a dark background. She couldn’t look more different from the occasional forbidden fantasy he had entertained about her, yet still he had difficulty tearing his gaze away.

‘Kelly,’ he said quietly, for he had no wish to startle her.

But she spun round anyway, her plump lips forming a cushioned circle of surprise, her eyes widening as she clutched a dripping brush she was brandishing before her like some sort of a weapon.

‘Romano!’ she cried.

‘Why, who else were you expecting?’ he demanded sarcastically—mostly to divert his attention from the fact that she could look so ravishing, despite the roomy swamp of her practical pyjamas. ‘The resident castle ghost?’

Her eyes grew even wider. ‘ Is there a castle ghost?’

‘I have no idea. I don’t believe in ghosts,’ he snapped, shaking his head with an impatience he didn’t bother to hide. ‘What on earth are you doing down here at this time of night?’ He glanced up at the ancient clock on the wall. ‘Or should I say morning?’

‘Sorry. I didn’t realise there was a curfew.’ She put the dripping brush down. ‘Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing? It suddenly occurred to me that there were probably a load of dirty glasses left in the dining room after the servants had all gone home for the night, since none of them are resident any more.’ She shrugged. ‘And I… I couldn’t sleep. So I thought: why not do something useful?’

‘I thought I told you not to do anything until the others have left for Rome?’ he husked, unable to stop his brain from registering the quivering movement of her breasts beneath the voluminous nightwear. ‘Until then, you are here as a guest. The housekeeper will be here in the morning. She can finish off.’

‘Suit yourself. Anyway, what are you doing up at this time of the—’ irreverently, she wrinkled her snub nose at him as she dried her hands on a nearby cloth ‘— morning ?’

‘I couldn’t sleep. I came down to get myself a drink.’

‘You haven’t got a drink problem, have you, Romano?’ she questioned delicately.

‘No, I damned well—’ he retorted, when he saw from the unmistakable twitch of her lips that she was teasing him and, for some reason, this also infuriated him. Turning away from her witchy-eyed distraction, he surveyed the glasses draining on the side, his desire for grappa gone. ‘You don’t need to do any more tonight,’ he growled reluctantly. ‘But thanks.’

Kelly nodded, even though he had his back to her and couldn’t see, unable to formulate a coherent response to that grudging praise. Not when he was standing there like that—driving every sane thought out of her head. With hungry greed, she stared at him, even though she knew it was a mistake. Because this was Romano as she’d never seen him before—not even in her wildest teenage dreams. She’d certainly never seen his bare torso before. She associated him with pristine suits, silk shirts and handmade shoes—as befitted his status as one of the wealthiest men in Italy.

She couldn’t help but marvel at the silken flesh which covered the rippling muscle, visually devouring his powerful frame inch by inch, as if trying to permanently commit it to memory. Broad shoulders tapered down to narrow hips and his jeans were low-slung and snug against his bottom. His feet were bare too and…they were really quite big . Her heart raced. She wasn’t used to being in such an intimate setting with a man, though obviously she’d seen people half naked before—but being surrounded by random strangers strutting around in too-tight trunks down at the local swimming baths was nothing like this .

‘You should go back to bed,’ he said, still with his back to her, his voice oddly tight.

‘I guess I should.’ But still she didn’t move. Actually, she couldn’t. Her feet seemed to be rooted to the spot—as if her body were refusing to take her away from where she most wanted to be. And something strange was happening. A cocktail of emotions was building inside her—filling her with an intoxicating sense of need. She wanted to explore him. To touch him and kiss him and run her fingertips all over that satin flesh. Deep down she had always wanted that.

And he had rejected her. Made her feel crass and foolish and out of her depth.

So get out of here before you do something you’ll regret. Learn from the lesson he took a cruel pleasure in teaching you.

‘Romano,’ she said, meaning to say a calm goodnight to him. At least, that was what she told herself. Only suddenly her voice didn’t sound like her voice any more. It was coming out all wrong and there was a husky quality to it. A tiny, questioning lilt as she uttered the last, breathy syllable of his name.

He turned round and Kelly couldn’t hide her surprise as she stared up into his face, because this was a Romano she didn’t recognise. He looked conflicted. Almost… savage . Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of the primitive man who existed beneath the veneer of sophistication she had always associated with him. It was as if a silent and anguished battle was taking place behind the symmetry of his hard features. His lips were flattened into an accusatory line but his eyes were smouldering—they reminded her of the glowing coals you found at the bottom of a fire, their intense heat often taking you by surprise.

‘Don’t,’ he commanded softly.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t say my name like that.’

She blinked. ‘Like what?’

‘Like what?’ he mimicked, before giving a short and bitter laugh. ‘Do you really want me to spell it out for you, Kelly?’

‘I was rather hoping you might.’

His voice dipped. It was gravel. It was honey. And it whispered over her skin like the brush of a feather. ‘Like you’re running your tongue up an ice-cream cone and trying to catch the drips.’

Kelly may have been innocent in many ways but she wasn’t completely na?ve. She’d read enough books and seen plenty of films and Romano’s words were graphic enough for her to realise exactly what he meant. Heat flooded her cheeks and she could feel the push of her tightening nipples rubbing against the pyjama top. Because the craziest thing of all was that she wanted to do exactly what he was hinting at. She wanted to lick him.

‘Have I shocked you, Kelly?’ he taunted softly.

Somehow she kept her voice steady. ‘Why, is that what you’re trying to do?’

‘No. There’s only one thing I want to do right now,’ he said, his voice as taut as a piece of elastic which had been stretched to breaking point. ‘And that is to kiss you.’

Their gazes locked. His ebony gaze was splintered with fire and Kelly realised what a massive admission this was for a man like Romano to make—a man who had once taken great pleasure in rejecting her. And if it didn’t sound in the least bit romantic, that was because it wasn’t. In fact, that was the last way you would describe it. His desire for her was obviously an irritant. Like an annoying itch which needed to be scratched.

But wasn’t it the same for her? She didn’t want to feel this way about him. The odds were stacked against any kind of relationship between them, she knew that. He didn’t like her, or approve of her—he never had. He was much too rich and she was much too poor. She came from the opposite side of the tracks. She was wrong for him in so many ways. And he was wrong for her. She didn’t need a heartless control freak as her first lover and if she walked away now, she would occupy the moral high ground. She would be seen as the victor in this futile sexual battle and it was a very tempting prospect.

But not nearly as tempting as the alternative…

Because mightn’t this help her break the deep spell he had cast on her? Wouldn’t kissing him free her from the crazy fantasies she’d nurtured all these years, no matter how many times she’d tried to wean herself off him? Because everyone knew that reality could never match up to fantasy.

She met the hard glitter of his eyes and suddenly all her reasons for refusing melted away. ‘So kiss me,’ she urged him recklessly. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

She saw a pulse working at his temple as he nodded, as if her husky suggestion were only confirming something he already knew. Had she capitulated too easily? Even if she had, she didn’t care because he was walking across the castle kitchen towards her and she couldn’t think of anything other than the incredible fact that he was pulling her into his arms. The breath caught in her throat as his long fingers spanned her waist, his touch making her sizzle beneath her thick pyjamas.

‘This is your last chance, Kelly,’ he warned softly, his black eyes glinting. ‘But I’m telling you now that things will never be the same if I do this.’

Kelly bit her lip. Did he imagine she would never recover from his lovemaking and she would be weeping into her pillow for the rest of her days? Oh, the predictable arrogance of the man! She wondered what he’d say if he knew she was only doing this to get him out of her system. To rid herself of his lingering presence once and for all, because nothing else had worked. ‘Oh, I think I’ll just about manage to survive,’ she declared, through lips which already felt thick with anticipation.

Tilting her chin with his thumb, he stared down at her for a long moment, before slowly bending his mouth to hers. And although Kelly thought she was prepared for his kiss she was mistaken, because it wasn’t what she was expecting. She swayed. Just what had she been expecting? A brutal crushing of his lips? A blatant demonstration of sexual mastery? Yeah. All that. But…

Not this.

She gasped as his lips whispered provocatively over hers. Why, their flesh was barely touching, so how could it possibly feel this good? It was as if he was tantalising her in slow motion, making all the unfulfilled desire inside her burst into sudden and vital life. Heat flooded her as his lips coaxed hers apart, allowing him to slide his tongue inside her mouth, and it felt so intimate, she thought dreamily, as she slid her arms around his neck. And so easy. As if she’d been waiting all her life for a man to kiss her like that. It made every other kiss she’d ever had—and there hadn’t been many—seem like a travesty.

He made a small growling sound as he deepened the kiss, his fingers weaving themselves through her curls, and she felt her hairband loosen. And now his hands were roving over her pyjama jacket and he was uttering something urgent in Italian, cupping her breasts through the thick material, as if he were silently weighing the engorged flesh—as people sometimes did when they were buying melons in the market. She gasped as he turned his attention to her nipples, and the tips were so hard that they felt like bullets.

‘Please,’ she moaned, with a restless writhe of her hips.

‘Please, what, Kelly?’

But he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer and Kelly choked out a sigh of relief as at last he began to undo the jacket buttons with shaking fingers—briefly marvelling that she could make such a man tremble like this. The cool air hit her heated skin and she heard his silky murmur of approval as he bent his head to one thrusting mound, drawing a tight bud into his mouth and beginning to lick it with sensual precision.

‘Is this what you wanted?’ he queried, his voice muffled against her flesh.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘I can’t hear you, Kelly.’

‘Yes!’ she burst out. ‘You know it is!’

‘Sì,’ he answered, almost grimly. ‘Lo so.’

Almost giddy with pleasure, she closed her eyes as he began to tease her puckered flesh with his tongue. Her body felt boneless, her blood thick and sweet. She was dissolving beneath his touch. She moaned as he slid his hand beneath the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, seeking access to where the aching was fast becoming unbearable. She heard his low laugh of pleasure as she opened her thighs for him, as if this were something she’d done a million times before. Again she moaned as his finger glided over her slick flesh, making contact with that most intimate part of her, and instinct made her angle her hips towards him as she sensed his sudden hesitation.

Was she doing everything she was supposed to do? Was he expecting her to touch him back—and if so, where did she even begin? Through the denim, perhaps—or did she carefully unzip him, where the fabric was straining over that formidable mound? She was a bit daunted by that, because she had never undressed a man before. Her throat dried. And there were other considerations, too. Should she tell him she was a virgin, or might that put him off?

‘Romano,’ she whispered, when suddenly he drew back from her, shaking his dark head.

‘Not here,’ he groaned as he straightened up. ‘And not like this.’

She gazed at him in confusion. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘We’re going upstairs,’ he growled.

‘Wh-why?’

‘Why do you think? Do just want me to take you over there on that table where the servants will have their morning coffee?’ he demanded, his breathing unsteady. ‘Or would you prefer it up against the wall?’ He tilted her chin with his finger, so that their eyes were on a collision course. ‘Is rough and ready how you like it best, Kelly?’

Now didn’t seem the right time to tell him that she didn’t have a clue how she liked it—and besides, wasn’t conversation redundant when he was lacing his fingers through hers and leading her out of the kitchen? But when they reached the doorway, he stopped, his whole demeanour altering as he let go of her hand. And suddenly, his features were shuttered and his black eyes were empty. All that blazing hunger had gone—just as if it had never been.

‘I want you to go upstairs. Alone. I’m giving us both the opportunity to change our minds. A breathing space, if you like,’ he elaborated unsteadily. He gave a short laugh. ‘It might be better for both of us if we did.’

It was then that Kelly realised that this could all come to nothing. That passion could wither just as quickly as it had bloomed. And then what? Didn’t this near-encounter have the power to torture her with unfulfilled promise—the ripples of it persistently lingering, leaving her hollow and aching and unable to move on? She wanted to hurl herself into his arms and plead with him to just have done with it—to ease her longing and frustration right now, and set her free. But she realised Romano Castelliari had probably spent a lifetime being begged to do things by women and that his ego and famous double standards would despise any kind of neediness on her part.

Which was why she managed to shrug in a nonchalant way, feeling a tug of triumph as she watched his gaze flicker reluctantly to the sway of her breasts. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said insouciantly, but he caught hold of her wrist.

‘Leave your light on if you want me,’ he told her roughly. ‘If the room is in darkness, we will forget this has ever happened. Now go. Quickly. Just go.’