Chapter Five #2
The lurid scar hovered on the edge of her vision and made her feel emotional again. She reached out her arms. ‘Leo…’
He made a move towards her and then stopped, cursing softly. ‘I need to get protection…’
He’d turned and was walking towards the en suite before Angelica could get a word out to tell him she was protected.
Still protected. She’d gone on the pill during their brief affair and she’d stayed on it through the marriage to Aldo, terrified that if things changed and he hadn’t been inhibited sexually by her, that he might force her into his bed…
and the thought of that, and possibly a baby…
Angelica couldn’t countenance such a thing, so she’d made sure she was protected.
Leo was still in the bathroom. Angelica felt a slight draught from somewhere skate over her skin. She came up on one elbow. ‘Leo?’
‘Leo?’
He heard her asking for him and every single cell in his body was straining to return, wanting to obey the drumbeat of need in his blood. But Leo had just caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and couldn’t move.
His expression was stark. He looked almost fevered.
Eyes glittering with hunger. Jaw tight with need.
Muscles bunching, taut. His head was filled with the image of her, as she’d lain on the bed just now.
Long limbs, soft curves. Dark hair spread out on white sheets.
Dark, sharp nipples, asking for his tongue to surround them and make them even sharper.
Curls at the juncture of her legs where he could remember how she’d felt when he’d entered her, how she’d moulded around him so tightly, sending his mind into orbit.
It struck him like a slap across the face.
He was about to dive back into the fire that had almost consumed him three years ago, leading him down a path where he’d almost forgotten who he was and where he’d come from.
What he’d witnessed, the senseless brutal murder of his entire family at the hands of a rogue Mafia goon, high on drugs and calling in a debt.
Trying to impress his peers. That’s when Leo had vowed to himself—to never be in a position where he had to watch everyone he loved be destroyed again.
Angelica had told him she loved him. But it had been a lie.
When he’d rejected her, she’d gone from him straight into his best friend’s bed.
Together they’d betrayed him. And yet here he was about to forget the three years of purgatory they—she—had inflicted on him?
The knife scar itched, as if her touch had brought those awful moments back to life, when he’d been surrounded, unable to move and then he’d felt a sharp, inexplicable pain, followed by intense heat and shock.
Blood everywhere. Men backing away laughing.
‘Now you have real blood on your hands.’
But their faces morphed into hers. She must be laughing at him, at how easily he was forgetting his outrage. How quickly he was opening his arms to her again. How weak he was. He went cold inside, the flames of desire doused by a reality check.
Leo stood up straight and grabbed a towel, lashing it around his waist and tying it. He went to the door and opened it. Angelica was on the other side, wearing his shirt, holding it together with one hand. She looked concerned. ‘Are you OK?’
Leo forced down the heat he could already feel pooling deep down, just at the sight of her in his shirt, knowing she had nothing underneath, hair tumbled around her shoulders. That beautiful sexy mouth plump from his kisses.
Dio. Before he could change his mind, he said, ‘I think you should go back to your room. This was a mistake.’
It took a second for Leo’s words to register but when they did, Angelica felt them in her gut, like a physical blow.
She was winded. Almost felt like doubling over.
Of course, rang in her head. Of course he had planned this.
How to humiliate her with maximum effect.
Get her on her back, naked, begging him… and then…slap her aside.
She took a step back, clutching the shirt to her chest, glad she’d put it on at the last minute. She’d been concerned. Leo had been in the bathroom for long minutes. Her concern mocked her now. Had she learnt nothing?
She heard herself say, ‘Why?’ Even though she knew the answer.
Leo’s face was tight. Eyes dark. ‘It’s just… I wasn’t thinking. This isn’t a good idea.’
A little harsh laugh came out of Angelica’s mouth before she could stop it. ‘Oh, you were thinking all right. You knew exactly what you were doing, but you’ve done us both a favour. You’re right, this isn’t a good idea.’
She turned before he could see the emotion rising to choke her and went to the door of the bedroom, pulling it open. From behind her he said, ‘Angel, wait… I didn’t intend to do this…like this.’
Angelica didn’t turn around. She said, ‘You didn’t used to be a bastard, Leo, but maybe you’ve changed, like I have.’
She walked out.
Leo had slept badly. Angel’s words reverberated in his head all night. You didn’t used to be a bastard. His conscience pricked. He could see how it might look to her, but he hadn’t set out to seduce her and then reject her.
But he couldn’t have trusted that she was sleeping with him with no agenda. Especially after what had happened.
Except she hadn’t looked as if she had an agenda. She’d looked as if he’d punched her. The colour leaching from her face. Eyes wide. Hurt. They’d reminded him of her expression that morning in Venice, when he’d told her to leave. After she’d declared she loved him.
But that had been an act, in league with Aldo, he asserted, even though it suddenly felt a lot less easy to believe.
Maybe subconsciously he had wanted to expose her, humiliate her, but he knew the bigger motivation had been the speed at which he’d forgotten everything and just wanted her. Needed her.
Dio. Where was she? They had to leave for Rome shortly. If she didn’t appear in the dining room in the next five— There was a noise at the door and Leo looked up from his paper that he hadn’t been reading.
She stood in the doorway, dressed in dark trousers and a dark long-sleeved top.
Flat shoes. Hair pulled back into a knot.
A million miles from the sorceress in the barely there red lace dress that had almost tempted him over the edge.
A voice mocked him now. Would it have been so bad? Even if she had laughed at you?
He stood up. ‘There’s a few minutes for breakfast. Do you want something hot?’
She didn’t meet his eye as she came in and took a seat at the other end of the table. Michael appeared with a coffee pot and cup and put them down. She looked at him and smiled. ‘Thank you, Michael.’
‘No problem.’
When Michael had left Leo watched her pour herself some coffee. His insides were tight. She looked pale, a little drawn.
‘Angel, I—’
She looked at him and her face was a smooth expressionless mask. ‘Please, don’t call me that. And if you’re going to say anything in reference to what happened last night, please don’t, there’s nothing to discuss.’
The tension throbbing between them begged otherwise but Leo took her cue. For now. ‘Fine, we leave in five minutes, OK?’
She just nodded and took another sip of coffee.
Angelica was aware of Leo across the aisle of the plane but she was doing her damndest not to be. To her mortification last night, she’d gone straight into her shower, turned it on to hot and had cried like a baby.
It hadn’t just been the humiliation of Leo’s rejection, it had been three years of pent-up stress and emotion. The grief she’d never really expressed for the end of their relationship.
She’d meant what she’d said. The Leo she’d known would never have done something so cruel.
But then, when she’d known him he’d been an idealistic young man, revelling in his success without being arrogant or complacent, eager to make a good mark on the world.
Half of his ambitions had had to do with philanthropy as much as achieving personal success.
No wonder she’d fallen so hard for him.
Now, he was different, and that scar marking where he’d been stabbed was just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe prison had also taught him to be cruel. Vindictive. Vengeful.
And yet, he hadn’t looked triumphant last night, as if he’d got her where he wanted her, rejected and humiliated. He’d looked a little…shaken. As if maybe he’d looked in the mirror and seen something. Or, remembered that he hated her and shouldn’t debase himself by touching her.
In any case, he’d done them a favour. He’d reminded her of what was at stake.
Her family’s safety. After last night, she knew she had even less reason to trust him.
And to think that she’d almost wanted to blurt out a defence—to tell him that she hadn’t been complicit with Aldo.
By revealing everything. That made any sense of humiliation fade into insignificance.
Since she’d met Leo again—since he’d ambushed her, kidnapped her—she’d been running to catch up, get her breath.
Revealing too much. Reacting. Provoking.
When what she really needed to do was retreat into the space she’d inhabited when she’d been with Aldo, where nothing could touch her, or harm her. Where she was numb.
She’d done it for three years, to survive. She could do it for another few months.
The journey from the private airfield just outside Rome into the city was silent.
As silent as the plane journey had been.
All eight hours twenty minutes of it. Leo knew, he’d felt every minute.
Admittedly, Angelica had slept for almost half of it, curled up on the seat across from him, refusing his suggestion to use the bedroom with a curt shake of her head.
Once again she hadn’t met his eye. It was disconcerting because he knew she wasn’t sulking. Or being petulant. It was literally as if he weren’t there. Or consequential.