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Lowering his voice, Salvatore said with such deadly emphasis that Callie’s blood ran cold. “What need is there to talk of compromise when I know full well, as do you, that those children belong to us in a way that supercedes any claim this Johnny-come-lately aunt thinks she might have?”
“What if I can prove differently, Signor Rainero?” Callie said, goaded past all caution. “What if I plead my case before a family court judge, with evidence to support my claim?”
Hissmileresembledadeath’sheadgrimace.“Thenprepare for a long and fruitless battle, my dear, because there is not a court in this country that will uphold a foreigner’s right to interfere in the upbringing of children of Italian citizenship.”
Sick with fear, she said, “Those children were born in the United States and are half American.”
Cursing, Salvatore lunged up from the sofa, and strode to where she sat on the other side of the coffee table. “They have no ties to America,” he thundered, looming over her threateningly. “They are Italian in every way that counts.”
Paolo immediately intervened by pushing his father aside none too gently. “That’ll do, le mio padre! You resolve nothing by browbeating our guest in such a fashion, and have said enough.”
A timely reminder, Callie thought, realizing belatedly that she, too, had said more than enough. Salvatore wasn’t the only one at fault. For all that she’d not intended it to be so, she’d allowed herself to be provoked into speaking rashly and inflicting pain, and for that she was sorry.
Paolo was right, she realized dazedly. There was no clearcut solution to the situation in which she and the Raineros found themselves. They had to find a compromise, one which would not trample anyone’s rights, least of all the twins’.
Her children’s welfare had always dictated her choices. It was why she’d made that promise to Vanessa in the first place. But she had neither the heart nor the stomach to enforce it for enforcement’s sake. And nor, she acknowledged dazedly, would Vanessa expect her to do so.
Things had changed from what they’d been eight years ago, and so had the people—no, the person, Paolo, as closely involved as she herself. He was not the same man who’d loved and left her without a second thought. Perhaps, in view of that, what she’d perceived to be her inalienable rights weren’t so inalienable, after all.
“Caroline?” Paolo approached her with outstretched hand. “I could use a little air, and so, I think, could you.”
“Yes,” she said, grateful for the suggestion.
A week ago, she’d been so sure she had all the answers. To find herself suddenly rethinking the whole issue of what was best for the children left her shaken and confused.
She needed to escape the tension in the room and clear her head. She needed to come to terms with her own abrupt change of heart and try to figure out exactly where that left her. And she could do neither pinned in Salvatore’s inimical glare.
Chapter Four
“WHERE are we going?”
“Away from a confrontation grown too painful for all of us.”
Callie’s rational mind cautioned her not to trust every word that came out of Paolo’s mouth, nor blindly follow where he led, just on his say-so. He might be a much more admirable man than he’d once been, but he was still a Rainero and, not five minutes ago, had admitted his first loyalty lay with his family. But the sure clasp of his fingers around hers warmed her soul; the compassion and, yes, the tenderness in his voice, soothed her battered spirit. In a house suddenly filled with such a wealth of enmity and mistrust, he was her only friend, because even Lidia must have lost sympathy for her now.
Taking her hand, Paolo led her out of a side entrance and along a path to a miniature two-story villa, some fifty feet removed from the main house, and hidden from it by a high hedge of flowering shrubs. Lights showed behind the draperies at the upper windows.
“Who lives here?”
“Jolanda and her husband.”
“We’re visiting them?”
“No. The night is mild. We’ll take adrive around the island.”
“I didn’t know there were any roads here. I’ve only ever seen the helicopter pad and the boat dock.” Not that Callie in fact cared, one way or the other, but it was easier to focus on the insignificant than dwell on the scene they’d left behind: Lidia weeping and distraught, and Salvatore almost foaming at the mouth with rage and hatred.
“Hardly roads,” Paolo said, sliding back a huge metal door on the main floor of the housekeeper’s quarters, to reveal a late model Jeep parked inside a garage that also served as a handyman’s workshop. “More like dirt tracks which can be accessed only by a four-wheel-drive vehicle like this, especially during the winter rains. Rather basic transportation, I’m afraid,” he commented dryly, helping her climb into the passenger seat, “but it’s the best I have to offer.”
“Basic” was too kind a description. Once clear of the welltended grounds of the villa, the Jeep bucked and jolted over the rocky terrain, sometimes veering frighteningly close to the edge of the cliff. Yet rather than fearing for her life, Callie felt safer and more comfortable than she had, back in the luxury of the villa. At twenty-four, Paolo had driven his low-slung luxury sports car like a maniac bent on self-destruction, but he handled the Jeep with masterful skill, and her pulse, which had raced erratically during the showdown with Salvatore, gradually settled back to normal.
“Thanks for rescuing me from your father’s wrath,” she ventured, the knots in her neck and shoulders lessening. “For a moment there, I thought he was actually going to hit me.”
“My father would never strike a woman, Caroline.”
“You could have fooled me. He was out of control.”
Paolo debated her statement for a moment, then conceded grudgingly, “Sadly, I must agree with you. He hasn’t been himself since we learned of the accident. But even if he’d so far forgotten himself that he’d attempted to touch you, I would have prevented it, even if it meant physically restraining him.”
At that, a comforting warmth stole through Callie. Paolo was a big, strong man, but so was Salvatore. Restraining him would not have been easy. “You’d have fought your father? For me?”
“I would fight any man threatening a woman,” Paolo replied flatly. “But if you’re asking me if I would embark on such a course lightly with my father, be assured I’d do so only as a last resort. A better solution by far was to defuse the situation by removing you.”
“Why? Because I dared to tell him things he didn’t want to hear?”
“Because it’s not good for him to become so disturbed. His heart cannot take such stress. But seeing my mother hurt and suffering is never easy for him.”
“I’m truly sorry I upset her. She’s a remarkable, lovely woman, and it hurts me to know that I hurt her. But don’t ask me to feel sorry for your father, Paolo. He’s nothing but a bully when someone dares voice an opinion that doesn’t coincide with his, especially if that someone happens to be a woman—and a Leighton, to boot.”
“And again, I apologize for his behavior. He should not have treated you as he did.”
“I don’t want your apology, nor his, either,” she said wearily. “All I ask is to be recognized as having the right to some say in the future of my niece and nephew.”
“I give you my word that no one will deny you that right. One way or another, I’ll find a way to keep everybody happy.”
Before she could ask him how he expected to achieve the impossible, he turned off the main track and steered the Jeep down a narrow, less traveled path which ended on a small promontory overlooking the Adriatic.
“This last week has taken a toll on all of us,” he said, bringing the vehicle to a stop on the lip of the cliff. “We’re each dealing with grief in our own way, and liable to speak hasty words we immediately regret. My father’s certainly guilty of that.”
Shame-faced, she stared at her hands, clutched tightly in her lap. “No more than I am. I spoke out of turn. I should never have phrased my concerns in such a way that they came out as a threat.”
“You mean, you aren’t serious in wanting to take the children back to America with you?”
The moment of truth came out of the blue and left her gulping back a sob. “Oh, Paolo, I’d be lying if I said it’s not what I’ve hoped for. But the more I see of them, the more I realize it’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s best for them. And I’m no longer sure I have the answer to that.”
“Perhaps none of us has,” he said quietly, “which is why I brought you here. Sometimes, focusing on something else, even if it’s only for a short time, helps restore our perspective and lead us to solutions we might never otherwise have considered.”
“I wish I shared your optimism.”
“There’s no reason you can’t, if you put your mind to it. Please, cara, try for a little while to forget about what the future holds, and simply enjoy this moment.” He stabbed a finger at the Jeep’s windshield. “Look out there, and tell me, did you ever see such a night?”
In truth, it was spectacular. Although the grounds of the villa were lushly planted with all kinds of tropical trees and flowers, there was little vegetation native to the island. By the light of the moon, hanging full and round and yellow just above the horizon, the bare landscape assumed an austere beauty that was almost ghostly.
Paolo leaned both arms on the steering wheel and gazed across the moon-dappled water. “Tell me about your life over the last nine years, Caroline. My mother has mentioned how very excited you were about attending Smith College, and that you spoke of it often, when you were here for the wedding. What made you decide against it?”
You did, she could have told him. Because of you, all my dreams turned into nightmares…
“You might as well take it off,” he’d said, lifting one corner of her mangled maid-of-honor gown. “It’s past saving.”
An unforgiving sliver of moonlight confirmed his assessment. The full, filmy skirt sagging disastrously where it had torn away from the bodice, and the smear of blood near the hem, indicated she’d done a lot more than take an innocent stroll in the garden.
“And wear what?” she cried, appalled at the thought of having to account for how she’d managed to ruin a dress that had cost a small fortune, never mind everything else she’d done.
“Nothing, of course. We’re going swimming.”
“In the nude?” More rattled by the minute, she stared at him. “Someone might see us!”
“I doubt that will happen, but what if it did?” he returned carelessly. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed.”
No, he wouldn’t. The way he peeled off the rest of his clothes until he stood before her as naked as the day he was born, was proof enough of that. And the way she stared, as if she couldn’t get her fill of him, was nothing short of shameful.
“Well? Are you coming with me?” he said, standing straight and tall as a Roman god. “Or would you prefer to go back to the reception, looking like something washed up on the beach by the tide?”
Heaven help her, but at the sight of him, so beautifully male, so gloriously virile, that same prickling, giddy excitement swept over her afresh, and all she wanted was to go with him again down the illicit path of sexual discovery. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about looking her mother in the eye, about offering explanations for behavior that was inexcusable. Tonight was made for first love.
Her white kid shoes, satin panties and fine lace stockings already lay heaped on the cabana floor. Before she lost her nerve, she took off everything else and, worshiping him with her eyes, murmured breathlessly, “Of course I’m coming with you.”
Watching her strip had aroused him. Touching himself, he fastened his gaze on her small, high breasts, then let it dip to the shadow at the juncture of her thighs. And again, that wicked rush of heat left her damp and molten, and aching for something just beyond her frame of experience.
He stepped close enough for his penis to nudge gently against her. “That’s more like it,” he murmured huskily, rolling her nipple gently between his forefinger and thumb.
A quiver puckered her flesh and brought it to a vibrant, electric life that left her entire body yearning ever more desperately for that elusive “something.” She would have collapsed on the wooden floor and dragged him down on top of her, if he’d let her. But he backed away, teasing her with a smile, and catching her hand in his, ran with her across the sand to the water.
Once there, he dragged her, laughing, into the waves until they swirled around his chest. Only then did he pull her close and kiss her, tangling his fingers in her hair and driving his tongue deep into her mouth. Exhilarated, she returned his advances. His teeth were smooth, his lips warm, his tongue bold and hard, just like his erection.
She wound her arms around his neck, let her legs float up to encircle his waist. He slid his hands beneath her bottom, and with one finger, found the tiny bud of flesh hidden between the plump folds at her center.
It sprang to life like a wild thing, urgent and hungry for a satisfaction only he knew how to provide. Another slick, quick stroke from his clever finger, a little pressure in just the right place, and a lightning bolt shot through her.
“Oh…!” she gasped, and buried her face against his neck.
“Si, bella…now it begins for you,” he murmured, and touched her again, more insistently.
This time, a hidden coil sprang free in a backlash of sensation so wicked that she’d have leaped clear of the water had he not locked his arm around her so firmly. A helpless moan, borne deep within her, escaped her lips and hung in the still night.
“E ancora,” he urged, tormenting her a third time…a fourth…a fifth, until, at last, her body responded with the elemental might of a sleeping volcano awakened at last.
She tensed, clenched her eyes shut, and sucked in a drowning, desperate breath as a wave of tremors, each more powerful than the last, gave way to an onslaught of earthshattering spasms. Then the world as she’d known it exploded on her soft, high scream.
“I didn’t know!” she breathed, long minutes later. “I had no idea…!”
“You do now, Caroline,” he said, droplets of water running over his shoulders, and the heat of passion in his voice. “So let us proceed to the next phase of your education.”
There was no question of returning to the villa after that. They didn’t even make it back to the cabana. Right there, under the stars, with the warm Adriatic curling around them, they came together in a wild tangling of limbs and lips; of hands and tongues and fractured breathing.
To have him fill her completely, and know that they were joined not just in body, but in mind and heart as well, was surely the next best thing to heaven. “Oh, Paolo!” she whispered when, panting and depleted, they staggered ashore together. “You’re a wonderful teacher!”
“And you, an exemplary student.”
She turned her head and looked back along the beach. The faint sound of music drifted on the air. Just beyond the limestone outcropping, a rocket shot into the sky and cascaded back to earth in a free-fall of brilliant stars.
Fireworks, she realized. The wedding celebrations continued unabated, not in the least diminished by the absence of the best man and maid-of-honor. “I don’t want to go back there tonight,” she told him.
“Nor shall you,” he replied. “There are showers in the cabana, and a supply of towels. We will stay there until the villa is asleep, and return before it awakes at dawn.”
They bathed together, a playful, happy experience, laced with the promise of greater intimacy to come. Later, when she lay on a bed of thick white towels, he parted her legs and put his mouth on her. Stroked her with his tongue. And after her initial shocked reaction, she reveled in the forbidden pleasure he gave, awash in wonder at the sensuality she’d never guessed was hers to enjoy.
If their first time together had been embarrassing, and the second amazing, the third offered an unequivocal taste of sheer paradise, such that, when he collapsed on top of her, spent, she couldn’t help herself. “I love you, Paolo!” she gasped brokenly. They were the only words to describe the depth of emotion rolling over her.
For the longest time, he didn’t reply. Seemed unable to look at her, even. When he finally spoke, it was to say with calculated indifference, “It grows late, tesoro, and you are tired. We should sleep for a few hours. Regain our strength for yet another pleasurable encounter.”
When he awoke, though, just as the sun crept over the sea, Paolo was no more interested in making love to her than he was to remain cooped up on the island a second longer than he had to.
“We had fun, yes?” he said, climbing in to his clothes. “But the wedding fever is over, and it’s back to life as usual. For you, that means returning to America and your fine university.”
“Don’t you believe in marriage, Paolo?”
“For some people, perhaps.”
His shrug spoke volumes. But she was a devil for punishment, and couldn’t let go gracefully. “But not for you?”
“The world is full of beautiful women, Caroline,” he said cheerfully. “How can I be expected to choose just one?”
“Do you even believe in love?”
“But of course! I love women—all women.” He smiled his charming, devil-may-care smile. “I am Italian. I love love!”
She tried to smile back, and started to cry instead as all her hopes went up in smoke. “I thought I was special, but I’m just the latest in a long line of willing conquests, aren’t I?”
“Don’t do this, cara,” he said, rolling his magnificent brown eyes. “Don’t spoil our glorious time together with tears and recriminations.”
“I suppose I should be flattered you spared me one whole night. Silly me, to have thought it was the beginning of something lasting, something b…beautiful!”
“Ah, Caroline…!” Briefly he touched her face and let his fingers linger almost regretfully at her mouth, before stepping firmly away. “You see your world through rose-colored spectacles, cara mia, whereas I learned long ago that mine is painted in ugly shades of gray.”
If she hadn’t known then that she meant nothing to him, he drove the point home a few days later. On the Thursday before they were to fly back to the U.S., Callie and her mother stayed overnight in Rome, with the Raineros. The next morning, just as they stepped out to the street where a taxi waited to take them to the airport, Paolo drove up in a fire-red Ferrari.
He had a woman with him; a sultry, voluptuous, darkhaired beauty in a skimpy top and a thigh-high skirt, who sat so close beside him that she was practically in his lap. But when he went to kiss her, she laughed, pulled away and rolled her tongue provocatively over her full, red upper lip.
Suddenly Callie saw herself through his eyes—a pathetically naive girl with a bad case of puppy love. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to continue their affair. He liked his women sophisticated, sure of themselves and elusive. The more difficult the chase, the better he liked it.
She was so far out of her league, it was laughable. Rather than being the object of his desire, she’d been an amusing bit player. Someone to laugh about with his male friends. A convenient and willing body to keep him entertained until a better prospect showed up.
If only it could have ended then, with her humiliation complete, her heart in pieces, but her future, at least, intact. But he was not to be so easily dismissed. A month later, she discovered she was pregnant, and all that bright and shining opportunity she’d thought was hers for the taking, lay in shambles.
There would be no Smith College, no graduation summa cum laude. She had let down all the people who believed in her: her mother, who’d been so proud of her scholastic achievements; the board of governors at her private school, who’d awarded her their highest scholarship prize; her headmistress, who’d written such a glowing letter of recommendation to the college on her behalf.
And Vanessa.
