Bellissima (8 page)

Gaze steady on her face, he cleaned himself and tucked his cock back into his pants. In moments, he was once more his usual, immaculate self, although his face seemed paler than normal.

“
Domani
, sweet Jane.” It sounded like a threat and a promise, all at once. “Tomorrow we will find out what this thing”—his hand inscribed a graceful line toward her and then came back to point at his chest—“is between us.”

Then he was gone, slipping away before she could even blink.

“Yes,” she whispered into the silent, empty room. “Tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight

Looking around the studio, Sergio was struck once more by how cluttered it really was. Despite being a large room, somehow he and Gustav had managed to fill it with a variety of odds and ends. His corner was relatively neat. All he really needed was his drafting table and art supplies, which, although various, he somehow managed to keep all contained in a chest of drawers he’d bought on Portobello Road. Yes, he’d added a comfortable armchair and two of the best gas lamps he could afford, but, in reality, those were but a small fraction of the room’s contents.

Besides the obligatory easels, paints and brushes Gustav needed to produce his art, as well as dozens of paintings at various stages of completion, there were a hodgepodge of other items. The painter was constantly bringing in what he referred to as “props”—bits of furniture, fabrics and sundries he used as backdrops for his portraits. They made use of the old Chinoiserie screen, setting it up in a corner to hide a small washstand and commode, and the brass bedstead on which Gustav often painted nudes doubled as a place for either man to sleep, should one of them work late into the night. But the rest of Gustav’s oddities? Sergio shook his head. Even worse than the often ugly furniture were the vases of dried flowers, glass cases holding strange arrangements of diverse natural items, bibelots, trinkets and random found bits and pieces that seemed determined to take over the entire room. Gustav was a magpie, his compulsive collecting leaving the place looking like the worse example of an overdecorated parlor.

Sergio had tidied as best he could, glad the charwoman they employed to clean once a week had been there the day before. Clearing away much of Gustav’s paraphernalia, putting it on shelves and in drawers, he’d spread a tablecloth over the paint-stained table, ready for the cold luncheon he’d brought. Opening the windows to try to get rid of as much of the oil paint smell as he could, he’d quietly cursed his friend for not being in the habit of using watercolors or pastels. Then he exchanged the bedsheets for ones he’d brought from home and draped a colorful shawl over the foot of the bed.

Originally he’d bought the large silk square with its knotted fringe from one of the small shops selling Far Eastern goods, thinking perhaps to give it to his mother as a gift. Now all he could think of was seeing it wrapped around Jane, her burnt-umber hair and pale complexion set against the rich colors. Perhaps he would use it to tease over her skin—softness on softness—tickle her with the fringe until she twisted and writhed with pleasure.

Dio
. He was already hard for her, had been almost constantly since the day before, and he couldn’t even be sure she would meet him today.

If she were wise, and he knew her to be a woman of keen intelligence, she probably wouldn’t, but he prayed desire would win over caution. He needed her, his yearning a constant ache in his belly. His world felt off-kilter, as though the ground shifted and shook under his feet, but just seeing her yesterday, even for that brief time, being reassured that what they shared existed and wasn’t just a figment of his dreams, had steadied him.

For so long he’d strived to build a life that could satisfy him, fulfill the parts of himself he knew to be lacking. When he was with Jane there was no need to be anything other than he truly was, and he was content. Why it was so, how it was achieved, didn’t concern him. The sensation was too wonderful to question, but had to be appreciated just as it was, for what it was.

Could it endure?

Sergio didn’t know, couldn’t guess and wasn’t ready to contemplate that. Today would be one of passion unleashed, and would hopefully sate this interminable hunger even for a little while.

Closing the window against the autumnal air, aware his attempt to clear the studio of the paint smells had made it cold, Sergio stoked the fire and added more fuel, hoping the room would warm up before Jane arrived.

If she arrived.

He pushed the thought from his mind. Despite everything, somehow he knew she would come as promised. Yet that knowledge didn’t stop him pacing back and forth from the window to the door, unable to sit still. And when there were quiet footsteps in the uncarpeted hall and a soft tap on the door, there was no mistaking his raw rush of emotion as anything but relief.

Striding across the room, he flung open the door to reveal Jane, bundled in a blue wool cloak and peeking up at him from beneath the brim of a simple, demure hat. It struck him that the expression in her eyes was almost shy, the slight smile on her lips seemed hesitant, and he wondered if already she rued the impulses that had brought her to him.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and his heart leapt as hers immediately rose to settle on it. With the slightest tug, he urged her inside, closed and locked the door behind her.

She unwrapped the cloak from around herself, and Sergio eased it off her shoulders, turning to hang it on the nearby coat tree. When he turned back toward her, she was unpinning her hat. This too he took from her and put aside, still without a word passing between them. The tip of her nose and apples of her cheeks were pink from the cold. A surge of protectiveness and concern had him guide her to a chair near the small coal fire.

“Sit here,
cara
.” As she subsided into the seat, Sergio went to stir the coals, wanting to make sure she was warm enough. “How cold it has suddenly turned.”

“Yes,” she replied, in that calm, steady voice he so adored. “Winter is soon upon us.”

Putting the poker on its stand, Sergio felt an icy trickle down his spine, for her words seemed somehow prescient—a harbinger not just for the changing of the seasons but also of their association. When he looked at her, found her gaze focused on her hands as she removed her woolen gloves, the feeling grew stronger.

For a moment, he stayed where he was, frozen, insidious fear raking his belly, making his heart race. When considering this afternoon, imagining what would occur, his thoughts had been consumed with carnality. He had pictured himself unwrapping her, finally gazing on her unclothed body, touching, kissing and caressing her, bringing her as much pleasure as he could. Now, seeing her downturned gaze, the unusual jerkiness of her movements as she tugged her gloves off, those thoughts faded, overwhelmed by the need to know what she was thinking, feeling.

On slightly unsteady legs, he stepped closer to her and sank down onto the ottoman next to her chair.

“Tell me,” he demanded, not reaching for her, not daring to touch her until he heard whatever it was she had to say. He braced himself, suddenly aware that no matter what objections she may espouse to their being together he would fight to overcome them. “Do not be afraid. Just tell me.”

Jane raised her gaze to his. It was steady, but her gray eyes were clouded, unsure, and her fingers seemed unable to stop twisting the gloves back and forth.

“What are we doing, Sergio?” Beneath the calm words lay a wealth of emotion, not fully suppressed. “What is this madness?”

Love.

The word came into his head instinctively, but the fear in her eyes stilled his tongue before it could be uttered. Everything he knew of her said she would not believe him, and her estimation of him would be lowered by what she conceived of as a lie. The defenses she had built up around herself, which he had begun to demolish, would be redoubled. Somehow he would convince her—with his body and actions first—before declaring what he now accepted to be the reality of why they were so drawn to each other. Before him sat the woman who held his heart, was the companion and lover he had longed for and had hardly dared hope of ever finding.

He would not let her go but, for now, the best he could do was get her to voice her reservations, so he could destroy them, one by one.

“Is it madness, sweet Jane?” He smiled as he asked it, joy coloring the words so they were like the lyrics of a song. “Is it lunacy to want you as much as I do?”

Her eyes darkened, and she moistened the corner of her lips with the tip of her tongue before she replied. “It must be. How could it be anything else but insanity to risk everything we are, just for a few moments of pleasure? I would never forgive myself if harm should befall you because of me.”

Her voice wavered slightly on the last words, and Sergio was unable to resist covering her hands, where they fidgeted on her lap, with one of his. Her fingers stilled, and he squeezed them, trying to impart to her the strength of his determination, his knowledge that what they were doing was absolutely, undeniably
right
.

“You have even more to lose,
cara mia
, and yet you came to me. Why?”

“I cannot resist you.” How stark was her voice, almost despairing. “I could not stay away.”

Rising, Sergio tugged on her hands, bringing her to her feet. Holding her gaze, hoping she could see in his all he wanted to say but held back, he replied, “And if you hadn’t come, I would have been forced to skulk outside the servant’s entrance of the Lowells’ house, waiting for your return, desperate to know why you abandoned me, furious with disappointment. Heartbroken.”

It was as close as he could come without declaring himself, and he saw the way her eyes widened slightly at his words, the wash of color that stained her cheeks. The sweet pink lips trembled, but all she said was, “You could never skulk, Sergio. They would have the Bobbies on you in a thrice.”

“I would become a character in a music hall skit—the spurned lover dragged away, crying out his beloved’s name.” He smiled, just a little, at his own absurdity, yet feeling he would make himself out to be the fool if it would make her his.

The small huff that broke from her lips was one of mingled amusement and disbelief and, to his relief, she smiled too. “You have too much dignity to make such a display of yourself.”

“Ah,
cara mia, per te farei di tutto
.” Before she could ask him to interpret, he shrugged, and lifted his hand to cup the softness of her cheek. “I would do anything for you.”

And bending, he covered her lips with his, not gently but with the masterful pressure he knew she loved and found irresistible, his tongue demanding entrance to the moist heat of her mouth. Immediately she granted it, a soft moan flowing from her open lips into his, to be joyfully absorbed.

It was not a lustful kiss, although his deep need for her would always be an underlying melody to the symphony of his emotions. Instead he tried to impart his sincerity, the tenderness welling in his heart and the intense possessiveness she inspired. He didn’t fool himself into thinking it would be an easy path to keep Jane in his life. There were too many impediments, not the least of them Jane’s belief that their association would be brief, transient. He would somehow have to convince her otherwise, for with her in his arms, the sweetness of her responses making his heart pound, Sergio knew without doubt she was his and always would be.

He gentled the kiss, lifting his mouth away and resting his hands on her shoulders to hold her in place when she leaned in, her lips trying to follow his. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes like delicate fans against her cheeks. Her lips were softly pink, slightly swollen, delectable. But he didn’t take them again, only stroked her cheek, murmured her name. Jane’s eyelids fluttered, lifted, and Sergio smiled down into the passion-hazy gaze.

“May I show you something?”

She blinked, her eyes coming back into full focus, searching his before she replied, “Of course.”

They had spoken of his family’s business and the small part he played in it, and she’d expressed the wish to see his designs. Now it was his wish to share with her what he considered to be the best of them and, in that way, show her his hopes for the future, his viability as an artist and, as a result, a provider.

Taking her hand, he guided her toward his drafting table, saying as they went, “I told you this studio belongs to a friend, but in truth I share it with him.”

Jane’s eyes widened, her gaze swinging to scan the paintings against the walls. “Those are your work?”

“
Non
.” Sergio shook his head a little ruefully. “I paint only a little and mostly landscapes. My friend, Gustav, is the true painter and the one obsessed with capturing the human form.”

Jane gave one of her little huffs of amusement. “The female form mostly, it seems to me.”

Sergio chuckled, and acknowledged, “You are correct, of course.” Opening the drawer where he kept his designs, he pulled out his latest, shuffling the sketches at the top to the bottom of the pile. “I truly enjoy designing and sketching more than I do painting, a fact that Gustav teases me about most unkindly.”

He turned and laid the papers on the table, and Jane’s gasp was as music to his ears. “Sergio…” She reached out with one finger extended, let it hover just above the page, tracing the swirling pattern of the cameo mount depicted there. “How wonderful.”

Spreading the topmost pages out, he said, “These are designs such as would be sold in my family’s store.” He let her look at them all and then moved them aside. “And these are some newer ideas.”

“Exquisite,” she breathed, actually leaning closer to look. “They are so realistic. So delicate in design and yet so strong.” She raised shining eyes to him, and Sergio’s heart raced at her radiant, delighted expression. “They are truly beautiful.”

Without taking his gaze from hers, Sergio pushed all the designs aside, revealing the final sketch. “Not as beautiful as this.”

She looked down and gasped, her hand flying to cover her heart as she saw her own face looking back at her. He had sketched her from bare shoulders up, hair loose and flowing, her throat adorned with one of the necklaces the design of which she had just been admiring. With half-closed eyes and slightly parted lips, her face flushed and one hand raised to touch her cheek, it was the image of a woman of power—earthy and worldly. The epitome of his sweet Jane, sated and yet hungry for more.