DREAM LOVER (14 page)

“Rachel, I have to tell you something,” he cut in when she stopped to take a breath.

“But I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

Luminous green eyes and pouty lips; that’s all it took to make him give up the idea of crushing her plans.  “Okay, sweetheart, lay it on me.  What’s the best part?”

Rachel leaned towards him if she was about to divulge a grave secret.  “If it works and we’re successful in reuniting them, I think we should offer them the use of our bodies so they can have one last night of steamy sex.”

Nic’s expression went from shock to horror and gradually morphed into a combination of the two.  “You can’t be serious,” he managed to choke out.

“Come on, don’t be such a spoil sport.  I think a little foursome will really lighten up the mood around here…”

Rachel laughed when Nic finally caught on to what she was doing.  A low growl vibrated in the back of his throat as he hauled her off the chair and onto his lap and proceeded to punish her with a fierce kiss.  She laughed again when he swore to get even with her. It was obvious by the husk in his voice that whatever retaliation he had in mind was going to be done in the bedroom, and by no means constituted punishment as far as she was concerned.

“That’s hardly an incentive to behave,” she said with a mischievous grin, taunting him further by squirming in his lap.

Something wildly primitive stirred deep inside him, and if they’d had the place to themselves, Nic would have stripped her clothes off and taken her right there.  He considered hauling her into one of the cabanas, and might have done it too, if he hadn’t seen Celia’s tentative approach through the glass doors. Dropping a quick kiss on Rachel’s enticing lips, he informed her they weren’t alone and then had to choke back his laughter when she turned a lovely shade of pink and nearly tumbled off his lap in her haste to stand up.

Rachel shouldn’t have been surprised that Nic spoke Italian, considering how thick Antonio’s accent was, but then it was probably Nic’s absence of one that threw her.  She couldn’t understand a word he was saying but it was obvious he was trying to waylay Celia’s fears.  The poor woman kept casting furtive glances at her as if she thought Rachel was going to disappear into a puff of smoke or start levitating and wailing in despair.  She tried to remain as still as possible, and even put on a reassuring smile, because Celia was wringing her hands together as she conversed with Nic and looked as if she’d bolt and run if Rachel made any sudden movements.

She guessed Celia to be in her late fifties, though her dark hair only had a spattering of silver and there were barely any wrinkles on her face.  She was a petite woman, both short in stature and slender in body, so it had to be her eyes that made Rachel think she was much older than she looked.  There was a weariness behind those brown eyes, the kind of weariness that comes with experience and age.  Rachel suddenly realized the conversation had ground to a halt and turned her attention to Nic expectantly.

“Celia’s family has been working for the Covelli’s even before this place was built,” Nic told her.  “She says she used to play here as a child when her mother was the housekeeper.  Apparently, the job has been passed down from generation to generation, along with the stories about the love affair between Rochelle and Nicolo.”

“Don’t you think it’s more likely she’s only imagined seeing Rochelle’s spirit roaming the halls because of the stories she grew up on?”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t explain how she knows you look like Rochelle.”

“For all we know, I don’t look a thing like her.  Think about it, Nic.  There probably hasn’t been another woman in this house other than Celia’s own family members for God knows how long.  She’s Italian and the Covelli’s are Italian so it only stands to reason that she’d imagine a ghost with dark hair.”

Celia leaned forward, an indignant scowl on her face.  “I not crazy!”

“I didn’t mean…” Rachel started but was cut off by a highly agitated Celia as she fired off something to Nic in Italian.

“She says she can prove it,” Nic translated.

A shiver raced up Rachel’s spine.  “Prove what, that Rochelle is haunting the Covelli mansion?”

“No, Celia thinks you’ll see that for yourself soon enough.  She said there’s a portrait of Rochelle in the attic along with some other personal belongings that have been there since the night Rochelle disappeared.”

Rachel arched a cynical brow.  “In the
locked
attic room, you mean?”

Nic shot her a broad smile.  “Lucky thing for us Celia knows where the key is.  She says it’s in the wall safe in the study, so all I have to do is get hold of my grandfather for the combination and we’re in.”

                        ***

“I don’t understand why we have to wait.”  Rachel plopped down on the edge of the bed and watched Nic as he rummaged through his duffle bag.

“I told you why.  Celia thinks it’s important to tell me the whole story before we go up there.”

“While I sit around bored to tears until you come back and tell me what she said.”

Nic glanced up and couldn’t help laughing at Rachel’s sulky expression.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you
do
look a bit like a little girl whose been told she can’t go out to play.  I’m sure it won’t take much more than an hour for Celia to tell me what she knows and if you get bored waiting for me, you can always explore the house or do more sketching.”

“Oh, I know I
should
do more work,” she said with an impatient sigh, “but honestly, how can I when all this mystery is just looming over me like a big black cloud?”

Nic choked back his laughter and tried to maintain a straight face while he fished out the hand held recorder he’d been looking for.  “Why don’t you take a nap?  You didn’t get much sleep last night…”

“As if I could sleep!”

“A bath then.  You could take a long soak and be nice and relaxed by the time I get back.”

Rachel considered that for a moment.  “I do feel a little tense.”

She was wound tighter than a clock spring but Nic wisely refrained from commenting on it.  He slipped the recorder into his shirt pocket, then went to Rachel and gave her a brief kiss, promising to return as soon as he could.  He hurried out of the room on the pretext Celia was waiting for him, but the truth was he didn’t think he could keep from kissing Rachel if he stayed any longer and once he started kissing her… well; his self control would be pretty much nonexistent. 

He made his way downstairs to the informal dining room where Celia had agreed to meet, and found her sitting at the table, sipping a cup of hot tea.  After pouring him a cup, she waited until he started the recorder then began to weave an incredible tale of intrigue and betrayal, of love and lies and finally the tragedy that befell the Covelli family after Rochelle’s disappearance.  For the most part, Nic let her talk without interruption. When she got to the end of the story almost two hours later, he could only sit there in stunned silence, absorbing what she’d told him.

What his family had done to Rochelle Beaumont was an abomination, but the shame and guilt of what happened that night didn’t fall solely on the Covelli’s but on Celia’s family as well.  Rochelle had been murdered by Nicolo Covelli’s greedy cousins, and Celia’s great grandmother had been a witness to it and chosen to remain silent. But the biggest tragedy of all was that it might not have happened if only Rochelle had told the truth about who she really was.

                          ***

The hot water she’d initially slipped down into was tepid at best by the time Rachel climbed out of the tub and toweled off.  Nic was right, it had been very relaxing; so relaxing in fact that she’d nearly nodded off a couple of times.  As she stepped back into the bedroom, she eyed the thick down comforter on the bed with longing and decided it wouldn’t hurt to curl up and take a short nap.  It also wouldn’t hurt to make Nic pay for leaving her here all alone, which was why she pilfered one of his shirts and selected the skimpiest pair of lace panties she owned to wear to bed.

Rachel crawled on top of the comforter, giggling to herself when she pictured the look on Nic’s face when he found her sprawled half naked on the bed.  She’d allow him to kiss her once or twice…okay, maybe three times, and then she’d inform him that was all he got until he told her every single word Celia had said.  She could almost see the scowl on his handsome face and giggled again.  Rachel turned on her side and closed her eyes, unable to fight the grogginess any longer.  Four kisses at the most, she thought as she started to drift off to sleep, five max…

                        ***

Rochelle took one last look at herself in the mirror, hoping Nicolo wouldn’t notice the unusual pallor of skin.  Her eyes lit on the necklace he’d given her a week ago to the day, and for a moment she closed her eyes, reliving the joy she’d felt when he’d pulled it from his pocket and laid it in the palm of her hand.

“Nicolo, it’s beautiful!”

“Open it, cara mia, then you can show me just how much you love it.”

Rochelle pried the gold locket open, her heart fluttering wildly as she gazed at the miniature picture of her and Nicolo.  They’d had it taken a month ago when he’d escorted her to a county fair, but it was the first time she’d seen it and they looked so much in love that she nearly cried.  A life time would never be enough with this man.  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, exalting in the glorious feel of the strong arms that pulled her closer and the passion he never failed to arouse in her.

“Put it on,” Nicolo ordered as he pulled the tie on her robe and pushed it off her shoulders.

Rochelle stood before him, as naked as the day she was born.  “You want me to wear the locket and nothing else?”

His eyes swept over her voluptuous form.  “I want to see it nestled between your perfect breasts when I make love to you.”

“Is that all you think about?” she teased.  “I swear, we can’t be in the same room for more than five minutes before you are relieving me of my clothes.”

Nicolo grinned.  “When we are married I will not have to undress you nearly so often.”

Rochelle arched one elegant brow.  “And why is that?”

“Because,” he swept her up into his arms, “I intend to keep you in my bed all night and at least half the day.”

“You will grow tired of making love to me in no time at all if that is the case.”

“Never, bella.”  He laid her gently onto the bed, quickly stripping off his own clothes before lowering himself over her.  “I shall be relentless,” he surged into her with a groan.  “I will not stop making wild, passionate love to you until I am certain you are carrying my child.”

Rochelle gasped when he drew his hips back and thrust into her, filling her so completely it was impossible to tell where his heated flesh ended and hers began.  It had been like this right from the start; their bodies conforming so perfectly it was like they’d been made solely for each other.  Even though Nicolo was the only man she’d ever given herself to, Rochelle knew with undying certainty it would never have been like this with anyone else.  He was everything to her, the very air she breathed, and nothing made her happier than knowing she would soon be his wife.

Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, basking in the afterglow of his ardent love making, she recalled what he’d said before she’d gotten lost in his kisses, his touch.  “Nicolo…you said you were going to make passionate love to me until I get pregnant.  Does that mean once I’m carrying your baby you won’t want to have sex anymore?”

Nicolo laughed, a deep sexy laugh that assured Rochelle he meant nothing of the sort.  “I only meant I would have to be gentler with you when that time comes.”

“Will you still be attracted to me when my stomach is the size of a big, round watermelon?”

Cupping her chin, Nicolo tilted her head back and planted a long, lingering kiss on her lips.  “You could be as big as a barn door and I would still want to pounce on you.  I love you, Rochelle.  I will always love you.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes as her fingers curled around the locket.  “I love you too, and I love your gift.  I was going to wait until after we were married but… I have a gift for you too.”

“By this time next week you will be my wife.  Are you sure you want to give it to me now?”

Oh, how she’d wanted to, but after a few minutes of indecision Rochelle had talked herself out of it.  Nicolo was right; they’d be married shortly, and what wedding gift could possibly top the one she was going to give him?  But now as she made her way through the hidden passageway and into his bedroom, she didn’t think she could hold off for even one more day. 

The sexy smile that greeted her was distracting to say the least, but when Nicolo took her hand and led Rochelle straight to bed, she forgot about everything but the glorious feeling of having him inside of her.  It was quite some time before she was capable of communicating in a manner that consisted of more than just breathy sighs and moans of pleasure.