Once a Ferrara Wife... (6 page)

‘I want to talk about the baby.’

So he’d been saving the worst for last. ‘I don’t.’

‘I know, and that’s why we’re in this mess. Because you refused to talk about it.’

The injustice of it knocked the last of the breath from her lungs.

Even now, broaching this most delicate of topics, his body language had all the subtlety of one of the many invaders who had plundered Sicily for two thousand years of its colourful history.

His legs were planted firmly apart, one hand in his pocket, indifferent to the effects of the sand on the sheen of his designer shoes. Laurel recognised the stance. This was Cristiano troubleshooting, those broad shoulders set for battle and those charcoal eyes narrowed to two dangerous slits as he assessed the opposition and realigned his strategy.

He was six foot two of furiously angry Sicilian male, ready to fight until victory was his.

And even as part of her loathed that side of him, another part admired that strength and focus.

Telling herself that raw masculinity was just not attractive, she gritted her teeth.

Kill it right now, Laurel.
Those tiny, dangerous shoots of desire needed to be culled before they spread and threatened to choke common sense.

‘You want to talk about the baby? Fine—let’s talk. I was ten weeks pregnant. I had abdominal cramps. You were away on business. I called you, but you decided it would be fine to carry on with your business trip. You made your decision. Things became worse. I called you again but you’d switched your phone off. You couldn’t have been clearer about your priorities. There’s nothing more to be said on the subject.’ The idyllic setting did nothing to dilute the tension that throbbed between them.

‘You are twisting the facts. I called the doctor. I spoke to him and he assured me that with a few days’ rest you would be all right. No one expected you to lose the baby.’

She’d
expected to lose the baby. From the first cramp she’d known with a woman’s instinct that something was badly wrong. ‘Then that’s you off the hook.’

‘Accidenti,
why do you refuse to discuss it?’

‘Because this is not a discussion. Just another monologue where you tell me how I should be feeling. You want me to tell you that it was all my fault, that I behaved unreasonably, but I’m not going to do that because I didn’t. You are the one who behaved unreasonably.’ The rhythm of her breathing was unsteady. ‘No, not unreasonably—that isn’t the word. You were cruel, Cristiano. Cruel.’

‘Basta!
Enough.’ His voice thickened around the word. ‘You make it sound as if this was a straightforward decision but my role in this company comes with huge responsibilities. The decisions that I make affect thousands. And sometimes those decisions are difficult.’

‘And sometimes they’re just plain wrong. Admit it.’

He exhaled and swore simultaneously, exasperation and frustration etched in the perfect symmetry of his face. ‘Of course, with hindsight, I admit I may have made the wrong decision that day.’

It was the closest he’d ever come to an apology but it made no difference to the raw pain inside her. Swept along in an avalanche of emotions, she forgot her promise to herself not to revisit the past. ‘It shouldn’t require hindsight for you to know you messed up badly. You
knew
how much it took for me to call you and ask you to come that day. When had I ever asked for your help or support before? Never. Just that one time when I was alone and terrified. All you needed was just a gram of sensitivity but no, you were too busy playing the big tycoon. And do you know the worst thing?’ Her voice shook. ‘Until I met you I had never needed anyone. I was strong. I relied only on myself. I sorted my own life out. But you prised me open like a shell on a beach, removing all my protection. You demanded that I open up. You
made
me need you and stupidly I gave you that power. And then you let me down.’

Cristiano yanked at his bow tie and dragged open his top button as if it was strangling him. ‘I am running a global corporation. I am a man with enormous responsibilities and on this occasion—’

‘What you are, Cristiano, is a man who puts his wife second to his business interests. Do you know what really depresses me? The fact that even now you’re not willing to admit you made a lousy decision. The words “I may have made the wrong decision” have to be virtually dragged from you because you don’t believe yourself capable of getting anything wrong. Well, I’ve got news for you—you
definitely
made the wrong decision.’ She flung back her head and her hair slid loose over her shoulders. Like a samurai falling on his sword, she uttered the words that she knew would kill their
relationship for ever. ‘And I hate you for that almost as much as I hate you for making me need you. You’re an insensitive, arrogant bully and I don’t want you in my life.’

‘A
bully?’
Those powerful shoulders were rigid. ‘So now I’m a bully?’

She noticed that he didn’t challenge her on the charge of being insensitive and arrogant. ‘You push and push until things go the way you want them to go. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, you always have to win. When there’s something you want, you develop tunnel vision. You wanted that Caribbean deal so badly you told yourself I’d be fine. You justified your behaviour by reminding yourself how many people were depending on you, that it was your responsibility to stay and finish the meeting, but the truth is that you stayed because you never think anyone can do the job as well as you and also because you love the buzz of winning. I’d have more respect for you if you were just honest enough to admit it. But you have to tell yourself it’s
my
fault because the alternative is recognising your own error and you don’t make errors, do you?’ It was possibly the longest, most revealing speech she’d ever made to him and she saw the shock in his eyes as he registered the change in her.

In the shaft of moonlight two livid lines of colour streaked along his enviable cheekbones. ‘I have already admitted I made the wrong decision. But once again you’ve managed to divert the conversation from the baby you lost.’

We lost,
she thought numbly.
We
lost it. And as usual his answer to her suggestion of any failing on his part was to brush over it as virtually inconsequential.

‘You’re so proud of the fact that you talk about your feelings so easily, but they’re
your
feelings, Cristiano. You have no interest in anyone else’s unless they match your own. The reason you want to know my feelings is so that you can tell me I’m wrong. So that you can change my mind and tell me
what I should be thinking. You have the sensitivity of a tank and I hate your macho, caveman approach to everything.’

The atmosphere snapped taut and his eyes glittered lethal black in the dim light. ‘I can remember a time when you liked my macho, caveman approach.’

The sudden punch of sensual heat horrified her. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Really?’ She was hauled to her feet before she could do more than gasp his name.

Unprepared and off balance, she tipped against him and was forced to plant her hand against his chest for support. Through the fine silk of his shirt she felt hard male muscle and could feel him literally vibrating with anger. His dark features loomed over her and she swayed towards him like someone in a trance. The heat was suffocating but she had no idea whether it was the sultry Sicilian air or their scorching passion that seared her skin.

Safe in another country, it had been easy to rationalise the chemistry, but the reality was raw and frightening.

Two years of self-denial weakened her still further and, instead of pushing him away, her fingers fisted in his shirt. Helpless, hopeless, she watched as his head lowered towards hers, the sheer inevitability of it melting her resistance.

She was so ready for his kiss,
so desperate,
that it was a brutal shock when he released her suddenly.

In a smooth movement he uncurled her fingers from his shirt as if she were an insect he didn’t want touching his flesh. ‘You’re right—’ he spoke in a tone thickened with contempt and disdain as he thrust her away from him ‘—there is no point in conversation. Nothing,
nothing,
justifies you walking away from our marriage. You think you’re so tough and independent but you’re a coward who would rather run than stay and fight.’

And run she did. Right then, with her feet bare and her
heart exposed. She sprinted along the sand, her hair flying in her face as she ran towards the safety of the villa.

Coward, coward, coward—

Each time her feet hit the sand she heard the word in her head and she increased the pace, trying to outrun the noise.

The tightness in her chest was back but she ran without pausing, without looking back. She ran until her lungs burned and by the time she reached the villa, she could hardly breathe.

Doubled over, she paused by the door. And knew instantly that she was in trouble.

She needed the inhaler now. Right now, if she were to avoid the attack that threatened.

A few minutes before, her biggest fear had been the way she felt about him, but suddenly that fear had been surpassed by something even more dangerous. The need for air.

Her lungs burned and breathing was becoming harder and harder. With hands that shook she automatically reached for her bag, only to discover she was no longer carrying it. She’d put it down on the sand next to her and she’d forgotten to pick it up when she’d been trying to escape from Cristiano.

Laurel knew a moment of real terror and she mentally cursed herself for being so stupid. She should have used her inhaler earlier instead of arguing with him.

Her chest was growing worse by the minute. Her breathing tighter and more laboured. Knowing that she didn’t have her inhaler made the stress worse.

Being on her own with an attack was something she dreaded more than anything.

Knowing that she was in serious trouble, Laurel let herself into the villa and sank down onto the floor with her back to the wall.
Breathe. Breathe.
Slowly. Relax. She needed to go back and find her inhaler but at the moment she wasn’t capable of walking that far.

Telling herself that she’d be fine if she could just calm down, she forced herself to focus on the lamp glowing in the corner of the room and forget her encounter with Cristiano, but it was hard to be calm when every breath was an effort.

Her chest became tighter and she heard the whistling sound that came with the onset of an attack.

No. Not now.

The door crashed open. ‘Always you run, but you and I are going to—’ Cristiano broke off as he saw her huddled in the corner, struggling to breathe. In one stride he was beside her. ‘Laurel?’ He dropped into a crouch, his hand sliding into her hair so that he could tilt her head and look at her properly.

‘Asthma?’

Wordless, she nodded.

‘You’re a fool, running like that. Where is your inhaler?’ He displayed that same ability to focus and prioritise that had brought him staggering success in the business world. For those few crucial moments everything between them was forgotten.

‘Bag—dropped it—’

‘This bag?’ Her tiny silver purse dangled from his fingers and her shoulders slumped with relief as she nodded. Already the wheeze was becoming worse.

Hands shaking, she reached for the bag but he was already opening it, his movements swift and purposeful as he extracted the inhaler.

‘This one?’

She nodded and his mouth tightened. ‘You shouldn’t have run.’

It wasn’t the running that had caused it but she didn’t have the air to tell him that so she simply watched as he yanked the cap off the inhaler. ‘Since when has your asthma got this bad?’

Since her stress levels had gone through the roof.

Since that awful night in the hospital.

Laurel wanted to sob but she didn’t have enough air to do it and she cupped his hands gratefully as he held the inhaler to her lips. She breathed in, drawing comfort from the fact that he was there, right in front of her. Strong. Reassuring. In a minute she’d send him away, but for now—for now his hands were warm and steady, his calm a soothing balm to her anxiety.

His beautiful, sexy mouth was set in a grim line. ‘I’ll call a doctor.’

Laurel shook her head, breathed one more time and then pushed his hands and the inhaler away. If she could still notice that his mouth was sexy then she wasn’t going to die any time soon. She leaned her head back against the wall. ‘Go back to the party.’

‘Sì, because the one thing I really feel like doing right now is dancing the night away.’ But this time the sarcasm was blunted by concern as well as exasperation. ‘I am a man who learns from his mistakes,
tesoro.
Last time I walked away when you needed me, although in my defence I didn’t realise how bad it was—’ His eyes never left hers.

‘You just can’t do it, can you?’ Laurel took a few difficult breaths. ‘You can’t … apologise.’

The corners of his mouth flickered. ‘For once I’m relieved you have the breath to argue. And, as for an apology—I’m getting closer by the minute.’

‘Don’t bother. It’s too late to make a difference … I already hate you.’ Laurel closed her eyes but not before she’d seen a tempting hint of bronzed skin with the cluster of dark hair hinting at what lay beneath his shirt.

It didn’t help that she knew
exactly
what lay beneath. She could picture it, every tempting curve and dip of his muscles, the taut flat abdomen and the firm thighs. He was the only
client she’d ever had whose physique she hadn’t been able to improve.

‘You don’t hate me,
tesoro.’
The assurance with which he spoke those words should have angered her because she’d always hated the way he accepted people’s respect and adulation as his due. He didn’t just walk into a room, he commanded it and that natural assumption of power had exasperated her.

Her throat tightened again, but this time the response was nothing to do with her asthma.

‘Go, or there will be gossip.’

‘I’m not even going to respond to that.’ His arm brushed against hers although whether by accident or design she didn’t know. ‘Do you need to inhale this thing again?’