THEY drove in silence.
Angry denials were bobbing on her tongue, but the set of his jaw, the grip of his hands on the steering wheel told her now wasn’t the time.
They needed to face the situation calmly, talk things through rationally. Lily’s future was too precious to be relegated to a heated row in a hospital corridor, and given the day’s events a high-speed sports car wasn’t exactly the ideal spot either. That was the only reason Catherine had given in and agreed to go back to the hotel, allowed him to lead her through the endless hospital corridors and out to the car park, and she held her tongue now, biting back smart replies, determined to do things properly.
His sleek, low silver car purred through the night streets. The windows thankfully were open, and Catherine welcomed the cool breeze that whipped her cheeks, blowing away the nauseating stench of the hospital. As they slowed at the lights a tram clattered past. A couple of young lovers were kissing in a doorway, and the early editions of tomorrow’s papers were already bundled outside a newsagents’. It was hard to comprehend that the world was carrying on as normal, hard to fathom that those same newspapers probably contained a line or two, maybe even a photo, summarising the tragic end of Janey and Marco for those who wanted to know.
The concierge greeted Rico as if he had been waiting up only for him to arrive, making impatient gestures in Reception to hurry things along.
‘Mr Mancini, this is such an unexpected pleasure. I was just saying that we haven’t seen you or…’ His warm greeting was barely acknowledged and even in her numb state Catherine felt a sting of embarrassment at Rico’s cool treatment of the staff.
‘I would like to go straight up, please.’
‘Your bags are already on their way up, and the housekeeper is turning back the bed as we speak. It will be just a moment—’
‘I don’t have a moment.’ Rico’s voice was pure, unadulterated snobbery. ‘Miss Masters is tired, I am tired, and I’m going to my room!’ Striding to the lift, he beckoned a furiously blushing Catherine to join him, punching the top button and closing the door on the poor concierge.
‘You really think you’re better than everyone, don’t you?’
For once Rico didn’t respond, for once a smart reply seemed to elude him, and Catherine warmed to her subject as the lift door slid open on the heady heights of the penthouse. She watched as he dismissed the frenziedly working staff with one flick of his hand and let out a low snort, shaking her head as he poured himself a drink, not even bothering to offer her one.
‘You haven’t even booked a room here, yet you expect one to be waiting for you—for people to jump just because you deign to grace them with your presence.’
‘What do you expect me to do, Catherine?’ He downed his drink in one, slamming the crystal onto the silver tray, his eyes finally meeting hers. ‘Tell me how you expected me to behave down there.’
‘You could have shown some manners, to start with,’ Catherine replied hotly, and even though the argument was meaningless, even though it was so far removed from all that had happened, she prolonged it. Maybe it was easier than facing the real reason why she was here. ‘The concierge was being nothing but pleasant—’
‘He’s paid to be pleasant,’ Rico broke in. ‘He’s paid to remember my name, to remember that this is where my brother and I come for lunch when my schedule allows, that sometimes I choose to stay here rather than drive home.’
‘Maybe he is paid to remember, but surely you can still be polite when someone greets you!’
‘My brother is dead,’ Rico snapped.
‘So is my sister. But I don’t use it as an excuse to snub people. I didn’t treat the nurses and doctors like dirt on my shoe…’
‘If I hadn’t interrupted him he would have asked about Marco, asked how he was doing, when they could expect to see him again. Did you want me to tell him, Catherine? Did you want me to stand in the foyer and tell the world my brother is dead when any moment now they’re going to find out anyway?’
He looked at her bemused face and shook his head disbelievingly. Picking up a remote control, he flicked on the television, watching her expression as the images shot into focus, hearing the tiny strangled sob as the mangled wreckage of a car filled the screen, then Marco and Janey’s wedding photo, superimposed on the top right corner. The news reader droned on, regaling supposed facts Catherine simply wasn’t ready to hear, and her hand shot to her ears in a childlike gesture, her eyes screwing closed against the horrible images that seemed to be choking her.
‘I asked the hospital not to release their names until we left.’
His explanation wasn’t helping, and she opened her eyes, stared at him, bemused.
‘A Mancini is dead.’
‘Two Mancinis,’ Catherine corrected. ‘My sister counts too.’
‘Your sister counts for nothing,’ Rico sneered. ‘But, yes, I stand corrected. Technically two Mancinis are dead, Catherine, and that is news. No doubt the poor concierge you were so worried about is now either kicking himself for his insensitivity or ringing the press to tell them I am here.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn which one it is.’
‘But why would the press want to speak to you?’
‘Are you stupid, Catherine? Or just a really good actress?’
His words barely touched the sides. Pain was already layered on top of pain—another dash of scorn, another dose of humiliation from Rico was not much in the scheme of things.
‘I’m not stupid, Rico.’ Her brown eyes met his. ‘I read the papers, I watch the news when I get home from work, and I know how powerful the Mancinis are, I know that the stockmarket rises and falls depending on your company’s profits. But Marco wasn’t a part of the family business—Marco never worked a day in his life. I really can’t see why the press are getting so excited. His death isn’t going to affect the company—’
‘Do you think the press will care about a small detail like that?’ Rico broke in, ‘Marco is rich, he has a daughter—’
‘Was rich,’ Catherine corrected, and for a second so small it was barely there she was sure she saw a flicker of pain in those dark eyes, saw the haughty, bland mask slip for a tiny second, but she continued anyway. ‘Had a daughter.’
‘Which is why I’ve brought you here.’
‘You didn’t bring me here,’ Catherine pointed out. ‘I chose to come. I’m not stupid, Rico, but possibly I’ve been a bit naamp2;¨ve. Maybe the world isn’t going to stop because of Janey and Marco’s deaths, but it’s certainly going to pause for a few days’ reflection, and I can see that Lily’s future will be debated vigorously by people who don’t give a damn about her. But I for one don’t care what the newspapers have to say, because at the end of the day everyone will get on with their lives. We’re the ones who are going to be living it; we’re the ones dealing with the issues.’
‘I don’t give a damn what the press say, either,’ Rico responded. ‘But it is not only the press who will be having their say…’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he stared at her for the longest moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue. ‘My stepmother is not going to let you have Lily.’ A tiny gasp of protest escaped Catherine’s lips, but she swallowed it back. Rico’s words were too important for interruption. ‘I can tell you now that she won’t allow it to happen. She will not allow Lily’s inheritance to leave the family.’
‘But why?’ Catherine asked, bemused. ‘Surely she doesn’t need the money? Surely…?’
‘Too much is never enough, and the way my stepmother spends money this unexpected windfall will not be given up without a fight.’ His mouth set in a grim line. ‘My stepmother is the coldest woman on this earth. She is the reason Marco went off the rails, the reason he drank himself—’
‘That’s an excuse,’ Catherine broke in. ‘I had the same argument over and over with Janey, when she tried to blame our parents for whatever scrape she found herself in. You had the same family as Marco, the same pressures, yet you still managed to hold down a job, manage your affairs. Marco may have been disadvantaged by his stepmother, but he still had a lot more opportunities in life than most people dream of. You do him no favours by blaming your stepmother.’
‘Perhaps,’ Rico conceded. ‘But it is not always black and white, Catherine. People are different. I am stronger than Marco; I am tougher.’ There was no superiority in his words, just the cool deliverance of fact, and this time Catherine chose not to remind him that Marco was now in the past tense. She just listened as he continued to talk. ‘Antonia is a nasty piece of work, and till the day I die I will blame her in part for the fact Marco is now lying in a mortuary…’ His voice wavered slightly, his fists clenching in salute by his sides, and Catherine was shocked to see what was surely the glint of tears in those dark eyes. But just as soon as his pain registered, like a light flicking off, the impassive mask returned. ‘I will not allow her to mess up Lily the way she messed up Marco.’
‘Then what was all that about back at the hospital?’ Deliberately she kept her tone even, refusing to be intimidated by him. ‘Given what you’ve just told me, surely I’m the better option to raise Lily? And before you insist I only want her for the money, let me tell you, Rico, you are wrong. Her inheritance never entered my head—not until you came tonight.’
He stared at her, disbelief etched on his features, but his shrug was almost weary. ‘Maybe you want both. Maybe you do care for Lily, and I guess there is no shame in wanting to be rich.’ She opened her mouth to argue, but Rico carried on talking. ‘I cannot let Lily go with this woman, Catherine.’
‘Then let me have her.’
‘It is not that simple. Antonia will go to every court in the land, use every means available to discredit you. She’ll have the most expensive lawyers. You are a teacher, Catherine. The reality is that you survive on a schoolteacher’s wage. Against her you won’t stand a chance.’
His words made sense, and a dark feeling of foreboding shivered through her. Though it galled her to ask for his assistance, Catherine knew she had no choice, and the words were out before the idea had even formed. ‘You could help me.’
‘Why would I help you, Catherine? Why wouldn’t I just apply for custody myself?’
‘Go ahead,’ Catherine said airily, though her heart was in her mouth. She registered the surprise in his expression and it gave her a small surge of triumph. Her eyes met his defiantly, fighting fire with fire as she carried on talking. ‘But don’t try and scare me off, Rico, with talk of money and lawyers. I’ll sell my home if I have to, and when the money has gone I’ll apply for legal aid. I’ll tell you this now, and I’ll tell each Mancini in turn if they care to ask: I have as much right to Lily as anyone. Unlike you, I’ve actually played a part in her short life. As much as I loathed the way Marco and Janey carried on I still went round, still made sure I was there for Lily…’
‘I’ve been busy with work,’ Rico argued. ‘And watching those two made me—’
‘Save it,’ Catherine snapped. ‘Tell the court how you couldn’t even get away for her christening, how you saw your niece for two minutes at the hospital the day after she was born and that you haven’t seen her since.’
‘There are reasons!’ Rico roared, but Catherine just glared back.
‘Excuses,’ Catherine flared. ‘They are nothing but excuses! And now you have the gall to tell me you want custody of Lily—a baby you’ve barely met. Well, I’m not going to let you do it, Rico. I don’t give a damn about the Mancini fortune, and your power doesn’t frighten me. I will fight for her, and deep down I think you know that I’m the best person for her.’
‘You?’
She heard the scorn and contempt in his voice and deliberately kept hers even. ‘Yes, me, Rico. I will fight for Lily. I will do whatever it takes to ensure her future. Whatever it takes,’ Catherine repeated, just to be sure he understood. ‘I know you don’t think much of me, Rico. You made that abundantly clear on the night of the wedding—’
‘That night has no bearing on this discussion.’
‘Oh, but it does.’ The sting of embarrassment brought a flush of colour to her pale cheeks, but Catherine refused to be silenced. Lily’s future was too important for her to dodge behind embarrassing facts. ‘You were the one who treated me like a cheap tart, Rico.’ She saw him wince at her brutal words, but ploughed on anyway. ‘You were the one who walked out of the reception without even a goodbye…’ Her cheeks were red now, but not with embarrassment. Instead it was with a year’s worth of humiliation and anger at this man who had treated her with such contempt. ‘I ran after you, Rico. I came to your car and knocked on your window and you refused to even look at me…’
‘Because you disgusted me.’
Her recoil was so visible he might as well have hit her. The colour that had suffused her cheeks drained, and tears that had stayed buried all day, were stinging now, but Catherine bit them back, refusing to let him see her cry, to allow him the glory of her utter humiliation.
‘Might I remind you, Rico—’ her voice was strained but dignified, her lips barely moving as she struggled to hold it together ‘—that it takes two? And if you’re going to try and use that night to discredit me in court then it won’t work. You were very much a participant in what happened.’
‘What are you talking about?’ he sneered.
‘Presumably you’re one of those chauvinist men who assume it’s okay for men to behave in such a fashion but that’s it somehow different for women?’ He opened his mouth to speak but Catherine overrode him, her voice coming louder now. ‘And maybe you’re right, Rico. Because try as I might I cannot justify what happened that night. I cannot explain to anyone, let alone myself, how I ended up in a hotel room with a man I barely knew. Yes, I behaved like a cheap tart—so you see, Rico, you can’t hurt me with your cruel words, can’t shame me any more than I shamed myself that night. I may disgust you, but I can assure you I disgust myself more.’
They stood in bristling silence, her words resonating like an awful echo until Catherine could no longer bear it—couldn’t bear to stand there a moment longer. Her eyes scanned the luxurious room for an exit, settling instead for the safety of the bathroom, and only when she’d closed the door did she let out the breath she had been inadvertently holding. Her jaw was aching from gritting her teeth together.
How could she explain to him that to her dying day she would never be able to fathom how she had so brazenly allowed him to touch her, hold her? That even a year on she could scarcely comprehend the intimacies she had shared with a virtual stranger that night? But he hadn’t seemed like a stranger, Catherine recalled, resting her burning face against the mirror as she remembered the passion that had gripped her, that had sullied her sensibility and overridden her normal reservation.
How could she explain to Rico what she couldn’t understand herself?
Peeling off her clothes, Catherine stepped into the shower, the welcome bliss of water on her body soothing somehow, giving her a few moments to compose herself, to sort through the jumble of events today had thrown at her. She wished she could stay there for ever, wished she could hide from the world for just a moment longer, but somehow she had to be strong, had to go back in that room and face him.
For Lily’s sake.
Pulling on a thick white robe, she tied it firmly before filling the sink to wash her stockings and knickers. Luxurious as the hotel might be, it didn’t come with a fully stocked wardrobe—and anyway she was glad of the chance to prolong the discussion a few moments longer.
‘What are you doing?’
Appalled, she swung round, scarcely able to believe his gall.
‘How dare you come in here without knocking?’ Eyes blazing, she met his gaze. ‘How dare you come in here? I could have been naked…’
‘You are dressed in a robe,’ Rico pointed out, clearly unmoved at her protests. ‘We need to talk, and instead you are hiding in here.’
‘I’m not hiding,’ Catherine lied, but Rico just shook his head.
‘Why are you washing your clothes like some gipsy in the river, then?’ he sneered. ‘You are hiding, Catherine…’
‘You really are the limit—do you know that? For your information, I didn’t stop to pack an overnight bag when the police arrived at my door.’
‘Send your washing down to Housekeeping, then.’ Rico shrugged.
‘I have some pride,’ Catherine retorted. ‘Not much, I admit that—you’ve managed to obliterate most of it—but if you think I’m going to hand my underwear over to be washed and ironed then you’ve got another think coming.’ Very deliberately she turned away, rinsing out her washing and draping it over the bath ledge, making sure she took her time, sensing his bristling impatience yet refusing to be rushed, refusing to turn as he commenced the discussion she had hoped to delay.
‘If Lily were older undoubtedly we could ask her what she wanted. But given she is only six months old, that is of course impossible.’
She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t turn, just gave a small nod as Rico continued.
‘So perhaps we should ask ourselves what her parents would have wanted?’
His words made sense, and reluctantly she turned to face him, willing to at least listen to what Rico had to say.
‘Marco and I may have rowed on occasion, and I may have alienated myself from him to some degree because I didn’t approve of his lifestyle, but we still met up regularly. As I said before, we came to this hotel for many lunches, and whatever trouble he was in Marco knew he could always call on me. I know that he did respect me.’ His voice thickened and he swallowed hard before continuing. ‘I know in my heart that he loved me, Catherine, and I also know he would have wanted me to raise his child. So now it’s your turn. What about Janey?’
His eyes never left her face, taking in every flicker of reaction as his question reached her. ‘What would Janey have wanted for Lily?’
‘She’d have wanted me to have her…’ Her voice trailed off, her startled eyes blinking rapidly, and Rico leapt in, sensing weakness and exploiting it in an instant.
‘Because she loved you?’ His voice was so silken you might almost have missed the derisive sneer, but Catherine was like a radar where Rico was concerned, and she flinched at his insensitivity. ‘Janey would have wanted you to have Lily because she adored her big sister Catherine?’
‘She did love me; I was her sister.’ Her lips were impossibly dry and she ran her tongue over them, her head spinning as he relentlessly continued.
‘You don’t have to love your sister, Catherine,’ Rico pointed out mercilessly. ‘You don’t even have to love your husband—and Janey didn’t love Marco, did she? Did she?’ He roared the words the second time—the roar of a lion defending its territory, of a beautiful animal to be admired from a distance, but that could turn in a second. ‘In fact Marco was just a walking, talking chequebook to his young bride…’
‘Rico, please…’ Catherine started. She wanted him to stop, wanted to end this horrible interrogation, didn’t want to sully the few precious memories she had with the awful truth—didn’t want to admit even to herself how little Janey had thought of her.
‘Janey wanted the fast cars, the nice home, the maids, the lifestyle—and I don’t doubt she’d have wanted the same for her daughter.’
‘Janey would have wanted me,’ Catherine insisted, but the lack of conviction in her voice truly terrified her. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Rico.’
‘Have I?’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Which part?’
‘All of it,’ Catherine whispered, pleating the tie of her robe with trembling fingers. And she knew there and then that she could never admit to the truth. Rico was right, damn him, and it hurt to admit it. Janey hadn’t loved her; Janey had hated her. More damaging than that, Janey had blatantly admitted she had married Marco for his money. If it ever got out, if Catherine ever admitted the truth, what chance would she have against the family courts? What chance would she have against the might of Rico Mancini? It would all be over bar the shouting.
Lily would be gone from her life as surely as she was standing here now.
A lion Rico might be, but the lioness in Catherine emerged then—proud and wary, sleek and refined, and willing to do whatever it took to protect those she loved. To her dying breath she would deny it. She would take Janey’s words to the grave. Would lie through her teeth if that was what it took.
Lily needed her.
‘Janey loved Marco.’
‘She told you that?’
Dragging in air through her clenched teeth, she wrenched her eyes from the floor and forced herself to do the hardest thing she had done in her life—look Rico in the eye and lie.
‘Yes, Rico. She told me that she loved him. Janey loved Marco and his money had nothing to do with it. I know in my heart that—’
‘Save it.’ A well-manicured hand flicked in the air. His eyes were more shuttered than ever, his voice almost weary, and for once there was economy in his actions, the usual extravagant Latin temperament curiously subdued as he halted her speech. ‘It is time for bed.’
‘I thought we were going to talk,’ Catherine protested, following him out of the bathroom, confused at the sudden change in his demeanour. She had braced herself for confrontation, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she geared up to defend herself, to do whatever it took to keep Lily near. But all the fight seemed to have left Rico now. Suddenly all he looked was exhausted. ‘I thought we were going to talk, Rico,’ she said again. ‘That is why I came here after all; we need to sort something out.’
‘And we will,’ Rico affirmed. ‘But I realise now is not the time. We cannot decide anything tonight; we are both tired and it has been an emotional day.’
She almost laughed—almost laughed at his detached summing up. The man who stood before her seemed curiously void of emotion.
‘Here.’ He handed her a crisp white shirt. ‘I always have a spare in my briefcase. You can sleep in this.’
‘Rico?’ Even as the word was out Catherine knew she would get no response. His apathy unnerved her and, though she was loath to admit it, somehow she preferred the angry, volatile man she was starting to get used to.
‘It is time to sleep, Catherine. You can have the master bedroom; I’ll take the other.’
* * *
It should have been uncomfortable, awkward—in any other circumstances sharing a suite with the man who had so carelessly broken her heart would have sent Catherine into a spin. But not tonight.
Tonight was for Janey.
By the time she had popped back into the bathroom and pulled on the shirt Rico had left the lounge, and she stood for an uncertain moment before heading to the open door of his room; he was already stretched out on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Catherine knew his averted gaze had nothing to do with the heated words they had shared, or the problems they faced. Knew that his pensive shift in tempo had grief written all over it.
‘Goodnight, then.’ She hovered by his door, awaiting a response that never came, before gently closing the door and heading for her own room.
As the light flicked off and darkness descended the oblivion she so desperately craved didn’t come, but the horrors of the day did recede slightly as she drifted to the gentle past…
Suddenly she was away from the sullied world Janey had created, back to two little girls, one dark, one blonde. The Janey she chose to remember danced in her mind—Janey before their parents’ death, Janey before money and greed had taken over. The little sister she had grown up with was ready to be mourned now, and Catherine drifted back to the beauty of a past when the world had seemed good and safe. Suddenly she was scared to go there, scared of the depth of her pain, scared to take the lid off her grief, terrified of what she might find. The past a mocking reminder of the void left today.
An involuntary sob escaped her lips and she bit it back hard, gulping into the darkness, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she struggled to hold it in—hold in eight years of agony, eight years of pain, eight years of being alone and having to be the strong one.
She had learnt long ago the folly of tears, the loneliness of weeping into the night with no one to wipe them away.
And she would not cry now.
‘Catherine?’
She heard the concern in his voice but she didn’t answer, just lay frozen in the darkness, her ears on elastic as he crossed the room, feeling the indentation of the mattress as he lowered himself onto the bed.
‘Catherine, are you okay?’
She nodded, her hand shielding her eyes as he flicked on the light.
‘You are allowed to cry, you know,’ Rico offered gently, but she shook her head.
‘Crying won’t bring them all back.’
‘All?’ When she didn’t answer he carried on gently. ‘You’re not just talking about Janey and Marco, are you, Catherine?’
She didn’t respond, but he pushed on gently. ‘What happened to your parents?’
‘They died,’ she said simply.
‘Tell me about it.’
She was about to say no, to shake her head and turn away, but something stopped her. A need to share, to delve a little into her past—a past she simply couldn’t face alone tonight. And even if Rico despised her, even if this conversation would be forgotten, or even held against her in the cold light of day, tonight the simple fact that it was another human being, reaching out in the lonely abyss of grief, was enough to make her open up.
‘My mother was beautiful.’ Catherine’s voice quivered, and she cleared her throat before going on. ‘Her name was Lily as well, and my father would have done anything for her.’
‘Like Janey and Marco?’
‘In some ways,’ Catherine admitted. ‘Although my father was always very sensible where the children were concerned. Just not with my mother.’ She gave a wry laugh, but it held no malice. ‘My mother decided she wanted to go skiing, just like that. She saw an advert on the television and demanded my father take her to the snow. It didn’t matter to her that it was a five-hour drive, didn’t matter to her that my father had never even seen snow, let alone driven in it, or that they didn’t have chains for the car; she wanted to go and that was all there was to it.’
Rico’s hand moved across the bed, capturing hers as she screwed her eyes tightly closed, and somehow his touch gave her the strength to continue, to tell her sorry tale.
‘Needless to say they never made it. The police turned up at my home just as they did today, said just what the nurse did this afternoon—“They wouldn’t have suffered.”’
‘But you did.’ His free hand moved to her face, brushing away a heavy dark curl then lingering there, tracing the apple of her cheek, the high arch of eyebrow, before capturing her face in his hand. She ached to turn to him, his touch a comfort she craved, but still she lay there frozen. ‘What happened then?’
‘Their affairs were a mess.’ Catherine closed her eyes for a second, the tension and the agony of those times still painful even now. ‘I took a couple of jobs to support Janey and I…’
‘You still went to college, though?’
Catherine nodded. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have been there more for Janey. I just thought if I could get my training over, forge a decent career, then eventually we’d both be okay. Clearly I was wrong.’
‘Janey chose how to live her life,’ Rico suggested gently, but Catherine refused to be comforted.
‘Eventually I sold the house.’ Her lip quivered slightly. ‘I just couldn’t handle the mortgage repayments. I put a deposit on a flat with my half; I hoped Janey would do the same with hers. She didn’t,’ Catherine added needlessly. ‘Instead she blew the money on fancy clothes and restaurants, renting apartments she could never afford. No matter how I tried to reel her in, no matter how I tried to slow her spending down, she spun out of control.’
Tears were precariously close now, but still she bit them back, clenched her eyes closed, raked in some air in an effort to hold on. When she opened them Rico was still there, his eyes not mocking now, infinitely patient as he sat there.
‘You have lost so much, Catherine; there is no shame in tears.’
‘There’s no point either.’ She gave a tired shrug. ‘I learnt that eight years ago, Rico. Tears don’t change anything.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Rico murmured. ‘Sometimes it is better to feel pain than to feel nothing.’
And Catherine wished perhaps more than she had ever wished for anything that she could do it. Could let out some of what she held in. But as the silence lingered on, as her tears stayed firmly away, it was Rico who broke the loaded silence, Rico who summed it all up in four simple words.
‘I will miss him.’
Still she didn’t respond, just lay there staring as Rico softly continued. ‘It hurts when I think of Marco. It is agony to know that he is never coming back…’ His hand was still on her face, and as he spoke this time she did turn her cheek, nestle a little in the warmth of his touch. ‘Marco was born in this country.’ Rico smiled gently. ‘I used to look after him. I didn’t want him to go through what I went through.’
When Catherine’s eyes narrowed, Rico’s smile widened a touch. ‘When I started school I spoke no English. I was the little Sicilian boy with the lunch that smelt. Salami and forty-degree heat is not a good mix. And I suppose Marco looked up to me for a while, came to me if he was in trouble.’ There was a wistful note to his voice, then a tiny swallow before he continued. ‘I only wish he had carried on looking up to me; carried on coming to me for advice instead of going off the rails. But even though I knew he did stupid things, knew he made mistakes, still I loved him. He wasn’t always bad.’
‘Nor was Janey.’ She saw his shoulders stiffen, a denial undoubtedly bobbing on his tongue, but instead he nodded, afforded her the right to remember her sister as she saw fit.
He sat just a breath away, his presence no longer intimidating, but strangely comforting. The lamplight drew dark shadows on his torso, highlighting the magnificence of his shoulders, defining the quiet strength of his muscular body, imparting confidence. A weary five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw now, but there was veracity in each and every tear that glittered in those brooding eyes—not mocking now, not clouded with suspicion, just infinitely understanding, giving the acquiescence she needed to continue.
‘I was thinking about when we were little—how we used to play, how she used to make me laugh. She was always the naughty one…’ a sob caught in her throat, ‘I can’t believe she’s really gone.’
He pulled her towards him then, scooping her in his arms and wrapping them around her, a shield, a rock to cling to. ‘Let it out, Catherine. Now is not the time to hold back.’
Oh, how she wanted to. How badly she wanted to give way to the tears that were threatening. This glimpse of his tenderness was taking her back to their first night together, when emotion had won, when feelings had been followed, and she was grateful to him—grateful to Rico for crossing the room, for taking her in his arms and telling her that he hurt too, for allowing her to glimpse that behind the cool façade beat a mortal heart that hurt too sometimes, that got broken, that mourned.
But she couldn’t quite go there. Couldn’t give in to the tears that threatened to drown her. So instead she held him, held him ever closer. There was something about grief that suspended morals, something about loneliness that broke all the rules—because she didn’t want to be alone tonight and knew that neither did he. She didn’t want the light to go off, to be plunged back into the hell of the twilight zone she had inhabited moments before, and as he held her, caressed her, she was aware, achingly aware, of the shift in tempo. His caress was not so much comforting now, but urgent. His body beneath her fingers was now not so safe and reassuring. There was a tingling awareness of his skin against hers, his lips tracing her cheeks, and it was far easier to drown in his kiss than to face a night alone. Far easier to seek solace in the escape his touch afforded than face cruel reality…
Oh, she might regret it, might see the folly of her ways later, but she craved oblivion now—craved the balmy bliss only Rico could provide. And as his tongue slid inside her parted lips, as his hand cupped her breast through the crisp cotton, she knew Rico craved it too.
Her body arched towards his, long legs coiling around his hips, and he impatiently pulled at the shirt, kicked off his boxers until she could feel his manhood against her, swollen and urgent against her thighs. His lips were hot and urgent over her stomach as she lifted her arms, allowing him to slide the shirt away, and then he pushed her gently down, parted her legs with his hands.
She stared, mesmerized, as he knelt before her, a knot of fear, excitement, anticipation welling as she eyed the velvet steel of his erection. Its sight was more intoxicating than any drink, blurring her senses into one, transfixed on this moment. Her pulse fluttered in a throat that seemed to constrict and she dragged her eyes to his, her whole body on high alert as he lifted the peach of her buttocks slightly from the sheets, held her aching and impatient in his hands and guided her towards him. A stab of pain so delicious she cried out for a moment. Her legs were coiling around him, dragging him deeper, moving against him.
Hot breath burned on her shoulders as he moved inside her, his muscles taut beneath her touch, and she surrendered herself utterly. Focusing only on him—his skin, his smell, the salty, heady taste of him. She could hear her own gasps growing louder, could feel the rise and fall of her breasts as they moulded into him. The flush of her orgasm was whooshing up her cheeks, a dizzy, heady glow, and her thighs trembled convulsively. She could feel him growing more inside her, his breathing uneven, a low groan building inside as he bucked against her, his buttocks taut as she dragged her nails over him, in an animal frenzy as they climaxed together, contracting with an intensity more than merely physical. She could hear him call her name, but it seemed to be from a distance. She called his too, searching for him in the darkness, both calling out as they found the emotional haven they craved, and for a second she knew he needed her—that this release was as necessary as it was wondrous.
And after, as he held her, as he reached over and turned out the light, she no longer feared the darkness. For no dark imaginings could hurt her with Rico by her side.