Page 41 of Redemption of the Untamed Italian

She swept her eyes shut. ‘It was hard for them and they pushed me away. I guess I reminded them of him or something. I don’t know. They were just destroyed by it. I spent a lot of time with my aunt after that, with Laurence. He was there for me when no one else was.’ Her lips twisted into a melancholy grimace.

She pulled back a little so she could see his face properly. ‘I came to dinner that night because he asked me to, and I’d do anything he needed.’ And then a frown crossed her face and she lifted a finger to his lips to forestall a comment she anticipated he might make. ‘But he never asked me to go home with you. That was all me.’

Something dark haunted his eyes. ‘I’m truly sorry for what you went through.’

She nodded because there was nothing she could do but accept his words.

‘I am surprised your parents were so liberal with you, after losing a child,’ he murmured thoughtfully, as by silent consent they began to walk back towards the house. ‘To allow you to become a model, without someone to go with you...’

‘They checked out,’ she said simply, and then found herself confiding the full story, even when it was something of which she never spoke, besides with Laurence. ‘And we needed the money.’ Her voice was thick with emotion. ‘After Cam, Dad just...he couldn’t function. He stopped working, so the repayments on Almer Hall got completely out of hand—the inheritance tax was pretty crippling even before—and we were in danger of losing the place. Mum and Dad parcelled off some of the land, but it barely made a dent.’

Cesare was looking directly ahead. ‘And you use your modelling payments to keep them afloat?’

‘I try to,’ she confirmed. ‘But it’s exorbitant. They let the debt get way out of hand so there’s millions of pounds in interest payments owing now. Honestly, there are times when I wish we would just sell it, but even if we did there’d still be money owing.’

He eyed her for a long time before nodding. ‘And it’s your home.’

‘Yeah.’ She blinked up at him and something twisted in her heart. ‘It’s my home.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘YOU GREW UP in the UK, didn’t you?’

Beside her, Cesare pushed up onto his elbow, his eyes tracing her naked body with an insouciant possession that only served to fan the flames of her desire. They hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

After their walk, they’d swum as the moon had breathed silver light across the ocean, their bodies seeking one another out in the inky water so that, by the time they’d returned to the house, they’d barely made it through the door before they’d been kissing, limbs entangled, hands moving quickly to disrobe each other of their underwear—not easy when they’d been saturated from the swim.

Lying now on the carpeted floor of the living room, Jemima felt heavy with desire, exhausted by the last few days but desperate not to sleep, not to express that she was tired.

They hadn’t discussed it, but they both knew what the morning would bring: their last day and night together.

‘From when I was five.’ He lifted a finger, tracing the outline of her nipple, drawing delicate circles over her pale pink flesh before he dropped his mouth to flick the same nipple with his tongue. Her body jerked in response and she shot him a look that was intended to serve as a warning but which instead spoke of hunger and flame.

‘But you don’t consider yourself to be British?’

He pulled a face. ‘Definitely not.’

‘But you lived there. Went to school there.’

‘And left again as soon as I could.’

‘Why?’ His fingertips trailed down her body so lightly that she moaned and tried to lift up, to press against him and encourage him to touch her more, harder, to satisfy her all over again. His tight smile showed he understood, and it also showed the restraint he was using in not doing exactly that.

‘I hated England with a passion.’

Her eyes jerked to his. ‘Gee, thanks.’

His eyes sparked with hers, though with no apology in them. ‘It’s possible I resented being made to move there and that my resentment coloured everything that happened afterwards.’

‘Why did you move?’

‘My mother got a job.’ It was a simple statement of fact and yet she felt a pull of curiosity, a feeling that he was only telling her part of the story.

‘What does she do?’

‘Did,’ he corrected. ‘She died, a long time ago. She was a nanny.’

Jemima reached for his hand, capturing it on her tummy and lifting it to her lips, pressing a kiss against his fingertips and holding it there as she pushed up onto her own side so she could see him properly, her body a mirror image of his.

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