Алисон Робертс – Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family (страница 14)

An all too knowing smile flickered across Stefano’s face and died. ‘Are you sure it’s not about the past, Allegra?’ he asked softly, and at that moment Allegra wasn’t.

Their second courses arrived, and she looked down at her succulent steak with absolutely no appetite.

‘Let’s eat,’ Stefano suggested. ‘You can take the time to consider any more questions you might have regarding this situation. I’m happy to answer them.’

‘Will you be in Abruzzo for the entire time?’ Allegra asked abruptly. Stefano stilled, and she felt exposed, as if she’d revealed something too intimate by that simple question.

Perhaps she had.

‘No,’ he answered after a moment. ‘I’ll divide my time between Abruzzo and Rome. You’ll deal mostly with Lucio’s mother, Bianca, although, of course, I will continue to take an interest.’

‘I see.’ Relief and disappointment coursed through her, each emotion irritating in its complexity.

They ate then and Allegra found, a bit to her annoyance, that her appetite had returned and the steak was delicious.

By the time their meal was finished, she felt her calm, cool, impersonal demeanour return. She was grateful for it; it gave her armour. ‘I’ll need to see Lucio’s case notes, of course,’ she said as the waiter took their plates. ‘And speak to Dr Speri, and anyone else who has interacted with him.’

‘Of course.’

Allegra glanced at Stefano and saw, despite his carefully neutral expression, the hope in the brightness of his eyes, the determined, drawn line of his mouth. ‘I’m not a miracle worker, Stefano,’ she reminded him gently. ‘I may be no help at all. As I said before, you have to contend with the possibility that Lucio is indeed autistic.’

A muscle bunched in Stefano’s jaw and he gave a little shrug. ‘Just do your job, Allegra,’ he said, ‘and I’ll do mine.’

Allegra nodded, slightly stung by his tone, although she knew she shouldn’t be. ‘I’ll need a few days to look over all the material on Lucio’s case,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’ll let you know my decision by the end of this week.’

‘Wednesday.’

She wanted to protest, felt a cry clamour up her throat, straight from her gut, her heart. She wanted to tell him he couldn’t order her around her any more, that she knew—she knew what kind of man he was.

Yet she pressed her lips against such useless retorts. The past was forgotten. She just seemed to keep having to forget it.

Besides, Stefano’s behaviour was only that of a concerned adult. He wanted answers, and he wanted them quickly.

‘Wednesday,’ she repeated with a small, brisk nod. ‘I’ll do my best, Stefano, but there is no point rushing me. You’re asking a lot of me, you realize, to give up my entire life in London for an extended period—’

‘I thought you’d appreciate a professional challenge,’ Stefano countered. ‘And a few months is hardly a long time, Allegra. It’s not seven years.’

She glanced at him sharply, wondering what he meant by such a comment. She didn’t feel like asking. She didn’t want to fight.

‘Even so, this is a decision which should be considered carefully on both sides. As you reminded me yourself, it’s Lucio we have to consider foremost.’

‘Of course.’ He spoke as if it were assumed, automatic. As if he hadn’t considered anything else, hadn’t for one second been caught up in the emotions that Allegra felt swirling around and through her, making her think, wonder.

Remember.

‘Will you be having dessert?’ The waiter had come to their table, and they ordered dessert, a chocolate gateau for Stefano and a sticky toffee pudding for her. When the waiter had gone and the menus were cleared Stefano faced her again, brisk and businesslike.

‘I’ll ring you on Wednesday, then.’

‘Yes, fine.’ Allegra licked her lips, felt the deepening pang of doubt. ‘Stefano, perhaps you should consider another art therapist. There are plenty available, and even though the past is forgotten, it still exists.’ She toyed with her fork, unable to quite meet his eyes as she confessed quietly, ‘It could be difficult at times for both of us.’

Stefano was silent long enough for Allegra to look up and meet his knowing gaze.

‘There isn’t another art therapist who has the experience you do,’ he replied, his tone flat and final. ‘One who is also Italian, who has the ability and willingness to spend several months in a rather remote place.’

‘You’re assuming rather a lot—’ Allegra interjected and Stefano smiled, although it was a gesture tinged with sorrow.

‘Am I? The girl I knew would have done anything—gone anywhere—to help someone in need. But perhaps you’ve changed.’

‘It’s not that simple, Stefano,’ Allegra replied. She wouldn’t be manipulated or emotionally blackmailed. She wouldn’t let Stefano use those tactics on her. Not now. Not again.

‘It never is,’ he agreed, and Allegra was silent.

Their desserts came and Stefano turned the conversation to easier topics—films, the weather, London’s sights. Allegra was relieved to talk without considering how every word she said might be interpreted, and what every rejoinder of Stefano’s might mean.

It was quite late in the evening when they finally left the restaurant. Stefano’s car was waiting as they left the hotel, and Allegra wondered how he did that.

Had Stefano rung the driver? Had the driver waited there the whole evening? How did everything come so easily to people in power?

Except, perhaps, where it mattered. She thought of Lucio, and how much he obviously meant to Stefano, with a compassionate pang.

They drove back to Allegra’s flat in virtual silence. Allegra didn’t know if she was imagining the heavy expectancy of that silence, as if something had already been decided.

As if something was going to happen.

A light, misting rain was falling, softening the street into a grey haze, as Stefano pulled up to Allegra’s building.

‘You don’t have to come in,’ Allegra protested vainly, for Stefano was already through the front door.

‘I’ll see you safely to your door,’ he said, but there was nothing safe about his presence, filling up the tiny hallway. He was too big for the space, she thought, too much. He towered over her, near her.

‘It’s perfectly safe,’ she protested and Stefano just smiled. He was gazing at her, that familiar glint in his amber eyes, a spark Allegra knew could become a fully-fledged blaze. She swallowed, pressing against the wall as if she could put some distance between them.

‘Stefano …’ she began, and then stopped because she didn’t know what else to say.

‘I wondered what it would be like, when I saw you again,’ Stefano said. His voice was pitched low, a husky murmur that still managed to make Allegra tremble.

‘I have too, of course,’ she said, and tried to keep her voice light, friendly. She failed.

‘I wondered if you would be the same,’ Stefano continued. He lifted his hand as if to touch her and Allegra held her breath.

‘I wondered,’ he continued, his voice turning huskier, ‘if you would look at me the same way.’

‘We’re different, Stefano,’ Allegra said. She wished she could tear her eyes away from his burning gaze, wished she could keep her body—and perhaps even her heart—from reacting. Wanting. ‘I’m different,’ she added, but it was no deterrent. He smiled, his fingers touching her cheek, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear.

‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘you are.’

The light touch of his fingers was enough to send sensation spiralling through her. Enough to make her dizzy, to close her eyes. She snapped them open.

‘Don’t do this, Stefano,’ she whispered. She didn’t have the will power to pull away and it shamed her. ‘You’re hiring me in a professional capacity. You shouldn’t do this.’

‘I know I shouldn’t,’ Stefano agreed, but there was no regret in his voice, only decision.

He was moving closer, his body inches from hers—chest, torso, stomach, thighs. She felt his heat come off him in intoxicating waves and she took a deep, gulping breath.

‘We should say goodnight,’ she managed, her voice turning breathless because suddenly it seemed as if there was no air in the hallway, no air in her lungs. Her body was transfixed, her eyes on his, watching his lids lower, his lashes sweep his cheeks and still he moved closer. ‘We should shake hands,’ she added desperately, for she knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Something else was.

‘We should,’ Stefano agreed. His fingers drifted down her cheek, traced the full outline of her lips. His fingers left a trail of tiny shocks along her skin and Allegra forced herself to remain still, not to lean into his hand, into him, because at that moment she wanted nothing more.

‘Of course,’ Stefano continued, ‘we could seal a business deal with a kiss.’

‘That’s not how I do business,’ she countered, choking on air.

‘Don’t you want to know, Allegra?’ he whispered, his lips a scant inch from hers. ‘Don’t you want to know how it is between us … how it could have been, for all these years?’

She tried to shake her head, tried to frame a word, a thought. Why was it so hard to think? Her mind was as misty as the evening outside, her thoughts evaporating into haze.

Then his lips came down on hers, a mere brush turning into something hard, demanding, a possessive brand.