Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family. Кейт Хьюит
‘For old times’ sake.’
‘I don’t want to remember old times.’
Stefano smiled faintly. ‘No, neither do I, come to think of it. Then how about for new times’ sake? New friendships.’
She stared at his hand, outstretched, waiting. The fingers were long and tapered, the skin smooth and tanned. ‘Allegra?’
She knew this was a bad idea. She’d wanted to chat with Stefano like an old friend, but she didn’t want to dance with him like one. Didn’t know if she should get that close.
And yet something in her rebelled. Wanted to see how they were together, how she reacted to him. Wanted, strangely, to feel that lightning streak of pain … to see if it was there at all.
Mutely she nodded.
His hand encased—engulfed—hers and he led her on to the dance floor. She stood there woodenly, her feet shuffling in a parody of steps, while couples danced around them, some entwined, some holding themselves more awkwardly, all of them sliding her and Stefano speculative glances.
‘This isn’t a waltz, Allegra,’ Stefano murmured and pulled her gently to him.
Their hips collided in an easy movement that was far too intimate … more intimate than anything that had passed between them during their engagement.
She felt the hard contours of him against her own softness, unyielding and strong. Allegra stiffened and jerked back even as her limbs went weak.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘I don’t dance that often.’
‘Nor do I,’ Stefano murmured back, his lips close—too close—to her hair. ‘But I hear it’s like riding a bike. You never forget.’
His arms were around her waist, his fingers splayed on her lower back. ‘Do you remember how we danced? On your eighteenth birthday?’ A glimmer of a smile lurked in the mobile curve of his mouth, although his eyes were shuttered. ‘You clung to me for balance because you’d never worn heels before.’
Allegra shook her head, closed her eyes before snapping them open once more. ‘I was a child.’
Stefano frowned, his eyes flickering across her face. ‘Perhaps,’ he said at last. ‘But you aren’t one now.’
‘No,’ Allegra agreed, ‘I’m not.’
They danced in silence, swaying to the rhythm, their bodies—chests, hips, thighs—all too tantalisingly close. Allegra felt herself relaxing, even though there was a taut wire of tension running through her core, vibrating with awareness.
She’d never expected it to happen like this. And yet, she realized, she’d expected to see Stefano again. A part of her, she acknowledged now, had been waiting for their reunion since the night she’d fled.
Why? she wondered, and her heart knew the answer. To show him how strong she was, how healed and healthy and happy she was … without him.
‘What are you thinking?’ Stefano murmured, and Allegra gazed at him through half-closed lids, soothed by the music and wine.
‘How odd this is,’ she admitted in a husky murmur. ‘To be dancing with you … again.’
‘It is odd,’ Stefano agreed, his voice pitched low to match hers. ‘But not unpleasant, surely.’
‘I expected you to hate me.’ Her eyes opened, widened. Waited.
He shrugged. ‘Why should I, Allegra? It was a long time ago. You were young, afraid. You had your reasons. And, in the end, we didn’t know each other very well, did we? A handful of dinners, a few kisses. That was all.’
Allegra nodded, accepting, though her throat was tight. He’d distilled their relationship down to its rather shallow essence, and yet it had been the most profound experience of her life.
‘Do you hate me?’ Stefano asked with surprising, easy candour. Allegra looked up, startled, and saw a shadow flicker through his eyes.
‘No,’ she said, and meant it. ‘No. I’ve moved past it, Stefano.’ She smiled, tried to keep her voice light. Breezy. ‘It was a long time ago, as we’ve both agreed, and I’ve realized that you never lied to me. I just believed what I did because I wanted to.’
‘And what did you believe?’ Stefano asked softly. Allegra forced herself to meet his gaze directly.
‘That you loved me … as much as I loved you.’
The words seemed to reverberate between them and for a strange second Allegra felt like the girl she’d been seven years ago, standing before Stefano and asking, Do you love me?
He’d never answered then, and he didn’t now.
Allegra let out a breath. What had she expected? That he’d tell her he had loved her, that it had all been a mistake, a misunderstanding?
No, of course not. It hadn’t been a mistake. It had been the right thing to do. For both of them.
Stefano hadn’t loved her, hadn’t even considered loving her, and she would have been miserable as his wife. She’d never regret her choice, never even look back. Not once. Not ever.
That you loved me … as much as I loved you. The words played a remorseless echo in Stefano’s brain, even as he continued to dance, continued to feel Allegra’s soft contours so tantalizingly close to him. He fought the urge to pull her closer, and closer still, and make her remember how they could have been all those years ago, if they’d been given the chance.
If she’d given him a chance.
But she hadn’t, she’d made her decision that night, and he’d accepted it.
Hell, he’d made peace with it. Or at least he would now, for Lucio’s sake.
Lucio … He forced his mind as well as other parts of his body away from Allegra’s tempting softness and thought of his housekeeper’s son, the grandson of the man who’d given him everything—shelter, food, opportunity—even at his own expense.
He wouldn’t repay Matteo by neglecting his duty to his grandson. He wouldn’t let Allegra distract him in his purpose … or, if it came to it, have him distract her.
His lips curved as he considered how many ways in which he could distract her …
No. No, the past was over. Finished.
Forgotten.
It had to be.
The music ended and they swayed to a stop before Stefano quite deliberately stepped away. It was time to tell Allegra the real reason why he was here … why he was dancing with her, or talking to her at all.
Allegra felt Stefano’s arms fall away and resisted the urge to shiver. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her uncle glowering and she looked away.
Stefano glanced around at the crowd of striving socialites and smiled. ‘This crowd isn’t really to my taste. What would you think about getting a drink some place more congenial?’
Allegra felt a leap of both anticipation and alarm in her chest. ‘I don’t …’
Stefano raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to finish that sentence?’ he asked dryly and Allegra realized she’d trailed off without knowing what to say. What to think.
What to feel.
‘It’s late,’ she murmured, and wondered what she wanted Stefano to do. Take her reluctance as refusal or refuse to take no for an answer?
It galled her that she didn’t know what she wanted him to do; she just wanted him to choose.
‘It’s not even ten o’clock yet,’ Stefano said. There was a lazy lilt to his voice that made Allegra feel as if a purring cat had just leapt on to her lap. She wanted to stroke it, test