His Royal Love-Child. Lucy Monroe
Marcello said forcefully, no indulgence in evidence any longer.
“Not if you aren’t, I’m not.”
He let out a breath of obvious frustration. “It is not a matter of not considering myself in a relationship…it is merely that were I to ignore the overtures of other women completely, it would lead to too much speculation.”
“Whereas my loyalty does not?”
“It is not a matter of loyalty,” he denied, anger starting to curl around the edges of his forced patience.
“Yes, it is.”
“I told you, it is a matter of expediency.”
“And if me turning down invitations led to the same speculation that worries you, would that be reason for me to respond similarly? To go out with other men, to flirt with them?”
“I did not go out with anyone! I danced…I talked…I flirted as Italian men do, but I did not touch anyone as I touch you. I did not want to.”
“You had that woman’s body as close to yours as you could get with your clothes on.”
“It did nothing for me.”
“Is that supposed to matter?”
“It should.”
“Why?”
“It tells you that despite your insecurities, you are special to me.”
“So special I’m a big, dark secret no one in your life knows about.”
“So special that only the thought of seeing you turns me on. Holding another woman with her body pressed to mine does not because she is not you.”
She didn’t want to be moved by his description, but her susceptible heart told her that was unique…particularly for a man like Marcello Scorsolini.
He put his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her collarbone in a way he knew made her shiver. “The only woman I want, the only woman I crave to touch and be touched by right now, is you.”
If he hadn’t tacked the right now on, his statement would have been perfect.
He crowded close to her until their bodies brushed. “You are the only woman I want to hold this close. Everything at the party was window dressing…it meant nothing. Believe me, tesoro. Please.”
The please did it. This man was not accustomed to begging. For anything. She had to be special to him, or he would have walked out when she started being difficult. Because he could have any woman he wanted…of that she was certain. And he made it clear he wanted only her.
“You didn’t have sex with the beautiful blonde?”
He crushed her to him, his arms winding around her in a possessive hold that shook her. “No, porca miseria! I would never do that to you, mio precioso. I promise you.”
She believed him and the relief she felt was incredible. “Good, because I would never stay with a player.”
He laughed, the sound strained. “I am no player. I am not even the playboy the press paints me. I thought you knew this. I thought you knew me.”
“I did. I do, but a picture is worth a thousand words.”
“Only if you are speaking the same language as the photographer. What that journalist caught on film was two strangers dancing, nothing more. But look at the picture we paint, amante. Look and see the difference between eyes hot to possess and a social smile that meant nothing. Look at my hands which tremble with the need to touch you, but which held the other woman with total indifference.”
His words did indeed paint a picture more powerful than the one in the scandal sheet. And the feel of his body pressed against hers backed it up. He needed her and she needed him. She’d missed him so much.
“If you are not a playboy, then what are you?” she asked provocatively.
“A mere man who wants you very much.”
She could feel how much he wanted her and it made her insides melt.
Her mind started short-circuiting as it always did when he touched her, but she could still think straight enough to say, “Maybe we need to go public with our relationship. I don’t like seeing pictures like that, Marcello. They hurt.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth, the bridge of her nose, her forehead and then her lips with aching tenderness. “You are too sweet, cara. The press would pulverize you and I could not bear to watch, but I will do all that I can to make sure you are not hurt this way again.”
That was something, she supposed, but she wanted to argue that she could handle the press. She was strong. She’d had to be her whole life. But her mouth was too busy kissing his to utter the words that needed saying.
The next morning, Marcello was gone when she woke up and so was the scandal rag, she noticed.
However, there was a red rose on his pillow and a note beside it. It read:
Cara,
Thank you for last night. I treasure our times together and the generosity of your affection for me.
M
He’d never left her a note before. His paranoia about privacy extended to not leaving any evidence of their relationship for others to find. This was a huge departure for him. It had to be significant. Maybe he was thinking about her desire to go public…maybe he was beginning to see that she was right.
The one thing she knew for certain was that his desire for her was not feigned. If he’d found relief with a convenient body while he was away from her, she was a monkey’s uncle.
He’d been way too hungry. They’d made love into the early hours of morning and he had told her repeatedly how much he missed her, how beautiful she was to him, how special. All the words her vulnerable heart longed for.
Except the three that really mattered, but then she’d never said them to him, either.
She’d always worried they would spell the end to their relationship. She’d assumed he would reject that sort of emotional tie. He’d been so clear at the beginning of their affair that it could only ever be just that. An affair with a beginning and an end and no happily ever after. She’d wanted him so much and had been so impressed with his honesty after Ray’s lies that she’d said yes.
And until she’d seen that picture in the tabloid, she’d never once regretted her choice. Marcello was an incredible lover and the time they spent together out of bed was equally fulfilling. He’d made their first time together very special and every time after.
His desire to keep their relationship underwraps had suited her down to the ground at first. She was too private a person to want to share their intimacy with the world at large. In that, too, she and Marcello were really alike. She’d seen what the gutter press could do with her friend Tara. At first, Danette had been only too happy to avoid the possibility of experiencing anything ugly and intrusive like that herself.
But beyond that, she had feared that if word of her relationship with Marcello got out, she would have to deal with interference from her well-meaning but overprotective parents. She’d also been concerned that her job might be affected, no matter how much Marcello did not want that to happen. She wanted to earn her advancement and did not want others speculating what her time between the sheets with the president of the company meant for her career.
She’d spent her whole life up to now under the watchful and overly intrusive eye of her family. It was important to her to prove that the strength it had taken to beat the scoliosis that had threatened her ability to walk, and even her life, spilled over into the rest of her existence as well.
Which was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted love or a long-term commitment in the beginning, either. She’d spent years in a sort of self-imposed isolation because of the brace she’d worn until she