The Italian Doctor’s Mistress Read online

  “Good idea.” He straightened his jacket, shot his cuffs into place, and ambled across the room to where she waited. “Are you very tired, cara mia?”

  “Exhausted,” she said firmly, and added a yawn for good measure.

  “Then I’ll say buona notte.” He dipped his head and brushed her mouth with his.

  When did the kind of chaste kiss one friend might give to another metamorphose into something only lovers would exchange? Who closed the door with him still in the room, and how did she come to be in his arms?

  The questions flowed weakly through her mind like waves receding on a distant shore, leaving her with nothing but the same old raging hunger she’d fought so hard to suppress and vowed never to indulge again.

  “You really must go,” she said, pushing feebly at his chest.

  “Si. I know.”

  Then why was he unfastening the belt to her bathrobe, then inching her nightie up her thighs? And how come she was letting him? “I don’t think we should do this, Carlo.”

  “Indeed not,” he said, his voice dark and husky with desire. “It has been a long, difficult day, and we are both tired.”

  But they did it, anyway. And it was, as always, magnificent.

  “You do understand, sweetheart?”

  Anita nodded reluctantly. “I made a mistake. You are not going to be my new mamma.”

  “No, honey.”

  The child poked at the remains of her cream cake and looked at Danielle from big, sad eyes. “But if Papà asked you, would you then?”

  The breath snagged in Danielle’s throat. “That isn’t going to happen, Anita.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because your papa understands that I’m only here for a little while. My real home is in Seattle, a city very far away, in America. I have an apartment there, and an office where I work, and friends who miss me.”

  “But he kissed you. I saw him.”

  “He probably kisses a lot of people. I know he kisses you.”

  “Because he loves me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why can’t he love you, as well?”

  Why not, indeed? He would, if she had her way. “You’re his little girl, Anita, his precious daughter. I’m just…” The woman he happens to be sleeping with these days. “I’m just a friend.”

  “You’re my friend, too. You said so. And I love you.” She covered her chest with her hands. “You make me feel full in here.”

  “Oh, darling…!” Tears clogged Danielle’s throat. She wanted to say, I love you, too, but it would only add more hurt and confusion to a situation already rife with too much pain. And yet, not to tell the child…to send her away believing she didn’t matter…?

  A knock sounded at the door. Calandria stood outside, come to take Anita home. Dejectedly, the little girl prepared to leave. Got as far as the door, then at the last minute ran back and flung herself into Danielle’s arms. “I don’t want you to go away,” she sobbed.

  Danielle couldn’t stop the words. They boiled out of her mouth, ragged with grief. “I don’t want to leave you, baby, but I don’t have any choice!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AFTER her disastrous meeting with Anita, moving out of the Rossi villa wasn’t enough, Danielle decided. Too many people were hurting. Leaving the country entirely was really her only option.

  The problem lay with her father. She could hardly abandon him. She was, after all, the only family he had left. But he made it easy for her by sending for his latest girlfriend.

  His close call with death had mellowed him. Given him a new appreciation for life—not just his, but other people’s.

  “Go…home, Danielle,” he said, with more affection than he’d ever shown her before, when she visited him the next morning. “You’ve served your…time here, and I thank you for it, but now that Nora’s on the scene, you’re off the hard…hook. She’ll be staying until I’m fit to travel home, and…after that, if she has her way.” A lopsided grin had touched his gaunt face. “If she has her way, she might even end up making an honest…man of me.”

  “You’re thinking of marrying her?”

  “The idea’s crossing on…growing on me. We’ll see how the rehab goes. I’m not…putting a ring on her finger so that she can be my…nurse…maid. She deserves better than that.”

  His speech was halting and sometimes he couldn’t immediately find the word he wanted, but his eyes were sharp with his old intelligence. He’d come a long way, but knew the road ahead would not be easy or quick. To him, that was just one more obstacle to overcome. Nora would have her hands full, keeping him in line.

  “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, Father—”

  “I’m sure you look worn out. G…get going, girl, or they’ll be putting you in the bed next door to mine.”

  She bent to kiss his sunken cheek. “I’ll see you again before I leave.”

  “You’d better,” he said gruffly.

  The only thing left to do after that was bring Carlo up to date on her plans. And that, she knew, most definitely would not be easy.

  She tried to make an appointment to see him in his office late that same afternoon, right after she’d booked her flight home. But he’d been called to deal with yet another horrific road accident, Beatrice told her, and would likely be in surgery for several hours yet. So Danielle had to settle for leaving a message asking him to call her at the hotel.

  When half-past ten rolled around that night, and she still hadn’t heard from him, she went to bed, almost relieved to postpone her news for another day. At eleven, he knocked at her door. Dopey with sleep, she let him in.

  “How did you know I needed you?” he muttered, practically falling into her arms.

  “Um…” she began, stunned by the fatigue etched on his face. “Actually, I—”

  But he was locked in another world, so hellish he didn’t hear her. His eyes dark with grief, he went on, “We lost three people today. A mother and her two children. They were babies, Danielle, just one and four years old. Their car was sideswiped by a truck, and rolled down a steep ravine.”

  Goose bumps prickled over her skin. “Carlo, I’m so sorry! Were there no survivors?”

  “The father only.” He shook his head despairingly. “How do I tell him, when he asks about his family?”

  She had no answer. Couldn’t begin to imagine what he could say. There were no words; nothing God or man had devised, to soften the impact of such a tragedy. Carlo knew that. He’d lost his own wife, and bore the scars to this day.

  Because she could think of nothing else to comfort him, she took him by the hand and led him to the armchair. There was brandy in the minibar. She emptied the tiny bottle into a glass and gave it to him. Alcohol, at a time like this? Perhaps not. But he needed something to bolster his strength. “When did you last eat, Carlo?”

  He cradled the glass and stared ahead, haunted by the images of his day. “Eat?”

  “Never mind.” Thanking providence that the hotel offered twenty-four hour room service, she went to the phone and ordered a toasted ham and grilled cheese sandwich, and a pot of coffee.

  “I don’t need food,” he objected, when the meal arrived.

  “You certainly do,” she said firmly, plunking the tray across his knees. “You’re not driving home in your present condition.”

  He swept a weary hand over his eyes. “I’m used to putting in long days, Danielle. They go with the job.”

  “You’re wiped out,” she replied. “You’ve been running on an empty gas tank for hours.”

  The way he devoured the sandwich bore out the truth of her remark. Although not completely restored, by his second cup of coffee he had improved enough to ask, “Was there a special reason you wanted to see me today, cara?”

  Avoiding his glance, she placed the empty tray on the desk and said, “It can wait until tomorrow. You need to get home to your family now.”

  “Not necessary.” He caught her hand and pulled her down on his lap. “
I phoned Calandria earlier to let her know I’d be very late and might not make it home at all tonight.”

  “You need to get some sleep, Carlo.”

  “There is a bed right here,” he said. “I need to sleep with you, le mio amore. Your warm body lying next to mine will help chase away the nightmares.”

  If she had a grain of sense, she’d have shoved him out the door. But when had sense ever entered the equation where Carlo Rossi was concerned?

  Really, he was worn-out. He could fall asleep at the wheel of his car. Drive off the road, or wrap the vehicle around a tree. Become the latest in the region’s too-long list of traffic casualties. And one thing was certain: he was in no shape to make love. So where was the harm in letting him stay?

  “There are spare towels and a toothbrush in the bathroom,” she said. “Help yourself.”

  He was gone just a few minutes. She heard the water running in the shower, and then he was back, wearing nothing but the dark shadow of new beard growth along his jaw, and a towel slung around his narrow hips. Still, she deemed it wise that she linger as long as possible in the bathroom herself, to allow him time to fall asleep. Just in case he had any other ideas.

  She needn’t have worried. When she returned, he lay on his back, out cold. An earthquake wouldn’t have disturbed him. To be on the safe side, though, when she crawled under the covers, she kept well over on her own half of the bed.

  Some time during the night, however, she moved without knowing it, and so did he. She awoke at dawn to find herself spooned up against him, with his hand cupping her breast, his very aroused front pressed against her back, and his very hungry lips nuzzling her neck.

  “Buon giorno, innamorata,” he whispered.

  Still fuzzy with sleep, her head tried to warn her that if she didn’t put a stop to things right then and there, she’d live to regret it. Her heart, beating with slow, heavy intent, told her it was a last chance to taste heaven, and if she turned away from it, she’d live to regret that even more.

  Her traitorous body, which had awoken long before she knew it, had the final say. “Buon giorno,” she sighed, and turned to face him.

  It was as if he knew it would be their last time together. Never before had their lovemaking been so heartbreakingly slow and sweet. Never more tender, or punctuated with so many muttered endearments. But even his prodigious stamina eventually ran its course, and he withdrew from her to collapse on his back, panting and slick with sweat.

  Lying next to him, Danielle watched the reflection of the rising sun cast dancing reflections of the lake over the ceiling, and knew she could put things off no longer. “Carlo,” she said, “I’m going home tomorrow.”

  He turned his head on the pillow, the sleepy passion in his eyes eclipsed by sharp awareness. She supposed it came from his being a doctor, that strange ability to snap to attention in a nanosecond. “What?”

  “I’m going home. It’s time. My father’s well on the road to recovery. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

  And certainly you don’t!

  He propped himself on his elbow and stared at her broodingly for the longest time. At last, he stroked his thumb over her mouth and said quietly, “I don’t want to let you go. I’ll miss…all this.”

  You’ll miss the sex, and the convenience of my being utterly willing whenever you come to me, Carlo. But you won’t miss me enough to ask me to stay.

  Somehow managing to keep her voice steady, she said, “Well, we always knew it had to end sooner or later.”

  “But so suddenly, cara, with no warning?”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. My father’s future wife is coming to be with him. There’s no longer any reason for me to stay.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, and was interrupted by his cell phone chirping on the dresser. “Don’t move,” he told her, throwing back the covers and going to answer. “This won’t take but a minute.”

  It took even less. After a few terse words, he switched off the phone and turned to her. “The patient I spoke of last night, the one who lost his wife and children, is awake and asking for them. I have to be there to tell him, Danielle. He needs to hear this from me. I’m the one who couldn’t save them.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  By the time she’d dragged herself out of bed and into her bathrobe, he’d showered and was ready to go. “I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I’ll see you again, before you go.”

  “No, Carlo,” she said steadily, reaching up to kiss him one last time. “Let’s not drag this out. I’ve always hated long goodbyes.”

  The other passengers in the departure lounge at Malpensa Airport in Milan must have noticed her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but they were polite enough not to stare or comment. Huddled in a corner overlooking the runways, she watched the continual arrival and departure of jets, but saw only the final scene with Carlo, just that morning.

  He’d caught her just as she was leaving the hospital after stopping to see her father one last time, and strong-armed her down the administrative wing to his office. “I have a proposition for you, Danielle,” he declared. “I think it would be a very good thing if I were to marry you.”

  “Why me?” The question had popped out, unrehearsed, unexpected.

  “Because you are the best person for the job. We are compatibile. And my daughter needs you.” He paused, and closed his eyes as though to ward off inexpressible pain. “Last night, I told Anita that you were going back to America. I tried very hard to make her understand, and reminded her that she still had me, and I would never leave her.”

  “And…?”

  He turned away and she saw tears in his eyes. “I have devoted myself to my daughter, Danielle. I thought I was the most important person in her life. To discover that she felt the absence of a mother so keenly that she’d fabricate one from her exposure to you, dealt a killing blow to my ego. I did not want to accept the fact that I could not take Karina’s place, that only another woman could do that. You are that woman, Danielle.”

  “You’re selling yourself short, Carlo,” she said, refusing to allow herself even to consider his proposal. She’d always hoped to marry. Had looked forward to knowing that she’d found her other half; that she and her husband each made the other complete. And heaven alone knew how much she’d wanted Carlo to be that man.

  But like this, selected because she was the most suitable candidate for the job? Where was the grand passion, the undying commitment to love and cherish? Oh, he needed her, she’d grant him that, but not for himself.

  “You think so? You think I exaggerate?” He swung back to face her, and the tears were still there. “When Anita came down to breakfast this morning, she had cut off her long braids. She wants nothing to remind her of you. Her life, she said, is now ugly, and so is she.”

  Numb with shock, Danielle covered her mouth with both hands. “Good grief, Carlo, that poor child!”

  “Grief, indeed, and so much of it that I confess I don’t know where to begin to end it. First, that mother and her children, then that poor man who loved them all, and now this.”

  “But marrying me isn’t the answer,” she told him. “It’s a desperate move you’ll come to regret bitterly. You’re an intelligent man, Carlo. You know I’m telling you the truth.”

  He watched her in silence for many a long minute. “I hoped you would see it differently. I hoped…” His shoulders sagged under his starched white medical tunic. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I hoped.”

  “My flight leaves Milan in four hours,” she cried. “Throwing something like this at me, at this late date, is unfair. You know—you know marriage needs more than convenience to make it work. Think of Karina, of how you felt to be her husband. Then think of what you’re asking both yourself and me to settle for now.”

  Had she been wrong to turn him down? she wondered, the muted scream of another jet’s landing puncturing her thoughts. She’d geared her entire adult life around finding the right man,
but what if there was no “right” man?

  Or what if there was, and she was too proud to take him on his terms? Or too fearful?

  Walking away from Carlo had ripped her to shreds. This incredible man, with his gray, thoughtful eyes and passionate mouth, and beautiful, sensitive hands…how would she live without him? How could she ever look at another man, let alone lie with one? How did any woman settle for anything less, when she’d known the very best?

  And therein lay the crux of the whole matter. She had become engaged to Tom because she thought he was safe, and because he said all the things she thought were important—the I love you’s which were supposed to mean so much but which, in reality, were just empty words. In the end, he’d left her, and she hadn’t cared enough to try to hold on to him, because she’d realized he wasn’t worth having.

  But why was she running away from Carlo, when he was everything she’d ever wanted? Because he wouldn’t compromise his integrity by telling her he loved her when he didn’t? How much did that matter, if she loved enough for both of them?

  A profound emptiness filled her heart; a life-threatening hole that only he could fill. In listening to her pride, she’d thrown away the one thing she wanted above all others. Well, damn it, she wouldn’t let it happen.

  For once, she—Danielle Blake, doormat extraordinaire—was going to fight for what she wanted. And if the only way she could have Carlo was on his terms—well, look at what she’d be getting in return: a lover, a daughter, and a husband.

  Snatching up her travel bag, her purse, her jacket, she started back the way she’d come. “Mi scusi,” she stammered, climbing over outstretched legs, and past mothers with crying babies on their hips, and old people in wheelchairs. “Permesso, per favore.”

  “Signorina,” the attendant at the boarding desk called out. “Tutto bene? Is everything all right?”

  “No.” She gestured in the direction of the security gate at the far end of the long walkway, to the customs officials checking luggage and passports. “I have to go back.”