The Italian Doctor’s Mistress Page 8

  “I never asked you to worry about me. Or to assume responsibility for me.”

  “Someone has to, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else willing to take on the job.”

  Such a cruelly accurate observation should have cut her to the quick, or at the very least stoked her anger to fresh heights. But he had one arm curved firmly around her waist, the other under her knees. Her ribs ached from being pressed against the solid strength of his torso. Her ankle throbbed. Yet if some parts of her body hurt like hell, other parts soared in heaven.

  His heart beat next to hers. A muscle twitched in his jaw, as if he held on to his control by a thread. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with his agitated breathing. His eyes captured hers in a stormy, unmistakably passionate gaze.

  Was this not the stuff romantic dreams were made of—for a woman to be swept off her feet by a tall, dark, sinfully handsome stranger? The only drama missing was a thunderclap to rend the air in two, and lightning to zigzag through the elegant, shadowed room. Instead an ormolu clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour.

  If its intent had been to remind them both of who and where they were, it failed—at least as far as Danielle was concerned. Trapped in the echo of its delicate chimes, she lowered her eyes and saw that Carlo had nicked his chin when he’d shaved after work.

  Without thinking of the consequences, she touched her fingertip to the tiny scar. Softly she said, “I’d have thought a man of your surgical expertise would wield a razor more skillfully.”

  She felt the shudder run through him. Heard the breath whistle through his compressed lips. Another surge of electricity charged the air.

  “Stare zitta,” he hissed, jerking his face aside. “Do not say another word, and do not touch me. Do not provoke me into actions we’ll both very much regret in the morning!”

  “Are you threatening to spank me and send me to bed?” she taunted softly, possessed by a daring completely foreign to her usual nature.

  “Spank…?” He frowned, then allowed his mouth to curve in a grudging smile. “Ah, sculaccierò! Well, not that you don’t deserve just such a punishment, but no, la mia cara, Danielle! Farò l’amore, probabile…and that would be a mistake.”

  Again, her grasp of Italian, though skimpy, served her well. L’amore was pretty much universally understood, and it didn’t take a mental giant to figure out probabile—or the reason for the thrill that raced through her body. And again, that imp of mischief prompted her to murmur, “By whose reckoning, Carlo—yours, or mine?”

  Very firmly, he marched back to the couch and deposited her on the cushions. “Be warned before you enter into this kind of game with me, Danielle,” he advised, dropping down next to her. “Let there be no doubt in your mind that if you decide you want to play, you’ll abide by my rules.”

  A shiver of apprehension snaked up her spine. “Perhaps you should clarify exactly what you mean by that.”

  “Being a widower has not rendered me impotent. I have a normal man’s appetites, and his weaknesses, when confronted by a beautiful temptress. And you, cara mia, are all of that, and then some. But no matter how delectable the fare, I do not care to be served the same menu indefinitely.”

  “You mean, you’re a one-night-stand kind of guy, and if I let you take me to bed tonight, I’d better not expect to find you still lying next to me in the morning?”

  “I would have phrased it more diplomatically, and certainly hope I’m a more considerate lover, but you have the gist of the matter correct. My daughter and my work are the only constants in my life. Everything else…” He spread his beautiful hands in a gesture that said it all: here today, gone tomorrow.

  Stung, she retreated behind her habitual cool mask of indifference. “Then let me ease your mind. I most certainly am not planning on becoming a permanent fixture around here.”

  “Again, you misunderstand me. You’re welcome to remain in my home for as long as—”

  “No, this time, you’re the one who doesn’t understand! I’m talking about Italy in general, not just these four walls. It might come as a shock to your elevated sense of self-importance, but you’re not the only one with a life and an agenda. Just because mine differ from yours and happen to be on hold right now, doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned them.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you then implying you have indeed met someone else since your engagement ended, and that this new man will be waiting for you when you go home?”

  She could have told him he had it right the first time, when he’d said no one seemed to care about her, but her pride had taken enough of a beating for one night. “That’s hardly any of your business, Carlo.”

  “You’re quite right, it’s not,” he said. “Nor would I have asked, had you not allowed me to kiss you. But I like to think myself a decent man who would not knowingly infringe on another’s rights.”

  She’d have done better to stick with the truth. In wanting to give the impression she wasn’t quite the pathetic waif he imagined, she’d instead left him with the idea that she was easy game for any man who spared her a second glance. And that she found unacceptable.

  “Relax, Carlo. Your honor remains untarnished. There’s been no one since Tom. If there were, I wouldn’t have thrown myself at you the way I did. You’re not the only one with standards.”

  “I’m glad to learn we’re both of the same mind.”

  “I can’t see that it matters much, one way or the other,” she said, faking a yawn behind her hand. “It was only a kiss, after all.”

  “Dio mio! Am I intruding on a private moment?”

  At the question, both Danielle and Carlo spun around. Zarah Brunelli stood framed in the arched entrance to the salon, her disdainful amusement suggesting she’d overheard enough of the conversation to draw all the right conclusions.

  Unperturbed, Carlo rose to his feet. “I didn’t hear the bell, Zarah,” he said.

  “I didn’t ring,” she replied, her keen brown gaze taking in Danielle’s scarf, lying in a pool of color on the floor, and the disarray of her blouse hanging half off one shoulder. “Should I have?”

  “Of course not. I’m surprised, that’s all. Calandria usually announces visitors.”

  “Calandria is in the garden, enjoying the evening air. I didn’t wish to disturb her and told her I’d announce myself. Perhaps I’d have done better to do so more…tactfully.”

  Ignoring the snide reproof, Carlo asked, “Is there a problem at the hospital?”

  “Not there,” she said pointedly, her glance raking over Danielle who was horribly conscious of her blouse clinging wetly to her camisole from its encounter with Carlo’s mouth. “I was merely passing by and thought Signorina Blake might appreciate hearing that I stopped by her father’s room before I left the clinic, and he remains stable. I hadn’t expected that to be the least of her concerns.”

  Once again, Carlo intervened, saying smoothly, “I’d already given Danielle an update, but since you’ve taken the trouble to follow up anyway, may I offer you something? A glass of wine, perhaps, or a little grappa?”

  “I won’t say no to cioccolato, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “None at all,” he assured her. “Have you eaten?”

  “A sandwich only. It’s been a busy evening.”

  “Let me see what I can drum up from the kitchen. Danielle, do you care for hot chocolate also?”

  She shook her head, anxious for nothing but to escape to her room. Zarah Brunelli, however, had other ideas. No sooner had Carlo disappeared toward the back of the house than she turned to Danielle, her mouth shaped in a small, inimical smile.

  “How nice to have a few moments alone with you, signorina,” she said, gliding forward and taking a seat at the other end of the couch. “I was hoping for just such an opportunity, ever since your unfortunate accident. I do hope you’ll take what I’m about to say, in the same spirit with which it’s intended.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  DANIELLE spent most of Sunday
stretched out on a sun chaise, in the partial shade of a flowering tree. She dozed a little, read a little, and tried very hard not to think about the night before. Her embarrassment over her behavior with Carlo had been made that much worse after Zarah Brunelli had had her say.

  If you think to replace his wife in Dr. Rossi’s affections, Signorina Blake, you are wasting your time, and exposing yourself to public ridicule, she declared. He pays attention to you only because he feels sorry for you.

  When Anita appeared after lunch, four fluffy white kittens crammed in her arms, Danielle could have cheered. She badly needed diversion, and they provided entertainment in spades.

  While the kittens exhausted themselves tumbling over each other on the grass, chasing butterflies and causing minor chaos in general, Anita lay on her stomach with her chin cupped in her hands, and chattered to Danielle about everything under the sun.

  Carlo had been gone all day at the hospital, but came home in good time for dinner. After greeting his daughter, examining the bruise on her forehead and pronouncing she was healing well, he shooed her upstairs to change, and joined Danielle under the tree.

  “You’re also looking much better today,” he remarked, handing her a white wine spritzer, and sprawling on the lawn beside her with a glass of red wine for himself. “I was concerned Anita might wear you out.”

  “Not a chance,” Danielle assured him. “She’s a delight, and I enjoy her company very much.”

  He scrutinized her thoughtfully. “Yes, I see that you do. She brings out that warm, approachable side of yourself you try so hard to keep hidden.”

  She sipped her spritzer and returned his glance over the rim of her glass. “It’s easy to connect with Anita. I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”

  “And nothing ever quite makes up for the woman’s touch, does it?”

  “I wasn’t criticizing you, Carlo,” she said hastily. “You’re doing a marvelous job with your little girl. She has beautiful manners, and I think your insistence on dressing for dinner sets a wonderful example. You should be proud.”

  “I know it’s easy for a man to overlook the finer points of a child’s upbringing, especially with a daughter,” he admitted, “but I made a commitment to take on the role of both parents. It’s what my wife would want, and I won’t let her down.”

  Karina again!

  Because you have managed to sweet-talk yourself into his home does not mean that you will ever take his wife’s place, Dr. Brunelli had warned her. I tell you this for your own good, signorina. He is as married to her today as he was the day she walked down the aisle as his bride.

  The good doctor could have saved her breath. Dead or not, Karina was always there, an invisible but inescapable presence.

  Carlo drained the last of his wine and got to his feet. “I should head in to shower and change, too. My clothes are sticking to me. Are you ready to come inside yet?”

  Danielle shook her head. “I’m going to enjoy the sun a little while longer.”

  “May I freshen your drink before I go?”

  “No.” She held up her glass and swirled its contents. “I still have plenty left, see? But thank you for asking.”

  “Then I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Indeed she would, she determined, but this time, there’d be no hanky-panky afterward.

  As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Friends of Carlo’s stopped by the house on their way back from dinner in town. Although they were very pleasant and included her in the conversation, she felt she was intruding and excused herself early, pleading the need for an early night.

  He left early for the hospital the next morning, but was back at the house by eleven-thirty. He found Danielle reading on the patio outside her room.

  “What’s this?” he said, taking her book and tossing it face down on the table by her chaise. “Have you forgotten we have a date today?”

  She looked up, surprised. “No, but I thought you had. About taking me to the police station, I mean.”

  “Why do you do that?” he asked, regarding her quizzically.

  “Do what?”

  “Constantly set yourself up for disappointment. I said we’d take care of that today, and I honor my word.”

  She gave that charming little shrug which he’d come to recognize as a self-denigrating gesture, one that said, Well, why would any man put himself out for me if he didn’t have to? At first, he’d thought it false modesty on her part, and it had annoyed him. Such a cool beauty must know the kind of lasting impression she made on others.

  Since coming to know her better, though, he realized it was the result of her having been let down too many times by those she should have been able to count on. His annoyance persisted, but now it was directed at her father and the man she’d been engaged to. Between them, and for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, they’d stripped her self-confidence to the bone.

  “Always anticipating the worst is a bad habit to fall into, Danielle,” he said, supporting her as she limped from the villa to the courtyard. “Studies show that disaster and trouble usually manage to find those who go through life expecting them.”

  “Dear me!” She eyed him obliquely from beneath her long lashes as he helped her into the car. “I had no idea you specialized in psychiatry as well as neurosurgery.”

  He caught a discreet whiff of jasmine, a glimpse of peach lingerie when she turned cautiously to reach for the seat belt. Both prompted vivid recall of Saturday evening’s events. Had Zarah not shown up when she did, the outcome might have been vastly different.

  To overcome the tug of desire such a possibility inspired, he adopted the tone he’d have used to lecture a class of novice interns. “The disciplines frequently overlap, signorina.”

  “In that case,” she replied saucily, “you ought to be able to tell the difference between negative wish-fulfillment and self-sufficiency, and recognize the latter when it’s staring you in the face. I’ve been looking out for myself since I was eleven, don’t forget. I’m not used to relying on other people.”

  “Is that why you refused to let Zarah help you to your room on Saturday night?”

  Her expression underwent a change, from pert amusement to stony displeasure. “I didn’t take her offer seriously.”

  “She was concerned for you. She told me so, when I came back to the salon with the hot chocolate.”

  Danielle’s laugh reminded him of his schooldays, and chalk scraping harshly down a blackboard. “Oh, very concerned, I’m sure!”

  “You do not like her?”

  “I do not know her,” she said guardedly.

  “She is a very skilled surgeon and loyal colleague.”

  “She made the latter very clear during the few words we exchanged.”

  Suspecting a lot more had been said during his absence than either woman was willing to admit, he remarked, “I was sorry you didn’t wait to speak to me before you went to bed.”

  “I was all talked out.”

  “All talked out from exchanging just a ‘few words’?”

  “It’s wearing, trying to make conversation with someone who isn’t fluent in English, and since I don’t speak Italian…” Again that graceful little shrug, accompanied by the whisper of underthings sliding over her skin.

  This morning, she wore a sleeveless pink blouse and a full skirt of some thin, fluttery material printed with fat roses and pressed into narrow grooves. It swirled around her ankles, light as a breeze. Fingering a scrap of fabric, he said, “What do you call this stuff?”

  “Accordion-pleated Indian cotton. It hides a multitude of flaws, and takes up next to no room in a suitcase.”

  In his opinion, she had no flaws to hide. “It covers too much of you,” he complained, unable to take his eyes off the graceful curve of her legs, outlined by the filmy fabric. “But to get back to what you were saying about Zarah—”

  “I have nothing more to add,” she said flatly.

  We have nothing to say to each other, Ca
rlo. Nothing at all in common, Zarah had informed him, when he’d questioned her, just that morning.

  “A pity,” he said now. “I hoped the two of you might get to know one another better.”

  “I wasn’t in the mood for company,” Danielle said.

  Before driving away, he slewed another quick glance at her. In profile, she looked remote, untouchable. But he was no longer deceived by that facade, and continued quizzing her. “You were tired, hmm?”

  “That’s right,” she agreed, a shade too readily.

  “Yet when I came to your room much later, you were not asleep.”

  He’d caught her off guard. Her face swivelled toward him, her eyes wide with surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “I saw the light shining under your door.”

  “Why didn’t you knock and say something, then?”

  “Because, Danielle,” he said, leveling a direct gaze at her, “I was afraid, if you opened the door, I’d march in and not be able to leave again. And if my friends hadn’t shown up unexpectedly last night and interrupted us, I’d probably have found myself facing the same dilemma then, as well.”

  She blushed and stared at her fingers, locked tightly together in her lap.

  “Do I embarrass you?” he asked.

  “I embarrass myself,” she said in a low voice. “What happened on Saturday…it’s not like me to be so…aggressive. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Whatever it was, I found it most appealing.”

  “I can’t imagine why. I practically threw myself at you.”

  “Where is it written that a woman must wait always for the man to lead the way? You expressed your desire, and I was most happy to accommodate it.”

  She almost laughed. “Very tactfully said, Carlo! Perhaps your bedside manner isn’t quite as lacking as I once believed.”

  “I speak the truth. As for my bedside manner…” He ogled her teasingly. “You’ve yet to experience that.”

  She blushed again, bit softly against her lower lip, and pretended to look out at the passing scene. “Is it very far from your house to the police station?”