Desire Has No Mercy Page 9

  'Nor, very likely, would I have given you your sister's IOUs. Don't pretend to be shocked, Julia. You've said often enough that I'm no saint, and the girl who walked into my casino was wearing a chemise dress in a stunning deep pink, the soft flaxen curve of her hair was held to one side in a silver clip, and her mouth was a velvety red. As I've said, Julia, those IOUs were yours for the taking, but when you opened those soft lips you said some hard things and you made me mad. All I wanted then was to teach you a lesson you wouldn't forget in a hurry.'

  'You certainly made sure I wouldn't forget it!' Julia flushed as she remembered the details of that lesson, the way he had driven her backwards to where his bed stood in the shadows of that room above the casino, his eyes brilliant with intent every inch of the way. 'You'll remember this night all your days,' he had promised. 'I'll show you that underneath the fine disdain, my lady, you are just another woman.'

  Julia pressed a table napkin to her lips to conceal their tremor. Lithe, tigerish, darkly graceful, he had tracked her to the bed and when he touched her it was as if an electrical current entered her body and made her legs buckle beneath her. She had never known in her life such a panic of heart and nerves, alone for the first time in her life with the kind of man who obeyed no rules where women were concerned. 'You're a no-good worthless brute,' she had raged, 'and I hate every detestable inch of you!'

  'You look lovely when you hate a man,' he had mocked. 'Now don't fight me too much or I shall do damage to this charming dress. Remember, you have to go home in it in the morning.'

  Julia had to submit to its removal, knowing that if he tore her dress it would be evident to Verna that it had been done at the casino. Her torment had been like that of a trapped animal and she'd stood shivering as the cool air from an open window drifted on to her bare shoulders, until all at once the coolness was replaced by the warmth of a mouth searching the hollows of her neck.

  'You infinite devil of a man!' She had punched his chest and tried her hardest to get her knee into him, but he had been too adroit and far too strong, and there had been no escape from him.

  It all came rushing back as she met Rome's eyes, the way she noticed in the morning that his skin had a golden sheen to it and that unlike a lot of modern men he didn't wear a gold chain with the inevitable saintly medal buried in his chest hair.

  'Can I go now?' she had asked.

  'Of course,' he said, handing her the gambling slips. 'Don't forget these—or me.'

  'That's the first thing I intend to do when I walk out of this place—forget you!' she had rejoined. He had laughed at her, a molten ripple to his body in the morning sunlight. He had laughed as if he knew that before very long she would have cause to remember him.

  'You haven't a bone of remorse in your body, have you, Rome?' Julia studied him in the lamplight of the salone. 'You're a predator—you take. I expect in a former life you were a condottiere.'

  'A soldier of fortune, eh? Not one of the Borgias?' He broke open a purplish fig and carried the sweet inner fruit to his mouth, something very sensual about the action, his eyes fixed lazily upon her face as his white teeth bit into the fruit. 'You know what they say about figs, don't you, carina?'

  'Yes, you don't have to spell it out!'

  'Why not?' He quirked an eyebrow and looked amused. 'Life for you in Blanche Van Holden's house was more than a little repressive, wasn't it, Julia? I don't believe you're naturally a prig, but you were certainly brought up to be one; trained to the eyebrows to become the wife of some anaemic, starch-shirted prig with Wall Street connections. One day you'll thank me for saving you from such a fate.'

  'I consider, Rome, that I have very little to thank you for. I was content with my life before you disrupted it, and you might as well know here and now that I intend to continue with that style of life when—all this is over and done with.' She swept her hand down her body, indicating with the gesture that she referred to the child she was carrying. 'You can't hold me, Rome. You can't force me to remain with you. We aren't living in the Middle Ages when even the law didn't care very much what happened to women. I married you for the sake of the child—you swore you married me for the same reason. We aren't in love with each other, and despite what you think of me and my upbringing I want to know what it feels like to be with someone I love.'

  'Someone like Wineman?' he taunted. 'I'd have a bit more respect for him if he'd swung a punch at me when I told him you were marrying me, but he stood there like a stick and made no effort at all to fight for you. I wonder what he'd have done had he caught me in his apartment stealing one of his works of art?'

  'Men of sensitivity don't show their feelings in your sort of way,' she retorted. 'It might be natural for you to swing a punch at someone who took your girl, but Paul isn't like that. I knew he was upset. I could see it in his eyes.'

  'Then you must have terrific vision,' Rome scoffed. 'He was affronted by the obvious fact that I'm Italian, and I know how his sort refer to Latin Americans. We're gigolos, waiters, or racketeers. You talk so primly about going back to your old life when you've had the baby, but do you honestly suppose it will be that easy? Your so-called friends are a bunch of snobs, Julia. Your own sister would have been dropped like a hot potato if I'd sent those gambling slips to her fiancé—oh yes, and that's why you came to the casino all dolled up and ready to impress the management with your high-class accent and your Van Holden name. What happened when you recognised me, my dear? Did your heart turn over?'

  She gave him a scathing look. 'You were a horrid child and I knew the moment I saw you again that you'd grown into a hard, ruthless man. You keep saying you meant to give me those gambling slips, but I don't believe you. All you wanted was to drag a Van Holden down in the dirt—'

  'Be quiet!' His hand shot out and grasped her around the nape of the neck. 'Whatever motivated the happenings of that night, I won't have them referred to as dirty.'

  'Why not, Rome?' She could feel his fingers pressing into her nape. 'Is it your precious child you're thinking of? Are you trying to pretend to yourself that it was made with love?'

  'At least with passion,' he said grimly. 'We weren't strangers, Julia. Do you think I didn't know that you used to watch me when I came to your grandmother's house to run her errands? You used to be playing on the lawn with your doll's pram and you'd let your long hair swing half over your face so you could watch me come along the back path to the kitchen door. I knew because I watched you as well. We were curious about each other even then, and that night in Naples was inevitable and you know it.'

  'You made it happen,' she said indignantly. 'You knew I was a—a good girl, but that didn't stop you, did it?'

  'Did you really want me to stop?' The grip of his hand forced her to look at him. 'Come on, tell the truth and shame the devil.'

  'There's no shame in you or the devil.' She could feel him urging her nearer all the time to his mouth and when his lips suddenly closed on hers she could taste the sweetness of the fig on them, and the lingering way he kissed her was sensuous as the way he had eaten the fruit.

  'You have lovely lips,' he murmured. 'They weren't made for the bitter little things you say with them—come, try kissing me, you might enjoy the experience.'

  'Go to the devil,' she muttered, trying to twist away from him and finding to her dismay that with hardly any effort he had made her take a reclining position so he was leaning over her, his eyes scanning her face and travelling down to the agitated movement of her breast under the silk of her robe.

  'You smell of lilac scent and buttered corn,' he smiled, lowering his mouth to the soft hollow of her throat. 'Did Wineman ever kiss you like this, eh? Did he ever tell you that your skin has a crushable softness and that there's a kind of throb in your voice that makes you sound warm and sensual? Did he ever make you tremble when he touched you?'

  'I—I'm trembling because you terrify me—'

  'Don't talk nonsense.' His lips pushed aside the opening of her robe, making her gasp as he ran
his lips over the smooth curve of her breast, his face resting warm against her. Suddenly his breath quickened; he rose to his feet and swept her up with him.

  'I'm afraid I have to say to hell with your scruples, my dear.' He carried her from the salone into the bedroom and when he laid her down on the bed he held her there and gazed down intently into her eyes, the pupils of his own eyes darkly expanded into the smoky grey. 'Hate me if you have to, carina, but don't fight me. You're my wife and I'm going to have you whether you give or hold back. I'm going to take if you aren't woman enough to be generous.'

  'You'll always have to take, Rome.' She lay there passively, for it was useless trying to fight him. 'I haven't a thing to give you.'

  'You think not, my sweet?' He brushed a hand down her body. 'You have my baby under your heart and when I hold you I shall have the two of you in my arms.'

  Julia turned her head away from him and flung an arm across her eyes. She heard him go into the salone and turn out the lamps, and when he returned she listened tensely to the sound of him undressing.

  'Aren't you getting into bed? he asked. 'Shall I tuck you in?'

  She shook her head and sat up, pushing at her hair in a defeated way. Her nightdress lay across the satin-topped stool at the foot of the bed and when she reached for it she heard Rome give a brief laugh. Julia ignored him and went into the bathroom to put on the nightdress and brush her teeth. He joined her there and she was intensely aware of his hard maleness as he used his own toothbrush and rinsed his mouth.

  'Don't you wear pyjamas?' she asked tensely.

  'No, I find them too restricting.' He watched her through the wall mirror. 'I like to stretch out in bed and feel free.'

  'Like an animal,' she muttered.

  'Yes, my dear. La belle et la bete.'

  Julia clenched her teeth. 'The Beast gave Beauty time to get used to him.'

  'Until she saw him through the eyes of love?' Rome looked quizzical. 'I don't think I can wait that long, donna mia.'

  'You've no pity in you!' she exclaimed.

  'I'd be ashamed to be Italian if all you aroused in me was pity.' His hand swept her hair from her brow and his eyes ran over her in the delicate nightdress. 'Santo Dio, don't look at me like that! I'm not a monster!'

  'Please, Rome—' She backed away from his flagrant strength, his hard long limbs and wide shoulders. 'Give me time! I came to Italy as your wife believing you'd keep your word a-and just be kind—'

  'I don't feel kind when I'm alone with you, mia.' His arms reached out and he gathered her completely against him, pressing her to his body. 'You see how it is, so be reasonable and don't act like a child. I can't treat you like one and that's a fact.'

  'You promised—'

  'Promises are abstract, my sweet, but you are warm and real—and I want you! Come, little one, let me love you!' And without further words he swept her up in his arms and carried her to bed.

  He reached out from the bed and put out the lamp, plunging the room into a milky gloom. A cry of protest rose in Julia, a need to show fight, and fiercely she drove her fingernails into the supple skin of Rome's shoulders. He caught his breath audibly as her nails raked his back, jerking a little away from her to meet her eyes in the shafting moonlight.

  'Does that make you feel better?' he demanded.

  'I hope it hurt you!' She glared up at him, her eyes as trapped and green as a vixen's.

  'You little fool, Julia, we could have fun—'

  'Fun?' she exclaimed. 'Do you think I was amused when I found myself pregnant from your last bit of fun? You made me ill with your hot mouth and your hands all over me! If I'd known in New York that I'd have to endure more of it, I'd have done anything rather than marry you!'

  'Me ne frego,' he said insolently. 'You did marry me and I don't give a damn for your ladylike sensibilities. I'm not Wineman and I don't intend to behave like him—if he'd been more of a man with you, then you might not be the little prig you are.'

  'I do hate you!' Julia tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, tormented by her helplessness in his arms. 'I'd like to see you in hell! I pray for that, to make you go through the misery I went through when I found out what you'd done to me. I had a career and I had Paul—I loved Paul, do you hear? I still love him! He treated me in a way you know nothing about!'

  'Like a precious painting, my dear? Or a rare porcelain to be handled with care?'

  'He certainly didn't treat me like an object to be mauled!'

  'Grazie.' Rome spoke through gritted teeth. 'All of a sudden, Julia, I have about as much desire for you as for a slice of cold pizza. Have the bed to yourself and your tepid dreams of Wineman. For what it's worth he won't want you now I've had you, no more than he'd want a classical vase with a handle missing.'

  Rome swung himself out of bed and the moonlight glimmered on his tall body as he walked towards the door of his dressing-room. The door closed firmly behind him, but it was some moments before Julia stopped trembling from the reaction of their quarrel. Never in her life had she been party to such bitterness; it left her shaken and sick to her stomach, and with a little groan she drew up her legs and lay in a defensive, almost childish attitude.

  She couldn't bear Rome to touch her when she hated him so much. He had ruined her chances with Paul… she had wanted the kind of life Paul would have given her; cool, orderly and elegant.

  She'd fight Rome all the way for trying to make her his kind of woman when she wanted to be Paul's!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Julia studied herself in the full-length Venetian mirror. She wore white cotton jeans and a bright, scoop-necked shirt that hung outside the jeans. She could no longer zip them up at the waist and had closed the gap as much as possible with a safety pin. Her hair was looped back at her nape in a green ribbon, and in the months she had been at Domani her skin had tanned softly in the Italian sunlight. In contrast to her honeyed skin her eyes were luminously green, and despite the fullness of her body she looked curiously young… more girlish than she had looked before her marriage.

  Suddenly through the mirror she saw Lucie enter the bedroom and turned to smile at her. 'My clothes are becoming a problem,' she said. 'Rome filled the wardrobe with smart dresses, but just like a man he forgot that I wouldn't be able to get into them after a while. Do I look awfully fat?'

  Lucie ran her eyes over Julia and shook an indulgent head. 'Being like that suits you—yes, it does, miss, so don't pull a face. It's true you don't look so elegant, but you look—wholesome, rather like that bread Cosenza bakes.'

  'Thanks very much,' Julia laughed. 'It's nice to know that I'm going around looking like a loaf of bread!'

  'It's golden-brown and tasty,' Lucie shook and folded Julia's nightdress, 'and I've seen the signore looking at you as if he'd like to take a nice big bite out of you.'

  Julia slipped her feet into raffia sandals and bit her lip. She didn't know how much Lucie suspected about her lack of intimate relationship with Rome, and though for the sake of appearance she sometimes thumped a hollow into the pillow next to her own in an attempt to make it look as if he had shared her bed, it had to be obvious to her personal maid that they weren't sleeping together. Julia made the excuse that she was a restless sleeper now she was pregnant and he didn't like the way she fidgeted in the night and preferred his divan in the adjoining room.

  Some weeks earlier Lucie had discovered that Julia was going to have his baby, and if she wondered why they were no longer on intimate terms she kept her thoughts discreetly to herself. She did remark that Julia's child looked all set to be spoiled by an indulgent father if the nursery was anything to go by.

  The bright airy room Rome had chosen for the nursery had been painted and papered, carpeted in a thick curly floor covering, and a charming suite of infant furniture had been brought by delivery van all the way from Naples. Along with the. furniture had come a stock of toys that would see the child from infancy to the schoolroom. When the train set was unpacked and its tracks laid along the
gallery by Rome, Julia just had to remind him that there was no guarantee he was going to have a son.

  Sprawled there on the floor admiring the trains, he had glanced up at her, smiling a little, a strand of black hair in his eyes. 'If we have a daughter,' he said, 'then I'll play with the trains myself.'

  'You big fool!' Even yet Julia could feel an odd catch in her throat, aware that as a child Rome hadn't known what it was like to own a replica of the Rome Express and a full set of shunting cars. His mother had fed and clothed him and kept him in the best of health, but there had been no money left over for toys, and these that Rome brought with him from Naples were an assurance that his own child wouldn't go short of things to play with.

  Now and again she came upon him strolling about in the nursery, looking intensely dark and tall as he handled the soft blankets on the cot and examined the tiny pastel garments in the chest of drawers painted with Beatrix Potter characters from her delightful little books, which were as popular in Italy as they were in America.

  As the weeks had progressed Julia's resentment of the baby had lost its edge and she knew that she wanted no harm to befall it. But she still meant to leave Rome. There was no reality to a marriage such as theirs. They had merely struck a bargain and he had to abide by it… he had to release her when the time came so she could try and pick up the threads of the life she really wanted.

  Being here at Domani was just a necessary interlude, and these past weeks had shown her that it was the child whom Rome wanted, and loved. It was part of him, part of Italy, and she was merely the alien woman who carried the baby and would eventually give birth to it.

  Initial shame and anger had made her believe that she could do something that would destroy the life that was growing in her, but such a thought no longer entered her head. Rome would have his child if all went well, and then their marriage of convenience would be over. He had surely learned that she had no intention of being a physical object in a man's life, and that was all a woman was if the man didn't love her. Marriage meant a companionship of the spirit as well as the body, and she and Rome were like enemies who had agreed to a truce, and that truce wouldn't survive beyond the next few months. Animosity would flare up again if he tried to hold her a prisoner at the villa, using the baby as a weapon at her head.