Because you want her. Desperately. Despite who she is and what she’s done. Even now, seeing her in this place.
And you hate that need you can’t conquer. Because it makes you weak.
Cesare’s mood was sombre as they walked through the now sprinkling rain to the limousine. It darkened when she baulked at the open door.
‘We’ll go back to my hotel,’ he murmured, gesturing for her to get in.
‘No! Not there.’
Did the idea of being alone with him bother her so much? Her gaze flicked to the car with its door open and driver waiting impassively, then over Cesare’s shoulder to where he guessed Lorenzo stood.
‘You’ll be perfectly safe.’
Safer than here in this insalubrious neighbourhood. The fact she hesitated, as if fearing for her safety with him, felt like a slap in the face.
‘There’s an all-night café—’
‘Absolutely not. I won’t have this discussion in public.’
She opened her mouth as if to argue then snapped it shut. For a moment longer she stared at him from under lowered brows. ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘We’ll go to mine. It’s close.’
Would Joe be there? Cesare had told himself he’d meet Ida briefly and get what he’d come for. Yet now that wasn’t enough. His curiosity was aroused. Not least about her man.
‘Excellent. I’ll look forward to seeing your home.’
Her mouth twisted. She didn’t like the idea. Too bad. She wouldn’t get rid of him as easily as she’d ditched him four years ago.
He strove to look calm while molten metal poured through his veins. Cesare shouldn’t be surprised that she had a lover, yet it felt wrong. He tasted bitterness on his tongue and his hands clenched iron hard.
What sort of man was Joe to let his lover work at a place like that?
Cesare flexed his fingers. He’d soon find out. And on the way he’d try to fathom why it was that, out of all the emotions bombarding him, the strongest felt like jealousy.
He’d never felt possessive of women. He liked their company and enjoyed sex, but he’d never felt strongly enough about one to be jealous. For that he could thank his father, whose disastrous mistakes of judgement served as a horrible warning.
Cesare’s nape prickled at the idea he was envious of the man who shared Ida’s bed. Until he realised it wasn’t personal. It was simply because, though he didn’t like her, Ida was still his wife.
His.
Wife.
All those traditional mores around fidelity sprang to the fore, as if within the modern man dwelt the sort of traditional male who’d lived generations before.
But then, as his mother had died when he was a baby and his father had abandoned him to follow a series of ever more unsuitable women, he’d been raised by his grandfather. The old man had instilled a sense of family honour in Cesare, hence his determination to save the family business no matter what the cost.
Could those values really be why he hadn’t taken a lover since their farce of a wedding? No, that was just because he’d had other priorities these past four years.
‘Are you ready?’ he murmured when still she didn’t move.
‘What is it you want?’ she whispered.
Cesare’s patience wore thin. After the way she’d run in the night and the huge scandal he’d had to weather, she begrudged him one face-to-face chat?
‘We’ll discuss it in private. Not on the street.’
With one last, frowning glance, she got in.
The flash of long, slender legs in fishnet tights beneath her drab raincoat was a punch to the belly. Or perhaps to his pride.