Riccardo's Secret Child (9 page)

Even in his personal life, the women he had gone out with had respected his boundaries, had known their limits and had never crossed them. This woman boldly ignored every boundary he had laid down without raising her voice and then sat back and watched him rage in stubborn silence.

Dammit, did he want to seduce her to even a score or did he want to seduce her to prove to himself that he was still a man who could control his life, private and public?

‘I'm not a brilliant dancer,' Julia was forced to admit awkwardly. And she would probably be even less adequate with this man's arms around her. Just the thought of it was enough to make her feel sick.

‘Nor am I.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘Then why don't I prove it to you? We can step on one another's feet and decide who is the worse.' He held out his hand and Julia reluctantly slipped her hand into his,
feeling his fingers link through hers with a sudden, blinding panic.

‘And you have to take your jacket off,' he murmured.

Julia blushed furiously, but obeyed, slipping the short jacket off her shoulders and then instantly feeling exposed in her small, silky top with the spaghetti straps.

She had hardly been listening to the band and was now aware that they were playing a slow number. It seemed that the atmosphere in the club aimed to be mellow, and as such the musicians complied, playing a selection of sexy, down-beat tunes, most of which were vaguely recognisable.

He led her onto the dance floor, which was darkly intimate and pulled her into his arms. His head lowered so that she could feel his mouth brushing her hair and her breasts pushed against his broad, hard chest.

He had been lying, as she had known he was, about his dancing. He was a superb dancer, his movements easy and fluid, and her body gradually picked up the sway of his, moving in time to his rhythm. As they danced he gently ran his finger along her exposed back and it was all Julia could do to keep her feet steady.

‘See. I told you I was an abysmal dancer,' he laughed softly into her ear and for one terrifying moment she wished that she could feel his tongue flick there, then move to her lips, explore the soft insides of her mouth, which were trembling in a combination of horror and, she had to admit the truth, sheer, overwhelming craving.

R
ICCARDO
,
feeling that small shiver of awareness, pressed home his advantage. He coiled his fingers through her hair, enjoying the sensation of it falling silkily over his hand. Most if not all of the women he had dated in the past had been staggeringly beautiful, sophisticated creatures with perfectly styled hair, hair that was secured in place with expensive lotions and hairsprays and was not destined to be threaded through a man's fingers.

Everything about this woman, however, was completely natural. Her thick shoulder-length hair felt smooth and clean. Her perfectly oval face was virtually free of make-up, aside from a pale shade of lipstick and a hint of blusher.

He pulled her fractionally closer to him so that she could feel his body against hers. He wanted her to read the signals he was giving her. He wished, in fact, that he could crawl inside her head and have a bull's-eye view of what was going on in her mind. But he would move slowly. Any direct moves would send her running in the opposite direction.

‘Whoever told you that you weren't a good dancer was lying,' he murmured and, just for the sheer hell of it and because he wanted to see how she would react, he nibbled the tender flesh of her ear lobe. ‘Now, how hungry are you? The fish here is excellent and not too heavy. We can keep dancing or we can have something to eat and then carry on.'

Had he just done what she thought he had? Had he actually caressed her ear?
Julia realised that her feverish
imagination was now making her actively hallucinate and she gratefully clutched the lifebelt he had thrown her, nodding vigorously in favour of the food option. In fact, she
was
hungry. Or, at least, she had been when she left the house.

They retired to their table and whilst they waited for their food to arrive Riccardo chatted pleasantly enough about anything and everything under the sun. Anything and everything that had nothing to do with Nicola. Talking about Nicola revived all his old anger at how he had been treated, kept in ignorance of her existence, and with the anger came the inevitable tension. Riccardo didn't want tension. Not right now. He had other plans in mind.

So he laughed and chatted and asked her questions about herself, whilst plying her with drink.

For the first time, the issue that lay between them like a yawning chasm faded into the background as Julia relaxed and told him about her childhood, omitting all mention of Martin. Slightly tipsy she might be, but she was aware of the temporary truce he had declared and she was willing to go along with it because he had been right. She had not gone out and enjoyed herself for quite a while, and it had been over a year since she had gone out on a date with a man. Kind, thoughtful Tim, who had turned from lover to friend to acquaintance all in the space of a short six months. It seemed to be her track record. No wonder her poor mother thought she would never settle down. No wonder, in her most private moments, she herself had her doubts.

‘You're not drinking,' she accused when their main course had been cleared away and she had ordered a cappuccino in the hopes that it might sober her up a bit.

‘I'm driving, remember? The two don't mix.'

‘And I'm talking all about myself. You haven't told me anything about you.'
Talking about herself?
She had been
positively garrulous, she thought wryly. What was it they said about alcohol loosening tongues? And with Riccardo, of all people! She had probably been boring him stiff, with her anecdotes about family life and school, but he had been too polite to divert the flow of conversation.

She waited until her coffee arrived and then drank it very quickly.

‘What would you like to know?' he asked, watching her flushed face and the way she had the quirky habit of shoving her hair behind her ears when she felt nervous.

‘What have you been doing since…is there anyone in your life? I never even thought to ask when I came to see you.'

‘Is there anyone in my life…?' Riccardo drawled, sitting back and loosely linking his fingers on his lap. ‘Right now I can say with my hand on my heart, that the only female in my life is Nicola. And yourself, of course.'

Yes, and for all the wrong reasons, Julia thought. She felt a puzzling sting of pain.

‘You never thought about…getting married again?'

‘You have obviously never been through a divorce. Believe me when I tell you that it is one of the most powerful reasons for doubting the institution of marriage. I learned to my cost that the state of wedded bliss can turn two people into strangers and from strangers into hostile opponents.' He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Not that I would want to put you off.'

‘It
can
be bliss for some,' Julia pointed out. ‘My parents were very happily married.'

‘As were mine. I guess you just have to say that it's a game of hit or miss, wouldn't you agree? But then again, what relationship isn't hit or miss?' He toyed with his coffee-cup and then took a sip. She had talked to him about her childhood, about what it was like being a teacher, about
some of the plays she had seen, the restaurants she had been to, but she had said nothing about the men in her life, and Riccardo suddenly had a burning curiosity to find out about that private side of her. She was as contained as all his previous lovers had been obligingly informative. She retreated with the same speed as they had advanced.

‘Shall we dance?' he asked lazily, upturning his hand and waiting for her to accept the invitation.

The dance floor was slightly less crowded than it had been, although the level of noise was higher, a muted but background surge of voices and laughter as the alcohol consumption increased and inhibitions diminished.

The tune carried a more upbeat tempo, and Riccardo swung her towards him, his long legs carrying the tune, his hips grinding gently against her body, his arms circling her back giving her no room to establish any space between them.

Julia felt heady and recklessly alive. It was warm in the room and a fine film of perspiration made her skin tingle.

‘So tell me about your love life,' he whispered. ‘Do teachers have love lives? I never used to think so at school until I was fourteen and had the pleasure of being in a class with a very voluptuous science teacher. I never realised how fascinating physics could be.' He laughed softly at the memory and Julia's lips curved into a smile.

‘I can't imagine you taking apples in for your teacher,' she said.

‘Perhaps not the apples but some highly charged fantasies. Until I discovered that she had a husband and a child, at which point I was cured of my adolescent infatuation and started concentrating my charged fantasies on slightly more attainable goals.' His mouth brushed the vulnerable curve of her neck. Any ideas about seduction to even a
score had disappeared. He had wanted to taste that soft skin, had just not been able to resist.

Julia's breath caught in her throat. No, she most certainly had not imagined that. But she didn't want to stop him. He was turning her on and she wanted him to carry on turning her on. Three glasses of wine had put paid to her reservations.

‘So does
this
teacher arouse fantasies in schoolboys?' he asked, his breath warm in her ear, tickling.

‘Eight-and nine-year-old boys don't have fantasies,' she murmured, her face tilted so that her cheek pressed against the smooth cotton of his shirt. ‘Or, at least, not of the nature you describe. I think their fantasies run more along the lines of joining the football team or acquiring a new computer game.'

‘Shame. And what about your male teachers? Do they look slyly at you when you walk into the staff room? Do they entertain thoughts of stripping you naked and watching you come to them?' He was treading a very fine line here, he knew. He had never dreamed of asking any of his past conquests whether men had fantasised about them. Their responses would have been tediously predictable. A coy laugh and the knowing look in their eyes that told him just how fanciable they knew themselves to be, just what they could do for
him
.

He enjoyed knowing that his risqué questions were probably throwing her into a tizzy of embarrassment and confusion. The lighting was too subdued for him to see whether she was blushing or not, but he would put money on it. He discovered, with a pleasant little jolt of surprise, that the thought was electrifying.

‘I don't think so,' Julia laughed nervously, feeling out of her depth now with this turn in the conversation. ‘We only have three male teachers. Two are over fifty and the third,
from what I gather, enjoys going on wildlife tours more than he enjoys going out with women. We think he might well be gay.'

‘Hmm. That's not very stimulating, is it?' He dipped his hand just slightly under her blouse so that his fingers brushed her spine. ‘So where do you go to find men who don't enjoy wildlife tours and might not possibly be gay? Mm?'

‘I don't have much time to go scouring the city of London for men,' Julia replied vaguely. Teachers were, at least at her school, a fairly sociable lot and her last boyfriend she had met through a friend. It was a subject she did not want to talk about because she knew that he would begin questioning her, and in so doing would discover her appalling lack of an exciting sex life. She had never felt the sizzle of instant attraction, preferring to cultivate a friendship before launching into the dubious waters of romance.

‘It's very warm here, isn't it?' she said, desperately trying to find a way of diverting the course of the conversation, and she was relieved when he agreed with her instantly.

‘So shall we go back to the table?'

‘I have a better idea. Why don't we wander outside for a while? The gardens at the back are quite extensive, believe it or not. One of the advantages of not having a nightclub in the heart of the city. And I could use a bit of cool air.'

Julia hesitated, but in the end she followed him out of the club and round the side, where the thought of cooling off had occurred to a number of people. On the way, they had collected her jacket from where it had been discarded by the table and their waitress had obligingly placed a reserve sign on the table.

The cold air hit her face like a balm and she stood still for a minute, breathing it in with her eyes closed, unaware that he was watching her and the way her slightly old-fashioned outfit emphasised the slenderness of her body. She had a naturally boyish build but seemed refreshingly unaware of how many women would have given their right arm for it. Almost no curves, he thought. Or none that was immediately apparent, although the feel of her breasts on the dance floor, pushing against him, was evidence enough that she was all woman.

He led her past the small groups of people cooling down after the heat inside, and towards the back garden, which was landscaped cleverly to convert a modest-sized plot into the illusion of a small copse. The ground was laced with trees, some evergreen, some bare of leaves, with intriguing, winding paths running between them.

‘Perhaps we should head back in,' Julia said nervously as the solitude of their situation hit her. In summer she had no doubt that this garden would be teeming with people relaxing outside with their drinks before returning to the music and food, but in early March most people did not fancy the prospect of dawdling outside.

The cold was already beginning to bite through her thin jacket, and she pulled it tighter around her.

‘Cold?' he enquired. In the absence of light, he was just a big, shadowy figure.

‘A little.'

‘There is that age-old technique for warming up,' Riccardo murmured, stepping closer to her, and Julia blinked furiously behind her spectacles. He ran his hands up and down her arms and felt a rough, primitive urge sweep over him. In every way she had played with his life, turned it on its head, and in more ways than one she had played with his mind, turning his hard-edged dislike into
unwilling curiosity, taking the revenge he had coolly plotted and changing it into a genuine quest to control a woman who remained infuriatingly out of reach.

She looked at him. ‘I don't think Management would like it if we lit a fire out here.'

Riccardo grinned, his teeth a sudden flash of white in the shadows. ‘You're right. They might complain. Besides, I have no matches, have you?' He could feel her shivering beneath his hands. ‘Nor do we have sun and a magnifying glass.'

‘You were a boy scout?'

‘Hardly.' He laughed softly. ‘I just read a lot of useful books when I was a kid. I fancied myself marooned on an island, having to survive.'

There was a brief silence, during which they looked at one another, a brief, charged silence, pregnant with the possibilities of the moment.

Then he lowered his head and his mouth met hers. He had not realised the depth of his hunger to taste her lips until he felt hers cool and yielding. Her hands remained clasped protectively around her body as she inclined upwards to him.

‘I can't do this with…these on…' He removed her spectacles and Julia whimpered at the brief interlude. She no longer cared about keeping her distance. She was waiting, no, yearning for him to kiss her again, and this time, as his mouth sought and found hers, she returned the kiss, her tongue sliding against his, her lips parted to receive his searing, hungry caress.

He pulled her arms away from her body and, with his hands behind her buttocks, pushed her towards him, grinding her so closely against his body that she could feel his hard erection pressing against her.

A wild abandon coursed through her veins and she moaned as his teeth nipped the arched column of her neck.

Her breasts were aching with the need to be touched, and as if sensing this, Riccardo shoved his hands up the silky top until he felt their soft swell under the strapless lace bra. He felt like a man making love for the first time. Every movement was fuelled with desperate urgency. He didn't want to gently make love to her, he wanted to take her right here and right now and satiate the primal urge tearing him apart.