What could she tell him that wouldn’t lay her soul bare? Fallon made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, lifted her face to Stefano’s and kissed him. With a growl, he took control of the kiss, taking it deep, putting his hands on her with an urgency that set her on fire. She made a little sound of surrender; he nipped at her lip and soothed the tiny wound with his tongue. She whimpered when he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “Another minute,” he said with rough urgency, “and I’ll take you right here.”

  His words, the images they conjured, made her breath catch. She whispered his name and lay her hand against him, shuddering at the powerful surge of his erection.

  Stefano growled a word in Sicilian, curled his fingers around the nape of her neck and kissed her again. Then he took her hand, enclosed it in his around the gearshift lever, took her back to the castello, to his bed, to the world they had created together, and to a passion so intense it threatened to consume them both.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SOMETHING changed between them that night.

  Their lovemaking, always passionate, took on added intensity. Their need for each other was insatiable.

  They had to get up early, Stefano said; he’d arranged for his jet to be ready by 8:00 a.m. But they were on fire for each other and even when they drowsed off, Fallon lay close in Stefano’s arms, their bodies still joined.

  She awoke, again and again, to the incredible feel of his hands and mouth urging her to join in a celebration of their ardor.

  “Is it too much for you, cara?” he whispered to her once, when she caught her breath.

  “Never,” she whispered back, “oh, never.”

  It was true. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted his touch, his taste, his hard body demanding her compliance. The way he held her as they slept, his arm curved over her waist, his hand cupping her breast, were gestures of pure male possessiveness.

  She belonged to him. And that was how she wanted it.

  The realization amazed her. She’d never wanted to be owned by anybody. Watching her parents’ relationship, the way her mother had always subjugated her needs to her father’s, had been a bitter lesson.

  But when Stefano held her to him, even as they slept, when he kissed her mouth, her breasts, the very heart of her femininity and whispered that she was his, she felt ecstasy, not fear.

  He belonged to her in that same way.

  It was why she told him to lie back, why she kissed his throat, his chest, his belly. It was the reason she took him in her mouth during that long night and thrilled to his groans of passion.

  She’d never done this with another man, but Stefano was hers, she was his, and she wanted to become one with him as he had become one with her.

  At dawn, warm and boneless as a cat, she lay quietly in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

  “Do you realize I don’t know anything about you?”

  Stefano gave a soft, wicked chuckle that made her smile.

  “You know what I mean.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, tell me about the castello. What happened to the old castle? Why did you build a new one?”

  “It’s a long, boring story.”

  Fallon rolled onto her belly, crossed her arms on his chest and propped her chin on her wrists.

  “Tell me.”

  He stroked her hair, took her back through the centuries and described the pirates, warriors and rebels who’d tried to conquer this land. He told her about his grandfather and the promise he’d made to recover what the old man had lost.

  “How did he lose it?”

  Stefano smiled. “It’s like the plot of a bad opera.”

  His grandfather’s and grandmother’s families were old enemies, their troubles going so far back that nobody was sure of the reasons. Somehow, his grandparents met and fell in love anyway. They eloped, and the long-simmering feud burst into flames. People had accidents, disappeared…Eventually, his grandfather decided the only way to protect his wife and children was to abandon his land and start over in America.

  “Did he ever regret that decision?”

  “Never. A man does what he must for love.”

  It was a romantic reply but then, the story was wonderfully romantic. Snuggling closer, Fallon asked Stefano to tell her more about himself.

  To please her, he talked about things he’d never mentioned to anyone else. The loss of his parents. The initial shock of living with his grandparents. That first stroke of financial luck.

  Genius, she said, not luck.

  “Or maybe stupidity,” he said, laughing, “I could have lost every dollar I’d won.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I struck it rich.” He rolled her beneath him. “Like I did when I found you.”

  She smiled. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said in a teasing whisper.

  Stefano gave her a deep, lingering kiss. “You realize,” he said softly, “you’ve ruined my image.”

  Fallon looked up at him and stroked the dark hair back from his forehead.

  “What image?”

  “One of the tabloids dubbed me Il lupo solo. The lone wolf.”

  “Mmm.” Fallon wound her arms around his neck. “Nice. I’ve always thought it would be exciting to pet a wolf.”

  That made him smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Why do they call you that?”

  “Oh, it started when I was foolish enough to give an interview. The reporter began asking personal questions. I refused to answer them.” His tone hardened. “I have a public persona because it’s required of me, but my private life isn’t for public scrutiny.”

  “I know how you feel. I’ve never had a private life. Well, not once I began modeling…”

  “Don’t,” Stefano said quickly. “Please, don’t think about the past. The future is what matters.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes as he began to kiss her. She was thinking about the future, but why tell him that? He’d have enough to deal with, now that they were going home. She knew she’d draw attention.

  People would talk about her. Her scars didn’t matter, Stefano said, but in Sicily, their world had excluded everyone but themselves.

  It would be different in New York.

  She thought of what had happened in the café. The child had been direct. People back home wouldn’t be. They’d smile to her face and whisper behind her back.

  “Cara.”

  Fallon opened her eyes and saw the consternation in Stefano’s face. He ran his hand down her body, his touch as protective as it was tender.

  “I’ll be with you. I’ll look after you.”

  “I know you will, but…” Fallon framed his face with her hands. “They’ll be all over you, Stefano. The press, I mean. A man who values his privacy won’t enjoy having cameras and microphones shoved in his face.”

  He smiled, but she could see the steely resolve in the set of his jaw.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  She nodded, but she wasn’t convinced. For the first time since he’d asked her to live with him when they reached New York, she wondered if she’d agreed too quickly. The tabloids would be drawn to her, not to him. If she moved back into her own apartment, if they saw each other on the quiet…

  “Forget that,” Stefano growled. “I’m not letting you go.”

  He saw the surprised look on her face, but reading her mind had been easy. She was afraid of what she’d face back home and wondering if she could avoid attention by staying under the radar.

  He wasn’t going to let her do that.

  He needed her, wanted her in his life, and that realization still stunned him. He’d never needed anyone before. Now, knowing what it was like to be with her, he wasn’t going to let Fallon slip away from him.

  He’d never understood people who thrived on gossip but he knew damned well there were those who did. That anyone would be interested in telling stories about him always amazed him.

  He could only imagine the dirty thrill the jackals would have in talking about Fallon.

  Stefano tightened his arms around her.

  He’d take care of everything. A couple of calls from his attorneys, the all-too-real threat of an expensive lawsuit, and the sleaze purveyors would back off.

  Besides, he’d be with Fallon all the time.

  She had nothing to fear.

  He would protect her, he promised himself, and then he kissed her, and touched her, and he forgot everything but his growing love for the woman in his arms.

  * * *

  Stefano said he had an apartment on Fifth Avenue.

  Fallon laughed when she saw it. Calling a four bedroom, six bathroom duplex with two fireplaces, a sauna and a wraparound terrace overlooking Central Park an “apartment” was like calling the castello a cottage.

  It was beautiful, she told him, just beautiful.

  “You think?” he said, in a way that suggested he’d been wary of her reaction.

  “I know! It’s incredible. And the view…”

  “Yeah.” His grin reminded her of a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s the real reason I bought the place.” He tossed his keys on a small table near the door. “I had a decorator do the rooms but, I don’t know, sometimes I think it still needs something.”

  Fallon was miles ahead of him. Fresh flowers. Some small paintings—the ones she’d found in a French antique shop, for instance—above that couch. Her Chinese rug centered on the marble floor, and those masks she’d picked up in Bali on that wall.

  “I have—” She cleared her throat. Funny. She’d been sleeping with this man for weeks; she knew every inch of his body just as he knew every inch of hers, yet suggesting bringing some of her things here and adding them to his seemed almost too personal. “I have some—some stuff,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Things I collected in places I’ve been, and I thought…”

  Thought what? Stefano was looking at her so strangely. Maybe she’d gone too far.

  “You thought?” he said politely.

  “Never mind. It was a silly idea. I mean, this place is so perfect…”

  “Tell me what you thought,” he said, gathering her into his arms.

  “Well…” She played with his tie. “I thought you might like to see how some of my things looked—”

  “Here?”

  She nodded. Stefano tilted her face up and kissed her.

  “They’ll look wonderful.”

  “But you haven’t even seen them.”

  “I don’t have to. Give up your own place. Move all your things here. You don’t need an apartment of your own anymore.”

  She longed to do it, but logic held her back. Had he really thought about how different life was going to be in New York?

  “Let’s take things one step at a time,” she said carefully. “I mean…This isn’t Sicily, Stefano. We had our own world then. Just you and me, and nobody else.”

  He silenced her with a kiss. “It’s still just us. Nobody else matters.”

  “You’ve spent your life running from the press, Stefano. I’ve spent mine dealing with it. They’re going to be merciless. They’ll want to invade my privacy. Your privacy.”

  “I’ll take care of the press,” he said grimly.

  Fallon touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “Maybe. But even if you do, people will talk. They’ll have questions.”

  “Mr. Lucchesi?”

  It was Stefano’s housekeeper. She’d been good at disguising her reaction to Fallon’s scars, but Fallon had seen the quick flash of recognition, then shock followed by a look of pity in the woman’s eyes.

  “Sir, Miss Allen is here.”

  A woman came briskly across the marble floor toward them.

  “Stefano. I’m sorry to bother you so soon after your arrival, but—” Her voice faltered as she looked at Fallon. There it was again. Recognition. Shock. Pity, intermingled in a way that made Fallon’s belly knot. “But some documents came in and they’re urgent.”

  Stefano nodded and introduced Fallon to his PA, but the papers had distracted him and Fallon knew he’d missed the woman’s reaction.

  “You’re going to be busy, Stefano,” Fallon said politely. “Why don’t I wait on the terrace?”

  “Don’t go.” Stefano glanced up, slid his arm around her waist and drew her against him. “I’ll only be a minute.” He kissed her lightly and walked a few feet away.

  Fallon thought his assistant’s eyebrows would fly off her face.

  “Um, don’t I…Have we met before, Miss O’Connell?”

  “You might have seen my picture,” Fallon said calmly. “I am—I was—a model.”

  “Oh. Oh, of course. I knew…I mean, I recognized…”

  They stared at each other in strained silence. Yes, Fallon wanted to say, it’s me. And yes, my face was cut. And yes, your boss wants me anyway…

  But she said nothing and, after a moment, Stefano rejoined them.

  “Well,” the PA said briskly, “if you don’t need me, sir…Oh. One other thing. You have that Animal Defense Fund dinner tonight.”

  Stefano glanced at Fallon. “Phone and make my apologies.”

  “But they’re honoring you with—”

  “Tell them I’m sorry but something’s come up.”

  “No.” Fallon spoke quietly, her words meant only for Stefano. “Please, don’t cancel on my account.”

  “It’s your first night home,” he said softly. “I’m not going to leave you.”

  “But the dinner. The award—”

  “They’ll muddle through without me,” he said, and smiled.

  Fallon took a deep breath. When she was seven and Meg and Bree, Cullen, Sean and Keir could all swim like seals, she was still afraid to do more than dip one foot in the water. Her mother said she’d had a scare when she was little, something about wading into a lake and everybody thinking somebody else was watching her, and how she’d stepped into deep water, gone under and almost drowned.

  “You’ll get over the fear,” Mary Elizabeth had said gently.

  Fallon had. She’d done it by closing her eyes, holding her nose and jumping into the deep end of the pool at the chintzy motel where they’d been living.

  Yes, she’d swallowed half the pool and yes, she might have drowned, but she hadn’t. She’d survived, learned to swim, and learned a hard lesson.

  When you were afraid, the best cure was to shut your eyes, hold your breath and jump.

  “I’ll go with you,” she told Stefano.

  “It isn’t necessary. One step at a time, remember?”

  “I want to go with you,” Fallon said, and when she saw how his eyes lit with pleasure, she almost believed that she’d meant it.

  After all, people were civilized. She could handle stares and Stefano could handle the rest. How bad could it be?

  * * *

  Bad.

  Horrible, to put it bluntly.

  Less than a month later, Sicily had receded so far into the distance that it might have been a dream.

  To Fallon’s surprise, reporters weren’t the problem she’d anticipated. Word got out; they came around, but never more than once. She was certain Stefano had done something to keep them at bay. Only a couple of lines hit the gossip columns and, just to be on the safe side, she phoned her mother and told her she’d been in an accident, in case the news spread.

  Mary was upset and wanted to fly to New York. Fallon lied, said her injuries were nothing much and promised to come home for a visit over Labor Day weekend. As luck would have it, the rest of her family were out of the country, on business or on vacation, so she didn’t have to worry about fooling them.

  On the surface, they seemed to have weathered the storm. They hadn’t. The problem wasn’t publicity.

  It was Stefano, and what she was beginning to see in his eyes.

  Not shock, of course. He was used to her scars.

  What she saw was pity. That same gut-wrenching pity she saw in the eyes of others.

  Her lover had a busy public life. A king might want privacy, but kingdoms weren’t ruled from the shadows. The city slumbered in end-of-summer heat, which meant that life had moved east to the Hamptons.

  Benefits, charity auctions, dinner parties. Invitations poured in and each time he received one, Stefano would tell her about it and say, with an air of studied casualness, Do you want to go, sweetheart? And she’d think “no” and say “yes,” because she was determined not to change the way he lived.

  Fallon had grown accustomed to the changes to her face and years of applying makeup had paid off. She could cover the scars so that they didn’t show very much, at least from a distance.

  Up close, things were different.

  They’d go to whatever function it was and Stefano would hold her hand and introduce her to everyone in a way that made her importance to him clear.

  People always said it was nice to meet her and wasn’t the weather hot and humid, and all the while she’d see the usual sequence of shocked recognition, horror and pity on their faces and always, always, she knew they were trying to figure out why Stefano would have burdened himself with a woman who looked like her.

  And then she’d look at Stefano and know he knew what she was thinking, and sometimes he’d murmur, Shall we leave, sweetheart? and whenever he did, she’d smile and say No, of course not, this is fun…

  He pitied her. What else could that darkness in his gaze mean?

  A woman wanted many things from her lover. Passion, tenderness, fidelity and yes, compassion, but pity? Never.

  The worst of it was, she understood what had happened. In Sicily, her face had been the only reality. Stefano could look past it and see her for the woman she was. In all fairness, she knew that he still could.

 

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