His For Christmas: Christmas in Da Conti's Bed / His Until Midnight / The Most Expensive Night of Her Life. Nikki LoganЧитать онлайн книгу.
of ruthlessness and control which defined him?
Or was he right? Had she been naïve enough to imagine that a homespun meal might make him crave an intimacy which extended beyond the bedroom?
Her heart pounded.
Yes, she had.
Walking over to the sink, she threw away the wine, washing out the glass and putting it on the side to dry. She drew the curtains on the snowy darkness of the night and switched on the radio, just in time to hear the traditional Christmas service being broadcast from King’s College, Cambridge. And as soon as the sound of carols filled the room she felt tears spring to her eyes, because it was so heartbreakingly beautiful.
She thought about the nativity scene—the helpless little child in a manger, and briefly she closed her eyes. She’d got it so wrong, hadn’t she? She had taken him as her lover and ignored all the warning bells which had sounded so loudly in her ears. She had conveniently forgotten that everything was supposed to be on his terms and she’d tried to turn it into something it wasn’t. Something it could never be. What had she been thinking of? She’d even bought herself a new and more revealing dress to send out the silent message that he had liberated her from some of her inhibitions. And she was almost as grateful to him for that as she was about the job he’d given her.
But he had thrown the offer back in her face.
She was cold now and ran upstairs to find a sweater, her heart contracting painfully as she looked around the bedroom. She had thought he would be charmed by the antique iron bedstead and the broderie-anglais linen. She’d imagined him picking up that old-fashioned jug and studying it—or telling her that he liked the view out into the snow-covered woods at the back of the house. She had planned to run him a bath when he arrived, and to light some of the scented candles she’d had delivered from London. She had pictured washing his back. Maybe even joining him, if he could persuade her to do so. She’d never shared a bath with anyone before.
What a fool she was, she thought viciously, dragging a mismatched blue sweater over the golden dress, and shaking her hair free. It wasn’t as if she’d had no experience of life and the cruel lessons it could teach you. Hadn’t she learnt that you had to just accept what you were given—warts and all? She should have taken what was already on the table and been satisfied with that. But she had been greedy, hadn’t she? Niccolò had offered her something, but it hadn’t been enough. She had wanted more. And still more.
The sound of the front door clicking open and closing again made her heart race with a sudden fear which made a mockery of her defiant words to Niccolò. Why the hell hadn’t she locked it after he’d left—or was she hoping to extend an open invitation to any passing burglar? Except that no self-respecting burglar would be out on a snowy Christmas Eve like this. Even burglars probably had someone to share the holiday with.
‘Who is it?’ she called.
‘Who do you think it is? Father Christmas?’
The sardonic Sicilian voice echoed round the small cottage and Alannah went to the top of the stairs to see Niccolò standing in the sitting room, snow clinging like frozen sugar to his black hair and cashmere coat. He looked up.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
‘I can see that. What happened?’ she questioned sarcastically as she began to walk downstairs. ‘Did you change your mind about the mince pies?’
He was pulling off his coat and snow was falling in little white showers to the ground. She reached the bottom stair just as the poignant strains of ‘Silent Night’ poured from the radio. Quickly, she turned it off, so that all she could hear was the crackling of the fire and the sound of her own heartbeat as she stared at him. ‘Why did you come back?’
There was a pause. His black eyes became suddenly hooded. ‘It’s a filthy night. I couldn’t face leaving you here on your own.’
‘And I told you that I would be fine. I’m not scared of the dark.’ I’m much more scared of the way you make me feel when you kiss me.
‘I’m not about to change my mind,’ he said. ‘I’m staying, and I need a drink.’
‘Help yourself.’
He walked over to the bottle she’d opened earlier. ‘You?’
A drink would choke me. ‘No, thanks.’
She went and sat by the fire, wondering how she was going to get through the next few hours. How the hell did you pass the time when you were stuck somewhere with someone who didn’t want to be there? After a couple of moments Niccolò walked over and handed her a glass of wine, but she shook her head.
‘I said I didn’t want one.’
‘Take it, Alannah. Your face is pale.’
‘My face is always pale.’ But she took it anyway and drank a mouthful as he sat down in the other chair. ‘And you still haven’t really told me why you came back.’
Niccolò drank some of his wine and for a moment he said nothing. His natural instinct would be to tell her that he didn’t have to justify his actions to her. To anyone. But something strange had happened as he’d driven his car down the snowy lane. Instead of the freedom he’d been expecting, he had felt nothing but a heavy weight settling somewhere deep in his chest. It had occurred to him that he could go and stay in a hotel. That if the truth were known, he could easily get a flight and join his friends and their skiing party. He could pretty much get a plane to anywhere, because the hosts of the many parties he’d declined would have been delighted if he’d turned up unexpectedly.
But then he’d thought of Alannah. Curled up alone by the fire with her raven hair aglow, while beside her that corny Christmas tree glittered. All that trouble she’d taken to create some sort of occasion and he’d just callously thrown it back in her face. What kind of a man did that? He thought of how much he’d anticipated making love to her again. How he’d spent the day aching to possess her and wanting to feel her arms wrapped tightly around him. What was wrong with him?
He put down his glass and his face was sombre as he turned to look at her.
‘I came back because I realised I was behaving like an idiot,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and I’m sorry.’
Alannah sensed that sorry wasn’t a word which usually featured highly in his vocabulary, but she wasn’t letting him off that lightly. Did he think that a single word could wash away all the hurt he’d inflicted? ‘But you did.’
‘Yes. I did.’
‘Because you always have to be in charge don’t you, Niccolò?’ she demanded, her anger starting to bubble up. ‘You decided how you wanted Christmas to play out and that was it as far as you were concerned. What you want is paramount, and everyone else’s wishes can just go hang. This is exactly what happened at Michela’s wedding, isn’t it? Niccolò wants it this way—so this is the way it must be.’
‘That was different.’
‘How?’ she demanded. ‘How was it different? How did you ever get to be so damned…controlling?’
The flames were flickering over his brooding features and illuminating his ebony hair, so that it glowed like fire-touched coal.
‘How?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You don’t have any ideas?’
‘Because you’re Sicilian?’
‘But I’m not,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I’m only half Sicilian. My blood is not “pure”. I am half Corsican.’ He frowned. ‘You didn’t know that?’
She shook her head and suddenly his almost swashbuckling appearance made sense. ‘No. I had no idea. Michela never really talked about that kind of thing. Boarding school is about reinvention—and escape. About painting yourself in the best possible light so that nobody feels sorry for you. All we knew was that you were unbelievably strict.’