Trapped By Vialli's Vows. Chantelle ShawЧитать онлайн книгу.
until he had gone to New York she had believed that he felt something more for her than sexual attraction. But his attitude towards her at the party and the ease with which he had dismissed her and answered the phone had reawakened her doubts about their relationship.
The study door was open when Marnie walked past again, and she saw that the room was empty. She hurried up the stairs and her heart gave a little skip as she headed into the master bedroom that she shared with Leandro. Now that he had finished his phone call there would hopefully be no more interruptions to prevent him making love to her.
They communicated best in bed. Their passion for each other made words unnecessary when their bodies were in perfect accord. But for her it wasn’t just about sex. She craved the feeling of closeness when he held her in his arms and stroked her hair. When he was tender she could convince herself that he cared about her.
As she entered the bedroom Leandro walked out of the en suite bathroom, naked apart from the towel hitched around his hips. Droplets of water clung to the whorls of dark hair that covered his chest. It was his habit to shower before they had sex, and Marnie’s mouth went dry as her eyes followed the path of his body hair as it arrowed over his flat stomach and she visualised his powerful manhood beneath the towel.
But while she stared, and tried to control her thundering pulse, he opened a drawer, took out a pair of silk boxer shorts and returned to the bathroom, emerging moments later wearing the boxers.
Marnie’s disappointment turned to confusion as she watched him pull on a pair of jeans. She froze when she noticed a suitcase on the bed. ‘Are you...going somewhere?’
He finished buttoning his shirt and spared her a brief glance. ‘Paris.’
‘Now? Tonight?’ She couldn’t accept what her eyes were telling her as she watched him throw a few other items of clothing into the case. ‘Why?’ Her insecurity about their relationship made her voice sharp. ‘You went to Paris the weekend before you flew to New York.’
In fact he visited Paris regularly, once a month, and spent the weekend there. She assumed he went for business reasons, but he had never given any explanation for his trips and she had not dared ask him, telling herself that she mustn’t crowd him or seem possessive.
Another thought struck her. ‘Have you remembered that we’re going to Norfolk for my cousin’s wedding?’
‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to go with you.’
She couldn’t disguise her disappointment. ‘But you said you would come—and I’ve told Gemma that I’m bringing an additional guest.’
‘I said I would try to keep the date of the wedding free but I didn’t promise,’ Leandro said tersely. He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’m going to Paris because a...a close friend has been injured in an accident and I need to be with them.’
Marnie looked at him and noticed the lines of strain around his mouth. It was so unlike him to show any emotion, and she immediately felt guilty that she had doubted him. ‘I’m sorry. Is your friend seriously hurt?’
She refused to listen to the voice in her head that questioned whether Leandro considered her to be a close friend. Would he drop everything if she was hurt and rush to be with her?
‘I don’t have many details.’ He sounded distracted. ‘I just had the phone call...’ He gave her a wry glance as he referred to their interrupted lovemaking downstairs. ‘I’m sorry I have to rush off, and I’m sorry about your cousin’s wedding. I can’t say yet when I’ll be home.’
This from a man who organised his life with military precision. It made Marnie realise how worried Leandro must be. ‘It doesn’t matter. Of course you must go to your friend. Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked softly.
He closed the zip on his suitcase and reached for his jacket. ‘Can you grab my phone? I must have left it in the bathroom.’
His mobile bleeped as she picked it up from the vanity unit and she could not help but notice the words on the screen.
You have a message from Stephanie.
Who was Stephanie? A member of his staff? Another friend?
For a split second Marnie was tempted to read his messages. Then a memory from her childhood, when she had seen her mother searching the pockets of her father’s jacket for proof that he was seeing another woman, made her feel sickened with herself. Leandro had never given her a reason not to trust him. She could not bear the idea that she might have inherited her mother’s suspicious nature, and she hurried back into the bedroom and thrust his phone at him as if it had burned her hand.
She followed him over to the door and her soft heart ached with sympathy when he pushed his hair back from his brow in a weary gesture.
‘You must be tired after travelling from a different time zone. I hope your friend is okay.’
‘Thanks.’ He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers.
She responded instantly, her lips softening and clinging just a little when he tried to break the kiss. He hesitated, and looked at her with an odd expression on his face. Marnie sensed he was about to say something, but then the moment passed and the connection she had felt with him shattered as he turned and strode down the hall.
* * *
Leandro’s driver opened the car door for him before stowing his suitcase in the boot. ‘The pilot has the plane ready, sir. It’s a busy night for you—off abroad again only a few hours after you arrived back in England.’
‘You’re telling me,’ Leandro muttered.
As the car pulled away from the kerb he leaned his head against the back of the seat and took a deep breath. God, he hoped Henry was all right. A suspected broken collarbone, the headmaster of Henry’s school in Paris had said on the phone. Apparently the boy had been on an adventure hiking trip with some classmates and had slipped and fallen down a steep gully. Due to the remote location, it had taken a few hours to transport Henry to a hospital in Paris.
Henry’s injury wasn’t life-threatening, but Leandro knew it must be incredibly painful. He remembered that he had dislocated his collarbone playing rugby when he was about twelve and it had been agony. His father had been away on a business trip and his mother had been performing somewhere else in the world, so he had been left on his own at the hospital to receive treatment for his injury before one of his father’s staff had collected him and taken him back to the penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue that had never felt like a home to Leandro.
He hated the thought of Henry being in pain and maybe feeling scared and alone. Nicole was abroad, which was why the school had phoned Leandro—he was listed as an emergency contact for Henry. He suspected that his ex-wife only allowed him to maintain a relationship with Henry because it suited her, he thought cynically.
Leandro’s thoughts turned to Marnie. He could not explain why he had felt an urge to tell her that the friend he was rushing to visit in Paris was a ten-year-old boy whom his ex-wife had led him to believe was his son for six years. But the desire to confide in Marnie had only lasted for a few moments, before his brain had taken charge and reminded him that he had never shared personal information with any of his previous mistresses, so why would he with her?
He deliberately did not bring his emotions into his affairs. Just because his affair with Marnie had lasted longer than his affairs with previous mistresses it held no significance. She did not mean anything to him, he assured himself. But the concern in her eyes as he had been about to walk out of the door had got to him.
He wondered if she would understand that he had felt as though his heart had been ripped out when he’d learned that he wasn’t Henry’s father.
His jaw clenched. How could Marnie—how could anyone—comprehend what it felt like to bring a child up for six years, to love that child more than anything else in life, and then discover from a DNA test that the boy you had believed was yours was actually another man’s son?
Leandro