Vincenzo returned as the last customer was leaving, and smiled at the sight of their friend.
'He'd better stay here tonight,' he said. 'There's a little room behind the kitchen where I sometimes sleep when I'm working late.'
He summoned a waiter. Together they carried Piero through the kitchens into the tiny bedroom and laid him gently on the bed.
'You'd better stay here, too,' he told Julia. 'You can have the apartment upstairs that Celia has just vacated.'
He showed her up the narrow staircase into the tiny apartment. Celia had stripped the bed before leaving, and he helped her make it up.
'Thank you,' she said. 'But there was no need for you to take so much trouble. I could have gone back.'
'No,' he said at once. 'I don't want you sleeping in that huge, empty place alone. I couldn't feel easy about you.'
'You don't have to look after me,' she said with a little smile. Then she gave a little laugh. 'Except that you do, all the time, don't you? I just hate admitting it, which isn't very nice of me.'
Her voice fell softly on his ears and caused an ache inside him. She worked so hard to keep her gentler side hidden that when she allowed him a sudden glimpse it caught him off guard.
He came closer, looking at her with hot, dark eyes. He remembered another time when he'd looked at her like this. Then he'd held her in his arms, kissing her, and she had known nothing about it. She knew nothing now.
She had felt soft and good against his body, and her lips had been sweet against his. That sweetness had taken possession of him, making him long to kiss her more deeply, although he'd known he must not do so while she was asleep. Instead he had kissed her eyes and her tears.
But for her it hadn't happened. That thought was very bitter to him.
Unable to stop himself, he brushed her cheek with gentle fingers. She didn't draw away, only looked at him sadly, quite still.
'Vincenzo,' she said at last.
'Hush,' he begged. 'Say nothing.'
His fingers continued their way down her cheek and across the soft contours of her mouth. He was entranced, absorbed by her, lost in her. He touched her cheek and her mouth again with fingertips that barely brushed them, yet which seemed to burn her.
She tried to protest, but no words would come. She should stop him, but she lacked the will. This had been inevitable since a few hours ago, when she'd become aware of him as a man. She should have taken flight then, when there had still been time. Except that there had never been time.
He was going to kiss her, and she wanted it with an intensity that shocked her. It was against every plan she had made, but suddenly that no longer mattered. She could feel her hands tightening on him, pulling him forward until his lips touched hers.
They felt strangely familiar, as though they had kissed before in some other life. But in her other life there had been no kisses, no warmth or sweetness, or gentleness of lips teasing hers, part plea, part command, part exploration.
'Who are you?' he whispered against her lips.
'It doesn't matter,' she said through her swimming senses. 'I'm not real.'
'You're real now-in my arms.'
'Only here,' she whispered.
'The rest doesn't matter. Kiss me-kiss me.'
She did as he wanted, finding that after the years alone she still knew how to tease and incite a man. It was an intoxicating discovery and it sent her a little wild.
Now she allowed her hands and mouth to do as they pleased, and the things that pleased them were sensual, outrageous, experienced. He was right. This alone was real, and everything in her wanted to yield to it.
With every movement she made Vincenzo felt shock flowing along his nerves. He'd suspected the fires inside and it had tormented him, but now he knew for certain. He'd partly discovered the truth that afternoon when he'd discovered that her breasts were surprisingly generous, given her apparently boyish figure.
All the sensuality she normally kept banked down was flaming in his arms now, inciting him to explore her further, wanting more. He didn't know her real name, but her name no longer mattered. This woman was coming back to life, and he knew that he, and no other, must be the man to make it happen.
She kissed dreamily, but like a woman who understood a man's body, and every soft touch lured him on. Entranced, he dropped his lips to the base of her throat, moving them in soft, teasing movements and sensing her heated response. His own response was roaring out of control.
Only she could stop him now, and she made no attempt to do so. When he began to remove her clothes she trembled, but was removing his at the same time. It was she who drew him to the bed, and after that nothing could have stopped him.
CHAPTER FIVE
My first man in six years.
The thought came to Julia as the dawn crept in. The night had been hot and fervent, and it had left her feeling at ease in a way she had forgotten. The sheer sense of blinding, physical release had at first stunned, then invigorated her.
They had claimed each other again and again. After the first time it was she who had taken the initiative, voraciously demanding as she felt her body return to life. And he had responded with unflagging vigour.
Six years of cramped frustration, deprivation, ending in one night of blazing fulfilment.
Images came back to her: his body, hard, lean and strong, his love-making, a mingling of power and tenderness, with the power becoming predominant as he'd sensed her need.
My first in six years. And before that-ah, well! Before that there had been passionate adoration given to the wrong man, who had betrayed it and left her with a smashed life to endure.
She sat up, careful not to awaken Vincenzo, who slept silently and heavily, as though exhausted. It was a tight fit in the narrow bed, especially as he stretched out in abandon.
He'd made love like that, she thought, with an abandon that had startled her, so different was it from the controlled surface he presented to the world.
She hadn't meant to take him to bed, so she told her-self. Either that or she had meant it from the first moment. One of the two. Did it matter which?
Their aggressive encounter in the attic had awoken in her a physical hunger, long suppressed, and satisfying it had become urgent.
I didn't think I was like that, she thought wryly. But I suppose after so long…
He moved in his sleep and stretched out a hand, seeking until he encountered her skin. Then it stopped, lying gently against her as though nothing else in the world mattered.
Strangely, it was that gesture that alarmed her. If he'd grasped her robustly she would have cheerfully returned to the fray. But the touch against her body was tender. It spoke of emotion, and she knew that emotion must be kept out of this. Only that way could she feel safe.
After a moment she moved his hand away.
Vincenzo stirred and stretched, almost pushing her out of the tiny bed. She laughed, clinging on for dear life, and he awoke to find her looking down at him. He grinned, remembering the night they had passed together.
Her passion had astounded him. More accustomed to her mental and emotional defensiveness, he'd been taken aback by her sensual abandon. She'd given everything with fierce generosity and demanded everything with an equally fierce appetite. When he had been satiated she had been ready to start again.
Now she looked fresh, light-hearted and mysteriously younger. There was even a teasing look in her eyes that had never been there before.
'That was fun,' she said.
The words brought him back down to earth. 'Fun' described a race through the canals, a brilliant costume for
Carnival. It bore no relation to the experience that had just shaken him to his roots.
But he answered her in kind, speaking lightly.
'I'm glad you feel the night wasn't wasted.'
She was silent, but shook her head, teasing.