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Di CESARE PREGNANT MISTRESS - Chapter 25
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‘You want me with the same urgency,’ he told her harshly, daring her to deny it. ‘But if you’re waiting for me to dress it up with fancy words and promises that are impossible of keep, then you’ll be waiting a long time—and we’re both going to be hellishly frustrated.’ He placed his hand back on her ******, but to her surprise he eased her bra back into place and drew the egdes of her blouse together, his eyes gleaming in derision at her obvious confusion. ‘We both recognized the chemistry that burns between us the moment we met. Why fight it, bella? You know we could be good together, but you resent the fact that I’m not fooled by your innocent smile. You’ll come to me eventually,’ he mocked. ‘And you’d better not make me wait too long.’
The softly spoken taunt brought Stephanie to her senses, and she shuddered with shame and self-disgust. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be waiting forever,’ she told him, her teeth clenched to prevent them from chattering as reaction turned her blood to ice. I admit that you push all the right buttons, Alexander—I award you ten out of ten for technique. But I’m not looking for a stud. All I want to do is to be left in peace to get on with the job you’ve brought me to Italy to do. So do us both a favour and go and relieve your sexual frustrations with someone else.’
Four weeks later Stephanie took refuge from the midday sun beneath the shade of the cypress trees and stared out at the view from the rear of the Villa Rosala. The air was still and heavy, and sunlight shimmered on the patchwork of green olive groves and golden wheat fields, while in the distance the dense forest gave way to towering mountains.
Tuscany in the height of summer was simply breathtaking. She had landed a dream job, designing the eight bedrooms and numerous living rooms of a house that she had fallen in love with at first sight—so why did she feel so restless?
It was because Alexander hadn’t come this weekend, she acknowledged heavily, hating herself for her weakness where he was concerned. Since he had brought her to Italy he had spent every week in Florence and each weekend at the Villa Rosala, arriving on Friday evenings and leaving again early on Monday morning, and, although she despised herself for admitting it, she looked forward to his visits with increasing eagerness.
Although their conversations were mainly about her designs for the Villa, an unspoken truce seemed to have settled between them—which was not a situation she could have envisaged after their explosive confrontation on the balcony of his Florence apartment,when she had vowed that she hated him—and hated herself more for her complete inability to resist him.
During the drive to the Villa the following morning she had avoided speaking to him or even looking at him, but once they’d been alone in the big, beautiful old house she’d been unable to ignore the wildfire chemistry that burned between them. She was aware of the undisguised desire in Alexander’s eyes, and knew it was mirrored in her own, but a gut instinct for self-protection Warned her that she could not give in to the dictates of her body while he held such a low opinion of her morals.
‘I swear I have no ulterior motive for my friendship with James, and I wouldn’t have allowed him to buy me things even if he’d offered,’ she had insisted during Alexander’s last visit, when he had made yet more disparaging comments about avaricious women and rich old men.
They had been sitting on the terrace enjoying the late afternoon sunshine, Alexander looking like a bronzed demi-god In cream chinos and shirt, his hair gleaming like black silk and his dark eyes shaded by designer sunglasses. His sinfully sexy body would tempt a saint, Stephanie had thought despairingly, let alone a woman who hadn’t had sex for years and whose libido had suddenly stirred into urgent life.
She had searched desperately for a way in which she could prove to Alexander that she wasn’t the gold-digger he believed, and once again she had been tempted to tell him about James’s illness. But James had entrusted her with his secret and she owed him her loyalty.
‘Instead you shopped for designer dresses using money you had been bequeathed in a will?’ Alexander drawled silkily.
‘That’s right.’
‘But the story of your inheritance isn’t quite so straight-forward, is it, bella?’ he continued. ‘You were not left a small fortune by a grandparent or a close relative. For several years you befriended an elderly gentleman—a neighbour who had lived alone since his wife’s death and had no other family.’
Stephanie wondered how Alexander knew so much about her, but finally nodded her head in agreement. ‘Yes, Edward Abbot—Ted—had been on his own for years. He was a wonderful, fascinating man; he flew spitfires during the war, and was shot down over France. His arthritis meant that he couldn’t walk very well, but he was determined not to go into a care home. I used to get bits of shopping for him, and help him with his housework, although really I think he just liked having company. When he died, I couldn’t believe that he had named me as his only beneficiary.’
‘No, it must have been a shock—a very pleasant one,’
Alexander commented softly, and this time there was no mistaking the mocking note in his voice.
‘What is that supposed to mean? What exactly are you suggesting?’ Stephanie demanded angrily.
‘I was merely pointing out that you seem to make a habit of making friends with wealthy, lonely men.’
The realisation that Alexander believed her friendships with Ted and James were all part of a Machiavellian plot to get her hands on their money made Stephanie feel physically sick, and she swung away from him before he saw her angry, humiliated tears.