A Scandal in the Headlines(45)

He’d reached over to take her hands in his, threading his fingers through hers, then pulling their joined hands up to his mouth. She’d sighed, her eyes filling with all of that heat and passion that had delivered them here in the first place. And he’d willed her to relent. To bend. To yield.

To want to hold on to him the way he needed to hold on to her.

“You’re the one who wanted forty days,” he’d said, searching her face, trying to see what he needed to see written there. “There’s almost a whole week left.”

She’d shaken her head. “Playtime is over, Alessandro.”

“Forty days,” he’d repeated, because he hadn’t known what else to say, how else to convince her. She couldn’t leave. This wasn’t over—it had only just begun.

“Alessandro …”

“Elena. Please.” He hadn’t recognized his own voice, much less what coursed through him as he’d said it. “Stay.”

He’d begged. There was no other word for it.

But she’d looked up at him then and he hadn’t cared at all that he’d bent in a way he’d previously believed impossible. He’d only cared that it worked.

“I’ll give you forty days,” she’d said when he’d begun to lose hope, her eyes changing from blue to gray. “But that’s it. This can’t go on any longer than that.”

He’d only moved closer to her, and then he’d taken her mouth with his, answering her as best he could.

It had all gone by too quickly, he thought now, glaring out his window at the sea as if it had betrayed him. As if nature and time had conspired against him. He sensed her come into the master suite before he heard her, that familiar spark of lightning down his spine and straight into his sex—and that fist in his gut seemed to burrow deeper.

“Are you ready?” he asked without turning around. He had to fight to keep his voice level, to keep his temper under control, and it was much harder than it should have been. How could he lose her when he’d just found her? “The helicopter will be here any moment.”

“Of course,” Elena said, back to that smooth voice he loathed. “I packed everything that’s mine.”

“And my staff packed everything else,” he said evenly. “What use do you imagine I have for the clothes you wore while you were here?”

She didn’t answer. He shoved his hands into his pockets so she wouldn’t see that he’d balled them into fists. He knew she was still standing there—he could feel her—but the silence stretched out between them, sharp and treacherous. He didn’t know what to do, or say.

He only knew he couldn’t stand this.

Alessandro heard the unmistakable sound of his helicopter then, roaring toward the meadow for its landing. Coming down fast to hasten this unacceptable ending.

Too late, he thought. It’s always too late.

He turned then, abruptly, and caught the look on her face. Resolute. Miserable. Brave and determined. He concentrated on miserable.

“Stay with me,” he bit out. An order this time, with no silk or seduction or even begging to sweeten it.

“Stay?” she echoed, as if she didn’t understand the word. “Here?” She shook her head, sketched that airy smile. “You can’t keep hiding away here, Alessandro. It’s time to go home.”

She was dressed for the outside world. No flowing dress, no tiny shorts, no skimpy bikini. She wore those white denim trousers that made him uncomfortably hard, another pair of wicked heels and a peach-colored top that flirted with her curves beneath a cream-colored scarf looped lazily around her neck. Her hair was slicked back into a sleek ponytail, and she had sunglasses perched on her head, ready to slide over her eyes. She looked casually fashionable, impenetrably lovely, and he knew it was armor.

He hated it.

“Come to Palermo with me,” he threw out without thinking, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care how complicated that could become. He didn’t care if it started a damned war with the Falco family. He’d fight it with his own bare hands if he had to. He didn’t care about anything but her.

And if an alarm sounded deep inside of him then, he ignored it.

“You know that’s impossible,” she said fiercely. As if he’d finally struck a nerve. “You know I have to go.”

Alessandro remembered that night, so long ago now, when he’d told her he would chase her through the house if she wanted him to do it. That he would let her abdicate any responsibility for what happened between them, let it all be on him, if that was what it took. Was that what she needed?