Reckless Nights in Rome Read online

Chapter Nineteen

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  In the company jet Nico tapped on his laptop.

  A satellite phone lay on the table between him and Bronte.

  The latest update was Alexander may have a detached retina. No word on whether or not he was conscious. Anxiety attempted to bloom in Nico's chest and he stamped it down hard. There was no point in worrying until they had something to worry about.

  He flicked a look at Bronte.

  Not a word had she spoken since they'd left the house. Not one tear had she shed. In the car, through customs, she'd walked like an automaton. She was quiet and biddable as she sat in the plane. Too quiet, he decided. Wherever she'd retreated inside herself it couldn't be good for her.

  Dressed in black slim jeans and a sweater of grey cashmere, she sat with long legs tucked under her. Her hair was tied back in a silver braid. The beautiful face looked vulnerable and devastated. A glossy magazine sat on her lap. An untouched notebook and pen lay on the table.

  She hadn't turned a page but simply stared straight ahead.

  He imagined the day's events must have brought back dark and painful memories of her parents' car accident.

  He almost missed the shudder. A lightening vibration of her body that alerted him to the fact she was clinging to her emotions by a thread.

  Rising, he signalled the steward and requested a blanket. With great care he removed the magazine from Bronte's nerveless fingers.

  Wrapping her in the blanket, he lifted her in his arms and knew he'd done the right thing when she turned into his chest with an earth shattering sob. The steward moved before them to the rear of the plane and opened the door to a bedroom suite. He folded down the bedspread, asked if they wanted anything else and then closed the door.

  Nico laid her on the double bed and Bronte turned on her side to curl into a tight ball. He unzipped flat boots of polished black leather and eased them gently off her feet. His jacket, tie and shoes followed before he lay down and took her in his arms.

  Bronte he realised moments later cried with as much fervour as she made love, with passion, energy and with her every part of her heart. The storm raged and his heart ached for her and the ruination of his Armani shirt.

  "I can't bear it. I can't bear losing him like this." She sobbed into his chest.

  With deep shaky breaths, she rolled onto her back and sniffed, blinking at the ceiling. Nico took the opportunity of the lull to grab a couple of face towels from the en-suite. Lying on his side next to her he propped up on an elbow and wiped saturated cheeks.

  "He is very much alive, cara. Hang onto that until we see him."

  Drenched emerald eyes, huge with distress, met his.

  "Nico, he thinks I'm angry with him because he won't listen to me." She swallowed audibly. A fat tear rolled into her hairline. "But I'm not angry."

  "Good, he will be pleased to hear it."

  She fixed her eyes on the ceiling.

  Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down hard on it as her eyes flooded.

  "I'm so scared."

  He frowned, rubbing the abused lip with his thumb.

  "Cara mia, we will not panic until we need to. Let us take it one step at a time."

  Blinking rapidly, Bronte turned to him as if seeing him for the first time, her eyes now bright and focused.

  "You are absolutely right." She sat and swiped her cheeks. Her attempt at a smile broke his heart. "God, I must look a mess. I need to get a grip."

  He cupped her face between his hands and forced her to look at him.

  "You look beautiful. The love you have for your brother is beautiful."

  And reminded himself this was neither the time nor the place for his libido to spark.

  So he contented himself with a burning kiss on that soft vulnerable mouth.

  Bronte couldn't remember landing or being rushed through customs or the drive through Rome's hectic traffic to the hospital.

  She focused on putting one foot in front of the other and held her breath as a smiling nurse opened the door to Alexander's room. The woman was smiling. That was a good sign. Right?

  They entered the room and the bleep, bleep of a heart monitor rang too loud inside her skull.

  Her eyes clung to the still form lying in the bed.

  A sob caught in her throat.

  Alexander's face, his poor face was swollen, battered and bloody.

  Nico's strong arm around her waist steadied her.

  Her brother's left arm was in a sling. The other had fluids dripping into a vein.

  Heart in her mouth, Bronte placed a hand tentatively on his leg.

  "Alexander?"

  Alexander's good eye opened and he focused on her.

  "Hey, baby face. Those tears better not be for me."

  Relief hit her too hard and she threw herself into Nico's arms and did cry like a baby.

  He didn't appear to mind as he stroked her hair.

  "You look a mess, my friend."

  Alexander narrowed his eye at the intimate body language of his best friend and his sister.

  "Airbags, two of them."

  Bronte plucked tissues out of a box and blew her nose, her head pounding in reaction to the release of adrenalin.

  "You look bloody awful."

  Alexander winced as he attempted a smile through his split lip.

  "You don't look so hot yourself. Wound yourself up good and proper, didn't you? Typical."

  Stung and for form, purely because he expected it, Bronte glared at him.

  "We didn't know if you were dead or alive."

  Nico smiled, ran a hand down her hair.

  "I will leave you two to it and speak to the doctor."

  Outside Alexander's room, Nico leaned back on the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  He heaved a sigh of relief.

  Close families, they loved, they fought, but always they stood together.

  He touched an envelope in his pocket. Then there was the other type of family, dangerous, destructive and cruel. A hard ball of bitterness burned in his throat. The day of reckoning for his family was fast approaching.

  But first he would ensure Alexander had everything he needed. Then he would look after Bronte.

  He moved to the nurse's station to speak to the doctor.

  "For God's sake, you're not bloody sleeping on the floor," Alexander told his sister in a tone dripping with disgust as Nico entered the room.

  The nurse checking Alexander's blood pressure spoke to Nico in Italian.

  "She said the patient must remain calm. He is not calm."

  Bronte huffed out a breath and caught Nico's bland look.

  "Okay, okay, I'll go. But I'll be back first thing in the morning." Then she frowned, her expression full of sympathy for her brother. "I can't find a spot that's not bruised to kiss you."

  "How about my ass," Alexander muttered under his breath.

  Bronte's eyes narrowed dangerously and Nico whipped an arm around her waist.

  "I will telephone in the morning," he told Alexander.

  "Yeah, right. Nico?" Alexander's good eye blinked and he gave his friend a crooked grin. "Thank you for bringing her."

  Leaning back against the wall of the lift, Bronte muttered something about a boot up the ass.

  Nico watched her out of the corner of his eye. She still looked pale, but her spirit had returned he noted as his lips twitched.

  "You can hardly blame him, cara. You buzzed around him like a hornet." He tapped her chin as it came up. "Do not even think of taking it out on me. Unlike Alexander, I am able to give as good as I get."

  Bronte kept quiet remembering exactly how he gave as good as he got.

  A black chauffeur Bentley purred to the kerb as they exited the building.

  Nico opened the door and she slid inside.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  With interest, she watched the bright lights of Rome whiz past.

  "To my apartment."

  Surprised, she looked at him
. "Not a hotel?"

  "No, I have a place in the City."

  The car whisked them through the colourful metropolis. At night Rome always reminded her of a fantasy. A beautiful, vibrant and magnificent city with its ancient buildings lit up as were the wide expanse of beautiful parks. People were always in a hurry in Rome. They walked fast, talked fast and drove like lunatics. And that thought brought her back to Alexander. Her brother had had a lucky escape He would need plenty of rest and recuperation.

  Bronte shivered. It was as cold here as in England. Although why she'd expected it to be warmer she had no idea.

  The sense of being out of control, that fate again may test her by taking another loved one, had drained away leaving her numb and strangely disoriented. Tension rolled from her shoulders, up her neck and into her mind.

  A wave of memories of her last visit to Rome washed over her. Her parents walking hand in hand as her father pointed out immense statues. They'd enjoyed people watching in a cafe in Via Cola di Rienzo. Her mother raising an eyebrow while giving her daughter a secret little smile as an attractive man passed by. They'd done the usual tours; The Coliseum, The Trevi Fountain, The Spanish Steps and the Piazza Della Republica.

  An intense feeling of loss, a sadness she'd buried deep in her psyche crept into her lungs. Bronte's eyes stung and her throat closed. She found she couldn't swallow. She missed them and the life they'd had together so damn much.

  What would they think of her brazen behaviour with Nico? She couldn't begin to imagine what her mother would think of her asking a man she'd known for less than thirty-six hours to give her a screaming orgasm. Where had her self-respect gone? Where had the real Bronte Ludlow gone?

  What the hell was she doing going to his apartment? A hotel would be better, she would have her own space to think, to feel real again.

  She was aware of his dark eyes on her, watching her. The atmosphere in the car had changed too, become tense, edgy even.

  The car cruised to a stop in the Prati district outside a smart apartment building. Nico wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her inside. A lift whisked them up to the top floor. The penthouse and why was she not surprised? It was so Nico.

  He unlocked double doors into a palatial open plan expanse with glazed walls surrounded by wide balconies.

  Bronte bit down on her bottom lip, taking in the space and the spare minimalist decor. The pure masculine feel of the place was intimidating. Testosterone leaked out of every black leather sofa, chair and lamp. It could do with flowers and plants she decided, something to humanise the room, silk cushions on the leather sofas and chairs to break it up.

  "What would you like to do first?" Nico asked standing very still, just watching her. Dark eyes stayed on hers and that weird wave of vulnerability washed over her again. She was alone with him in Rome. It didn't feel real.

  The day's events had taken their toll on her, she realised now, especially after spending the night in Nico's arms. Meeting her father for the first time had drained her. Then visiting the family crypt, her brother's accident, the rush to Rome along with the heady relief Alexander was going to be okay was all too much. She felt punch drunk and terribly disoriented. What she needed was something to anchor her to the earth instead of her emotional centre bouncing around like a damn ping pong ball.

  At the moment Nico seemed more foreign to her too in this environment. His strong features appeared harsh, more powerful.

  Eyes narrowing, his brows met as he continued to watch her. "A bath? Food?"

  Hysteria built inexorably from her solar plexus. Dear God, she was going to lose it right here in front of him. She blinked rapidly determined not to break down. The man would think she was certifiable. What was she doing? She was so terribly tired and he looked as if he could swallow her in one big bite. He'd probably expect her to give him another night of hot sizzling passion and she just didn't have it in her.

  "Bronte?" Nico pushed her gently onto a sofa, grabbed a stool and sat in front of her. "What is it? Speak to me."

  He didn't touch her and for that she was eternally grateful.

  Shaking her head Bronte looked into his face and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. Her vision clicked into focus. Who was this man? What the hell was she doing?

  She stood. "I'm very sorry, Nico. I can't do this."

  He rose, took her hand and she snatched it back.

  "Please don't touch me."

  "Okay, you need a drink, I do too. Just relax here a moment."

  Nico moved into the open plan kitchen, helped himself to a beer and poured her a glass of white wine all the time keeping a close eye on her.

  He placed the wine on a small table.

  Bronte sank to the couch and picked up the glass.

  She looked at him. He wasn't angry. But she wondered how he was going to take it when she told him she didn't want to have an affair with him or anything else for that matter.

  ?Making himself comfortable in a chair, his eyes narrow and thoughtful, Nico took a sip and waited.

  "I don't know who I am anymore," Bronte confessed.

  "Why do you feel like that?"

  "It's my behaviour. Especially recently, it's just not me, Nico. I can't be someone I'm not."

  "Do you want to know how I see you?"

  Face flushed, Bronte shook her head, staring into her wine.

  "I can imagine."

  "I see a strong, beautiful woman who works hard and never gives up. She's funny and warm and loving. Her family and friends love her very much."

  Bronte simply shook her head. He knew nothing about her.

  "I thought I could do this but now I can't. I'm sorry."

  "What is 'this'?"

  She stood and paced as her mind whirled off in ten different directions.

  "Being here with you. I should be in a hotel near the hospital. I don't usually jump into bed with men I hardly know."

  "Si, I should hope not, cara."

  He wasn't taking her seriously she realised, pressing her fingers into her eyes.

  "For the first time in my life, I decided to be selfish. No strings. No expectations. No promises. You were perfect."

  His eyes quizzical, Nico sent her a slow smile.

  "I do not know whether to be flattered or offended."

  Bronte rubbed the tension easing slowly from her neck and sent him a sad look.

  "If I stay here with you it will be under false pretences. I should be at a hotel."

  "I do not understand."

  She owed it to him after everything he'd done for her to be nothing less than honest.

  "Well, we're having an affair and you'll want constant monkey sex. I'm not the type of person you think I am." She jumped as he roared with laughter and shook his head.

  Nico rose, took her in his arms and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

  "Oh, Bronte, monkey sex? What on earth is that?"

  Smiling into his chest she inhaled the scent that was pure Nico and sighed.

  "Something Rosie said."

  ?His big body shaking with laughter Nico lifted her chin and kissed her with a soft delicate brush of the lips.

  "But we are not having an affair, cara mia. Neither of us is married."

  "What are we having?" she wanted to know.

  With a gentle hand he stroked her hair.

  "We are in the early stages of a relationship. Let us make a promise to each other. We must only have the truth between us. Agreed?"

  His eyes held hers. And Bronte read a mix of understanding and humour. "Agreed."

  "If you do not want to sleep with me and have monkey sex then you tell me. Agreed?"

  She let out a breath feeling incredibly foolish. "Agreed."

  "If you want me to do something then you tell me. Agreed?"

  Nerves, Bronte realised with relief, she'd only had an attack of nerves. "Agreed."

  Pulling her close, Nico nuzzled her hair.

  "What happened in the car? You changed."

>   "Memories," Bronte told him.

  "Sad memories?"

  "Yes and no. I came to Rome with my parents years ago. We had an amazing time."

  Lifting her chin, his thumb stroked her bottom lip and the little pull in her tummy reminded her of his fatal attraction as her eyes clung to his.

  "You need to learn to speak your thoughts rather than keeping them locked inside your head," he said as he kissed her.

  Their agreement for the truth between them had Bronte opening her heart.

  "I wondered what they would think if they could see me now."

  Those dark eyes studied her face. "And what conclusion did you come to, cara?"

  Her throat tightened and her eyes stung.

  "They would be ashamed, disappointed in me."

  Nico shook his head vehemently. His eyes never left hers for a moment.

  "Never, I do not believe that for a moment. Look at what you are doing with your life, working hard and running the business. It is a great success. I heard plenty of people on Saturday night say how proud your parents would be of you and Alexander." His mouth nuzzled hers. He raised his head, eyes gentle. "You are still grieving, cara. You have had an emotional day. Rome has brought back happy memories that have made you sad. That is all."

  ?A heavy weight lifted from her heart. She felt free for the first time in a long time. Her parents had loved her unconditionally. She remembered that now. They wouldn't dream of judging her and who was she to judge them?

  "Nico?"

  "Yes, Bronte?"

  "I'm starving."

  He took her to a family run trattoria.

  They ate pasta and drank red wine which brought a light flush to Bronte's cheeks. And Nico discovered she had a passion for ice cream, particularly white chocolate.

  On the return to his apartment he realised she loathed the decor with the same passion she had for ice cream. Well, the decor was easily fixed. A few calls and it would be in hand.

  After Bronte had made emotionally charged calls to Rosie and a person called Carol cancelling a lunch date, he'd urged her to take a warm bath alone. And he'd left her deeply asleep in his bed. The girl was near collapse this evening. Her face appeared too pale with dark circles of sheer exhaustion under her eyes. Getting up at six every morning was taking its toll but he had a plan to fix that.

  Nico narrowed his eyes as he lit a long slim cigar and sank into a recliner on the balcony. His breath rose in the frosty air. He studied the sky. It would snow tomorrow. He could smell it. Blowing smoky circles, Nico carefully analysed the ache in the region of his heart and the butterflies in his gut with a mixture of regret and excitement.

  Without him being aware of it, Bronte had slipped into his heart. Time to face facts. He cared about her, perhaps too much? Shrugging his shoulders, he smiled. When the hell had he ever cared whether a woman liked his decor? Never. When had he ever cared enough to comfort a woman? Never.

  But then, he'd never had a woman as unaffected and wonderfully naive as Bronte. Was that it? When he thought of the hard, polished, world weary women he usually indulged in, he shuddered. He found it difficult to remember a face and that made him cringe. Was this a mid-life crisis? Thirty-four was surely too young for one.

  In the car he'd watched her lightning change of mood and wondered what was behind it. For a moment he thought he may need to take her to a hotel. He could understand her feelings of loss. She had been incredibly close to her parents. It was understandable. And Alexander's accident had brought it all back.

  Nico remembered his own mother and her unconditional love for him. Her death had broken him. He could admit it now. But he had been a child of ten, a skinny street urchin, dirt poor and starving. Bronte on the other hand had been blessed with two loving parents and a loving brother.

  He inhaled smoke as his mind segued into another issue.

  The letter he received from a lawyer requesting him to meet with his father and his half-brother in Rome in two days preyed on his mind. Interesting how they'd crawled out of the woodwork once he was wealthy and successful.

  Apparently the old man was seriously ill. Tough, he hoped he burned in hell. He'd left his mother to die, sick and alone and never acknowledged his younger son, Nico.

  According to his late grandfather his father had seduced his mother. A married man with a young son, he'd dabbled on the fringes of organised crime. In the letter the lawyer said they didn't want anything except to meet him. His brother wanted to introduce Nico to his family. He had a wife and two kids apparently. He smiled to himself, fat chance.

  His sordid past would not touch the life he'd built today. No way would it touch the embryo of what he may build with Bronte. Their relationship was too new, too vulnerable.

  Christ, they came from two different backgrounds. He was a tough, streetwise sewer rat and she was the cool English lady with an impressive heritage. For the first time in his life, Nico could see a future stretch in front of him with her at the centre. It scared him how much he wanted it. He craved the routine and a home with Bronte at The Dower House. And one day, perhaps they'd be blessed with a blonde haired little girl and a dark haired little demon with big green eyes like his mother.

  Nico shivered with the premonition.

  Good Lord, he was being fanciful.

  How could this have happened to him in a few days? She was perfect for him he admitted now. He'd known it as soon as he set eyes on her. But his intuition told him something was wrong. Something was tormenting her. It was there in her eyes when she didn't think he was looking. He'd noticed it from the beginning. There were times when she was mentally absent from him. Something dark lurked at the back of her eyes keeping her in the past instead of being in the present moment and he wondered what it meant.

  Frowning, anxiety curled at the base of his spine. Nico hoped to God she wasn't in love or still had strong feelings for her ex-fianc?. The man must be a fool to have had her and let her go.

  But he shook his head, inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke, staring into the night sky. She was still grieving and that made her vulnerable, although she hadn't been terribly vulnerable yesterday morning. He laughed out loud.

  She was spectacular when she lost her temper, a wildcat. Life with Bronte Ludlow promised to be very interesting. Nico would put good money on it that he would never have a boring moment and how amazing would that be?

  She was also a little repressed sexually.

  And he laid the blame for that firmly at the door of her ex-fianc?. He studied the tip of his cigar with narrowed eyes. He was almost certain the bastard had made comments about her breasts. She had a hang up about them. Well, he would fix that too. Although he fervently hoped she was not planning implants. He hated those. Bronte did not have an ounce of vanity in her. Unbelievable really, since she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

  What had the bastard done to her?

  And monkey sex?

  What on earth was that?

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