Free Her Last Night of Innocence by India Grey Page A

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    Because if he lost this, he lost everything. There was nothing else. Never had been. He had been a sixteen-year-old on a fast track to self-destruction when he’d spotted Silvio’s car parked outside the theatre in Naples on that hot summer night and hotwired it. If Silvio hadn’t given him a chance, hadn’t seen some glimmer of potential in him that had singularly eluded both his mother and the nuns at school, Cristiano would almost certainly have been in prison long ago. Or dead.
    Racing wasn’t just his career, it was his life. It was his means of proving to the world that he wasn’t the failure everyone had told him he was as a boy. And winning was his justification for destroying his mother’s life. His vindication.
    A not-quite-complete moon had broken free from behind the mountaintops and now floated above him, turning the road ahead into a river of silver and making diamonds glitter in the snow at the side of it. Eventually a sign for the exclusive mountain resort where Francine Fournier’s chalet was situatedloomed out of the darkness. As he turned off the main road onto the narrow mountain pass Kate stirred, arching her back and seeming to fight for a moment against the restriction of the seatbelt. Cristiano kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the narrow road ahead as the Campano’s wheels spun on the ice and Kate’s head fell sideways onto his shoulder.
    He stiffened instantly, gritting his teeth as the pulse in his head was joined by an increase in the persistent throb of desire that he had been trying to ignore for the last four hours. Scowling out into the darkness, he tried to block out the butterfly whisper of her breath against his throat, the scent of her hair, and concentrate instead on finding Francine’s house…
    Chalet les Pins.
    The headlamps lit up the sign on the gatepost—and the huge snowflakes that were now silently swirling out of the blackness. Grazie a Dio . Cristiano felt dizzy with exhaustion as he drove the last two hundred metres down the track towards the house and switched the engine off.
    There was a light on over the porch of the chalet. He opened the car door and got out stiffly, taking care not to move suddenly and wake Kate as the icy air rushed at him like an avalanche. Collecting the bags from the Campano’s tiny boot, he wearily climbed the steps and unlocked the front door, depositing them just inside and switching on the light before going back to get her.
    He opened the passenger door. She had barely stirred for the last couple of hours and was still deeply asleep, so that even the sudden cold didn’t wake her. Turned sideways in the seat towards him, she had one hand tucked under her cheek. The car’s harsh interior light gave her skin an unearthly pallor and made her long lashes cast spiky shadows over her cheeks.
    He couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Gathering her into his arms, taking care not to hit her head on the low roof as he eased her out of the car, he felt an odd, light-headed sensation. Her body was pliant and warm against his, and he had to clench his jaw against the lust that stabbed him in the gutas she sighed and shifted in his arms. He kicked the car door shut behind him.
    Her eyelids flickered, and he felt her stiffen. He tightened his grip.
    ‘Mmm?’
    ‘It’s OK.’ His voice, rusty from the long hours of silence, seemed to echo slightly in the cavernous night. ‘We’re here. Go back to sleep.’
    Inside the house it was blissfully warm. The front door opened straight into a large open-plan room that was typically Alpine in style, and as he headed straight for the stairs that rose from one end Cristiano was vaguely aware of a huge sofa in front of the central fireplace, soft rugs in faded shades of crimson and indigo, and the soothing scent of woodsmoke and pine resin. He felt a moment of gratitude to Francine Fournier.
    At the top of the stairs he pushed open the nearest door. The room was filled with moonlight from a large