Free The Passionate Italian 11 DECEMBER EPUB by Diana Fraser

passion: that, even the finest artist had been unable to convey.
    Her eyes shifted to his brother—his only sibling. There, the artist had been more successful. Alberto’s eyes gazed upon the watcher with a bored, sardonic humor. His full upper lip was curled slightly as if irritated by the whole exercise. It was the face of a spoilt young man, with more ambition than ability.  
    Her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest and she studied her wine as she tried to calm herself. Alberto wasn’t here. Apparently wasn’t even due back until well after her contract expired. Without him, things could continue as they were before. She could plan her future, back in New Zealand, and make her escape before his return. She loved Giovanni and it was for his sake that she needed to leave before Alberto returned.
    Because she wouldn’t be able to hide from Giovanni the fact that his brother had attacked her in an attempt to rape her, destroying their baby in the process. And she didn’t know whether he’d be able to control his rage at her hurt. What if his worst fears came to pass and he attacked his brother, just as his father had when he’d nearly killed a man? She daren’t risk him discovering her secret, risk his passionate rage that might know no bounds.  
    She took another mouthful of food and studiously avoided looking at Giovanni’s portrait.
    How could she have let herself fall back into his life again? Her love for him had continued unabated, but his passion for her had been like a distress flare—powerful, lighting up her whole life, but, seemingly, quick to extinguish.  
    And here she was, loving him, wanting him, but leaving him quite untouched. There was nothing but coolness from him now.
    What she’d give to see that heat once more.  
    She sipped from her glass of wine, pushed back the half-eaten plate of food, and wondered where he was and what he was doing.
    It wasn’t like him. They’d always made sure that everything stopped for their time together. But not now. And how could she expect otherwise? She’d left him believing that she’d had enough of his over-the-top passions that reminded her of the histrionics of her unstable mother.
    A man with his pride would never forgive her. He was probably out now with one of the many young, beautiful Italian women that flocked around him in the up-market restaurants and clubs that he frequented. Yes, she could just see it: blonde hair flicked artfully to one side and head inclined slightly as the woman listened to him, the accidental graze of her hand upon his thigh, shifting in her seat as she indicated her receptiveness to his sexuality.
    She sat back in the chair, shook her head and groaned.
    He’d been right. She was disappointed because he’d wanted her for the work, rather than for anything else. She suddenly realized the depth of her need for him. Perhaps she should track him down and flirt with him, make him see what he was missing. Make him see her as a woman, not a business colleague. Then it occurred to her. She wouldn’t need to track him down. She could use his jealousy for once and lure him to her. She’d go to the club that was his second home. Giovanni would be told in minutes that she was there.

    It was hot in the streets of Milan. She walked cautiously down the front steps of the Palazzo in her stiletto heels. They were one of the things she’d been glad to leave behind in Italy. But now? They might just prove useful. Once she’d got the hang of them again.
    Rose carefully negotiated the cobbled street that led to her destination. It was the only place Giovanni ever went. Portofino. A complex of intimate dining rooms, bars and lounges, it met every mood of its wealthy patrons.
    “Signora Visconti! How lovely to see you again. I’d heard that you were back.”
    Could Rose hear a certain panic in the maitre d’s voice or was she getting paranoid?
    “A table for one please—in your main bar.”
    “Si, Signora. Come this way. We are