Free The Passionate Italian 11 DECEMBER EPUB by Diana Fraser Page B

Giovanni’s jealousy had failed to respond. It was stupid: jealousy didn’t equal love. She knew that. But it was his total lack of response that got to her. It could only mean one thing. He didn’t love her any more.  
    “Please don’t cry.” Simon’s voice held an edge of panic.
    “I’m not crying.”
    She continued not to cry all the way back to the Palazzo where she used Simon’s scarf to wipe away the mascara rings before entering. He opened the door for her.
    “Good night, signora, I’ll leave you now.”
    “Night.” Once inside she fell back against the closed door and listened to his muffled steps retreat to his nearby apartment. None of the staff lived in the house. She was quite alone. Except for Giovanni, somewhere in the depths of the house.
    She breathed in the polished dark emptiness of the grand hall. The clock clanged two chimes, for once on time. He’d be in bed by now. She slipped off her shoes and began to walk down the hall. Head down, watching her step, intent on getting to her bedroom unnoticed.
    Suddenly the top of her head bumped into something. She screamed and jumped back.
    “Walking around without looking where you’re going; is that a New Zealand habit that you’ve acquired?”
    “Where the hell did you come from?”
    “I’ve been waiting for you. Come in here.”
    She followed him into his study, desperately trying to keep the waves of nausea at bay and clear her head. She sat down in the soft suede chair and realized that there was little chance of recovering sufficiently to win a game of wits with him. But she’d give it her best shot.
    “What do you want Giovanni? To tell me off for having fun?”
    “Did you?”
    “What? Have fun? Of course. How could I not? Good wine and good company. Very good company.”
    She watched carefully, noticing a tightening around his jaw. “You certainly appear to have had a surfeit of both.”
    “How would you know? You sent Simon to watch over me.”
    He glanced quickly at her before pouring himself a drink and sitting down at his desk. She watched him suspiciously.
    “You were there, weren’t you?”
    “Of course. I was told that you were dining there and thought I would join you. But even after half an hour you’d acquired quite a gathering around your table.”
    “So you left?”
    “No. I watched and waited. But got bored watching your awkward flirtations and decided to leave the job to Simon. Whatever your reason for such behavior, I thought it might best if I weren’t there to witness it.”
    “Didn’t like seeing your wife with other men?”
    “Didn’t like seeing my employee make a fool of herself.” Giovanni snapped back. “Don’t do it again Rose. You are hopelessly inept and besides, your obvious intention has failed. You have not made me jealous.”
    Giovanni sat back and watched as she swayed slightly in her chair, about to deny his charge but then, for whatever reason, changing her mind.
    He’d like to wring the neck of each one of the young men who had devoured Rose with their eyes. He’d seen what they’d seen and he’d imagined what each one of them had imagined. They were new to the establishment otherwise they wouldn’t have dared to try to ensnare his wife from under his nose.  
    But for all the lusting after her body, and for all the jealousy of watching other men covet what should be his, it was his overwhelming sense of tenderness he felt for her that shocked him.
    When she’d looked uneasy at some remark he’d wanted to kiss away the frown on her forehead; when she’d flicked away her hair from her breasts that one of the bastards had lain there, he’d wanted to smooth it away and kiss the place where it had touched; when she’d finally risen to go, he’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and carry her away to safety.
    For he had been there and watched her performance from the manager’s office where he couldn’t be seen and where enough money had secured the manager’s silence.  
    He