She’d surrendered to his will.
And through him ran a sense of triumph that was sweeter than any he’d known.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JENNY sat at the newly acquired easel which had been set up close to Marco’s sun-lounge on the terrace so he could watch her attempt to capture his grandson in charcoal. His caregiver, Theresa Farmilo, a middle-aged private nurse with a kindly manner, sat on the other side of him, ready to attend to his needs. A large umbrella shaded all three of them from the late-morning sun.
Dante was seated at the table, a few metres away, shaded by another umbrella. She’d asked him to chat with his grandfather, rather than hold a still pose. Silence and being the focus of all attention would have made her more nervous about doing the portrait. Besides, the vitality of his face when he talked was more interesting to work on than a simple sketch of flesh and bone and hair. More challenging, too.
He was an extremely challenging man. She no longer had any clear idea of what was right or wrong. He’d swamped her with intense sexual pleasure last night, argued her out of her concern for Lucia, re-asserted the need to indulge his grandfather with Bella’s presence, and she had been unable to find the will to deny him anything.
Just do what he wants, kept running through her mind. It was too hard to fight him. Besides, this was his family and his judgement of it had to be better than hers. Though what Lucia had revealed about her life still touched a chord of sympathy—no settled home, a stream of minders, the lack of any deep personal interest being shone on her. In a weird kind of way, it echoed Jenny’s own life. Wealth didn’t really make up for the sense of inner loneliness. It only meant basic survival was never an issue.
Maybe she could speak to Marco about Lucia when they had some private time together, without Dante listening and butting in. If she could do some good there she would feel better about staying. Though Lucia might resent her interference, however well meant it was. Jenny had not seen her this morning, had no idea if she was ashamed of last night’s cruel outburst or didn’t care what hurt she had inflicted. No doubt their next meeting would reveal more of her nature. Best to wait and see.
More troubling than the question of Lucia was the new intimacy with Dante. She hadn’t planned to have a prolonged secret affair with him. Her intention had been to end everything this morning. Now he clearly expected them to continue being cousins during the day and lovers at night—another deception that didn’t sit easily in her mind. Yet her body was saying yes to it, regardless of how stupid and reckless it was to get so deeply involved with him.
Here she was, studying his mouth to draw it right, and all she could think of was how it had kissed her…everywhere. Just looking at him stirred a host of exciting memories. He’d said he wanted more of her and she couldn’t deny wanting more of him. If he came to her room tonight, she knew she wouldn’t be able to refuse him.
This was time out of time, she told herself. A brief madness that would end when Marco died. Then she would return to her real life, and her connection to Dante Rossini would seem like a dream. She hoped she would be able to remember it with a smile—an experience that would never have come her way in the ordinary course of events. In the meantime she had to keep filling the grand-daughter role, make sure she didn’t get anything too wrong.
The pleasant peace on the terrace was interrupted just as Jenny was putting the last touches to the portrait.
‘Good morning, all!’ Lucia trilled, arriving via the cliff walkway, obviously having enjoyed a recent swim in the pool. She wore a red bikini, the bottom half covered by a matching sarong, and a large, floppy, red straw sunhat drooped fashionably over her face. ‘How’s the portrait going, Nonno?’ she asked, smiling at him indulgently as she sashayed over and dropped a kiss on his forehead.
‘Look for yourself,’ he invited, smiling at Jenny. ‘I think you’ll have to credit Bella with more talent than you had imagined, Lucia.’
‘Really?’
The incredulous tone in her voice instantly made Jenny bridle. It was difficult to care about a person who was bent on being critical. She felt herself tensing as Lucia moved around to stand behind her and examine the likeness to Dante. She tensed even more when Lucia started laughing.
‘You’re going to love this, Dante. It’s the most romantic version of you anyone could turn out.’
‘Romantic?’ he queried, looking at Jenny in a bemused fashion.
‘I guess that’s what street artists do, try to please the person they’re drawing,’ Lucia rattled on mockingly. ‘Never mind about their true character, which, of course, they don’t have a clue about. Though I must say, Bella, you should have picked up some of Dante’s by now. You’ve been with him long enough.’
A horrible flush of self-consciousness flooded up Jenny’s neck as she stared at the portrait, realising she had poured her feelings into it, making his eyes more gentle and loving than they really were, giving his mouth the kind of sensuality that reeked of sexual promise.
‘Where’s his master-of-the-situation arrogance?’ Lucia demanded. ‘The cutting-edge cynicism? All those innate qualities that make him such a force to be reckoned with?’
‘I obviously don’t know him so well,’ Jenny muttered, shooting an anxious look at Marco. ‘I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.’
‘Not at all, my dear. I’m glad Dante has shown you the softer side of himself.’ He held out his hand. ‘If you’ve finished, let me see it more closely.’
Jenny stood to pass over the portrait, achingly aware that Dante had stood, too, and was coming over to view it with his grandfather. Would he be amused to see himself romanticised by her? Or would his sharp mind pick up the fantasy of a dream lover that her subconscious self must have been weaving as she drew? Her insides writhed with the humiliation of revealing what should have been kept hidden.
He looked.
He said nothing.
His gaze remained lowered, fixed on the portrait. There was no telling expression on his face.
‘I like it,’ Marco said in a gruff, wistful tone. ‘I like it very much.’
‘Then Bella should do one of me, too,’ Lucia said petulantly, annoyed by her grandfather’s warm approval of Jenny’s work.
‘She might not see you as you would like to be seen, Lucia,’ Dante tossed at her dryly.
‘If she can do such a romantic version of you, she can do the same for me. Then Nonno can have the best of both of us to look at,’ she argued, flouncing over to the chair Dante had vacated at the table, seating herself in an exaggerated pose, waving a command at Jenny. ‘I’m all yours, Bella. Let’s see what you can make of me.’