Bound by the Italian's Contract(47)

                “This is it,” he said, pride and something indefinable resonating in his voice.

                He didn’t have to tell her this was his bedroom. She knew it the second she walked in.

                The entire space felt as vast as the rugged range, dominated by a bed that screamed pleasure. And she knew that was exactly what she would find there.

                She looked away from it, body burning and tingling anew. What had happened to the instinctual warning that heartache would be the end result of an affair? Was the promised pleasure worth the pain that would come?

                “This is beyond unique,” she said, focusing on the design again instead of the arresting man who threatened to dominate her thoughts, who made her trust him, want him. “The architectural and interior design make the entire space seem as if I am standing on the mountain.”

                “Yes.” He remained by the window, his back to her now. “This place helped heal me.”

                “After the accident?”

                He nodded. “My ex-wife’s death as well. Can you understand that?”

                “Yes, I think so. You loved her. Grieved her death.”

                He scrubbed a hand along his nape and sighed. “It is true. Many of my friends could not understand why I cared, why I shut myself away after her death.”

                “Who asked for the divorce?”

                “I did.” He braced an arm on the window and stared out at the vista. “Does that surprise you?”

                She wouldn’t lie. “In a way.”

                He faced her then, back to the window and arms locked over his chest, a wall keeping anyone from getting too close. “I found her in bed, in the arms of another man. It was an ugly confrontation with passions and tempers running high. Finally she admitted that he was her lover and their affair had been going on long before our marriage.”

                She pressed her fingertips to her mouth, unable to imagine how awful it would be to catch your loved one cheating. “You must have been heartbroken.”

                “Yes, but I was furious over her betrayal,” he said, his voice dark.

                “If she had a lover she refused to leave, why did she marry you?”

                “Marriage afforded her a lavish allowance, the bulk of which ended up funneled to him, I suspect.” He drummed his fingers on the glass panel, his expression remote. “They were expecting a child.”

                She cringed at the added pain Luciano went through. “So you divorced her.”

                “As quickly and quietly as possible.”

                She shook her head, stunned that the ugly rumors she’d heard about Isabella Duchelini were true. Betrayal like Luciano had received at his wife’s hand cut to the heart and drew blood that stained a soul.

                In many ways he was starting over, but only partially.

                “Why didn’t you return to skiing?” she asked.

                His shoulders shifted into such a tight line she was surprised she didn’t hear the twang of muscles and tendons snap and break. “I had my reasons.” He faced her, all warmth gone from his features, making it clear he wasn’t going to share those reasons with her, so she forced herself to change the subject. “You paid more attention to tactile detail, which in turn reflected the mood that resonated with you.”