The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(3)

'You, my dearest, have no idea how the world of business operates. One  wrong word in the wrong ear and bang, a deal can be flushed down the  drain before you have time to draw breath.'

Francesca smiled, eyes still shut. 'You make it sound very exciting.'

'It is.'

'But you'll have to give it up some day, Angelo. You know what they say  about stressful jobs and high blood pressure.' She opened her eyes and  gazed at him with burning appreciation as he lowered himself into the  bath opposite her. 'And you're not getting any younger. What will you do  then? Perhaps you could consider a more restful career in your own line  of cosmetics for men? The Angelo Falcone range of moisturisers?'

Angelo burst out laughing and, distracted for a few moments, he leaned  towards her, ordering her to swivel around, which she did with some  awkwardness, then he began to wash her hair. He did a very efficient  scalp massage. She relaxed utterly, enjoying the feel of his fingers as  he tipped shampoo into her hair and began working it up to a lather. It  was way too late to be doing this, having her hair washed. She would  never have the time to do a thorough job blow-drying it, but she didn't  care. No work for the next few days. She could actually luxuriate in the  blissful freedom of not caring how she looked.                       
       
           



       

'Hmm. That's a thought. Not sure I would be very good at it … '

'Why not?'

'Too much of a man,' he stated, using the attachment to begin rinsing the shampoo away.

'Oh, I see. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?'

'Don't know. You should have. It is not as if you don't know me. In  fact, I would say that you know me better than any woman ever has  before … '

'Is that a good thing, I wonder? Don't you think it's impossible to ever really know someone?'

For just a few heady, dangerous seconds she wondered how he would react  if she told him how much he didn't know about her. The temptation didn't  last long. Not when she conjured up the consequences. No more Angelo,  and the thought of that sickened her even though she knew that there was  no future between them. None at all. That was a bridge she wasn't going  to cross just yet.

'Anyway, let's not be serious,' she coaxed, sliding back towards him and  guiding his hands to her breasts. 'You promised me a lovely, pampering  bath. You know we models have to be pampered.'

He pampered her. He doubted she could have enjoyed it as much as he did.  He loved running his hands along her wet, slippery body, soaping every  inch of her, taking his time. Then, when they were on the point of  shrivelling from over-exposure to water, he towelled her dry very slowly  and very carefully and absolutely forbade her to put on any pyjamas,  even though over time he had chosen every single item of nightwear she  owned. From the stunning model who was never seen in anything but the  finest of designer clothes yet harboured an array of oversized tee  shirts in which she slept, she had become the possessor of fabulously  sexy nighties, flimsy things that barely skirted her beautifully  proportioned body.

Tonight, though, he wanted to feel her nakedness next to him, wanted to  be able to touch her at any time of the night without his fingers having  to come into contact with material, however little of it there might  have been.

'Are you happy, Francesca?' he asked in a low voice, when they were finally in bed and facing one another.

She looked at him, startled and unsettled by the question.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' Angelo said softly, stroking back her hair and running his  thumb along the side of her face, 'we meet like ships in the night. I  live out of a suitcase and so do you. It isn't satisfactory … '

'It's just the way it is. There's nothing we can do about it.' Her heart  was beginning to beat faster. She could feel a fine film of  perspiration break out as she frantically tried to think of ways to  change the subject. Pointless. Angelo was persistent. She knew him well  and she knew that he could be like a dog with a bone, the type of man  who saw his goal in the distance and proceeded to get there whatever the  obstacles presented on the way.

'Why do you say that?'

'You know why. Because my work involves a lot of travel. As does yours.  Angelo. Do we have to talk about this right now? I'm exhausted.  Honestly. It's late.'

'No time like the present.'

'Let's just leave things the way they are. You asked me whether I was  happy and yes, I am. Very.' She smiled at him and closed her mind to the  thought of what lay ahead. Over the past months she had become an  expert at living in the present. It was such a good place to be.

'Happy seeing me now and again? Happy getting diaries out so that we can  work out schedules and arrange our meetings like business partners  trying to find a convenient date to see one another?'

'Whatever. Happy being with you when we do meet. It's good enough for me.' Please, let's drop this.

'There's no need for you to be based in Paris … '

'I have to be based somewhere and Paris is the most convenient place. I  mean, my work is all in France or Italy, aside from shoots in the Far  East.'

'Which is slightly odd, considering you are from England.'

Francesca went very still, but he didn't pursue that line of  speculation. Instead he murmured gently, 'You must have some hankering  to return to your roots. I know you've told me in the past that the only  time to be adventurous is when you are young, but you could shift your  base to London and continue to be adventurous.'

Francesca released her breath on a sigh. 'London, Paris-where's the  difference? You're still all over the place, Angelo, and I accept that.  I'm not one of these women who wants to pin you down. You know you'd  hate that, hate feeling as though you've been put in a trap-how many  times have you told me that as soon as a woman starts smelling the aroma  of permanence, you start getting restless?' She tried to lighten the  atmosphere with a gentle smile. 'Maybe I prefer you to be with me now  and again and wanting it rather than risk having you around more often,  with the danger of you losing interest … '                       
       
           



       

'And maybe there is another option.' Angelo felt the sudden,  overwhelming buzz of stepping off the side of a precipice. It was a more  terrifying feeling than waiting on the edge of any big deal he had ever  done in his life before. And to think that he had always considered  himself a man who had gone beyond ever feeling that basic, gut-wrenching  emotion called fear!

Francesca's eyes widened.

'I'm going to be setting up some pretty big ventures in London.  Property. A couple of small architectural firms I want to get involved  in. I've kept myself to America and Italy and now I intend to move to  London, base myself there. Come with me.'

The world seemed suddenly to have tilted on its axis. Francesca sat up  abruptly and drew her knees up, clasping her arms around them and  leaning her head down in the posture of someone trying to fight off a  sudden attack of violent nausea. She could feel the desperate thudding  of her heart beneath her ribs, like a train that had shot its tracks and  was gathering momentum in its free fall.

Eventually, she turned her head so that she was looking across at him.

'My work … ' she ventured weakly.

'Could be done there. You no longer need to confine yourself to catwalks  in Italy. You can go into the magazine side of things. Don't tell me  that's not a hell of a lot more lucrative. You can have lots more money  to squirrel away.'

She heard the smile in his voice as he spoke and caressed her spine with one long finger.

'And there would be more time for us. Less travel for me … Who knows, you  might find your homeland more tempting to your wandering soul if I were  there, hmm? And things between us would no longer be this clandestine.  We meet in this apartment in Venice or else in hotel rooms in various  parts of Europe, and I weary of it after this length of time.'

'You're not meant to settle, Angelo. You said so! You have a wandering soul. Just like me.'

Angelo picked up the thread of panic in her voice and dismissed it. He  was offering her something he had never offered any other woman in his  life before, had never come close to offering! She was afraid that he  would tire of her if they saw too much of one another, if they removed  the breathless excitement of the clandestine. It was, he told himself,  understandable.

'Are you not tired of wandering?' He frowned. 'Of intermittent meetings,  making love knowing that time is not on our side because before too  long one of us will have to leave to hop on a plane to somewhere? I want  to be able to take you places with me, meet the people I work with, who  work for me. I work in a very visible field. Expensive hotels and  exclusive resorts. I want you on my arm, by my side … my perfect,  well-bred, eminently presentable woman.'