Scandals Of The Ruthless: A Shadow of Guilt

Valentina should have been focusing on the task at hand—the first day of the Corretti Cup—but her mind kept veering off track back to the other evening and the excruciating humiliation of having Gio reject her because she was a virgin.

Even now, hot tears pricked her eyes and to counteract the weak emotion she stabbed a fork with unnecessary zeal into a piece of pork. She felt so conflicted...the hate she’d always felt for Gio was disturbingly elusive now. She wanted to think of his rejection, hold that to her like a cold justification, but she kept thinking about what he’d told her.

He’d ripped apart a huge part of her defence around him by revealing what he’d gone through after Mario’s death.

And then he’d taken her in his arms...and Valentina had turned into a complete stranger. She’d begged him to kiss her, to make love to her. Self-disgust filled her now. Few men would turn that down...and Gio had merely proved himself as susceptible to a warm willing body as the next man. What he hadn’t counted on was her unwelcome innocence.

The hurt that seized her in the pit of her belly reminded Valentina that his rejection had cut far deeper than she wanted to acknowledge.

Stabbing the pork viciously again, Valentina told herself that he’d done her a favour by not sleeping with her. Her conscience pricked her to think of the emotional fall-out if she had slept with him and for the first time she considered the rogue idea that perhaps he’d done it out of some moral sense of integrity.

One thing was certain: there was no way that Valentina was ever going to allow him to make her feel so vulnerable or exposed again.

‘Val?’

Valentina looked up feeling a little dazed to see her assistant Sara, who was eyeing the very overpierced piece of pork warily.

‘Yes?’

Sara looked up. ‘I, ah, just checked the main buffet tent and it’s all moving like clockwork. No one is waiting for their food.’

Valentina forced a smile and her mind back to the task at hand with effort. ‘Thanks, Sara, I’ll go and check the VIP tent. You can start to organise the canapés for the drinks reception later.’

As Valentina hurried off she forced all thoughts of Gio out of her head but then she suddenly caught a glimpse of him in the distance and instantly all efforts to put him out of her head were reduced to naught. She cursed loudly.

* * *

‘You look stunning tonight.’

The tiny hairs rose all over Valentina’s body and her breath automatically quickened and her heart missed a beat. She looked up from where she was running a pen down the list of VIP names to see Gio standing in front of her, ludicrously handsome in his black tuxedo. He’d changed since she’d caught that sighting of him earlier. His normally unruly hair was tamed into some kind of order, making him look even more debonair.

She’d been burningly aware of him since he’d walked into the huge and lavishly decorated marquee about an hour before but to her relief he’d been on the other side of the room, talking to people. Mainly a steady stream of women which had aroused very dark and disturbing feelings inside her. But now he was here. And she couldn’t breathe.

Somehow she found the wherewithal to breathe in and said coolly, ‘It’s the only formal dress I have—I didn’t have time to go shopping.’

Gio’s dark eyes ran over her from where she’d put her hair up in a simple high knot, down over the black structured dress with its flared skirt and a pair of peep-toe black shoes. She was markedly dressed down compared to all the other women in the room who were dripping in jewels and dressed in the latest slinky silky fashions. Which was only appropriate, she’d told herself, hating that she felt somehow less.

Despite the vivid recall of the other night and her lingering sense of humiliation and anger, Valentina felt hot colour seeping up her chest when face to face with Gio again and the memory of how she’d slapped him. She’d never hit another human being in her life. The compulsion to apologise was suddenly acute. Her emotions had betrayed her and she didn’t want him to think she still felt so volatile. Avoiding his eyes, she said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry...about hitting you.’

‘I deserved it.’

Gio’s quick answer had her looking up to see him put a hand to his jaw as if to test it. Her belly clenched when she noticed a tiny scar high on his cheekbone. Had she done that? Treacherously her intent to be cool dissolved. ‘Did I really hurt you?’

Gio’s mouth curled up on one side, making Valentina’s insides feel curiously liquid.

‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of your right hook.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, her voice sounding frigid as she tried to disguise her emotions.

Just then a petite and very groomed dark-haired woman came up to Gio’s side and he dipped his head to listen to what she had to say. The woman blushed prettily and something dark pierced Valentina’s composure to see this evidence of another woman finding him attractive. Attractive? a snide voice in her head mocked—he stood head and shoulders above every other man in the room and she knew it.

The woman had moved away and Gio was looking at her. Valentina realised her hands were curled to fists and she consciously relaxed them.

Gio was saying smoothly, ‘If you’ll excuse me—my mother’s father is looking for a recommendation for tomorrow’s race.’

Valentina nodded her head vigorously, and Gio mocked softly but with an undefinable light in his eyes, ‘You don’t have to look so pleased to see me go.’

He walked away and Valentina couldn’t help recalling the bleakness she’d seen the other evening, the way Gio had called himself worthless. He seemed to her to strike a poignantly lone figure amongst the teeming crowd.

To Valentina’s relief she was kept too busy after that to think about Gio or where he was. And much later when she came up for air, he seemed to be firmly ensconced on the other side of the tent with the last of the guests. She was supervising the start of the clear-up. The jazz band that had been playing were putting their instruments away. Franco, her other assistant, came up to her and said, ‘Why don’t you take off? I’ll make sure this is all done. You’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

Valentina smiled at her assistant ruefully and pointed out, ‘So do you.’

But just then she saw Gio look over to where she was, and he stood up, before threading his way through the small tables with his easy leonine grace. Flutters of sensation erupted in her belly and she felt very vulnerable when she remembered the volatile mix of emotions this man had aroused earlier. He was getting closer. Her smile faded and she blurted out to Franco, ‘Actually, I’d really appreciate that if you don’t mind.’

Franco was assuring her it was fine but Valentina was already halfway out of the marquee and didn’t look back to see how Gio’s expression darkened to one of thunder as he took in her escape.

Gio stopped dead in the middle of the tent and watched as Valentina’s slim back disappeared through the doorway. He cursed softly at his impulse to snatch her back. What was he going to do? Demand she wait until every last person had left? She’d been working more tirelessly than almost anyone else involved in the Cup and had made the first day a resounding success. More than one person had come to him to ask him who was doing the catering. The champagne reception had gone without a hitch. Her staff were more than capable of dealing with the clean-up.

He ran a hand through his hair and cursed again. The truth was, he had no interest in talking to her about the day, or business. He only wanted her. He’d thought earlier that something had softened between them when she’d apologised for hitting him. She’d looked genuinely contrite. But her words from that night came back to him now, ringing in his ears: Don’t touch me again. Ever.

She’d just been polite and professional. That was all.

It didn’t help that all evening he’d been acutely aware of her as she’d greeted guests at the door, a wide smile on her face. She’d stood out from the other women who looked like ridiculous birds of paradise—overdone and over-made-up—with the simplest of black dresses which had highlighted her slender figure. The V-neck design had allowed tantalising glimpses of her smooth pale cleavage and Gio had had to battle against the images of her bared breasts, nipples wet from his tongue, racing through his head at the least opportune moments.

An acquaintance, a renowned French playboy, had asked him earlier, ‘Who is the stunning woman greeting us this evening?’

Gio had all but snarled at him, ‘She’s not available.’ The intensity of emotion he’d felt as it had coursed through his blood had blindsided him. He’d wanted to grab the man by the neck and throw him out. As it was he’d watched him with an eagle eye all night.

His mouth tightened. Valentina might desire him but she would never allow him close again. And if he had a shred of conscience, he wouldn’t touch her again. The problem was, Gio didn’t think his conscience was strong enough to overcome the physical craving racing through his blood, or the possessiveness he felt.

* * *

The following afternoon Valentina went back to her rooms to change for the second evening’s champagne reception. The second day had passed off as successfully as the first, so far, and she was finally allowing herself to relax a little. She’d even managed to stop for a moment earlier, while checking one of the corporate boxes, and had got swept up in the spine-tingling finish of the main race of the day.

The sheer scale of the event and amounts of money being bet and won made her eyes boggle. She’d never seen such luxe wealth in her life. And amongst all the excess had been Gio—surveying everything and everyone around him. More than once she’d seen him dip his head discreetly to one of his staff who would rush off and avert a potential crisis or situation. But what had struck her again more than anything was how alone he’d looked, and how that had made her feel.

One of her very first memories was of playing outside her father’s workshop at the palazzo while Mario helped him inside, and watching the lone figure of a young Gio as he’d watched his father’s stable hands exercise the horses on their gallops.

Just a couple of hours ago as she’d stood in the background with a tray of empty glasses, Valentina had had to suppress the almost overwhelming urge to put down her tray and go up to him and slip her hand into his. She’d found herself imagining him looking down at her and smiling back...and squeezing her hand.

The tray of glasses had been shaking in her hands before she’d come to her senses and rushed off again. And now as she let herself into her rooms she shook her head. What was wrong with her? Why was her mind taking such flights of fancy? She had to admit that her virulent anger had become something else, but it was not tender. No matter how many times that soft emotion seemed to be taking her unawares.

When Valentina had put down her bag and was in the centre of her room she noticed the clothes through the open bedroom door. She went in to see that there were two floor-length evening dresses and one shorter cocktail-length dress in clear protective covers hanging off the doors of her wardrobe. Lined up below were three pairs of shoes all colour coded to go with the dresses. Laid out on her bed she could see more bags and on her dresser she could see jewellery boxes.

Stunned, she walked closer. The dresses were gorgeous, the stuff of fantasy. One was dark red, another royal blue and the cocktail dress was strapless and black with a beaded lace overlay that made it sparkle.

She backed away and saw the boxes on the bed. Feeling a sense of dread she opened one and lifted back gold tissue paper to see the wispiest, most delicate underwear she’d ever seen in her life. Hurriedly she closed it back up again.