back into her mother’s presence, her arms linked tightly around his. For she knew her lover of two months and imminent husband-to-be wasn’t just handsome. He was simply magnificent. In every way.
A mature and sophisticated thirty-two, he was tall for an Italian, at six foot two, with an elegant but well-shaped body and a face Valentino would have envied. It combined the best of all things Latin, with slightly hooded and absolutely riveting black eyes, a classic nose and a highly sensual mouth. His hair was even blacker than his eyes, its glossy thickness giving added style and shape to its up-to-date fashion of being cut quite short. Brooke thought him the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
But it was his presentation which really impressed. His utter perfection in matters of dress and grooming. His coolly confident bearing. His grace of movement.
Brooke’s smile broadened as she watched her mother’s eyes widen and her mouth fall rather inelegantly open.
‘This is Leo, Mum,’ Brooke said smugly, and ran a possessive hand down his sleekly suited arm.
Phyllis Freeman was rendered totally speechless for the first time in her life.
CHAPTER ONE
Italy…five years later.
BROOKE stretched out on top of the bed and tried to go to sleep, as everyone else was doing that warm, sultry afternoon. But it was impossible. She’d never been a sleeper during the day. On top of that, she was feeling restless and edgy.
Her gaze drifted agitatedly around the huge and very lavish bedroom, then up at the ornate frescoed ceiling and the elaborate crystal and gold chandelier which hung from its centre.
This was the main guest room, where she and Leo always stayed during their annual visit to the Parini family villa on Lake Como.
‘Only the best for my son and his lovely wife,’ his mother had said the first time Leo had brought Brooke and their baby son home, just on four years ago.
Brooke sighed at the memory of that first visit, and their subsequent yearly visits. What heaven they always were! With an English-speaking Italian girl to help mind the children, and more time to relax, it was almost like being on a honeymoon each year—the one they’d never had.
Their sex life had always been good—fantastic to start with!—and it was still pretty good. Leo would probably say it was very good. But Leo wasn’t a stay-at-home mother with two children under five.
Many was the night Brooke just didn’t feel like sex.
But she never refused Leo, not unless she was really sick. Of course, that meant faking an orgasm every once in a while. But she did it. For him.
Brooke frowned at the thought she’d been doing that quite a bit lately.
During their Italian stays, however, faking anything was never required. No longer tired from continuous child-minding, Brooke was more easily put in the mood. As for Leo…he would become practically insatiable, wanting her not just at night but during the day as well.
Four years ago, when he’d first suggested they take an afternoon nap at the same time as Alessandro was sleeping—he’d been their only child back then—she’d thought he’d gone crazy. The idea of Leo having an afternoon nap had been just plain ridiculous. The man was a dynamo, needing very little sleep at the best of times.
But he’d insisted, despite her blank look, and she’d finally twigged—courtesy of the knowing gleam in Leo’s father’s eyes. She’d blushed madly as Leo had practically dragged her up to the bedroom for a couple of hours’ torrid lovemaking.
Brooke had been a bit stunned at first. Leo hadn’t made love to her like that since before they were married. He’d been gentle and considerate during her whole pregnancy, and hadn’t complained at all during the six weeks after Alessandro’s birth when the doctor had vetoed any sex. Even when Leo had been given the green light he’d still been tender with her, which she’d appreciated. She’d had stitches and been pretty sore and sorry for herself for a while. He’d also seemed to appreciate the fact she was tired most of the time during Alessandro’s first six months. Far too tired for lovemaking marathons.
But that afternoon, although not rough with her, he’d been incredibly demanding. Whilst Brooke had found everything slightly shocking in broad daylight—plus in his parents’ house—it had been exciting, and she hadn’t needed dragging upstairs the next day. Or any day afterwards.
Claudia had been born eight and a half months after their return to Sydney.
But this visit was entirely different in every way. It wasn’t their annual holiday which had brought them to Como a little earlier than usual this year, but a funeral. Leo’s only sibling, Lorenzo, had been killed in a car accident, losing control of his prized Ferrari on one of the hairpin bends around the lake and crashing to a watery death.
Fortunately, Lorenzo’s wife, Francesca, had not been in the car at the time, although maybe she didn’t think she was fortunate. The poor woman had been almost comatose with grief at the funeral, unable to function at all. With Francesca’s own parents long dead, Leo’s mum and dad had brought Lorenzo’s widow home to the villa for some tender loving care, and everyone had done their best to offer comfort, despite their own unhappiness.
But it was difficult to know what to say to her. Brooke thought it was a shame the marriage had never produced children. Children would have given Francesca something to live for.
Brooke had tried to talk to her on one occasion, but the woman had just burst into tears and run back to her room, where she’d stayed for the rest of the day. Brooke had felt terrible, and had told Leo’s mum about it. Sophia had just patted her hand and smiled a sad smile, telling her not to worry, it wasn’t her fault. Francesca was just being Francesca.
Brooke knew exactly what she meant. Francesca was a weak kind of woman, in her opinion. Very beautiful in a dark-eyed, lush-figured way. But she never said much, or exuded much personality.
Not that Brooke had been in their company all that often over their four-year acquaintance. Just the occasional family dinner party, sometimes here at the villa, and sometimes in Lorenzo’s plush apartment in Milan.
Francesca would sit silently beside her husband on such occasions, her eyes darting nervously to him all the time, as though waiting to be told what to do, or say. Brooke could never work out if she adored the man or was afraid of him.
Two years older than Leonardo, Lorenzo had been a handsome and charming man on the surface, but Brooke hadn’t been able to stand him. He’d given her the creeps. Once, during a party at his place, she’d gone to the powder room. She’d been in there, washing her hands, when he’d come in unexpectedly and made the most disgusting suggestion. She’d been so shocked she hadn’t known what to do, except run out of the room and hurry back downstairs.
She hadn’t told Leo about the incident. No way.
Brooke wasn’t stupid, and she’d sensed there was some angst between the two brothers. They’d been civil on the surface, but nothing more. Brooke had got the impression Leo didn’t like his brother’s wife much, either, an opinion reinforced by his coldly indifferent stance when Francesca had suddenly upped and gone back to Milan a week ago. To be by herself, she’d said. Everyone had objected, thinking it a potentially dangerous idea; everyone except Leo.
To be honest, Brooke hadn’t really been sorry to see Francesca go. Her presence had hung like a pall over the house, bringing tensions she didn’t quite understand, not being one of the family.
Leo was actually the lucky one, in her opinion, since he was out of the house most days. He’d been driving back and forth to the Milan office during the working week, going through his brother’s desk and sorting out who was going to take charge there now. Brooke had worried his father might ask him to come back and do the job Lorenzo had been doing—Giuseppe had retired with heart problems the previous year—but this hadn’t eventuated, thank God.
She was grateful for that,