CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘PERFETTO,MASSIMO.' Milly managed a smile for the young assistant who had helped her hang the last of her art.

Her first ever showing was tonight, in two hours' time. The historic building that housed the small but exclusive gallery near Genoa's port was the perfect venue—full of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows—plus the curator had loved her work from Estiva and had a reputation for breaking new talent and championing artists who liked to work in a variety of mediums...

Milly should be ecstatic—this opportunity was something she'd dreamed of ever since she'd picked up her first piece of charcoal in her school art class, age fourteen. But as she walked through the gallery, checking each work to ensure the light hit each piece just right, she couldn't seem to conjure up any excitement at all.

Had Roman robbed her of this, too? Not just her self-respect and her confidence in herself as a woman, but also her enthusiasm for her work?

The truth was, she'd struggled to even look at the compositions she had done on Estiva since returning to Genoa—and it was even harder to look at them now, so beautifully displayed in the cavernous, elegant space.

Because Roman, or the essence of him and how she felt about him, suffused every one of them. The joy and drama and excitement of her first love were vivid in every line, every brush stroke, every element of the work.

She finally stood in front of the acrylic and line drawing she had done of Roman and the Volcano, remembering that day full of promise and possibility as they sat on the terrazzo discussing the parameters of their booty call... Except it had never been just that for her, she could see it so clearly now.

She rubbed her hand against her breastbone, to disperse the familiar ache, and blinked furiously to dispel the sting of yet more tears scalding the backs of her eyeballs.

You are not going to cry again, Mills. It's not allowed. This is the best day of your life and you are not going to let him ruin this, too!

He hadn't wanted her. Or her love. And she just needed to get over it now. It had been two whole weeks, for Pete's sake. She'd been without him almost as long as she'd known him. And she was never going to see him again.

Thank goodness.

And sure, maybe the pain and humiliation of their final parting would always be there in some hidden corner of her memory. But that just meant she would never be that na?ve and gullible again. To assume, just because she had fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love with someone, the other person felt the same way. Or was even capable of feeling the same way.

Lesson learned.

Roman had been a complex, unknowable and extremely guarded man. Exciting and charismatic on the surface but carrying unseen scars from his childhood, which would probably never heal. It had been beyond reckless of her to think she could break through the protective wall he kept around his emotions in the space of a few weeks just because they shared an incendiary chemistry and the same impulsive personalities.

‘Signorina Devlin, the new gallery owner has arrived and wishes to meet you.'

Milly swung round to find Massimo standing behind her, looking anxious.

The gallery had a new owner? This was news to her. She'd met Signora Spinola just two days ago and the woman hadn't said anything about selling.

‘Umm, okay. Do you know why?' she asked, but Massimo simply shook his head.

‘He did not say. He waits for you in the curator's office upstairs.'

She swallowed the lump of melancholy in her throat, and tried not to let her new-found pessimism derail her Best Day Ever again.

This didn't have to be a bad thing. The guy was probably just here to say hello and find out about the new show.

Even so, the dead weight of anxiety slowed her steps as she took the stairs to the beautifully appointed office on the top floor of the building. But when she walked into the luxurious space, the room was empty.

‘Ciao? Signor?'she called, then noticed a man standing on the balcony outside, silhouetted against the early evening sunshine.

His tall, muscular frame was instantly familiar as he walked into the room. But she couldn't process her reaction, couldn't even catch her breath, all she could do was stare, the sting in her eyes and the twisting pain in her stomach becoming excruciating.

Was this some kind of cruel hallucination? Sent to punish her for being foolish enough to fall in love with the wrong man?

‘Roman?' she murmured.

She had to wrap her arms around her midriff to hold herself together, to keep herself upright, when he stopped in front of her. The smell, of sandalwood and soap, the sound of his breathing, so loud, so real, in the empty room.

But surely she had to be dreaming?

‘Are you...? Are you really here?' she asked, her voice a whisper of distress and yearning—which she would have been ashamed of, if she could make her brain work.

He nodded, and his lips twitched, but the seductive smile was comprehensively contradicted by the wary light in his eyes, and the intense concentration on his too-handsome face.

‘But... Why?' she asked, still convinced she'd entered some weird alternative reality in which all her dreams and nightmares had combined to taunt and torment her.

He sucked in a hefty breath. The small smile disappeared as he let the breath out slowly.

‘I came to apologise to you, Milly. For everything. And to ask you to come back to me,' he said.

The words simply wouldn't compute.

She shook her head, trying to shake loose the unsettling dream, the potent mix of need and desperation in his gaze triggering the languid heat in her abdomen, right alongside the pain and yearning.

But then he tucked a knuckle under her chin, to lift her face to his and brush his lips across hers.

She jerked back, the shock of his kiss—potent, proprietorial, possessive—almost as devastating as the rush of longing that accompanied it.

‘Don't...' She slammed her palms against his chest, shoved him back.

This was not a dream.

Roman Garner was actually here. In Genoa. Standing in front of her. Two weeks after dumping her in the most humiliating way imaginable. He'd even bought the gallery where she was about to have her first show? Why? To take that away from her too?

But she could not begin to figure out the logic of that development, because she couldn't get past the outrage of what he had just said to her.

That he wanted her back?

‘How dare you...?' she murmured as fury rushed in to fill the vicious vacuum that had opened up inside her the night he had discarded her so callously.

She welcomed the anger in, to chase away the humiliation that still lingered, and the brutal pain.

She fisted her fingers, the urge to slap his handsome face—when she'd never hit anyone before in her entire life—so strong she had to stuff her fists into her pockets to contain it.

He shoved his own hands into his suit trousers. And seemed to brace, before sending her a pained look.

‘How dare I what, Milly?' he asked gravely, but the strain on his face didn't fool her for a second. ‘Perhaps you should get it all off your chest.'

‘Get it off my...!' she snapped, incredulous.

Was he actually serious, right now? Did he really need to have the crummy way he'd treated her spelled out to him?

She spun around, paced to the end of the office and back again, so furious with him, and herself, she couldn't even speak. How could she still want him, how could she still hurt this much, after the way he had treated her? It was beyond pathetic.

But when she walked back to him, and he still stood there, patiently waiting, she let it rip, the words spewing out on a tidal wave of rage and pain and heartache.

‘How dare you think you can kiss me again? How dare you think you can ask me to come back to you? To do what exactly? Break my heart a second time?'

He flinched at that, but didn't look away. Which was something. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

‘You made me feel so small, so insignificant that night. I understood you were hurting, and maybe I shouldn't have burdened you with my feelings when you were dealing with so much else, but there was no need for you to be so cruel. When a simple "I don't love you back, Milly," would have sufficed.'

‘But I...' he began.

Her palm shot up, to cut him off.

‘Shut up. I'm talking now.' She gathered in another ragged breath and charged on. ‘I told you I loved you, that I trusted you, even though you lied to me about your connection to Brandon, and you accused me of being some na?ve little girl who couldn't possibly know her own mind. And then you added insult to injury by making me climax for you... You... You used our...our...' She paused, the brutal tears overwhelming her again.

She scrubbed her cheeks dry, ignoring the choking sensation in her throat, determined to get every single miserable thing she'd dwelled on and cried over for a fortnight right off her chest and shove it onto his.

‘You made our chemistry, and my body's reaction to you, into a bad thing. Like that proved what a romantic fool I was. You made me doubt myself. And you tried to destroy my confidence.' She lifted her fists out of her pockets and slammed them onto her hips. The power returned to fill up the huge holes in her heart, at least some of the way.

A part of her knew she would never be over him. He'd been her first lover, and she would never be able to replicate the adrenaline rush of those two magical weeks. But at least now he knew she wasn't a complete pushover, and that felt important.

‘But you know what?' she said. ‘It didn't work. I know who I am. I'm not na?ve. I do love you. But I am also worthy of love in return. So, if you think you can just snap your fingers and I'll be willing to jump back into your bed for more of the same... The answer is no!'

She stood shaking, and exhausted. And still sad. But somehow she knew... Even if she never stopped loving him, she would be okay.

But then he ruined it all, when the heat and longing she adored flared in his eyes, and he murmured: ‘Damn it, Milly, you are absolutely magnificent. No wonder I love you so much.'

‘Wh-what...?'she gasped, her tired body reverberating with shock. And hope. Which was the cruellest trick of all.

But then he made things even worse, by sinking onto his knees, banding strong arms around her hips, burying his cheek against her midriff.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, his voice rough with regret. ‘For all the crap I threw at you that night.' He looked up at her, the sheen of emotion in his eyes stunning her even more. And making the bubble expand against her ribs. ‘But I can do better.'

He hugged her tighter, as if he would never let her go.

‘Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it...' He groaned. ‘I've already grovelled to Cade and Lacey so I'm pretty sure nothing you can make me do could be worse than that.' The rueful, self-deprecating smile was impossibly appealing. ‘But you said you still loved me, right?' he continued, the hope in his expression matching the cruel bubble still wedged against her heart. ‘So, please will you give me a chance to make this right?'

She lifted her arms, her whole body trembling.

She wanted to believe him, wanted to sink her fingers into his hair and drag him to his feet so he could hold her properly. But how could she know that this was real? That this was really what she needed?

‘What made you change your mind?' she asked, hating the quiver of uncertainty in her voice. ‘About us?'

He let out a huff of breath. Then released his hold on her, so he could stand. Cradling her face in his palms, he dropped his forehead to hers, then let his arms fall, to band them back around her body, and hold her close as he spoke.

‘I didn't change my mind, Milly. I think I always knew this was different. That you were different. Right from the moment I came out of that cabin and you were steering my boat.'

Her heart jolted and filled. But she made herself step out of his arms—which was the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life. ‘But if that's true... Why did you push me away?'

He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. When his gaze met hers again though, she could see the emotion swirling in his eyes.

‘Honestly? Because as soon as I figured out how much I felt for you, I was absolutely terrified. I've never loved anyone before. And I've never admitted I needed anything from anyone since I was sixteen and I got kicked out of Cade Tower...' He sighed. ‘By mistake, as it turns out. The truth is, I don't know how to do this... At all. Brandon's already given me a few lessons. But fair warning, you're going to have to teach me how to handle this feeling...' He thumped a fist to his chest, his gaze still locked on hers. ‘Because it still scares me... A lot.'

‘Okay.' She nodded, biting into her lip as her eyes misted up again.

He'd had no one, not really, for most of his life. And he'd learned to survive, to prosper on his own. Of course, he was scared. But then, so was she.

‘Hey! Don't.' He cupped her cheek, dragged her back into his arms and held her close. ‘Please don't cry. I swear, I won't ever treat you like that again.'

She choked out a sob, but when she pulled her head back to look up, she could feel the smile spreading across her lips, and into her heart. ‘It's okay, Roman, these are happy tears.'

His brows lifted but then he smiled back at her, the quick, reckless grin as triumphant as it was seductive. ‘Does that mean you'll come back?'

She nodded, and then let out a giddy laugh when he whooped and boosted her into his arms.

She clung to him as he spun her round. Then clasped his head and settled her lips on his, kissing him with all the joy and hunger in her heart.

This was still new and raw and there was bound to be a ton more twists and turns along the way. But as he dropped her onto the office couch, and they tore off each other's clothes with a haste that would be shocking, if it weren't so delicious, Milly knew every road bump would be worth the ride.

Twenty minutes later, as she lay in his arms, still naked, still seeped in afterglow, she glanced at the clock on the wall. And shot off the couch so fast she heard him grunt.

‘The show!' she yelped. ‘Roman, get up. We can't be late. And I don't want the curator to find us naked in here.'

‘Who cares? I own the place,' he said.

She gathered up her clothes in a rush as he chuckled. ‘This is not funny. It's my big break and I'm going to be late.'

He lay gloriously naked, his head propped on his arm, watching her. ‘Don't get your knickers in a twist,' he said provocatively as she scrambled to get them on while hopping on one leg. ‘I can always postpone the show, or, better yet...' his eyebrows lifted lasciviously ‘...you could host it naked.'

‘Also not funny...' She glared while struggling into her bra. But once she'd snapped the clasp closed, she stopped dead, an awful thought occurring to her. ‘Wait a minute. When did you buy the gallery? You're not the reason I got the offer of a showing, are you?'

While she was stupidly flattered he might have gone to those lengths to please her, at the same time it would diminish the happy glow still coursing through her body... Just a little.

What if she hadn't really earned this chance on her own?

He got off the couch, and strolled towards her, still gloriously naked. And distractingly gorgeous.

‘Oh, ye of little faith,' he said, then cradled her neck and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I bought this gallery yesterday, after I found out you were doing a showing here. Because it was the only way to see you alone.' He scooped his boxers off the curator's desk and tugged them on. ‘You can thank your sister, who would not give me your address in Genoa or any contact details. Even though I begged for close to a week.'

‘But... Really?' she said, trying to look contrite when she was overjoyed at the news... He'd wanted to see her that much? ‘You begged?'

He laughed. ‘Yeah, I begged.' He gave her bottom a pat, then grabbed his shirt from the light it was hooked over. ‘But, be warned,' he continued as he buttoned it up, covering up that mouth-watering chest, sadly, ‘I intend to get payback later tonight.' The teasing threat was as delicious as the giddy skip in her heartbeat. ‘Much, much later, after you take the Genoa art world by storm. And make me a terrific return on my investment.'

‘I'm not so sure about that,' she said wryly.

‘You don't have to be sure,' he said, the love and approval in his gaze making her heart press into her throat. ‘Because I am.'

As they finished getting dressed, then made their way down to the gallery—together—her heart continued to pound against her ribs in that giddy tattoo.

By the time the gallery doors closed that evening, and every one of her pieces had been sold—and not all of them to Roman—she knew they were both going to get a terrific return on this investment. Because her new career as an artist promised to be as much of a stupendous success as her love life.

Almost.