Modern Romance February Books 1-4. Maisey Yates

CHAPTER TWELVE

      GABRIELLA AVOIDED HIM for the entire plane ride. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. Confessing those things to her. Saying those words to a virgin.

      To a woman that he could never touch. Not any more than he already had.

      So, he had allowed her to avoid him. On the plane, then again in the car as she had stared out the window, gazing at the unfamiliar city skyline. And he had watched her reflection in the window, uncaring about the buildings that had become so familiar and mundane to him. New York City failed to enthrall him. What fascinated him was seeing them through her eyes. Wide and glistening as she took in everything around her, her mouth open slightly. Her lips looked so soft. He would give a good portion of his fortune to kiss them again.

      He continued to think about her lips as they arrived at his penthouse in Manhattan. Normally, after this much time away from work he would go directly into his home office and set about catching up. But tonight... Tonight it simply didn’t appeal.

      The first thing he did when they arrived was set the painting up in the living room, taking a step back and looking at it for the first time since they had taken it from Isolo D’Oro.

      “It’s beautiful,” Gabriella said, looking around the space, then at the painting. “All of this. I can’t quite believe that I’m here.”

      “Yes,” he said in agreement. But he didn’t mean the view or his penthouse were beautiful. He meant her. Always her.

      So then he looked at the painting to avoid looking at her. Close study of Gabriella’s features could only lead to ruin. He had been so taken with the woman in the painting upon first viewing that he hadn’t noticed much of the surrounding objects. For the first time he noticed that everything on the table of the vanity was painted in loving detail. That it was all very purposeful. The woman was wearing a necklace, the reflection of which could barely be seen in the mirror. Emeralds, and white diamonds. On her finger, almost entirely concealed by the tumbling locks of her dark hair, he could just make out the hint of a ring. There was a box, ornate and beautiful, certain to contain more jewelry. A tiara, set next to a beautiful bracelet. His breath caught, and he took a step closer. There was a book set on the vanity, as well.

      That meant...

      He moved closer still, scanning the surface of the table. Yes. There they were. A small pair of earrings.

      “The Lost Mistresses,” he said.

      “What?” Gabriella asked.

      “This is all of them. The artifacts my grandfather sent us after. They are all in this painting. The painting is the last one.”

      He turned to look at Gabriella. She was staring at him, her dark eyes wide. “What does that mean?”

      “It means that I don’t think you’re being fanciful when you thought there might be a deeper link between our grandparents.”

      “But the painting... It was by someone called Bartolo.”

      “I know. But there is something. At one time your grandmother was in possession of every one of these objects. They were the dearest things to my grandfather’s heart at another time.”

      “Alex...”

      At that moment, Alex’s phone rang. It was his half brother, Nate. Things were better between the two of them in recent years, but they had never been close. It surprised him that the other man would call him for anything.

      “I have to get this.”

      * * *

      Gabriella watched Alex as he paced out of the room, his phone pressed to his ear. It was strange to be here. In his house with him. Not domestic—because she doubted anything with Alex could ever feel domestic—but intimate. Of course, he hadn’t stayed in the room with her to take his phone call. A stark reminder that they didn’t really share much about their lives.

      She looked back at the painting, looking closely this time at the objects in it. Alex’s grandfather was Giovanni Di Sione. As far as she knew he had no connection to the royal family. No connection to Isolo D’Oro. If not for this painting... On its own it was coincidental. Combined with these other objects...

      Alex came back out of the room he had just gone into, his dark jacket on, his expression purposeful. “I have to go out. I will be back as soon as possible. You can help yourself to any of the food in the fridge. Or any of the alcohol.”

      “You don’t have a library. What am I supposed to do?” She was only half teasing.

      “You’ll have to watch a movie, cara mia.”

      She did her best to keep busy while Alex was gone. But one hour turned into two, which turned into three. Then four. Before she knew it she was dozing on the couch, feeling rather sulky, and a little bit concerned. She should have asked him for his mobile number. So she could at least make sure he wasn’t lying dead in an alley somewhere.

      And once that thought was in her mind, she couldn’t shake it.

      Surely Alex was dead in an alley. Or if not dead, perilously close to bleeding out onto the cracked concrete sidewalk.

      The idea made her stomach hurt. It was also ridiculous. Still, now that it had taken root, there it was.

      She walked across the expansive living area and opened one of the bedroom doors to reveal a large bed with a black bedspread. She frowned. Not quite sure which room belonged to Alex. She opened the door next to it and saw another bed that looked almost exactly the same.

      She let out an exasperated sigh and walked deeper into that room, letting her fingertips trail over the lush bedding. She was tired. She hadn’t unpacked any of her things since she wasn’t sure which room she would be staying in. She had changed into her sweats to get a bit more comfortable but she wasn’t going to go hunting for her pajamas.

      She sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress before lying back. She looked over at the clock, the glowing blue numbers showing that it was well after midnight.

      She suddenly had a thought that was even more disturbing than the idea of Alex dying in an alley. Maybe he was out with a woman. Why else would he stay out all night? If the issue wasn’t that he couldn’t make it home, then he wasn’t here because he didn’t want to be home.

      The only reason she could think that a man would want to stay out all night was if he was with a woman.

      He might be doing the things with her that he wouldn’t do with Gabriella. Acting out those words he’d said to her, so deeply erotic. As if he’d woven a fantasy together that was spun with a desire called up from the very depths of her soul. Desire not even she had realized she possessed.

      She hated whoever the other woman was. A woman who would—even for a night—capture all of Alex’s attention. Not just a piece of him.

      Not just his smile, or the glint in his eye. Not just his rough, perfect voice, or promises he could never keep. But his body. No barriers between them.

      She would touch him everywhere, this mystery woman. Her hands beneath his clothes, learning secrets about him Gabriella would never, ever know.

      She burned. She didn’t know that jealousy would burn from the inside out. Scalding her. Making her feel raw and restless and angry. She had never been jealous before.

      There had never been a man before.

      She had been too busy burying herself in dusty books. Wrapping herself in a blanket of safety, insulated by the shelves of her library. By the family estate.

      Protecting herself from more rejection.

      What she’d said to him had been true. Her own parents didn’t truly want her. Didn’t really choose her. It was difficult to believe that anyone else would. She was invisible. That was the best case scenario. The worst was that she was in the way.

      She