Yet having Olivia here now wasn’t about giving her the wrong impression. Olivia already knew the score. This year they would be together, and next year they wouldn’t be, and that was the way they both liked it.
And the way they both wanted it.
It had to be that way.
For now he’d enjoy the benefits of having a beautiful woman in his life—and in his bed. Making love to Olivia last night for the first time had been amazing. She’d been married before so he hadn’t expected to be her teacher, yet there had been an innocence about her, as though he was the first lover to give her more than he took.
And in the giving he’d been given back far more than he’d ever expected. She’d turned into a more than willing pupil. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said she’d been a dream to make love to.
And this afternoon when she’d been sleeping…if he hadn’t known she was so exhausted he’d have woken her up with a kiss to that gorgeous mouth of hers. And then he’d have kissed her all over before making her his again.
Hell, just thinking about it sent the blood pounding to his groin but he told himself that waiting would make it all the sweeter. Later this evening he would wine and dine her, then make love to her over and over.
But that was easier said than done when he saw her later coming down the stairs dressed in a short brandy-colored dress that showed off her gorgeous curves and long slim legs. Its off-the-shoulder design highlighted a tanned collarbone that deserved to be kissed.
She was exquisite.
He wished now that he’d stayed in their bedroom and watched her dress, smoothing silk stockings up along her legs. Of course if he’d stayed they’d still be in the bedroom.
In bed.
And he’d be inside her.
“I’m going to make love to you later,” he said huskily as she approached him. “You know that, don’t you?”
A becoming flush stained her cheeks. “So you’re not sick of me yet?” she joked.
He frowned. Where had that come from? Her ex?
“No way, sweetheart,” he growled, then put his hand under her chin and gave her a hard kiss, more than satisfied by the hint of pleasure he saw in her eyes when he pulled back. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He cupped her elbow and led her out to one of his father’s Mercedes. If they didn’t go to dinner soon, they’d never get there.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in an intimate corner of the best restaurant in town and Alex was studying the blond beauty in front of him. He could have been sitting amongst the Miss World contestants and none of them would hold a candle to Olivia.
Her eyelids flickered. “Stop staring, Alex,” she said in a throaty voice.
“Why?”
She shot him a wry look. “Okay, let’s change the subject. Tell me about your Italian background.”
“Why?”
Her gorgeous lips curved upward. “Because I’ve just realized I’ve never asked you before. I mean, I know what I’ve read in the papers and that you’reAustralian-born, but that’s about all I know about you.”
He leaned back in his chair, pleased she was interested enough to ask. “What do you want to know?”
“Can you speak Italian, for one thing? You never do.”
“My grandparents came out from Italy after the war and they taught me when I was growing up, but I prefer to speak Australian.” He’d loved his grandparents but they were gone now and he had no interest in speaking Italian with his father.
“And your father?” she said, honing in like a dentist’s drill on a sore tooth. “He speaks fluent Italian, doesn’t he? Was he born in Italy?”
Alex’s brows drew together. “I thought this was about me, not my father.”
She cooled a little. “I’m only trying to understand the man I married.”
“Don’t,” he snapped, then grimaced at the withdrawal on her face. He sighed. “Look, my father was twelve when he came here. Eventually he made his millions and later married my mother when he was around thirty. She was Australian and she died when I was little. That’s it.”
Her eyes softened and filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
His stomach knotted. “Yeah, so am I.”
The only vague memory he had of his mother was of sitting on her knee. He also had a couple of old photographs. She’d been raised by an elderly aunt so he hadn’t even been able to ask her family about her. Cesare Valente certainly hadn’t wanted to talk about her.
The only reason he’d known why he was called Alexander and not the Italian form, Alessandro, was because Isabel had told him his own mother had insisted on it. Surprisingly, Cesare had kept that pattern when Nick and Matt were born. In some corner of Alex’s heart, he liked to think his father had done it out of respect for his first wife. On the other hand, perhaps that was just foolish thinking.
“What about your grandparents, Alex?” Olivia asked, drawing him from his thoughts. “They’re not still alive, are they? I didn’t see them at the wedding, but no one has mentioned them.”
“They died years ago after a long and happy marriage.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I can’t say the same for my father,” he said, thinking about his father’s three marriages.
She tilted her head. “But Cesare has been married to Isabel for a long time now. They seem very happy.”
He scowled. “They are,” he grudgingly admitted. “I guess I have to give him credit for that.”
She nodded. “It’s probably part of the reason he wanted to see you married.” Then she hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure whether to say something or not. “He cares for you, Alex. You may not be able to see it, but I can.”
“Perhaps.” He wondered what she’d think if he told her his father wanted him to have an heir, too. But why mention something that wasn’t necessary? In six months time Cesare would be on his way to retirement, if not before. He wouldn’t be able to dictate to any of his sons after that.
The arrival of the waiter to deliver their drinks gave Alex the chance to end the discussion, but as he watched Olivia smile her thanks at the young man, he felt a jolt inside his chest. If he had to have someone have his child, she would be the perfect choice.
He pushed that thought aside. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about your ex-husband,” he said, watching her stiffen. He knew what the papers had said about the other man, but he wanted to hear Olivia’s version of it all.
She held his gaze. “I met Eric when I was just starting out as a designer. I was working in Paris and he was this really handsome, debonair Englishman. I’d never met anyone like him before.” A derisive sound emerged from her throat. “I don’t want to meet anyone like him again.”
“He cheated on you.” It was a statement, not a question.
Her expression clouded. “Yes. He thought I had a personal fortune because of my mother. When he discovered that she wasn’t supporting me as much as he thought, he dumped me for a woman who had more money.”
Anger rippled through Alex. “The bastard.”
She inclined her head. “Thanks. I know it sounds horrible, but by that stage I was glad to get rid of him.”
“No, what sounds horrible is him using you the way he did.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She looked hesitant, then said,