“What’s that?”
“I remember what you said about his painting of St. Thomas and Jesus—how our scars might heal but they never disappear. You can’t eliminate your past but you don’t have to be controlled by it.”
“I know that. But I doubt anyone would want their sexual encounters broadcasted to their work colleagues.”
“Anyone who would judge you based on old gossip isn’t a friend of yours, anyway.” She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. “Those of us who know you will ignore the gossip.”
“Thank you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead before meeting her gaze. “People and circumstances will conspire to alienate us from one another, Julianne. We can’t let them do that.”
“We won’t.”
“I didn’t mean to ignore you. You mean more to me than anything,” he whispered.
“It’s the same for me.”
She breached the distance between their mouths in order to kiss him, her lips soft and ever moving.
Some distance away, Professor Giuseppe Pacciani groaned his release and collapsed on top of his lover’s body. Sex with her was always magnificent, and this coupling was no exception.
He mumbled a few phrases in Italian, as was his custom. But instead of welcoming his words, she pushed him aside and rolled away. Sadly, this was not unusual.
“Cara?”
Christa Peterson pulled the sheet over her naked body. “I need the room tomorrow night. You’ll have to stay somewhere else.”
With a curse, Giuseppe eased his bare feet to the floor. He walked to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “This is my room.”
“No,” she called to him. “It’s my room. You always pay for my accommodations. And I’ll be entertaining tomorrow night.”
He returned to the bed and soon she was under him again, his forearms on either side of her shoulders.
“You’d take someone to your bed so soon? The sheets will still be warm.”
Her dark eyes flashed.
“Don’t judge me. You’re married. Who I f**k is none of your business.”
He bent down and kissed her, his lips insistent until she opened her mouth.
“Such a dirty mouth, Cristina.”
“You love it when I’m dirty.”
He sighed, and his expression morphed into a wry smile.
“Si.”
He moved to his back, taking her with him.
“I want to get up.” She pulled against his arms.
“No.”
She struggled but he would not let her go. Finally, she relented, resting her head against him.
He toyed with her hair. This was part of their arrangement. Afterward, she had to let him hold her.
Perhaps he did so simply to satisfy himself that there was something affectionate about their f**king. Perhaps he did so because he was not an entirely ruthless adulterer. But whatever the reason, she always resisted for a moment or two, even though she secretly liked being held.
“I was surprised to hear from you, Cristina. We were supposed to meet a year ago. You never answered.”
“I was busy.”
He lifted the ends of her raven hair to his nose, inhaling its fragrance.
“I wondered why you insisted I bring you. You’re here for revenge.”
“We’re both getting what we wanted.”
His fingers stilled.
“Be careful, Cristina. You don’t want Professor Picton as an enemy.”
“I don’t care.”
Pacciani cursed.
“Don’t you understand the patronage system? Departments around the world are filled with her admirers. Your chair at Columbia was her student.”
“I didn’t know that.” Christa shrugged. “It’s too late. I’ve already pissed her off.”
Pacciani grabbed Christa’s chin roughly, forcing her to look at him.
“I’m responsible for you now. So you will stop. I’m trying to get a position in America and I don’t need Professor Picton making trouble.”
Christa was quiet for a moment as she examined his menacing expression.
“Fine,” she pouted. “But I need the room tomorrow night.”
“Va bene.”
He released her chin and resumed stroking her long, dark hair. “What was his name?”
“Who?”
“The man who made you like this.”
Her muscles tensed under his fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know, tesoro. Was it your papa? Did he—”
“No.” She trained her eyes on his furiously. “He’s a good man.”
“Certo, cara. Certo.
“All the time I’ve known you, you’ve had lovers but no suitors. You should be married. You should be having babies. Instead, you f**k old men for expensive gifts.”
“I don’t f**k you for your gifts. I f**k you because I like to f**k.”
He laughed.
“Grazie. But still, there must always be gifts.” He brought his lips to her forehead. “Why?”
“I like nice things. That isn’t a crime. And I’m worth it.”
“You know what I think, tesoro?”
“Stop calling me that.” She pulled away.
His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place.
“You don’t think you’re worth it, which is why you demand gifts. Sad, no?”
“I don’t want your pity.”