Bound By The Marcolini Diamonds (The Marcolini Men Book 2)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Sabrina sat on the edge of her chair, her tastebuds responding to the array of dishes set before her. The delicious-smelling cream-of-mushroom soup and the crusty bread-roll with its shell-like curl of fresh butter made her empty stomach rumble hollowly.

  Mario had ordered a man-size meal: tender fillet wagyusteak, steamed vegetables and a potato dish that was creamy and crispy at the same time.

  He poured her a glass of chilled white wine and a glass of red for himself. ‘Does Molly usually sleep through the night?’ he asked as he picked up his glass of ruby-red wine.

  Sabrina picked up her own glass, wondering if it was wise to indulge when she was already teetering on the edge of losing her self-control. ‘The last couple of nights she hasn’t woken, but usually by about three or four months most babies get into a routine of sleeping through the night,’ she said.

  Mario spread his napkin across his lap. ‘How did you get into nannying?’ he asked. ‘Was it something you always aspired to?’

  Sabrina put down her untouched glass of wine and picked up her water glass instead. ‘I have always loved children. I was an only child, so I guess that might have had something to do with it. I worked in a childcare facility for a while, but I felt I wanted to bond with the children, and it was not always possible to do that when kids came and went so often. Becoming a nanny and spending extended periods of time with infants and small children in their own home was much more satisfying for me. I could really get to know them and their routines, as well as become part of the family unit. That in itself is very beneficial for very young children. Of course, no one else could ever replace their mother and father, but having another caregiver who is involved in every aspect of their lives is tremendously comforting to them—especially when both parents are busy professionals and very often time-poor.’

  ‘So how did you come to work for the Roebournes?’ he asked with an unreadable look.

  Sabrina felt her colour start to rise. Looking back, she could see how stupid she had been in accepting the post. There was no way she could frame it without it sounding as if she had inveigled her way into the Roebourne household in order to conduct a clandestine affair with Imogen’s husband.

  She switched glasses and took a deep sip of her wine, hoping it would settle her nerves—but all it did was demonstrate how shaky her hand was, a sign of guilt if ever there was one, or so she thought by the way Mario’s dark gaze zoned in on it like a hawk swooping down on unsuspecting prey.

  She took an uneven breath and, bringing her gaze back to his, explained, ‘I met Howard Roebourne at a charity event I was attending. He mentioned his wife was hoping to return to work after staying at home with their two children, who were four and six. He also mentioned how their attempts to find a suitable nanny had failed to find anyone remotely suitable.’

  ‘You were unemployed at the time?’ he asked, still watching her with that piercing gaze.

  Sabrina tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. ‘The family I had previously been working for had recently accepted a posting abroad. I would have gone with them if they had offered me the position, but the children were of school age by then, and the mother decided she wanted be a stay-at-home wife for a change. So, yes, I was at a bit of a loose end at the time.’

  ‘Did you get on with Roebourne’s wife?’ Mario asked after another short pause.

  Sabrina had never been all that good at lying and had to rely on every scrap of acting ability she possessed to answer his question. ‘She was always very professional towards me.’

  ‘But you were not friends…’ It was neither a question nor a statement, but something in between.

  ‘I was an employee,’ she said, becoming increasingly annoyed by his attitude. ‘Are you best friends with all the people who work for you?’

  ‘Some I consider friends,’ he answered. ‘But obviously Mrs Roebourne did not take to you from the word go.’

  ‘Mrs Roebourne was a disinterested and at times harsh mother, who in my opinion should never have had children in the first place,’ she blurted unguardedly.

  Mario’s dark brows lifted. ‘You clashed with her over the handling of the children?’ he asked. ‘Or perhaps it was because you had designs on her rich husband and wanted her out of the way?’

  Sabrina wished she had kept her mouth closed. It seemed no matter what she said she painted herself in a bad light. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, picking up her glass again and taking another incautious mouthful.

  Mario put his glass down with a dull thud on the table. ‘How long did the affair go on?’ he asked.

  She glared at him resentfully, playing him at his own game. ‘What is it to you? You are hardly one to call the pot every shade of black, considering how many affairs you’ve conducted over the years.’

  His dark eyes speared hers. ‘I am not denying my sexual profligacy, but to date I have never stolen a married woman from her husband.’

  ‘Marriage is just a piece of paper,’ Sabrina threw back. ‘It means nothing if the couple are not committed emotionally.’

  ‘So I suppose Howard Roebourne told you his wife was cold and did not understand him?’ he said. ‘That’s the way it usually goes, does it not?’

  Sabrina gripped her glass so tightly her fingers went white. ‘She was cold and hostile towards her husband, and even the children sometimes. I don’t know why he stayed with her, or her with him, to tell you the truth.’

  Mario’s top lip curled in disgust. ‘So you eased his marital suffering by offering your young and nubile body at every available opportunity.’

  ‘Look, Mario,’ she said in rapidly rising frustration, ‘The Roebournes’ marriage was a mess well before I entered the fray. Howard was having an affair—I suspect not his first—with someone else long before I came into their employ.’

  Mario studied her for a long moment. Her colour was heightened, her body tense, as if desperate to convince him of her lies. But he wasn’t going to fall for it. He’d known Howard for years, and Howard had told him everything—how Sabrina had orchestrated her seduction of him from that very first meeting. She’d had her designs on a potential sugar-daddy, and who better than a wealthy man who was struggling to keep his home life together for the sake of his children? It would take a saint to resist a woman like Sabrina Halliday. She had a sensual allure about her that was intoxicating. That intriguing combination of doe-eyed innocence and surly defiance made every drop of Mario’s blood drain from his brain to his groin even now. The way she pouted at him made him want to crush his lips to hers. She could snip and snarl at him all she liked, but it did nothing to disguise the naked hunger he could see in her eyes. Howard Roebourne obviously hadn’t been able to satisfy her, which left the field right open for him. And it would be very satisfying, very satisfying indeed, to have her writhing and gasping in his arms.

  He could hardly wait.

  He topped up her wine glass before attending to his own. ‘You expect me to believe your word over his?’ he asked.

  ‘What possible reason would I have to lie to you?’ she asked, frowning at him.

  He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her for another lengthy moment. ‘I have no reason to doubt Roebourne’s account, having personally experienced your seductive wiles.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Sabrina threw back in outrage. ‘If anyone is to blame for that kiss, it’s you. You took advantage of me.’

  His eyes raked her mercilessly. ‘Careful, Sabrina,’ he warned. ‘Those are very serious charges you are laying at my door. Are you sure your recollection of the day in question is accurate?’

  Sabrina wasn’t sure who she hated more: him for reminding her of her one moment of weakness, or herself for responding to him so feverishly at the time. ‘I was not in control of myself,’ she said, knowing it sounded rather feeble. ‘I don’t usually drink more than one glass of alcohol, especially on an empty stomach. If I gave you the wrong impression back then, I am sorry. I can assure you it will
not happen again.’

  He smiled at her indolently. ‘I am counting on it happening again—tomorrow, in fact, when we get married. The groom always gets to kiss the bride, correct?’

  Sabrina felt her eyes widen to the size of the soup bowl in front of her. ‘Tomorrow?’ she choked.

  ‘I have applied for a special licence,’ he said evenly. ‘The magistrate has made special dispensation in order for us to travel to Italy as Molly’s legal guardians. I have already activated the adoption formalities, but they will take some time.’

  Sabrina felt as if her life was spinning out of control. She had comforted herself with the hope that she would at least have a few days to get used to the idea of marrying Mario and moving abroad. Now it seemed she would barely have enough time to pack a bag before she was legally his wife. Her heart began to hammer in panic. It was too soon. She needed more time. But then would any amount of time be enough?

  ‘Of course it will by necessity have to be a registry-office affair,’ Mario continued.

  ‘Too bad if I wanted a white wedding with all the trimmings,’ Sabrina put in, unable to refrain from sounding churlish.

  His eyes glinted with derision. ‘A white wedding?’ he asked. ‘Would that not be rather hypocritical, given your sexual history?’

  She brought up her chin. ‘Most women regardless of their sexual experience dream of being a proper bride,’ she said. ‘It’s the one day in a girl’s life she can feel like a princess.’

  He sat looking at her for so long without speaking, Sabrina began to wish she hadn’t spoken. She sat, trying not to squirm in her chair, her cheeks growing hotter by the second, her stomach in tight knots and her girlhood dreams in tatters. Just like her mother, all she had ever wanted was to be married—to wear a beautiful dress and veil, to wear something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. But just like her mother she was going to be cheated out of it. She chided herself for being so sentimental. It wasn’t as if it was going to be a real marriage in any case. And it was certainly not going to last any length of time if Mario had his way. But still…

  ‘I fail to see why you should desire a huge fuss for a marriage that for all intents and purposes will not be a normal one,’ Mario said, voicing her thoughts out loud.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘People with the sort of wealth and public profile you possess will expect you to have a proper wedding, not some hole-in-the-corner affair.’

  Mario began to drum his fingers on the table, his eyes still tethering hers. ‘What is this about, Sabrina?’ he asked.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Forget I said anything. You’re right—a registry office makes perfect sense under the circumstances.’

  Mario wondered what she was playing at. Did she hope to make him think twice about ending the marriage by making him commit to the formality of a full-blown, church-sanctified ceremony? He was Italian, after all; the church was a deeply entrenched part of his culture, and she could hardly be ignorant of it. She was a devious little madam, perhaps far more devious than he had first allowed. Did she want the world to know she had landed herself a wealthy business tycoon? Perhaps, to whitewash her reputation over her involvement with Howard Roebourne. But there was no way Mario was going to dance to her particular tune. He would marry her—but on his terms and his terms only.

  ‘I have chartered a private jet for our trip to Rome,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I thought it would make it more comfortable for Molly. Long-haul flights are not the most pleasant experience in a commercial plane, even in business class, and particularly so for an infant, I would imagine.’

  ‘You seemed to have thought of everything,’ she said, still looking at him with a sulky expression.

  ‘I am doing my best to cover all bases,’ he answered. ‘However, I have not yet purchased a wedding or engagement ring for you to wear. I thought I would wait until we are in Rome. I have a jeweller friend who acts as an agent for the Marcolini diamonds.’

  She gave a ‘couldn’t care less’ shrug. ‘You can get one from a fairground slot machine for all I care. I am quite sure that’s what you would really prefer to do.’

  Mario felt his jaw lock with tension. ‘Do not push me too far, Sabrina,’ he said. ‘It is not too late for me to find someone else to step up to the plate and be a mother to Molly.’

  Her grey eyes were stormy as they warred with his. ‘I am not going away without a fight,’ she said. ‘I am going to hate every minute of being married to you, but I love Molly enough to endure whatever torture you dish out.’

  Mario tossed his napkin aside, his mouth set in an intractable line. ‘You can hate me all you like, but one thing I absolutely insist on is that you keep your ill feelings out of the sight and hearing of Molly. She might be too young to speak as yet, but she has eyes and ears. I do not want her poisoned against me by you.’

  Sabrina wished her nails were long enough to score down his arrogant face. Anger raged inside her, red spots of it almost blinding her as she returned his heated glare. How she hated him! He was everything she most despised in a man. She was unused to feeling such powerful, overwhelming emotions. She was normally such an even-tempered person, slow to anger, patient to a fault—and yet in Mario Marcolini’s presence something inside her burned like a hot flame, threatening to totally consume her. But she knew if she gave in to her fury he would use it against her. He had the power to do whatever he wanted. She would never see Molly again, and he would not have a twinge of conscience about it.

  In less than twenty-four hours they would be married. That would at least give her some sort of security and a rightful place in Molly’s life, for the time being at least. All she could hope for was that he would see in time how much Molly needed her and allow her a permanent place in the little girl’s life, even if it meant she had to suffer regular contact with him as joint custodian.

  Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she picked up her wine glass and took another sip, all the time watching the way Mario’s dark eyes surveyed her with brooding intensity. ‘You know something, Mario?’ she said after a moment. ‘I think that works both ways, don’t you? If Molly hears you calling me names and other such opprobrious names, what sort of husband and father figure will she think you are?’

  He reached for his glass, his eyes still on hers. ‘I dare say we will both have to watch our tongues when interacting with each other,’ he conceded. ‘But I am sure all parents have to at times shelve their differences for the sake of their children.’

  ‘Children are highly perceptive,’ Sabrina pointed out. ‘They can nearly always sense when their parents are at loggerheads, even when the parents think they are hiding it. It can cause great emotional distress for youngsters when they feel undercurrents of tension all the time.’

  ‘Then we will have to make sure we settle our differences well before Molly is of an age to be affected by them,’ he returned.

  ‘How do you suggest we do that?’ Sabrina asked, frowning in wariness.

  ‘We shall have to call a truce,’ he said, raising his glass in preparation for a toast. ‘How about we make a toast?’

  She cautiously touched her glass against his. ‘What exactly are we drinking to?’ she asked.

  He gave her an enigmatic smile. ‘To making love, not war,’ he said and, lifting his glass to his lips, he drained the contents.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SABRINA put her glass down on the table with a hand that trembled slightly. ‘I…I need to check on Molly,’ she said, and pushed back her chair.

  Mario got to his feet. ‘I have a few calls to make and some emails to send, but I will do it downstairs in the business centre so I don’t disturb Molly,’ he said. ‘Feel free to get into bed whenever you are ready.’

  Sabrina felt her body tense. ‘Um…I think I would be more comfortable sleeping on the sofa,’ she said.

  His eyes smouldered as they held hers. ‘You do not fancy shari
ng my bed, Sabrina?’ he asked. ‘What—is it too soon after leaving Roebourne’s?’

  She tightened her mouth, refusing to respond to his taunt, beyond caring if it confirmed his opinion of her as a tart. Let him think what he liked. He was hardly one to throw the first stone, given his easy-come easy-go approach to the women in his life.

  Mario came to stand in front of her, blocking her exit. ‘I can make you forget all about him,’ he said.

  Sabrina sucked in a breath when he stroked his fingertip down her cheek to just within reach of her mouth. Every sensitive nerve in her face bloomed in response. Her lips began to tingle; the anticipation of feeling the brush of his mouth against hers became almost unbearable. Her eyes were trapped by the mesmerising heat of his, the silent communication of attraction and hot-blooded desire making her heart begin to pound and her legs feel as if they were turning to water.

  She watched as his mouth slowly descended towards hers, millimetre by millimetre, the light, warm breeze of his breath caressing her expectant lips, thrilling them, ramping up her excitement until she was tilting towards him, her eyes fluttering closed as his mouth finally, blissfully met hers.

  It was a potently explosive kiss. But then Sabrina wondered if any of Mario’s kisses were anything else. Everything about him communicated his sexual power, most particularly his utterly sensual mouth. She felt the hot, hard heat of him as his mouth commandeered hers, his lips firm and demanding, and yet strangely gentle and persuasive. She opened her mouth on a shuddering sigh, her whole body shaking in reaction when his tongue drove through the small opening in a thrust-like movement, an erotic imitation of what his lower body would do if she let her resolve slip.

  She felt him explore every corner of her mouth in erotic detail, his teeth taking her bottom lip in a nip-like tug that sent a zigzag of lightning down her spine. His tongue tangled with hers again, playing with it, teasing it, stroking it and then subduing it, reminding her just exactly who was in control. It certainly wasn’t her, Sabrina thought ruefully. She was giving a pretty fair imitation of a lustful libertine, and yet there seemed to be nothing she could do to stop it.