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

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  His eyes questioned hers. ‘Sabrina?’

  She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, relishing in the feel of the strength in his bunched muscles. Somehow she wasn’t so sure about hating him as much now. She wasn’t quite sure if it was possible to hate someone who had such an amazing ability to make her feel the way she was feeling.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, letting out a breath that prickled like a tiny free-floating thorn in her chest.

  After a moment he reached across her to open the bedside-table drawer to retrieve a condom. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I have protection. We don’t want any accidents.’

  It was a timely reminder of how many times he had done this in the past, but somehow Sabrina managed to ignore that in order to follow the instincts of her body. She watched as he sheathed himself, his length sending another wave of feverish excitement through her.

  He positioned her beneath him, locking his mouth on hers as he drove into her warm, moist heat in one deep, slick thrust that brought a gasp of sharp pain from Sabrina’s mouth into his.

  She felt his whole body freeze above hers.

  She blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes, feeling exposed in a way that was deeply unsettling as his frowning gaze sought hers.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked in a gravel-rough tone.

  Sabrina chewed at her lip, her eyes falling away from his. ‘I…I should have told you.’

  He anchored her chin to bring her gaze back to his. ‘Should have told me what?’ His eyes, those dark, melted-chocolate eyes, contained a flicker of uncertainty, something she had never seen in them before.

  She ran the point of her tongue across her lips, the taste of him still lingering there. His body was still encased in hers, hot, hard and stinging her slightly, although she did her best to conceal it. She felt foolish, gauche and foolish, like an immature child pretending to be an adult. She also felt a failure, a miserable failure at pleasuring a man. This was her first sexual experience and it was forever going to linger in her memory as a fiasco of monumental proportions. Shame coursed through her. She felt it in her cheeks, a burning fire that his dark intense gaze was stoking as each throbbing second passed.

  ‘Sabrina?’ he prompted.

  She fought against the wobble in her voice. ‘I—I’m not very experienced.’

  Mario slowly eased himself away from her. He had not for a moment considered she was a virgin. How could he have? He thought back over each and every conversation they had had and couldn’t remember a single clue to suggest she was anything but the slut the press had made her out to be. If anything she had on one or two occasions actively encouraged him to believe the stories about her were true.

  Guilt drove a dagger into his gut, ripping him wide open with remorse. He had hurt her; he had stolen from her the preciousness of her innocence, slaking his lust with no thought for anything but doing it, and doing it roughly and quickly.

  For all the years he had been dating and sleeping with partners, he had not once encountered a virgin. All the women he slept with had been as experienced as him, and, in his early-adult years, some even more so.

  He was deeply ashamed. He was not used to feeling so out of his depth. He was used to being in control, used to having things his way. He had always trusted his judgement. He had rarely got it wrong in the past.

  And yet he had got it horribly wrong about Sabrina.

  Horribly, horribly wrong.

  He looked at her grey eyes shining with moisture, and another blade of blame sliced through him. He cleared his tight throat, swallowing against the golf ball of guilt that had lodged there.

  ‘Sabrina…’ He sat upright, pulling the covers to shield her nakedness, wincing again when he saw her blood on the stark white of the sheet between her slender legs.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, blushing like a rose. ‘It was my fault for not telling you. I was going to, but I felt so embarrassed. I let you believe—’

  Mario cut the air with a sharp, coarse oath. ‘I will not have you take the blame for what just happened,’ he insisted. He clawed his fingers through his hair as he got off the bed, turning his back to dispose of the condom, before he reached for a robe.

  Once he was covered, he turned back to face her. ‘Damn it, Sabrina, I hurt you. I was so rough with you I could have damaged you.’ He swallowed again, but his guilt would not move, either up or down; it remained to choke him until he could barely speak. How could she ever be the same after what he had done? He rubbed at the back of his neck, his guilt crawling beneath every pore of his skin. He had acted like an animal. He had hunted her down and mated with her, not taking the time to get to know her as she deserved to be known.

  He dragged his gaze back to her slim body lying in his bed. She hardly took up any room, her light weight barely making an impression on the mattress. He was six-feet-four and, although lean, he was close to twice her weight. He couldn’t bear to think of how tiny she was. He was disgusted with himself. He could barely stand to be in the same room as her for the shame he felt.

  He strode, agitated, to the en suite, came back with a warm, damp face cloth and handed it to her. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’ he asked, deeply ashamed of how inadequate it sounded.

  She shook her head, her small fingers clutching at the face cloth, her cheeks going a deeper shade of pink. ‘No, thank you. I just need to have a shower and…and get some sleep. I think it was the jet lag, you know? Why I allowed things to get so out of control…’

  Mario swore again. ‘Do not let me off the hook so lightly, Sabrina. I deserve to be horse-whipped for what I have done.’

  Her small, white teeth sank into her bottom lip again, her eyes moving out of reach of his. ‘I was with you all the way,’ she said so softly he almost didn’t hear it.

  ‘Not quite all the way,’ he said, and with a ragged sigh left her to dress in privacy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SABRINA crawled out of Mario’s bed and, using the sheet as a wrap, bent down to pick up her scattered clothes. She winced as her inner muscles protested and another wave of embarrassment washed over her.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  What had she been thinking?

  She could blame it on the jet lag or the glass of wine she’d had with dinner, but deep down she wondered if that was just a cop out. She knew exactly why she had allowed him to make love to her: she wanted him. It was as simple as that.

  Was that wrong?

  No, of course not. What young woman of her age worried about having sex with someone they were deeply attracted to? She was old-fashioned, out of date and naïve to think sex was only for those who were in love. She wasn’t in love with Mario. She didn’t even like him. And yet there was something about him that drew her inexorably towards him. She felt like a small fluttering moth attracted to a dangerously hot flame. She had just got burnt and had only herself to blame.

  Sabrina checked on Molly before she went to the en suite off her room. After a shower she curled up on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, torturing herself with wondering if Mario had left the palazzo to have his needs met elsewhere. Her mind began to picture him with his blonde mistress, the catwalk model she had seen him with in the newspapers several times. No doubt she would not have flinched at his touch, nor would she have blushed like a schoolgirl at seeing his naked body in full arousal. Sabrina groaned and put the pillow over her face, trying to block the taunting images.

  When there was a soft knock at her door, she blinked in surprise. ‘Y-yes?’ she said.

  ‘Sabrina, it’s me,’ Mario said. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Um, yes.’ She sat upright as he came into the room.

  He too had showered. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, not nightwear as she was, but then she assumed he didn’t own any. She couldn’t imagine that long, leanly muscled body encased in boring old-fashioned flannelette or cotton pyjamas.

  His gaze ran over her for a moment. ‘How are you feeli
ng?’ he asked.

  Sabrina felt her face heating under his scrutiny. ‘I’m fine.’

  He came over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, his brow heavily furrowed. ‘Why did you not defend yourself about the Roebourne affair?’ he asked.

  She hugged her knees to her chest, her flesh tingling with awareness with him so close. She couldn’t stop looking at his mouth, thinking of how it had burned so fiercely against hers.

  Mario tipped up her chin so her gaze met his. ‘Sabrina?’

  She pressed her lips together, trying to keep herself from pitching forward into his arms to finish what they had started. Her body was still aching for him. Every nerve was on high alert for his touch, even her chin felt like fire where his fingers were holding her.

  ‘I didn’t want to upset the children,’ she finally said.

  His brow furrowed. ‘The Roebourne children?’

  ‘Yes. They are very young, but not too young to hear what would have been said about their father in the papers if I had told the truth about what had happened.’

  Mario released her chin and picked up one of her hands instead, stroking the back of it with his thumb as he held her gaze. ‘What did happen?’ he asked.

  She looked down at her hand in his before bringing her eyes back to his. ‘I was very naïve about him,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise he was grooming me to be his scapegoat. By the time I did realise what was going on it was too late to do anything. The children had enough to deal with, without learning about their father’s attempts to seduce me. Besides it was his word against mine. I couldn’t see how anyone would believe me.’

  Mario’s hand tightened around hers. ‘Did he threaten you in any way?’ he asked.

  Her grey eyes became shadowed for a brief moment. ‘A couple of times, yes.’

  Mario felt his insides burn with bile. He was not a violent man, but right now he wanted to drive his fist into Howard Roebourne’s face for how he had maligned Sabrina’s reputation. But he was just as angry at himself for treating her the way he had. If he had been thinking with his head instead of other parts of his anatomy he would have realised she couldn’t possibly be as bad as she had been portrayed. In spite of her friendship with Laura, Ric would never have agreed to have Sabrina nominated as guardian of Molly if he had not had complete trust in her.

  Mario brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, surprised yet again at how soft her mouth was. A tight little silence pulsed for a beat or two.

  ‘Are you still sore?’ he asked hollowly.

  She shook her head. ‘Please, Mario, don’t make a fuss about it. It was my fault for not telling you.’

  Mario got to his feet, raking his hand through his hair as he paced the floor. ‘Maybe—but if you had told me do you think I would have believed you?’ he said in self-disgust. ‘I would probably have laughed at you, Sabrina, and carried on regardless.’

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘I don’t believe you would have forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do.’

  He turned to face her, his expression grim. ‘I forced you to marry me.’

  She gave a little shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘For Molly’s sake—yes.’

  He blew out a breath. ‘The thing is, Sabrina, I can’t undo what has been done, not yet, at least. You deserve much better than this.’

  Sabrina hugged her knees again. ‘I’m not sure what you are saying.’

  His eyes were very dark as they meshed with hers. ‘Why did you let me make love to you earlier this evening?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Her teeth sank into her lip again.

  ‘It can not happen again,’ he said. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’

  Sabrina didn’t want to examine why her chest suddenly felt so tight. The thorn was back in her throat, making it hard for her to speak past it. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  He muttered a coarse swear-word as he began to pace the floor again. ‘What I want is immaterial. Molly needs us both, and we will have to stay married for the time being to keep her out of the clutches of the Knowles, who will no doubt push for custody if we suddenly announce our separation.’

  Sabrina could see the sense in what he was saying even though a part of her—the feminine, romantic part of her—was already starting to play with the fanciful scenario of him falling in love with her and asking her to be his wife for real.

  Love?

  She mentally flinched. Was she in love with him? She had never been in love before but she imagined it would feel exactly like this. Her stomach felt hollow, her heart felt like it was being squeezed between two book-ends and her body was burning for more of his touch.

  She chided herself for being so foolish. It was clear he was no longer attracted to her now he knew she was so inexperienced. Some men were like that. They didn’t want to spend time tutoring a novice; they would much rather have an experienced lover in their bed. If not his current mistress, no doubt he would find someone else to entertain him during the course of their marriage, maybe even several women. As much as it pained her all she could hope for was that he would be discreet—although that seemed unlikely, given the press’s fascination with anything Mario did and who he did it with.

  ‘You are very quiet,’ he said. ‘Do you not agree we should remain married?’

  Sabrina pasted a bland expression on her face. ‘I just want to do what is best for Molly.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, blowing out a breath. ‘That is settled, then.’

  Another silence began to suck at the air in the room.

  Sabrina held her breath as he came back to where she was sitting on the bed. Her stomach did a crazy little somersault when he brushed the back of his knuckles down the curve of her cheek, his eyes holding hers like the powerful beam of a searchlight. She hoped he couldn’t see what she was so desperately trying to hide. If she blurted her feelings to him, now how would he interpret it? He had said at the start he would not take seriously any avowals of love. How she had scoffed at the thought; was it only a day or so ago? What a bitter irony to find herself so deeply in love with him. How had it happened, and so quickly? Was it his deep, dark eyes that had unlocked her heart? Or was it his mouth, the way it kissed her with such potent passion? Or was it the way his touch set fire to her skin, making every pore pucker in excitement?

  ‘I am sorry for hurting you,’ he said in a low, deep voice that sounded as if it had been dragged across coarse gravel. ‘I will do my best to make it up to you.’

  Sabrina could barely get her voice to work. ‘You don’t have to do anything, Mario.’ Just love me, because I think I’m falling in love with you, she added silently.

  He bent forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the middle of her forehead, making her feel about three years old. ‘Buonanotte, Sabrina,’ he said softly.

  Sabrina waited until the door had closed behind him before she let out her tightly held breath.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  Over the next few days Sabrina began to see a softening in the housekeeper’s attitude towards her. She could only assume Mario had somehow reversed Giovanna’s opinion of her as a gold-digger, for the housekeeper had gradually dropped her surliness and had even offered to help Sabrina learn Italian, with limited success.

  Sabrina saw very little of Mario, however, just briefly in the mornings when she first got up to tend to Molly and last thing at night when he came home from his office well past dinner. He was polite but distant, asking her about her day and what Molly was up to, but he mentioned nothing personal. It was as if he was building a wall around himself, keeping her on the other side of it. It made her wonder if he had already hooked back up with his model mistress. All the clues were there: the late nights, the slightly ruffled look of his clothes and appearance when he did finally come home, and his stiff formality when speaking to her.

  Sabrina constantly berated herself for falling for him. It showed just how naïve she was to have let
that one foray into sensuality turn over her heart. He had probably put the whole episode out of his mind by now. He would not be torturing himself over what could have been if things were different between them.

  On Friday afternoon while Molly was having a nap Giovanna informed Sabrina there was a delivery of goods for her. ‘It is from Signore Marcolini,’ she said. ‘I think you will be very happy with what he has bought for you.’

  Sabrina stood to one side as the courier brought in bag after bag of designer clothes. There were evening dresses, shoes, handbags and evening bags, a range of separates and even some gossamer-fine lingerie. She fingered each item once the courier had left, marvelling at the exquisite fabrics, wondering who Mario had asked for help in selecting such a fabulous wardrobe. While she was grateful for his generosity, she couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he wanted to remodel her into the sort of glamourous wife people would expect a man of his standing to have by his side. Clearly her chain-store clothes and decade-old shoes were not going to cut it. It made her feel tawdry and mousy, like a common sparrow being dressed up as a rare and exotic colourful bird.

  ‘Signore Marcolini will be home early this evening,’ Giovanna said when Sabrina came into the salon carrying Molly in her arms later that evening. ‘He just called to say he would be here for dinner.’

  Sabrina felt another twinge of pique that he hadn’t asked to speak to her personally, but pushed it aside to smile at the housekeeper. ‘That is nice,’ she said. ‘Would you like some help with preparing the meal?’

  Giovanna looked shocked. ‘No, no, no! I am the housekeeper—you are his wife, sì?’

  Sabrina put Molly down on the rug so she could kick her little legs. ‘You know very well I am not really his wife,’ she said with a despondent sigh. ‘Not apart from on paper. We don’t even share a bedroom.’