Memories shuddered through her of how it had felt when he’d made love to her. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples aching and tight. She swallowed. “It was a fling,” she breathed. “You said so yourself. I’m not the right woman to be your bride.”
“My assessment has changed.” He cupped her face. His eyes were dark with heat. “For the last month,” he whispered, “I’ve thought of nothing but having you in my bed.”
She licked her lips. “You—you have?”
“I told myself you deserved a man who could love you. But everything has changed. Only our child matters now.” His gaze fell to her lips. “But that’s a lie,” he said in a low voice. “That’s not the only reason I want you as my bride. I want you to be mine. I want to possess you completely. Every night. For the rest of our lives.”
Lilley could barely breathe. “But Olivia—”
“I would have married her out of duty. Not desire.” He looked into her eyes. “You are the one I want, Lilley.” His mouth lowered to hers with agonizing slowness as he whispered, “Don’t you know that by now? I want you. And now I will have you—forever.”
As he kissed her, she closed her eyes, her body shaking as his lips took ruthless possession of her own. His lips were hard and hungry as the rain poured over their skin and thunder pounded across the lowering black sky.
She heard his low growl as in a sudden movement he pushed her back against the hedge. She felt the rough, wet branches of the shrubbery against her back as he held her tight against his wet, muscled body. He moved his hands through her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. In the force of their embrace, their wet clothes slid and clung to their skin. His hands roamed everywhere, over her cotton tank top, over her hips. She felt his hand reach beneath the hemline of her skirt, dragging it slowly up her thighs. His hand slid upwards, and she gasped, placing her hand over his. “No.”
“Don’t refuse me,” he said in a low voice. “It’s what we both want.”
“I do want you,” she panted, then choked out a sob. “But I can’t marry you. I’d have to give up everything I believe in. I’m afraid it would destroy me to love you.”
“So don’t love me.” He caressed her hair, looking down at her with serious dark eyes. “It’s too late for our own dreams, Lilley,” he said quietly. “All that matters now are our baby’s.”
She sucked in her breath. He was right, she realized. All that mattered now was their child. She closed her eyes. “Will you love our baby? Will you be a good father?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
Her heart twisted as she took a deep breath, then another. For an instant, she held her breath. Then she let her dreams for love go.
She opened her eyes.
“I can accept … a marriage without love,” she whispered, then shook her head. “But not without trust. Not without respect. I won’t be humiliated by a paternity test. Either believe that the baby is yours … or let us go.”
Staring at her, Alessandro slowly nodded. “All right, cara,” he said in a low voice. “All right.”
Swallowing back the ache in her throat, she whispered, “Then I’ll marry you.”
Alessandro drew back. “You will?” The rain had lifted, and a beam of twilight sun burst from behind the clouds, illuminating his hard features with gold. “You’ll be my wife?”
Wordlessly, she nodded.
His eyes lit up, and the edges of his lips curved up into a bright smile that made him look younger, almost boyish. She’d never seen him look that way before. As Lilley stared up at him, the noise of the storm faded, and thunder became a distant memory.
Maybe it would be all right, she thought, dazed. Maybe passion and a baby would be enough to start a marriage.
She prayed it would be. Because that was all they had.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LILLEY’s hair flew around her, tangling in the cold night wind as Alessandro drove his yellow Ferrari convertible across the vast, lonely Nevada desert. She couldn’t stop looking over at him at the wheel. Moonlight frosted his dark hair with silver.
The party had ended in scandal, when Alessandro had privately informed Olivia that she’d been misled by the gossip columns and he intended to take Lilley as his bride. Olivia had stomped out of the villa, but not before she’d grabbed Lilley’s arm in the foyer.
“You’ll regret this,” the beautiful Milanese heiress had hissed, pressing her fingernails into Lilley’s flesh. “You might be pregnant with his child, you piece of trash, but you’re not worthy to be his wife. You think you’ve beaten me. But I will find a way to destroy you.”
Turning, the gorgeous blonde had departed, her skinny shoulders straight as she’d stormed out of the villa. In the next room Alessandro was already announcing their engagement to all of his friends, introducing them to Lilley at his side. They’d applauded and murmured congratulations, but she’d felt their bewildered eyes on her, as if they were wondering why on earth someone like Alessandro would choose her for his bride. Something she kept wondering herself. Then he’d announced with a wicked smile, “We’re eloping to Las Vegas. Tonight.”
Lilley had gasped along with everyone else. They would drive to Las Vegas, he insisted, as his private jet was en route to San Francisco after delivering supplies to a desperate community decimated by a hurricane. “We’ll be married by morning,” Alessandro had told her after he’d gotten rid of the guests. He paused. “Unless you wish to wait until your father can attend the ceremony …”
She’d felt a prickle at the back of her neck, knowing she had to tell Alessandro the truth about her family before they could possibly marry. She shook her head. “No. I don’t want my father at the ceremony, and you wouldn’t either. We’re not exactly friends. I’m not even sure he loves me.” She took a deep breath. “Speaking of which,” she said in a small voice, “there’s something I need to tell you. Before I can marry you.”
“No need.” His expression had suddenly become cold, closed off. “I already know what you’re going to say.”
Alessandro knew about her family? Her jaw dropped. “You—you do?”
He nodded, his eyes hard. “There’s no point in talking about it, because there’s nothing I can do to change it.”
She bit her lip. “So you—you forgive me?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said grimly, then shook his head. “But I will never be able to love you.”
Lilley wasn’t worried about him loving her at that moment. She’d just been praying he wouldn’t utterly despise her. Relief washed through her. He knew her secret. Of course he did, she thought, suddenly so giddy she was almost light-headed. He’d probably known it all along! Alessandro Caetani was a brilliant competitor, which is why her cousin found him to be such an infuriating foe. He knew stuff. With a tearful, joyful sob, she threw her arms around him.
Surprised, he’d put his arms around her. “I’ll have my people pack up your things and meet us in Las Vegas. No need to pack clothes,” he’d said gruffly. “I’ll provide you with those.”
“I need my jewelry materials and tools, and the quilt my mother made me.”
“You have a passport, yes?”
“Yes.” With a whole bunch of stamps in and out of French airports she wouldn’t have to hide. “Why a passport?”
“I have a little place in Sardinia.” He’d smiled, his eyes hot. “A honeymoon cottage.”
They drove all night in his convertible, across the dark, vast Nevada desert. Sometime during the night, she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. When they arrived in Las Vegas, Alessandro woke her with a kiss to her forehead.
“Welcome to your wedding day, cara,” he whispered, and she opened her eyes blearily to see the white light of dawn breaking over the distant craggy mountains.
Alessandro took her to the luxury Hermitage Hotel and Resort, where he ordered a lavish private buffet for two brought up to their penthouse suite. Five waiters with overflowing carts brought up fifty different items for Lilley to sampl
e—waffles, omelets, pecan-stuffed French toast, slabs of bacon, watermelon, fruit salad and chicken-fried steak. Afterward, Alessandro escorted her to an overpriced bridal boutique downstairs in the hotel. Selecting a tuxedo for himself, he casually bought the first wedding dress she admired.
“You can’t!” Lilley cried when she saw the twenty-thousand-dollar price tag, even as her eyes traced the beaded white fabric longingly.
Lifting his eyebrow, he gave her a grin. “I can.”
They collected their marriage license downtown, then returned to their suite at the Hermitage where a bridal bouquet and boutonniere waited for them beside the grand piano. It was intoxicating. Dreamy. They made love on the huge bed overlooking the Las Vegas Strip, then made love again in the shower before changing their clothes. Then, when Alessandro first saw Lilley in her wedding dress, he pulled her straight back into bed.
Lilley sat astride his lap, riding him as he leaned against the headboard, her necklace bouncing softly against her swollen breasts with every thrust. After their third lust-fueled explosion of the afternoon, he kissed the necklace’s pink-heart crystal and brass chain. “Any man on earth would pay a fortune to have such a necklace for his wife.” His expression changed. “It’s just too bad that …”
“What?”
He exhaled. “Nothing.” Taking her hand, he pulled her from the bed. “Let’s get to the ceremony before we get distracted.”
Two hours after their appointed time, they finally married, surrounded by white candles at the hotel’s private wedding chapel. An acquaintance of Alessandro’s who owned the hotel, Nikos Stavrakis, was the only witness as they breathlessly spoke their vows.
And just like that, Lilley was a princess. Wearing a white suit he’d purchased for her, she boarded her husband’s waiting jet, bound for the Mediterranean.
On board, Lilley found the possessions his staff had packed for her. The box of her life was small indeed—just her mother’s homemade quilt, her jewelry tools and an excited, gushing note from Nadia wishing her luck and all the joy in the world. “Jeremy will be moving in with me now—I know you won’t mind because you’re a happily married princess! I can’t believe you married Prince Alessandro! You’ll be famous now!”
As the jet flew the long miles east across the country and towards the Atlantic, Lilley fell asleep on a couch, holding her mother’s quilt to her chest. When she woke up, Alessandro was watching her from a nearby white leather chair.
“I will always protect you,” he whispered, leaning forward. His eyes were dark. “I want you to know that. And I will protect our child.”
She sat up, clutching the quilt. “Protect us. But not too much.” She gave him a weak smile. “My father tried to protect me from the world he didn’t think I was strong enough to handle. If not for my mother, I would never have been allowed out of the house.”
“Which is why he wanted you to marry one of his employees.” His lips lifted in a humorless smile. “When will you tell him about our marriage?”
Her eyes slid away. “I don’t know. It’s—complicated.”
“I understand.” He looked down at his folded hands. “My father married my mother for her money, then spent it all on his mistresses, whom he flaunted to her face. He thought condoms were for the weak. He scattered bastards carelessly all over the world.”
She sucked in her breath. “Oh, Alessandro—”
He looked up, his handsome face stoic. “He died when I was nineteen, and left us only debts in his memory. My mother would have starved in the street, if I hadn’t started work to support her. When she died five years ago, she was living in a palace in Rome. As I vowed she someday would.” He exhaled. “I’m trying to tell you that you never need to worry now, about anything. I will always take care of you.”
She blinked back tears, giving him a smile as she reached across the aisle to stroke his face. “We will take care of each other.”
He turned his rough cheek into her caress, then placed his hand over her own. “You won’t regret giving up your dreams to marry me. I’m no shining knight, but I will treat you well. You won’t have a business of your own, but I will work hard for you and the baby. I’ll give you all the precious jewelry you could possibly desire.”
Frowning, she drew back her hand. “What do you mean—giving up my dream of having a business?”
He stared down at her. “You have no time for a career. Not anymore. Your place is to be my wife, and raise our child.”
“You don’t tell me this until now—after we’re already married?”
“I thought it would be obvious,” he said stiffly, looking uncomfortable.
“No,” she whispered. “You knew I would be upset. Which is why you waited till now.” She forced her voice to be calm. “I never agreed to give up my business.”
He looked at her. “If that dream had ever meant anything to you, you would have done something about it long ago.”
Lilley’s eyes widened, then she sucked in her breath. He was right. She could have built her business for years, but instead, she’d squandered her time being paralyzed by fear.
“Money will never be an issue for you again,” he tried. “I will provide you with everything you desire.” He gave her a smile. “And if you want to make jewelry as a little hobby to entertain yourself, I have no objection to it.”
“Generous of you,” she muttered.
He stared down at her, then set his jaw. “Once you have properly settled in as my bride, as the mother of our child, well then—we will see,” he said grudgingly. His eyes softened as he stroked her cheek. “I want you to be happy, Lilley. I will do everything I can to make that happen.”
Feeling his hand upon her skin, seeing the tenderness in his eyes, she exhaled. It would be fine. Somehow, it would all work out. “I want to do the same for you.”
His eyes were hot and dark as he gave her a wicked grin. “Ah, but you’ve made me so happy already. You make me happy on an hourly basis,” he breathed, leaning forward to kiss her. He stopped, his face inches from hers. “Just promise you’ll never lie to me.”
“I’ll never lie to you,” Lilley promised, and she meant it, with all her heart.
“Io bacio.”
“Io bacio,” Lilley repeated, balancing a book on her head.
Standing by the window overlooking the bright-blue water of the Costa Smeralda, her Italian tutor smiled. “Tu baci.”
“Tu baci,” Lilley repeated rather breathlessly, walking across the marble floor in four-inch high heels.
“Lui bacia.”
As Lilley repeated all the conjugations of baciare, she found herself smiling. Her tutor had clearly chosen the verb to kiss in honor of her standing as a newlywed. And though her feet ached from the expensive shoes and her body ached from standing up straight in the designer skirt suit for hours, she felt strangely happy. Yes, her head ached from a full schedule of etiquette and deportment lessons, mixed with Italian classes in which she not only learned the word for fork, la forchetta, but she was taught which one to use for salad and which for dessert. But she was … happy.
This wasn’t the same world she’d left behind in Minnesota, that was for sure. Her father had come from nothing. He’d never given a hoot about etiquette. Now, after a week in Sardinia, Lilley felt exhausted, but it was the best kind of tired. She felt sore, too, but there was a very delicious reason for that as well. A hot blush filled her cheeks as she remembered what Alessandro had done to her in bed last night, and what she’d done to him. The braver she got, the more she acted on her own needs and fantasies, the more he liked it.
“Molto bene,” the Italian tutor finally said with satisfaction.
“You are a quick learner, Principessa,” said the Swiss woman who’d come from a famous boarding school in the Alps to teach her deportment.
“Grazie,” Lilley said with a laugh. A quick learner? She’d certainly never heard that one before. But it helped that she didn’t have to read, just listen, repeat and practice.
Her husband had given the instructors precise instructions.
Her husband.
After a week in Alessandro’s white wedding-cake villa in Sardinia, seven blissful days of life as his wife, Lilley still adored the word husband. She held the word close to her heart, cuddled it like a child. She had a husband. And—she glanced discreetly at her watch, almost causing the book to slide off her head—it was almost five o’clock. Her favorite time of day.
The Italian tutor followed her gaze and nodded. “We are done.” He turned to gather his briefcase. “Buona sera, Principessa.”
Madame Renaud pulled the leatherbound book off Lilley’s head. “Bonsoir, Principessa,” she said, “et merci.” Madame followed her tutor out of the door.
Principessa. Another word that still seemed exotic and foreign—nothing to do with her at all.
The instant her instructors were gone, Lilley raced upstairs towards the master bedroom as fast as her tight beige pencil skirt would allow her. She rushed down the hall, past priceless works of modern art that to her looked like a preschooler’s squiggles, past expensive white furniture that was mostly just hard and uncomfortable in her opinion.
But there was one thing about this villa that she loved: their bedroom. Her high heels clicked loudly as she hurried down the hall. Passing a window, her eyes fell on the view of the turquoise Mediterranean and white sand beach. All right—two things she loved about this house.
A week ago she would have had difficulty placing the Italian island of Sardinia on a map, but now she was in love, because the Costa Smeralda, the island’s green coast, was the most joyful and beautiful place she’d ever seen. The open windows lured in a warm, sweet wind to blow against her hair, and the bright golden sun warmed her body and heart. As if those needed any warming.
Running her hand along the curving handrail of the villa’s white staircase, she snorted as she remembered Alessandro’s description of this vacation home. Some cottage! It had eight bedrooms and a full staff, though they always disappeared at five o’clock each night, as Alessandro had ordered, so the two of them could be alone.
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