The Italian's Virgin Bride

by Morey, Trish

  Burned in her mind was the feel of his hands on her. His mouth on her. Never had she anticipated that anything so straightforward as the touch of another’s skin against your own could feel so good. His body had felt amazing, the press of his erection making her body crave for all sorts of things for which she’d never yearned before. And he was big. She shuddered. How would it feel to take him inside her and feel his long length slide home? The thought was simultaneously terrifying and electrifying, her body humming in anticipation. He’d taken her so far but she wanted to discover more, to discover it all.

  But he was somewhere else. Maybe with someone else. And she’d as good as sent him there. What had she said? ‘I don’t care what you do or who you see.’ She might as well have given him licence.

  And it looked as if he’d taken her literally.

  Was he with Emma now? Making her feel the way he’d made Opal feel earlier in the shower? Was she in his arms, his mouth at her breast, his hands on her body, caressing, coaxing, filling? Was she giving him what Opal hadn’t?

  She pulled the pillow out from under her head, tossing it to the floor and grabbing another, shoving her head down again. She was torturing herself. There was no point worrying about what he was doing. It didn’t concern her. She had hotels to run and a new manager to source for Pearl’s Place after the unexpected departure of the existing one this week due to a family crisis of her own. Much more productive to spend her time thinking about matters she could do something about.

  Her relationship with Domenic was set down in black and white. There was nothing she could do to change that. She was legally obliged to give him a child and she’d do it, and she’d just have to accept his lifestyle and pray that he was discreet and careful in the process.

  Maybe it could work. She didn’t have to end up like her mother, spirit broken and desolate, her heart and soul destroyed by a man who abused her trust and squandered the love he should have shown her on other, less deserving women.

  Because there was no chance of that happening to her, no chance of being hurt by a man who didn’t value her love.

  She yawned and settled into the pillow, finally feeling as if she had reclaimed some sort of control in a life that was heading in directions she’d never planned.

  Domenic might have a piece of paper that said he could possess her body but there was no way he’d ever possess her heart. She wouldn’t let him.

  Good, she was still asleep. Domenic moved quietly through the bedroom, his feet pausing before the door to the en suite. It was dark and quiet inside the room, insulated as it was from the early-morning sunlight and traffic noise going on below by the heavy drapes and double-glazing. Not too dark though, to make out the fan of her hair across the pillow, the arm flung back across the bed and the mess of sheets tangled around her.

  So she hadn’t had a good night. She should have. She’d got what she’d wanted, or rather, what she hadn’t. He continued into the bathroom and flipped on the shower, stripping off before stepping under the spray, forcing himself not to think about the last time he’d been there. The last unsatisfactory time he’d been there.

  He sighed. He was tired but he could catch up on sleep on the plane. Fifteen hours to Los Angeles ought to do it. It would be early morning when he arrived so he might as well get his body clock used to it.

  Two minutes was enough. A rough towel dry and he padded barefoot and naked back into the bedroom, picking up the phone. Breakfast for two. Scrambled eggs, salmon, coffee—strong.

  When he turned she was looking right at him. Frowning right at him. He smiled to himself. ‘Good morning,’ he said, crossing to the walk-in wardrobe, snagging the curtains open on the way. Sunlight flooded the room. He pulled down his case, bringing it back and flopping it on the bed. It landed nowhere near her but still she scurried further towards the other side, hopelessly trying to avert her eyes.

  ‘Morning,’ she responded at last, her voice shaky, tugging up the sheets to her chest at the same time.

  The movement amused him. If she thought he was going to ravish her after last night’s fiasco, she had another think coming.

  ‘What…what are you doing?’

  He moved to the dresser, opening drawers and pulling out bits and pieces. ‘I have to go to the States. Something’s come up.’ He zipped them into the corner compartment. Then he looked at her, still studiously staring at anywhere else but him. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. It wasn’t as if we had honeymoon plans or anything.’

  Her eyes flicked over to his and he held them, watching the emotions—relief, curiosity, suspicion—flash through, all combined with a healthy dose of embarrassment as she tried not to look away. She hadn’t asked him where he’d spent the night, but he could see the question lurking there, in her eyes, along with several more.

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘At least a week,’ he said, returning to the closet. ‘Should give you enough time to finalise the new marketing and promotion plan for both groups. Think you can do that?’

  ‘Of course I can,’ she insisted, fight returning momentarily to her voice.

  ‘Good. When I come back I want you to come with me on another trip. I need to have a look at the market in North Queensland. You might as well tag along.’

  He roughly folded the shirts—he’d get them pressed in LA—and then collected his few things from the bathroom.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Looks as if I’m “tagging along”, then. But Domenic…’

  Colour flooded her cheeks. She looked as uncomfortable as she sounded, sitting up with the bedclothes gathered like a wall around her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you going to get dressed?’

  The corners of his mouth hooked up as he held out his hands palms up. ‘Does my body not meet with your approval?’

  She blinked and he could see she immediately regretted mentioning the topic. ‘Well, it’s just that…Room Service will be here any minute and…’

  He said nothing. Just waited as she tied her words and herself in knots.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said at last, sliding out of the bed. ‘If you’re finished in the bathroom…?’ Without waiting for an answer she fled to the safety of the other room. He heard the lock being turned. She obviously wasn’t risking another experience like last night’s.

  He pulled on some clothes as he threw the last of his things into the case, snapping it closed, entertained by her reaction. She was such a mix of character—all hellcat one minute, spitting fire and brimstone; innocent unsophisticate the next, acting like someone ten years her junior.

  Yet in the shower last night…She’d been liquid fire in his arms, sleek and silken to his touch and totally receptive. He could wait for their next encounter. There was no doubt it would be worth it.

  By the time she’d emerged encased in a thick white robe a little while later, Room Service had delivered their breakfast and he was sitting at the table, reading the paper. He motioned her to sit, poured her a cup of coffee.

  She sat down, relieved to see he’d put some clothes on at last.

  ‘How do you have it?’ he asked.

  ‘Just milk, no sugar.’

  He added milk, handed over the cup. It struck her again, the enormity of what they’d done. Here they were, having breakfast like any other married couple. Except he didn’t even know how she took her coffee.

  And they weren’t any other married couple. It was all out of order. It was all wrong. Yet Domenic was sitting there, reading the paper as if it were any other morning in his life.

  Where had he spent the night? And why this sudden trip to the States? He’d planned on staying in Sydney a week this visit. What could have happened so suddenly that he had to rush over there?

  Unless it had something to do with Emma? A cold chill zipped down her spine. But what did she expect? She’d practically forced him to leave last night. And it was clear she was out of procreating action for the next few days. Why would he bother to hang around?

&nb
sp; Part of her wanted to ask the questions, to discover if her fears were correct, but she couldn’t. Mustn’t. If she wasn’t going to care—and she didn’t—then whatever he did was his own private business and she should be grateful if he kept it that way.

  She sipped her coffee, grateful for the warmth the fluid generated within and turning her mind to more profitable pursuits, like how she could use the rest of today. Now that Domenic was leaving she could spend some time at Pearl’s Place, try and find a new manager for the place, someone firm enough but with compassion at her heart. It was more difficult than she’d expected to find anyone with the right mix of skills and attitude.

  Then it occurred to her. Deirdre Hancock. She’d been retiring from Silvers and someone like her would be perfect for the job. Maybe she’d give her a call.

  ‘You should eat,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts and bearing a plate laden with salmon, eggs and toast. ‘You ate nothing last night.’

  She took the plate, not feeling particularly hungry, but one taste of the delicate combination returned her appetite and soon had her finishing off the serving.

  ‘Buono,’ he said in approval, putting down the paper as he rose from the table. ‘It’s good to see you eat. I prefer my women with curves.’ He moved to the bed, picked up his bag.

  Coffee-cup in hand, she raised an eyebrow. ‘And I prefer my men in underwear.’

  His rich laugh took her by surprise. Even more surprising was the ribbon of pleasure that curled inside her, knowing she had made him laugh.

  He dipped his head as he walked past her chair to the door, dropping the barest kiss onto her cheek, leaving only the hint of his warmth, the brush of his lips on her skin.

  ‘Not for long,’ he said with a smile, before heading for the door. ‘I aim to change that. Arrivederci, bella.’

  Opal sat there, long after the door had closed behind him, reliving the feel of his lips, the scent of his cologne. And wondering how, after all that had happened, they’d managed to find such a moment.

  Was he seriously planning on making her comfortable with his naked body? What if he could? He had a beautiful body, so firm and sculpted he could have been a model for a Roman god. Would it be wrong to enjoy looking at his body without blushing like a schoolgirl?

  She shivered. In just over a week he’d be back and there’d be nothing to stop them consummating the marriage. Last week, even yesterday, the mere idea of making love with him had filled her with nervous dread. Somehow that had changed. Now it felt more like delicious anticipation.

  Chapter 8

  All hell was breaking out when Opal reached Pearl’s Place that afternoon. While she usually didn’t get involved with the day-to-day running of the shelter, until she found a new manager she had little choice.

  Two New South Wales Police vehicles, their lights flashing red and blue, met her on her arrival outside the attractive two-storey terrace in inner Sydney. She’d bought the place some time back as little more than a run-down house in a shabby area. Things had changed a lot since then. People had started buying into the area and doing up the old places, just as she’d done. Now Pearl’s Place was welcoming and warm, the street classic, elegant and quiet.

  Pots of climbing geraniums and vibrantly coloured bougainvillaeas greeted her arrival on a slightly sultry sunny October day that made her jeans and T-shirt stick. Her heart sank as she stepped from her coupé. Police sirens and quiet streets didn’t go together.

  Offering a temporary shelter for women seeking a bolt-hole always carried with it the risk of the emotions of disgruntled partners getting out of control. This time it had been a brick through the front window and a threat for more.

  The neighbours were tolerant but understandably concerned for their own welfare, and she knew that if things got too bad they could force the shelter to close. Maybe it was time to find somewhere else, more open, with grounds for kids to play in and no close neighbours to worry about their comings and goings. Now that Clemengers was saved, she could spend some time working out what to do.

  Inside the house, the sixteen current tenants, an assortment of mothers and children from five families, gathered around the large kitchen table that comprised the unofficial meeting room.

  ‘I’ll have to go…find somewhere else, then,’ said Jenny Scott, her face etched with the tracks of tears, as she clutched a skinny child to her chest, rocking her back and forth.

  Opal knelt in front of the woman, who she knew to be years younger than the forty or so she looked, and prised one hand free, cradling it in her own. ‘But where will you go?’

  The woman sobbed, burying her head behind that of the child, who just kept staring vacantly, her thumb firmly wedged in her mouth. ‘I don’t know. But I won’t go back to Frank.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said, nodding, stroking the child’s hair. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll sort something out with the police.’

  Opal’s heart was breaking as she left the shelter, having organised extra patrols as a stop-gap measure. She had to sort something permanent out though and soon. Pearl’s Place should be somewhere the women and their children could relax in safety. She didn’t want to turn it into a fortress. They were already trying to escape from a one kind of prison, after all.

  She sucked in a breath, feeling uncharacteristically disheartened.

  There were so many different sorts of prisons. Her mother’s had been gilded, six-star and luxurious all the way. Yet she’d been trapped too, in a marriage that was all wrong, that had sucked her life dry till there was nothing left but her withered, bitter core.

  And now Opal herself was married. Bound to a man who treated her more as a possession than a partner. What kind of prison would hers turn out to be? What would be her sentence?

  She shook her head and put on her favourite CD, turning the volume up loud and trying to banish the fears that hounded her. If she was going to do anything constructive for Pearl’s Place, she’d have to shed this mood right now.

  The Rocks café where she’d agreed to meet Sapphy and Ruby for a goodbye drink was buzzing when she arrived half an hour later, the tables full with locals winding up their weekend with some casual alfresco dining and tourists who’d spent a busy day on and around Sydney Harbour. The whoosh of the espresso machine filled any gaps in the hum of conversation, and inviting aromas of pizza, sizzling seafood and pasta, laced with coffee, filled the air.

  Sapphy and Ruby had secured a table under the veranda, where the late-afternoon breeze brought promise of another fine day tomorrow and gave life to loose wisps of hair. Opal made her way over to the twins, grateful that her marriage had at least given them the opportunity to get together once more. Now that they all lived so far apart, catching up was getting harder and less frequent.

  ‘So, Domenic managed to let you get away for an hour, then?’ said Sapphy, rising to kiss her sister on the cheek in greeting.

  ‘More or less,’ Opal replied noncommittally, accepting a kiss from Ruby as well before pulling out her chair and sitting down, forcing what she hoped passed for a nonchalant smile onto her face. ‘He actually got called away on business, so I guess the honeymoon is over.’ She shrugged, brightening the smile as if this were just another one-of-those-things when in fact she knew the honeymoon had never begun.

  ‘He’s gone?’ ‘Where?’ the twins asked simultaneously.

  ‘Off to the States,’ she said. ‘Some crisis, apparently.’

  ‘Oh.’ The twins looked at each other before both intently focusing on their menus, which doubled as place-mats.

  Opal studied her sisters. Outwardly they looked as bright and beautiful as usual, but there was something in their eyes, some message that had passed between them. Did they know the truth? Had they discovered that her marriage was all a sham?

  In a way that would be a relief. Pretending this was a marriage made in heaven meant deceiving her sisters as she’d never contemplated before. They’d been so excited for her, had fussed and worried over her and cooed and
gushed over Domenic. Would it matter if they knew the truth now—now that Clemengers was saved and it was too late to change things? Surely eventually she could live down the humiliation of having a marriage foisted upon her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, looking from one to another and resorting to the tone she’d always used as older sister when she wanted to tell them she knew they were hiding something.

  The sisters looked up together. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ said Sapphy.

  ‘I could have been mistaken,’ added the other twin.

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’

  Again they glanced at each other, before Sapphy grabbed Opal’s hand in both of hers. ‘Is anything wrong between you and Domenic?’

  Opal tried to laugh, but the sound came out weak and brittle. ‘Like what? Just because he gets called away on business suddenly?’

  ‘But the day after your wedding?’

  ‘It’s an emergency. He had to go. In fact, he’s taking me up to North Queensland next week, to make up for it.’ She looked in their faces and it was clear they weren’t convinced. There was something else they weren’t telling her.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ she said. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Well, it’s just that last night, after the reception, I went down to the lobby to say goodbye to some of the guests…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I saw—well, I thought I saw Domenic getting into a taxi.’

  ‘Oh.’ Opal’s mind whirled, working on the run. She had no idea where Domenic had gone once he’d left her. He could easily have left the hotel. ‘That’s right. He left some things in his suite, at Silvers. He went to collect them.’

  Ruby looked at her, a frown creasing her perfect brow and pain evident in her eyes. ‘Opal, he was with that film star. You know, the one at the wedding.’