The Italian's Virgin Bride

by Morey, Trish

  Opal’s mind reeled as her darkest doubts and suspicions were confirmed. He’d spent the night with Emma. True to type, he’d run straight into the arms of his waiting girlfriend. Decades could pass but nothing really changed, not when it came to the behaviour of men like him.

  It shouldn’t come as a shock, not when she’d known this was how her married life would be and when she’d suspected this very thing happening, but the knowledge that she’d been right carried no sense of victory. Not when the edges of that knowledge were jagged and sharp and designed to rip you apart.

  She schooled her face as best she could and looked around frantically, trying to cover the crash of emotions inside her by searching for a waiter. ‘You think we might get some service around here. I’m parched.’

  ‘Opal,’ said Sapphy, gently squeezing her hand. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  Opal looked into their faces, full of love and concern for her, and knew she couldn’t tell them the truth. She’d been kidding herself to think that it didn’t matter if now they knew. It made no difference before or after the wedding—she just couldn’t let them go home thinking this marriage was less than right. It wouldn’t be fair to them. This was something she had to do.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ she started. ‘Emma is an old friend of Domenic’s and she wasn’t feeling well. I asked him to make sure she got back to her hotel safely. That’s all.’

  ‘On your wedding night?’ both sisters chimed in, frankly disbelieving.

  ‘I insisted! I mean, it was so nice of her to drop by the wedding, given her schedule, it was the least we could do.’

  ‘So what’s with the story about picking up his clothes?’

  ‘Well, I knew you guys would jump to conclusions and you did—straight away. So stop worrying. Domenic is back in a week to take me off to a tropical paradise getaway. Try practising a little bit of envy if you can.’

  ‘You’re sure everything’s all right, then?’ Sapphy insisted.

  Opal squeezed her hand. ‘I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world, having you two looking out for me. Yes, everything’s fine. Now relax and enjoy. You both head home tomorrow morning and we won’t see each other for ages. Let’s make the most of this, then.’

  A movement behind caught her eye. ‘Ah, here’s the waiter. You guys go first. I haven’t even looked at the menu.’

  Opal stood in the airport VIP lounge, hoping she didn’t look as nervous and skittish as she felt. Domenic’s private jet had landed and, once the landing formalities had been completed and the plane refuelled, she’d join him for their flight to Cairns.

  Even though he’d been away for longer than expected, the eleven days had flown by. She’d thrown herself into the new marketing plans, working with the promotions manager and the advertising agency in preparation for the launch of the new combined strategy.

  Deirdre Hancock had been enthusiastic about working at Pearl’s Place and jumped straight in, taking charge and handling the residents and their needs as if she was born to it. She’d rung a couple of days ago to say that Jenny Scott and her daughter had moved into a council flat of their own and were looking forward to making a fresh start. It was good news. There was something so satisfying about seeing the women, who came to the shelter cowed and scared, leave some time later, their heads held high as they headed off with a new lease of life. It didn’t always work first time, but just knowing that the safety net of Pearl’s Place was there if they needed it seemed to give their confidence a boost.

  All in all it had been a good few days. So long as she hadn’t thought about Domenic.

  The nights had been the hardest. During the day she could work on the marketing plans, talk to the staff, oversee operations. Eventually, though, exhaustion would overtake her and she’d drag herself to her suite and her bed, only to lie there and wonder about Domenic. She had tried to make herself angry with him and think accusatory thoughts about who he was with and what he was doing, but other visions interceded and instead she found herself remembering their intimate shower and dreaming what it would be like when finally he made her his wife.

  Memories of his touch had plagued her, the intense sensations unable to be obliterated. The caress of his hands, his mouth on her breast, the feel of his skin, slick and hot…

  And the memories had refused to fade. Instead they had taken on a sharper focus the closer his return, almost as if they were tuning her body for what was to come.

  Then his email had come, instructing her to be ready for his arrival the next day and to meet him at the airport, and her gut had clenched in anticipation. Despite the matter-of-fact wording of his email, this was no ordinary business trip to far North Queensland. The timing of the trip was no sheer coincidence.

  Something more primal and elemental was at work. Domenic was coming back to claim his mate. Domenic was coming back to take her.

  Opal hugged herself, shivering in front of the air-conditioning. Her pale lemon linen trouser-suit was chosen for more tropical climes, and even though it wasn’t a cool day in Sydney she regretted her decision not to wear something warmer. She declined an offer of coffee from the steward as she ambled by, knowing that as much as she resented Domenic and all he stood for, a large part of her craved his touch again.

  He stood at the entrance to the lounge, watching her pace, her arms clutching herself tightly. The long-line jacket she wore trailed softly as she walked, her hair tied in some sort of knot at the back of her head. She stared at the carpet before her but he could still make out the frown that puckered her brow, the teeth that had hold of her bottom lip. She walked on, looking to him like a caged tigress, ready to be unleashed.

  Tonight he’d oblige. The last few days he’d found himself thinking about her, thinking about how he’d finish what he’d started. And tonight she’d have no excuses. Tonight he’d unleash the real Opal. Already his body stirred at the thought. He was looking forward to this.

  As if aware of his thoughts, she chose that particular moment to lift her head. Her eyes snared his and he saw—no, felt each ripple of the tremor that passed through her, as tangible as a living thing.

  She was waiting for him, he realised with some satisfaction, just as he had waited for her these past few days. And without a doubt the wait would be worth it—for both of them.

  The flight to Cairns took three hours during which Domenic seemed only interested in hearing about developments at Clemengers in his absence, and progress with the new marketing strategy. There was nothing at all personal in his manner, and if she hadn’t been wearing his wedding ring she might easily have imagined she was just another employee. Which in a way, she thought ironically, she was.

  He said nothing of his stay in the United States, and fielded her enquiries as to how things had gone with a polite, ‘Well enough.’

  And yet, just for a moment when he’d greeted her at the airport, she’d thought she’d sensed something in his eyes, something in the way he’d looked at her, something that had made her breath stop in her chest. She must have been mistaken. Maybe she was looking for things that weren’t there. Maybe he just had a healthy dose of jet lag.

  The plane dipped low over the coast as it descended and Opal gazed down at the islands dotting the sea, vibrant green foliage framed in white sand, some with coral reefs around azure atolls, and all surrounded by a sea of such intense blue, the whole picture one of vivid natural beauty.

  When they landed in Cairns Opal expected them to make their way to the cars waiting outside, but Domenic took her arm instead, steering her around the tarmac and towards a helicopter parked at the adjacent helipad.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked over the whine of jet engines, the warm air rich with aviation fuel. ‘I assumed we were heading for Silvers Cairns hotel.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not today. I thought it was time we checked out the competition. Hop in,’ he instructed.

  A few moments later they were rising above the airport, rotors deafeningly thu
mping in spite of her earphones, so she abandoned any attempts at conversation, content to take in the view. The helicopter sliced through the warm tropical sky, carrying them down the coast. There were several resort islands along the coast, she knew, but just where Domenic was taking her remained a mystery.

  In a way it was exciting, she thought, to be spirited away, transported in the modern equivalent of his steed to a secret tropical paradise by a handsome man. It was the stuff fairy tales were made of.

  But this was no fairy tale.

  She stole a glance at Domenic, staring down at the view of the island wonderland below, and felt a pang of regret. If things had been different…

  But what if things had been different? There was no point thinking about how it might be if they’d had a chance to get to know each other before the wedding, no point wondering what life might be like if Domenic could be satisfied with just one woman. The fact remained, if he hadn’t forced her into marrying him, she wouldn’t have. End of story. Happy ever after didn’t enter the equation.

  She sighed and turned her attention back to the view. Things were how they were. She’d known that when she’d agreed, however reluctantly, to this deal. Now she just had to make the best of it.

  His hand took hers and she looked up. He was indicating out of the window to a group of islands, one elongated and larger, heading up a group of eight to ten smaller ones. She knew enough about geography and the Australian accommodation industry to know she was looking down on to the Family Islands. ‘Dunk Island,’ she shouted over the rotor noise.

  His eyebrows rose and he nodded.

  ‘Is that where we’re going?’ she asked, excited at the prospect of time on an island reputed to be one of Queensland’s most beautiful rainforest islands.

  He shook his head. ‘No, just beyond.’ He pointed to a smaller island they were already descending towards. ‘There it is. Bedarra Island.’

  She knew it by reputation. One of the most exclusive hideaway resorts in the country, allowing only a handful of visitors at any one time, tucking them away in luxury villas in private Robinson Crusoe locations. If Domenic seriously wanted to check out the competition, he was starting at the top.

  Minutes later the helicopter landed and they were in another world. Lush tropical rainforest surrounded them, views over the azure sea unimpeded by only the occasional silhouette of a neighbouring island.

  Smiling reception staff greeted them and whisked them off to their accommodation and then faded discreetly away into the vine-latticed undergrowth, allowing them to settle in.

  Opal stood on the timber deck of the Pavilion, one of the most exclusive apartments, drinking in the view of brilliant blue sea, framed by rangy rainforest eucalyptus towering over huge granite boulders that tumbled to the powdery sand beach of Wedgerock Bay below.

  The apartment itself was magnificent, large open plan rooms featuring polished timber floors and slatted roofs, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, and all wrapped around the pièce de résistance, the decadent turquoise-tiled plunge pool set into the deck overlooking the bay. A row of jets spouted low into the water, creating its very own waterfall, and the sound, along with the rustle and sway of the bush in the gentle spring air, was mesmerising.

  It was paradise.

  And it was the perfect place to be seduced. She had to hand it to him; he wasn’t taking any chances this time. The trouble was, it was hard not to fall victim to the spell this place was weaving. Between the luxurious apartment, the tropical outlook and the slip of gentle waves on the shoreline below, the island spoke romance.

  He came up behind her and she braced herself, wondering whether he would expect her to fall immediately into the king-sized bed with him. But instead he stood alongside her, not touching, looking out over the view, his hands on the railing.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked without taking his eyes off the view in front of him.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said honestly. ‘The island is a total escape and the apartment—it’s just superb.’

  ‘Good,’ he said with a smile, his teeth flashing as he turned to her. ‘I’d hate to subject you to any five-star mediocrity.’ His smile broadened and she laughed out loud, amazed at her own bravado and even more amazed that he’d remembered something she’d said the first time they’d met. It seemed so long ago now. ‘How about a walk along the beach before dinner?’

  She looked up at him, still smiling. ‘That would be nice.’

  Quickly she discarded her jacket and changed her trousers and sandals for some light chino cut-offs and slip-ons, joining him back on the deck. Then they walked along the track, until they came to the path to the bay. They met no one else, but then, with a hotel capacity of only sixteen apartments, guests were scarcer than the scrub turkeys that scurried through the undergrowth. They could have had the island to themselves.

  The palm-fringed beach welcomed them, and they strolled from point to point of the small bay, its ivory sand stark white against the aqua-blue water lapping its edge, the line of darker blue water beyond the bay. Sails of a beached catamaran flapped listlessly, as if even sailing was too much effort on such a day.

  They talked a little but for the most part they were quiet, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

  And not once did Domenic try to touch her. Opal found herself wondering why. It was obvious they had not come all this way to simply admire the view, and after more than a week of thinking and dreaming about him when she should have been sleeping Opal had been mentally prepared for a more conspicuous assault.

  But this slow manipulation of her senses…

  By the time they’d ambled back to the Pavilion, the sun was starting to slip away and a valet arrived with a delivery of ice and a plate of canapés.

  Opal accepted the glass of Bollinger he offered her without question. It was a celebration of sorts after all. A celebration of some kind of truce between them, at least for this day.

  They clinked glasses and for a moment their fingers brushed and she shivered, his touch accelerating both her heartbeat and her desire.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  Far from it. She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Hungry, then?’

  A lot! ‘Mmm,’ she murmured as she sipped her wine. ‘A little.’

  ‘Then you should eat.’

  But it wasn’t food she wanted. Not with Domenic standing alongside, dark hair ruffled by the breeze, his white casual linen shirt undone at the neck, exposing a tantalising patch of tanned skin, and with his chinos still rolled up at the cuff from their walk along the sand, looking more like a pirate right now than a billionaire.

  Right at this moment, in the balmy tropical evening, with the tree-tops swaying and the mellifluous sound of the water spouting into the pool alongside, only Domenic could fill the cravings she felt.

  Dinner meant the restaurant—other people—and maybe more delay of an hour or two before they could be alone again. Before they could resume where they’d left off on their wedding night. Could she stand such torture?

  ‘Domenic,’ she said softly, lifting her eyes to his and hoping she wasn’t making a complete fool of herself, ‘would you kiss me?’

  Chapter 9

  The evening was closing fast, the way it did in the tropics, but from the light cast from the lamp over the bar he could see the colours mix and change in her eyes. She had such beautiful eyes, so expressive, and they looked up at him, expectant, hopeful. The shyness was still there but it was edged with something else, something that flared warm and real.

  He’d brought her here to take her, to stamp his claim on her and make her his wife in body as in name. That had been his plan. But after seeing her at the airport he’d again seen that inherent vulnerability, the quiet insecurity that peeled years from her. And before they’d boarded the flight, he’d changed his mind. They had four nights here before they were due back in Sydney. He would take his time and do it right. By the time they returned she would be his, and unmistakab
ly so, his seed planted deep inside.

  So he’d held off, avoiding all contact with her where he could, keeping things civil, pleasant and companionable. For her, then, to make the first move was more than a pleasant surprise.

  ‘That is, if it’s not too much trouble,’ she said, turning her gaze down over the darkening sea.

  ‘It is never too much trouble,’ he said, removing her glass from her hand and placing both on the side-table near by, ‘to kiss a beautiful woman.’

  He shifted her body away from the railing and tilted her chin with one hand. With the other he followed the line of her jaw to her hair where he plucked free the clip holding her hair, so that it unwound, falling in feathery wisps around her shoulders and face.

  Her lips, slightly parted, waited for him, her eyes wide and watchful.

  He groaned, deep inside, on a breath that started and ended on her name. His lips moved to meet hers and his hands pulled her closer, until their mouths meshed, warm and wanting. She tasted sweet, laced with a hint of champagne, and as her mouth moved under his she tasted of all the contradictions she was, so sure of herself one minute, so shy and innocent the next.

  She matched his moves, her tongue following his lead, dancing to his tune. When his tongue traced the line of her teeth, hers followed suit, almost as if she was copying. Almost as if she was learning. Had her previous lovers been so inadequate? Is that why she was so reserved?

  He would change that. He would make up for their failings. He could teach her all she needed to know and still she would beg for more.

  She sighed in his mouth as he changed angle and he felt her hands clutching the shirt at his back, jamming her breasts in tight to his chest. Her breasts. He remembered their feel, their weight, smooth and pert under the shower, and he wanted them again.

  On a ragged breath he drew back, releasing her only long enough to take her hand. ‘It’s time,’ he said, before leading her into the bedroom.

  And she let him undress her then, in the room with the walls of glass and with only the trees to witness, whispering secrets through their branches, rustling the music of the rainforest. And as each item departed her senses heightened, until she was naked before him, nerves and desire at fever pitch. He kissed her once, very softly, at odds with the swirling passion she witnessed in his eyes, before he shed his own clothes and eased her down on the bed.