The Medici Mistress: Nothing and no one would stop him from having her.

by Connelly, Clare

  She arched a perfectly shaped brow derisively. “No, thank you. Where are we going?”

  With a small smile, Niko named one of the most exclusive restaurants in London.

  “I’ll go and change, then,” she said tersely.

  Five minutes later, she had tossed on an outfit she’d worn loads of times, but suddenly felt strange in. It was a black jersey tube dress that hugged her figure from breasts to knees, and was cut away at the shoulders. She’d always loved it, but now it felt too revealing. Too sexy. The tension throbbing between them didn’t need any encouragement, and wearing something like this was going to send all the wrong signals.

  “Bianca, the car is ready,” he said from beyond the doorway and she startled.

  She slipped into a pair of heels and wrapped a turquoise scarf loosely around her neck. Her blonde hair she left loose around her shoulders. When she yanked open the door a minute later, she deliberately avoided catching Niko’s eye, so she didn’t see the way his expression changed. For the quickest of moments, he felt like she’d opened the door to the past. Everything about her was the same, and it had evoked in him a memory of the fierce, all-consuming love he’d once felt. Her delicate fragrance, silky hair, smooth skin and bewitching eyes… she was as alluring as ever. A fact that many men had appreciated, he forced himself to remember.

  Which didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the way her pert rear wiggled as she walked down the stairs in front of him. He felt his groin strain at his pants. It was an unwelcome reminder that when it came to his relationship with Bianca, only one thing called the shots, and that ‘thing’ was desire.

  Though the restaurant was crowded, the best table had been reserved for Niko Casacelli. As one of the three famed Casacelli brothers, he had been born into the world with a silver spoon of luxury that most couldn’t even fathom. But through his own business nous and fearful intellect, he’d increased the family fortune and built a real estate empire of his own. His name would open any door, and a single phone call, in Bianca’s experience, would guarantee him anything he decided to ask for.

  Niko Casacelli always got the best.

  But, when it came to the top restaurants in London, he was in the rare position of playing second fiddle to his wife. Bianca Scott-Lee was the darling of the cooking world, and for good reason. Aside from her talents as a chef, she was beautiful, intelligent and funny. Her work ethic had impressed even Niko; when they’d been dating, she had made him wait seventeen Saturdays before finally agreeing to take a night off.

  Although Bianca had spent many nights across the table from this man, she couldn’t think of a damned thing to say now. There was so much she would have told him if the passage of time had been kinder to their relationship. But with so much water under the bridge, what would the point have been? There was no going back for Bianca, and she knew his mind, once made up, was impossible to change.

  Niko watched with veiled amusement as the Maitre d reacted to his wife’s presence. There was a discernible flutter of excitement at having the Bianca Scott-Lee in their presence. “Madam,” he said with a low bow, “What a delight to have you with us. The chef has asked to prepare a special selection of meals for you. Of course, you may order off the menu if you’d prefer.”

  Bianca flicked her pale blue eyes across to Niko. When they were married, she would always have indulged the kitchen. She understood that a chef knew their own menu and cooking style best, and would therefore know the optimal order of dishes to serve. But now, she wasn’t sure she would be able to appreciate the flavors. Her whole body was in a state of such alertness, and every fiber of her being was focused on the magnetic tug of the man opposite.

  “Please allow the chef to choose,” Niko made the decision for her, his eyes scanning her face. He nodded at the maitre d, unintentionally dismissive.

  “You’re still struggling with boundaries, I can see.” She said sharply.

  He leaned forward in his chair, his large frame making her feel small and fragile. “You always liked the degustation option.”

  “I like to make my own decisions.”

  He laughed. “Come on, Bianca. Don’t make drama where there is none. You and I both know you had plenty of autonomy in our marriage. Perhaps too much.”

  “How can you even say that? How can a woman in the twenty first century have too much autonomy?”

  “Your autonomy led you into another man’s arms. Perhaps if I’d kept you on a tighter lead…”

  Her cheeks glowed at his suggestive comment but underlying that, panic swelled in her gut. Again, the temptation to confess everything about Simon filled her, and the truth was on the tip of her tongue, but one look at his cold face changed her mind.

  With a voice that was devoid of life, she said, “What did you want to know when you suggested this dinner?”

  Nik pressed his lips together in frustration. At least when they were sparring, she was real, flesh and blood woman, not hiding behind this veneer of despondence that made him want to shake her.

  “Fill in the last year of your life for me. Perhaps leaving out the sexual conquests. Though we’ve both moved on, I still have a husband’s possessive streak, and I’d rather not imagine you warming the beds of other men.”

  Hurt anger rose through her. “You’re one to talk,” she whispered harshly. “I daresay you’ve hardly been enjoying the life of a monk since we split.”

  “Ah, and there you would be wrong, cara. I am a traditional man. When we married, I took those vows seriously. I have not broken them, and do not intend to, until our divorce is final.”

  To continue reading, please go to Clare Connelly’s Amazon Author Page.