Billionaire Brides: An Anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  She winced.

  “Were you badly hurt?” Her fingertips ached to reach across the table and drag over the scar, over his chest, over him.

  “It was a deep cut.”

  “And was he grounded?” She couldn’t resist teasing.

  “We both were. Yaya had told us not to play outside – it was dark and she knew what we were like.”

  “She must be a strong woman to have raised so many children. So many boys.”

  Something flicked in his expression for a moment. “She had a daughter, as well.”

  “Oh. I thought you said ‘brothers’.”

  “Mmm. My aunt and grandparents didn’t see eye to eye. She left home at sixteen and was never welcome back.”

  “Talk about Shakespearean-level drama,” Maddie said on a small sound of surprise. “Do you speak to her?”

  “Unfortunately, my aunt passed away a few years ago.”

  “And no one in your family had ever reconnected to her?”

  “No.” His expression was tight. There was true regret on his face and she had no way of easing it, because she couldn’t imagine that kind of feud tearing through a family.

  “She must have done something terrible, to be exiled from your family like that.”

  “She fell in love,” Nico offered, but there was cynicism in his voice, a cynicism she understood, given her latest experience with relationships. “With a man my grandparents didn’t approve of. She married him, and they cut her off.”

  Maddie shivered, the brutal coldness of that moving inside of her. Then again, perhaps there was something reassuring about coldness, about the capacity to act in opposition to feeling. Was it insurance against being hurt? A way to inure your heart against whatever life may throw at it? Maddie closed her eyes and imagined that for a moment – imagined being able to be cold and certain, instead of feeling everything so deeply, but it ran contrary to all her usual instincts.

  She looked at Nico, an unconscious frown tugging at her lips. Because Nico wasn’t cold either. He had been black and white about what he wanted from her, but in a way that was reassuring, especially after Michael, who’d made deception an art form. But beneath that was a passion and warmth that was burning her in the nicest way possible.

  The waiter reappeared and Maddie placed her order in halting Italian.

  “Your accent is excellent,” Nico complimented seriously, when they were alone again.

  “Thank you.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “I spend a lot of time eavesdropping in local cafes so it should be.”

  His brows lifted. “Writer slash spy?”

  “Absolutely. Just waiting to earn my double ‘0’.”

  He grinned. “Well, you did a pretty good job of sneaking up on my place the other day.”

  “I did not sneak!” Mock indignation coloured her voice. “The place was wide open.” She sipped her sparkling water. “I’m surprised by that, to be honest.”

  He was quiet so she elaborated. “I mean, you’re filthy rich, remember?”

  At that, he laughed. “What’s your point?”

  “That you must be a target for…I don’t know. Kidnapping?”

  “You think anyone could kidnap me?” His tone was sceptical.

  She dragged her gaze over his figure, all six and a half feet of spectacularly muscled him, and shook her head. “I suppose not.” Her bangles made a wind chime noise as she moved her hands around. “But you know what I mean. I would have thought you’d have bodyguard upon bodyguard.”

  “I have some security measures.” Something shifted in his expression and she understood it. He wished he didn’t need to. He wasn’t a man who willingly submitted to anyone’s protection. “A few guards who do regular perimeter checks of my place here, and state of the art security monitoring systems at my other homes.”

  “Other homes? Where else do you live?” She leaned in, propping her elbows on the table top and watching him from wide eyes. “I spend a lot of time in Rome, but I oversee our North American operations which requires me to travel to New York frequently. Then there’s Aspen, London, Paris, Doha.”

  Her smile was one of disbelief. “You must feel discombobulated a lot of the time.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Every house is set up to be almost identical. Same clothes, crockery, similar layout. It helps.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess because I’m a home body.”

  “A home body?”

  “You know, I’m at my happiest when I’m at home.”

  “Ah. And yet you’re here?”

  It was the wrong thing for him to say, because it brought her sharply back to her reasons for escaping to Italy, for escaping her home.

  “Here is home, for now.” She turned to look out towards the sea, thinking of England, of London, of the flat where Michael had lived, and she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else. Nor did she want to be with anyone else – for the moment, sitting in a cave with Nico Montebello was Maddie’s idea of bliss.

  Chapter 6

  “NOW YOU’RE JUST SHOWING off.” She arched a brow as she turned to look at Nico, but her mouth went dry at the sheer sight of him. He was wearing a pair of pale blue board shorts, and nothing else. Beyond him, the Mediterranean sparkled almost the exact same shade of blue, and the depth of his tan was in stark contrast to the gleaming white of his yacht.

  “You don’t like it?” He walked towards her with a slow, sensual purpose and her pulse began to race.

  “On the contrary, I think I could get used to this.” She lifted her arms above her head, her cheeks glowing pink at the way his eyes dropped to survey her body. She was wearing a simple, flowing dress, crisp white, but that didn’t stop his possessive, obsessive inspection. “But who wouldn’t?” She added, shrugging her shoulders as she dropped her arms. He brought his body directly in front of hers and heat flared in her belly.

  It was a week since they’d shared dinner at the waterfront cave and she’d truly thought that night was the last word in sublime perfection. That was before they’d gone back to her place on his motorbike, before they’d made love all night only this time, he’d still been there in the morning so they’d shared a long, slow breakfast and revelled in one another’s bodies until the early evening when he’d left, explaining that he had to go to Rome for a few days and would be back soon.

  She didn’t want to admit how tempting it had been to think of him while he was gone – nor how often her mind did actually stray to him. She hadn’t come to Ondechiara to lose her head to some other guy, no matter how gorgeous and great in bed he happened to be. Nico was good fun, but that was all.

  She propped her elbows on the railing of the boat, looking back to the Italian coastline. “It really is so beautiful.”

  “Yes,” but she felt his eyes on her and her skin flushed warm. “I look forward to coming here.”

  “Do you ever think of moving?”

  “To live permanently in Ondechiara?”

  She nodded.

  “Sometimes,” he lifted his shoulders and his whole body rippled. “It’s not particularly practical. My business is in Rome, my family too.”

  “Do you see much of them?”

  He nodded. “We generally dine together once a week, at Villa Fortune – the home we grew up in.” He pronounced it in the Italian fashion, ‘fortun-eh’. “Yaya expects it of us and –,” a frown marred his handsome face.

  She pressed a hand to his forearm. “And?”

  “You know.” He cleared his throat. “She’s getting older,” his lips were grim. “I think it is likely she won’t be with us much longer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He dipped his head in silent acknowledgement of her sympathy. “I went to school in England.” The words came out of nowhere but they brought her back to reality with an almighty bang.

  “Did you?” It was strangled, because Maddie wasn’t naturally given to deception a
nd concealing the fact she knew exactly where he went to school went against her every instinct.

  “Mmm. Dugard, and then Gramercy,” he named the prestigious school Michael had won a scholarship to attend and despite the warmth of the day she felt ice trickle down her spine.

  “I liked it. I loved it, in fact. But always I had a yearning in here,” he tapped his chest, “to come back to Italy.” His smile showed he had no concept of the bead of anxiety that was trembling through her central nervous system.

  She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

  “I suppose you feel the same about your home given that you are a self-professed home-body?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I miss it, but…”

  Her words trailed off into nothing. She felt the heat of his scrutiny on her profile, but continued looking out at the view.

  “But?”

  “I just needed a break.”

  “From anything in particular?”

  Her eyes jerked to his. It was as though he had some kind of hotline into her thoughts. She opened her mouth to say something but he spoke first.

  “Let me guess? The bad break up?”

  She bit down on her lower lip. She didn’t need to talk about Michael to be honest with Nico. She could keep things vague. But her heart began to hammer because keeping things secret had been her modus operandi for such a long time, it was a hard habit to break.

  She nodded slowly.

  “That bad, huh?”

  She nodded again.

  “Want to talk about it?” She angled her face to his to find him watching her and her heart turned over in her chest. She shook her head.

  “You sure?”

  She swallowed to bring moisture back to her mouth. “It’s hard.”

  “Relationship crap often is.”

  That was interesting – interesting enough to distract her. “Speaking from experience?”

  His smile was tight. “Naturally. You don’t get to be my age without having some experience of heartbreak and dashed expectations.” He wiggled his thick, dark brows. “Which is why I’m volunteering myself as a willing shoulder to cry on.”

  “Well, they are very nice shoulders,” she quipped, deliberately lightening the tone of their conversation.

  He let the subject go, coming to stand behind her, wrapping one arm around her torso and using the other to gesture to the coastline. “Can you see the caves?”

  She followed the direction of his hand, nodding, and he dropped his lips, buzzing them over her shoulder so her knees began to pulse. “They look so small from here.”

  “Hard to believe they’re the entrance to such an elaborate network.”

  “Yeah.”

  His fingertips traced her shoulder and the buzzing in her knees spread through her whole body.

  “How’s your book going?”

  The question surprised her. Michael never asked about her work. Then again, she had to stop comparing the two. They were apples and oranges, despite the fact they had been close at school.

  “Slowly.” She spun in the circle of his arms, bringing them toe-to-toe. Desire flashed through her central nervous system. “Apparently, I’m a bit distracted.”

  He laughed. “Now, that’s not fair. I haven’t seen you for days.” He pressed a light kiss to the tip of her nose.

  “Maybe your absence was more distracting than your presence would have been?”

  He laughed, a husky sound that curled around her. “Forse.” His eyes held hers as his fingers moved to the straps of her dress, pushing them down a little. Her skin lifted with goose bumps, despite the warmth of the day.

  “How would you feel about a swim?”

  She looked over her shoulder. The water was so clear she could see fish swimming beneath them. “I didn’t bring any bathers.”

  “I did.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Preparation is my middle name.” He let one of the straps of her dress drop completely so the fabric slipped down on her breast. His voice was gravelled. “I enjoyed choosing something out for you.”

  “Wear the orange one. The black makes you look like you have the arse of an eighty four year old.” She shuddered, pushing the memories of Michael firmly aside, smiling brightly.

  This was a thoughtful gesture. Nico had foreseen an opportunity for them to swim and he’d catered to her needs when she’d been too pent up about seeing him to think clearly.

  “Where are they? I’ll go get changed.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not without me, you won’t.” And then he swooped down and lifted her up, cradling her against his chest so she laughed at the unexpectedness of it all, and Michael was just a balloon, far, far away, high in the sky, floating further and further away with every warm moment she shared with Nico.

  The yacht was, naturally, the next word in luxury. Enormous but somehow sleek at the same time. With crisp white detailing, she’d gleaned that it boasted seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a kitchen a gourmet chef would admire and several lounge and entertaining spaces. He shouldered the door of one bedroom open. A king size bed was at the centre. He eased her to her feet, and when his eyes met hers, it was like being sparked with a thousand volts of electricity.

  “First, we need to get you undressed,” he said, mock-seriously.

  “Absolutely.”

  His hands moved to the bottom of her dress now, his eyes on hers as he lifted it up her body, his fingertips grazing her soft flesh as he went. She lifted her arms overhead and as he passed the dress above her hair he kissed her, as though he couldn’t help it, as though his mouth was somehow magnetically drawn to hers.

  She hadn’t worn a bra and he made short work of her underpants, sliding them down her legs without breaking their kiss; she stepped out of them to complete the removal. His tongue plundered her mouth and his hands moved between her legs, spreading them wider so he could brush his fingertip over her sex, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

  Her pulse was bursting through her body way too fast, so fast surely her veins would collapse under the tsunami of blood. But she tilted her head back and begged him not to stop because she couldn’t bear it if he did. He moved his finger over her most sensitive cluster of nerves until she was flying high in the skies and then he dropped to his knees, pulling his hand away only so his mouth could take its place, his tongue worshipping her most private flesh, his mouth heaven-sent.

  She ran her fingers through his hair and stood in the middle of the bedroom, trying not to faint from pleasure, trying not to cry because it was so exactly what she needed to feel that there was something wrenching about it, too.

  “You’re so good at this,” the words were strangled from her.

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was driving her over the edge and she tilted there willingly, crying his name into the room with shattering urgency as her body seemed to break apart at the seams until there was nothing left.

  She kept her fingers in his hair, almost essential for balance, as her breathing slowed and then she released her grip so he looked up at her, his smile showing that he knew exactly what he could do to her and loving it.

  But she didn’t care. This wasn’t a competition of egos. His ability to pleasure her – no, his desire to pleasure her – was a gift, and she wasn’t going to miss a single opportunity to feel like this during the time they had together. She knew it wasn’t ‘real life’. That was waiting for her back in England, one day. This was a slice out of time, a little bubble of unreality, and she was going to enjoy it.

  He stood, the proof of his own arousal evident through the cotton fabric of his board shorts, so she reached for him, drawing his body close to hers, pressing his cock to her stomach and shifting her hips in a silent invitation.

  “Where did you come from?” He murmured, lifting his hands and cupping her face, his eyes boring down into hers.

  “Putney.”

  He laughed, the quip dipping into the sensual spell that had wound arou
nd them. “Of course. A south Londoner.”

  “Through and through,” she grinned, sliding her hands into the elastic of his shorts, cupping his rear, so she saw his expression shift, a sharp burst of need filling his face.

  “I have a friend who lives in Putney. Maybe I should look you up next time I’m there.”

  Both froze. The words were completely unexpected. It wasn’t what they’d agreed to, but more than that, he was referring to Michael. Of course he was – who else? Perhaps he knew someone else who lived in the small borough of London, but wasn’t that against the odds? Her stomach looped, and she pulled away from him jerkily, moving towards the bed and bracing her hand on the edge of it.

  “I was joking.” His voice was cool, his tone impossible to comprehend. “That’s not what either of us wants.”

  She understood. He was worried because it sounded as though he was offering more than a brief summer fling and he’d made it clear that wasn’t on the cards. But she couldn’t feel anything except panic. It flooded her from top to toe. He was still in contact with Michael? ‘Maybe I should look you up next time I’m there’ didn’t sound as though they rarely saw one another. She expelled a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. Guilt was perforating her soul.

  Sleeping with Nico when she believed him to be someone Michael had once known was one thing. But if they were still in contact? Friends? The whole time she’d been with Michael, he’d only mentioned Nico that one time. They’d certainly never seen each other – not that she’d known of, anyway.

  But it was a stark reminder that she was playing with fire, only it wasn’t just her who stood to get burned. She hated Michael – amazing that what had started with the possibility of love had morphed into deep, wretched hatred – but she liked Nico, and for his sake, she didn’t particularly want to become a wedge in their friendship. Not when she and Nico had both agreed this meant nothing.