Marrying Her Enemy & Stolen by the Desert King

by Clare Connelly

  His dark eyes narrowed. “No. It would be very, very good. Except that anyone might come out and see us.” That, and the fact that she deserved better. He reached behind her and found the top of her zip. He eased it down, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Let me show you what I mean.” He lowered the dress, just low enough so that her breasts spilled over the top.

  He couldn’t resist cupping them in their naked splendour. He took each in the palm of his hands, feeling them, relishing their weight and shape. Then, he took one nipple into his mouth. She bucked against him in surprise and pleasure, but he didn’t stop. He rolled the aureole in his mouth until she was finding breathing difficult. His fingers toyed with the other, circling it, squeezing, teasing.

  “Luca,” she cried out, as waves of pleasure began to tear through her. “Luca!”

  He nodded. “I understand.” He transferred his mouth to her other nipple. Rosie gripped his lapels in her fists, moaning as she felt her pleasure build and build.

  Finally, Luca lifted his head, pressing his forehead to hers. “I want to take all night to pleasure your body, Rosie. Not a hurried session on a public balcony, while you have a date inside nursing your drink.”

  “Oh.” His words were simply honest, but Rosie sensed there was a cruel edge to them. She blinked, confusion swamping her. “I… Oh.”

  Luca cursed. “I do not mean to sound abrupt. The problem is, I’m fighting my own nature too. I want you. Very much. But I suspect you’ll never forgive yourself, or me, if I don’t take control of the situation. If we do what we both want, you’ll blame me.”

  She nodded. He was right. Completely right. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’ll go back inside to my date and that drink.”

  He swore again. “Don’t. Don’t be angry.” Gently, he pulled her dress, lifting it back into position. She was shivering, but he suspected it wasn’t from the cold.

  “I don’t know what came over me.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m not myself at the moment.”

  “Why not?” He reached behind her and eased the zipper back up, then placed his jacket back around her shoulders.

  The truth was, she’d felt more like herself in the last half hour than she had in a month. “My dad just died,” she blurted, feeling guilty at using her father’s death as an excuse now. “I’m behaving strangely.”

  Luca had no real point of reference. His own parents had abandoned him as a child. He’d gone from foster home to foster home, until he’d been accepted on a scholarship to the prestigious Swiss school he’d attended. The same school where he’d met Davies, and cast the dye for the rest of his life. “Were you close?”

  She nodded, not bothering to hide the tears. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, then.”

  She frowned. “That’s a funny thing to say. Would it be less sad if we weren’t close?”

  When Luca had made his fortune, many years earlier, he’d decided to discover the truth of his parentage. Far from being the destitute unfortunates he’d always imagined, he discovered that his parents were extremely wealthy. His father owned a large construction company that had been his father’s before him. It was a legacy business. One that Luca had instantly set his sights on purchasing. It was a move that was almost finalised. And, when he had the company in his portfolio, he would know he had truly avenged his parents for deserting him. He would buy his own legacy, and throw the truth back in his father’s face, when the time was right.

  “Of course. Or at least, I imagine so. Losing a parent is the natural order of life, bella. It is something you must have been prepared for.”

  She shook her head. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say. The inevitability of something makes it no less traumatic to endure.”

  “I’m not so certain. Parents losing children is a greater tragedy, no?”

  “I’m not going to debate the sliding scale of grief with you!” She said crossly.

  “I did not mean to offend you. I was saying that it is possible to lose a parent and not feel completely grief-stricken, that is all.”

  She shook her head. “Are you actually saying that I shouldn’t be feeling sad that my father has just died?”

  “No, of course not. Because you were close to him. As though you were friends, too. That is difficult.”

  Rosie ran a hand through her tousled hair. “I assume you’re not close to your parents, then.”

  “Your assumption is correct. I never knew them.”

  “Oh!” All thoughts of her own grief evaporated. “I’m so sorry, Luca. What happened?”

  He rarely spoke of his birth parents. But then again, Rosie seemed like a woman he would enjoy many firsts with. “They did not want me.”

  It had taken him many years to condense the story of his childhood into one concise, emotionally barren statement. They hadn’t wanted him. Nobody had. Only now, with billions of pounds in the bank, did he find that he was suddenly irresistible to all he met.

  Rosie’s face almost broke his heart. It was so sympathetic. So apologetic. “I’m very sorry.”

  “Di niente.” He murmured. “Their desertion helped turn me into who I am today. And I am happy with that.”

  “I see.” She nodded, but an odd emptiness was gaping inside of her. She felt sadness for herself, and an even greater sadness for him. The bond she felt with this man was strengthening every second. “Luca?”

  He looked down at her, and felt an odd twist in his gut. “Si, bella?”

  “I think… maybe we should go somewhere after all.”

  Surprise and relief flashed in him. He was no fool. She was offering herself to him, and he was not going to refuse.

  “Yes. Let’s.”

  He held a hand out to her and she slid hers into it. Briefly, she wondered if she’d become a completely different person. But then, she looked at his face, locked her eyes with his, and smiled.

  “I just have to let Connor know.”

  Luca nodded swiftly. “My car will be waiting downstairs.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a chaste kiss against the soft flesh of her inner wrist. “Hurry, bella Rosie.”

  She nodded, her throat too constricted with emotion to speak. Rosie walked along the balcony and slipped inside just as the rain reached them. It began to fall, hard and fast, slanting in to the undercover space. Luca slowly prowled towards the edge. He tilted his head upwards, staring straight into the storm. Rain pelted down on his face, but he revelled in the sensation. He was a man of the elements. A creature of passion. And he was about to indulge his favourite passion of all, with a woman he imagined would be his perfect sensual match.

  “Connor.” Rosie felt her cheeks suffuse with color even though Connor could have no possible way of knowing what she’d just been doing. “I’m sorry, something’s come up. I have to go.”

  He paused, mid way through passing her drink to her. “Where the heck have you been, Rosie? I hate coming to these things alone. I might as well have done, though, for all that I’ve seen you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a small smile. “The truth is, Con, I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation. I think of you as a friend, and I wouldn’t want to lead you on.”

  “Lead me on? Come on, Rosie! You and I are both just having fun. Don’t act like you’re breaking my heart or anything. I’m just peeved that I’ve been walking around like a loner for the last half hour.”

  “I know. Like I said, I’m sorry.” She smiled at him kindly. “I have to go now.”

  She walked off without a backwards glance. All she could think of was Luca, and the way he made her feel…

  Chapter 3

  “You live here?” She squeaked, stopping dead in the middle of his Canary Wharf penthouse.

  “I spend time here, yes.”

  “Oh.” She blanched a little.

  “Is this a problem?” He asked, frowning slightly as he scanned her face. It was an unusual reaction.

  She had thought he did
n’t belong to that rarefied world either. Now, as she took a moment to survey the completely opulent furnishings, the sheer size and scale of the place, and the views over the city and beyond, she felt uncertain. “Not a problem, no.” She licked her top lip again. Did it matter? He had been at a top gala opening. He was wearing an obviously costly suit. And he exuded power and confidence. Why was she so surprised to discover now that he was filthy rich?

  “Come.” He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her deeper into the penthouse. He’d bought the place several years earlier, and had grown accustomed to it. Rosie, on the other hand, lived in the flat above her shop. While the area was lovely – on Kings Road in Chelsea, with views of Battersea Bridge – the flat was teeny tiny. Her furnishings were eclectic and stylishly arranged, but they bore excellent witness to the fact most of her earnings had been poured back into the business.

  “Who are you, again?” She asked, at last realising that she’d been naïve to believe they were truly kindred spirits after all.

  “Luca Abramo, I told you.”

  “Abramo.” The name was familiar to her, but she couldn’t think why. “Why do I know that name?”

  He laughed with genuine surprise. “You do not know who I am?”

  Rosie flushed to the roots of her hair. “Should I?” She asked defensively.

  “Do you not read the business pages of the newspaper?”

  Rosie didn’t like feeling like an idiot. She squared her shoulders and fixed him with a cool gaze. “No. I don’t.”

  “I see.” He softened his tone. “I am a financier. A businessman.”

  “A very good one, I imagine,” she remarked with a droll smile.

  “Yes.” He did not need false modesty. His bank balance and portfolio of companies spoke for itself. If she entered his name into a search engine, she’d see for herself that he had walked a path paved with success for a long time. “You are disappointed,” he guessed.

  “No!” She lifted her eyes to his, and shrugged. “I just thought you were … normal.” Had she? Not really. Normal wasn’t a word that could be applied to this man, regardless of his profession or income. “More like me.”

  “And what are you like, Rosie?” He squeezed her hand and pulled her to his leather sofa. He sat, but when she would have taken the seat beside him, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her gently to his lap.

  She toyed with her fingers. He disliked the fact that she was nervous. She was too beautiful for uncertainty, too sweet for nerves, too kind for discomfort.

  “I’m a florist,” she said with a shrug.

  “A florist?” It was perfect. The perfect vocation for a woman literally blooming with vibrancy and beauty.

  “Uh huh. My best friend and I have a little shop in Chelsea. It’s called The Darling Buds of May Café. She does the food; I do the flowers.”

  He grinned, but his hands were on her legs, wanting to touch her skin. “So you are a business woman.”

  “If you applied the term very loosely, then yes, you could say that. Though Maggie does the books. I’ve got no head for figures.”

  Luca had a head for figures. Or one figure in particular. “How long have you had the shop?”

  “A few years.”

  “Do you like it?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I love it. Ever since I was a girl, I was obsessed with flowers. I used to wander our gardens endlessly, until Nanny was quite beside herself. But I wouldn’t come in until I had a full basket of stems, ready to arrange.”

  “Nanny?”

  She nodded. “Oh. Yes. For a while, I was raised by a nanny.” She swallowed. The past was painful for Rosie to discuss.

  “Not your parents?” He probed, despite her obvious hesitation.

  Rosie took in a deep breath for strength. “My father worked a lot. My mother didn’t see herself as the stay home and play hide and seek type of parent. So I had a nanny. A wonderful woman named Eleanor, who would tell me stories of faraway kingdoms and magical beings, until my dreams took over.” She sighed.

  “What happened to Eleanor?”

  “Nothing. She’s still working as a nanny, though she’s older now. She must be in her sixties.” Rosie shrugged. “It’s not a very happy story, to be honest.”

  Luca pressed a kiss against her temple. “I want to hear it, though, if you do not mind telling me.”

  Rosie lifted her fingers and held them lightly against the skin on her head. It tingled, where his lips had been. “Settle for the abridged version?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, to reassure herself. “My dad was very successful. He inherited a business from his uncle, and he built it into something really great. But he lost it. I don’t know the details. I was only nine. Mum left him shortly after he declared bankruptcy. He lost the house, the company, his wife.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “But he never once let me know how worried he was. Only now, as an adult, can I appreciate what that whole experience must have been like for him.”

  Luca felt his heart squeeze in sympathy for this woman. “And your mother?”

  “Re-married, living in France. I saw her once afterwards, but not again. I couldn’t handle it. Seeing her with a new husband, step-children. She left dad, and she left me.” Rosie sucked in a deep breath. “So when you asked if we were close, the answer is yes. He was all I had, and I was all he had. Now I have no one.”

  Luca wasn’t prone to emotionalism, but he felt emotional now. He felt pained and angry, and desperately frustrated that he couldn’t do something to ease her pain.

  Then, he remembered he could.

  It was not a permanent solution, but it would certainly serve as a balm to her hurt for now. And it was all he could offer.

  Luca shifted, so that Rosie fell backwards onto the sofa. Before she could react, he kissed her. And with his mouth, he tried to say what his words could not. That he wanted everything to be okay. That he was sorry she was hurting. Rosie arched her back, lifting her pelvis against his straining erection. Suddenly, he was very conscious that they were wearing too many clothes. He pushed his jacket off in haste and then unbuttoned his shirt. He had never undressed so quickly. Each piece of clothing he shed was bringing him closer and closer to possessing Rosie, and it was all that mattered to him now.

  “Come here.” He stood up, and held his hands out. She placed hers in them, and he pulled, so that she came to stand against him. “Turn.”

  She spun around to place her back to him. He slid her zipper down, all the way now, and parted the dress unceremoniously. It slipped down her figure and fell at her feet. She stepped out of it, still wearing the sky-high heels he had noticed earlier in the night. She wore no bra, a pleasing discovery he had already made. But her underpants were enough to drive him wild. “Would you walk to that wall, please?” He said, his words thick with desire.

  Rosie did as he said, any self-consciousness she might have ordinarily felt completely absent in the presence of Luca Abramo. It was a very scant thong, made of white lace. It was high cut, and at the back, it literally formed a ‘T’, so that her bottom was completely visible to him.

  He groaned, as she walked with effortless elegance across the room, on stilettos and in that underwear. “You are an angel,” he said with a shake of his head. His smile was so filled with sensual promise that her stomach did a backflip.

  Rosie walked back to him slowly. “In the interest of honesty, I should tell you that the rest of my underwear is depressingly grandmotherly in nature.”

  He laughed. “I find it hard to believe.”

  She grinned. “This is the only pair that goes with that dress.”

  He didn’t want her to feel guilty. After all, she was there, with him. In his home, about to be in his bed. But surely the only reason a woman cared if her underwear matched her dress was if she intended it to be seen. “And did you make this selection with anyone particular in mind?”

  “Huh?” She frowned a
s comprehension dawned. “No! You misunderstood. The dress is too tight for any of my other, um, stuff. I don’t like the look of visible lines beneath dresses. I think it’s cheap and tacky. I certainly didn’t think I’d be spending the night with a man.”

  “I see.” Relief, sharp and strong, surged through him. “I’m inexplicably glad.”

  Was he jealous? If so, she was somewhat pleased with that. “I don’t do this kind of thing often.” Ever, she qualified silently.

  “Good.” He pulled her close, so close to what they both wanted. “Are you on contraception, Rosie?”

  She blushed. “Yes.” He was completely naked and she was practically naked. They were about to make love. And yet his bald question had made her coy.

  “Excellent.”

  Rosie couldn’t shake the uncertainty now. It was out of character in the extreme for her to be in a strange man’s home. And even stranger was the fact that it didn’t feel wrong. But that, in and of itself, worried her.

  Sensing her mood, he walked slowly to the table by the door and picked up his iPhone. She watched while he swiped the screen and then tapped a button. The very mellow, beautiful sounds of Rodriguez filled the space. “I love this album,” she said on a sigh.

  He arched a brow. “Really?”

  “Yes! My dad was a huge fan, way back when. I grew up listening to his scratchy old record. How did you know?”

  “A coincidence,” he promised, thinking back to how he’d first been introduced to the artist, almost fifteen years earlier. It had been the first time he’d heard it – also on record – and it had touched him. The raw, vulnerable, slightly acerbic tone to the songs, set to mellow guitar. It had been a perfect combination for a man like him.

  “Dance with me?” She asked, the familiar music giving her a burst of confidence.

  He didn’t speak. Silently, he walked back across the room, completely uncaring that he was utterly naked. And why would he? With a body like that, he could be at home anywhere.

  He put his hands around her waist and pulled her close. His skin was warm, and smooth, except for a smattering of hairs on his sculpted chest. He began to strum his thumbs up and down her back, chasing the grooves of her spine in time to the music.