She sat in the front row next to his aunt. They’d flown in earlier that morning from Florence, their arrangements the only aspect of the day Ciro hadn’t let Cesare control. Grief had marked her previously youthful, happy face with lines that would be permanently etched into her skin. She’d been surprised at his sudden intention to marry but too heartsick to ask any questions. Even if his intentions towards Claudia had been genuine, he doubted his mother would have had the emotional energy to invest in the ceremony as anything more than a spectator. There had been mild surprise that Ciro was marrying the daughter of her husband’s childhood nemesis but other than that, nothing. Their father’s lawyer had been correct—their father had kept the sabotage he’d received at the hands of Cesare’s hired thugs to himself. His mother had been unaware of the immense pressure her husband had been put under. Ciro and Vicenzu were of the opinion to never tell her.
When this was done, once Claudia signed the family estate over to him as she’d promised—God, how easy was this? The suggestion had even come from her!—he might consider nominating himself for an acting award.
She’d kept up the naïve, unspoilt, wide-eyed act beautifully too. No doubt she was waiting for his ring on her finger before showing her true nature. She’d been a little too thrilled at his marriage proposal, given after he’d asked her father’s permission. Cesare had pretended to mull it over but Ciro had read the delighted dollar signs in his greedy little eyes. They had both agreed, at Ciro’s suggestion, that a joint business venture should be put on the back burner until after the wedding.
It would be put on the back burner for ever. Only when Vicenzu got the business back for them too would their vengeance be complete. Only then would they confront Cesare and his daughters with the truth and watch the dawning realisation that they’d been played at their own game but that this time the Buscettas had lost.
A sudden buzz permeated the chapel’s air. The bride had arrived.
Exactly on cue the double doors opened and the opera singer expelled the first note of her aria.
Such was his loathing towards Cesare that Ciro’s attention was initially fixed on him, beaming like a fat peacock as he slowly walked his daughter down the aisle.
And then he looked at his bride.
Her face was veiled behind white Sicilian lace held in place by a diamond tiara. Her white dress was the dress of a princess, exactly as her father purported her to be. Heart shaped around the cleavage with small lace sleeves off the shoulder, it puffed out at the waist and formed a train held by her sister and five cute children he didn’t recognise. Cesare had probably paid for them as he’d paid for everything else.
When Claudia reached him and Cesare melted away to take his seat, Ciro lifted the veil. What he found there...
In an instant his mouth ran dry. The pretty woman had transformed into a ravishingly beautiful princess. Truly, breathtakingly beautiful. Those big brown eyes... It was like peering into a vat of melted chocolate. He wanted to dive into it.
Maybe it was because he’d lowered his guard as the plot he’d woven came to fruition but for the first time since he’d met her, the shackles he’d placed on his attraction to her broke free. Desire snaked through his loins and thickened his blood. And all he could do was stare...
Only the non-subtle cough from the priest brought him back to the present.
Their wedding Mass began.
Ciro hardly heard a word of it. He was too busy trying to shake off the strange, unwelcome feelings rippling through him.
This marriage was a sham, he reminded himself.
One day in the distant future, when his thirst to experience life and build an empire had been quenched, he would settle down and marry for real. His future wife would be someone trustworthy, a partner with whom he could raise a brood of babies and lavish the same love and security on that his parents had lavished on him. His future wife would be the antithesis of Claudia.
Claudia was the daughter of his enemy and an enemy of his in her own right. She’d been party to the dirty tricks that had caused his father’s death. She was poison.
By the time they exchanged their vows, he’d got his body back under control and was able to look into the melted-chocolate eyes with only mild discomfort.
Superficial desire was the most he could allow himself. He needed his body to perform in consummating the marriage—he would not give Claudia any grounds to annul it—but genuine desire for a woman he despised? The thought was sickening.
The ceremony passed Claudia like the most wondrous dream. It was a dream. A dream come true. When they left the chapel to uproarious cheers, a pair of pure white love doves was released. Filled with happiness and wonder, she watched them fly away.
After the photos were done, the happy couple and their one hundred guests made their way to the marquee for the seven-course wedding banquet. Another hundred guests would join them for the evening party.
The marquee’s interior only enhanced her feeling of being in a dream. Luxury carpet covered the base while fairy lights crisscrossed the canvas roof, the entire marquee supported by Roman pillars wound with artful posies of roses. There had to be thousands of the beautiful blooms. And there had to be thousands of balloons too, of silver and gold, pastel shades of blue, pink and green, the colours blending together beautifully and combining with the roses to evoke an atmosphere of romance at its most opulent. The round tables were lavished with white tablecloths embroidered with gold leaf, gold cutlery and crystal glasses. Each guest was to sit on an elegant white chair...with the exception of the bride and groom. They were to sit on golden thrones.
Dazed, she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the army of silver-service waiting staff and, standing beside her handsome new husband, dazzling in a navy-blue wedding suit, greeted each guest in turn.
Unused to being in the spotlight, she left all the talking to Ciro. She hoped that in time some of his natural confidence would rub off on her. Where did he get it from? Forming a multibillion-dollar business from scratch? Was it something that had grown over the years or something innate in him? Listening to him chat amiably to one of her father’s business associates, she realised she knew very little about her new husband. Their dates had always been spent discussing the future. She’d avoided asking much about his past because she knew he still felt his father’s recent death so keenly. Every time he was mentioned a shadow would form in Ciro’s green eyes that never failed to make her heart ache.
A shiver laced her spine but she shook it off. This was her wedding day. She had the rest of her life to get to know her husband.
Ciro stood with his new wife and, hands clasped together, the flash of cameras showering them, they cut the exquisite wedding cake.
He’d enjoyed the day hugely and had played up his role of devoted groom. He’d made sure to cast long lingering stares at his new wife, to hold her hand at every available opportunity and even to spoon-feed her some of the berry millefoglie they’d been served for dessert. Pleasure had lit her eyes at this small intimacy, colour staining her cheeks when he’d followed it with a light kiss to her lips.
Ciro had decided it was better to keep his hands to himself until they were married, in part to prove to Claudia—and her father—that his feelings for her were honourable and true, and in part to keep his focus where it needed to be. Claudia’s easy acceptance of his work commitments had helped him keep the amount of time they spent together to a minimum. All they’d shared were a few chaste goodbye kisses, which had only added to his loathing of her. He despised how his senses reacted to the scent of her perfume. He despised that his lips found hers to be so soft and sweet. He despised how he could stare into her eyes and feel flickers of awareness deep in his loins.
And he despised how, as the day had gone on, the shock of desire he’d experienced in the chapel had snuck back on him and nothing he did could rid him of it.
The c
loser the time came to leave the celebrations, the closer the time came to consummate their marriage. The deeper the anticipation burned.
Claudia’s ears rang with the applause and catcalls of their guests as Ciro’s driver steered them out of her father’s estate to the hotel where they were to spend their first night as newly-weds. Tomorrow evening they would fly on Ciro’s jet to Antigua for their honeymoon. Her gorgeous new husband had made the honeymoon arrangements himself.
A warm hand closed over hers. ‘Happy?’ Ciro asked.
She met his eyes and smiled. ‘I feel like I’m on top of the world.’
‘It was a magical day.’ Cheeks dimpling, he hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. With her cheek resting against his chest, the strong thud of his heart beating against her skin, she inhaled his evocative woody scent then exhaled slowly.
Soon, very soon, there would be no clothes to act as barriers between their skin. It was a thought that had played in her mind constantly throughout the evening celebrations, unleashing butterflies in her stomach that had become more violent as the time for them to leave drew nearer. She didn’t know if anticipation, excitement or fear had the greatest hold over her. Ciro knew she was a virgin. It hadn’t been mentioned explicitly but then, it hadn’t needed to be, no more than it had needed to be said that he’d had many lovers in his life. His experience meant he would know what he was doing and so making love should be as pain-free as it could be for her—at least, she hoped so—but his experience also meant her inexperience was likely to leave him disappointed. She wished she could have discussed it with Imma but, considering she was a virgin too, it would be akin to the blind leading the blind.
‘Your father looked as if he enjoyed himself,’ he said, cutting through her jittery thoughts.
She nodded into his chest and closed her eyes. Ciro’s acceptance of her overprotective father was another of the many things she loved him for. She wasn’t blind to her father’s faults. He could be overpowering and intimidating but Ciro was comfortable enough in his own skin to let her father get his way without demeaning his own masculinity and Ciro had an easy charm that when he wanted things his way, he could put it across without it coming out as a challenge. She’d never imagined a man like Ciro existed.
She tilted her head and stretched her neck so she could plant a soft kiss on his lips. ‘Today has been the best day of my life.’
He kissed her back. ‘And mine.’
Soon they arrived at the clifftop hotel that would be their love-nest for the night. It was as opulent as everything else had been that day. Ciro tipped the porter who carried their overnight luggage up to the honeymoon suite, their other suitcases being held in the hotel’s storage for their departure tomorrow evening and then, for the first time that day...for the first time ever...they were truly alone.
CHAPTER THREE
SHYNESS AND NERVES hit Claudia as starkly as the silence. ‘This is nice,’ she said, trying to inject brightness into her voice. Nice was definitely an understatement. Rose petals and tea lights in pretty glasses made a trail from the luxurious living area and through the opened double doors to the bedroom. There, an enormous four-poster bed draped with gold muslin curtains sat raised on a dais. More rose petals formed a giant love heart on the gold bedspread. On a glass coffee table by the sofas sat a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and two crystal flutes.
Ciro indicated the champagne. ‘Shall we?’
‘That would be nice.’ She winced to hear herself use that insipid word again. Insipid—a word she’d learned only a month ago as part of her push to educate herself—was the opposite of how she felt inside. The butterflies in her belly now fluttered so hard they’d reached her throat and tied her tongue. Ciro popped the cork and poured them both a glass. When he passed Claudia’s to her, some of the golden fluid sloshed over her shaking hand.
He raised his glass. ‘To us.’
She chinked hers to it and spilled more over herself. ‘To us.’ Scared how croaky her voice sounded, she took too large a sip.
Green eyes held hers speculatively before he took the glass from her and placed it with his on the coffee table. ‘You seem frightened.’
She swallowed and forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘A little.’
A hand palmed her neck. ‘You have nothing to be frightened of. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want or anything you don’t feel ready for. If you want us to wait, then...’
‘I don’t want to wait.’ She took a long breath. Waiting would only make things worse, give her mind even more time to play on her fears. And really, what did she have to be scared about? Ciro would make it special... Wouldn’t he?
He gazed into her eyes a little longer before his dimples flashed. ‘Let’s take our champagne onto the balcony for a while. How does that sound?’
She managed to muster a smile through her tight cheeks. ‘That sounds good.’
Fingers laced together, they carried their drinks through the bedroom and stepped through the French doors onto a large balcony that overlooked the Tyrrhenian Sea. A heart-shaped love-seat with big squishy heart-shaped cushions sat beneath an overhang covered in tiny romantic lights.
Ciro, having read the fear in Claudia’s eyes when they’d been left alone in the suite, found himself dealing with a God-awful feeling of guilt. He thought back to his first time. There had been too much excitement for fear to get a look-in. But first-time sex was different for women and, as much as he despised her, he knew he had to be gentle. If he had to wait to consummate the marriage then so be it. Better to wait than scare her off sex for life. He wanted revenge but that didn’t mean destroying her completely.
He held the train of her dress so she could sit comfortably, then sat beside her. Her rigid pose spoke volumes. For all that she said she didn’t want to wait, she was clearly terrified.
He placed a finger on her neck. She stiffened further.
Hooking an arm around her waist, he moved her gently so her back rested against his chest. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘We will not do anything you don’t want. We don’t have to do anything at all. Any time you want to stop, you tell me and I will stop. Don’t be afraid of hurting my feelings. Okay?’
She twisted to look at him and took a small sip of her champagne. ‘Okay.’ Then she sighed and turned her face away to look back out at the spectacular view.
Draining his champagne, Ciro put his glass on the side table then carefully ran a finger over the plaits of her hair. Her wedding hairdo had held up beautifully throughout the day. He guessed having pins in it, however sparkling they were, must be uncomfortable. If he was to make this good for her—if they got that far, which right then he seriously doubted—he wanted her to feel as comfortable and relaxed as she could be.
He removed the top pin. It slid out more easily than he’d expected. One by one, he pulled them all free until the plaits fell like coils of silken rope down her neck. Satisfied all the accessories keeping her hair in place had been removed, he worked on undoing the plaits. The looser they became, the more the trapped scent of her shampoo was released. It was a soft, delicate fragrance that delighted his senses in much the same way her perfume did. When all her hair was loose, he gently ran his fingers through the thick mane that was as silken to his touch as to his eyes then kneaded his fingers over her skull. More of the delicate scents danced through his airwaves. Burying his face in the soft tresses, he filled his lungs completely. ‘I love your hair,’ he murmured.
Claudia, who’d found her fears slowly melting at his tender ministrations, twisted to look at him. His was a tone she’d never heard from him before, somehow more heartfelt than his declarations of love for her...
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
Green eyes held hers. The firm mouth flattened then loosened before he slid an arm around her waist to secure her against him and press his lips to hers. If he’d lunged a
t her with one of those hard, demanding kisses she’d seen in movies she likely would have recoiled in fright, but his kiss was gentle and caressing. When his tongue slid between her lips and found hers, her senses filled with a brand-new taste tinged with champagne that evoked thoughts of dark chocolate and danger. This was Ciro’s taste, she thought in wonder; as intensely, headily masculine as the man himself.
Gradually, the kiss deepened. Tiny flutters of excitement awoke in her belly, muting the flutters of fear that had been there before. Secure against him, pressed into the crook of his arm, she placed a hand on his shoulder then tentatively wound it around his neck. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, the bristles on his nape like velvet.
When he broke the kiss, he rubbed his nose against hers. ‘Don’t move,’ he murmured, rising to his feet. There was no time to question him for he hooked an arm around her waist and slid the other under the train of her dress. In one fluid motion, he lifted her into his arms, making her stomach plunge and then rise with the motion.
He stared into her eyes before giving a lopsided smile that made her stomach swoon all over again. ‘The groom is supposed to carry the bride over the threshold,’ he said, then carried her effortlessly into the suite and sat her on the rose-petal-covered bed.
Her heart hammering so hard the echoes reverberated in her ears, Claudia gazed at Ciro. This beautiful man was her husband. Her husband. It didn’t feel real.
Palming her cheeks, he kissed her again. ‘Remember,’ he whispered, ‘we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.’
Claudia wanted to thank him for his tenderness and understanding but found her words stuck in her throat. Instead, she took a deep breath and pressed her lips to his.
‘Give me a moment,’ he said, stepping away to close the French doors, draw the heavy curtains and switch the main lights off. The flickers of candlelight illuminated the room in a soft glow that eased her fears some more. They softened Ciro’s hard features, making him appear more human than god-like.
A Baby To Bind His Innocent (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Sicilian Marriage Pact, Book 1) Page 3
