by Penny Jordan
‘Back at the hotel I remember us sharing a bed together. I don’t remember you needing space then!’
‘That was then,’ Catherine retaliated. ‘I was confused, lonely…’ Pleading eyes begged him to understand, and if he’d just taken her in his arms, told her it was all okay, that it wasn’t just for appearances’ sake he wanted her in his bed, she’d have gone to him without hesitation—would have settled, even, for a convincing lie. But Rico was a closed book. Not one flicker of his face betrayed how he was feeling. Every emotion was guarded fiercely behind the mask he so readily wore.
‘I can’t do it, Rico. Please don’t make me.’
Her plea was genuine, for with one crook of his finger she knew she would dissolve like jelly in hot water—fall into his arms and betray herself with the words he didn’t want to hear. Or maybe he did, Catherine realised.
After all, if she loved him, he won.
‘We don’t have a choice.’ He nodded to the window. ‘Did you notice the press when we came home, Catherine? Are you foolish enough to think that they’ve got their pictures and gone home now?’ He gave a mocking laugh. ‘They don’t believe in fairytales any more than I do, and each and every one of them will want to be the first to prove their point—lights flicking on in the guest room will do just that. And if by some chance we manage to fool them on that score, how long do you think it will be before one of the staff decides Christmas should come a bit early?’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘Trust no one, Catherine,’ Rico said darkly, a mocking smile curving on his lips. ‘Except maybe me.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’ Her pulse was pounding in her temples now—not gently, though. A nauseating throbbing would be a more apt description. Her hand moved up, massaging her temples, and she wondered how best to play this.
‘Don’t tell me…’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm. ‘You’re getting a headache?’
‘Isn’t that what wives normally get?’ Catherine bit back, but Rico’s riposte was just as swift.
‘I believe so. Though generally after the marriage is consummated.’
A low laugh escaped her pale lips. ‘Worried the contract is not quite legally binding, Rico? Are you worried that until we’ve slept together I might be able to ask for an annulment?’
‘I never worry about small details. Why would I when I have an army of solicitors to do it for me? And I believe, off the top of my head, that a request for an annulment wouldn’t stand up too well in court when only days before the wedding the bride was not only sleeping with the groom but begging for it.’
‘I never begged.’
‘Oh, no?’
He never moved, his eyes stayed fixed and not a muscle flickered in his body, but she could almost taste the sudden sexual tension. The suggestion in his words was enough to cast her mind back until she could almost see her head on the pillow, thrashing in frenzied passion as she wept for him to enter her, and she knew he was thinking it too. The knowledge caused a ripple of lust to dart through her traitorous body—just the memory of his touch was enough to instigate instant arousal.
‘That’s not how I remember it, Catherine.’
His words should have shamed her, but she was beyond that now. His scorn should have hurt, but Catherine was beyond pain. She had buried her sister today, sworn at Janey’s graveside she would do her best for Lily, and if standing tall and proud, quelling her fears and fighting back was the order of the day, then somehow she’d do it. This was Rico Mancini she was up against—a man who would use her to further his cause. She had to remember that, had to keep her head however much she wanted to lose it, had to stay strong.
For Janey and for Lily.
‘Then I’m not the only fool in this room.’ The derisive note in her voice, the clarity of her speech, surprised even Catherine. And when she saw the dart of confusion in his eyes it was all that was needed to spur her on further.
One tiny victory when all had seemed lost.
‘Contrary to your orders, I haven’t quite burnt all my bridges—I didn’t hand in my notice, Rico, I’m on compassionate leave. So I can walk back into my old life at any given moment.’ She stepped back slightly; the fire was back in her eyes now, a soft pink dusted her pale cheeks and her chin set determinedly as she carried on talking. ‘But then why would I bother when there’s always the divorce card to play? Even the ex Mrs Mancini would have more clout in a courtroom than Miss Catherine Masters.’
‘That’s why you said yes?’ Rico’s voice was a pale whisper.
‘That’s the only reason I said yes,’ Catherine said firmly.
‘You wanted me that night,’ he insisted, but though his voice was resolute there was flicker of doubt in his eyes.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure, Rico.’ As she turned Catherine smiled softly at him, but it was a smile laced with danger, a curious cocktail of seduction and menace.
The gentle, sweet woman was gone now; instead a bewitching temptress smiled back at him. He stood frozen, watching transfixed as she loosened her hair from its confines, pulled off her jacket and worked the buttons of her black lace blouse, undressing slowly, but utterly ignoring him at the same time, absolutely refusing to let him see the effect he was having on her, determined not to be intimidated.
For the first time in their strange relationship Catherine knew the power of being a woman, learnt the lessons her mother and Janey had unwittingly imparted.
Knew for once she had the valuable upper hand.
‘What proud Sicilian would like his lack of sexual prowess played out in court? What proud Sicilian would want the world to know that one night with a woman was enough to make her ensure it was the last?’
Unzipping her skirt, she let it fall around her ankles. Under any other circumstances she would have felt stupid, utterly stupid, standing in stockings and high heels, her creamy breasts spilling out of black lace. But his well-cut suit wasn’t enough to hide his furious arousal, and Catherine flicked a superior eye downwards before turning her triumphant gaze back to him as she discarded her bra.
‘You lie.’ He cursed the words at her, but she deliberately didn’t flinch. ‘You enjoyed every moment.’
‘Did I?’ Slowly she walked over to the bath, and slowly she lowered herself in—grateful for the heated water as an excuse for her flaming skin, grateful for the bubbles that covered her jutting nipples. ‘I’m sure Marco was equally convinced when Janey called out his name.’
His eyes found hers then.
‘You bitch.’
‘Why act so surprised, Rico? All along you’ve accused me of being a gold-digger, all along you’ve insisted I’m only here for the money, and yet now you’ve finally got me to admit it you don’t seem very pleased all of a sudden.’ Dragging her eyes away, she concentrated for an age on the bottles, before selecting one and massaging its contents into her hair. He stood rigid beside the bathtub, his face livid, anger blazing in every taut muscle.
‘Lily is my sole priority, Rico. Not this marriage and definitely not you. And if you think you can use me as some sort of pawn in your game and I’ll just comply—’
‘You believe Antonia?’ Rico demanded. ‘After everything I said, still you choose to believe her?’
‘I believe no one,’ Catherine said resolutely. ‘But believe this, Rico. If you think you can brush me off like some smudge on your suit when it all dies down, that I’ll walk away without a fight, then you’d better think again. Catherine Masters has long gone now, I’m Catherine Mancini, with everything the name entails.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE waited for morning.
Lying in the massive bed, feeling the bristling hatred emanating from him, she ached, literally ached to go over to him, to lay her head on his chest and to feel his arms around her, to take back all she had said. But there was too much at stake, too much to lose in a weak moment. So instead she lay there, the room as light as day as the full moon drifted past the massive wind
ows, listening to the creaking house, every nerve taut as finally his breathing evened out.
One heavy arm moved towards her, almost instinctive in its directness, caressing the curve of her waist until she turned towards him. She’d never seen him asleep before, never witnessed the beauty of his face without tension. The taut mouth was relaxed, full, sensual lips slightly parted, dark eyelashes fanning his haughty cheeks, and he looked younger, softer, but so desirable she had to bite back the urge to kiss him, to place her lips on his. Instead she adored him with her eyes, stealing this time away from his accusing glare to absorb his beauty, to capture the delicious image of a husband who was hers in name only.
Her eyes drifted down to the rumpled sheet that lay precariously over his manhood, and she had to clench her fists, such was her desire to move it, to unwrap the parcel and claim the prize. And what terrified her most was that she knew, just knew, he would respond. There was an undeniable attraction that overrode all else. In sleep, his body would yield to her, that tumid length would harden, would awake in her hands. But what then…?
Could a marriage survive on sex alone? Was attraction enough to carry them through whatever lay ahead? Oh, she had love—but was it enough for both of them?
Such was her pain that for a moment she thought the piercing cry that filled her ears had come from her own lips. It took a moment to register it was Lily.
Quietly she slipped from Rico’s embrace. Wrapping her bath towel around her, she crept down the passage, arriving at the nursery door just as Jessica did.
‘I’m sorry she woke you, Mrs Mancini. I was just warming a bottle. I’ll take care of her now.’
‘I’ll do it, Jessica. I don’t mind getting up to her at night.’
‘Oh!’ Jessica gave her a slightly startled look. ‘Janey always…’ Her voice trailed off and Catherine did nothing to resurrect the conversation, the words hanging in the air as she opened the nursery door and padded in. She was curiously nervous about what exactly it was she was supposed do, and smiled awkwardly at Lily, who had her arms outstretched, tears streaming down her angry red cheeks as she sobbed in anguish.
‘Hush,’ Catherine begged, picking her up and trying to cuddle her. But despite her best efforts she simply refused to take the bottle, refused to be comforted. It was almost a relief when a hesitant Jessica reappeared at the door.
‘I think she wants you,’ Catherine admitted, curiously defeated by Lily’s rejection, tears glittering dangerously in her eyes as Jessica came over.
‘It isn’t me Lily wants; she just likes to be changed first.’ Registering Catherine’s frown, Jessica gestured to the change table. ‘She likes her nappy changed before she has her bottle, then she settles right down.’
‘Of course.’ Catherine’s movements were wooden her gestures awkward as she laid Lily down on the changing table, and even though she wanted Jessica to go, even though she wanted her fumbling to be unwitnessed, Catherine was silently terrified of being left alone with Lily; the full weight of the responsibility that she had fought for, starting to descend on her tense shoulders. ‘All these poppers.’ She let out a nervous laugh, pulling the legs of Lily’s baby suit closed over the clumsily applied nappy.
‘You’ll soon get used to them,’ Jessica said kindly. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’
It took a moment to register she hadn’t gone. Only when Catherine looked up did she realise Jessica still stood there.
‘Mrs Mancini?’ Her voice was hesitant, and under any other circumstances Catherine would have moved to reassure her. But, knowing what was coming, she simply couldn’t do it. ‘About that night—about the row we had with Janey…’
Deliberately Catherine didn’t turn her head; deliberately she concentrated on the poppers.
‘I feel so guilty.’
‘You have nothing to feel guilty about.’ Catherine’s voice was high, her gestures subtly dismissive as still she focused on the blessed poppers. ‘Neither of us have anything to feel guilty about, come to that. Janey and Marco were out of line, and something had to be said.’
‘But if I hadn’t walked out on them that morning…’
‘This isn’t your fault.’ Finally she met her employee’s eyes. ‘And going over it doesn’t change a thing. It’s Lily who is important now.’
‘I know,’ Jessica mumbled. ‘Except…’
Oh, God, she didn’t need this now—didn’t want to be standing here at two a.m., lifting the lid on Pandora’s Box. But she wasn’t quite ready to close it either.
‘Except what?’
‘Janey begged me to stay.’ Tears were streaming down Jessica’s cheeks unstopped, and Catherine felt like joining her. But she knew she had to be strong if ever she were to survive. ‘Janey swore she was going to change, that they both were. She said…’
‘That thing’s would be different?’ Catherine shook her head ruefully. ‘That it really was the last time? Well, let me tell you, Jessica, I’ve lost count of how many times Janey said the same to me—lost count of the times she swore things were about to change. The last thing either of us deserves is another dose of guilt. Janey made her own choices, and unfortunately we’re the ones living with them. You have nothing to feel guilty about.’
She watched as Jessica nodded, saw her dejected shoulders as she turned to leave the nursery, and knew she had said nothing to comfort her.
‘Jessica?’ Catherine called her back. ‘This wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t mine. I don’t want to hear another word about what was said that night, or what happened the morning after. We did nothing wrong.’
If only she could believe it.
Blinking back tears as the door closed on Jessica, Catherine settled back in the rocking chair she and Rico had hastily chosen, along with the rest of the nursery furniture. It felt like a film set—everything new, everything staged for tonight’s main show—and at that moment Catherine felt like the worst actress in the world.
Lily let out a low whimper which Catherine quickly countered, pulling the baby in closer. But she could barely feign affection as she held the hot body of her niece close, the soft downy hair tickling her neck as she cuddled her.
A poor substitute for a mother.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEEING her empty pillow, Rico’s first reaction was to panic, but he forced himself to lie there for a moment, ears straining to hear her voice, waiting for the bathroom door to open, for Catherine to come back to him. Running a hand along the bed confirmed what he knew. The uneasy sleep, the vague discomfort he had awoken with, were all explained as he felt the cool sheets.
He had been sleeping alone.
Deliberately he moved slowly, taking his time to shower, to dress, resisting the urge to find her, to demand to know where she was hiding.
Opening the nursery door, he stepped inside, staring for a moment at the two new ladies in his life. Lily was comfortable and contented, sleeping the innocent sleep of babies, with nothing more on her mind than where her next feed would come from. For a second his stern features melted, but it wasn’t Lily’s beauty that held his gaze, instead it was Catherine.
Rico frowned in concern. Her face was so pale, her posture awkward in the hard chair, and though his stomach still churned from their row last night, though his mind was still buzzing from her spiteful words, in the grey morning shadows the woman who had taunted him last night seemed but a distant memory. She was almost as childlike as Lily in her innocence—dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, the bulky rings on her finger looking out of place on such slender hands.
Moving quietly, he picked up the slumbering Lily, placing her gently in the crib and covering her before turning his attention back to his reluctant wife. Her eyes flicked open, and he watched as she accustomed herself once again to her new surroundings.
‘So this is where you have been hiding.’
‘Lily woke—’ Catherine started, casting her eyes anxiously around the room, and Rico registered her fear and moved to reassure her.
Catherine let out a low sigh of relief. ‘I thought I’d dropped her.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
She was massaging her neck, stretching her spine, like an oriental cat awakening. One hand was raised behind her head, causing her gown to open just a fraction, allowing a glimpse of creamy bosom. Rico felt the breath still in his lungs. The child was gone now, the woman was back, and his features quilted. He straightened his back as his resolve returned and with a supreme effort he forced his attention away, focused instead on the sleeping baby.
‘Are you going to work?’
It was a silly question really, for he stood in a dark suit, a heavy cotton shirt enhancing his dark complexion, a tie expertly knotted. Everything about him screamed wealth and success. His cufflinks caught the morning rays as he pulled the bunny rug higher around Lily’s shoulders. ‘I just came to give her a kiss before I leave. I will be home around seven this evening, ask Jessica to save her bath for me.’
Catherine gave a vague nod, staring fixedly at the wall in front of her as Rico tenderly kissed the sleeping babe.
‘What will you do with yourself today?’ Rico asked, straightening up but still refusing to look at her, and Catherine gave a brief unnoticed shrug, rocking idly in the chair and wishing this uncomfortable meeting was over.
‘We might go for a walk, I suppose—do some shopping.’
‘Here.’ He handed her a wad of cash which Catherine didn’t accept.
‘When I said shopping, Rico, I meant for an ice cream or something. I’m sure even I can stretch to that.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Catherine. I’ll arrange for some cards to be made up in your name, but for now you’ll have to use cash.’
Still she refused. ‘I’ve got my own money, Rico.’
‘So what was that little lecture about last night?’ Rico asked shrewdly, watching as the colour returned to her cheeks. ‘I thought you said you were a Mancini now?’
