by Abby Green
Keelin took a sip of the champagne and tried not to let her aversion to it show on her face. When she put her glass down she tried to look serious. ‘Better now than never.’
She leant forward a little and said conspiratorially, ‘Honestly? I didn’t imagine even contemplating children until I’m in my thirties. But obviously in light of this engagement I’ve been thinking about it.’
She bit her lip as if this pained her to say. ‘To be perfectly frank, the idea of labour and being pregnant is a serious downer. But I’d be open to adopting.’
She sat back again and elaborated as their starters were delivered. ‘A friend of mine adopted a baby from Africa and she’s so cute! All the big designers have kids’ collections now, and naturally she has a nanny to take care of the day-to-day stuff.’
‘You mean the child rearing.’
Keelin took a bite of food and pretended to be distracted. ‘What? Oh, yes, that’s what I mean.’
She risked a glance and Gianni was looking at her with a hard expression and Keelin feigned surprise and put her fork down. ‘Oh, had you intended on having children, for real? Like, your own?’
His jaw was tight, he wasn’t touching his food. ‘Call me old-fashioned but yes, I had anticipated having children of my own.’
Keelin’s anger flared again at the way he’d obviously decided he’d have no problem with children resulting from a cold and clinical union. She forced her irritation down and said pseudo-sympathetically, ‘And you’d imagined your wife bringing them up in the villa?’
‘Something like that. My mother was my main carer, not a nanny.’
Keelin rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky you. I had a veritable parade of nannies.’ She made a faint grimace. ‘I wasn’t the easiest child apparently, but I’m sure it’s not hereditary.’
Gianni seemed prepared to let that little nugget go and frowned. ‘Where was your mother?’
Keelin pushed down the old bitterness and said airily as if it hadn’t mattered a jot, ‘Oh, you know, with Daddy on trips, or away on holidays, or shopping. I was in boarding school most of the time.’
She looked at him after eating more of her starter and washing it down with champagne. ‘You should probably hear it from me that I was expelled from four schools, including my last one, a finishing school in Switzerland.’
Gianni hadn’t touched his starter and when the staff returned he let them take it. His eyes were hooded, dangerous. ‘Hear it from you?’
Keelin shrugged. ‘In case the papers pick up on it when they find out we’re getting married.’
Gianni went rigid. He hadn’t thought about that. ‘You were expelled from all your schools?’
Keelin pouted. ‘Well, not all. Not my primary one. Just the later ones, you know how teenage rebellion is.’
She continued chummily, ‘But I can see how good that discipline was for me so I’d be a big advocate of boarding school—the earlier, the better. There are lots of great schools in Ireland.’
* * *
Gianni fought down the urge to stand up and pace up and down. Keelin was not painting a good picture, and dammit, he hated feeling as if he was being made a fool of. Her father hadn’t hinted at any of this. She was practically a delinquent! And yet she’d be only too happy to send any children they had down the same route! He’d always thought of boarding schools as upper-class nonsense.
Once again he forced himself to remain civil. ‘May I ask what your transgressions were?’
Keelin ticked off her fingers. ‘Being caught in a local bar, smoking, being caught with boys in the dorm, running away...’
Gianni felt disgust rise, not because they were serious crimes since they weren’t especially, but he hated that evidence of someone from a life of privilege taking it so much for granted, exuding a kind of supercilious confidence that said she could do whatever she liked and get away with it.
And clearly she had the idea that her life would be going in the same direction as her mother’s—that of leaving the care of her children to strangers or to a school. And they wouldn’t even be their own children if she had her way! This conversation was also making a completely hitherto unexplored sense of protectiveness at the thought of a child of his own rise up within him.
It was too much. Gianni was feeling seriously claustrophobic. But then the main course arrived and he absently picked a suitable wine to go with the meat. Only to see Keelin wrinkle up her nose and say, ‘I’ll stick to the champagne, if that’s okay. I can’t abide wine.’
Gianni took a deep calming breath and tried not to dwell on that image of Keelin at important functions insisting on champagne when everyone else was drinking wine. He made a gesture to the chef’s waiter and said urbanely, ‘Of course, have what you like.’
Blissfully, for a moment as they ate, there was silence. And once Keelin wasn’t talking and saying anything that was guaranteed to wind him up, he became uncomfortably aware of her.
In spite of the bling jewellery, big hair, lots of make-up and fake tan, she was clearly a beauty. Those eyes, especially when she widened them, threatened to distract him every time. And those lush lips. And the curves underneath the provocative silk of the jumpsuit, not to mention the flash of long shapely legs every time she moved. One thing was very clear—his body would marry this woman in a second, his head though was another matter.
When their plates had been cleared, Gianni’s eyes narrowed on Keelin. For a moment she wasn’t looking at him, or looking vacant, or chattering nonsensically, and he had the strangest notion that this was all some kind of elaborate—what? Was she deliberately sending him crazy? Making him doubt himself? Maybe he was being too hasty? Surely they could talk about these things, and if they had children, then perhaps she could be persuaded that a nanny was sufficient, and not necessarily a boarding school in the remote reaches of Ireland?
But just then she looked at him again, and a small frown marred her smooth forehead. ‘There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.’
Gianni tried not to let his eyes drop to the voluptuous swell of her breasts. ‘Yes?’
Keelin looked exceedingly uncomfortable; a faint blush stained her cheeks. ‘I wanted to talk to you about sex.’
Gianni blanched a little. Had he been so obvious?
‘You see,’ she said hesitantly, ‘the thing is that it’s not for me.’
Gianni reacted on a deeply primal level. The strength of the rejection he felt at that statement was surprising. ‘Not for you?’
Keelin shook her head and looked pained. ‘No. It’s just—I hate it, to be honest.’
She shuddered delicately. ‘All that fuss over nothing. All that sweatiness and bodily fluids. Ugh.’
She must have seen something on his face because she said with a kind of dawning comprehension, ‘You didn’t expect me to be innocent, did you? Because I’ve been with, like, tons of guys. Which is how I know I hate it.’
She just wouldn’t want to be with him? The thought was like a red flag to a highly sexed male like Gianni. His jaw clenched. ‘Of course I didn’t expect you to be innocent.’
She continued in a conversational tone, ‘I’ve thought about this a lot and while I’m not willing to have sex, I don’t mind if you want to, you know, keep a mistress. You see,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that’s really why I’d prefer to adopt.’
She sighed a big sigh of relief and smiled, as if she hadn’t just landed a bomb between them. ‘I’m glad I got that out there. I was worried.’
Then she put her hand on his and said, ‘You’re a good listener, Gianni. I’m so lucky to be marrying you.’
Her smile almost dazzled him. He was beginning to feel slightly ill. And then that anger surged again to think of her father giving him an impression of a mature, intelligent woman. He took his hand out from under hers, not liking how those
cool fingers had felt on his skin.
He put down his napkin, finally tipping over the edge of his patience. ‘I have no intention of taking a mistress during our marriage and I refuse to partake in the dubious exploitation of children and babies from third-world countries.’
He leant forward and tried to ignore those widening luminous green eyes. ‘And as for sex? Maybe you don’t like it because you haven’t been doing it right?’
He had a sudden urge to take Keelin’s face between his hands and stop that mouth from saying any more in the most effective way possible. His blood was pumping and he was afraid he might say something he’d regret, so he stood up abruptly. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment?’
Gianni barely waited for an answer; he strode out of the room, cursing the day Liam O’Connor had added the condition of a marriage of convenience to their contract.
He found himself pacing in his study, no less calm now that a few walls separated him and Keelin O’Connor. He could almost see her vacuous look of surprise.
Merda!
The woman was insufferable. The prospect of marrying her was unconscionable. She didn’t want children? And any children they did have or adopt she wanted to put in some stuffy boarding school? And she didn’t like sex? Well, right now, he had no desire to prove her wrong no matter how rogue his physical reactions to her were. He cursed again.
He took his mobile out of his pocket and dialled. As soon as his friend answered he instructed him curtly to do some digging into Keelin O’Connor. Something he should have done from the very start, instead of taking her father’s word that she would make him the perfect wife and partner as they went forward in business together.
He’d been so caught up with work and clearing his schedule for the merger and the wedding that he’d told himself he’d give Keelin the benefit of meeting her face to face to get to know her. He felt wrong-footed now.
He also had that persistent niggling sensation that something was amiss and he didn’t like not knowing what it was. He wanted to go back into the dining room and tell Keelin that he’d made a mistake but even now something was stopping him. The prospect of letting the deal of a lifetime go. Wasn’t there some way he could handle her? Women were usually the least of his worries!
But when Gianni did go back, something made him stop in his tracks just where he could see through a crack in the doorway to the room beyond. Keelin was looking around surreptitiously before pouring the contents of her champagne glass into a nearby plant. He kept watching, feeling a rush of shock and anger along with something else—a kind of relief, as he saw Keelin check her watch and sigh heavily.
A mix of irritation, boredom and weariness crossed her face. Nothing close to the vaguely surprised expression when he’d walked out moments ago. She could be a different person.
Gianni was glad he’d just called his friend, because it was no longer a niggling suspicion that something was off about his fiancée’s behaviour. It was a fact and he was determined to play her at her own game until he knew exactly what was going on.
* * *
About two hours later Gianni was standing back at the window of his study in his Rome apartment. He’d just seen Keelin back to her hotel, more distracted than he cared to admit by her wide pouting mouth and slightly tipsy demeanour. When he’d returned to the dining room she’d smiled brightly at him and for a second he’d almost wondered if he’d imagined what he’d seen through the crack in the door.
But then, when he’d put his hand over hers, and promised that he would do his utmost to make their marriage work, he’d seen the panic flare in her eyes.
And now he burned with anger. No one took him by surprise. His life had been full enough of surprises and danger already. He’d carefully cultivated an existence that was as far removed from all that as possible.
But Keelin O’Connor had almost taken him in. A second conversation with his friend Davide just now had told him enough to know for sure that she’d been playing him.
For one thing, his supposedly vacuous fiancée had recently graduated from one of Dublin’s most prestigious universities with the highest marks in her class, and a degree in business and economics. Not a degree in reality-TV trends, or the retail industry.
His mobile rang then and he answered curtly. His expression darkened as he bit out, ‘Which club?’
Gianni terminated the call and picked up the jacket he’d discarded earlier, his face grim. Anger turned to rage. Apparently his tipsy dizzy fiancée was not done with her sham act for the evening; she was now in one of Rome’s most exclusive nightclubs making a spectacle of herself on the dance floor while paparazzi congregated outside, tipped off that Giancarlo Delucca’s new fiancée was inside.
And tipped off by whom exactly? Gianni suspected he already knew exactly who and now he wanted to know why she was going to these lengths.
CHAPTER THREE
THE FLESHY SWEATY man grabbed Keelin around her waist and she put her hands on his to dislodge them, while trying to make it look like she wasn’t really gritting her teeth. The idea of tipping off the paparazzi had seemed like a great idea about an hour ago after she’d sobered up with a few stiff coffees in her hotel room.
She’d had the strangest sensation after Gianni had returned to the dining room that he’d been looking at her with some kind of suspicion and it had been enough to galvanise her to pull out all the stops in her bid to deter him.
She forced another rictus grin at the dozen or so new best friends she’d made when she’d arrived at a VIP table and bought a round of champagne for everyone, courtesy of her fiancé’s black credit card.
Just when she was about to recoil in disgust because the man’s hot breath was getting closer and closer to her neck, his hands were removed and he was gone. To be replaced by someone infinitely taller, darker and more gorgeous.
Gianni. And just like that, her heart tripped.
She barely registered that he’d taken off his tie and his shirt was open at the top, giving him a rakish appeal. He came close and slid a hand around the back of her neck under her hair, tugging her shocked body towards him. He hadn’t touched her intimately up to now. Keelin had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself and could feel nothing but steel-hard pecs.
Between her legs pulsed. She was so stunned to see him and be touching him that she could only look up into eyes so dark they were black.
‘Cara,’ he said, low and seductive, ‘you really should have told me you wanted to go out after dinner. I would have taken you.’
‘I—’ Keelin stopped, her voice rusty. Not working properly. All of her usual inhibitions around men were dissolving away. Somehow he seemed to be able to reach right inside her, bypassing any rational consideration. Without even being aware of what she was doing her hands were spreading out over his chest as if to touch more of him. His smell was intoxicating, decadent and spicy. Very male.
She focused with effort. ‘I didn’t think you’d be into it.’
Gianni shook his head and smiled as if at some private joke. ‘Bella, I’m into anything you’re into. Now let’s dance.’
He took Keelin’s hand in an iron grip as he tugged her behind him to the dance floor. She felt sick, her legs wobbly in her high heels as she tried to assimilate this information and wonder how the hell Gianni had known where she was? Then she remembered tipping off the paparazzi and had her answer. No doubt Rome was full of people who would report back to him.
And without the fog of champagne clouding her judgement—she’d stuck to water since she’d arrived—she sensed an edgy tension coming from him. His hand on hers was hot and large. Experimentally she tried to pull away but his hold tightened. They got to the dance floor and the music worked against Keelin when it became slow and sexy, couples moving into sinuous embraces.
She was aware of people around them loo
king and whispering. This was not what she’d planned. At all. She’d planned on being all but carried out of the club, for maximum adverse news coverage.
But now Gianni was spreading his hands on her hips, and pulling her close, a wicked smile making his sensual mouth curve. But when she dragged her gaze up, there was something hard in his eyes. Keelin wobbled, and that suspicion returned. It was too huge to contemplate that he’d seen through her—so, weakly, she didn’t.
She kept her hands firmly between them even though a very rogue part of her was seriously tempted to melt against him and twine them around his neck. Gianni moved a hand down to leave it resting uncomfortably close to the swell of her buttocks. Keelin’s skin prickled into goosebumps of awareness.
He started to move in time to the music, their bodies fitting together far too well for Keelin’s liking. Gianni’s hand moved lower and Keelin’s breath came quicker as he subtly pressed her hips into his even more. When she felt the hardness of his thick arousal against her belly her feet stopped and heat climbed up over her chest to her face. It was shocking. Shockingly exciting. And what was even more shocking was that her immediate reaction wasn’t one of repulsion or fear.
Far too late Keelin tried to push him back a little. She was aware of how scantily dressed she was. The flimsy barrier of her silk jumpsuit affording no protection against his lean and aroused body.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his. They were definitely hard now, and assessing. Panic flared. Keelin tried to put some space between them when all her body seemed to want to do was press even closer, imprint herself on him. Shocked at her reaction and angry now, remembering her agenda, she hissed, ‘I told you, I’m not into this kind of thing.’
Gianni, not remotely fazed, queried with a raised brow, ‘What? The sex thing?’
The music was low and throbbing, colluding with Keelin’s heartbeat and body. She felt hot, flustered and out of her depth.
‘Yes,’ she hissed again.
