‘Si.’
She laid down the spoon. Crème brûlée was her favourite dessert, but she didn’t really have the stomach for its rich creaminess right now. The only reason she’d ordered it was to delay the end of their meal and their return to the house. If their post-dinner entertainment followed the trend of the last two evenings they would very quickly end up naked—and she didn’t want that to happen. Not yet. She wanted to nurse her anger awhile longer and she knew that as soon as he touched her, the second he was deep inside her, she’d forget she was supposed to be angry with him.
‘They’re my family,’ she added, sitting back in her wheelchair. ‘The only family I’ll ever have.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged, but inwardly she cringed. That statement had been too honest. Too revealing. ‘Exactly that,’ she said, tossing his words from that afternoon back at him.
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Can you not have children, Marietta?’ he asked quietly, and the intimacy of the question—from a man who routinely avoided conversations of a personal nature—threw her.
She hesitated. ‘There’s no medical reason I can’t have children,’ she admitted, pushing her dessert plate away. ‘It’s possible...physically.’
His gaze narrowed further. ‘So there’s nothing stopping you from having a family of your own?’
Her chest tightened. He made it sound so natural. So easy. As if having a broken back didn’t make her different. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she said, her voice stilted.
‘Why?’
She frowned at him. Around them the restaurant was busy, with the clink of tableware, the buzz of conversation and frequent bouts of laughter lending the place a lively air. Josephine had seated them at a private table, however, set in a quiet corner by a large window overlooking the harbour.
Marietta glanced around, assuring herself that their conversation wasn’t being overheard. ‘Generally speaking, a woman needs a husband before she has children,’ she said.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘And you object to marriage?’
Her frown deepened. Why was he asking her these questions? Why was he interested?
Why should he care?
Her breath caught in her throat.
Did he care?
Hastily she crushed the thought. He was making conversation, showing a polite interest in the woman he was temporarily sleeping with.
She cleared her throat. ‘Marriage is fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just not for me.’
‘Because of Davide?’
‘Partly.’ She lifted her shoulder. ‘When push comes to shove, few men want to tie themselves to a cripple for life.’
Nico’s brows slammed down, his face darkening. ‘Don’t call yourself that,’ he said tersely.
‘What? A cripple?’ She affected an air of indifference. ‘Why not? That’s how most people see me.’
Which wasn’t strictly true. She was fortunate; she had people in her life who saw the woman first and foremost and not the disability. But equally there were those who never saw beyond the wheelchair. Never saw her.
Blue eyes blazed at her from across the table. ‘That’s not how I see you.’
Her heart lurched. She believed him, but how did he see her? As a woman who needed protecting? A perk of the job? She’d already guessed she was one of a long string of short-term lovers he’d taken in the years since his wife’s death. She’d told herself it didn’t matter to her, ignored the taunting voice that had cried liar.
‘I know,’ she said quietly.
Nico’s gaze stayed pinned on her. ‘Davide was an idiot,’ he said. ‘But he’s one man. Why write off your dreams because of one bad experience?’
Her shoulders stiffened. ‘Because I’m a realist—and some things simply aren’t destined to be.’ She sniffed. ‘Anyway, you have no idea what my dreams are. Not every woman longs for the white picket fence, you know.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘So you don’t want children?’
‘No.’ But that was a lie. A lie she had repeated in her head so often she’d almost believed it. Her stomach knotted.
‘But family is important to you?’
‘So are other things,’ she said, hating the defensive note in her voice. ‘My job—my career as an artist...’
She trailed off. Her words had sounded hollow and they shouldn’t have. She was utterly passionate about her art. Determined to make a full-time living from it eventually. In the meantime she had a job she loved, her apartment, her studio for hire... It was enough. Of course it was enough.
So why had Nico’s questions got her all tied up in knots?
She took the white napkin off her lap, folded it carefully and placed it on the table. ‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said, avoiding his eye. ‘I’m ready to go when you are.’
The Bouchards came out to farewell them, dropping kisses onto Marietta’s cheeks, and she wondered what assumptions they’d made about her and Nico’s relationship.
Not that it mattered. Sooner or later she’d be gone from Île de Lavande and she’d have no reason to return—a thought she found inordinately depressing as Nico drove them home on the winding mountain road. When they arrived, he parked in the courtyard by the house, went to open the front door, then returned and lifted her out of the Jeep. He carried her towards the house.
‘Nico!’ she cried. ‘My chair!’
He kicked the front door closed, barely breaking stride. ‘You won’t be needing it for a while.’
Outrage and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge sent a lick of heat through her veins.
Her voice rose on a high note of fury. ‘I’m not sleeping with you tonight!’
He reached his bedroom and dropped her unceremoniously onto his bed, so that she sprawled inelegantly on the grey silk coverlet.
He shot her a dark, blistering look and started unbuttoning his shirt. ‘I don’t plan on doing much sleeping.’
She pushed onto her elbows, glared up at him. ‘I’m still angry with you!’ she flung at him.
He shrugged off his shirt and threw it to the floor. The moonlight illuminating the room washed over his powerful torso, making him look like a statue of some demigod cast in pewter.
Marietta’s mouth dried.
‘Bien,’ he said in a low, rough voice, simultaneously toeing off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. ‘I like that fiery temper.’
He shoved the rest of his clothes off and when he straightened the full extent of his arousal was plain to see. He curled his hand around himself and the sight of him doing so was deeply erotic. Utterly mesmerising.
‘It turns me on,’ he said, quite unnecessarily, and then he was climbing onto the bed.
She shook herself, shot her arm out and slapped her palm against his chest. ‘Stop!’
‘You don’t mean that,’ he said, and his lips curved into a smile of such utter carnality that her belly flooded with hot, liquid need. Then he pushed up her top, freed her left breast from its lacy confines and sucked her nipple into his mouth.
Marietta gasped, her traitorous body arching in response to the exquisite sensations he inflicted so effortlessly. She lifted her hands, intending to beat them down upon his bare shoulders, but somehow her fingers ended up buried in his thick hair.
His head lifted, his blue eyes glittering with triumph. ‘Do you still want me to stop?’
She gave him a mutinous glare, then dragged his head down and kissed him, sinking her teeth into his lower lip for a second before pushing his head back up.
‘This won’t make me forget that I’m angry with you,’ she warned him.
That wicked smile returned, making her insides quiver.
‘Chérie,’ he said, lowering himself on top of her, his hard body crushing her into the mattress, ‘by the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember your name.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘DID I DRAG you out of bed, my friend?’
Leo Vincenti’s voi
ce carried over the video feed with a distinct note of dryness.
Nico thrust his hand through his dishevelled hair and peered at his friend’s image on his computer screen. Leo sat in his office in Rome, looking immaculate in a crisp shirt and tie, making Nico even more aware of his unshaved jaw and the rumpled tee shirt he’d hurriedly pulled on after realising he was late for the video call he and Leo had scheduled for this morning.
‘Long night working,’ he said as he ruthlessly smothered the image of his friend’s sister naked and spread-eagled on his bed.
Dieu. He hadn’t considered how truly awkward it would be to look his friend in the eye after all the things he had done with Marietta last night.
Never had he known sex to be so... so combustible. So all-consuming. And still he wanted more. Still his groin twitched at the mere thought of sliding between her thighs and burying himself inside her wet, welcoming heat.
He moved his chair closer to the desk, concealing his lower body.
‘Sorry I couldn’t talk longer yesterday,’ said Leo. ‘I was in the middle of a client crisis meeting. You said you had more news?’
‘There’s been a development,’ Nico confirmed, forcing his mind away from the sleepy, satisfied woman he’d left in his bed. He’d placed her chair within arm’s reach, in case she wanted to get up, but he hoped she’d stay put. He wasn’t finished with her yet.
He sat forward and gave a brief summary of the information Bruno had imparted yesterday. Late on Wednesday one of the two men they’d shortlisted as suspects had confronted Lina at the gallery and demanded to know Marietta’s whereabouts. When Lina had claimed not to know he’d become aggressive and physical. Bruno was convinced they had their man. But now the guy had gone to ground.
Leo’s expression was grim. ‘Is the girl all right?’
‘She’s fine. I have a protective detail on her.’
‘How will you find him?’
‘We have the polizia fully on board now.’ And his own men continued to work around the clock.
‘Does Marietta know?’
‘Not yet.’ When the perpetrator was in custody—then he would tell her. In the meantime she didn’t need to know about Lina. She’d only worry. ‘I’ll give her the details when the time is right.’
Leo dragged a hand over his face, pulled in a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Nico,’ he said gravely. ‘I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.’
Nico shrugged. ‘If our roles were reversed you would do the same, mon ami,’ he said, tamping down on a flare of guilt.
Marietta was a grown woman, he reminded himself. She wasn’t answerable to her brother—and neither was he.
He promised Leo to keep him updated and disconnected the call. When he returned to the bedroom Marietta was still in bed, early-morning sunlight streaming over her mahogany hair and golden breasts. He shed his clothes and climbed in beside her.
She stirred, blinked those beautiful dark eyes at him. ‘I thought I heard you talking to someone...’
‘Just a work call,’ he said, cupping a soft, lush breast in his hand and thumbing its nipple. She moaned, and the little nub of caramel flesh peaked into a hard point that begged for the attention of his mouth.
A few more days, he acknowledged, his heart punching hard at the thought. That was all he’d have with her. Right then it didn’t seem as if it could possibly be enough, but it would have to be. He had nothing to give her beyond these days on the island, nothing to offer, and she deserved more. She deserved a man capable of love. A man who would tear down the barriers she didn’t even know she’d erected around herself and convince her she’d make an amazing wife and mother.
Nico wasn’t that man. And for a moment, as he stared into her liquid brown eyes, the knowledge twisted his stomach into a knot of deep, gut-wrenching regret.
* * *
Marietta lay on her side on the soft beach rug and watched the steady rise and fall of Nico’s magnificent chest as he slept.
He wore only a pair of swimming trunks and she trailed her gaze over his bronzed body, her belly twisting with a physical need she’d thought might have lessened over the last three days but had, in fact, only intensified.
They’d settled into something of a routine. In the mornings they’d linger in bed and make love, before indulging in a leisurely breakfast on the terrace, then Nico would work for two to three hours in his study and Marietta would paint. When her tummy grumbled she’d wash out her brushes and make them some lunch, and afterwards they’d swim and laze by the pool or at the beach. Dinner was usually a light snack, shared at the kitchen table or out on the terrace—and bedtime always came early.
It was indulgent and idyllic and it couldn’t last. Marietta knew that, and that was why she planned to enjoy it. Reality would intrude soon enough. For now she was going to accept these extra days with Nico for what she’d decided they were—once her anger over missing Ricci’s birthday had worn off. A gift.
She traced her finger over the words tattooed around the emblem on his left arm. Honneur et Fidélité. It was the motto of the French Foreign Legion and somehow those words—honour and fidelity—fitted him perfectly. Because he was loyal and honourable. Her brother had said so many times, and Leo trusted him implicitly—as did she.
Her heart squeezed every time she thought about what he’d revealed of his childhood. She ached inside for the lonely boy he must have been, and she ached for the man he was now—a man who held himself aloof from the world. A man who seemed very much alone.
He was like a multi-layered gift-wrapped parcel, she decided. The kind that was passed around a circle of children at a party and when the music stopped another layer was unceremoniously ripped off. The excitement—and the frustration—was in not knowing how many layers there would be. Not knowing exactly when you were going to peel off the final layer and reach the heart of the parcel—the true gift beneath.
Nico had many layers—most of them deeply buried. His difficult childhood, the loss of his mother, his time as a soldier and the horrors he must have seen... But she sensed his greatest trauma—and thus the key to understanding him—had been the loss of his wife, and unfortunately that subject had been declared off-limits.
‘Ready for a swim, ma petite sirène?’
She jumped, her hand jerking away from his arm.
Of course he hadn’t been asleep.
She smiled at the endearment. My little mermaid. When she swam with him she felt like a mermaid, too. Graceful and elegant. Playful and sultry. For a while she’d forget all about her useless legs and simply revel in the freedom of the water. The exquisite pleasure of being skin to skin with him.
‘In a bit,’ she said, tracing her finger through the dark, crisp hair on his forearm.
Her mind toyed with the question.
Did she dare?
She looked at him, then took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘Will you tell me about your wife?’
He tensed, and she held her breath.
He sat up, the lines of his shoulders and back rigid.
‘I asked you never to speak about that.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Leave it, Marietta.’
She swallowed. ‘I only—’
‘I said leave it.’
And he lunged to his feet, stalked across the sand and dived into the water.
* * *
When Nico emerged from the sea he had no idea how long he’d been swimming. Fifteen minutes, if he hazarded a guess. Twenty at the most. Long enough for regret to outweigh his anger.
He had been too harsh with Marietta. These last few days they had been totally absorbed in one another, as physically intimate as two people could be. Her curiosity had felt intrusive, uncomfortable—more than uncomfortable—but it wasn’t entirely unreasonable.
He padded across the sand. She lay on her back now, the awning shading her from the afternoon sun, her enormous dark sunglasses keeping her eyes hidden. A bright blue sarong draped her legs and she
wore the yellow bikini top he’d enjoyed removing on numerous occasions. She must have heard his approach and yet she didn’t move a muscle.
He dropped to his knees on the rug and shook his head, spraying droplets of seawater over her.
‘Hey!’ She whipped her sunglasses off and glared up at him.
He stared back, meeting that fiery little temper of hers head-on. ‘You’re upset,’ he observed.
‘You got up and walked away from me, Nico. How do you think that makes me feel? Knowing that I can’t stand up and follow you?’
Shame pierced him, and he didn’t like it. ‘You pushed me, Marietta,’ he said, taking a defensive tack.
‘I asked you a question. That’s all.’
Frustration needled under his skin. He grabbed a towel, dried himself off and sat down beside her. He stared moodily out at the sea. ‘I don’t talk about my wife with other people.’
A pause. ‘Is that what I am to you?’ she asked quietly. ‘“Other people”?’
He turned his head to look at her. ‘No,’ he conceded gruffly—because she wasn’t. She was different—the only person he’d let get this close to him in ten years.
Hell. He pushed his hands through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stretched out on his back beside her and took a deep, slow breath.
‘Her name was Julia,’ he began, ‘and we met at a resort in Mexico when I was twenty-four.’
He could feel Marietta’s gaze on him but he kept his own pinned on the blue and white stripes of the awning above them.
‘She was vacationing with girlfriends and I was blowing off steam with some guys I had just completed a private security contract with.’
It had been a classic case of ‘opposites attract’.He’d been a big, rough-around-the-edges foreigner and she’d been a pretty polished blonde from a privileged background. But Julia had been so much more than that. She had been sweetness and light—everything Nico had missed from his life since his mother had died.
Within six months they’d been married, despite her parents’ protestations.
‘It should never have worked,’ he said. ‘Our backgrounds were too different. And her father was running for the state senate.’ He grimaced at the memory of Jack Lewisham’s reaction to the man his daughter had declared she was marrying. ‘I wasn’t exactly desirable son-in-law material.’
Defying Her Billionaire Protector Page 11
