And today he was not wearing a T-shirt and trousers, like a normal man. He was dressed to emphasize his power rather than dampen it.
It ricocheted inside of Sophie like a bullet, and all he did was sit there.
Looking at him made her palms feel itchy. Sophie rubbed them on her thighs, but then stopped when she saw the way Renzo tracked the movement, as if it was evidence he could use against her.
“You persist in failing to understand your situation,” he said after a moment, his tone almost absent, as if he was speaking to a troublesome employee. There was no reason that should slap at her, Sophie told herself, when it was the least of the things he’d done to her. “What about this is confusing?”
“Do you really want to keep me in prison?” she asked, and she had no idea why there was so much emotion in her voice, making it sound so rough. “Am I expected to sit quietly in a room somewhere, staring at the wall?”
“I told you to find something to do in the village. Or is the simplicity of village life too far below a woman of your exalted standards?”
Again, that sardonic tone he used like a lash.
“You don’t have to insult me every time we speak,” Sophie managed to say without giving in to those emotions that still slopped around inside of her. “Would the world end if you were nice to me for five minutes?”
“There is one way that I’m more than happy to be nice to you,” Renzo said, and his voice changed again.
And Sophie caught fire.
“I want you to tell me how it is you think I should spend my time,” she said, very deliberately. She wasn’t going to touch the sexual innuendo part of the conversation. She had no idea what she might say.
Or worse, do.
“You do not, apparently, know how to entertain yourself. Is that what I’m hearing? Again?”
“I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself,” Sophie snapped at him. “I’ve read a lot of books. I’ve taken a lot of walks. It’s been two weeks and I’ve seen everything there is to see, twice. What I can’t get my head around is what I’m meant to do for the next nine months.”
Renzo lounged there in the chair across from her, wicked and angelic at once, mouthwateringly ruthless in all things, and the way he looked at her then was...unfair.
“As it happens,” he murmured. “I have an opening.”
Something about his tone sneaked down her neck and along her spine, making her too aware of him. All of him. That gleam in his dark eyes and that curve on his hard mouth. The way he sprawled there, his legs thrust out before him. There was something about the way this man’s body affected her that made her want to cry. He filled her with despair, wild and huge and overwhelming.
Though Sophie didn’t think that was the correct word for the things she felt when she gazed at him.
It was easier to call it despair than it was to interrogate the parts of her that pulled tight and greedy, hot and nearly painful, every time he was near.
And there was something about the way he was looking at her this afternoon that made it that much worse than it normally was.
“A position in your business?” she asked.
“My business?” He laughed at that. “You have already told me your résumé, Sophie. I expect you know it is not exactly impressive. You were raised to be a dilettante and lived up to all expectations. What use could I possibly have for that?”
What she would have to sort out later, when she was alone, was why she was always surprised by his sucker punch. He landed it every time. Sophie couldn’t blame him—it was clearly just what he did.
Why did she persist in imagining he could ever be the man she’d imagined he was that first night?
“Thank you,” she said quietly, after a moment. “For always making certain that I know exactly who you are. That I’m not tempted, for even a minute, to forget.”
“I do like to be memorable,” Renzo said.
“I’ll have to consult the internet when I have a moment,” she said, shifting slightly in her seat so she could hold his gaze, her chin tipped up. “But I’m fairly certain your résumé is even less impressive than mine. Car races and a handful of high-profile affairs with actresses in the first rung of their downward spiral, if I remember correctly. And a few hotels and clubs thrown in to diversify your portfolio, of course.”
If she thought she could land a similar punch on him, she was mistaken. He only smiled.
Like a wolf.
“Don’t worry, the position I have in mind is more firmly in your skill set.”
Sophie knew, somehow. It was the way he was looking at her. Less frozen than it had been these last two weeks, for a start. It was the way the air seemed to tighten between them, complex and complicated, thick and textured—and yet very, very simple.
“I’m afraid to ask what you think my skill set is,” she said.
“I want you to do what you do best, cara.” There was something wrong with his voice, then. It was raw. Too dark. It worked its way through her like a roll of thunder. “I am not in need of another secretary. Or an office girl of any description.”
“My talent is in running things,” she told him, which was true enough, though she doubted he cared. “I have my own support staff.”
“I don’t require you to run anything,” Renzo told her, his dark amber gaze lit with a fire that made her feel lit up and hollow at once. “Or support anything. But in these halcyon days before our inevitable wedding and the birth of our child, I do find myself very interested in a new mistress.”
* * *
“A new mistress.”
Sophie repeated his words as if they were in a language she didn’t speak. As if they made no sense to her, when Renzo could see that she understood him perfectly.
He could see it in the flush that worked its way down her neck to flirt with the scoop neck of the casual shirt she wore. He could tell by the way she crossed and uncrossed those long, shapely legs of hers, shown to advantage in the shorts she wore that had him longing to reacquaint himself with every last inch of them.
She was driving him to distraction. And he was tired of talking about it. He was tired of catching her scent in the halls when he least expected it. He was tired of being haunted by her the way he had been all those weeks when she’d disappeared and taken her fake name with her.
And this time, he didn’t have to wait for an enraging clipping from a foreign newspaper to find her again. This time, she was right here.
He was tired of pretending he wanted anything but to bury himself inside her until he tired of her, assuming that day ever came.
“Surely you know what mistresses are, Sophie,” he said, a little too much aggression in his voice. And that was him trying to control himself. “I would think that in your world, particularly, there are more mistresses than there are wives. If perhaps not all in the same place.”
She smiled, but he thought it looked forced. “Mistress is such a funny word. Do you mean you just want sex? Is this just how you hit on the women you strand in your castle? You can see why I’m confused. After all, it’s not the seventeenth century.”
“Of course I want sex, and quite a lot of it,” Renzo said, and the way he said it was deliberate. He wanted her to feel silly. Inexperienced and virginal, and he could see she did in the way she blushed. Then dropped her gaze. “But the role of a mistress is well defined. There are no...unreasonable expectations. Everyone involved knows the terms, and there is no deviation from them.”
“That sounds depressingly corporate.”
“But that is the point, Sophie. It is not romantic at all. It is an exchange. In your world, I believe engagements from the cradle serve a similar purpose, though they are perhaps less physical. Here, you will get what you want and so will I. No drama. No hurt feelings. No tears.”
“You think the word mistress is magical enough to preven
t all of that?”
“I do,” he said. He watched her closely. “Because it’s a contract, not a fairy tale.”
Much as their marriage would be, given that it was only for the child’s legitimacy. He would have no confusion on that score, either—but there was no need to get into that with her now. This was a good first step.
He watched her swallow hard, as if her throat was dry. Her lush lower lip trembled slightly, until she pressed her lips together. She took her time threading her fingers together in front of her, and only then did she raise her gaze to his again.
“What is it you want from a mistress?” she asked. And then, when he let his mouth curve, she hurried on. “Sex, obviously. I’m not sure why, if that’s what you want, you have to go to such absurd lengths to make it a transaction.”
He forced himself to lounge back against his chair when every part of him was hot. Ready.
“Because I can get sex anywhere,” he told her without a shred of conceit. Because it was a fact. “It is thrown at me when I walk down the street. It is everywhere I go.”
“My condolences.”
He liked when she showed her fangs, and smiled. “But this is the problem, you understand. Simply because a beautiful woman looks at me in a certain way on the street, for example, this doesn’t mean that we will suit each other in bed. And let’s say that we do suit.” Renzo shrugged, though he never shifted his intent gaze from her flushed face. “How do I know she will not make the grave mistake of falling in love with me? Because I do not allow love to pollute my relationships, Sophie. Ever.”
“Is that really a concern?” Sophie asked, and her voice was still clipped. Her brown eyes glittered and he thought, whether she knew it or not, his little captive was jealous. “Because I have to tell you, I really don’t think that’s as much of a factor as you seem to imagine.”
“Says the woman who is soaking wet right now, sitting across from me in a library.”
He watched her cheeks blaze with heat. She pulled in a sharp breath, and her hands gripped the arms of her chair as if she didn’t know whether to run for it or take a swing at him.
And he doubted she was aware that the scent of her arousal hung between them, telling him everything he needed to know.
“I’m not surprised you have a vacancy,” she said after a moment, though he was pleased to hear she sounded breathless. “You don’t make the position sound very appealing.”
Renzo stretched, and enjoyed the way she watched him. As if he was a dessert and she couldn’t quite keep herself from taking a little lick. He shifted forward, putting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands dangle in front of him.
The tips of his fingers brushed her bare knees.
Once, then again.
She caught her breath, then let it out in a sigh that sounded a whole lot like surrender.
“Just think, Sophie, if all of this was set aside,” he said softly. “The silly games. The outraged posturing. Imagine if all you had to think about was greeting me just as you are, slick between the legs and nipples hard as rocks, with no thought in your head but our mutual satisfaction. Think how quickly these nine months would go if that was your only focus.”
For a moment, she imagined it. He could tell by the way her eyes went unfocused. The way her mouth fell open, just slightly. He could see the color on her cheeks and the wild drumming of the pulse in her throat.
He could imagine it too easily. Every day could be like that night in Monaco. She would give herself to him, again and again, and this time, he wouldn’t have to worry about losing her every time he went to sleep.
Are you worried about losing her or are you concerned she’ll try to call this love? he asked himself. And couldn’t seem to find an answer.
Before him, sitting too straight in her chair, Sophie shook herself.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, sounding particularly British and scolding. He assumed it was as much for her benefit as it was for his. “I can’t just...be your sex slave.”
“Why not?”
Sophie’s pupils dilated. Renzo leaned forward a little more and traced patterns on the bare skin before him. Her knee, again. Then down along the leg she’d crossed over its mate, as if he was drawing patterns on her taut, satiny flesh.
He was so hard it hurt.
“I’m glad this is a joke to you,” she said. Weakly.
“I’m not joking at all.” Renzo leaned forward and slid his hands onto her lap, relishing the way she bit back a sound at that. It reminded him of the way she came, and he nearly lost his composure. It took him far too much work to pull himself together, but he managed it, though his jaw ached from the way he clenched his teeth. “Here’s the problem, cara. You can, if you wish, waste your months here traipsing around the village entreating my people to do your bidding. They won’t.”
“What do you mean, your people? This isn’t a feudal estate.”
He trapped her hands in his and held them, angling himself even closer.
“It might as well be. This village was falling down when I left it at eighteen. No industry to speak of. Goatherds and shopkeepers were the lucky ones. Everyone else was simply trapped here, the way their families have been for generations. But I changed all that.”
He turned over one of her hands and examined it, noting the ragged nails that suggested she’d developed her own nervous habits while she’d been here. Good. He could only hope he drove her half as crazy as she did him.
“I didn’t merely take over all the leases and mortgages I could and fix up all the falling-down buildings. I bought the hotel over the next ridge and I financed it with my own money for the first five years, so it didn’t matter if the tourists came or not. But they came.” He looked at her other hand and reveled in the deep tremor he could feel go through her. “This village may be sleepy but the hotel is successful, and between it and the connected vineyard, I employ the bulk of the villagers.”
“I had no idea you had a single humanitarian bone in your body. I’m shocked.”
“What I am trying to tell you, cara mia, is that there is not a single person living here who is not aware of the hand that feeds them. They will not cross me. No matter how you smile or bat your eyelashes, you are trapped here. But then, you have been at pains to tell me that you have always been trapped, so perhaps it is not so much of an adjustment.”
She worried her lip with her teeth for a moment, then stopped as if she knew how it felt inside him. How it made him ache to test that lip with his own teeth. “I suppose it’s good to know that you’re capable of kindness, anyway. Even if you feel no particular compunction to show it to me.”
“You are the one who asked me for something to do with your time,” he reminded her.
Sophie sat a little straighter, and her brown eyes were too dark. “I’ve never been asked to be someone’s mistress before.”
“Good,” he growled, before he could think better of it.
“I’m fairly certain that the appropriate response is outrage.”
What Renzo noticed was that she didn’t look outraged at all. And she didn’t try to wrestle her hands from his. “What is there to be outraged about?”
“Oh, you know. The stain on my character and how little you must think of me to suggest such a thing. Small, inconsequential things like that.”
“Tell the truth,” Renzo murmured, dark and urgent. “How often do you wake in the night, wishing I was there beside you? I make you hungry. I make you wet and restless. You torture yourself with memories of how good it is between us. You fall asleep and dream of that night in Monaco and all the ways I filled you and took you and made you mine.” She let out a soft little sound, not quite a moan, and it took everything he had not to simply reach over and haul her into his lap. “I see no reason to play these games of make-believe when we both know the truth.”
She looked a
s if she might faint. She tugged on her hands, but when he released them, her expression seemed...crestfallen.
“You can’t just go around asking people to be your mistress,” she said faintly.
“I’m not asking people. I’m asking you.”
It occurred to him that he was entirely too invested in her answer, and not only because he was so hard it bordered on pain. And it was that other part that concerned him. He reminded himself who she was. What she’d done.
But when he conjured up visions of Sophie in that filmy confection of a wedding gown, walking down the aisle, it wasn’t betrayal he thought of.
In his head, she was making her way down that aisle to him.
That rocked him to his bones. It shook through him like a revelation, dark and terrible. Renzo released her and sat back, then made himself lounge as if he’d never been more relaxed in his life.
“And I’m not really asking you, to be perfectly clear,” he heard himself say, cold and impersonal again, the way he should have been all this time. “I’m telling you that the position is open and you can do with that information anything you wish.”
Sophie blinked, then went a little pale again. But he didn’t let the gnawing thing inside him get to him. He had never been a soft man and he didn’t know why there was something in him that wanted nothing more than to bring that color back to her face.
He had the sinking sensation that he was in this much, much deeper than he wanted to admit.
And he had no idea what to do about that.
“Your suite of rooms is directly next to mine,” Renzo told her, and he couldn’t seem to control his voice anymore. He sounded gruff. He felt...wrecked. “The door is never locked. When you are ready to take on your new role, all you need to do is open that door and walk through it. What could be simpler?”
She regarded him for so long, so quietly, that he started to feel something like panic work its way through him—
The Bride's Baby of Shame Page 11
