‘Quite,’ he said sardonically, not liking the cramp of guilt that seized his gut.
Had Elena wanted a traditional marriage?
It wasn’t something he’d cared to consider.
And now was not the moment to consider it. Whatever she’d hoped for was none of his concern.
Besides, if a large, cherub-filled church wedding rather than what was regarded as an intimate elopement was something she wanted, she could always do it with someone else once they were divorced.
Remembering the delivery that had come earlier, he strode to the table and removed the delicately tied white roses from the box.
‘What are they for?’ she asked with a puzzled frown, taking them from him and sniffing them.
‘They’re your bridal bouquet to hold as we exchange our vows.’ As he spoke, he pinned a single white rose to the lapel of the blazer of his navy pinstriped suit. ‘You didn’t think your loving fiancé would forget such an important detail, did you?’
She smiled with poison-laced sweetness. ‘As we’re not bothering with an engagement ring, guests or a reception, I’m surprised you bothered.’
‘But, my love, there will be photographers there to witness our joy when we leave the civic hall.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t learn we spent the night before our wedding together, and that you saw me before we exchanged our vows. It would be dreadful if they were to say our wedding is doomed by bad luck before it’s even started.’
‘Then we must put on a worthy display of our love so those doubts never rear up. Don’t you think?’
She tilted her head coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘But of course, my mouldy little acorn. Our love will shine through.’
‘A mouldy little acorn?’ God, she amused him. He had no idea why but she did.
And he had no idea why he experienced a pang to wonder what it would be like between them if they had met under entirely different circumstances...
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE THREE OTHER couples in the waiting room were bouncing with excitement.
Elena tried not to study them too overtly but their body language fascinated her. And saddened her.
These couples were happy. They were marrying with the best of intentions—for love. She was marrying to stop Gabriele from destroying her family.
She’d made her daily call to her father and had been utterly relieved when it had gone to voicemail. She’d left a message saying she would call tomorrow then switched her phone off.
It hurt to think how upset he would be to learn she’d married the man subtly poisoning minds against him.
Gabriele’s enormous arm was around her, her head nestled carefully in its crook.
She could feel the thud of his heartbeat. She could smell that masculine fruity scent.
It felt far too good to allow herself—for the sake of their audience—to sink into his strength.
Michael and his wife, Lisa, were sitting beside them, the pair beaming, clearly delighted their boss was getting married.
Romantic was the word Lisa had used when they’d met them there.
An elopement to a register office was romantic?
Elena’s parents had married in an old Tuscan church surrounded by hundreds of loved ones. The pictures in their official album had shown her father beaming with pride and her mother, dressed in a traditional floor-length white dress, glowing with happiness. Their love had shone through.
She had never expected to marry but in the back of her mind had always been the wistful imaginings of a big traditional wedding surrounded by people who loved her, and with happiness in her heart.
Not this. Nothing like this.
An official appeared, ready to lead the next couple to the room in which they would legitimise their relationship.
It was their turn.
Ice filtered through her veins, freezing her bottom to her seat.
Gabriele helped her to her feet and pulled her to him.
‘Ready to become Mrs Mantegna?’ he murmured, rubbing his nose against hers, a warning in his eyes.
Aware of happy gazes upon them drinking in their devotion, she pressed her lips lightly to his.
‘I hate you so much,’ she breathed.
She could only assume it was a form of punishment that made him dart his tongue into her mouth and kiss her with such possessiveness that she had to cling to him to keep herself upright.
Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach to goo and she had to fight with everything she had not to take pleasure from it... Except she did. Every part of her body took pleasure from it.
Done; his eyes gleamed before he turned to the official and said, ‘Lead the way.’
* * *
Five minutes later they were husband and wife.
They left the building into a blaze of afternoon sunlight, the rays bouncing off the elegant gold band now firmly placed on Elena’s wedding finger. It had surprised her that Gabriele had chosen to wear one too.
The handful of photographers who pitched themselves outside the building in the hope of business from those marrying on the spur of the moment had tripled in numbers.
The paparazzi had arrived.
No guessing who had tipped them off.
Hands clasped, they posed but refused to make any comment.
A crowd of curious well-wishers began to surround them, snaps from phones being taken at all angles and directions.
Michael and Lisa, trailing behind, spoke only to say of their happiness for them, then left in a cab, en route to the airport, where they would be taking a two-week holiday courtesy of Gabriele.
When enough pictures had been taken, they fought their way through the crowd that had grown to epic proportions and got into the back of Gabriele’s waiting car.
Elena would bet anything the snaps of them had been beamed around the world before they’d turned the corner of the block.
‘Don’t you want to go out and celebrate?’ she asked with only a small amount of sarcasm. ‘I’ve never known of a marriage without a big feast and party afterwards.’
‘This is New York. Marriages here come in many different flavours.’ He grinned, his eyes glittering. ‘We will return to my apartment and celebrate privately.’
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
What was the point in arguing? It would only delay the inevitable.
There was no backing out. That avenue was closed. She’d married Gabriele knowing full well that when she signed the marriage licence it cemented her commitment to sleep with him.
The worst of it all was knowing that she wanted it to happen.
Her fear was enormous but the thrill of anticipation equalled it.
There had been a moment in the night when she’d awoken from one of her intermittent dozes to find her face close enough to feel his breath on her skin. The longing she had experienced in those few semi-conscious moments...
She’d wanted to kiss him.
It had shocked her. It still did.
She cleared her throat before speaking. ‘I assumed you would want to throw a big party to show the world you own me now.’
‘I thought you said I would never own you?’ he said, his tone lightly mocking. ‘But yes, I am ahead of you on that—Anna Maria is organising a party in Florence for all our family and friends to attend two weeks on Saturday. The invites will be sent tomorrow.’
‘Will my family be invited?’
‘Our family,’ he corrected. ‘We’re married now so your family is mine and mine is yours and they will all be invited.’ His grin remained fixed but his eyes were hard. ‘I’m very much looking forward to seeing them again.’
‘I’ll bet you are.’
He leaned closer to her and took her hand, b
ringing it to his lips. ‘It will be an evening of celebration but that is for another day. Right now my attention is on an altogether more pleasurable occurrence.’
Elena had stopped breathing, her fingers tingling with sensation where his breath whispered against it.
How could she respond so physically to him? By any law of logic and decency, it shouldn’t be possible.
And how could her body buzz with the thought of what the night would bring?
They’d arrived back at his apartment.
Gabriele let go of her hand but instead of getting out, he brushed his lips against hers, catching her unawares, not giving her time to turn her face away. ‘Come, Mrs Mantegna, let us celebrate our new union.’
* * *
The atmosphere in the elevator to Gabriele’s apartment was as charged as he’d ever known it, as if an electrical current had been looped around them, pulling them ever closer together.
‘Let’s get a drink,’ he said, leading her into the dining room.
She stepped through the door and came to an abrupt halt.
‘Did you do this?’ she asked.
On the table were two bottles of pink champagne in a bucket and two flutes. Next to them were silver trays of Italian and American canapés and sweet treats, from asparagus wrapped in Parma ham, to delicate pastry bites to heart-shaped chocolate truffles. Somewhere in those delicious-looking trays of food lurked a bite or two laced with real truffles—he could smell the distinct musky, nutty scent, an aroma that brought to mind memories of his childhood before they’d emigrated, when he and his father had spent a day truffle detecting.
He had so many happy memories of his father. A childhood filled with happiness. But that was all he had left. Memories.
‘A private feast for two,’ he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing into her back.
There was the lightest of pressure returned to him before she jolted forward to the table. ‘Well, thank you for this because I am starving.’
‘That’ll teach you to skip breakfast.’
She met his eyes. Her cheeks coloured and she looked away.
Gabriele hid a smile.
The anticipation of the consummation of their vows had given an added piquancy to their mutual loathing. He could almost taste it.
There wasn’t the slightest doubt in his mind that the attraction was reciprocated. None at all. He could see it in her colouring, hear it in the deepening of her breaths. And, most of all, he could still feel the kisses they’d shared. And they had shared them. She’d kissed him right back.
‘Take a seat,’ he said, pulling a chair out for her. While she sat and began unwrapping the trays of food, he took a bottle of the champagne, aimed it at the wall, and uncorked it.
He poured them both a glass and passed one to her.
Raising his glass in the air, he said, ‘To us.’
She chinked her glass to his.
‘To us,’ she echoed, before adding, ‘And here’s to as short a marriage as it’s possible to have.’
‘And may all those short days be as pleasurable as they can be,’ he retorted, enjoying watching the colour rise back up her cheeks again.
For all her words of being starving, Elena only nibbled at the spread before her.
Gabriele, never one to turn down food, found his own appetite strangely diminished too.
It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, he reasoned. The expectation must be affecting him more than he’d expected. All the same, he ate over half the available food and a handful of the truffles.
He was content to let the meal drag out and make idle chit-chat. There was no rush. They had all night.
He almost laughed. A piece of paper they’d both signed that day said they had the rest of their lives.
When the first bottle of champagne was empty, he reached for the one sitting in the ice bucket.
‘I don’t want another drink,’ Elena said suddenly, her eyes on him. ‘I’m ready to go to bed.’
He raised a brow, a thrill racing through him at her admission.
Colour crept over her cheeks but she held his gaze, searching his eyes as intently as he searched hers. He brushed his thumb down the length of her cheekbone, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Her eyes closed and when she opened them the green darkened and a spark flashed from them.
‘I’m ready for bed,’ she repeated in a whisper.
* * *
Elena felt so tightly wound that she fleetingly wondered if she would be sick.
She’d hardly eaten a thing, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering too madly to let anything else in. With every passing minute of their shared meal she’d expected Gabriele to take charge, declare their meal over, and lead her into the bedroom. That he had been happy to linger had only added to the fear and anticipation rioting together in her. It had been like a ticking clock, the pendulum swinging louder and louder with every beat until it had become too much to bear.
She hadn’t been able to take the suspense a moment longer.
Being the one to vocalise it had felt, strangely, empowering. She had made the first move. She’d taken the power out of his hands and claimed it for herself.
And now the butterflies had gone berserk, the fear being crowded out.
God forgive her, she wanted him. She wanted this to happen.
But she would only give him her body. Her head and emotions belonged only to her and she would keep them firmly detached. Men did it all the time so why should she be any different?
All the same, it took a few moments to get her feet moving out of the bathroom.
Gabriele was already propped up in bed, waiting for her, his broad chest bare.
His eyes shimmered to see her. He turned the sheets over beside him.
Under those same sheets she knew the rest of him was naked too. Just as she was naked beneath her silk robe.
The summer sun was still making its late descent, casting the room with a dusky hue. She wished it were fully dark; was certain it would make her feel a little less vulnerable.
She got under the sheets and lay on her back, pulling the sheets up to her shoulders.
Gabriele propped himself on an elbow and stared down at her. Unable to help herself, she gazed back.
Those soulful dark eyes swirled as if magma had been poured into them, an intensity there that made her heart skip and her nerves tauten painfully. Excitement and fear collided but she couldn’t look away.
A large, warm hand rested on her collarbone, fingers tracing across to dip under her robe and begin the trail down to her belly, peeling the fabric back until he reached the knotted sash.
His eyes holding hers, still propped up on his elbow, he untied it.
Elena’s heart hammered so hard its beats echoed in her ears. Breathing had become difficult, the air sticking in her throat. The line on her skin where his fingers had traced had been marked by his touch, the tingles spreading out through her flesh.
When Gabriele dipped his head and moved his mouth to hers, she only just turned her head away in time.
He stilled and gazed at her with questioning eyes before a half smile formed on his face.
‘Ah,’ he murmured softly, kissing her neck. ‘This is where you make a show of doing your duty and nothing more.’ He caught her earlobe in his teeth while he pulled her robe apart, exposing her breasts to him.
He gazed at them then looked back in her eyes, the magma in his pulsing. Gently he cupped her breast and stroked the puckered nipple with his thumb.
She closed her eyes as sensation rippled through her.
‘We both know your desire for me is as strong as my desire for you,’ he whispered, his mouth back at her ear, more sweet, sweet sensation skittering on her skin, under her skin, every
where...
Gabriele shifted off his elbow and raised himself to kneel over her thigh. The movement shrugged the sheets off him, exposing more of the dark hair that covered his chest, down to his abdomen, thickening at his groin, where...
She blinked in shock.
She might have zero experience in this but even she could tell he was fully erect and hugely so.
A dull throb set off low within her, becoming altogether heavier and more heated when he pressed another kiss into her neck. And another. And another, drifting lower, down the valley of her breasts and over to capture a nipple in his mouth.
She couldn’t contain the gasp that flew from her mouth.
The urge to touch him back grew from nowhere, and she grabbed at the ends of her pillow, clumping them in her fists.
This was too much. And yet, not enough.
Lightly, he traced his fingers over her skin, making swirls over her belly, his movement unhurried; lazy. Sensation was everywhere.
When he trailed a hand down her body and dipped a finger into her most intimate area, she clenched her teeth, still determined not to react. But this...in a place she’d never even touched herself...
Now he was the one to groan, a deep sound that came from the base of his throat, more like a growl from a wild animal than anything human.
‘You really are exquisite.’ He rested the palm of his hand so it covered the heart of her pleasure and slid another finger inside her.
Her breaths shortened.
The friction of his palm on her and the wholly unknown sensations being set off by the magic of his fingers...the battle to keep her head was being lost and she held the pillow even more tightly lest she give in and flatten her hands onto his back and feel the skin for herself and see if it felt as smooth beneath her fingertips as it seemed to her eye.
She would not give in. No matter how desperate a fight it would be.
But she was helpless to prevent the moan that left her mouth like a whimper.
‘Admit that you want me,’ Gabriele said hoarsely into her throat, his breath sending more sensation over her skin. ‘I need to hear it.’
How could she deny it? Her body betrayed how much she desired him, reacting to his touch as if it were heaven-sent.
Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed Page 9
