Bound by the Billionaire's Vows

by Clare Connelly

  She swallowed, taking a step forward without realising it.

  He walked through the water in time with her own steps, so that he reached the edge nearest to her at the same time Skye’s toes met the grouting. His powerful body ripped him from the water with ease; the water droplets scattered over his flesh, pulling her gaze downward to the chaotic wetness that moved over his chest.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she explained, her eyes locked with his even when she knew she needed to look away. The air around them was thick, and it had more to do with their past, their present, than the heat of the balmy summer night.

  No, it was the whisperings of their story that was wrapping around them, pulling them back in, and for Skye’s part all she could see was the never-ending nature of it all. The love she’d felt for him had turned to hate, but there was still so much love there too. For, having never loved before, not properly, she had given her love to Matteo with no expectation or hope of return.

  She had given him her heart for life, and there was no way to take it back.

  Despite what he’d done.

  And now? A baby that would bind them for ever; the future yawned before her like a minefield of needs she would have to navigate.

  She had to do it better.

  She had to draw a line in the sand and keep him firmly on one side of it.

  But she also needed him. His mouth, his hands, his body.

  All of him.

  Need was all she could hear, and it was tormenting her with the loudness of its demands and the insistence that she indulge it.

  With the last shred of will-power she possessed, she smiled—a smile that was sense and reason in the midst of their moonshine madness. ‘Are you done?’ she asked, unknowingly caustic. ‘I thought I’d go for a swim.’

  His fingers reached for her, and the second they connected with her she drew a sharp gasp of breath. It didn’t help.

  ‘In this?’ he asked, reaching for her cotton nightgown, the teasing smile on his lips sucking her further back into the vortex of their past, to a time when that smile had driven her wild. When it had made her feel connected to him and full of pleasure—not just sexual pleasure, but true pleasure at the place she had in his life, and the place he had in hers.

  That smile was a dangerous lie. Listening to it would be foolish. And she was no longer foolish. At least, she was no longer so easy to fool.

  ‘No.’ A whisper.

  ‘May I?’ He held the fabric in his fingers—she held her breath in her lungs. His meaning was impossible to misinterpret.

  Knowing she was playing with fire, that they were on the precipice of a very, very steep ravine, that she was one crazy decision away from falling head-first into it, she nonetheless nodded. Her eyes latched to his as he lifted, so slowly that impatience ran through her, guiding the fabric along her body, brushing it over her flesh as he balled it at her waist, pausing there, his knuckles glancing across her skin. Higher still, he teased the sensitive flesh at the side of her breasts so that she bit down on her lower lip, wondering if he’d touch her and what she’d say if he did.

  ‘Hands up,’ he said with a smile that sunk her stomach.

  She complied readily, her eyes still clinging to his, as if held there by an invisible magnetic force. She reached for the heavens and he lifted the fabric the rest of the way, leaving her standing before him in just a simple lace thong.

  He tossed the fabric aside carelessly, hooking it onto the edge of a sunbed before returning his full attention to Skye.

  The moon slid silver across her flesh, across his face, bathing them in the magic of that moment.

  ‘May I?’ The same question, but his voice was deeper, huskier, and she wasn’t sure what he intended.

  She nodded anyway, watching as he pressed his palms to her stomach first, his fingers splayed wide, as if looking for proof of the pregnancy in her abdomen. As if seeking confirmation, his eyes found hers, and she felt the swirl of emotion between them—the hunger, the need, the anger, the betrayal. It was all around her, making it impossible for Skye to know what she felt and what she wanted. Only she knew she shouldn’t want this. That she should put an end to what was happening.

  His hands moved higher, cupping her breasts, running over her nipples. It was an achingly familiar touch. Though it had been more than a month since she’d been naked with him, she had never forgotten the perfection of this.

  It was hard to forget when memories haunted your dreams.

  ‘I want to kiss you,’ he murmured, moving his hands back to her hips, holding her still, needing her as much as she needed him. He was wet, his body slick with the pool water. Skye’s eyes dropped to his chest. His heart was in there.

  The heart that was cold and ruthless and hurtful. The heart she would never hold in her hands, as he held hers in his. She swallowed, danger swirling around her.

  Could she sleep with him anyway?

  Could she fall back into his bed, knowing that he didn’t love her?

  Whenever they’d been together in the past she’d truly believed that they’d been making love. That their desire was a physical representation of their emotional commitment. But Matteo had never loved her. She doubted he was even capable of the emotion.

  Could she ignore that fact? Could she let sex slowly ease that pain? Wasn’t it better than nothing?

  ‘What’s stopping you?’ she asked softly. But the words were rich with her doubt and uncertainty.

  Matteo lifted his thumb, padding it over her lip. ‘What do you want?’

  Skye’s smile was a pale imitation of the real deal. ‘You didn’t care what I wanted this morning.’

  ‘You wanted me to kiss you then.’

  Skye blinked, looking away, swallowing, trying to untangle the knot of her desire and thoughts.

  ‘And now?’ she prompted.

  His smile was loaded with self-deprecation. ‘I can’t hear what you want over what I want. I need you to tell me.’

  She sliced her eyes back to his face, her breath forced as she struggled to take stock of that moment. ‘What do you want?’ she asked with a quiet intensity.

  His face cracked with an unfamiliar emotion. ‘I want it to be like it used to be.’

  Surprise spread through her, until she realised he was just talking about sex. Again. He wanted her whenever need overtook him. He wanted her willing, compliant body at his command.

  Her response was throaty. ‘It’s not possible.’

  He looked as though he was about to say something, but apparently changed his mind. ‘Swim with me.’

  It wasn’t an invitation; it wasn’t a command. It was simply an idea, one that moved through her. They’d swum together so often in the past. Was there anything wrong with doing so one last time?

  She nodded jerkily, moving closer to the water’s edge. Skye dove in with an unconscious grace. The pool wasn’t long, only ten metres, but it was very deep. She had always enjoyed trying to swim down and touch the bottom, dragging her fingertips over the smooth tiles, tracing the lines of grout, holding her breath until she’d felt like her lungs might burst. She did so now, gliding right to the base, where it was dark and quiet, and she felt the bottom like it was a touchstone that could take her back.

  A touchstone that had the power of rewind. That could slide her through the veils of time into the past. The past where she’d been happy—where she’d believed their marriage to be real.

  But it was temporary.

  She emerged in the present, the same uncertainty clogging between them, and made her way to the pool edge that overlooked the ocean. It was dark now, only a few cruise ships visible, their bright lights showing the outline of the boats. Matteo swam beside her, bracing himself against the pool, his elbow lightly brushing hers.

  Skye didn’t move away.

  ‘I’ve been wondering something,’ he said, not looking in her direction.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘When did you find out?’

  She tilted her hea
d towards his slowly, her eyes running over his autocratic profile, noting the details of his features even as she tried to make sense of the question.

  ‘About the baby,’ he clarified, the words deep and husky.

  ‘Oh.’ She looked away again. Her face was pale beneath the moon’s light. ‘A couple of weeks ago.’

  He was quiet for a long moment. So long that she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood.

  ‘And how did you feel?’

  ‘How did I feel?’ she repeated, a frown spreading across her face.

  ‘Yes.’ A small sound of impatience coloured the word. ‘Were you surprised? Happy? Upset?’

  Skye tilted her head back in the water, dipping her hair completely under the surface, brushing her thick fringe back with it. ‘All of the above,’ she said with a shrug, lifting her head out of the water.

  ‘And when did you decide that you wouldn’t tell me?’

  Skye pulled a face. ‘It’s not like I made a decision. I guess...’ Her eyes flicked to his for a moment and then instantly jumped away. ‘It didn’t really occur to me that I would tell you.’

  ‘No?’ A simple question, but she felt the intensity of feelings that coloured it.

  She pushed up straight, staring out at the ocean and wishing she were bobbing on top of it, far from her husband, her marriage, his beautiful home. Far from the desire that lashed her even as she knew she should be more sensible.

  ‘No.’

  He said nothing, but she intuited his silent judgement.

  ‘Our marriage was over.’

  ‘Which doesn’t change the fact we made a child together.’

  Skye nodded softly. ‘I was upset.’ She returned to the original question. ‘That was my first feeling. Devastation. I couldn’t believe the timing. If it had been a few weeks earlier...’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve always wanted children. Even as a teenager, I imagined myself with a big family. Lots of kids. A loving husband.’ She pressed her cheek against her hands, turning to face him. ‘A happy family.’

  ‘Like you never had,’ he said perceptively.

  There was no sense in denying it. She’d told him enough of her upbringing for him to know that she’d been miserable. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you happy now?’

  She shook her head slowly; the tears that sparkled on her eyes were a surprise. ‘How can I be?’ she whispered. ‘I’m trapped. This marriage is everything I don’t want. I mean, I can’t wait to meet my—our—baby. I know I’m going to love him or her so much. But, Matteo, if you felt anything for me at all, ever...if there was anything in your motivation beyond revenge and greed...surely you can see that making me stay married to you is a mistake?’

  He made a noise of frustration, closing the distance between them, his hands seeking her hips under water. He pulled her away from the edge of the pool quickly, holding her to his body, his eyes boring down into hers.

  ‘How can you call this a mistake?’

  And he kissed her then, hard, desperately, hungrily, with all the need that was thick inside him. He kissed her, and he held her close to him, and then he moved one hand away. She felt his fingers brush against her stomach as he sought the waistband of his swim shorts and pushed them downwards. His legs moved, freeing him of his impediment, and then he was naked against her, his arousal hard to her stomach.

  Yearning was like wildfire, advantageous and determined. It flicked over her, demanding her attention and indulgence. It was a force too needy to ignore, and she didn’t want to ignore it anyway.

  But hurt was too strong to be forgotten, and he had hurt her badly.

  ‘I hate you,’ she said seriously, pulling away from him long enough to stare into his eyes, to show him that she meant it. ‘This is just physical. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  A muscle jerked in the base of his jaw. He looked as though he wanted to say something, and for a moment she hoped he would argue; but then he nodded, pulling her to the end of the pool that was shallower so that his feet touched the bottom. And then he brought his mouth back to hers and beneath the water his fingers sought her underwear, pushing them away easily. He had barely removed them before she lifted up, wrapping her legs around his waist so that he could easily slide inside her, deep inside her.

  He did so, thrusting slowly at first so that she moaned into his mouth, her fingers lifting of their own accord and tangling in his dark, wet hair.

  More tears filled her eyes, thickening in her throat as memories slammed through her. The perfection of this was a cruel irony, given their emotional discordance. Yet she didn’t resent it. She was grateful for it. Grateful at least for this connection.

  In all her life, it was undoubtedly the most meaningful, even when it meant so very little to him.

  She dropped her fingers to his shoulders, digging them into his smooth, tanned flesh, rolling her hips as he pushed deeper.

  He slid his mouth down to her neck, nipping the flesh at its base, moving deeper and faster. She gripped his shoulders as the world began to fade away from her, as pleasure began to eclipse everything else, just as it always had. She tilted her head back, and her breasts surfaced above the water so that he could lean forward and catch one nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

  Her breasts were so sensitive. It tipped her over the edge. She cried out into the night sky of Venice, the ancient sky with its prehistoric stars; she cried out, she held him and she drifted away on a wave of pleasure, on a moment of perfection. But he didn’t let her come back down to earth. Even as she was trembling, he lifted her back, crushing her to his body and moving to the steps; lifting her higher; spinning her so that he could place her bottom on the edge of the pool.

  He brought his mouth down to hers, pushing her backwards so that she was lying flat against the tiles that surrounded the pool. His mouth worshipped her, tasting her mouth first, then her breasts, licking the water from them at the same time he layered new needs, wants and memories across her. His tongue teased her stomach and he smiled against her belly, then dragged his mouth lower, to her womanhood, her core of femininity, lashing her once with his tongue so that she moaned and arched her back.

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he invited, the words roughened by emotions she couldn’t understand, emotions that did something new to her, something dangerous.

  Skye stared upwards, her mind fuzzy, desire thick in her blood.

  She wanted her husband. She wanted him kissing her, making love to her; she wanted it all.

  You’ll be begging me to take you...

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ she challenged, the words husky, her breath burning in her lungs. She pushed up on her elbows, glaring at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with defiance even as she was riding a wave of pleasure that was robbing her of sanity.

  His smile was lightly mocking. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ And he brought his mouth back to her most sensitive flesh, so that she could no longer think or speak—she could only feel—and she felt everything. She felt the cool breeze on her flesh, the night around them; she felt the moon looking down and the stars watching on; she felt his mouth, she felt his hands, she felt her heart, she felt her raging blood.

  ‘Please...’ The word escaped her mouth before she could catch it and she bit down on her lip, hating that he had been right. That she had ended up asking him to take her once more. That she was close to begging for him.

  He didn’t stop.

  He didn’t gloat, either. And she appreciated that. She arched her back and his hands ran upwards along her sides, holding her steady, and then he pushed away, moving over her, taking her once more, thrusting inside her and answering all the questions she’d hadn’t known to ask.

  It was perfection, yet it was also so flawed.

  As if he could read the thought, even before she knew that she’d had it, he brought his mouth to hers. ‘This has always been perfect between us.’

  But it wasn’t perfect!

  It wasn’t perfect
to want someone so much when it had nothing to do with love.

  All the fantasies she’d had about life and relationships and marriage and family and belonging disintegrated. Yet, maybe this was enough.

  It felt like enough, being made love to by—no, having sex with—her husband. It was easy to think that everything would be wonderful for ever more.

  ‘It’s crazy,’ she whispered, but she didn’t stop moving beneath him, writhing, feeling, welcoming, needing.

  ‘Si.’ Speech was impossible as he moved faster, deeper, kissing her in time with his body’s movements so that she was dancing to a rhythm all of his making.

  She collapsed beneath him at the same moment he exploded and they rode that perfect wave of delight together, neither wanting to contemplate what would come next. Nor what it would mean.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘AND WHAT WE did last night is safe?’ His eyes latched to hers over the spread of newspapers, coffee and croissants.

  Skye’s cheeks flushed at the oblique reference to the way they’d made love by the plunge pool, only metres from where they’d first slept together.

  ‘I think it’s a little late to be worrying about unwanted consequences, don’t you?’

  His smile was just a tight flicker of his lips. ‘I mean so far as the baby is concerned.’

  She laughed. ‘Of course. Do you think sex might pose a threat?’

  Dark colour slashed his cheeks. ‘I have no clue, cara. It is the first time I’ve slept with a pregnant woman.’

  She focused back on the newspaper, the headline swimming before her eyes. ‘It’s fine,’ she said thickly. ‘No risk.’

  ‘Good.’ He reached across, curving his hands over hers. ‘Because I want to do more of that.’

  Her pulse thumped heavily in her veins. She kept her attention averted. Didn’t she want that too? Well, yes, but there was definitely a risk to her if she made a habit of falling into his arms.

  ‘More swimming?’ she prompted.

  ‘Not what I meant.’

  ‘I know.’ She lifted her face, her eyes locking to his with a shyness that was at odds with what they’d shared. ‘I know what you meant.’