The Billionaire's Bridal Bargain

by Lynne Graham

  Lizzie filled the glorious antique bath to the brim, filled it with bubbles and lowered her body into the warm water. Angry, Cesare could be incredibly intimidating, towering over her, dark eyes glowing with hostility in his lean dark face. She couldn’t help that her first reaction to an angry man was to run to the nearest place of safety. Her mother’s violent second husband had taught her to get herself and Chrissie out of harm’s way fast.

  But Lizzie refused to be intimidated by Cesare, whom she sensed would never be violent. What did he have to be so angry about? Hadn’t their lovemaking been good for him? It had certainly been good for her, apart from the hiccup as such in the middle when she had discovered that her first experience of intimacy could actually be painful. Ironically she was more hurt by Cesare’s withdrawal and grim mood in the aftermath, which had made her feel—all over again—inadequate. Why couldn’t he have simply let the subject go? Had he no sensitivity? Couldn’t he see that she didn’t want to talk about it?

  Cesare paced the bedroom in fierce frustration. Why hadn’t she warned him? Had she been embarrassed about being untouched? He recalled the blushing and gritted his teeth, acknowledging that he was totally unfit to deal with sexual innocence when he had failed to recognise it even though it was right there in front of him. He had screwed up, screwed up even worse when he sprang an immediate interrogation on her.

  This was not how he had pictured their marriage kicking off. She was all emotional now, very probably weeping in the bath and regretting their new agreement while wishing she had never laid eyes on him. And yet the sex had been amazing...so amazing he couldn’t wait to repeat it. Galvanised into motion by that shameless motivation, Cesare threw on a disreputable pair of jeans and padded downstairs, pondering possibilities to redeem himself in his offended bride’s eyes. Before he even got that far he heard the distant howls of Archie marooned in an outside kennel and he grinned at the sound. He was a very clever man and he would turn the wedding-night breakdown back into a honeymoon regardless of what sacrifices it demanded of him!

  Archie broke off his cries mid-howl and pranced towards him on three little legs. Archie was not particularly attached to Cesare but he recognised him as a potential lead to his mistress...

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ARCHIE WHIMPERED OUTSIDE the bathroom door.

  ‘You know you can do better than that,’ Cesare told him, tossing him a fragment of chicken from one of the plates on the table by the bed.

  For a three-legged dog, Archie could move fast and he caught the scrap in mid-air.

  ‘Now...you have a mission,’ Cesare reminded the scruffy little animal. ‘You get her out of the bathroom.’

  Archie hovered by the door, tried to push it but the balloon collar round his neck got in the way. Sitting back on his haunches, Archie loosed a sad howl that would not have shamed a banshee. Cesare threw him another piece of succulent chicken in reward. Archie gave a grand performance.

  Lizzie woke up feeling cold, water sloshing noisily around her as she sat up wide-eyed. Archie was howling at the door...or had that just been a dream? Clambering hastily out of the bath, she snatched up a fleecy towel and wrapped herself in it, just as Archie howled again. Glancing at the watch on the vanity to see how long she had slept, she was taken aback to realise that a couple of hours had passed and that it was now almost one in the morning. Depressing the lock, she opened the door in haste.

  ‘Oh, pet, I forgot about you! Have you been lonely?’ Lizzie asked, squatting down to the little dog’s level.

  ‘Want some supper?’ Cesare asked lazily from the bed on which he reclined.

  Small bosom swelling at that insouciant tone, Lizzie was about to tell him in no short order what he could do with supper and then her tummy growled and she registered in surprise that she was actually very hungry. Of course, she hadn’t eaten very much at dinner...

  Straightening, she looped her damp hair back behind her ear and focused on Cesare’s lean, darkly devastating face, clashing with the banked-down glitter of his stunning eyes. ‘You still want answers, don’t you?’

  ‘I’d be a liar if I said otherwise,’ he admitted, sprawling back with his hands linked behind his head, a position which only threw into prominence the muscular torso and flat ribbed stomach beneath his black T-shirt.

  Lizzie breathed in slowly, belatedly registering the table of snacks by the bed and the candles that must have been relit while she slept. A surprising sense of calm after the storm enclosed her. The worst had already happened, hadn’t it? What did she have to fear now? Not marriage, not sex, she decided, her chin coming up. Cesare had...briefly...scared her but that wasn’t his fault. No, that fault could be laid at the door of her late mother’s misjudgement of men and a stepfather who had given Lizzie nightmares long after he had passed out of her life.

  ‘You know, when you got so angry, you scared me,’ she told him baldly. ‘My mother was married to a man who beat her up when he got angry.’

  Cesare sprang off the bed, a frown pleating his ebony brows. ‘I would never hurt you.’

  ‘I think I know that already,’ Lizzie said quietly. ‘But running is still a reflex for me when men get angry. I can’t help it. The two years Mum was married to that man were terrifying for Chrissie and me.’

  ‘Did he hit you as well?’ Cesare growled in disgust, appalled that he could have, however unwittingly, frightened her.

  ‘He tried to a couple of times but he was drunk and clumsy and we were fast on our feet,’ Lizzie confided. ‘Let’s not talk about it. It’s in the past. But I should make one thing clear...’ She hesitated. ‘I’m only willing to talk about Andrew if you’re willing to talk about Serafina.’

  ‘And exactly who has been talking to you?’ Cesare demanded, a muscle pulling taut at the corner of his stern, handsome mouth.

  ‘Your grandmother mentioned her...and I’m curious too,’ Lizzie confessed while she walked into the dressing room in search of a nightdress. Shedding the towel behind the door, she slipped it on, catching a glimpse of herself in a tall mirror. What remained of her fake glamour had evaporated in the long bath she had taken. The moist atmosphere had added frizz to her formerly smooth tresses and she suppressed a sigh. Cesare was getting the real Lizzie Whitaker on this particular night.

  Emerging from the dressing room with Archie at her heels, she tried not to visibly shrink from Cesare’s acute appraisal. The silk nightie was long and, to her, the very antithesis of sexy because it revealed neither leg nor cleavage. Her face coloured as she stilled for a split second, disturbingly aware of the intensity of that assessment from his smouldering dark golden eyes. A wave of heat shimmied over her, settling at the tips of her breasts and between her thighs in a tingling, throbbing awareness that mortified her. She knew he was thinking about sex. She also knew that he was making her think about sex. And she didn’t know how he did it. Hormonal awareness was like an invisible electric current lacing the atmosphere.

  Cesare watched the candlelight throw Lizzie’s slender legs into view behind the thin silk and his mouth ran dry while the rest of him ran hot and heavy. Her pert breasts shimmying below the material in the most stimulating way, she curled up at the foot of the bed and reached for a plate of snacks. ‘So, who goes first?’

  ‘I will,’ Cesare surprised himself by saying. Although he had initially been disconcerted by her demand he was now more amused that she should want to travel that far back into his past. It simply irritated him, though, that his grandmother was willing to credit that a youthful love affair gone wrong could still have any influence over him.

  ‘Serafina...it’s a beautiful name,’ Lizzie remarked thoughtfully.

  ‘She is very beautiful,’ Cesare admitted, quietly contemplative as he sprawled back indolently against the headboard of the bed. ‘We were students together. I was doing business, she was doing business law. It was first lo
ve, all very intense stuff.’

  Lizzie watched him grimace at that admission. ‘My first love was a poster of a boy-band member on the wall,’ she confided in some embarrassment.

  ‘A poster would’ve been a safer option for me. I fell hard and fast and I wanted to marry Serafina. She said we were too young and she was right,’ he conceded wryly. ‘She was always ambitious and I assumed that I’d have to start at the bottom of the business ladder. But then I made a stock-market killing and took over my first company and my prospects improved. Serafina started work at an upmarket legal practice with some very rich...and influential clients...’

  ‘And at that point, you were still together?’ Lizzie prompted when the silence dragged, his delivery becoming noticeably less smooth.

  ‘Very much so. We were living together. Second week in her new job, Serafina met Matteo Ruffini and he invited her out to dinner with a view to offering her the opportunity to work on his substantial account.’ His beautiful mouth took on a sardonic slant. ‘Suddenly she became unavailable to me, working late in the evening, too busy to join me for lunch.’

  His tension was unhidden. Lizzie registered that Serafina had hurt him and hurt him deep because he still couldn’t talk about the woman with indifference. ‘She was seeing Matteo?’

  ‘Sì...and the moment Prince Matteo proposed, I was history. He had everything she had ever wanted. Social position, a title and immense wealth. The only flaw in his perfection was that she was twenty-five and he was seventy-five.’

  ‘Good grief! That’s a huge age gap!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘Did she tell you she’d fallen in love with him?’

  ‘No. Possibly that would have been easier to accept, if not believe. No, she told me that he was just too good a catch to turn down and that if she contrived to give him a son and heir, she’d be rich and blessed for the rest of her life,’ Cesare breathed with derision. ‘I realised I’d never really known her. It crushed my faith in women.’

  ‘Of course it did,’ Lizzie agreed, the nails of one hand biting into her palm while odd disconnected emotions flailed her, particularly when she found herself thinking aggressive thoughts about the woman who had broken Cesare’s heart. She had read him so wrong when they first met. He had been prepared to leap into the commitment and responsibility of marriage at a very young age. Clearly, he had genuinely loved Serafina and yet she had betrayed him in the worst possible way when she chose a life of rich privilege over love.

  ‘Andrew?’ Cesare pressed in turn.

  ‘He was my best friend growing up. We had so much in common we should’ve been a perfect match and we stayed great friends although he never actually asked me out until I was in my twenties. I was already in love with him...at least I thought it was love,’ she said ruefully. ‘Everybody assumed we would be great together and when he asked me to marry him, Dad was ecstatic. I said yes but I wanted us to just date for a while.’ Her face paling, she studied her tightly clasped hands. ‘It was in private that Andrew and I didn’t work out.’

  ‘Obviously you didn’t sleep with him,’ Cesare murmured softly, watching the fragile bones of her face tighten, the vulnerable curve of her mouth tense, feeling his own chest tighten in response.

  ‘No, I just didn’t want to sleep with him,’ she admitted in an awkward rush. ‘I froze every time he got close and he said I was frigid but I didn’t find him attractive that way. I thought I had a real problem with being touched. That’s why I wouldn’t date anyone after him and why I never blamed him for turning to Esther.’

  ‘You don’t have any kind of a problem,’ Cesare asserted with quiet confidence. ‘You were inexperienced; maybe he was as well—’

  ‘No,’ Lizzie broke in, running back through her memories while remembered feelings of inadequacy and regret engulfed her.

  Yet even before she had fallen asleep in the bath she had realised that her enjoyment of Cesare’s attentions had shed a comforting light on the past, which had always troubled her. Her only real problem with Andrew had been that he had always felt like the brother she had never had. She could see things as they had been now, not as she might have wished them to be: sadly, there had been zero sexual attraction on her side. She had sincerely cared for Andrew but he had always felt more like a good friend than a potential lover. When she compared how she had reacted from the first moment with Cesare, she could clearly see the difference and finally understand that what had happened with Andrew was not her fault.

  ‘I liked and appreciated him but I never wanted him that way,’ Lizzie admitted with regret. ‘I still feel guilty about it because I was too inexperienced to realise that he was just the wrong man for me...and my rejections hurt him.’

  ‘He seems happy enough now.’ Cesare toyed with another piece of chicken.

  Encouraged to think that further treats were in the pipeline, Archie got up on his haunches and begged.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, look what he’s doing!’ Lizzie exclaimed, sitting forward with wide eyes to watch her pet. ‘He can beg...I didn’t even know he could do that.’

  Cesare rewarded Archie with the chicken because he had made his mistress smile and laugh.

  ‘Of course, I’ve never fed him like that. If he’d come to me for food when I was eating my father would have called that bad behaviour and he would have blamed Archie. I kept Archie outside most of the time.’

  ‘I suspect Archie would’ve been clever enough to keep a low profile around your dad,’ Cesare surmised.

  ‘Did you ever have a pet?’

  ‘I would have liked one when I was a kid,’ Cesare confided. ‘But I was constantly moving between my grandmother’s home and Goffredo’s apartment and a pet wasn’t viable.’

  ‘Did you organise all this food?’ she asked, smothering a yawn.

  ‘The staff are in bed. I don’t expect service here late at night,’ he told her quietly. ‘I emptied the refrigerator.’

  ‘And let Archie up to lure me out of the bathroom,’ Lizzie guessed, settling their discarded plates on the low table and clambering in the far side of the bed to say apologetically, ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘Brides aren’t supposed to get tired, particularly not when they’ve been lazing in the bath for hours,’ Cesare informed her, amusement dancing in his dark golden eyes.

  He could still steal her breath away at one glance, she acknowledged wearily as she closed her eyes. It was, as he had termed it, ‘just sex’ and she had to learn to see that side of their relationship in the same casual light. She wondered if that would be a challenge because she was already drifting dangerously close to liking him.

  ‘Archie can sleep under the bed,’ Cesare decreed. ‘He’s not sharing it with us.’

  ‘We can’t do anything, you know,’ she muttered in a sudden embarrassed surge, her cheeks colouring. ‘I’m...I’m sore...’

  ‘It’s not a problem.’

  Relieved, she smiled and closed her eyes. As he stripped by the side of the bed Cesare studied her relaxed features and thought, Mission accomplished, honeymoon back on track. It was the same way he handled problems at work, mentally ticking off items on a to-do list while always seeking the most successful conclusion. But as he slid into bed beside Lizzie he reached for her and it wasn’t a pre-programmed task. He reasoned that she was a very restless sleeper and if he left her free to move around she would annoy him.

  Strangely enough, he acknowledged, in spite of the bathroom shenanigans, she hadn’t annoyed him once. But then she wasn’t the greedy, grasping type of woman he had deemed her to be. Why had he been so biased? After all, he had a stepmother, a grandmother and three sisters, none of whom were rich or avaricious. Had he deliberately sought out lovers who only cared about his wealth? And if he was guilty of that, had it been because he genuinely only needed carefree sex with a woman? Or because he preferred to avoid the possibility of anything more serious de
veloping? Almost ten years had passed since Serafina had waltzed down the aisle to her prince. He refused to think that she had burned him so badly that he had declined to risk getting deeply involved with anyone else. Yet he hadn’t even got an engagement or a live-in relationship under his belt during those ten long years.

  In the darkness, Cesare’s wide, sensual mouth framed a silent but vehemently felt swear word. He did not appreciate the oddity of having such thoughts about the sort of thing he had never ever felt the need to think about before. It was that ring on his wedding finger that was getting to him, he brooded impatiently. It was feeling married and possibly just a tiny bit trapped...with Archie snoring beside the bed and Lizzie nestled up against him like a second skin.

  Just like him, she was in this marriage for the end game and the prize, he reminded himself squarely. It wasn’t a normal marriage but, if they planned to conceive a child, the marriage had to work on a daily basis and why should physical intimacy always lead to a closer involvement than he wanted? The answer was that sex didn’t need to lead to anything more complex, he reminded himself stubbornly, certainly nothing that would break his rules of never getting more closely involved with a woman. And it was no wonder that he was feeling unsettled when he was in such unfamiliar territory. He hadn’t tried to please a woman since Serafina and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself trying to please Lizzie, was he?

  Archie’s snores filtered up in direct disagreement.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CESARE GLANCED AT his wife and then at the party of men watching her every move in a pantomime version of dropped jaws as she alighted from his Ferrari. She was a lissom figure in a turquoise sundress, her gorgeous silvery mane blowing back from her delicately flushed face in the breeze, her shapely legs tapering down to impossibly delicate ankles and high-heeled sandals. He pushed up his sunglasses and gave the men a warning look before closing his hand round Lizzie’s in a display of all-Italian male possessiveness that he could not resist.