Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence

by Abby Green

  Nico led the way back to the castello, where he’d hired a local catering company to set up a wedding breakfast.

  There she endured the further humiliation of making small-talk with one of Nico’s legal team, aware every second that everyone knew this was just a business agreement.

  Finally, when everyone had gone—including the caterers—Chiara pulled the veil off her aching head and massaged it with her fingers. She walked downstairs into the kitchen, Spiro at her heels, and for a moment felt grateful that at least she hadn’t been separated from him.

  After she’d fed Spiro she went back upstairs, wondering if Nico might have already left for New York. But when she walked into the drawing room, he was there, looking moodily at a family photograph of Chiara and her parents, holding a crystal glass in his hand.

  She was very aware of the jump in her pulse, reminding her of that kiss and also of that secret part of her which didn’t necessarily want to see the back of him so quickly. She was very aware that he’d divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat and she could now see that he wore a close-fitting shirt that left little to the imagination.

  Once again she had the realisation that, even though she knew superficial facts about him, she didn’t really know him at all.

  He turned and saw her, where she stood in the doorway. He put out a hand. ‘Welcome, mia moglie, would you like a drink?’

  My wife.

  The castello was now his. She was now his. The only thing protecting Chiara from being thrown out on her ear was the fact that she’d married him.

  Panic mounted inside her as she questioned if she’d done the right thing. But she’d had no choice! she assured herself, trying to quell that panic.

  ‘Yes, I’d like a drink.’

  She walked into the room, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, as if it was every day that she wore a vintage lace wedding dress that felt glued to her body like an indecent wrap. She’d caught his eyes on her at various times during the day and had wanted to squirm with embarrassment. No doubt he’d been sending up thanks that their wedding wasn’t more public. His unfashionable bride.

  He uncorked a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket and presented her with a glass of the sparkling golden liquid. She took it from him just as a fresh rush of humiliation landed in her belly as she recalled the kiss they’d shared. She had a suspicion that he’d been toying with her in some way.

  She clutched the glass tightly. ‘Why did you have to kiss me like that in the chapel, in front of everyone? The only person who doesn’t know the truth of this marriage is the priest.’

  He looked at her steadily. ‘Maybe because I wanted to.’

  She stared at him as something indefinable zinged between them. Not possible. Her and him. No way.

  ‘You really didn’t need to pretend to fancy me. We both know the kind of woman you prefer.’

  He put a hand in his pocket. He couldn’t have looked more louche. ‘Oh, really? And what kind of woman would that be?’

  Chiara’s face grew hot. She took a quick sip of her drink, regretting opening her mouth. She tried not to cough as the bubbles fizzed in her mouth and down her throat. When she risked looking at Nico again he raised a brow, still waiting for her answer.

  She paced away from him towards the window. Dusk was claiming the sky. How had the day slipped by so quickly? Why was he still here?

  She turned around to find an arrested expression on Nico’s face and she wrapped her arm around her middle in a subconsciously protective gesture. ‘I’ve seen pictures of the women you like—tall, willowy. Beautiful.’

  His dark gaze rose to meet hers. ‘I might have agreed with you—until you appeared today looking like the most innocent temptress ever created.’

  Reaction set into Chiara’s bones and she started to tremble slightly. Nico put down his glass on a side table and moved towards her across the room. He looked as if a civilised layer had been stripped back from his urbane surface and Chiara found it more mesmerising than she wanted to admit.

  The air between them crackled. The room suddenly felt sweltering. She might almost have sworn that a fire burned in the massive fireplace just feet away, but a fire hadn’t been lit there since Christmas.

  He stopped in front of her. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. ‘I don’t... Why are you still here? You were supposed to be getting on a plane to New York.’

  He frowned. ‘This is our wedding night—why would I be getting on a plane?’

  Chiara’s head started to throb. ‘But it’s not a normal wedding.’

  He stepped closer. ‘This was the perfect wedding. No false declarations of love, no heightened emotions. Just two people coming together for a mutually beneficial cause. To save the castello.’

  ‘Which you would have done in any case.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not a patient man, Chiara. I wasn’t prepared to wait to regain my inheritance.’

  ‘An inheritance you had to pay for.’

  It seemed to be important to goad him right now, to keep him back—because she was very afraid that if he came any closer he’d see just how brittle she felt right now. How ready she was to shatter into a million pieces if he touched her again.

  This was where her real vulnerability lay. In this space between them that shouldn’t exist. Because he shouldn’t be looking at her as if he wanted to...to devour her.

  He shrugged one wide shoulder. ‘The money I couldn’t care less about. The castello is mine now, and that’s all that matters. And into the bargain I have you as my wife.’

  ‘But you don’t want me...not like that. You should go...your business must need you.’

  If Chiara could just get him to leave now, he’d go to New York and realise that whatever he was feeling for his convenient Sicilian bride was a total aberration. He was a highly sexed man—it oozed from his every pore. He needed to be reminded that she wasn’t his type.

  But Nico looked straight into her eyes and said, ‘On the contrary, I find that I do want my wife. Very much.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘ON THE CONTRARY, I do want my wife. Very much.’

  Chiara could barely breathe through the palpitations of her heart. Nico’s gaze left hers and moved down. He reached out and took a tendril of her hair that trailed over her shoulder. He twined it around his fingers and tugged gently, so that she had to move forward.

  She could feel the heat of his hand through the delicate material of the dress. Her nipples peaked into two hard points and she bit her lip, praying he wouldn’t look down.

  He said, almost musingly, ‘It’s been a long time since I saw a woman with hair as long as yours.’

  Chiara answered quickly, ‘It’s not fashionable. I should get it cut.’

  He speared her with a dark look. ‘Do not get it cut.’

  Her heart palpitated at his authoritative tone. ‘You can’t order me not to cut my own hair.’

  Nico gritted his jaw for a second, as if biting something back, and then he said with faux politeness, ‘Please do not cut your hair. I like it.’

  Chiara knew she was fighting a losing battle. To have all this man’s attention focused on her...she’d have to be made of stone not to react.

  She was melting into a puddle of lust. Her body felt painfully alive and sensitised. She ached in secret places—between her legs. Her wedding dress suddenly felt constricting, and all she wanted was to feel a cool breeze on her bare flesh. She imagined Nico’s big hands reaching for her, pulling the dress apart...baring her to his dark, hungry gaze.

  That lurid thought was like a bucket of cold water landing on Chiara’s head. What was wrong with her?

  She jerked away from Nico so fast that her hair pulled and she winced. She realised she was still holding her glass with a death grip and put it down on a nearby table.

/>   She sucked in a breath. Nico looked unperturbed. She gestured between them. ‘I don’t know what this is... I barely even know you.’

  ‘And yet we’re married.’

  She glared at him. ‘Only because you made sure I was between a rock and a hard place.’

  His mouth tipped up slightly and he drawled, ‘Believe me, cara, I know how hard it feels.’

  She couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping and she saw the bulge pressing against his trousers. She glared at him again, even as her body quivered in reaction to this evidence of his arousal. ‘That is disgusting.’

  ‘That is chemistry—and we have it, whether you like to admit it or not.’

  Desperation mounted. ‘We don’t! It’s only because you’re highly sexed and you probably haven’t slept with a woman since you arrived here and—’

  He held up a hand. ‘Stop. I have been with enough women to know that true chemistry is a rare thing. I haven’t wanted a woman this much since—’ He stopped at that, his face darkening. ‘That’s not important. What is important is that I want my wife, as unexpected as that fact might be, and I have every intention of consummating this marriage tonight.’

  In spite of her instincts, which were screaming at her not to let this happen, for reasons she wasn’t even sure she fully comprehended Chiara was intrigued. She wanted to know more about the other woman he’d wanted as much. She wasn’t as intrigued by the dart of dark emotion that thought engendered. This man shouldn’t be provoking her emotions.

  ‘You’re little more than a stranger!’

  ‘And yet I’d say we know more truth about each other than most couples who get fogged up by emotions that aren’t real.’

  He closed the space between them and Chiara’s already weak resistance got even weaker. She’d never experienced such a compelling pull towards another human being. And she hated herself that it was for someone who was so singularly ruthless. That it was for someone who saw her only as a pawn.

  He reached for her, placing his hands on her waist and tugging her towards him. She put up her hands, but all that did was bring them into contact with his chest—a wall of hard muscle.

  God help her, but she felt it in her bones. The inevitability of what was to come. Because she wanted it. Though every self-preserving instinct was screaming at her to run, there was also something rebellious within her stirring to life after all these years, willing her to do the most audacious thing she’d ever done...

  Maybe they did know more about each other because of the lack of emotion? But in spite of that she desperately needed to know that there was more driving his ruthlessness than just a need to succeed where others had failed.

  ‘Why was it so important to you?’ she blurted out.

  He frowned. ‘Why was what so important?’

  ‘The castello—getting it back. You said yourself that you felt more detached about it than your ancestors and that’s why you were successful. So would it have really mattered if you hadn’t got it in the end?’

  He tensed, his hands tightening on her waist. ‘Why are you asking me this now? It’s done.’

  ‘Because I just...need to know.’

  His eyes bored into hers. ‘I did it for my father, who wanted it for his father, who had memories of this place. It was his dying wish that I return this land to our name and I will always regret that I wasn’t able to do it in time. I grew up in Naples, but it was never home. We were reminded of that by the gangs who ran our neighbourhood. We were never welcome. I’ve never felt at home anywhere. You’ll probably think this sounds ridiculous, but as soon as I walked into the castello it felt like home...’

  Chiara’s chest felt tight. She recalled having that impression when he’d arrived—as if he belonged here more than she did. She understood the concept of home all too well. She’d been lucky enough never to question hers. Until now. And she knew what grief felt like and had an insight into what it must have been like to want to fulfil a parent’s dying wish.

  She had a sense that Nico was already regretting saying what he had. She could see his expression closing, becoming impenetrable. Acting on instinct, she put her hand up to his face, tracing his hard jaw.

  ‘I’m sorry your father died before he could come back here.’ Her voice was husky. For the first time since she’d met him she felt a moment of affinity with him.

  The tension she’d been holding on to eased inside her. Nicolo Santo Domenico wasn’t as cool and impenetrable as he appeared.

  His hands were still tight on her waist. ‘I don’t want to talk about that. In fact I don’t want to talk at all. I want you, Chiara.’

  I want you.

  The words sent a thrill of excitement through Chiara. In spite of the fact that everything about this whole situation was unorthodox, and had morphed out of all sense of control, she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

  Trembling from head to foot at the strength of the feelings and desires building within her, she said, ‘I want you too.’

  Nico’s eyes flashed. He pulled her to him, spearing a hand into her hair at the back of her head and curving his other arm around her waist.

  When his mouth met hers Chiara almost combusted on the spot. Her fingers clutched at his shirt. She could feel his arousal digging into her belly and it made her ache even harder. The kiss was wild and hot, too consuming for Chiara to wonder if she was doing it right or wonder what Nico would do when he discovered his very traditional Sicilian wife was a virgin.

  She had no time to think at all, because Nico broke off the kiss and swept her up into his arms, striding out of the room and up the stairs. He stopped in the corridor and she felt the tension in his bunched muscles.

  ‘Which way?’

  Chiara’s old bedroom lay to the right, but the master bedroom, which she’d prepared while fully expecting it not to be used, lay further down to the left. She lifted a hand and pointed in that direction and Nico moved, all coiled power and intent.

  He strode through the door, kicking it shut behind him. The moon was rising outside, bathing the room in a silvery glow. Nico let her down beside the bed. Her shoes had fallen off somewhere along the way, unnoticed.

  She looked up at him, breathless with desire and a kind of wonder that this was actually happening. To someone like her. Who had harboured fantasies like this all her life. But the feelings fluttering inside her were too dangerous to try and analyse now—because how could she be feeling anything for someone she hardly knew?

  For a taut moment neither one moved, and a sudden cold dread moved through Chiara at the thought that Nico was coming to his senses and wondering what on earth he was doing.

  It was the very thing she’d wished would happen. But then he said, ‘Turn around.’

  Chiara turned around, and the relief rushing through her was more than immense. It was dangerous. Because she knew she should let Nico know just how innocent she was. But she was afraid he’d stop looking at her as if she was the only woman in the world. She wasn’t ready for this moment to end. And so she said nothing.

  * * *

  Nico brought his hands up to move Chiara’s long hair over one shoulder. He noticed they were shaking. Dio. What was wrong with him? He was behaving like a virginal groom who had never undressed a woman before. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so hard and aching. He scowled at himself. Not even then.

  Her hair was heavy and silky. He pulled out the tie holding it back from her face and pushed it aside over her shoulder, to reveal the bare back of her neck. He had an urge to press his lips against that spot and so he did, noticing that her petite frame shuddered slightly.

  Who would have known it? he marvelled. That he would have considered marriage to a woman like this and that he would want his convenient wife so much? When he’d first thought it through he’d fully intended for this to be a traditional marri
age in all aspects, but even he had considered giving her some space before making this a marriage in bed.

  But from the moment he’d watched her walk down the aisle earlier he had known there was only way this day was ending. In this bedroom. Right now.

  He found the top of her dress and the long line of buttons that ran down her spine. A bead of sweat broke out on Nico’s brow, as he painstakingly undid every button until the last one, just above her buttocks. It was a surprisingly erotic experience when he was used to women leaving little to the imagination. The dress gaped open to reveal her pale back and the clasp of her bra.

  He undid that and felt her go very still. Giving in to an uncharacteristic moment of conscience, Nico put his hands on her shoulders and asked, ‘Okay?’

  The fleeting thought occurred to him that maybe she was innocent, but he dismissed it. In this day and age? No matter how sheltered someone might be, it was nigh on impossible to hang on to any kind of innocence or purity.

  He was surprised at how that thought made him feel. Almost disappointed...

  She nodded her head and he heard a faint, ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  Nico slipped his fingers under the dress and pushed it over each smooth shoulder and down her arms. Now she was bare from the waist up, her back a sinuous curve that made his blood sizzle.

  His voice was unbearably rough. ‘Turn around, Chiara.’

  She waited an infinitesimal moment—enough to have Nico’s nerves screaming with tension and need. He almost laughed at the notion that she was innocent now. This women was a siren and she knew exactly what she was doing! She had to! He was on fire.

  Chiara’s heart was beating so fast she felt light-headed. No one had ever seen her naked before. She’d never even inspected herself in the mirror, shying away from looking at her too pronounced curves.

  And yet something new and bold within her compelled her to turn, and when she did an intense heat flooded her whole system. Nico’s eyes widened and colour slashed across his high cheekbones. His chest moved rapidly, as if he’d been running.