by Abby Green
As Vicenzo registered the musky scent of her arousal his desire soared. He knew he wasn’t far from pushing Cara’s dress up, her pants down and taking there and then, standing against the wall. With a supreme effort he stopped and drew back, quickly pulling up her dress to hide the sight of her heaving breast.
Dazed glittering eyes looked at him accusingly, and he finally broke his hold and let her step away from the wall. She was unsteady on her legs, and it made something move through him. Tendrils of hair had come undone, falling around her flushed face, and the pulse-beat under the pale skin of her neck told him of her desire for him.
He reached out and pulled the strap up her arm again. She flinched minutely, making anger lace his words. ‘Tomorrow we’re to be married, and this will be a proper marriage. In bed and out of it. There’s going to be some recompense for marrying you, Cara. I don’t see the neccessity in taking lovers when we both know how good it can be between us…at least until our desire burns itself out, as undoubtedly it will.’
Cara struggled to find her balance again. She couldn’t believe she’d let him undo her so completely. Her dress chafed against sensitive breasts and she was mortified at her lack of control. Hurt lanced her at his cold declaration, and anger at that made her hurl out desperately, ‘Go to hell, Vicenzo. I won’t let you near my bed.’
‘Brave words, Cara,’ he said silkily. ‘I think we’ve just proved how empty they are.’
And before she could be the one to walk away he turned and strode off, leaving her standing there, feeling thoroughly dishevelled and aching with unsatisfied desire.
The following evening Cara stood in the kitchen of the apartment, making dinner. She felt numb inside. And all over. She was married to Vicenzo Valentini. Something glinted as she moved her hand to get a pot, and she looked at the plain platinum band winking on her finger. She grimaced. For something that was so wrong, it looked somehow right. It suited her pale, slender hand.
Abruptly she pulled it off and put it down jerkily on the marble counter-top. She busied herself with the process of cooking and tried unsuccessfully to block out the events of the day. When she’d emerged from her bedroom that morning, in a simple grey shift dress, Vicenzo had marched her back into her room and flung open her wardrobe doors. When he’d seen nothing but varying shades of black, grey and dark blue he’d rounded on her.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
She’d forced herself to stand strong, ‘In case you’ve forgotten, we’re both in mourning. I’m certainly not going to play the part of some wide-eyed ingénue bride and make this marriage more of a farce than it already is.’
He’d looked at her for a long moment with a suspicious glint in his eye, before stalking back out of her room with a curt instruction to be ready to go in five minutes.
The ceremony in the register office had been attended by just two of Vicenzo’s colleagues. It had been possibly the most loveless ceremony ever conducted.
Cara had made sure his mouth didn’t land on hers for the kiss, and he’d whispered in her ear silkily, ‘Careful, Cara.’
She’d hissed back, her heart thumping erratically, belying her words, ‘You’re the last man on earth I want to kiss.’
On the steps outside as they’d faced the paparazzi he’d held onto her hand tight, and she’d been dismayed to realise that she’d needed that support in the face of the overwhelming interest. He’d spoken urbanely in English and Italian, lies tripping off his tongue as he’d informed them that he’d been so impatient to marry his bride that he’d foregone any celebration in Rome. They’d all take place in Sardinia, at the family villa. The press had lapped it up—this international rake brought to his knees by this pale, unknown and unremarkable girl.
And then Vicenzo had dropped her back to the apartment, telling her that he had business to take care of in the office for the rest of the day, in order to clear things before going to Sardinia.
She’d signed the pre-nuptial agreement, having read that he was cynically offering her nothing if she insisted on staying when the baby was born and a small fortune if she left. She’d had no problem signing it as she had no designs on his money and no intention of abandoning her baby. Her mind skittered weakly away from what Vicenzo would do when faced with that scenario…
As Cara took out her frustration at her feeling of loneliness on the kitchen implements she didn’t notice Vicenzo standing at the door, with his shoulder propped against the frame, watching her. She opened the fridge door and took out a jar of basil pesto. She was just muttering to herself about how typical it was that the kitchen was mysteriously stocked to the gills with fresh delicatessen-style food when she heard a deep, drawling voice. ‘How sweet—you’re making us dinner like a good little wife.’
Cara whirled around, her heart in her mouth, and promptly dropped the jar of pesto on the immaculate slate floor. In an instant Vicenzo was there, bending down to pick up the biggest glass pieces, but the speckled green sauce was splattered everywhere. Her heart was still hammering as she looked down at his dark glossy head. She moved jerkily to help, but gasped in sudden pain as a piece of glass lanced the underside of her bare foot.
Vicenzo stood and caught her expertly just as she was about to lose balance, and before Cara knew it he was lifting her bodily over the mess as if she weighed little more than a feather, sitting her on top of the island in the middle of the kitchen. He bent down to inspect her foot, which was throbbing painfully now.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gritted out. ‘You startled me.’
He lifted her foot into his big warm hands and looked at her briefly, coolly. ‘You shouldn’t have moved.’
Suddenly Cara felt huge emotion well up within her at the way he was so gently holding her foot, at such odds with his coolness. It was almost as if his touch was melting the ice she’d tried to pack around her heart to get through the day. But now everything threatened to overwhelm her… Her eyes smarted and she said chokily, ‘I’m sorry. It was an accident.’
Vicenzo stood to his full height, cradling her foot in his hand, and looked at the downbent head, gleaming dark copper under the lights of the kitchen. Was that true emotion he’d heard in her voice? He’d watched her from the doorway, banging around the kitchen, looking heart-stoppingly young in a plain black T-shirt and black skirt. The black had made his hackles rise. Her hair was caught up haphazardly.
He supposed she must be angry because now she knew she was truly trapped; she’d signed the pre-nuptial agreement that morning and, while she hadn’t shown obvious frustration, it couldn’t have been easy for her to sign away the potential fortune she could have claimed if there had been no agreement. He’d made it starkly obvious and easy; if she left and gave up her rights to the child she’d be compensated well. He didn’t doubt for a second that she would take that option.
Yet he had to admit to himself now that the previous night he’d almost expected her to seduce him—just to try and secure more money for herself…but she hadn’t. He’d jumped on her.
He forced himself to focus on taking out the surprisingly large splinter of glass, hearing her soft gasp of pain as he did so, and then busied himself with getting something to clean the wound. Her gasp of pain had affected him more than he cared to admit. But as he placed a plaster over the cut he became aware of her shoulders shaking, her head still downbent.
He tipped up her face but her eyes were shut tight, her mouth in a thin line. Yet he could see the track of a tear down one cheek. Something moved within him, and instinctively he rubbed it away with a thumb.
‘The splinter is gone now.’
She just nodded jerkily, her jaw tight with tension against his hand. And as Vicenzo looked down at her face all his thoughts scattered in an instant. His blood grew hot. He couldn’t resist doing what he’d held back from doing that night in London, what she’d stopped him from doing earlier…he kissed her.
Shock disabled any defence Cara might have put up if she’d known
what Vicenzo was about to do. It was too late. His two hands cradled her head, threading through the strands of her hair, loosening it so that it fell in a heavy mass down her back.
She knew she should fight, but she could barely breathe as she felt Vicenzo’s mouth slant over hers in a warm, intoxicating pressure to open and allow him to deepen the kiss. The pain was still acute, his rejection vivid. And she couldn’t believe she’d just let him see her crying. She was so mixed up; she was here with her mortal enemy, someone who had hurt her deeply, and yet all she wanted to do was sink into his embrace. It was like that first night all over again—the intense building desire drowning out extraneous concerns, the reasons why she shouldn’t want this…
The pressure of his mouth changed, became firmer, harder. His tongue traced along the seam of her tightly shut mouth, and still Cara fought not to give in. But her treacherous heart had started beating again, and the blood pounded through her veins. His mouth feathered kisses all over her lips, touching, tasting… It was becoming a battle of wills, and in that instant something gave way within Cara and she knew she was weakening. She couldn’t win against him. It was too hard to remain rigid and unmoved. The raw emotion was still close to the surface, and she couldn’t be sure she would be able to pull away without shattering completely and revealing herself.
With a tiny, frustrated moan of reluctant supplication Cara softened her lips. Vicenzo clasped her head even tighter and stepped between her legs with his whole body. It made a fire race through her. And then, with devastating and skilful finesse, he kissed her until she could resist no more. Her mouth opened to his totally, accepting the invasion of his tongue, allowing him to taste her exactly as she’d yearned for him to do that night in London.
The mixture of relief and lust was dizzying as her hands crept up over his shoulders to anchor herself in this maelstrom of sensations. Tentatively she allowed her tongue to follow when he retreated, and the heady feeling of tongue touching tongue made her arch to get closer.
Amidst the raging desire, Cara was only hazily aware when he drew back and said throatily, ‘Wrap your legs around me.’ She did it automatically.
He brought a hand down to her bottom and carried her bodily out of the kitchen. She wanted him to kiss her again and never stop kissing her. She wanted him to make her forget, like he had before. And she wanted him with a bone-deep ache. She pressed kisses against his neck, his jaw, anywhere she could reach. The taste of his skin under her mouth was making her blood hum and her belly tighten even more.
When he laid her down on the bed in his room he filled her vision. Cara was incapable of thinking through the ramifications of what was happening. Perhaps if he’d allowed a moment for reality to sink in…but he stripped with impatient haste, and any chance of sanity intruding disappeared when he came down on the bed, gloriously naked beside her, his skin gleaming dark golden in the dim room.
When he reached for the hem of her T-shirt, his fingers against her bare skin made it prickle and her belly contracted. She let him pull it up and off completely, aware of him throwing it away. Her bra was dispensed with. Her breasts felt tight and sensitive, the tips tingling almost painfully, and as he ran a hand over one she arched her back, her eyes closing as she bit her lip.
He drew off her skirt and she felt a moment of trepidation as he looked down into her eyes for a long moment. Finally he bent his head, blocking out the light, and took her mouth in a long, drugging, soul-destroying kiss. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t kiss her again, and for a second had felt all that awful yearning she’d felt before. But now their tongues tangled feverishly and Cara arched into him, relishing the friction of his chest against her breasts.
He pulled her into him even tighter, and with one hand trailing down her back, leaving a line of fire in its wake, he cupped her bottom before pulling her pants off and down her legs. That familiar ache was building and coiling, tighter and tighter, that wetness between her legs… She brought her leg up over his, instinctively opening herself up to him in a way that had him groaning deep in his throat.
Cara put down a hand to touch and feel his silken length, like velvet over steel. He tensed against her and his mouth left hers. She looked into his eyes, saw his cheeks flush. She consciously shut out all concerns. This fire building within her was the anchor she had to cling onto. And she did—with a kind of desperation. She’d dreamt of this during the long sleepless nights since London—much as she hated to admit it.
Vicenzo pulled her leg up higher over his hip and, still facing her, reached down and pulled her hand away from its innocent caress. He found the moist centre of her desire, his fingers searching and seeking for that place where all her nerve-endings seemed to react, and her hands gripped his shoulders, her breath ragged. But he took his hand away and before she could protest she felt the hard masculine core of him thrusting upwards, a hand on her buttocks anchoring her more firmly against him. She gasped and felt her eyes widen as she felt that intrusion again, deliciously familiar and yet still slightly alien.
She was so inexperienced. Somewhere deep within Vicenzo he recognised that, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t allowed himself to really acknowledge it the first time. Her breasts moved up and down against his chest with her urgent breaths. As he pushed in deeper he felt her accommodate to his size, his length, with a series of convulsive movements, a twitch of her hips. This was what had bewitched him before, made him think that she was more experienced, and yet now he could appreciate the untutored nature of her movements, the gaucheness… He’d dismissed it because it hadn’t fitted with his image, and they’d fitted so well together that he’d not questioned his own assessment. Yet he’d been wrong. But he couldn’t think about that now. She was fast bewitching him all over again.
He bent his head and kissed her deeply as he finally thrust all the way, burying himself inside her. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip, her arms tightened around his neck, and as he started to move in and out the world was reduced to this room, this moment, this woman and the explosion that was approaching more swiftly with every driving movement of his hips into hers.
They teetered on the brink together, and then with a helpless cry Cara finally fell, deep, deep into a vortex of pleasure so all-consuming that if she hadn’t been clinging onto Vicenzo she feared that she’d have been swept away for ever.
When Cara finally came back to earth, and the stark reality of what had just happened, she extricated herself from Vicenzo’s embrace. His deep breathing only faltered for a second. Jerkily, she pulled on her clothes, but as she turned at the door to look back at the man sprawled on the bed she found herself gravitating to a chair in the corner of the darkening room. She sat there, just watching him, as if that could help her make sense of it all.
She still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. One minute she’d dropped the jar, and he’d been taking the splinter out of her foot with surprisingly gentle hands, and the next he’d been kissing her, and then… She only had to look at the gracefully sprawled limbs, the sheets tangled around his legs, feel the tenderness at the apex of her thighs. Was it because he had kissed her? Had he breached her defences so completely by doing that small thing?
Self-disgust ran through her. Her pathetic attempt to not let him kiss her had lasted for about ten seconds. She tried desperately to justify her actions. He’d caught her in an emotional moment and she hadn’t had the defences in place to resist him. But Cara knew she was lying hopelessly to herself.
She’d declared that she’d never sleep with him, but she’d just given him his wedding night of consummation practically gift-wrapped. She’d put up no fight. The memory of that incendiary kiss came back. Surely a kiss couldn’t represent so much?
She touched a finger to her lips. They felt bruised and plump. Sensitive. And she remembered just how good it had felt to kiss him, to be kissed by him so thoroughly. Her insides cramped with sudden panic at the surge of emotion and Cara got up and left the room silently. She went into the k
itchen and cleaned up the mess on the floor. She saw the drops of blood from her foot and her hands shook as she cleaned that too. Self-recrimination burned through her; had she acquiesced because she’d been seeking that elusive connection again? The connection that had never existed?
A cough came from the door and she looked up, tensing all over. Vicenzo stood there in nothing but his trousers, top button open, his arms folded across that formidable chest. Cara’s face flamed, and her belly quivered all over again with renewed desire—much to her abject disgust.
He arched a brow. ‘We wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened, would we?’
She bristled. She felt so exposed and vulnerable, her body still throbbing slightly. ‘No,’ she bit out, avoiding his eye as she wiped down the floor. ‘We certainly wouldn’t.’
He was beside her in an instant, and he pulled her up with a hand on her arm. ‘I was talking about the jar-dropping, not what happened afterwards.’
She glared up at him with every atom of strength she could muster. ‘And you know perfectly well what I’m talking about.’
He jerked his head towards where they’d both just been, irritation still prickling under his skin at finding her gone from his bed. ‘That was an exercise in proving just how easily you’ll fall into my bed. So, yes, Cara—with that kind of chemistry there will be plenty of repeats until this desire runs its course.’
The fact that he’d set out to coldly prove how easy she would be lanced her like a knife. She tried to jerk her arm out of his grip, but it tightened when he spotted something over her head behind her and reached for it. It was her wedding ring.
He took her hand and placed the ring on her finger. He tipped up her chin, but mutinously she avoided his eyes. She felt raw.
