Penniless Virgin to Sicilian's Bride

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  But their relationship had been an unusual one. He had enjoyed the older man’s company and admired and respected him, but he had realised early on that not many people got truly close to Marco Mancini. But then, wasn’t he the same? They had been kindred spirits in human isolation. Had it been too painful for Marco to speak of the loss of his baby son? Had it been too raw to even mention in passing?

  Gabriel hated talking about his own pain. His own shame. The shame that stuck to him like thick putrid-smelling mud. He had told Marco very little of his own upbringing. Virtually no one knew about the early days before wealth came bounding in the Salvetti door. Wealth Gabriel had welcomed and never questioned. He had mentioned nothing to Marco about the hunger of his early childhood, the beatings, the desperate attempts to keep his siblings safe from sleazy predators. The feast and famine rollercoaster when yet another get-rich-quick scheme of his father’s went well or turned sour. In those early years Gabriel had begged on the streets in order to provide food for his younger siblings. He had stolen fruit from people’s gardens, had snatched up diners’ leftovers in street cafés.

  And then everything changed. It was like a miracle and Gabriel had never questioned it because it was such a relief not to have to struggle any more. To not feel burning aching hunger ripping and clawing at his guts. To not feel burning aching shame. He had enjoyed the bounty—the move to a better house, a classy suburb instead of a slum. The housekeeping staff: the cooks and cleaners, the gardeners, the butlers, the chauffeurs.

  The status.

  The security.

  The safety.

  He had taken advantage of the private education his father had offered him and his siblings. He had enjoyed it all until the day he turned eighteen when he’d found out the truth about his father’s wealth. The filthy truth that made Gabriel feel ashamed of every euro that had been spent on him. Every dirty blood-and-pain-and-drug-stained euro.

  He had been educated, dressed and fed on the proceeds of drugs. The drugs that poisoned people, destroyed lives. The same drugs that had killed his mother, given to her by his father to stop her going to the police about his nefarious dealings. For all the years before that Gabriel had been told his mother had killed herself. Gabriel knew deep in his DNA there was no way his mother would have chosen to end her life, leaving four young children behind. At eighteen, once the ugly truth was out, he walked away from his father, begging his siblings to come with him, to remove themselves from the stain of the family name, but his brothers had refused out of a perverse type of loyalty to their father. They had loved the money and status more than morality.

  And Carli had been so desperate to belong to a family it had taken her most of her teenage years to recognise their father for what he was—a criminal stand-over man who got rid of people if they got on the wrong side of him. And even now that she did acknowledge their father’s criminal activity, Carli was still not always keen on Gabriel’s help.

  But Frankie’s father must have sensed some strange fellowship of suffering with Gabriel for the way he gave him that chance all those years ago. And for that he would be grateful for ever. Although he still felt annoyed with himself for not realising the financial mess Marco had got himself into until it was almost too late. But he was putting it right now and in a couple of days Frankie would be his wife.

  Gabriel had met Frankie in passing a couple of times in her teens when she was home from her convent boarding school in England, the same school where her mother and grandmother had been educated. She had pretended not to notice him on those occasions but her blushes and covert glances had given her away. He could still remember the first time he shook her hand on meeting her when she was seventeen. It had sent a fizzing sensation straight to his groin. At twenty-three back then, he’d been no hormonally driven teenager—he’d had several lovers by then and was shocked that a slip of a girl could do that to him. Could have that stun-gun effect on him.

  And she still did.

  * * *

  Frankie didn’t go straight to bed even though she was feeling the exhaustion of the day catching up with her like a stalking predator. But she couldn’t rest until she found her mother’s wedding dress. She needed to know if it was suitable to wear or whether she needed to buy a new one. But when she located the dress in a chest in the attic, she knew that no other dress would do. She peeled back the layers of protective tissue paper covering the dress and held it against her body. The exquisite Chantilly lace and satin dress fell in soft folds to the floor around her ankles. It could have been made specifically for her.

  The pearly white of the dress complemented her colouring and the shape and fit of the bodice and skirt showcased her feminine curves. There was a hand-embroidered lace veil and a princess tiara to attach it to. She couldn’t imagine wearing any other dress but this, but was it the right thing to do? Her mother had married her father in a genuine love match. Would Frankie be desecrating this beautiful dress by wearing it to marry a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her? A man who had insisted no feelings, no emotions, no sentiment be involved in their arrangement?

  Frankie took the dress back to her bedroom and hung it on a satin-covered coat hanger in the walk-in wardrobe. She smoothed the lace skirt and wondered what emotions her mother had felt on the day of her wedding. Had she been excited? Nervous?

  She sighed and stepped back from the dress and all it represented. She had to stick to the plan. Marrying Gabriel was the only way out of the financial mess her father had left and she would do it and do it as coldly and clinically as Gabriel.

  No feelings. No emotions. No regrets.

  * * *

  Frankie joined Gabriel and his lawyer in the library the following morning after breakfast. Gabriel had given her the paperwork to read over beforehand and she was not surprised to see he had organised a pre-nuptial agreement. She had no issue with it—it was a reasonable thing to do under the circumstances, but it was yet another jarring reminder of how different their marriage was going to be. How different their relationship was—neither friends nor foes but something in the murky grey area between.

  Frankie signed where she was asked to sign and watched Gabriel write his own distinctive signature on the documents. Sheesh. Even the way he held the pen in his hand made her think of sex. She imagined those clever capable fingers stroking her, touching her in places no one had ever touched her before. She suppressed a shudder, wondering how much he had told his lawyer about their relationship. If the older man seemed surprised by the details he had drawn up for his client, he was too professional to show it. He left a short time later expressing his best wishes for their wedding day.

  Gabriel closed the door on the lawyer’s exit and turned to Frankie. ‘I hope that wasn’t too painful for you?’

  Frankie flicked a wayward curl away from her face. ‘Why would it be? I have no problem with you protecting your wealth.’ She went to turn away but he stalled her by touching her lightly on the arm. Even through the sleeve of her top his touch made her tingle with awareness.

  His hand dropped back by his side as if he didn’t dare to touch her for too long. Did he feel it too? The zap of electricity each time they touched? Was that why his gaze darkened when it met hers? ‘In spite of what anyone else thinks, this marriage is only for a year. I’m not prepared to jeopardise my assets for a relationship that isn’t going to last.’

  Frankie lifted her chin. ‘Do you have a strict time limit on all of your relationships?’

  ‘Only when necessary.’

  Did he really think she would be the one who wouldn’t want their marriage to end? That she would be the one begging him to continue their relationship indefinitely? ‘Oh, so you think it’s necessary to keep reminding me this set-up of ours has a use-by date?’ Frankie threw him a frosty glare. ‘I got the memo, Gabriel. You don’t have to keep hammering it home.’

  He held her glare so easily she might as w
ell have been smiling meekly at him. ‘By the way, only my lawyer and us need to know this is what it is.’ His voice contained a steely thread of implacability. ‘My household staff will assume it’s a love match. I expect you to tell your friends and acquaintances the same. That’s what I’m telling the press when I release a statement after we are married.’

  Frankie tried not to think of how many people would see the news of their marriage in the press. Hundreds. Millions. Multiple millions. Possibly billions. She would be living a lie and yet what other choice did she have? It was either that or let everyone know what her father had been up to in the last few months of his life. And for her to declare bankruptcy. ‘Then how will you explain to your staff we’ll be sleeping in separate rooms?’ she asked. ‘It’s going to be a paper marriage, remember?’

  His unwavering dark gaze made something in her inner core flutter like a baby bird breaking out of its cramped shell. ‘We will have to share intimate living spaces—it’s what married couples do. I have a large suite in my villa in Milan with a dressing room off the master bedroom. I can sleep there if you’d prefer not to share a bed.’

  Frankie’s eyes widened. ‘Are you out of your mind? There’s no way I’m sharing a bedroom suite, no matter how big it is, with you. No flipping way.’ She strode off towards the stairs.

  ‘I gave you my word, Francesca. Don’t insult me by not believing it.’

  Frankie stopped walking and swung back to face him. His expression was difficult to read but she sensed he was disappointed in her lack of trust. It was strange, but she realised she did trust him. She couldn’t explain why other than he was the sort of man who could have any woman he wanted, so why would he force himself on someone so unwilling?

  But the truth was she wasn’t as unwilling as she made out and she had a feeling he knew it. How could she trust she wouldn’t end up on his side of the bed, offering herself to him? Begging him to make love to her?

  ‘Why are you doing this? Why? Is it because I rejected your offer of a date all those years ago? Is this your plan for revenge?’

  ‘I’m simply being practical about this, cara. People will talk if we don’t share a bedroom. I can’t guarantee all my staff members will be discreet. I don’t wish to encourage such gossip and innuendo at the start of our marriage.’ He gave a brief on-off smile that didn’t involve his eyes. ‘Believe me, you’ll thank me for it in the long run.’

  Sharing a bedroom with Gabriel Salvetti.

  Frankie stood with one hand on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs to keep herself steady. Her legs were feeling wobbly as if her bones were dissolving as images popped into her head of her lying next to him in bed. Not just sharing the suite but sharing a bed. Sharing her body. What if he slept naked? Gulp. Heat coursed through her body, traitorous heat that spilled and pooled and scorched. ‘Will you find it hard pretending to your staff you’re in love with me?’ She was proud of the evenness of her tone in spite of the tumult going on inside her flesh.

  He shrugged one broad shoulder in a casual manner but his eyes remained screened, inscrutable, secretive. ‘It won’t be a problem.’

  She stepped off the stairs and stood within a metre of him. ‘Maybe you should practise saying it.’

  Something in his gaze hardened like a computer screen freezing. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘I think it is. You need to practise so you sound genuine.’ Frankie knew she was playing with fire but so far he’d had the upper hand. She had to even things up a bit. To make herself feel less vulnerable. ‘People will expect you to drop those three little words all the time.’

  ‘The words mean nothing without actions.’ His eyes flicked to her mouth and back to her gaze with a searing, penetrating gleam. ‘Are you suggesting I practise those too?’

  He was suddenly close. Not quite touching but close enough for her to want him to. Close enough for her skin to lift in a shiver of anticipation and her breath to stutter in her chest. He glanced at her mouth again, his gaze lingering as long as a passionate kiss. Her lips reacted as if he had kissed her. They tingled and tightened and something deep in her core stirred, shifted, stretched.

  Frankie forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘You’re only allowed to touch me with my permission, remember?’

  His mouth tilted in a knowing smile, his eyes so dark they looked like glittering pools of black ink. ‘You give me permission every time you look at me, cara.’

  ‘That sounds like a man with an oversized ego talking.’ Frankie’s tone was husky—a little too close to flirting husky.

  ‘It’s not the size of my ego you need to be worried about.’ His voice was a deep burr that did strange fizzing and tingling things to the base of her spine.

  Heat exploded in her cheeks, the same heat that was pooling in between her thighs. She arched her brows goaded on by some inner demon of mischief. ‘Are you flirting with me, Gabriel?’

  He placed his hand on the wall behind her head, caging her on one side but still giving her plenty of room to escape. His gaze homed in on her mouth, the warm minty breeze of his breath skating over her lips like a caress. ‘What do you think, cara?’

  She couldn’t think. Not with him this close. Close enough to see the dark individual pinpricks of his stubble. He had shaved since last night but the regrowth was as urgent as the hormones surging in his blood. Hormones that were probably hardening his body right here and now. The hard male body that was so close she could feel the heat coming off him in radiating waves. So close she could press her body against the temptation of his if she wanted to. Which she did. Badly. She wanted it so badly it was like a virulent fever in her blood. A gushing tide of longing that was bursting through the sand bags of her common sense. Ripping apart the tight corset of her self-control.

  She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and watched him follow the movement with his smouldering gaze. ‘I think you want to kiss me.’ Frankie was a little shocked at how brazen she was being but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. The rush of feminine power she was feeling was potently addictive. ‘You want to so much.’

  His lazy smile made something in her belly turn over. ‘Ask me to kiss you and I’ll do it but not before.’ His voice had a gravel and honey combo going on that made something at the backs of her knees trickle like sand passing through an hourglass.

  Frankie dragged in a skittery breath, her heart rate skipping, her self-control slipping. She lowered her lashes to half-mast over her eyes, her gaze trained on the sensual curve of his mouth. Ask him. Ask him. Ask him. It was a chant inside her head. A pulsing aching need inside her body. But then, with a willpower she hadn’t known she still possessed, she brought her gaze back to meet the challenging heat of his. ‘You think I can’t resist you. But I can and I will.’

  His gaze moved back and forth between her eyes, a searching probe that made her wonder if she had spoken too soon. Too confidently. ‘Who exactly are you fighting? Me or yourself?’

  Frankie knew she should have moved away from him well before now but she was locked in some sort of weird stasis. His left arm was close enough to her face she could have leaned against his tanned and muscled flesh if she so much as moved an inch or two. She raised her chin and iced her gaze. ‘You haven’t bought me, Gabriel. Don’t ever forget that.’

  His eyes glinted and he stepped back from her. ‘Good to know, cara.’ And without another word he walked away.

  Frankie let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Would there ever be a time when she felt she had won a round with him? He was darn near invincible.

  And in less than twenty-four hours he would be her husband.

  * * *

  Frankie didn’t see Gabriel for much of that afternoon. She kept herself busy organising extended leave from work, shocking herself at how easily the lies fell from her lips. But what other option did she have? She couldn’t risk Gabriel reneging on the
deal. There was too much at stake. The money her father owed was being paid back that day now that the paperwork had been signed. She had to accept the situation for what it was—a rescue plan that meant she gave up her freedom for a year.

  But what else would she be sacrificing?

  How well did she know Gabriel Salvetti? How well did anyone know him? He had a public persona, but how much was that from the press’s imagination or speculation and how much of it was true? He had a reputation as a love-them-and-leave-them playboy. Would the public actually believe he had fallen in love with her? She was nothing like his usual type of lover. And why was she using that word? She was not going to be his lover. She had been adamant their marriage would be on paper only. Of course, he thought she would change her mind. He probably thought she was halfway in love with him already.

  But there was no way she would ever be so foolish.

  No. Way.

  * * *

  Frankie came downstairs that evening to find Gabriel preparing dinner. There were fresh ingredients on the kitchen island bench as well as various pots and utensils. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, frowning. ‘I thought you were going to engage a new housekeeper?’

  He opened a drawer to search for a chopping board. ‘She won’t be starting until Monday.’ He found the board and rinsed it under the tap. ‘I thought we’d stay in tonight. We have a big day tomorrow.’

  ‘Gosh. Lucky me, getting a husband who can cook.’ She couldn’t quite wipe the sarcasm from her tone.

  He dried his hands on a tea towel, his eyes containing a devilish glint. ‘Isn’t that what most women want? A man who’s good with his hands?’