But flirting with Gabriel felt different.
Dangerous, yes, but not because she was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself. Of how she might betray herself by responding to him like a wanton nymph.
Frankie looked at him over the rim of her crystal champagne flute. ‘Why don’t you want to have children?’ She hadn’t realised she was going to ask the question until it was out of her mouth. But if Gabriel found the abrupt subject change off-putting he gave no indication.
‘I don’t feel the need to pass on my genes.’
‘Because of your family?’
His dark gaze had Keep Out written all over it. ‘What about you? Do you want children one day?’ His tone was casual. Almost too casual, as if he was uncomfortable making polite conversation on the subject of kids but was determined not to show it. And he was convincing...except she sensed a wariness in him. It was there in the stillness of his features. A stillness that seemed to involve every muscle in his face, every muscle in his body. Every eyelash fringing those bottomless brown eyes.
Frankie began to toy with the stem of her glass, her gaze moving out of reach of his to watch the play of her fingers. ‘I don’t know... I figure I’ve got a bit of time before I have to make up my mind.’ She placed her hand back in her lap and looked at him again. ‘I’m not sure what sort of mother I’d be. I mean, I grew up without one. It’s not as if I’ve had a role model, other than nannies and babysitters. And they were paid to look after me. It’s not the same thing, is it?’
Behind the screen of his gaze something shifted. A flicker. A shadow. A ghost. ‘No. I imagine not.’
A silence passed.
‘What’s your mother like?’ Frankie asked. ‘Is she still married to your father?’
‘She’s dead.’ The words were like bullets. Bang. Bang. Gabriel drank from his glass and placed it back on the table with another thud of subject closed finality.
‘I’m sorry. What happened?’
He drew in a savage-sounding breath, his gaze hard and black as onyx. ‘One thing you need to learn about me, Francesca. I don’t like discussing my family. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly clear.’ Frankie sat back in her chair and surveyed him for a long moment. His eyes had that impenetrable screen back in place. His jaw was set like concrete, the strong tendons in the backs of his hands taut and ropy with tension. Now that she had experienced the shame of her father’s fall from grace, she could only imagine how awful it must be for Gabriel to live with the ongoing shame of his criminal family. Several members of his extended family were currently in jail and his father was awaiting trial for a string of new drug offences.
It was strange but in spite of Gabriel’s background, she had never felt he was a bad man. She had been put off by his arrogance when he’d asked her out four years ago. Put off by his assumption that she wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. And it had been a close call if she were to be strictly honest with herself. She had been tempted.
She was still tempted.
After a stretched silence, Gabriel released a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve spent most of my adult life not thinking about my family.’
Frankie reached for his hand and placed hers on top of it. ‘I’m sorry for pushing you to talk about something that’s so obviously painful. I’ll try not to do it again.’
He turned her hand over and encased her fingers in the warm tensile strength of his. A half-smile softened his features and something jerked in her chest as if a miniature pony had kicked against her heart. She looked down at their joined hands and heat spilled and simmered between her legs. His touch did strange things to her body. It made her think of being possessed by him, moving with him in the throes of scorching hot passion.
A passion she had never experienced.
Their food arrived at that point and during dinner the conversation drifted onto neutral ground. Frankie was surprised she was actually enjoying herself. The food was amazing and Gabriel seemed to be trying to entertain her with amusing anecdotes about his work as a property developer. But after a while, she couldn’t help noticing the interested glances of the other diners. One woman took her phone out and aimed it their way to take a picture. Frankie lowered her head and turned to face the window rather than be captured. ‘Don’t look now but someone is taking our photo,’ she said in an undertone.
‘Better get used to it, cara.’ His tone was brimful of world-weary resignation. ‘I can’t go anywhere at the moment without the press following. But it will hopefully die down once we’re married.’
Married. The word made her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling. It was supposed to be a paper marriage. That was what she’d told him. That was what she’d insisted on.
But when he helped her out of her chair a short time later, his touch triggered sensations in her body she couldn’t control. The strong band of his arm encircled her waist as he led her out of the restaurant and a wave of longing coursed through her. Even if she had been wearing skyscraper heels, he towered over her, making her feel feminine in a way she had never felt before.
They came to his car and his hand moved from her waist to rest on her hip as he opened the passenger door for her. She slipped into the car and took the seatbelt he’d pulled down for her. His fingers setting off spot fires when they touched hers.
How could getting into a car be so damn sexy? It was ridiculous.
She was ridiculous.
Frankie glanced at him once he was behind the wheel. Would she ever get tired of looking at him? He was like a fallen angel. Handsome as sin with a raw masculinity than made her blood fizz and simmer in her veins. Her gaze drifted to his powerful thighs as he worked the gears, the throaty roar of the engine under his command like a panther on the prowl.
Gabriel met her gaze and winked at her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.’
What if she didn’t want to be safe?
CHAPTER THREE
GABRIEL CONCENTRATED ON driving back to the villa but he was conscious of the throb of sensual energy in the car. He had caught the tail end of a couple of Frankie’s covert glances and wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking. If she was feeling what he was feeling. The hot rush of desire that refused to die down. The blistering burn of need. He would not make a move on her. He wanted her to own her desire for him. He saw it in her eyes. He felt it in her touch.
He could damn near taste it in the air.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter to stop himself reaching across to touch her slim and shapely thigh. ‘Will you be able to take a year off work?’ He was surprised at how even his tone was, so casual, so bland when his body was boiling with hot-blooded lust.
She shifted in her seat and he felt rather than saw her gaze. ‘You’re expecting me to give up work? Isn’t that a little outdated of you?’
Gabriel shrugged one shoulder. ‘I have no problem with you working but not if you’re working in another country from me. I’m not into long-distance relationships.’
‘But our relationship is on paper so why would it matter?’
‘I’m not having everyone commenting on the fact my wife is unable to bear living under the same roof as me, that’s why.’
‘Why don’t you move to London instead?’ Frankie asked. ‘You have plenty of business there, don’t you?’
‘I have an apartment there, yes, but my home is in Milan. It’s where I spent most of my time, other than when I travel for work.’ He sent her a quick glance. ‘I’m the one putting myself out for you, remember. The least you could do is move to Italy for the year. It’s not as if you won’t be adequately compensated for the inconvenience.’
The silence was palpable.
Was he asking too much of her? He didn’t want distance between them, paper marriage or not. He needed a year of her time. It would take that long for the board of directors to build their trust in him.
>
Gabriel let out a rough sigh. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult.’
‘Seems like it to me.’ She folded her arms across her middle. ‘You expect me to uproot my life and fall into your plans like some obedient little wife from the nineteenth century who has nothing better to do than embroider doilies all day. I’ve already taken two months of leave when I looked after my father.’
‘I’m afraid this is not negotiable. I want you by my side otherwise no one will believe this is a genuine relationship.’
‘And if I say no?’
‘The deal is off.’
He saw her look at her engagement ring. She even touched it as if in two minds whether to rip it off and throw it at him. But then she let out a defeated sigh. ‘Do you ever lose an argument?’
‘Not any more.’
* * *
When they got back to the villa, Gabriel excused himself to see to some emails and Frankie went to her room where he had taken her bag earlier that evening. It felt strange to be back home. She hadn’t spent a night under this roof since her father’s death. But the villa felt like an entirely different place with Gabriel’s presence.
It had been pointless arguing with him about her maintaining her life in London. A part of her understood where he was coming from. Her job, as much as she enjoyed it, was hardly on the same scale as his. But she didn’t want to fall too easily into his plans as if she had no mind or will or aspirations of her own. One of the reasons she wanted to keep her family home was a vision she harboured about using part of it as a holiday retreat for disadvantaged kids. Many of the children she taught came from difficult backgrounds. Some of them had never even been on a holiday. It was such a stark contrast from her privileged upbringing where exotic holidays were the norm.
In some ways, Frankie thought her father had taken her on expensive holidays with the current nanny in tow because he hadn’t wanted to be left alone with her. Even when she was a teenager he insisted on her bringing one or two of her friends. But it had become difficult for her to work out who were her genuine friends and who were freeloaders who couldn’t wait to be taken to St Barts or Aspen or wherever.
Once she’d unpacked, Frankie went to one of the larger spare bedrooms to prepare it for Gabriel. She hesitated outside the master bedroom. It hadn’t been slept in for twenty-five years. Her father had been unable to sleep in there after her mother’s death. It had been years before he’d asked one of the housekeepers to remove his wife’s things. Frankie remembered the day, remembered too the slump of depression her father slipped into that seemed to go on for months. In the end, she was glad she had to go back to her convent boarding school in England.
Frankie moved on past down the hall to another suite overlooking the lake. It was further away from her room and until she got her self-control into gear, that could only be a good thing.
When she came downstairs a short time later, Gabriel came out of the library.
‘I’ve made a room up for you,’ she said. ‘It’s the fourth on the right.’
‘Thank you. But I could have made up my own bed. You don’t have to wait on me. Do you want the same housekeeper and ground staff as before or will I engage new ones?’
Frankie’s stomach plummeted at the thought of paying staff wages. But the villa was way too big for her to handle even if she had loads of spare time on her hands. ‘My father’s previous housekeeper retired upon his death. If we could keep it to a skeleton staff...say one housekeeper and two gardeners?’
‘I don’t expect you to pay for the staff. I’ll see to that.’
Had he read her mind? Disturbing thought. What else would he see in there? She could feel her cheeks warming up and shifted her gaze. ‘Thank you. It’s very generous of you.’ Her teeth worried her lower lip before she added, ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.’
‘Stay married to me for a year. That’s all I want.’
Frankie found it hard to hold his gaze. She was worried she would betray herself by staring at his mouth. But it was impossible not to glance at it. Impossible not to ache to feel those firm masculine lips against her own.
He came towards her, standing within touching distance but keeping his hands by his sides. ‘There will be legal work to see to tomorrow. I’ve organised my lawyer to meet us here. After that you can shop for a wedding dress unless you happen to have one on stand-by in your wardrobe?’ Was that a hint of mockery in his dark as night gaze? Did he think she was a hope chest girl? Desperately squirrelling away things for her trousseau, ready for the day when a man finally swept her off her feet?
Frankie lifted her chin and narrowed her gaze. ‘You want me to wear a proper wedding dress? Really? Even though it’s not a church wedding?’
‘I’m giving you the option to be a traditional bride. Take it or leave it.’ His voice was calm but there was a flicker of tension in his jaw.
‘And where will this wedding ceremony be conducted?’ Frankie didn’t hold back on the ice in her tone.
‘The celebrant could do it here in the garden, unless you have somewhere else you’d prefer?’
Frankie felt a little ambushed by his suggestion. As a young girl she had often dreamed of being married in the garden of the villa. It had been part of her imaginative play to imagine herself walking up the wisteria walk on her father’s arm towards her dashingly handsome, madly-in-love-with-her groom.
But her father was dead and this wasn’t a love marriage.
Frankie bit down on her lip. ‘I do have a wedding dress... It was my mother’s. My father kept it for me. I think I know where it is in the attic. But I’m not sure what condition it’s in. It may need dry-cleaning or at least airing.’
‘We have a couple of days to see to that.’ Gabriel took her left hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her diamond ring. ‘Is there anyone you’d like to invite? Relatives from England? Close friends?’
Frankie sighed and looked at their joined hands. ‘I hardly know my English relatives. They mostly drifted out of my life after my mother and twin brother died.’
‘I didn’t know you had a twin.’ His shocked tone brought her gaze back up. ‘Your father never said anything to me about a sibling.’
Frankie slipped her hand out of his before she got addicted to his touch. ‘Yes, well, he didn’t like to talk about Mama’s passing, much less talk about Roberto’s stillbirth. Of course, it would’ve been a terribly traumatic time for him, looking forward to the much-anticipated birth of twins, only to lose his firstborn son and then his wife to a massive post-partum haemorrhage.’
‘A terrible, unthinkable tragedy.’ His tone was deep with gravitas, his expression deeply furrowed.
‘One of the nannies let slip that I’d been a twin when I was about four or five. There were no photos of Roberto. I don’t suppose with the shock of Mama’s death anyone thought to take any. I only have a few of myself as an infant that one of the nannies took.’
‘I know your father was reluctant to speak of your mother. But once after a few drinks, he showed me a photo of her. You’re very like her. I got the sense it made him depressed to talk about her. Understandable given the tragic circumstances. But I often wondered why he didn’t marry again. He was certainly young enough to have more children if he’d wanted them.’
‘He had occasional short and discreet relationships,’ Frankie said. ‘But I got the feeling the women he dated couldn’t handle competing with a ghost. He still had all Mama’s clothes still in the wardrobe up until a couple of years ago. I found it a bit creepy to be perfectly honest.’
A shadow passed over his face. ‘It must have been very difficult for you growing up without a mother.’
‘Yes, well, what you never have, you never miss—or so they say, whoever “they” are.’ She released another sigh and frowned. ‘But I do miss her. I miss the idea of her. I miss the concept of a who and wh
at a mother is. It’s like I have this great big empty echoing vacuum inside here.’ She made a fist of her hand and bumped it against her chest. ‘Nothing can fill it. I don’t have the first idea how to.’ Frankie lowered her hand and her gaze, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed she’d let her guard down. What was she doing spilling her guts to him? What was she hoping for? Sympathy? Understanding? A big warm comforting hug?
Gabriel took her hand again, his fingers warm and soothing around hers. ‘The loss of a mother so young must surely be felt on some level, even if it’s not a conscious one.’
Frankie looked into his eyes and wondered if he was thinking of the loss of his own mother. He hadn’t told her anything about her. He had refused to speak about any of his family. Were those flickers and shadows in his gaze the hoofmarks of his loss?
Were they the silent footsteps of his grief?
‘Gabriel...how old were you when you lost your mother?’
At first, she wondered if he was even going to answer. He released her hand and stepped back from her, his expression so still it was as if he was mentally locking away his memories. His emotions. His pain. And of course, there would be pain. He could ignore or deny its existence but she could sense it in him. It was there in the shadows of his chocolate brown eyes. It was in the stoic strength and steely set of his jaw.
‘I was nine.’ His tone was flat. Emotionless. He could have been describing the death of a house plant.
‘Do you remember her?’ She knew it was a push too far but she asked it anyway.
‘We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow,’ he said in the same toneless voice. ‘I’ll let you get to bed. Goodnight.’
Frankie stood and watched as he turned and went back into the library, the door closing behind him. He was the most perplexing, enigmatic man. So much of him was closed off. Locked away. His thoughts and feelings a secret code she didn’t have the password for.
Would she ever?
CHAPTER FOUR
Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride (Conveniently Wed!) Page 4
