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Bound To The Sicilian's Bed: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed
Annie West
Sharon Kendrick
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed by Sharon KendrickRocco’s outrageous proposition:His estranged wife will spend one final weekend in his bed!When Rocco’s runaway wife asks for a divorce, the Sicilian billionaire seizes his chance! They’ve never discussed their painful past, but this is the perfect opportunity to get Nicole out of his system for good. He offers her a deal: if Nicole wants to move on with her life she will be his one last time!Contracted for the Petrakis Heir by Annie West‘I’m pregnant.’But this baby bombshell is nothing compared to Adoni’s scandalous solution…!A positive pregnancy test isn’t the only reminder Alice has of her one scorching night with Adoni Petrakis. As she defiantly tells him the news, memories of his skilled touch overwhelm her! The contract he draws up—to claim her and his child—is utterly shocking. As is her realisation that she’s still powerfully and inescapably in thrall to this vengeful Greek!


About the Authors (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
Also By Sharon Kendrick
The Billionaire’s Defiant AcquisitionCrowned for the Prince’s HeirDi Sione’s Virgin MistressA Royal Vow of ConvenienceSecrets of a Billionaire’s MistressThe Sheikh’s Bought WifeThe Pregnant Kavakos BrideThe Italian’s Christmas Secret
The Bond of Billionaires miniseries
Claimed for Makarov’s BabyThe Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest
Also By Annie West
The Sinner’s Marriage RedemptionSeducing His Enemy’s DaughterA Vow to Secure His LegacyThe Flaw in Raffaele’s RevengeThe Desert King’s Secret HeirThe Desert King’s Captive Bride
The Princess Seductions miniseries
His Majesty’s Temporary BrideThe Greek’s Forbidden Princess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed/Contracted for the Petrakis Heir
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed
Sharon Kendrick
Contracted for the Petrakis Heir
Annie West


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09558-7
BOUND TO THE SICILIAN’S BED/CONTRACTED FOR THE PETRAKIS HEIR
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed © 2018 Sharon Kendrick Contracted for the Petrakis Heir © 2018 Annie West
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u8a9fd788-c01a-5044-baa2-3c054b40f798)
About the Authors (#u850cacbf-4f29-5359-a2d5-920b72f1d2e3)
Booklist (#u1a28c0dc-8935-57cf-8e62-7ab45ddc3d9e)
Title Page (#u92fe99b7-71dd-55eb-a5a3-76eeaa750b6d)
Copyright (#u4438b9a2-d9dc-5d20-b9ec-57df0ce694a5)
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed (#ubd2cd7f6-c636-5cfb-acff-5c0b13e951f4)
Back Cover Text (#u09aba1f1-f2aa-5391-b01c-9a5ef881953d)
Dedication (#u9fd86ac6-2a4c-5525-b15c-c8dd199e770a)
CHAPTER ONE (#u15fd434e-816d-57c9-9031-071acc4c7219)
CHAPTER TWO (#u72ef9edf-aeb5-5336-b4e2-7158cbc1f54d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u45046f2d-5ba9-52fc-80da-62f6b5362141)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u1006d108-4907-5fbc-b093-0971bd187052)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uec9c6fb3-c35e-5d33-a764-68f51d85b16e)
CHAPTER SIX (#u74d244f9-ff8a-5c5e-8541-ad95905984b6)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Contracted for the Petrakis Heir (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
Sharon Kendrick
Rocco’s outrageous proposition:
His estranged wife will spend one final weekend in his bed!
When Rocco’s runaway wife asks for a divorce, the Sicilian billionaire seizes his chance! They’ve never discussed their painful past, but this is the perfect opportunity to get Nicole out of his system for good. He offers her a deal: if Nicole wants to move on with her life, she will be his one last time!
For darling Pete Crone, who is a constant inspiration to this sometimes (!) frazzled writer, and has many of the attributes of the romantic hero.
And for Charlie Bell, director at Vardags—the amazing law firm with the amazing view over London—who provided invaluable help for this story.
CHAPTER ONE (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
ROCCO BARBERI FELT anger pumping through his veins and it was enough to stop him in his tracks. Because he didn’t do anger. He was known as a man of cool calculation. His implacable Sicilian features were notorious for never betraying a flicker of emotion and his business rivals often said he would have made a world-class poker player. So why was rage flooding through him like hot lava as he stood outside a tiny art shop in some God-forsaken Cornish town?
He knew why. Because of her. His wife. His mouth twisted. His estranged wife. The woman who was standing inside the shop studying some sort of vase, her thick dark curls cascading down her back, leading the eye naturally to her narrow waist and the luscious curve of her bottom. The woman who had walked away from him without a qualm, uncaring of his reputation and everything he had done for her.
He pushed open the door and the doorbell jangled loudly as he walked in. He saw her look up, her face freezing with shock—and Rocco enjoyed a brief moment of pleasure as he read disbelief in those green eyes, which had once so bewitched him. He heard her suck in an unsteady breath and as she put the vase down he noticed her fingers were trembling. Good, he thought grimly. Good.
‘Rocco,’ she said breathlessly and he could see her throat constricting as she swallowed. That long, pale neck he had once covered in urgent kisses before moving on to the infinitely softer territory of her breasts. ‘What...what are you doing here?’
The deliberate pause he allowed was just long enough to increase the sudden tension, which had gathered like a storm cloud in the small shop. ‘You’ve just served me with divorce papers, Nicole,’ he drawled. ‘What did you think would happen? That I would just sign over half my fortune and let you walk off into the sunset with a toss of your pretty curls? Is that what you were hoping?’
She was brushing a dark spiral of hair away from a face flushed pink—acting with the self-consciousness of a woman who was uncertain about her appearance and Rocco was unprepared for the sudden wave of lust which washed over him. Would she have taken a little more care with her clothes if she’d known he was coming—worn something a little more flattering than those faded jeans and a filmy white shirt, which concealed far too much of those luscious breasts?
‘Of course I wasn’t,’ she answered, still in that faintly breathless voice. ‘I just thought...’
‘Yes?’ His voice rang out flatly and he saw her flinch.
‘That you might have given me some kind of warning.’
‘You mean, like you did when you walked away from our marriage?’
‘Rocco—’
‘Or when your lawyer sent me those papers last week?’ he continued relentlessly. ‘You didn’t even do me the courtesy of a phone call to let me know you were about to file for divorce, did you, Nicole? Which naturally led me to the conclusion that you were the kind of woman who favoured surprises. So here I am,’ he finished softly. ‘Your big surprise.’
Nicole felt dizzy. Faint. And not just because of the steely accusations which were slicing through the air towards her. She met the blaze of his eyes and wondered how, after just a few seconds in his company, she was already feeling mixed up and at a disadvantage. She hadn’t seen Rocco Barberi for two whole years yet his impact was as devastating as it had ever been. Maybe even more so. She’d forgotten the way he could dominate the space around him and make any room seem to shrink whenever he walked in. She’d forgotten because she’d forced herself to forget the man she had loved even though duty had been the only thing on his mind when he’d slipped that wedding band on her finger. She licked her lips. Maybe she’d been foolish to expect anything deeper when their relationship had been doomed from the start—because those kinds of relationships always were. Rich man/poor girl was all very well in theory, but in practice...
She thought about the fuss which had surrounded their unlikely marriage and all the lurid newspaper headlines which had been splashed around. It had been a big story at the time. ‘Sicilian Billionaire Weds Cleaner’—and the inevitable: ‘Fairy Tale Marriage Turns Sour’. And then it had ended as abruptly as it had begun. She’d walked away from him and their marriage because she’d needed to. The gulf between them had widened to such a distance that she’d known there was no going back, and when she’d lost the baby there had been no reason for them to be together any more. She’d needed to break free in order to survive.
She had told herself that over and over again in those early days after she’d left Sicily. At first every painful minute had seemed like an eternity but gradually the days had drifted into weeks and eventually months. She hadn’t taken Rocco’s phone calls or answered his letters because she’d known that a clean break was the only way she would have the courage to end it, although it had felt like torture at the time. When the months had turned into years she’d assumed Rocco had accepted they were better off apart, just as she had done. Yet here he was, just turning up out of the blue. In her shop and in her life. It felt as if someone were crushing her heart between their fingers. It brought the pain of the past rushing back so fast that she had to remember to breathe.
And that was what she needed to focus on—her brief tenure as Rocco’s wife. The reality—not the fairy tale, which had never really existed anyway. When even her choice of clothes had been dictated by the influential Sicilian billionaire who had treated her like an old-fashioned chattel he’d been forced to purchase against his better judgement.
But that didn’t stop her looking at him. From letting her gaze drift over his muscular physique, clad today in one of those expensive charcoal suits he favoured, which emphasised every honed sinew of his remarkable body. Her throat dried as she registered the pale shirt which contrasted so vividly with his olive skin. Had she hoped she might have acquired some kind of immunity to him in the intervening years? Of course she had—because hope was the one emotion which defied logic, the one which could make you get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other no matter how dark the world seemed outside. Yet Rocco seemed even more dazzling than she remembered—as if absence had only added an extra dimension to his powerful sexuality.
His glowing skin was dark and his startling blue eyes spoke of a distant Greek ancestry. Eyes which could fell you with a single look. Which could undress you in seconds before his hands accomplished the task far more efficiently. The last time she’d seen him Nicole had felt numb with pain and an emptiness which had left little room for anything else.
But now?
She could feel the erratic thumping of her heart. There was no such numbness now. Her senses felt as if he’d kick-started them into life without even trying. She could feel it in the prickle of her breasts and the molten rush of heat to her belly. A familiar restlessness entered her body as it shivered into life and memories of being in his arms were enough to bring a renewed flush of colour to her cheeks. But those thoughts and feelings were nothing but a distraction—as well as a waste of time. There was no point in desiring Rocco. She was nothing to him and she never had been. Just the woman he’d married who had failed to give him the child she’d been carrying. It was over. It had never really begun. So don’t prolong it or drag it out and make it any worse than it needs to be. Keep it cool and businesslike.
‘So what can I do for you, Rocco?’ She looked at him enquiringly, trying to keep her expression neutral. ‘Is there something in particular you wanted to discuss with me—and if so, don’t you think it might be better done through our lawyers?’
‘I’m here,’ he said slowly, ‘because I think we might be able to do each other a favour.’
She studied him warily. ‘I don’t understand. We’re separated—and separating people don’t really do each other favours.’
Rocco ran the edge of his thumb over his bottom lip. He was fully aware that some people might describe what he was about to do as emotional blackmail—but so what? Didn’t his shallow, green-eyed wife deserve everything she was going to get? He felt the beat of a pulse at his temple. Wasn’t it time she discovered that you didn’t cross Rocco Barberi unless you were prepared to pay the price? That was why he had come here today, intending to tell her exactly what he wanted, knowing she would be forced to grant him his wish if she wanted her damned divorce.
He’d thought it would be easy. Straightforward. A simple equation of A + B = C. But he had failed to factor in desire, hadn’t he? A desire which had taken him completely by surprise. He had imagined he would look at her as he might any other ex-lover—with a cool impartiality, which had always served him well in the past, because once you had repeatedly tasted a woman’s body your appetite for her inevitably diminished. But that wasn’t happening. He wondered what it was about her which was making him grow as hard as rock, so he was having difficulty concentrating on anything other than what it would feel like to be deep inside her again—riding her until she shuddered out his name. Was it because she had once worn his wedding band and the significance of that went deeper than he’d imagined?
His voice became hard. ‘I need you to do something for me.’
‘Sorry, Rocco. You’re talking to the wrong person.’ She shook her head so that all those thick dark curls shimmered around her shoulders. ‘I don’t have to do anything for you. We’re getting divorced. Remember?’
‘Maybe we are,’ he answered softly. ‘Or maybe not.’
She blinked at him in consternation. ‘But the law says we can divorce after two years of living apart.’
‘I know what the law says. But that can happen only with the agreement of both parties.’ There was a pause. ‘Think about it, Nicole. You need my consent to terminate our marriage. I could drag it out for years if I wanted.’
As she heard the unmistakable threat behind his words, Nicole’s instinct was to turn and run. To run so far that he’d never be able to find her. Until she reminded herself that instinct had never served her well where Rocco was concerned. It had led her into his arms and into his bed, even though she’d known deep inside that he’d only wanted her for sex. And she had been right, hadn’t she?
But she was no longer that woman. The star-struck virgin who had allowed her powerful boss to seduce her. Who had fallen victim to the practised heaven of his touch. The innocent young cleaner who had believed the smooth lies which had flowed from his sensual lips and allowed herself to be guided by them. Who had obediently worn the crotchless panties he’d bought for her from shops in London’s Soho and bucked with pleasure when he’d slid his fingers inside them. She’d even pretended to enjoy the light lash of a whip caressing her bare buttocks because she had wanted to bring him as much pleasure as he brought her. Because she had wanted to please him. To be his perfect lover in the hope that one day he might care for her as much as she’d begun to care for him. Yet soon after she’d given him her virginity, Rocco had begun to distance himself. Had started avoiding her at work. Suddenly there had been pressing business trips which had desperately needed his attention—something which apparently was a ploy of his when he was trying to get some needy lover off his back.
In fact, he probably would have gone out of his way never to have seen her again if nature hadn’t intervened and cast them both in the unexpected roles of parents-to-be. She swallowed as the painful memories crowded into her mind and tried to remind herself that was all in the past. Things were different now. She was getting used to life as a single woman. And yes, it was a struggle to exist on the pittance she earned from this little art shop she’d opened with the help of a grant from the local council—but at least she was following her dreams instead of living a nightmare. She didn’t need Rocco Barberi or his billions—or his cold, emotionless heart.
Drawing her shoulders back, she tilted her chin to meet his sapphire gaze. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t you give me your consent when we both know our marriage is over?’
‘Is that why you didn’t answer any of my letters? Because you’d come to that decision all on your own?’
‘It was what we both knew in our hearts!’ she defended. ‘I just couldn’t see the point in dragging it out any longer.’
His body tensed and he opened his mouth to respond when the sound of the shop bell punctured the atmosphere as a middle-aged woman opened the door. Did she pick up on the fraught atmosphere? Was that why she glanced uncertainly from Rocco to Nicole as if she were gate-crashing a private party?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, automatically prefacing her sentence with the ever-present apology of the English. ‘Are you—?’
‘We’re closed,’ said Rocco shortly, watching as Nicole opened her mouth to protest—but by then it was too late because the woman had scuttled out again, murmuring yet more words of apology.
And then his estranged wife turned on him, all her studied politeness a distant memory, her emerald eyes spitting fire at him.
‘You can’t do that!’ she declared indignantly. ‘You can’t just march into my shop and order prospective customers to leave!’
‘I just did,’ he said, without any hint of apology. ‘So let me put this to you carefully, just so that there can be no misunderstanding. You have a choice, Nicole. Either I turn the shop sign around to say you’re closed, or you agree to meet me when you’ve finished work. Because I don’t want any more interruptions like that when I put my proposition to you.’
‘Proposition?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Why would you refuse? You want your freedom, don’t you? The precious freedom which is so important to you. It might be in your best interests to...what is it that you English say?’ He rubbed a reflective finger over the hint of stubble at his chin. ‘Ah, yes. To keep me sweet.’
Nicole felt herself stiffen because his voice had taken on that velvety caress which used to have her hurling herself into his arms and raining kiss after kiss all over his rugged features. Well, not any more. That ship had sailed. No matter how much her body might be longing to feel him close to her again, she was going to fight that attraction with every fibre of her being. And he was right. Another customer might walk in and it didn’t look very professional to have a divorcing couple slugging out their differences. Surely it wouldn’t hurt her to listen to what he had to say. To humour him a little in order to facilitate her freedom.
‘Okay,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘How about I meet you for a coffee when I’ve finished work? There’s a café at the far end of the harbour which will still be open. It’s got a red and white awning at the front—you can’t miss it. I’ll see you in there.’
‘No.’ He shook his head and his mouth hardened. ‘I’m not meeting you in public in some damned café. I want to visit your apartment, Nicole. To see for myself the place you have chosen above your Sicilian home.’
It was on the tip of Nicole’s tongue to tell him that the lavish Barberi complex had felt more like a prison than a home, but what was the point of upping the ante? Mightn’t it drive home how serious she was about this divorce if she showed Rocco where she lived? Mightn’t he get it into his stubborn head that wealth and privilege meant nothing, not when you measured those things against peace of mind?
‘Very well, I live in the flat above the tea shop on Greystone Road. Number thirty-seven,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But don’t come before seven.’
‘Capisce.’ He nodded his dark head.
He was just on his way to the door when he paused in front of a small display of pottery, picking up one of the pieces to study it. It was a glowing terracotta jug with a handle fashioned to look like the twisted leaves on a lemon branch. Raised yellow fruits dotted the surface and in the background was the flash of blue—an artistic representation of the distant sea. Slowly he turned it around in his olive fingers to study it, before glancing up to meet her eyes.
‘This is good,’ he said slowly. ‘It reminds me of Sicily.’
She nodded, the sudden clench of her heart making her wish he hadn’t made the connection. ‘That’s what inspired me.’
‘Perhaps I should buy it,’ he reflected. ‘You certainly look as if you could do with a few more customers.’
‘Particularly when you drive away the ones I do have,’ she observed acidly. ‘Anyway, it’s not for sale.’
She pointed to a bright red sticker, though in reality nobody had bought it, because it had never actually been for sale. It was the last remaining piece of the collection she’d made when she’d returned from Sicily, feeling heartbroken and empty. Her bestselling collection, as it happened, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Just as she wouldn’t tell him about the tiny, hand-embroidered romper suit she’d bought soon after she’d had her first pregnancy scan, which was lying shrouded in tissue paper in one of her bedroom drawers. She was planning to sell the jug just as soon as the ink was dry on her divorce papers. The romper suit she suspected she would never be able to part with.
He replaced the piece and all Nicole was aware of were those amazing sapphire eyes searing into her. He was always the most beautiful man she had ever seen and nothing about that had changed. He could still make her heart beat fast. Still make her shiver and her breasts swell into vibrant life against her lacy bra. Just as he reminded her of the darkest time in her life and her fear that she would never be able to recover. But she had recovered. And she’d done it without him—because they were no good for each other. She had accepted that. It was time that Rocco did, too.
And suddenly she wanted him out of the shop, before she gave into the pain which was welling up inside her and threatening to spill over. Before it dissolved into bitter tears, which would remind her of everything she had lost.
CHAPTER TWO (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
TWO CUPS OF herbal tea and a stern reminder that getting emotional would accomplish nothing meant Nicole’s nerves were less jangled by the time she arrived home to find Rocco waiting outside her apartment. She’d told herself that getting sucked in by dark memories wasn’t going to help anyone. She’d told herself she needed to be calm and impartial when it came to dealing with Rocco, but maybe that was just too big an ask with a man like him.
She thought how out of place he looked in the narrow Cornish street, his powerful body drawing attention away from the cute little houses which surrounded him. Every property had window boxes full of colourful flowers dancing in the breeze, but her estranged husband was a study in unmoving darkness—the whiteness of his silk shirt the only thing lightening his shadowed body and rugged features. Her heart began to pound as she walked towards him.
The usual batch of holidaymakers was spilling out from the tea room below her tiny apartment and others were strolling along the pavement on their way to eat fish and chips, or drink dark pints of bitter in one of the iconic little pubs close by. Yet every person turned to glance at Rocco—men and women alike—as if recognising the powerful stranger in their midst. And even though he was head of one of the world’s biggest pharmaceutical companies and one of the world’s wealthiest men, Nicole suspected he would have attracted attention even if he possessed nothing. And she mustn’t forget that. She mustn’t forget that underneath all her swarm of painful feelings, she was as susceptible to him as the next woman.
And he could hurt her all over again.
His sapphire eyes were fixed on her and Nicole felt stupidly self-conscious as she reached him.
‘You’re early,’ she said, reaching into her bag for her keys.
‘You know what it’s like. I couldn’t keep away,’ he said mockingly.
She gave a tight smile. ‘Then you’d better come in.’
Rocco stood back to let her pass, unable to stop himself from reacting to her unique scent as she pushed open the front door, a scent which had nothing to do with perfume. It was the essence of her, which he had once found so intoxicating. Still did, if he was being honest—and he really hadn’t expected that. But then, Nicole had a talent for making him do the unexpected, didn’t she? Her green-eyed look of provocation had lured him into breaking every rule in the book, just as her abundance of curves had made her seem more feminine than any woman he’d ever met.
When he’d seduced her he’d thought she was experienced. Why wouldn’t he—when she’d flirted like crazy with him after their initial meeting? Yet he hadn’t touched her until their fourth date, something which was unheard of for him. Despite the fact that she’d clearly wanted him—what woman didn’t?—he’d forced himself to wait. He still wasn’t sure why. Maybe he’d just wanted to delay gratification for as long as possible, in an attempt to preserve that delicious state of desire she had aroused in him.
And then he’d discovered she had been a virgin and that had been a whole new ballgame. It had blown him away. Intimacy with Nicole Watson had eclipsed every other sexual encounter he’d ever had and Rocco was tempted to pull her into his arms to see whether she felt as good as he remembered. To lose himself in her soft and feminine body and thrust into the wet heat which had always awaited him.
But she had deserted him.
She had thrown everything back in his face.
The memory of that was enough to dissolve his desire as he followed her up a rickety old staircase—unable to prevent the moue of scorn which escaped his lips as he entered the cramped living room. His mouth twisted. She had chosen to live here? A Barberi occupying a place such as this? Why, a medieval servant would have boasted of something finer!
He looked around. It was small. Unbelievably small. A tiny sofa had been covered with a brightly coloured throw—but nothing could disguise the battered surface beneath. There was a sagging armchair, an old-fashioned electric fire and an archway leading into a cubbyhole of a kitchen. And that was it.
The only photograph on show was an old one he recognised of her mother but there were none of him. Rocco’s mouth hardened. Did he really think there might have been? Perhaps a shot of them standing outside the Sicilian cathedral, a white tulle veil billowing around her dark curls and Nicole’s flat stomach concealing the fact that she was several weeks pregnant?
His jaw tightened as he wondered what had made him start thinking about such a taboo subject but, with the ruthlessness born of practice, he pushed the powerful image to the back of his mind as he stared at the woman in front of him, thinking how different she looked. Gone were the elegant clothes which had crammed her wardrobe during their short marriage and in their place was the distinctly Bohemian look she had always favoured. Clothes he had found attractive enough in a mistress, but which had been unsuitable for a Barberi wife. Silver hoops gleamed amid the wild tumble of dark curls and the lush sensuality of her mouth was fixed and unsmiling as she returned his stare.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What exactly is this all about, Rocco?’
He thought of chastising her for her lack of courtesy. He had lifted her out of the gutter and given her the chance of a better life. He had taught her everything. Everything. What to wear and how to behave. When to speak and when to remain silent. And now she was treating him with the barely disguised impatience she might show a persistent salesman who had shoved his foot in the door.
‘You don’t even offer me coffee?’ he drawled.
‘There won’t be time. I wasn’t planning a long visit. Were you?’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘You told me you had something you wanted to say, so why don’t you just say it?’
He sat down on the arm of the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘I need you to play a part for me,’ he said.
‘A part?’ she echoed non-comprehendingly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘As my wife.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘Or rather, my reconciling wife.’
‘Your reconciling wife? Are you crazy?’
Rocco thought back to the number of times he had asked himself the same question, wondering how he could have fallen for someone like her. Why, despite the eager attentions of women of his own class, he had allowed himself to become transfixed by this one—a humble cleaner at his London headquarters. Because of her he had behaved in a way which still had the power to make him shudder as he remembered locking the door to his office and taking her over his desk. He remembered her curving hips facing upwards in a silent plea for him to remove her panties. And him complying with shaking hands, his fingers sliding over her molten heat, before entering her with a hunger so all-consuming that it had completely blown his mind. He swallowed. All his legendary self-control had deserted him the moment he’d laid a finger on her. The powerful head of Barberi associates thrusting hungrily into one of his lowly employees, with his trousers around his ankles like a teenager!
He swallowed before shaking his head. ‘On the contrary, tesoro—I’m deadly serious. This petition could not have come at a worse time for me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. I’m in the middle of a deal, which is balancing on a knife-edge right now.’
‘Gosh. I thought you had a hundred per cent success rate where business was concerned. You must be slipping, Rocco.’
He gave an impatient flicker of a smile. ‘This deal is a big one,’ he said softly. ‘The biggest in a long time. I’m attempting a hostile takeover bid of a European company, which will increase my stock to make Barberi the biggest pharmaceutical business in the world.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. ‘The problem is that there has been some opposition to my involvement. Several of the shareholders have hired a PR agency to see what dirt they can dig up on me and a complicated personal life could provide fuel for their stories. Plus, one of the biggest shareholders is a man named Marcel Dupois who’s known for being extremely conservative, particularly around family matters.’ He shifted his weight slightly. ‘The last thing I need is an estranged wife coming out of the woodwork seeking a divorce at such a sensitive time.’
‘So drop your business bid.’
‘But I don’t want to drop it.’ His voice hardened. ‘It’s too important to me.’
Nicole nodded. Of course it was. Business had always been important to Rocco. The only thing which really mattered in his life. His go-to activity which took precedence over everything else, even his wife. Especially his wife. ‘So what are you expecting me to do—call off the divorce?’
‘Only temporarily.’
‘I wasn’t being serious, Rocco.’
‘But I am.’ His sapphire eyes flattened. ‘Deadly serious.’
‘You want me to delay the petition.’
‘I want you to play a role. You were always very good at role-play, weren’t you, Nicole? It’s easy. All you have to do is pretend to be my wife for a couple of days.’
‘Pretend to be your wife,’ she repeated slowly.
‘Sure. I have a high-profile weekend coming up and having you by my side as my loving spouse could be extremely useful.’
‘Useful?’
‘You don’t like the word?’
Nicole bristled. Of course she didn’t like the word, which seemed to emphasise the only thing she’d ever been to him. Someone who was convenient. Who could be picked up and put down like a commodity. She wanted to push him towards the door. To tell him to get out and never come back—until she remembered what her lawyer had said just before he’d filed the papers.
‘Your husband is a powerful man, Mrs Barberi. Not a man you’d want to get into a protracted legal battle with. Not under any circumstances. My advice to you is to keep proceedings as amicable as possible.’
She got that, but even so.
Masquerade as his wife?
Open herself up to all that pain and frustration and make even more of a mockery of their doomed marriage?
No way.
She shook her head.
‘It’s a crazy suggestion. You must realise that. I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing, Rocco, but I can’t do it.’
He looked around the small scruffy room before returning his gaze to her. ‘I meant what I said, Nicole,’ he said. ‘Unless you were prepared to cooperate, I might not let you have your divorce.’
She shook her head. ‘You can’t stop me.’
‘Oh, but I can,’ he argued softly. ‘We’ve been separated for two years but you still need my agreement.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ve spoken to my lawyers and I can easily defend the petition by saying I don’t believe the marriage has broken down irretrievably.’
‘You wouldn’t...’ she breathed.
‘Wouldn’t I? I would do whatever it takes to make this deal, Nicole.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘The choice is yours, tesoro.’
Nicole heard the steely determination behind his words and thought about his power and influence. Her lawyer had been right—Rocco could do exactly what he wanted because he had limitless funds to support him, and she didn’t. Simple as that. In theory she could wait for her divorce—but she didn’t want to. Three more years of being tied to Rocco Barberi with all the memories that brought with it? Of feeling that something was always holding her back from living her life? Of being unable to stop those rugged features and sapphire eyes from invading her dreams every night? No way.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his. ‘And if I agreed? What would it entail?’
He didn’t react. There was no triumph on his face. His expression was as coolly impassive as ever it had been. Of course it was, Nicole told herself bitterly. Rocco didn’t change. He was still the same cold-hearted control freak he’d ever been.
‘You will accompany me to a film screening, a dinner and a cocktail party over the course of a couple of days, that’s all.’
‘That’s all,’ she repeated slowly.
‘Se. We pretend we’re giving our marriage another go. We become yet another couple who’ve come unstuck and are trying to solve our “issues”. Everyone likes a love story and it will show a more sympathetic side to my character.’ His eyes gleamed mockingly. ‘You get a weekend in Monaco and I get my deal.’
‘Monaco?’
‘That’s where I live now.’
She stared at him in surprise. ‘Not Sicily?’
‘Not any more.’
She wondered whether she had imagined the sudden bleakness in his voice, but Nicole’s head was too full to wonder why he had left his beloved homeland. She tried sifting through her options as he stared at her and wondered if she could go through with his crazy plan. Yet how ironic was it that she needed to put on a convincing performance as his reconciling wife, in order to gain her freedom from that very role?
Could she pull it off?
In public, maybe—but in private... Her tongue slid over the sudden parchment-dry surface of her lower lip. Because yes, they might still be at war but things were never that simple. They never were with Rocco. He’d been the only man she’d ever really wanted and she was fast discovering that he still was.
And even though he hadn’t given a single indication that he might feel the same way about her, there was no knowing what was going on in that unfathomable mind of his. If Rocco still felt a flicker of the desire she was feeling right now—what then? If he should turn all that blazing Sicilian charm on her, would she be capable of resisting it?
Resisting him?
She had no choice. She didn’t want her heart broken all over again and therefore she mustn’t allow her sexy husband anywhere near her. All she needed to do was remember just how bad the pain had been and how much it had hurt to walk away.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do it, Rocco,’ she said, swallowing down the emotion which was threatening to make her voice tremble. ‘You must be able to see that.’
But if she was hoping for understanding or for a modicum of consideration then she was about to be disappointed, because his features darkened into a look of determination she recognised only too well. He nodded and glanced at his watch as if he was late for a meeting, before giving a careless shrug of his shoulders.
‘Then it looks like I’ll see you in court, Nicole,’ he said softly.
And she believed him. Rocco wasn’t a man who said things he didn’t mean. He was a man who had the power to do exactly what he wanted and if that involved using a wife he had never loved to further his business ambitions, then he would do it. He had her in a corner. He knew it and she knew it, too. Nicole’s heart was racing as she met his brilliant gaze, unable to keep the anger from her voice. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Since you leave me no choice... I’ll do it.’
Rocco nodded, his senses on alert as he registered her reluctant agreement. He had achieved what he had set out to achieve but now he found himself wondering why she was prepared to do something she clearly detested, just to get her damned divorce.
‘So why the rush to the lawyers?’ he questioned silkily. He cast a disdainful eye around the room. ‘Can’t wait to get your hands on my money? Did you wake up one morning and decide that this shabby little place simply wasn’t for you? Did you think your wealthy husband ought to provide you with a settlement which would enable you to get out of here—is that what this is all about, Nicole?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not about the money, Rocco. I’m not planning to bleed you dry, if that’s what you’re hinting at.’
‘No?’ And then something else suddenly occurred to him—and Rocco was startled by the powerful streak of jealousy which flooded through him like dark poison. Because he had thought he was over her. He had decided that from the moment he had arrived back from the States and discovered she’d left him. ‘Then maybe it’s something else, something rather more common in these situations.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Perhaps there’s a new man on the horizon and you want to be free for him. Is that what it is, my little temptress?’ His voice hardened as he allowed the thought to grow and suddenly he could see yet another benefit to making her work for her divorce. Because if Nicole did have a new lover, then wouldn’t that lover be outraged to learn she was spending the weekend with Rocco Barberi? He felt a sudden punch of sadistic pleasure. ‘Perhaps you’ve already started a relationship and he’s telling you to get rid of your Sicilian husband pretty damned quick.’
If Nicole had been feeling more genial she might have laughed in his face. For a start, no other man had even looked at her since she’d left her husband, mainly, she suspected, because she was giving out such negative vibes. But even if they had—even in the unlikely event of some gorgeous man sashaying into her little art shop and asking her on a date—it would have left her completely cold. Because no other man could ever be Rocco and he was the only man she’d ever wanted and sometimes she worried that was never going to change. Was that going to be another lasting legacy from her failed marriage—an inability to forget him?
But he doesn’t need to know that, she told herself fiercely. He doesn’t need to know anything about you. Defiantly, she met his questioning gaze.
‘My reasons are mine and mine alone,’ she said coolly. ‘And they are none of your business, Rocco.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
SO THIS WAS MONACO.
Stepping from the private jet, Nicole felt the warmth of the sun beating down on her head as she looked around, narrowing her eyes behind her sunglasses. In the distance she could see the bright blue blaze of the Mediterranean with fancy white and silver yachts bobbing on the glittering sapphire water.
She’d never been here before but she knew all about the sun-drenched principality at the tip of southern France, which was home to some of the richest people in the world. A place of luxury and excess and glamour. Her heart gave a funny twist. And now it was Rocco’s home, too. She pushed her sunglasses further up her nose. Strange to think of him living in this billionaires’ playground when he’d always been so fiercely loyal to his homeland and its rustic values. When he’d insisted that simple pleasures were what turned him on, not the lure of the gaming tables, or restaurants which were all about show instead of serving real food. Not for the first time, she wondered what had made him leave Sicily.
She walked towards the shiny black car which was waiting on the Tarmac, glad she’d insisted on a few days to herself before coming here. She’d told Rocco she needed to organise someone to take her place at the shop and water her plants for her and that much was true, but really she’d needed time to compose herself. To strengthen her resolve not to do anything she might later regret and try to achieve a state of impartiality before she faced her estranged husband again. She’d told herself that whatever happened, she couldn’t afford to let desire cloud her judgement and on the plane journey here she’d convinced herself that she had succeeded. But as she looked around in vain for Rocco’s dark head and spectacular body, she realised her heart was racing and her skin was clammy—and if that wasn’t desire then what was?
The uniformed chauffeur stepped forward to open the car door for her.
‘Welcome to Monaco, Signora Barberi,’ he said in perfect English, with a marked French accent. ‘Unfortunately, your husband has been delayed and was unable to meet your flight. He asked me to say he will see you at the house.’
Nicole opened her mouth to tell the driver that she actually preferred to be called Ms Watson these days, until she remembered. None of this was real. She wasn’t a feisty singleton who was forging a new and independent life for herself. She was supposed to be a woman fighting tooth and nail to hang onto her marriage. So be that woman.
Giving what she hoped was a suitably disappointed expression, she slid onto the back seat of the limousine, pressing her knees together and trying not to think how scruffy the faded denim of her jeans looked against the opulence of the car.
The seat was deliciously soft and the vehicle was coolly air-conditioned, but even so it was difficult to relax. As they drove through the pristine streets of Monaco, Nicole sat as stiffly as someone on their way to a job interview. She’d barely slept a wink since Rocco had turned up at her shop and sent her thoughts and her senses into disarray. Suddenly it hadn’t been so easy to put him into that forbidden box where he’d been locked away for so long. Suddenly she’d found herself wondering how on earth she was going to pretend to be reconciling a marriage which had barely got off the ground in the first place. When they’d been nothing but a pair of mismatched strangers with nothing in common other than twin tragedies in their young lives.
They were both orphans: Nicole had been dumped outside a snowy hospital in a shopping bag and Rocco’s parents had been killed outright in a speedboat accident when he’d been fourteen. Nicole had thought their dual losses might have provided some kind of bond, but Rocco had adamantly refused to discuss the past. Whenever she’d tried to bring up the subject he would shake his head and tell her it had happened a long time ago and he was over it. And she should be over it, too. He’d told her they should list their blessings instead. She had found herself a kind adoptive mother—and he and his grandfather had helped rear his two heartbroken younger siblings.
They were both over it, he’d insisted.
Nicole stared out of the car window as they passed the fancy stores with designer clothes and jewellery which made you feel you’d been transplanted into the centre of Paris. This was real high-end living, she thought, and once again found it difficult to reconcile Rocco living in such a glitzy place. But what did she really know about him? She was hardly qualified to cast judgement on a man so far out of her league, who had never really allowed her to get close to him. A billionaire who would never have married her if she hadn’t been carrying his baby. Nicole felt a brief spear of pain as she pushed her fingers back through her curls. Even now she couldn’t believe how two people from opposite ends of the social spectrum should have become lovers—something which had caused outrage at the Barberi family’s swanky Mayfair offices, where Nicole been employed as an office cleaner and Rocco was the big boss.
Not that she’d ever intended to be a cleaner. She’d been about to take up a scholarship at one of London’s most prestigious art schools when her adoptive mother had been struck down by a virulent form of cancer. Fired by fear and devotion, Nicole had nursed the kindly woman who had taken in the abandoned little girl. The lonely child who had passed through streams of foster parents before Peggy Watson had appeared in her life as a saviour. Nicole hadn’t been able to imagine a life without her but, despite her frightened prayers, Peggy had died a painful death. And something in Nicole had died along with her.
Grief had left her barely able to lift a paintbrush, let alone have any ideas worth putting down on paper. Ignoring the pleadings of her teachers, she had deferred her place at art school. Suddenly, she’d felt old—as if she’d had nothing in common with the whacky art students and their garish clothes. How could she possibly behave in a carefree way when inside she’d felt so numb? All she’d wanted was a well-paid job she didn’t have to think about—and cleaning the Barberi offices had provided the ideal solution. She’d told herself it was just a case of recovering her confidence and clawing together some savings until she felt ready to continue with her art. And that had been her intended path, until the night she’d bumped into the Sicilian billionaire who, against all the odds, had been destined to become her husband.
She’d known who he was because he’d had a reputation for staying late and burning the midnight oil. And like all her co-workers, she’d agreed that the workaholic billionaire was the hunkiest man she’d ever seen. But Nicole had regarded Rocco Barberi in the same way you might regard the leading man in your favourite TV box-set—easy to fantasise about, but totally out of reach. Until the evening they had collided—literally. When Nicole had been carrying her mop and bucket along the corridor and seen the Sicilian heading towards her and they’d been so busy staring at each other that their paths had crossed. The metal bucket had caught the edge of the tycoon’s ankle and Nicole had looked down in horror to see soapy water sloshing all over his pristine suit trousers and handmade shoes.
‘Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,’ she’d stumbled, looking up to find herself transfixed by the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. ‘I... I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘And neither was I. Non importa.’ He had made a careless movement with his hand. ‘They will clean.’
He’d still been staring at her, staring at her as if he’d known her, or as if he hadn’t been able to quite believe what he’d been seeing. And Nicole had felt exactly the same. She might have been a virgin and naïve in the ways of men, but she’d been unable to deny the powerful attraction which had temporarily incapacitated them both. It hadn’t seemed to matter that she’d been wearing a blue uniform which had been straining across her breasts, nor that her flyaway curls had been tugged back with a single strand of the green velvet ribbon she always wore, because it matched her eyes. Or that the man in front of her had exuded a power and status which was many lofty rungs above her own. She’d just felt as if she knew him. As if they’d met in a previous life. Or something.
When she’d analysed it afterwards, she’d realised just how dumb she’d been. All that had happened was that she’d been captivated by a man who any painter in a life class would drool over and he had obviously felt something very similar. Their connection had been purely physical. Or chemical. A freak of nature which shouldn’t have gone anywhere else, except that it had.
She’d felt apologetic the next day but she’d also felt intensely alive—as if he’d woken her from a long sleep. She’d painted him a little postcard—the first time she’d picked up a brush since Peggy’s death—and on it she’d depicted a cartoon of Rocco standing in a sea of soapy water on which floated an empty bucket and the single word, sorry, at the bottom of the card.
Maybe Rocco had been frustrated at the time and that was why he’d thrown caution to the wind and told her how much the postcard had made him laugh, before asking her out for a drink. And maybe Nicole had just wanted something joyful to happen after the two bleak years since Peggy’s death. Either way, their drinks had lain untouched, and the dazzling skyline outside the fancy rooftop bar had gone unnoticed. He’d asked her to dinner and she’d said yes, and it had been the most wonderful evening of her life. But he hadn’t touched her, even though she had desperately wanted him to.
A week later they’d had dinner again and then, over a drink following a trip to Milan, he’d asked if she’d ever been on the London Eye. She hadn’t as it happened, and as the giant wheel had circled London’s imposing monuments Nicole had realised that she was completely smitten by her billionaire boss. Smitten enough to find herself at his apartment later that day with Rocco breaking through her hymen with a groan of hunger followed by disbelief.
Apparently, it was a big thing in Sicily for a man to take a woman’s virginity and Rocco had alternately stormed at her, before hugging her tightly to his chest and then lowering his head to suck on her nipples. It had gone on like that for days. Snatched moments of bliss—even at work. That time on the desk would be scorched in her memory for ever. She’d never known that sex could be so addictive and Rocco had told her he felt exactly the same.
But then something had changed.
When Rocco had started buying her gradually more daring items of underwear and asking her to wear them Nicole had been eager to try out his sexy commands, yet on some deeper level—she’d been a bit wary, too. Had instinct warned her that the more outrageous his demands, the more he’d seemed to be distancing himself from her? Had he already decided her humble status meant he should end their liaison—and the provocative items of lingerie had been helping highlight her unsuitability? She’d been about to tell him he was making her feel like an object, when she’d missed her period, and her newly tender breasts had told her what the pregnancy test had quickly confirmed—that she was carrying Rocco Barberi’s baby.
Telling him had been nothing like the rose-tinted version she’d secretly longed for—a version as far away as possible from her own bleak beginnings on the snowy steps of a wintry hospital. She’d wanted to give him the news somewhere neutral, but he’d told her he was expecting a call and maybe they should take a rain check on the date they’d planned—and had he mentioned that he was planning a trip to the States the following week and wouldn’t be around for some time? And that was when it had all come blurting out, there in his penthouse office—with her untouched mop and bucket standing on the floor beside her feet.
‘Rocco, I’m pregnant.’
She would never forget his expression as he’d looked up from his computer. A brief shuttering followed by a shadowed caution.
‘You’re certain?’
‘Positive.’
‘And it’s...’
His words had faded but a sudden chill had washed over Nicole’s skin.
‘Yours?’ she’d questioned with a perception which had made her suddenly feel quite sick. ‘Is that what you were going to say, Rocco?’
He had shaken his head. ‘Of course not.’
She hadn’t believed him and had started to cry when he’d ‘jokingly’ suggested she might have deliberately sabotaged the condom in order to trap him. Had her woeful, red-eyed face tugged at his conscience? Was that why he’d risen from his desk and walked across the office towards her? His unkind words had been blotted out by the deep sense of gratitude she’d felt when he’d taken her in his arms and told her that of course she must marry him. He was going to stand by her and that meant a lot to someone who had been abandoned as a baby. And of course, she had thought herself in love with him. Yet all the time she had been acutely aware of the dutiful way he went about preparing for their marriage—as if he was being forced into something he’d never intended.
If she’d been an independent woman instead of a broke cleaner with hardly any qualifications, might her answer have been different? Would she have tried to go it alone to bring up her baby and told him he was very welcome to have access visits whenever he wanted? She thought not. Even if she had been inclined to embrace single parenthood, she recognised that Rocco would never have allowed that to happen. She had been carrying his child and therefore she had been his possession. That was something else she understood. It was something to do with being Sicilian and something to do with being a Barberi.
Their unlikely union had excited a flurry of interest in the European gossip but the Cinderella slant of the newspaper articles had made her feel somehow...less than—and that wasn’t a good way to start a marriage. And anyway—the whole thing had been a waste of time, hadn’t it? Rocco had only gone through with the wedding because she’d been pregnant—but her body had been unable to hold onto the baby she’d wanted so much. She had failed the baby, just as she had failed Rocco. She had let everyone down. She felt the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes and dabbed at them furiously with a curled-up fist.
She wasn’t going to think about that.
She wasn’t going to let herself go there.
But Nicole’s hands were trembling as the powerful car suddenly turned off the main drag and began to ascend a steep and curving street before eventually coming to a halt at the top, outside a deep rose-hued house with its amazing view over Monaco’s harbour. She looked up at it in surprise. Somehow she hadn’t imagined Rocco living somewhere like this—in a house on a street—not when he had grown up amid roaming acres of olive groves and vineyards in beautiful rural Sicily.
The front door was opened immediately, almost as if someone had been watching out for the car. But it wasn’t Rocco who stood on the doorstep, but a chic woman in a black and white uniform, which made Nicole realise why so many women wore French maid outfits to fancy-dress parties when they were trying to look sexy.
‘Welcome, signora,’ the woman said, with a coral-tinted smile. ‘I’m Veronique and I’m the housekeeper. Signor Barberi’s assistant, Michele, is waiting upstairs for you in his office and I will take you there.’
Slightly disorientated by the size of the entrance hall, Nicole turned to stare out of the still-open front door where the limousine was parked. ‘But my suitcase—’
‘The driver will bring it in and leave it in your room,’ said Veronique. ‘Do not concern yourself. Please. Come with me.’
Nicole followed the housekeeper along a gleaming marble corridor and into a huge room whose only concessions to being an office were a giant desk and a row of clocks on the wall depicting different time zones around the world. For the most part it just looked like an amazing room with an equally amazing view. A tall blonde was waiting for them, her high-heeled shoes matching her fitted pink dress, and Nicole wondered just how many beautiful women Rocco surrounded himself with and whether any of them provided any additional extras.
But that’s none of your business, she told herself fiercely trying to downplay the savage little kick of jealousy which flared up inside her. If he wants to sleep with the staff, that’s up to him.
The blonde stepped forward and extended her hand. ‘Hi! I’m Michele, Rocco’s assistant, and I’m delighted to be able to welcome you to Monaco, Signora Barberi.’
‘Please—call me Nicole.’
Michele smiled. ‘Nicole it is. I’m afraid he’s a bit tied up at the moment.’ She gave an apologetic shrug which suggested she was no stranger to conveying this message. ‘His last meeting went on longer than anticipated and he’s taking a conference call right now. He said to tell you he’ll be with you as soon as he can and that I should show you around.’
Unsure if Rocco’s assistant was aware of the make-believe nature of their reconciliation, Nicole forced herself to adopt an expression of lively curiosity. ‘That would be great.’
‘So why don’t we start down here?’
Nicole followed Rocco’s shapely assistant through the most luxurious house she had ever seen. High-ceilinged reception rooms were studded with modern furniture and once again, she couldn’t help comparing it to Rocco’s Sicilian home. There was no dark wood, or furniture which had been worn down by previous generations who were now unsmiling faces in framed sepia photographs. Everything looked so new and so...bright. She found herself liking it because it had no obvious history and an unexpected smile curved the edges of her mouth. A bit like her, really.
Briefly, she looked around the well-stocked library, peered into an imposing gym and gazed wistfully at the infinity pool which overlooked the Mediterranean, wishing she’d remembered to bring a swimsuit. There were six bedrooms in all, the largest of which was obviously Rocco’s, and Nicole’s heart flipped when she saw her suitcase sitting in the centre of the floor.
‘And this is the master suite,’ Michele was saying. ‘I think you’ll find everything you need, but please let me know if there’s anything else I can get you. The fundraiser doesn’t start until eight tonight so you have plenty of time to acclimatise yourself. Would you like me to leave you to unpack? I expect you want to hang up your dresses.’ Michele glanced diplomatically at Nicole’s battered little suitcase as she indicated a section of inbuilt wardrobe doors. ‘Rocco has left plenty of space for your belongings. Or perhaps you would rather have something to drink first?’
Nicole wasn’t planning on putting her belongings anywhere near Rocco’s, but she didn’t want to embarrass his assistant by telling her that. And there was no way she could ever sleep in here—it was too unsettling on too many levels. She could sense Rocco’s presence everywhere. That tantalising scent which was all his—a subtle mix of sandalwood and bergamot. The well-thumbed crime novel which lay open on the bedside table which was probably on exactly the same page as it had been since his last holiday. She could see a pair of gold and lapis lazuli cufflinks lying on the dressing table—and the intimacy of being inside his bedroom again was causing her heart to contract with a flurry of emotions which was making her feel dizzy.
‘Actually, I’d love something to drink,’ she said weakly.
‘In that case, come and I’ll have someone bring it up to the terrace, which I think you might like.’ Michele’s smile widened. ‘You see, I saved the best for last.’
As soon as Nicole stepped out onto the terrace she realised Michele hadn’t been exaggerating. Pursing her lips into a silent whistle of appreciation, she looked out over the balcony. This was the kind of view which only wads of money could buy and Nicole’s first thought was how much she would like to recreate these colours on clay. The deep azure of the sea lay before her in an endless dazzle and above it was the paler hue of the sky. How incredible it would be to make a collection in all these different shades of blue and maybe to hint at the greens and greys of the distant mountains. It was opulent and stunning and it felt unreal. In fact, she felt unreal. But hadn’t she always felt out of place in this wealthy world she’d left behind?
‘Would you like water, or tea?’ Michele was asking. ‘Or we have champagne, if you prefer.’
Nicole shook her head. ‘No, honestly. Water would be perfect. Thanks.’
After Michele had gone, Nicole leaned over the railings and gazed ahead but this time she wasn’t really focussing on the view. She thought about the child she’d once been—the insecure little outcast who had been pushed from pillar to post until Peggy Watson had taken her in. Could that orphaned little girl ever have imagined standing somewhere like this, about to draw a line under her marriage? And despite everything, she felt a pang of pain that she hadn’t been able to make it work. It made her start wondering if there had been anything she could have done to have saved it. If her own grief had made her keep Rocco at arm’s length. Perhaps it had. Perhaps she might handle it very differently now.
But you can’t keep going back over the past. It’s too late to do anything about it now. It’s over.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ A rich voice washed over her skin like dark silk and Nicole turned round, her heart clenching. Because Rocco was walking towards her, a glass in his hand-the darkness of his hair almost blue-black in the bright sunshine.
‘Very beautiful,’ she said breathlessly.
‘That’s Cap Ferrat directly opposite—and the land you can see over there is Italy.’ He moved directly in front of her and held out the glass. ‘I believe you told Michele you wanted something to drink.’
Nicole’s heart was pounding and suddenly her senses were going crazy because she couldn’t seem to think straight when he was standing this close. Her body seemed programmed to react in a way she couldn’t prevent—no matter how hard she tried. For a split-second she wanted to put her arms around his neck. To melt into the hardness of his body while he began to stroke her in that way which had always made her shiver with longing...
Until she forced herself to remember that this was Rocco. Heartless Rocco who didn’t give a damn about her. Who had ridden roughshod over her feelings and brought her out here to help further his ruthless business ambitions. With a tight smile she took the water from him and sipped from the crystal glass. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘You’re welcome.’ His blue eyes were mocking. ‘Made yourself at home?’
‘Easier said than done,’ she quipped. ‘This place is so big it reminds me of one of those stately homes in London. I suppose if your business deal falls through you could always charge an entrance fee and make a little extra money on the side.’
‘A novel suggestion,’ he murmured.
‘I’m nothing if not enterprising, Rocco. And I’ve been running my own shop for the past year so I’m pretty much up to speed with running a small business.’
Reluctantly, Rocco smiled. He’d forgotten that her very different upbringing gave her a sometimes irreverent take on his world, and how it had once enchanted him. Just as he’d forgotten how fresh and vibrant she could look, without even trying. He narrowed his eyes. Compared to the manufactured glamour of most of the women he mixed with, her natural beauty seemed to shine through—and the suddenly powerful throb of his groin was an indication of just how instinctively his body responded to that.
‘Did Michele show you where everything was?’ he questioned unevenly.
‘She did.’ She put the glass down. ‘Though I thought you might have turned up at the airport to meet me.’
‘And were you disappointed?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I would describe it as disappointment. I just thought that after all the fuss you made about me coming out here, you might have made the effort to meet me from the plane. If you’re supposed to be playing the spouse eager to get his marriage back on track, ignoring my arrival isn’t really the way to go about it.’
‘I’d planned to be there but I’m afraid it didn’t work out that way,’ he said smoothly. ‘I was snowed under with work.’
‘So I gather.’
Her thick curls were gleaming darkly in the bright sunshine and suddenly Rocco found himself wanting to tangle his fingers in them, the way he used to do. ‘What can I say?’ he said, with a shrug. ‘It was a call I needed to take.’
‘But mightn’t it have occurred to you to postpone it?’ she continued coolly. ‘Rather than dumping me on your assistant, who clearly isn’t quite sure what to do with me?’
‘Nobody was dumping you, Nicole. It was urgent.’
‘It’s always urgent with you, isn’t it, Rocco? Work always takes precedence.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You think organisations like the Barberi Foundation just run themselves?’
‘No, I don’t think that. But I do think work can become an addiction and a substitute.’
‘A substitute for what?’
‘You tell me. When was the last time you had a holiday?’
‘You know I don’t like holidays.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, what difference does it make who shows you around?’
And that was the trouble, Nicole reminded herself. He really couldn’t see it. He had no understanding of the way he treated the people in his life—as if they were mere accessories, to be brought out if and when it suited him. Wasn’t it time someone told him? Pointed out a few home-truths which were long overdue? She pushed back her curls, aware that she might be about to become the cliché of a nagging wife—but also aware there were things she’d never dared say to him while they’d been together and maybe she had nothing to lose now. ‘Didn’t you think it might have been awkward for me when your assistant mistakenly assumed we’d be sharing a bedroom?’
‘That was no mistake, tesoro,’ he said softly. ‘We’re supposed to be giving our marriage another go and naturally we will need to share a bedroom.’
She shook her head. ‘But that’s where you’re wrong. It’s only a game, Rocco,’ she reminded him. ‘Remember?’
It was only a game, Rocco repeated to himself silently—but right then it was hard to think of anything other than how much he desired her, despite the cheap jewellery and faded jeans. She was far more assertive than she’d ever been in the past and this unaccustomed display of spirit from his once passive wife was doing peculiar things to his pulse-rate. He swallowed. He thought about other women he had dated before his marriage. Classy women, who wore designer clothes instead of jeans and a shirt. With subtle diamonds glinting in their earlobes, not big silver hoops which dangled amid the wild tangle of curls.
Yet Nicole was the one who did it for him. Still did, if he was being honest. Who powered his heart so that it hammered against his chest like a piston. Who made him feel about sixteen again. Rocco felt a sudden rush of lust which wiped out every thought other than the blindingly obvious. He thought about the way her body convulsed and spasmed around him when she was coming—and the erection which was currently throbbing hotly at his groin became almost unbearable.
Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to assert the self-control which had become his default at the age of fourteen, when he had been forced to grow up overnight, but for once it was proving elusive. Was she feeling it too—this attraction which was almost tangible as it sizzled in the air around them? He looked into her eyes as all kinds of new possibilities began to open up in his mind. ‘It may only be a game,’ he stated softly, ‘but I think we need to make it as convincing a game as possible, don’t you?’
‘Not by sharing a space,’ she argued. ‘And before you try telling me that your staff will notice we’re not in the same room—I don’t care. I’m assuming everyone who works for you is loyal, since loyalty is something you’ve always demanded from the people around you.’
‘And were you loyal to me, Nicole?’ he said suddenly.
The question took her by surprise. ‘Yes, I was. Completely. More than you’ll ever know. ‘She gave a short laugh. ‘Or maybe you aren’t aware of the offers I got to tell my story when our marriage broke down?’
He leaned back against the railing and studied her, his blue eyes thoughtful. ‘What kind of offers?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Big ones. Journalists who tracked me down wondering why a Barberi ex-wife was living such a shabby existence when she’d been married to one of the richest men on the planet. Why I was working in a puny little art shop instead of living in a luxury flat and giving your credit card a battering. I don’t know why you’re looking so surprised, Rocco—you can see how much they might have wanted the story. Isn’t that what newspaper readers love to read about? The fairy-tale marriage which came to such an abrupt ending.’
His sapphire eyes had become shuttered by the thick curtain of his dark lashes. ‘But you didn’t talk to them?’
‘Of course I didn’t.’ Frustratedly, Nicole shook her head. How could he even ask that? The raw pain of losing their baby had been replaced by a kind of numbness that her marriage was over—they had pushed each other so far away that there was nothing left between them. She’d forced herself into a zombified state of acceptance as she had stumbled through the days without realising what was going on, only knowing she needed to start over. She’d convinced herself that Sicily had been nothing but a strange interlude and she needed to reconnect with England, but it hadn’t been easy. She’d felt like a tiny craft thrown into a raging sea, not knowing which direction life would take her. One minute she’d been a cleaner and then a billionaire’s wife. One minute a mother-to-be and the next...nothing. There was no word in the English language to describe a mother who had lost her child, was there? Nicole swallowed. Only someone who was seriously deluded would have wanted to relive that pain and disruption and see it printed in a newspaper. ‘Did you really think I would ever talk to a journalist?’ she demanded. ‘Did you?’
He shrugged as his mouth flattened into its habitual uncompromising line. ‘The financial rewards might have tempted some people.’
‘But I’m not some people, Rocco! When will you ever believe that I was never interested in the money? That wasn’t what attracted me to you. What you’ve never had—you never miss.’
He was still studying her, still with that same intense scrutiny. ‘Is that why you left without taking anything?’
Nicole hesitated. Maybe this was what it all boiled down to for him. Because for Rocco, everyone had their price, didn’t they? He’d told her about the women who had been bewitched by the Barberi fortune and were eager to get themselves a slice of it for themselves. Just as he’d told her about the people who tried to muscle in when they found out who he was. He didn’t really trust people and never let them close. Much easier for him to believe that everyone had an ulterior motive where he was concerned because that gave him a legitimate reason to keep people at a distance. She wondered how honest she could afford to be—yet surely it was a waste of time trying to conceal the truth from him now, in these dying days of their relationship. Because her answers were academic. Whatever Rocco wanted, it wasn’t her.
She stared at him. ‘I didn’t take anything because I wanted to cut all ties between us. In fact, I never wanted to see you again.’
She met his eyes with a steady challenge and Rocco stilled. How dared she be so dismissive? It was an insult to his pride, yes—but it struck at something darker, too. Something deep inside which made him want to lash out at her blatant rejection. Yet there was no need to fight, not when there were different ways for him to vent his frustration or show her just what a mistake she had made. Things which had been on his mind all day—all week—ever since he’d walked into her little art shop in Cornwall and seen her bite her lip so that it took on a deep, rosy glow. And despite having told himself this was not going to happen, he found himself taking a step towards her.
‘So you never wanted to see me again?’ he mused silkily. ‘In which case it didn’t work very well for you, did it? Seeing as you’re here with me now.’
She continued to hold his gaze with a look of pure defiance. ‘And I can walk away whenever I choose,’ she said. ‘Divorce or no divorce. Either you accept that I’m not sharing a room with you, or I’m out of here. Because I’m not interested in you that way, Rocco, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘You’re saying you don’t want to have sex with me?’
She nodded. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
He saw her green eyes widen as he reached out to pull her into his arms, her luscious curves instantly pliable beneath his fingers. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to put that to the test, my defiant wife,’ he murmured as he lowered his head towards hers.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
HE WAS GOING to kiss her and after everything she’d just said, Nicole knew she needed to stop him. But suddenly she found herself governed by a much deeper need than preserving her sanity, or her pride. A need and a hunger which swept over her with the speed of a bush fire. As Rocco’s shadowed face lowered towards her she found past and present fusing, so that for a disconcerting moment she forgot everything except the urgent hunger in her body. Because hadn’t her Sicilian husband always been able to do this—to captivate her with the lightest touch and to tantalise her with that smouldering look of promise? And hadn’t there been many nights since they’d separated when she’d woken up, still half fuddled with sleep, and found herself yearning for the taste of his lips on hers just one more time? And now she had it.
One more time.
She opened her mouth and Rocco used the opportunity to fasten his mouth over hers in the most perfects of fits. And instantly Nicole felt helpless—caught up in the powerful snare of a sexual mastery which wiped out everything else. She gave a moan of pleasure because it had been so long since she had done this. She’d forgotten what it was like to kiss him because kissing was one of the first casualties of a failing marriage. You stopped kissing and touching and all too soon it was difficult to contemplate anything other than the icy barrier you had created between you.
And Nicole had felt like a living statue since they’d been apart. As if she were made from marble. As if the flesh and blood part of her were some kind of half-forgotten dream. Slowly but surely she had withdrawn from the sensual side of her nature until she’d convinced herself she was dead and unfeeling inside. But here came Rocco to wake her dormant sexuality with nothing more than a single kiss. It was like some stupid fairy story. It was scary and powerful. She didn’t want to want him, and yet...
She wanted him.
Her lips opened wider as his tongue slid inside her mouth—eagerly granting him that early intimacy as if preparing the way for another. She began to shiver as his hands started to explore her—rediscovering her body with an impatient hunger, as if it were the first time he’d ever touched her. His fingers skated over her breasts, palms massaging the swollen contours until each taut and aching nipple was in an exquisite state of arousal. Instinctively she writhed against him and felt the hard cradle of his desire. And now the moaning sound she could hear was his as he deepened the kiss—underpinning it with a sudden sense of urgency.
‘Nicole,’ he said unevenly and she’d never heard him say her name like that before.
Her arms were locked behind his neck as again he circled his hips against hers in unmistakable invitation and, somewhere in the back of her mind, Nicole could hear the small voice of reason imploring her to take control of the situation. It was urging her to call a halt to what they were doing and to do it now, before it was too late. But once again she ignored it. Against the powerful tide of passion, that little voice was drowned out and she allowed pleasure to shimmer over her skin.
She drew back a little to pull some air into her lungs—and the expression on his face both shocked and thrilled her. Because she’d never seen Rocco look like this before. The tension had turned his features into a taut mask. His eyes were blackened with lust, their sapphire brilliance almost concealed by the dilated pupils. Two lines of colour flared along the edges of his high cheekbones and contrasted with the hue of his olive skin.
‘So, tesoro.’ His murmured words were provocative as his circling groin gave yet another candid demonstration of just how aroused he was. ‘Is this what you’ve been missing?’
Nicole swallowed. She should tell him not to be so arrogant. She should tell him a lot of things which were long overdue. But she was in no fit state to give a coherent answer because he was idly whispering his middle finger down over her midriff and somehow the barrier of her filmy shirt was making what was happening doubly provocative. So that instead of telling him to stop, she found herself whispering, ‘Yes.’
He gave a little groan of satisfaction as he slid his hand up beneath her shirt to cup the breast which was straining madly against her bra. So close to the skin, she thought frustratedly—and yet much too far away. Her mouth dried as he began to circle a nipple with his thumb and her eyelids fluttered to a close as she felt it puckering beneath the lace. How could a touch which was barely there feel so incredible? ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice sounding slurred against the seeking pressure of his kiss.
He gave a low laugh as his hand moved from her breast down to the waistband of her jeans and Nicole held her breath. Would he dare go further? Surely she shouldn’t allow this? She knew she ought to break the spell yet she was so in thrall to what was happening that she was powerless to move. She heard the rasp of her zip as he began to slide it down and she held her breath, praying he would continue even though she knew he ought to stop. And now he was slipping his hand into the space provided by the open denim, and was easing one finger on a downward path over the warm surface of her belly. She swallowed.
‘Is there something else you would prefer me to do?’ he murmured. ‘In which case, you’d better tell me, because although I have many skills where women are concerned, I’m afraid mind-reading isn’t one of them.’
His teasing incited her—it made the heat raging inside her intensify to such a pitch that the idea of calling a halt to this madness seemed unbearable. Yet it angered her, too. How dared he bring up the subject of other women at a time like this? Did he think she didn’t care about stuff like that? With a yelp of rage she kissed him hard and she could feel his mouth curving into a smile, because by now he was slipping his fingers inside her panties. And didn’t the molten wetness he encountered there seem like a kind of betrayal? A physical demonstration of just how much she still wanted him, no matter how much she wished she didn’t. Her head fell back as he began to circle the tip of her clitoris with a feather-light touch.
‘Oh, my,’ he said softly as she quivered uncontrollably beneath the rhythmic caress of his finger. He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Nicole. Just like old times. So wet and so hot. I think we’d better do something about this, hadn’t we, mio tesoro?’
She opened her mouth to tell him he’d got it all wrong but her desire was so great that she couldn’t speak. And even if she could, what the hell could she say?
Stop what you’re doing because it’s wrong. It’s making me feel weak and vulnerable and I vowed never to let myself feel that way again.
Because right now she didn’t care about any of that. All she cared about was the way he was making her feel. So she stayed silent as layer upon layer of pleasure began to build—so sweet and so achingly familiar. It took her to such a pitch of sexual hunger that she found herself wanting to whisper his name over and over again, like some life-affirming mantra. She was going to come—she knew she was—when the sudden memory of his mocking words crashed into her mind and shattered the magic spell he was weaving.
Just like old times, he’d said.
But it wasn’t, was it? It was nothing like old times, when she’d still been naïve and foolish enough to think there was some connection between them, which could get deeper if they worked on it. They weren’t those star-crossed lovers she’d imagined them to be and nor were they the unlikely newlyweds with no idea how to communicate with each other. The past was gone and this was not how she intended her future to be.
Nicole clamped her hand over Rocco’s wrist, halting the finger still poised with tantalising precision over the engorged bud as she summoned up all the willpower she possessed. And although her body was screaming out its objections, she blocked them. Because she’d been through a lot to get to where she was today. She’d worked hard and built her little business up from scratch—and it might not be very much, but it was all hers. She was beginning to establish herself as the artist she’d always wanted to be before life and Rocco had sucked her up and wrung her out to dry. She’d even started to convince herself that one day she would be properly over him. Was she really prepared to jeopardise everything—including her precious self-respect—just because her hormones had been reactivated by Rocco Barberi’s overt sexuality?
Heart pounding, she yanked his hand out of her panties and stepped away to turn her back on him while she readjusted her clothing. Her cheeks were burning as she zipped up her jeans and smoothed down her white shirt while the silver chains around her neck jangled like wind chimes. Slowly she came back to reality, blinking as she took in her surroundings to realise that they’d been making out on a penthouse terrace not far from Monaco’s picture-book harbour. And while they weren’t exactly being overlooked, what was to stop someone on one of those fancy yachts from peering through a pair of binoculars and seeing them? Some paparazzi photographer taking a few candid snaps to earn himself some unexpected money? Or one of Rocco’s staff turning up with papers for him to sign? She gave a violent shudder of remorse as she turned on him.
‘How dare you try to have sex with me?’ she hissed.
Unabashed, he shrugged. ‘That isn’t the message I was just getting. And isn’t it a little late in the day for such an outraged reaction? I thought only teenagers played games like that.’
‘I wasn’t playing games!’
‘Letting me go only so far and no further?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t consider that an adolescent game?’
‘Not in the circumstances, no. You were making me feel like...like an object.’
‘I was making you feel pleasure,’ he corrected. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
She shook her head. ‘And now you’re insulting me by asking such a dumb question. Having sex with you would complicate an already complicated situation—we both know that. And that’s not the reason I’m here.’
‘But you wanted me,’ he said slowly, his bright sapphire gaze taking in the breasts which were still heaving beneath her filmy shirt. ‘You want me now. Your body is crying out for me to touch you again. Surely even you wouldn’t deny that, Nicole.’
Nicole bit her lip, angry that he could look so cool and controlled when she felt so hot and bothered. Hating the fact that if she denied his accusation, she could rightly be accused of hypocrisy. And she didn’t have to answer him. She could flounce off this terrace any time she wanted except that wouldn’t be a very mature response, and she was supposed to be all about maturity these days. Wasn’t that one of the benefits of getting older, that you learnt from the knocks you experienced along the way? You learnt that what didn’t kill you made you stronger, even if at the time you wanted to just curl up and die.
She smoothed her hands down over her ruffled curls in a vain attempt to smooth them. ‘Of course I want you,’ she said carefully. ‘Or rather, my body does. You are a very charismatic man, as I’m sure many women must have told you in the past—’
‘You were always one of the most vociferous advocates,’ he reminded her softly.
‘I know. But I was young. And I don’t think talking about the way we felt back then is particularly helpful,’ she said. Because she was starting to realise how dangerous it could be. It was feeding those feelings she’d forced herself to repress. Dangerous feelings about love and longing, which had been pointless then and were even more pointless now.
‘Let’s just chalk it up to experience,’ she continued, swallowing down the lump in her throat. ‘We were just two people trying to do the right thing. It just didn’t work out.’
A thoughtful look shadowed his face. ‘But there’s no reason why that should stop us having sex right now, since it’s what we both want,’ he murmured. ‘Isn’t that so?’
Nicole shook her head, trying to fight the sudden desire provoked by the velvety caress of his words. ‘That’s not going to happen, Rocco.’
‘Do you want to tell me why?’
‘You know why. Because it would feel...wrong. And I’m pretty certain it would invalidate our two years of separation and take even longer to get a divorce.’
‘Ah, yes. Your precious divorce,’ he mused.
‘My ticket to freedom, you mean? Yours, too.’
His smile was mocking. ‘At least you’ve answered one question for me,’ he observed.
She looked at him. ‘Oh? What question is that?’
‘Back in England, I asked if there was another man waiting in the wings and you didn’t give me a satisfactory answer. But now I’d be prepared to bet my entire fortune there isn’t.’
‘I thought you said mind-reading wasn’t one of your skills.’
‘It’s not. It doesn’t need to be. It’s written all over your face, Nicole.’
‘What is?’ she said, even though on some level she was aware she might be walking straight into a trap.
‘You’re so horny,’ he answered throatily. ‘Hornier than any woman would be if she’d been having sex on a regular basis. Yet you were able to pull back, despite being so close to coming. Such steely resolve.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘And I admire that quality in you, Nicole—even if I’m the one who ultimately missed out.’
His words wrong-footed her because they sounded like a compliment and just like the next woman, Nicole was a sucker for a compliment. Had he said it to lull her into a false sense of complacency before moving in for the big seduction? She wondered how many other women had stood here, like this, their clothes all rumpled and their blood pulsing as they went willingly to the Sicilian billionaire’s bed. Well, she wasn’t going to be one of them.
‘I’m ending this conversation as of now,’ she said. ‘And now I need to find myself a separate bedroom because this is a pretend reconciliation, not a real one. We don’t share rooms and we don’t make out.’
Rocco saw the determined way she pulled back her shoulders and recognised she was serious. A flicker of disquiet edged his growing frustration. If it had been any other woman he could have persuaded her with a kiss. A kiss which this time she would find impossible to stop, because if Rocco Barberi was hell-bent on something, or someone, he always got it. But the steadfast expression flattening his estranged wife’s soft lips was unfamiliar and suddenly he realised he didn’t know this new Nicole at all.
When he’d gone to see her in England sex had been the last thing on his mind. He’d gone there to punish her and to use her, not to make love to her, yet something had changed his mind. That kiss they’d just shared had started out as nothing more than a challenge—a demonstration of his own power in the light of her resistance—and yet she had responded in a way which had sent his desire soaring.
And yet she had pushed him away.
His heart pounded, because now he was determined to have her one last time and nothing was going to stop him. But for once he realised that he was going to have to work for it. Maybe he should give her enough space to realise what she was missing, instead of pushing his own agenda. How long before she decided that denying her hunger for him was simply not sustainable—and slipped into his arms again?
So he nodded his head and gave her a cool smile. ‘If that’s what you want, then that’s what you shall have. Take any bedroom you want—there are plenty to choose from,’ he said, enjoying the confusion which had suddenly clouded her emerald eyes. ‘Just make sure you’re ready for the screening and dinner tonight. The car will be here just before eight.’
He ran his gaze over the unruly dark curls and the mismatched silver necklaces and a rogue glimmer of amusement found its way into his voice. ‘No doubt you’ve brought something deeply unsuitable to wear?’
Unexpectedly, her eyes danced in response. ‘You think I’m going to turn up looking like this?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I offered to buy you some suitable clothes for this trip but you turned down my offer.’
‘Because we tried that once before and it didn’t work. Remember? You were so eager to make me into what you thought a Barberi wife should be that I felt like some kind of dress-up doll.’
He frowned. ‘I was trying to make you feel more comfortable.’
‘What, by employing that expensive stylist who put me in those horrible starchy dresses which didn’t suit me? Or the fancy hairdresser who decided to chop off all my hair so I ended up looking like a shorn lion?’
‘That was a mistake,’ he conceded.
She looked at him uncertainly, clearly taken aback by what for him almost passed as an apology, and the fleeting vulnerability on her face stirred something deep inside him, reminding him what had attracted him to her in the first place. Well, that and her killer body.
‘But not any more. Tonight I’m going to wear my hair and clothes exactly as I like them,’ she continued airily. ‘And if you’re worried I’m going to disgrace you with my appearance, Rocco—you shouldn’t be.’
‘Oh?’ He was curious now.
‘If people criticise my less than conventional appearance at least it will reinforce why our last-minute attempt at reconciliation didn’t work. If they see us together and think “chalk and cheese”, they’ll wonder why we ever got married in the first place.’ She slanted him a challenging look. ‘Because although opposites attract—they can also repel. We both know that.’
With that she turned her back on him and left the terrace with a sway of her denim-covered bottom, which Rocco found almost unbearably provocative.
And after she’d gone, he felt restless—a feeling kick-started by the echo of her final words. Were they better off without each other? Not right now they weren’t. The fingertip he ran over his dry lips only added to his frustration as he breathed in the earthy aroma of her sex. By now she should have been in his bed—eagerly opening her legs so they could lose themselves in sweet oblivion, not leaving him here aching and frustrated.
Looking out to sea, he scowled. When his PA had called to say Nicole had arrived at his Monaco home he had been unprepared for the primitive rush of satisfaction he’d experienced, knowing she was here. Back in the marriage she had walked away from. It had never happened to him before—a woman telling him she was going, and meaning it. Only the stark note lying on top of an unmade bed had made clear her wishes.
Please don’t follow me, or try to contact me. It’s better this way, Rocco. I’m sorry.
And that had been it. A few words signalling the end. Yet he hadn’t seen it coming and shock was something he didn’t handle well. Maybe the only thing he didn’t handle well—not surprising given his history. He remembered the blood draining from his face as he’d crumpled the note in his fist and had proceeded to do something completely alien. Taking himself off to the bar in the nearby village, he had got himself very, very drunk. Groups of the local Sicilian men had looked surprised because Rocco Barberi was not known as a drinker. He remembered smashing his fist down hard on the counter and shattering a glass and hearing the old men’s voices raised in alarm. Someone must have made a phone call because he vaguely recalled his oldest friend arriving and getting him back to the complex, and Salvatore telling him that women were capricious creatures and she would be back before he knew it.
But she hadn’t come back and Rocco had told himself he didn’t want her back. Why would he want a wife who had deserted him—who had given up at the first hurdle? Yet despite her behaviour, his sense of duty went deep and his tenacity even deeper. He didn’t like failure and a shattered marriage fell very firmly into that category. So he had written to her, reminding her of the solemn vows they had made in church and suggesting they give their marriage another go.
She hadn’t even bothered to reply and Rocco had geared himself up to resist the demands for money he was certain would follow. He remembered his growing anticipation of the forthcoming battle—a battle he would certainly win—and his determination to bring her to her knees in court. It was the first moment of pleasure he had experienced in a long time. If she wanted his money then she was damned well going to have to fight him for it.
But...niente.
Nothing.
There had been no demands for alimony. Even the recent letter from her lawyers had simply requested that the marriage be formally ended. She had asked for nothing and somehow that had only intensified his rage.
His features were set as he undressed and stepped into the shower, but the powerful jets of cold water did little to ease his aching body as he pictured Nicole on the balcony, her rosy lips parted with pleasure as his fingers flicked over her heated flesh and brought her so tantalisingly close to orgasm.
As he towelled the icy droplets from his skin a renewed determination crept over him.
He would have her, he vowed silently as he willed his erection to subside. Because sex was the only thing which would rid him of her enduring memory.
And he would not wait much longer.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
‘SO. HOW DO I LOOK? Does my appearance confirm your worst fears, Rocco, or will I pass the test?’
Nicole kept her words deliberately light as she walked into the vast sitting room where Rocco was standing with his back to her, staring through the open windows which overlooked the sea. Because what she was not going to do was beat herself up or crumple with shame when she allowed herself to remember how nearly she had succumbed to him earlier. It had happened. She hadn’t been expecting it to happen because she’d thought those kind of feelings had left her. But they hadn’t, had they? Rocco had melted the icy wall which had surrounded her for so long, and her image of herself as someone who could no longer feel desire had been shattered. Heart pounding, she had left him on the terrace and gone to find herself a bedroom in this vast house of his—glad to escape from his disturbing proximity. But she had lain down on the bed for a long time afterwards, her body trembling with frustrated desire, unable to get him out of her mind.
She let her gaze drift over him, wishing she could acquire some kind of immunity against him. Dressed in an immaculate dinner suit, his powerful body was silhouetted against the bright light of the Mediterranean but at the sound of her voice he turned round. And even though she tried to fight it, the brief, unguarded expression on his face filled her with pleasure. She’d seen that look of appreciation before—but usually when she was naked. Not when she was wearing a long dress which, apart from a scooped neck and bare arms, covered her body all the way down to her ankles. Fashioned from fine, black jersey it clung to her curves like a second skin and she had teamed it with black pumps and a black bag onto which she’d sewn lots of glittery sequins. The green of the sequins matched her dramatic green necklace and chandelier earrings, which gleamed whenever her wavy hair swayed.
His eyes narrowed as, slowly, they took in her appearance. ‘What happened?’ he questioned softly. ‘Did you rob a bank?’
‘I bought this dress from a market stall, as it happens.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the dress,’ he growled. ‘I meant the jewels.’
It was a small victory and Nicole couldn’t quite hold back her smile of triumph. ‘These? They’re fake, Rocco. Paste,’ she added. ‘I told you—nobody can tell the difference these days. And these were cheap enough for it not to matter if I lose one of the stones—not like the time that big diamond fell out of the bracelet you gave me on our wedding day and caused so much trouble with everyone having to hunt round for it.’ She was aware that she had started to babble, but maybe that was something to do with the fact that he was still looking at her as a lion might look at a lump of flesh, just before devouring it. And even worse—that she liked him looking at her like that. In her current state of frustrated arousal she could have let him look at her like that all day. She resumed her inane monologue about the wedding bracelet. ‘Still, at least we were able to get the money back on the insurance and I—’
‘Was that why you left behind all the jewellery I gave you?’ he interrupted suddenly. ‘Because you didn’t like it?
There was a short silence and she shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was a joint asset,’ she said. ‘And as such, wasn’t really mine to take. And I wanted...’
‘What did you want, Nicole?’
She met his gaze, uneasy at this sudden line of questioning from a man who had never cared about such things before. ‘A clean break, I think they call it.’
‘A clean break,’ he echoed, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. ‘Yes, of course. The modern, disposable marriage. If you try hard enough you can pretend it never happened.’
She opened her mouth to ask him what he had done to help save it but the sudden pain spearing through her made the words die in her throat. It didn’t matter what either of them had done or failed to do. Bottom line was that they’d messed up so and it still had the power to hurt. ‘Why rake up all this now, Rocco?’ she questioned, trying hard to keep her voice steady. ‘I thought the whole idea was for us to appear tonight as a couple who are trying to get it together—and we won’t convince anyone if we’ve been fighting. People can always tell if a couple have been rowing. So why don’t you tell me about what kind of event it is, so I can be fully briefed?’
For a moment Rocco didn’t answer, unwilling to be placated by this newly assertive Nicole who looked so damned gorgeous that all he wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and get intimate with her, despite the market dress and fake jewels. But maybe she was right. What was the point of sparring when they had a whole evening to get through—a necessary preliminary before he got down to the more important business of seducing her. And when he seduced her... His mouth hardened. His anger and his resentment would disappear with one fell stroke. He would enjoy her matchless body one last time. He would take his pleasure and pleasure her in return.
And she would spend the rest of her life remembering it.
‘Some of the major shareholders from the drug company I’m trying to buy are in town,’ he said evenly. ‘They’ve financed an art-house film which looks as if it’s going to be a commercial success.’
She blinked. ‘You mean they invest in films and drug companies?’
He walked over to the mirror which hung over an ornate marble fireplace and adjusted his tie. ‘Why not? They like to spread their investments around. It’s how you make the big bucks.’
‘And where do I fit in?’
He turned back to face her, his expression unreadable. ‘You’ll accompany me to the screening and afterwards we’re having dinner with the stars of the film, who are over here promoting it. All you have to do is gaze at me adoringly, tesoro. You play the young wife eager to get back with her husband. Do you think you can manage that?’
His words were wry but Nicole wondered what he would do if he knew the truth. That behind her nonchalant air, her senses were on fire. That every time he even looked at her she wanted to melt. She dug her fingernails into the sequins on her handbag. And he mustn’t find out because then he might start touching her again. And she wanted him to do it to her again—that was the most dangerous thing of all. Next time she might not be strong enough to resist him.
‘Oh, I think I can just about manage to maintain the façade of adoring you for a few hours—just so long as we’re back before midnight strikes,’ she said coolly. ‘Just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll go and fetch my wrap.’
But that sense of unreality she’d felt earlier swept over her again as she climbed into the back of Rocco’s car—this time with the brooding billionaire by her side. She tried to make conversation but sensed that Rocco could see right through her attempts at chit-chat. Was he aware that it was all she could do not to reach out her hand and caress the honed hardness of his taut thigh, or run her fingertips through the ebony ruffle of his hair? Could he guess she was fantasising about him pressing the button which would bring down the screen shielding them from the driver, before lying her on the back seat and pulling her panties down. Little beads of sweat spring out on her forehead as she started imagining his tongue exploring her heated flesh and Nicole was relieved when finally they reached the venue.
The place where the screening was fancier than anywhere he’d ever taken her and she was amazed he could seem so relaxed in such a high-profile setting, for the Rocco of old would have curled his sensual mouth with derision. Flashbulbs popped as they walked up the flower-decked red carpet, his guiding hand placed unnervingly in the small of her back and making her shiver, despite the warmth of the evening.
The lights went down and the big screen lit up and Nicole watched a film which didn’t really do it for her, even though everyone else seemed to love it. She’d never been a big fan of black and white movies and, besides, she was distracted by what was going on in the semi-darkness. She noticed that the American actress who was starring in the picture and seated on Rocco’s other side was spending an awful lot of time cupping her hand over his ear to whisper into it. And suddenly all Nicole’s defiant words about nobody being able to tell the difference between real and fake jewellery seemed like so much hot air, because Anna Rivers looked a class act in her waterfall of diamonds, with the burly man from security who was guarding them never far from her side. Nicole shot her a glance, aware that the beautiful actress was flirting outrageously with her husband and that she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.
Afterwards, they ate dinner in the Café de Monaco, an award-winning restaurant which overlooked the harbour. Yet despite not having eaten anywhere this grand for a long time, the experience was wasted on Nicole. She seemed to have lost her appetite and the glass of champagne she’d drunk at the beginning of the evening had left her with nothing but a raging thirst. But she was determined to honour her side of this crazy bargain and did her best to chat as agreeably as she could to the various shareholders. She treated them as if they were prospective customers in her little Cornish pottery shop and tried not to be offended by their obvious surprise when they learned who she was. Even the star of the film gaped like a stranded fish when she overheard Nicole talking.
‘You are Rocco’s wife?’ clarified Anna Rivers slowly.
‘I am,’ agreed Nicole.
The actress frowned. ‘But I didn’t even know he was married.’
‘Well, there you go,’ said Nicole weakly, feeling a total fraud—although she was unable to deny her satisfaction when the actress spent the rest of the evening talking to her leading man instead of trying to monopolise Rocco.
Nicole stood there in her plain black dress, flashing a friendly smile whenever anyone looked in her direction. At one point she was targeted by an Argentinian ex-polo player, Javier Estrada—a flirtatious man with flashing black eyes who frankly left her cold. As the evening drew to a close, she found herself in animated conversation with Annelise, the wife of Marcel Dupois—the conservative shareholder Rocco had warned her about. The Frenchwoman turned out to have a passion for pottery so they had lots to talk about and when Nicole lifted her head it was to meet Rocco’s questioning gaze burning into her like bright blue fire.
Gaze back at him adoringly, she told herself. Act like a wife who wants to make up with arguably the best-looking man in the room. She managed a passable imitation of adulation and her cheeks flared in response to the answering intensity in his eyes. He didn’t look away and neither did she and for a few extraordinary seconds the make-believe felt almost real. Her chest tightened and suddenly she was having difficulty breathing. How was it possible to want a man yet hate him at the same time? To wish he were close, yet want to push him as far away as possible? Quickly, she turned away and stared out at the lights which were glittering in the harbour, trying to drink in a view which would soon be nothing more than a fast-fading memory.
‘Nicole?’
The sound of Rocco’s voice made her tremble and silently Nicole cursed it. She found herself remembering the way he’d purred her name like that when he had been unzipping her jeans on the terrace—and wasn’t she now in danger of playing out the memory in a little too much detail? Composing her face into a smile, she turned round, trying very hard not to react to the wicked gleam in his eyes.
‘Rocco!’ she said brightly. ‘Hi.’
His eyes mocked her. ‘Hi.’
‘Are you—’ she swallowed ‘—having a good time?’
He shrugged. ‘Tolerable. But I think we’ve had enough partying for one night, don’t you? We should think about going.’
It was an unequivocal statement intended to terminate the evening and Nicole wanted to protest. To say she was enjoying herself and could they please stay. But that was only delaying the inevitable—and why was she suddenly feeling so nervous? Just because she wanted him didn’t mean anything was going to happen, did it? Women wanted men all the time but they didn’t act on those desires. She certainly wasn’t going to jeopardise everything she’d worked for by falling into the arms of a man who spelled nothing but danger.
Her smile didn’t slip as she tucked her clutch bag under her arm. ‘Sure. Why not?’
In the limousine Rocco was silent, staring out at the principality’s glitzy shops as they drove by, as if he’d never really noticed them before. And Nicole did the same—concentrating on the steep roads and the breathtaking views of the harbour as the powerful car gained height. She told herself she was glad he didn’t want to engage in meaningless chatter but in truth the silence was unsettling her. At least talking would have been a distraction from the growing awareness inside her body—the unwanted tingling of her breasts and the heat pooling low in her belly, which was making her feel like a victim of her own desire. It was all she could do not to squirm impatiently on the seat beside him and beg him to put her out of her misery with the hard pressure of his kiss.
‘You did very well tonight,’ he said when at last the car drew up outside his house. ‘I could see how well you connected with Annelise Dupois. She obviously thought you were very engaging.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Our Argentinian friend certainly thought so, too,’ he added drily. ‘You seem to have won yourself a new fan.’
‘As did you,’ she said sweetly. ‘Why, Anna Rivers could barely contain her dismay when she discovered I was your wife.’
In the semi-darkness his eyes gleamed like a jungle predator who had suddenly appeared from behind thick foliage. ‘So we have discovered that we are both attractive to the opposite sex,’ he observed.
‘Hardly ground-breaking news where you’re concerned, Rocco.’
‘And that we can both be somewhat...territorial about each other.’
The lightness in her voice didn’t quite come off. ‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Oh, I am. But you can hardly deny your own irritation whenever Anna whispered in my ear,’ he said wryly. ‘Since it was written all over your face.’
Had she been that transparent? ‘I noticed you didn’t try to stop her. Were you enjoying her warm breath on your earlobe and the way she was giggling hysterically at practically everything you said?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. I was more interested in your reaction.’
‘I was acting, Rocco—that was all. Trying to play the part of the reconciling wife who would have been jealous at such an interaction. You really shouldn’t read anything more into it than that.’
She reached for the door handle and the waiting chauffeur must have been watching because immediately he jumped out to open the door and Nicole stepped from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the car. As she felt the warm Mediterranean air wash over her skin, she knew she needed to get a grip. To ask herself why she was feeling so possessive about a man who only ever tolerated her. And then to stop it.
Veronique must have been off duty because Rocco unlocked the door himself and the absence of servants made their homecoming seem curiously normal. Only it wasn’t normal, Nicole reminded herself fiercely. That was just another figment of her overactive imagination.
‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Rocco.’
‘Goodnight, Nicole.’ He didn’t try to stop her.
Had she thought he might?
Of course she had. Her body was in such a heightened state of desire that she felt almost deflated when she pushed open the door to the bedroom suite she had chosen—as far away from Rocco as possible—and clicked it shut behind her.
Stripping off the black jersey dress and letting the worthless gems spool into a green heap on one of the modern glass tables, Nicole gathered her hair up beneath a voluminous plastic cap and went to stand beneath the gushing shower. But rubbing soap over breasts which were already aroused and imagining it was Rocco’s dark fingers sliding between her thighs instead of her own was not the relaxing experience she’d been anticipating. In fact, when she turned off the jets of water, she felt even more churned up than she had done in the limousine.
She dried her skin and raked a wide-toothed comb through her curls but she was feeling much too edgy to think about sleeping. The moon was so bright that it was flooding the room with silver light and, pulling on a baggy T-shirt and slipping on a clean pair of panties, she walked across the room towards the terrace and stepped outside, the tiles cool beneath her bare feet. Above her the dark sky was punctured by the bright glitter of stars and the moon was huge as she leaned her elbows against the wrought-iron railings and stared out at the inky gleam of the sea.
Had she been crazy to come here?
Probably.
She realised it was going to be hard to forget Rocco after this and it had nothing to do with the fancy house, or cars, or the yacht he’d casually mentioned was moored in the harbour. It was being in his company again. She’d forgotten how charismatic he was and what a powerful magnetism he exerted over everyone, but especially over her. She’d forgotten because it had been in her best interests to forget and she had been trying to move on. But now she was confused and aching. He hadn’t kissed her tonight—he hadn’t even touched her—and yet it was as if he’d started a slow blaze inside her. A drift of wind lifted the curls from the back of her neck and she sighed, realising that sleep wasn’t going to come easily. Still, nobody ever died from a lack of sleep, did they? She would just stand there and watch the moonlight glinting on the water and wait until her eyelids started growing heavy.
She heard the click of the bedroom door as it opened but she didn’t turn round. She didn’t need to. Nobody else would walk into her bedroom uninvited. Nobody else would dare. But even if a hundred people had pushed open that door, she would have known it was Rocco from a hundred paces. Was she so sensitive to his presence that she could detect him—like some animal who had sniffed out her natural mate in the wild? Was that why her nipples had started puckering so that she wanted to open her mouth to cry out that they were craving his touch?
He was moving across the room and the only other sound she could hear was the amplified pounding of her heart above his approaching footsteps.
Tell him to go, she thought.
Beg him to stay.
‘Nicole?’
Like rich velvet, his voice filtered through the warm air and Nicole shivered as he stepped out onto the terrace behind her. Had she thought the spoken word would shatter the spell he’d managed to weave without even being in her eyeline? Because if so, she had completely misread the situation.
‘What?’ she said, in what was surely the most pointless question of all time.
‘Turn around,’ he said.
She told herself she was going to resist—but how could she? She felt herself turning in response to his sultry command and suddenly realised it wasn’t resentment she felt, but relief. Yes, relief. Because wasn’t this shimmering feeling of excitement better than the half-dead way she’d felt at the end of their marriage? Wasn’t it good to feel properly alive again in a way she hadn’t felt for a long time? ‘What do you want, Rocco?’
‘You know damned well what I want.’ His lips twisted into a predatory smile. ‘I want you.’
And, oh, the feeling was mutual. She wanted him to take away this terrible aching and the deep well of loneliness inside her but it was a risk—and a big one. What if having sex only increased her desire for him instead of killing it? Restlessly she shifted beneath his shadowed gaze, knowing it was a risk she was prepared to take because the thought of sending him away was intolerable. One more night, that was all. One night to finally rid herself of these lingering demons. All she needed to remember was to be on her guard against unwanted emotion because it had no place in what was about to happen. Rocco was programmed to want sex and she was programmed to want something deeper—because that was what women did. And love was something she would never get from Rocco Barberi.
So she stood beneath the silver spotlight of the moon and wondered if her expression gave away the hunger which was snaring her with its silken tendrils. He was wearing nothing but jeans—the top button undone so that dark hair arrowed down towards the ridge-like bulge pushing against his crotch. His chest was glowing and an arrogant smile was curving his lips as if he was already anticipating her surrender. And Nicole knew then that if she did this, it was going to have to be on her own terms.
She needed to remember they were equals. He wasn’t her boss and soon he wouldn’t even be her husband. This was physical, that was all. It was what grown-ups did. They had carefully considered sex which they could walk away from with nothing but a glow of satisfaction. She tried to iron out the emotion from her voice but she could hear an underlying tremble as she answered him. ‘So what are we going to do about it?’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’ In the moonlight his eyes glittered. ‘Get undressed,’ he said softly.
CHAPTER SIX (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
THE CONTROL IN Rocco’s voice threatened to destroy the sensual mood which had ensnared her and Nicole stared at him resentfully. Did he think she was the same grateful virgin he’d first seduced, who would do whatever it was he demanded?
She held his gaze, her chin tilting as he studied her with cool calculation. ‘What did you say?’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘You heard.’
‘I want you to repeat it, Rocco.’
There was a pause. ‘I told you to get undressed.’
‘To perform a striptease for you, you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘If you like.’
‘Well, I don’t like,’ she said. ‘Not any more. I’ve changed, Rocco—haven’t you?’
His eyes gleamed but he didn’t answer her question directly. ‘So why don’t you tell me what you do like?’
And despite everything she knew and everything she had learnt, Nicole found herself wishing for the impossible. Wanting him to say something romantic. To tell her he’d missed her and his life hadn’t been the same since she’d gone. Wouldn’t a few tender words enhance what was about to happen, even if he didn’t mean them? So that for a while she could pretend he cared, as she’d pretended so often in the past. But that would be a pointless thing to do because grown-ups didn’t demand hypocritical words. They accepted things exactly the way they were. And this was sex—farewell sex or break-up sex, whatever you wanted to call it. One last taste of Rocco Barberi’s magnificent body—and hadn’t she better make the most of it?
Raking her fingers back through her still-damp curls, she was aware that her hardened nipples were thrusting against her T-shirt and his eyes were following the movement, like a man hypnotised. Briefly she revelled in a feeling of power as she met the smoky hunger of his gaze. ‘I want you to take off my clothes for me,’ she said huskily. ‘And to do it as slowly as possible. I want you to test your own patience—so we’re both so turned on that we can’t bear it a second longer. That’s what I’d like, Rocco.’
His eyes narrowed, suspicion shadowing them. ‘Since when did you start having fantasies like that?’ he demanded, in a low voice. ‘Has there been another man?’
‘You think I don’t have any kind of imagination? Or that I’m incapable of articulating my own desires unless a man shows me how? Oh, wow.’ She shook her head. ‘Thanks for reminding me how unspeakably arrogant you can be, Rocco—and for making me realise that this would be a very bad idea.’
She went to walk past him, her hair swaying in the breeze from the terrace, but he caught hold of her and pulled her up hard against him. She could feel her breasts flattening against his bare chest through her T-shirt and hear the wild patter of her heart.
‘I don’t think you want to go anywhere, do you, Nicole? Not really. You just want to play provocative and you want me to do the same.’ His finger traced down the side of her face, before coming to rest against the throbbing pulse at her neck. ‘Have I got that right?’
She attempted a shrug which didn’t quite come off because showing bravado was one thing—but not quite so easy when his face was just inches away and all his hard, honed flesh was this close. ‘I’m not slipping into old patterns,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m not stripping for you just because you’ve snapped your fingers. I don’t want to play those games any more. If you want me naked, then you’ll have to undress me yourself.’
A smile touched his lips. ‘Is that so?’
She nodded, unable to speak because now his hand was drifting from her face down her body and she wished her T-shirt weren’t so baggy. What had possessed her to wear such an unflattering garment? As if he’d read her thoughts, he rucked up the material to slip his hand underneath so that his fingertips were on her bare skin and her nerve-endings were instantly fired as she felt that first light touch.
‘So how slow would you like me to go?’ he questioned almost conversationally as he cupped one of her breasts luxuriously in the palm of his hand and began to massage the underside of it with the edge of his thumb. ‘How long shall I take before I remove this delightful piece of clothing you’re wearing?’
Nicole’s knees sagged. ‘Oh,’ she said breathlessly.
‘You’re not making yourself very clear, Nicole. Oh, what?’
‘I don’t...’ She closed her eyes. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Sudden memory lapse, tesoro?’ he murmured, his Sicilian accent a velvety caress. ‘I wonder what might be causing it?’
Nicole couldn’t answer because now his thumb was flicking across her thrusting nipple, sending little ripples of pleasure criss-crossing over her skin. He stroked tiny circles over the engorged flesh before turning his attention to the other breast and Nicole could feel her frustration begin to mount. Squirming beneath his touch, she wondered why on earth she’d told him she wanted this done slowly when already her desire was so intense that she could feel a honeyed heat between her thighs. She wanted—no, needed—to get horizontal but he showed no sign of moving and she realised that, in order to stop her knees from buckling, she was going to have to cling onto his shoulders to anchor herself. He gave a soft laugh as her fingers dug into his flesh and he buried his mouth in her neck, his lips becoming entangled with the wild spill of curls as he drifted the tip of his tongue over her skin.
‘R-Rocco,’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘Take...take off my T-shirt.’
‘I thought you told me to take my time. To stretch my own patience were the words I think you used. And believe me, tesoro—I haven’t even started yet. I’ll show you just how patient I can be.’
It was both a promise and a threat—as well as a boastful demonstration of just how controlled he could be—and Nicole closed her eyes as he ran the flat of his hand over her belly, taking care to avoid the place where she most wanted to be touched. She bit her lip. Had she really been so sure of herself to think she could wait when she so desperately wanted to feel him inside her? She squirmed as deliberately he inched his way along the lacy edge of her panties, praying for him to slip his finger inside so that he could feel how much she wanted him, but he didn’t. She had wanted to control what was happening by setting the pace, but she had done the exact opposite and given him all the power. She wondered what the hell she’d been playing at.
So what was she waiting for?
She was his equal—remember?
Reaching between them, she tugged down the zipper of his jeans, feeling his hard length spring against her palm as she freed him, and his words were a muffled moan as she began to stroke him.
‘I thought you said—’
‘I changed my mind,’ she whispered. ‘It’s a woman’s prerogative, Rocco—hadn’t you heard?’
With her thumb and her forefinger she began to tease his taut erection but he halted her fingers with the firm clamp of his own and she heard him give an unsteady laugh.
She stared at him indignantly. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You are. I had no idea you could be so...mercurial. I like it.’
A prick of sadness threatened to puncture Nicole’s blissful state. Of course he hadn’t known what she was capable of and had never bothered finding out because he hadn’t really cared. To Rocco she would always be the office cleaner in the too small uniform with the mop and bucket in her hand—the last woman in the world he should have married.
But she wasn’t going to think about that.
Not now.
She was going to think how good this felt and to enjoy every single second of it.
And then she was going to kiss him goodbye.
‘I’m pleased you like it but you’d better not get used to it,’ she warned softly.
‘To what?’
‘The sex.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘Since we both know this is only going to happen once.’
‘Is that so?’ He seemed to recover himself then and Nicole saw the light of challenge in his eyes as he peeled off her T-shirt with a fluid movement and carried her over to the bed. ‘In that case maybe we should stop wasting so much time talking and get down to business.’
‘You’re obsessed with business,’ she said faintly as he put her down on the bed, and he laughed. Nicole watched him fishing around in the pocket of his jeans before kicking them off and joining her. And suddenly he was towering over her, one knee pressed on either side of her hips as she lay there naked, except for her brief pair of lacy black panties.
‘So how do you want it?’ he murmured. ‘Fast? Slow? Lights on? Off?’
She wanted to tell him not to be so flippant until she realised that too would be wasting time. He was right. What was the point of talking when she wanted him so badly that her heart was threatening to burst right out of her chest? Why bother trying to score points when none of this meant anything? She looked up into the unfathomable gleam of his eyes and spoke from the heart. ‘Make love to me,’ she said.
She saw his features tense as he stroked her hair away from her face and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But he didn’t. Instead, he began to explore her—his fingers drifting erotic pathways over her body as he reacquainted himself with skin which wouldn’t seem to stop shivering. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and she thought he might rip them off as he’d done so many times before but he didn’t—though she noticed his hand was unsteady as he slid them down over her knees. Greedily, her lips pressed against the silken flesh of his shoulder as she parted her thighs for him.
‘Mmm... So responsive,’ he breathed as she arched up towards him. ‘That much never changes, does it, Nicole?’
But Nicole didn’t want comparisons. She didn’t want a then-and-now scenario, which might alert all those little indicators of pain which she’d blocked but which were just waiting to spring out if she wasn’t careful. And this was supposed to be about pleasure, not pain. So take what you want and give him something in return. Wipe the slate clean so you can walk away from each other and leave the past where it belongs.
Exploring each of his nipples with a feather-light touch, she enjoyed the muffled groan he gave in response, watching his eyes flutter to a close as she drifted her fingertips down over the taut dip of his belly. She smoothed the symmetrical ridges of his ribs and thought, not for the first time, how magnificent his naked body was, the olive skin glowing invitingly against the whiteness of the sheet. This was a feast for all the senses, she thought. She could taste him and feel him and she could smell him, too—that beguiling scent of bergamot underpinned with a raw masculinity, which she breathed in with each unsteady intake of air.
Did he hear how erratic her breathing had become? Was that what prompted him to push her back against the pillows so he could bend his head to her breasts, his tongue cleaving a moist path over each tender mound until they were so acutely aroused that she began to writhe impatiently? His teeth grazed over her hardened nipples as his hand moved between her thighs—and Nicole gave a yelp of pleasure as he moved his finger against her moist slickness. And, oh, she had missed this—she was only just realising how much. She could feel the inexorable build of heat and remembered the way she’d almost come apart in his arms when they’d been outside on the terrace earlier that day and, dazedly, she opened her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered.
‘No?’ he echoed incredulously, his accent growing deeper as it always did during moments of intense pleasure. ‘You choose this moment to change your mind?’
‘I meant not...not like that,’ she amended breathlessly.
He understood immediately and in the moonlight she saw hunger darkening his rugged features as he reached for the condom he had taken from his jeans. She watched while he ripped the foil open and stroked the rubber over his aroused length and the intimacy of the simple action was almost her undoing. Because hadn’t he taught her how to do that and to turn it into a kind of erotic foreplay, a task she had happily undertaken? And hadn’t he turned on her that time and asked her if she’d punctured the condom with her fingernails—demanded to know if she’d deliberately tried to get herself pregnant? He’d retracted the accusation immediately but the memory had lingered for a long time afterwards.
Yet all those dark thoughts vanished the moment he entered her and were replaced by a feeling of such completion that it took Nicole’s breath away. How easily pleasure could conquer pain, she thought. Could make you so helpless that you barely knew who you were any more. Suddenly you forgot you were a wife who was seeking a divorce and became that same blown-away creature who had given her innocence to him so willingly.
‘Rocco,’ she said, brokenly.
He didn’t answer. He was too busy doing all the things he knew she loved best. Hooking her quivering thighs around his hips to angle himself just right. Cupping her buttocks and bringing them towards him—the slick action making his penetration all the deeper. And despite knowing that for him this was nothing more than physical, Nicole was lost. Lost in sensation as one thrust followed another and the sweet and familiar layers began to build. She wanted it to last all night but that was never going to happen—not when she was in such a heightened state of arousal. She’d almost dissolved from the moment he entered her and now she couldn’t hold it back any longer.
‘I’m coming,’ she whispered.
‘I know you are, tesoro,’ he whispered back, his voice deep and husky.
The murmured intimacy of that comment broke through the last of her resistance and Nicole felt herself dissolve around him. Through shuddered little gasps she could feel her legs splaying and her back arching. He gave a low growl of appreciation as she began to convulse around him and rogue tears pricked at her eyes as Rocco’s own movements became more urgent. She knew from the tension in his body just how close he was to the edge and she gripped his shoulders as he drove into her like a man possessed. And didn’t she revel in the fact that she could still do this to him? Could still make him moan like that as his body jerked with his own powerful orgasm?
There was silence in the room afterwards as his dark head lay pressed against her neck. Staring over his shoulder at the moon-dappled ceiling, Nicole wanted to say something reassuring. To make some cool and clever remark which would make him realise this meant nothing to her. Something to reassure him that she wasn’t reading too much into what had been just sex. But instead she found herself whispering the only thing which was on her mind. ‘Rocco.’
Rocco grew still as he heard her murmur his name like that, trying to regain the control he’d lost from the moment he’d entered her voluptuous body. The way she touched him unsettled him and the way she said his name unsettled him even more because she sounded confused. And wasn’t the truth that he was feeling pretty confused himself? Tangling his fingers in the curls which flowed down her back, he told himself this was all he had wanted. Having her underneath him and hearing her gasp out his name one last time had been the whole point of the exercise. He’d wanted her and now he’d had her—which meant he could just walk away. Could give her the divorce she so desperately wanted and set them both free.

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