Bound To The Sicilian's Bed: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

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

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

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.