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

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

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.