The Ranieri Bride

Frowning, she looked down at her skimpy ocean-green nightdress and caught an instant image of Enrico’s expression of pleasure as if he were right here in this bedroom and taking her with hungry intent.

Her breasts responded, filling and tightening, making her draw in a sharp, angry breath. She hated him, she did. And she was never going to forgive him for what he’d done and said.

Going to sit crossed-legged on the bed, she pushed her streaming hair back from her face then set her fingers tapping.

‘None of your business any more,’ Enrico read. Grimacing, he sat up, drew his knees up, spreading them so he could rest his arms on them while he scanned the rest of what her message said.

‘What happened with Luca?’

Now, there was a good question. ‘Try trusting me, cara,’ he sent back.

‘What’s to trust?’ she responded; he could even hear her tartness. ‘Do I jilt you at the altar or don’t I?’

The cutting witch, Enrico thought ruefully. ‘Your decision,’ he replied.

Freya threw herself back against the pillows. She knew what he was doing. He was demanding she trust him. But how was she supposed to do that?

‘I hate you. That’s a decision,’ she flung back at him, then switched her phone off and tossed it away.

‘And I am falling apart loving you,’ Enrico typed, then sighed and did not send it.

Declarations of that nature were best kept to himself.

He threw himself back against the pillows.

Freya curled up on her side. She wanted to weep. She had never felt so alone in her entire life. It was OK for Enrico—he had a large family in Italy ready to listen and support him if he ever needed anyone. But she had no one. Even Cindy could only be loosely called a friend. In the end, Enrico paid Cindy’s wage, therefore she owed him her loyalty more than she did Freya.

Freya knew she was not going to jilt Enrico at the altar. She knew that giving in to Luca’s blackmail would be about as effective at silencing him as Enrico’s attempt to pay him off.

But it would be nice to be able to confide in someone, have a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear in which to whisper her fears.

So you’re going to marry a man who thinks you are capable of putting it out for any man. A man who only wants this marriage because you come as part of the package, along with his son.

So he still desires you—can’t get enough of you in his bed. But what happens when that desire wears thin? Does he start looking about him for someone new? And do you learn to put up with it because you know you’re only in his life because Nicky needs you there?

And if you had a whole army of relatives and friends to in whom to confide all of that—would you?

No, of course you wouldn’t. Pride wouldn’t let you. Pride, and a need to maintain the illusion for Nicky’s sake would keep your tongue still inside your head.

And she loved him, not hated him—of course she did. She just did not allow herself to think about it often, because what possible use was that love to her? Unless she was into flaying herself.

And it wasn’t lack of family that was making her feel so lonely and weepy. It was missing him.

His silent mobile phone eventually got to him and Enrico climbed off the bed. Walking across the room, he flipped open the folder that contained information about Luca that had since been bulked out substantially by several revealing photographs.

His safeguard, he mused as he stared grimly at the top photograph; his secret weapon to keep Luca in check.

He could get dressed and take the photos down to show Freya. Put an end to all of the angst between them, reassure her about marrying him, then get down to some really satisfying loving in their bed.

But, juvenile of him though he knew it to be, he wanted to know if she could bring herself to trust him enough to marry him without knowing that Luca couldn’t carry out his threat.

Also he owed her this in return for that early wedding present she had tossed at him.

On that dry reminder, he closed the folder and turned his back on it to go and mix himself a stiff drink.

It was going to be a long night, he considered ruefully as he threw himself onto a chair instead of the bed.

CHAPTER TEN