Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

‘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.