Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

‘Is that a threat?’ she demanded. ‘Are you saying that if I don’t agree to have sex with you again, you’ll block the petition?’

‘Please, Nicole. Do not insult me. I would not dream of asking you to do anything you don’t want to do.’ He reached across the bed to place his palm over her thigh, pleased but unsurprised by the instinctive quiver of her flesh in response. ‘I’m merely pointing out that it seems a waste for us not to capitalise on our remarkable chemistry while we have the opportunity to do so.’

She pushed his hand away even though he could sense her reluctance.

‘You mean the chemistry which got us into so much trouble in the first place?’

‘Is that how you see it?’

‘Of course it is. Because it’s the truth, Rocco, and one I made myself accept a long time ago. I was just another body. Just another face. Just another one of the long list of women you seduced. The only difference between me and the others was that I was a virgin.’ She reached for the rumpled duvet which lay at the foot of the bed before yanking it up, though he noticed she didn’t include him in the protective cover she gathered round herself. With only her face visible, she stared at him and her bottom lip was jutting out stubbornly. ‘And you felt differently about that. Perhaps you were jaded because you’d had so many experienced women throwing themselves at you. Wasn’t that the way of it, Rocco?’

His answering smile was hard. ‘That first night with you blew my mind.’

‘The thrill of breaking through my hymen, I suppose? That unique tightness which you can never get back.’

He stiffened, unfamiliar with the sudden steel which had entered her voice. ‘You have become very cynical, Nicole.’

Shivering violently despite the warm cloud of duvet which enveloped her, Nicole wanted to ask what on earth he expected. Had he thought she’d just walked away from him without having learned anything? Because if you didn’t learn from your mistakes then what hope was there? She’d realised that in order to survive she needed to view what had happened dispassionately, and there was nothing to be gained from trying to put a sentimental slant on her failed marriage. The giddy virgin who’d fallen for the powerful Sicilian was now just a distant memory and she’d worked hard on gaining a whole load of perspective in the interim. She didn’t fabricate myths or believe impossible things any more, just to make herself feel better. And a single bout of fantastic sex with the man she had married was not going to make her change her opinion.

She realised there was something else they hadn’t talked about—something far bigger than a young women being introduced to sex for the first time—but she couldn’t face bringing up the subject of their baby. Her fingers tightened around the duvet. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it at the time, had he?

And neither had she, she realised, with a sudden flash of insight. Rocco’s reluctance to communicate had suited her very well. He hadn’t wanted to talk about what had happened to them, while she had simply been unable to articulate her pain. Had that made the void even deeper?

She sucked in a deep breath, resolutely bringing her thoughts back to the present. ‘Maybe I needed a touch of cynicism. Maybe I was too much of an innocent in all senses of the word,’ she said, aware of the sudden prick of tears at the backs of her eyes and terrified he might see them. ‘And now I think it’s time you went back to your own bed.’

He shifted his weight slightly on the mattress. ‘Or I could stay here and spend the night making love to you. Since that is what we both want.’

And despite everything which was wrong between them, Nicole was tempted. Who wouldn’t be tempted by such a man? He looked like a lion lying there, so certain of his own strength as the moon coated his powerful body with silver. A quick glance told her that the faint arousal she’d felt while he was still inside her was now fully grown, and didn’t the irrational side of her nature—the hungry, ye

arning side—make her long to put her arms around him and have him do it all over again?

But that way lay a madness which would blur her shaky hold on reality. Already she felt weakened by the realisation of how deeply he could still affect her. She wondered what had happened to the woman who was supposed to be over him—but deep down she knew the answer. That woman didn’t—maybe couldn’t—exist when Rocco held her in his arms. Why make herself vulnerable to him by having more sex when she still had the rest of the weekend to get through?

‘I think I’ll pass on that,’ she said, the surprise on his rugged features only increasing her resolve. She gave him a thin smile. ‘And now I want to go to sleep. Alone.’

He made no attempt to persuade her, rising from the bed in a display of muscular grace—his buttocks pale against the dark olive of his powerful thighs. But as he bent to pick up his jeans Nicole turned onto her stomach and buried her face in the soft pillow, trying to block out the rasping sound of his zip. She heard the door click quietly shut behind him but her emotions were too jangled to even think of sleep.

And she realised that not once during that entire episode had he kissed her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘WHAT CAN I bring you for le petit dejeuner, madame?’

Her eyelids feeling as heavy as lead, Nicole sat down at the table which had been laid up for breakfast on the terrace, momentarily dazzled by the crystal and silver which gleamed in the early morning sunshine. The air was warm with the combined scent of jasmine and strong coffee and Veronique was gazing at her expectantly.

‘We have bread and croissants, madame,’ the housekeeper continued. ‘Though Signor Barberi has reminded chef that it is the English way to eat a cooked breakfast—should you wish for bacon and eggs.’

Nicole smiled, even though smiling was the last thing she felt like doing. Pulling a face full of remorse would surely be more appropriate in the circumstances. After a restless night haunted by disturbing dreams she had woken up amid sex-scented sheets, revelling in the delicious glow of her body until the heart-sinking moment when she’d remembered exactly what had made it feel that way. Or rather, who.

An image of her unzipping Rocco’s jeans and caressing him intimately rushed into her head and her cheeks burned as, hastily, she put on a pair of sunglasses and pulled her coffee towards her, wishing that last night wouldn’t keep flooding back in a conflicting rush of hungry and humiliating memories. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the way she had welcomed her husband into her body with an urgency which had taken her by surprise—startled her in the discovery that her desire for him was stronger than ever. And that had puzzled her. Because at the tail end of their marriage, hadn’t she resigned herself to the fact that she no longer wanted Rocco anywhere near her?

And he hadn’t wanted her either, had he? They had pushed each other away in every sense of the word. She watched the breeze tugging at the pink petals of the roses at the centrepiece of the table and tucked her hair behind her ears. Last night shouldn’t have happened but there was nothing she could do about it now. She couldn’t wind back the clock and wish she’d suggested Rocco take a hike when he’d wandered into her bedroom—uninvited—and told her to undress.

But her sexual gymnastics had left her with a ravenous appetite and hungrily Nicole eyed the dish of iced peaches before looking up at the housekeeper. ‘I’d love some poached eggs,’ she said. ‘With wholemeal toast, if that’s possible.’

‘D’accord, madame.’

After Veronique had gone, Nicole ate some fruit and watched the expensive yachts bobbing in the exclusive harbour until the housekeeper returned with the rest of her breakfast. She was busy dipping a rectangle of toast into the runny yolk of an egg and oblivious to the presence of anything else when a shadow fell over the table and she looked up to see Rocco standing there, obviously fresh from the shower. His black hair was curling in shiny tendrils around his neck and his jaw looked newly shaved. Unjacketed, his ice-blue shirt contrasted with the much darker hue of his eyes and those exquisitely cut trousers emphasised his long legs. Her breakfast forgotten, Nicole stared up at him and all that blatant masculinity so early in the morning began to do worrying things to her pulse-rate.