Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

Just suppose that Rocco had cared for her at the time—he had certainly grown out of it, hadn’t he? He’d told her that the only reason he had taken her to Monaco was to have sex with her and get her out of his system and he had done just that. Even an hour ago he had done that. Maybe he would continue having sex with her for as long as she allowed him to and if she did that, wasn’t it cheapening what she’d once felt for him?

But she had promised Turi. She’d promised a sick man she would ask Rocco that question. And you couldn’t make promises like that and not follow through...

She went to search for him and when Maria informed her he was down among the lemon trees it struck an instant chord. Nicole knew he sometimes liked to take his work there and it had always been one of the prettiest places to sit on the Barberi estate, with its wooden bench placed beneath the sweet scent of the creamy lemon blossom. He had taken her there sometimes when they had returned from their honeymoon, when they would sit quietly listening to the drowsy buzzing of the bees in the lavender bushes, while she’d tried to get her queasy stomach to settle. It had been this place she’d been thinking of when she’d made her bestselling pottery collection.

Her mouth was dry as she approached the lemon grove and saw Rocco sitting beneath the shade of a tree, a weighty-looking sheaf of papers on his lap. The warm sun was beating down on his black hair and he had rolled up the arms of his shirt to reveal his strong forearms. She remembered the way those arms had been holding her just a short while ago. The way his hands had cupped her face as he had kissed her over and over again—as if he couldn’t get enough of her kisses.

And hadn’t that made her realise...?

No. Not realise. That was the wrong word. It had made her think she might still be in love with him.

And she wasn’t.

She definitely wasn’t.

‘Rocco?’

He glanced up as she approached, his features darkening as he pushed the papers aside.

‘Turi’s fine,’ she said, in answer to the unspoken question in his eyes. ‘The nurse is with him now.’ She walked over to the bench and indicated the space beside him. ‘Mind if I sit down?’

There was a pause. ‘Certo,’ he said, raising his shoulders in a non-committal shrug.

His momentary hesitation jarred, as did the less than welcoming look on his face and Nicole wanted to forget about her promise, but she couldn’t. Deliberately choosing the far end of the seat, she sat down, her heart racing as she watched a butterfly hovering over some little white flowers and tried to work out how she could possibly phrase this without looking a complete...

No.

She’d been there and done that. It didn’t matter what this did to her reputation or how it made her look. And besides, caring about that kind of thing was shallow. What mattered was getting to the truth, no matter what that might be.

‘Turi had some interesting things to say,’ she said slowly.

Was there something in her tone which made his face grow guarded? Was that why he slanted her a thoughtful look which was followed by one of slight boredom? ‘Do I really want to hear them?’ he drawled.

She suspected not, but he was going to hear them anyway. ‘He told me to ask you why you left Sicily. So I’m asking.’

It was not what Rocco had been expecting and Nicole’s words hit him like bullets from a gun. He could feel his body tensing as every instinct urged him to shut this topic down. To tell her it was none of her damned business—nor Turi’s either. His laugh was short and, infuriatingly, his curiosity stirred. ‘No doubt he had a few ideas himself—a few explanations why that might be?’

She drew in a breath which wasn’t qui

te steady and he could see the doubt written on her face. ‘He did, but I’m not sure I believed them. He told me lots of things. He seemed to feel guilty about the way he treated you.’

At this Rocco held up his palm to silence her, wanting her to know that she was in danger of crossing a forbidden line. ‘My grandfather stepped in when my parents were killed,’ he said coldly. ‘How could he possibly feel guilty about something like that?’

‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ she persisted. ‘He told me he’d insisted you never show your feelings or emotions after they died. That because you were the oldest he forced you to be strong for the sake of Olivio and Romina.’

‘And I was damaged as a result? Is that it?’ he questioned, before giving a dismissive flick of his hand. ‘Madonna mia, I had no idea that Turi had taken such an interest in amateur psychology in his advancing years.’

But Nicole doggedly ignored his sarcasm and kept her gaze fixed firmly on his. ‘So why did you leave Sicily?’

He could feel a muscle beginning to work at his temple and once again he wondered how she had the ability to make him feel so damned angry. ‘Maybe I found it intolerable to stay once my darling wife had disappeared without any warning, leaving the whole of Sicily buzzing and the international press camped out on my doorstep. You can’t blame me for wanting to escape all the speculation after you’d gone. And since we’re on the subject of raking up the past—just why did you go, Nicole?’

‘I thought it was what you wanted,’ she said dully.

‘You thought it was what I wanted?’ he repeated. ‘Then that just shows how little you really knew me, doesn’t it?’ He picked up the sheaf of papers as if she were keeping him from something very important and raised his eyebrows. ‘Look, I’m grateful to you for coming here and seeing Turi, and I’m glad he’s been able to get what was clearly bothering him off his chest since undoubtedly that will aid his recovery, but there isn’t any reason for you to stay any longer. We’re done here, aren’t we? I’ll sign the papers and you can have your divorce. My plane will take you back to England as soon as you’re ready—and since you’re pretty much packed, I don’t think there’s any reason for you to hang around. Capisce?’

The words rolled smoothly from his tongue as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of them. To get rid of her. Nicole met the sapphire glitter of his eyes. This was her cue to make a dignified exit. To go back to the house and gather her few things together. She would say a rather awkward goodbye to Maria and then be whisked away from here in Rocco’s private jet—one last taste of luxury before she returned to her newly single life in England.

Wasn’t that what she’d wanted all along?