Ruthlessly Bedded, Forcibly Wedded

That was what had prompted her little rebellion—which now felt silly and flat. Cara put it out of her mind and told herself that he wouldn’t even notice. A hair shirt and nothing else was all Vicenzo would be interested in seeing her wear.

When they left this last shop a newsstand nearby caught Cara’s eye. And a picture and a headline. The paparazzi had mercifully disappeared—probably happy with the wealth of shots they’d gleaned from this impromptu shopping trip that Vicenzo had insisted upon once he’d realised the dire state of her wardrobe. But now Cara found herself wanting to inspect the paper.

Vicenzo was right behind her, and lifted it free from the rack. He smiled sardonically as a picture that had been taken of them only that morning emerging from the apartment stared back out at them. Cara was shocked at how quickly the story had been turned around. No wonder the paparazzi had stopped following them for the day.

‘What does it say?’ she asked shakily. A huge headline was emblazoned across the top.

‘It says,’ said Vicenzo coolly, without any hint of arrogance, ‘“A nation loses its most eligible bachelor when Valentini weds in a few days”.’

Cara felt nauseous, and thought for a second it might be morning sickness coming back. But then it passed. She was so enmeshed now in this web of Vicenzo’s making—and her own, she had to concede bitterly—that she couldn’t escape until events had played themselves out. Until she had his baby. But, curiously, that thought didn’t arouse the fear she’d expected. She knew logically that as the baby’s mother she would have rights, no matter how rich and powerful Vicenzo was. His assertion that he would buy her off seemed to be born out of a belief he held about women in general. That revelation and her reluctant curiosity about why he should believe that kept her quiet during the trip back to the apartment.

Several mornings later Cara got up to find Vicenzo gone, as he had been every other morning, leaving only a cursory note behind to say that a bodyguard would be waiting downstairs if she wanted to go out and sightsee. Cara hadn’t fooled herself for a second into thinking that Vicenzo was concerned for her safety, but she had taken the opportunity to walk around the city, becoming enchanted with its ancient and awe-inspiring beauty.

She wandered into the dining room and went to look out at the view, feeling unspeakably lonely. What scared her slightly was that she felt lonely for contact…for a connection between her and Vicenzo. The connection she’d believed existed the night he’d set out to seduce her. For those brief moments when he’d made love to her…held her…she’d felt safe and secure. And when he’d taken her she’d felt something more transcendent than the mere physical act. She tried to push it down, to suppress it, but she yearned for that connection again.

She berated herself violently. She had to wipe that evening from her head—it simply had not existed for him on any level other than as a plan of vengeance. Enzo was dead. He’d never existed. He had been Vicenzo all along, and the sooner she remembered that, the better.

The phone rang then and Cara jumped, cursing the direction her thoughts had taken. She found the phone and answered warily, ‘Hello?’

Vicenzo. Cara clutched the phone cord around her hands, which felt damp and sweaty all of a sudden.

‘We’ve been invited to a private dinner party this evening.’ His deep accented tones resonated down the line, and Cara rejected the way his voice made her feel so weak, so achingly aware of being lonely.

‘Oh, have we?’ she muttered caustically.

‘Be ready to leave at seven. It’ll be good for us to be seen out together on the eve of our wedding.’

Cara opened her mouth to speak. It turned into a gasp of outrage when she realised that he’d already terminated the connection. She slammed down the phone and welcomed his action—because it was an illuminating reminder of the fact that no connection had ever existed between them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THAT evening Cara emerged from the bedroom and walked towards the main drawing room. She’d heard Vicenzo arrive home and move around, and it was now seven p. m.—the time he’d told her to be ready. She hated feeling nervous. She wanted to hang onto the anger she’d felt earlier, but it was deserting her like a cowardly traitor. She took a deep breath and walked in to find him pouring whisky or something similar into a crystal glass. Dusk was falling over Rome outside like a pale mauve blanket, with lights twinkling on, making the whole scene heart-stopp

ingly seductive. He turned to look at her and Cara quivered in her shoes, feeling very undressed and exposed.

Vicenzo’s hand gripped the glass tight in a reflex action. Her dress was sleeveless, black and fitted, with one shoulder bare. It came to just below her knees and had a pocket detail at her hip, accentuating the slim curve. High-heeled silver sandals drew his eye to small pale feet, the delicate shade of coral on her nails making him feel bizarrely protective.

Her hair was caught up in a loose bun, and silver hoop earrings swung against her neck. No overpowering make-up or flashy jewelry, just those incredibly long black lashes and her own evocative scent teasing his nostrils. Her soft pink mouth mocked him, making him regret not having kissed her before now. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her hard, so she’d feel his very imprint.

‘I wasn’t sure how dressy—’

‘It’s fine.’ He cut her off, her husky voice affecting him physically, making his body tighten uncomfortably against his trousers. He threw back his drink in one swallow and strode over to take her by the arm and lead her out before he did something stupid like kiss her.

She’d been on his mind all day, and all he’d been able to think about—disturbingly—was the revelation that she’d been a virgin. And how much he wanted to sink himself deep inside her again.

Cara sat in the back of the car next to Vicenzo. She still couldn’t figure out if she’d displeased him by her choice of dress. He wore a black suit, black shirt and rich dark blue tie. All at once modern, and yet so classic that he took her breath away. The black of the suit made him look darker, dangerous. He was looking resolutely ahead, just offering her his hard jawline and strong profile.

They reached a palatial house, with fairy lights twinkling in trees and along the perimeter wall. The car slowed to a crawl behind others ahead of them. Vicenzo leaned forward and said curtly, ‘Dario, stop here. We’ll walk up.’

The driver dutifully nodded and Vicenzo got out, quickly coming round to get Cara. As he gave her his hand she was reminded of the moment in London when she’d superstitiously believed that that whole night was meant to be. Again, as if mocking her, her hand found his unerringly. So much for intuition.

After a sumptuous dinner, during which Cara had tried her best not to feel out of her depth in the luxurious surroundings, she now stood by Vicenzo’s side as he made conversation with a few other men. She hadn’t missed their openly speculative looks, or those of the women around the dinner table. Some had been positively contemptuous, and Cara was reminded of his other women. She grimaced inwardly. In a moment of weakness she’d once Googled him, and had felt nauseated by the parade of stunning women in and out of his life. Her stomach clenched. Did he have a current lover? Had he been seeing someone already these last few nights in Rome? Was that why he’d been home so late? She hated to admit it but she’d been sleepless every night until he’d returned to the apartment.

And why did the thought of a lover hurt her so much? Cara took a swift gulp of her water, and then coughed as it went down the wrong way. Immediately Vicenzo’s hand was on her back, warm and disturbing, his face concerned. It nearly made her choke all over again. He’d been the perfect conciliatory fiancé all night—little touches here and there, making her nerves scream out at the play-acting.

She all but pushed him away, and ignored his look of warning, ‘The bathroom—I’ll just freshen up and get some water.’ She thrust her glass at him and fled.

A short while later Vicenzo tried to focus on the conversation but couldn’t. Where was Cara? He couldn’t stop a flutter of panic. He knew she’d hardly leave without him, but still…something within him prickled uncomfortably. They were getting married tomorrow, and while he would have expected his overwhelming feeling to be one of entrapment, it was something more akin to impatience. He told himself it was impatience to get her back to Sardinia, where he would have her exactly where he wanted her: under his complete control.