The Sheikh's Innocent Bride

She was supposed to be Julie and Julie would have been ecstatic. Julie had adored clothes and everything her sister wore had carried a logo. Jemima blinked and wandered back into the dressing room. She trailed an uncertain hand across the soft smooth briefs still visible in an open drawer and sighed heavily. The clothing had been tailored to her exact height and size, but how could she wear it? How could she possibly say thank you and just wear it?

Neither a borrower nor a lender be and being wary of unexpected gifts was how Jemima had been raised. She also knew that old adage about being true to oneself. And accepting such largesse when she had done nothing to deserve it ran contrary to her principles. She swallowed back a heartfelt groan while she surveyed the racks of shoes. If Jemima had a weakness, it was for shoes and she swore her toes tingled like a water diviner’s when she saw the cross-strapped green high heels studded with tiny twinkly stones. They called out to her feet and, kicking off her serviceable pumps, she slid her yearning toes into those tempting shoes. Yes, this was the way to be gracious, the only way not to throw all of Luciano’s generosity back in his teeth; she would accept one small item to show gratitude. Having bolstered herself with that argument, Jemima tottered downstairs in her wholly inappropriate footwear.

Agnese was waiting for her like a little old witch in the hall.

‘I’m looking for Luciano,’ Jemima announced with a pleasant smile.

Agnese was eying the frivolous shoes with rampant censure. ‘Il Capo is in the library.’

Il capo meant ‘the boss’, Jemima translated, having watched enough Godfather movies to recognise the lingo. Walking with precise but wobbling care in the direction of Agnese’s pointing hand, Jemima wondered if the new wardrobe had given Agnese the wrong idea about the precise nature of Jemima’s relationship with Luciano, and then she scolded herself for wondering, reckoning she had more to worry about than the suspicion that the staff had disliked her on sight.

* * *

Luciano had had four drinks in succession while he waited for Charles to call. His father had been a drinker and it was very rare for Luciano to drink to excess but his impatience to know the finer details of the scam was literally eating him alive. He couldn’t wait to confront Jemima but he would not do it until he knew everything there was to know about her. He was so angry with her, so bemused by the strange conflict tearing at him. He was in turmoil and he didn’t know why, which simply added another layer of hostile frustration to his mood.

Frowning at the sound of the knock on the library door, Luciano strode across the room to drag it open and discover who had dared to disturb him when he had requested peace. When he focused on Jemima’s glowing, eagerly smiling face, he found himself taking a step back because he was initially surprised to see that she was happy. But then she didn’t know yet that he knew. Of course she was happy, he ruminated bitterly, rage arrowing through him afresh. What else would she be but happy when he’d put her in a bedroom next door to his and given her a fortune in designer clothing? She was a gold-digger; naturally she was happy with her rewards. By bringing in Carlotta, he had even released Jemima from the burden of constant childcare and very probably she was even happier about the prospect of greater freedom as well...

‘Luciano...’ she said softly and then her eyes flew off him to dart round the book-filled shelves. ‘Oh, my, what a wonderful room! You are so lucky to have so much space for books,’ she remarked chirpily.

‘Is there a reason for your visit?’ Luciano enquired forbiddingly, his attention clinging to her when she lurched a little on her path towards his desk at the centre of the room. His gaze skated down over her back view, lingering with pleasure on the ripe, rounded curve of her bottom shaped by the stretchy, clinging texture of the skirt she wore. His attention was then unwillingly caught by the colourful, glittery and ridiculously high-heeled shoes she wore below the skirt. For some reason she had teamed incongruous party shoes with her drab outfit and she could hardly walk in them, he registered in surprise as she clutched the side of his desk to steady herself.

Jemima studied Luciano and any hint of clear thought wilfully evaded her. No male that extraordinarily gorgeous could possibly encourage rational reflection in a woman, she conceded ruefully. He looked so tense and angry. His cheekbones were starkly defined, the line of his strong jaw rock hard. Yes, something had definitely gone wrong in his life. She was knocked sideways by the sudden realisation that just as Nicky’s bad moods made her want to fix things for him, Luciano provoked the same need in her, only she didn’t for one moment think that a cuddle and a soothing bottle would provide a magic cure for whatever ailed him.