Ruthlessly Bedded, Forcibly Wedded

‘Good, we’ll leave about four p.m. Pack something for going out.’

Vicenzo watched Cara leave the room and questioned his sanity. What was he doing? And why did he feel compelled to do something, anything, for her birthday? And why, when he’d noticed the date on her passport, had he felt such a tug of something? He comforted himself. This would be the ultimate test. He would be taking her to a place where her true colours would undoubtedly shine—and that, surely, would help to quiet these growing voices of doubt in his head…

The next day Cara waited patiently in the hall at four, with a small bag.

Vicenzo strode out of his office and looked from her to the bag. ‘That’s it?’ Incredulity laced his voice.

Cara nodded. He shrugged and hustled her out to the Jeep. After a ten-minute drive from the villa they pulled into a field, where Cara saw a helicopter waiting. Within minutes they were airborne and flying north-east over mountainous terrain. Cara looked down, captivated. Exhilaration coursed through her at being in a helicopter for the first time. Vicenzo pointed things out to her along the way, and she tried to ignore how aware she was of his big body beside hers in the small space.

When they landed, and he helped her out, her legs nearly buckled because they were so wobbly. To her mortification he lifted her up. When she started to protest he kissed her for a long moment. He pulled back and Cara looked up, bewildered, her whole body alive with desire.

And then he said, ‘We’re a newly married couple, remember? Smile for the cameras.’

Cara looked around and was nearly blinded by the flashing of cameras from just beyond a chain fence a few feet away. The real world was back. Vicenzo bundled her into a Jeep with darkened widows and they took off.

She crossed her arms and faced him, feeling ridiculous disappointment rushing through her. ‘If this is some exercise in bolstering your image as a newly converted family man, then—’

His mouth was grim. ‘It’s not. Believe me. I’d forgotten that the paparazzi always lie in wait there.’ And that caught him up short. He’d arrived with countless other women at this small airfield, used mainly by VIPs, and he’d never once before been caught out.

Something about Cara’s sheer joy in the helicopter and the way she’d been so endearingly shaky afterwards had distracted him. He fought down the doubts that mocked his justification for bringing her here. This was her territory. No doubt she would love this. Once she saw the villa…the club.

The villa Vicenzo took Cara to was about as different as it was possible to get from his family villa. This was an architect’s dream: all sharp abstract angles and corners, glass everywhere, and entirely white inside. There was an infinity pool that had a view looking right out over the Tyrrhenian Sea. It was perfectly nice, thought Cara, but…cold. Unlived-in. A place for mistresses.

That thought caught her up short. Was this where he brought his lovers?

He must have seen something cross her face, because he said, ‘This is where I do most of my entertaining—where I host business or social events…’

Cara flushed. Was he planning on entertaining here with her? The thought made her stomach clench. She tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice, not knowing why she felt the need to be polite. ‘It’s…very…clean.’

He laughed out loud, head thrown back, and the sound was so alien and his smile so heart-stoppingly beautiful that she could only gawp at him stupidly.

‘That’s certainly not how I’ve heard it described before.’

She felt prickly. ‘Excuse my inarticulate response.’

He came close then, and reached for her hand, raising it to his mouth to press a kiss there. His eyes were locked onto hers and her stomach felt all fluttery. ‘We leave in an hour. I’ll show you where you can get ready.’

An hour later Cara entered the reception area, and Vicenzo looked up from where he’d been flicking through some papers. He was dressed in a black suit, a white shirt open at the neck. Her body responded dramatically to the way his hot gaze was looking over her, and she did her best to clamp down on the response. She was dressed in a long flowing sheath of silk from neck to toe. It was sleeveless, and had a bare back that made her feel self-conscious. She’d left her hair down in an effort to try and detract from the nakedness she felt.

He strolled over to where she hovered uncertainly and held out a dark red velvet box. ‘Something for your birthday—and they’ll go with the dress.’

Vicenzo’s mouth thinned as he took in the dark royal blue of that dress. It made her look even more pale. More vulnerable.

Cara looked up at Vicenzo warily. And then at the box. And then back to him.

Why was she looking at the box so suspiciously? Vicenzo stifled a frisson of irritation and opened the box, expecting to see the usual response—the widening eyes, the feigned surprise, the preening in front of the mirror, the gushing, clinging gratitude.

Cara’s eyes widened, all right, but that was where the comparison ended. She looked from him to the stunning sapphire drop earrings nestling on white velvet. She reached out a hand to touch them reverently. Her cheeks flushed. She looked up again and Vicenzo had t

o restrain himself from throwing the box down and taking her in his arms. She looked so beautiful. Barely any make-up, skin lightly golden, luxuriously freckled from the sun.

‘They must have cost a fortune.’

They had. And no other woman had ever commented on the cost of jewellery. ‘They’re a birthday present…go on, put them on.’ He thrust the box towards her, feeling more and more at sea after her reaction.

Cara nearly recoiled. ‘But what if I lose one?’

‘They’re insured,’ he gritted out. They weren’t, but if it made her feel better…