Marchese's Forgotten Bride

It was as if he was recreating their first afternoon together without being aware of it. And Cassie sank beneath his magical spell. As they walked back down Bond Street with his arm resting about her shoulders she expected them to start shopping as he’d said they would, but he shrugged that idea away with, ‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’

Tomorrow suddenly felt bright and exciting because it had to mean he intended to spend it with her.

Cracks only began to appear in the veneer of their reincarnation when he came back with her to her apartment and saw how they lived for the first time.

He didn’t say a single word as he looked at the stuffed old armchair and twin-seater sofa made to match by the couple of throws draped over them. Then he took in the ancient TV set with its tiny square screen. When he finally dealt his gaze on the wooden dining furniture bought flat-packed on her shoestring budget and put together by her own hands, it was as if a suit of glass armour shot down over him. He might as well have bitten out, My children live in a place like this…?

‘Don’t be such a snob, Sandro,’ Cassie retaliated stiffly. ‘We have been very happy here.’

Walking out of the room, she crossed the tiny hallway to gain access to her bedroom. Flushed and cross and her dignity ruffled, she opened her wardrobe door and slipped her jacket onto a hanger.

A sound behind her made her turn as she closed the wardrobe door. He was standing in the doorway, giving her tiny bedroom with its single bed and single wardrobe and single chest of drawers that same glassy look.

‘If you’re looking for pink, try the other bedroom,’ she said in an attempt to lighten the loaded atmosphe

re.

He didn’t even crack half a smile. What he did do was to take the single step to reach her wardrobe and draw the door open then stood staring at what was hanging inside it—the little black dress she’d worn to his introduction dinner, freshly dry-cleaned now and covered in polythene, another suit like the one she’d been wearing today and a small selection of businesslike tops and shirts.

Grim mouth flattening, he slammed the door shut then spun on his heel and walked out. When she’d fought her angry flush enough to follow him she found him standing in the twins’ room as if he’d been turned to stone. One side of the room was as pink and feminine as a fairy tale, the other side shot with moons and rockets and flying space troopers.

‘What did you expect?’ she flung out, hurt by his oh-soexpressive stance. ‘A damn huge, great, fancy palace?’

The fact that she swore at him swung Sandro around. Cassie was stunned that the pallor was back on his face—only this time it was the harsh pallor of contempt.

‘This is our home!’ she pressed on him angrily. ‘Don’t you dare turn your rich nose up at it!’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘You were,’ she said on a shimmer of burning offence. ‘But don’t worry, Sandro. Bella is looking forward to the day her handsome daddy prince carries us all off to his fabulous castle! So if you don’t have a castle, take my advice and buy one! She will love you to bits for making all her fairy-tale dreams come true! Anthony might not, but then he’s more concerned about communicating when he can’t speak Italian. And I don’t think for one minute that he’s nurturing dreams of you producing your own private rocket to the stars!’

She spun away, her wild, bubbling fever of offended dignity spoiled by the hot burn of hurt tears.

‘I already own the castle.’

Cassie froze in the doorway, narrow shoulders racking back, quivering and taut inside her white blouse.

‘And my own jet.’ His voice sounded jerky and thick. ‘I own several more residences in far-flung, exotic places, a couple of helicopters, an ocean-going yacht and an island in the Caribbean,’ he listed, almost—almost sounding apologetic to Cassie’s oversensitive ears. ‘What I don’t have is what you have right here, which is a home, as you said. Warmth, untidy comfort.’ His impatient sigh had her turning about. ‘Now I’m going to have to rethink my whole approach to what it was I thought would impress you and the twins when we hit Florence…’His mouth flattened out even further. ‘You must have hated my London apartment.’

‘It reminded me of a big, echoing mausoleum,’ Cassie murmured, coming down from hurt dignity but still hanging on to the threat of tears. ‘I’m…sorry if I misunderstood your reaction but—’

‘But now you’re in trouble,’ Sandro said for her.

Her own finish for that sentence was swallowed down when she looked into his glowing dark eyes and saw what he was talking about. He reached out to take hold of her shoulders, the small gap between them suddenly shut. A pulse beat accelerated in her throat, a short gasp escaping when her breasts stung as they filled with heat.

‘You’ve been warned before about feeling sorry for me.’ Sliding his hands down the length of her body, he closed them on her hips and tugged.

Shock widened Cassie’s eyes. ‘Y-you…’

‘Sí,’ he confirmed, making her feel the full, probing state of his arousal. ‘Liquid green eyes and sympathy…controlkillers,’ he stated darkly.

A vivid image of burning gas jets flew across her mind and brought the pink tip of her tongue snaking out to touch the tingling curve of her upper lip. A lusty growl and he caught that pink tip between his lips and sucked. He was already backing her out of the twins’ bedroom, the shockingly rampant evidence of his intentions building in strength with the stimulation of the move. Her hands had to clutch at his arms to maintain her balance because he was really kissing her now, exploring her mouth with a sensual expertise and urgency that arched her neck, and pressed her breasts into firmer contact with his chest.

She could feel the heavy pump of his heart, his heat, the sheer masculine dominance of his hard male contours turning her female softness to a quivering, sensual flow of warm blood. When she heard the sound of a door shutting and instantly recognised it as her own bedroom door, she had to fight to drag her mouth from his.

‘We can’t,’ she groaned.

‘We can,’ he insisted, then added with a searing rasp of amusement, ‘We must,’ and buried his mouth in the heated hollow of her throat.