The Sicilian's Marriage Arrangement

He reared up above her, his dark eyes burning with triumph and unslaked desire. Aligning his erect flesh with her pulsing wetness, his jaw went rigid with tension. “I could take you now. Santo cielo! I want to take you now.”

“Yes.” Oh, yes. Now. She wanted to receive him, to take him as primitively as his eyes told her he wanted it to be.

“But I won’t.” His voice was guttural with feeling, his face tight with strain and sweat beading his temple.

“You won’t?” she asked stupidly, finding his denial incomprehensible.

He was literally on the verge of joining their bodies. How could he stop now?

“I do not seduce virgins.” His words came out from between gritted teeth, each one a bullet of strained sound.

“But I want you, Luciano.”

His forehead dropped against hers, the heat emanating from him baking in its intensity. “I want you also, piccola mia, but in a marriage bed.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her body aching for his possession. “What are you saying?”

“Agree to marry me, Hope, or go home to Boston. I cannot stand this torment of the body any longer.” He shivered above her, the tip of his shaft caressing sensitized and swollen flesh.

Then he threw himself on his back away from her, the evidence of his arousal testimony to his words. The fierce grip of his fingers on the bedspread proof of just how close to the edge of control he was.

But it was marriage or nothing. No. Not nothing. Not by a long stretch. He’d fulfilled her. Taken the edge off of her need, giving her the first sexual release of her life, but without marriage, he would take nothing for himself and would not give himself completely.

“Isn’t it the woman who is supposed to demand marriage?” It wasn’t just a weak attempt at humor. It was also an expression of how bewildering she found her current situation.

He didn’t answer.

She supposed he thought he’d said it all.

Maybe he had. She loved him. So much. She wanted him almost as much as she loved him. He wanted her too. She looked at his still erect flesh. A lot. He wanted her a lot. He liked her too, had respected her enough to pursue her in the traditional way. Was liking, respect and desire enough?

She sat up, curling her knees into her chest and effecting as much modesty as possible without her clothes on. His hardness had not abated, but his breathing was growing calmer. She looked away, embarrassed by the intimacy of seeing him like this. She wanted to know the miracle of being connected to him in the most personal way any woman could know a man, but she didn’t doubt he would stand by his ultimatum.

Marriage, or nothing.

“Luciano,” she said tentatively.

“Si?”

“Um…” How did a woman ask this kind of question? “Do you believe in fidelity?”

He sat up and glared at her, supremely unconcerned by his nudity. “Once we are married, there will be no other man.”

Was he really that dense? “I meant you. If I marry you, will I have to worry about you taking a mistress?”

“No.” There was a rock-solid certainty in his expression that she could not doubt.

“Do you have a mistress now?” She had to ask.

“I told you there was no other woman.”

“But some men don’t consider wives and mistresses in the same class. They think having one does not preclude having the other.” She’d seen it often enough among the rich compatriots of her grandfather and knew that wealthy Italian men were particularly susceptible. Or so it seemed.

“I am not these men. I want no woman but you.”

“Always?” she asked, finding it very difficult to believe he wanted to cleave to her for a lifetime and forsake all other women.

He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Always. You will be my wife, the mother of my children. I will not shame you in this way.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away. “All right,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

“You will marry me?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

His thumb rubbed the wetness from under her eye. “You are crying. Tell me why.”

“I’m not sure. I’m scared,” she admitted to both him and herself. “You don’t love me, but you want to marry me.”

“And you love me.”

Was there any point in denying it? She’d just agreed to become his wife. “Yes.”

“I am glad of this, cara. You have nothing to fear in giving yourself to me. I will treasure your love.”

But not return it.

Was that something so different? She’d practically lived her whole life without being truly loved. Her grandfather had been duty bound to care for her, but until very recently, he hadn’t even acted particularly fond of her. At least Luciano really wanted her. He could have anyone and he’d chosen her. That had to prove something.