The Sicilian's Marriage Arrangement

The last few weeks had been interminable.

There at the last, when he had given her the ultimatum: marriage or go home to Boston, he had not even been thinking of making the marriage deal come off. He’d only been thinking of his need to possess her and his commitment not to do so outside the bonds of marriage. He had made a promise to her and the only way to keep that promise was to marry her or send her away.

That his ultimatum had led to the marriage he needed to regain control of the family company caused him satisfaction rather than guilt. He had not intentionally seduced her into marriage. He had kept his promise and courted her and he would be a good husband to her. He would keep his vow of fidelity and she would give him passion and children.

Joshua Reynolds had been right in that at least. The pill was not bitter to swallow, but the water it had gone down with had been rancid. The only way to rid his pride of the aftereffects of the blackmail was to plan a suitable measure of justice for the old man. Luciano did not want to ruin him completely. Joshua was now family, but he would learn a necessary lesson about Sicilian pride.

As Hope took the first step forward, all thoughts of vendettas and lessons faded from Luciano’s mind. It filled with the primitive need to mate with his woman.

This woman.

Hope.

Her violet eyes were dark with conflicting emotions. It was the fear that kept him rooted, waiting for her to come to him. She was so beautiful in her cobalt blue silk gown. It swept the floor as she walked and it pleased him she had not opted for the traditional white for their wedding night.

He liked this indication of the fire within her. The hottest part of a flame was blue and when she was in his arms, she burned that hotly.

She stopped two feet away from him. “I’m nervous.”

This he had not missed. “There is no need, carina.”

“What if I don’t satisfy you?” Doubts swirled in her lovely eyes. “I’m not like Zia and the rest. I’m completely without experience.”

She said it like she was admitting the gravest sin, but the words had a devastating affect on his libido.

He had to touch her or go mad.

Forcing himself to gentleness, he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders and brushed his thumbs over her collarbones. The fine bones felt fragile under his strength.

“Your innocence is a gift you give me, not a shortcoming you must apologize for.” How could he erase the doubts? “I am honored to be your first lover, cara.”

She still looked painfully unconvinced.

“I do not want you to be like Zia. It will please me to teach you all I want you to know.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Teach me?”

“Si.”

Understanding warmed her eyes. “You like that. In some ways, you’re a total throwback, aren’t you? You really like the idea of being my first lover.”

He didn’t deny the charge. He felt primitive with her. “Your only lover.”

She nodded. “My only lover.” She swayed toward him, her lips soft and inviting. “Then teach me, caro. Make me yours.”

Her words and the anticipation in her gaze splintered the final thread of his control. He pulled her into his body with less finesse than an oversexed teenager. She didn’t seem to mind; her entire body melded to his and her arms came around him in a hold as fierce as his own.

Covering her mouth with his own, he demanded instant entrance. He got it, penetrating her sweet moistness with all the need tormenting him. In the back of his mind was a voice telling him to slow down, to savor her sweetness, but the primal yearning of his body did not listen.

Her tongue shyly dueled with his and small, feminine hands moved to cradle his face while she twisted her satin clad body into him.

Groaning, he swept her up into his arms and marveled at the passion exploding from her small body. She was frightened no longer. It was as if his first touch had dispelled her every concern.

He laid her on the bed and stepped back, his breath coming like an Olympic runner’s after the triathlon. Santo cielo! She was perfect.

She leaned up on her elbows, the tight points of her nipples making shoals in the material. “Luciano?”

“If we do not slow down, I will hurt you.” That knowledge was enough to temper the desire raging in his body.

He would not hurt her. She was too small. Delicate.

He had to be careful.

She sat up and stripped her nightgown down her arms, baring breasts flushed with arousal. Then she extended her hands to him. “Come to me, Luciano. Please.”

Was this wild wanton his wife, the sweet little Hope that blushed when he spoke too frankly?

Her pansy eyes were dilated widely; her small body trembled. “I don’t want to go slow.”