His Merciless Marriage Bargain

His arm tightened around her waist, and his lips brushed her temple. “I’m afraid to let you go,” he said. “The last thing I need is you falling into the lagoon.”

His lips sent the most delicious shivery sensation through her and she couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I can swim.”

His lips brushed over her eyebrow. “Yes, but a gentleman wouldn’t just stand there and watch a lady splash about. I’d have to come in after you and be heroic. It would be most annoying.”

She laughed a low husky laugh. It was hard to think straight; her pulse was racing and her head felt light, making her giddy. “Indeed, because then we would both be cold and wet. Far better for me to be the only wet one.”

“But of course once we reached the palazzo, I would have to be sure you were all right. I would have to send you to a hot bath, and then make sure you were towel dried properly, and then wrapped in a robe. I would insist you were seated before a fire with a glass of warm brandy in your hands, and that you stayed there until there was no chill left and you were warm inside and out. I would have to stay close and be sure you were following directions. It would require considerable time and energy on my part, and I am quite sure you would find my ministrations tedious.”

“It does sound awful,” she murmured unsteadily, leaning against him, her breasts pressed to his chest.

“It would be awful,” he agreed, his head dropping, dipping, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. She shuddered at the warmth of his breath and the way her nerves danced with awareness.

“See? You are shivering with distaste,” he added, sliding a hand over her throat, slipping up to outline her chin and then the delicate bones of her jaw. “Imagine how unhappy you would be, locked in my room, naked before my fire.”

She shivered again, with anticipation and nerves. “I think it’s time to feed you dinner. You sound hungry, and a little bit barbaric.”

“I am hungry, but it’s you, cara, I want.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

RACHEL HAD NEVER enjoyed a meal in a private dining room before, let alone served by their own waiter, with a crackling fire in a massive stone fireplace keeping them warm.

The food had been amazing, course after course, with far too much wine, and now that all the dishes had been cleared for coffee, she couldn’t help sighing with pleasure. What an incredible restaurant, what a special meal. The company, though, was the best part. Giovanni Marcello had to be the ultimate dream date.

“I don’t want you worrying anymore,” Gio said, breaking the comfortable silence. “There is no reason for you to struggle and juggle and feel desperate about anything. I can provide for you, easily.”

Rachel stared into his darkly handsome face. He wasn’t the stranger he’d been when she arrived at the beginning of the week. She didn’t know him well, but there was an undeniable attraction, as well as a connection between them, that hadn’t been there days ago. “I’m afraid if I married you, I’d lose myself.”

“I’m not going to own you, no more than you’d own me.”

“I don’t think anyone could ever own you. You are far too strong, too independent.”

“You’re every bit as strong as me.”

She gave her head a small shake. “I’m not, though. If you really knew me, you wouldn’t be impressed.”

“Maybe it’s time you explained. Why do you feel so guilty?”

She shook her head, not just unwilling to tell him, but unable. She knew the words would horrify him. They horrified her. “I can hardly admit the truth to myself. I can’t imagine what you would think.”

“Tell me.” He reached across the table and stroked her cheek. “Cara, bella, I promise you it isn’t as bad as you think.”

She didn’t agree, but she was tired of all the emotions bottled inside of her, and truthfully, she wanted him to know, especially since he was so determined to marry her. It might change his mind. “I didn’t want to be a single mother. I didn’t want to do it this way. I wanted to wait until I was ready and I could be a good mom, and I’m not… I’m not…and I hate myself for being like Juliet. Selfish and self-absorbed—” She bit ruthlessly into her lower lip to keep the words from spilling out. Because even now, she could feel how black the truth was, and how ugly it made her.

Rachel had deliberately set the bar high for herself. She’d done it because she was different from Juliet. Stronger. Smarter. Better.

“How are you like her?” he demanded. “What have you done that is so selfish and self-absorbed?”