Her Wedding Night Surrender

He needed to get out of the house before he did something really rash. Like give in to temptation and invite his wife to his bed...

CHAPTER FIVE

HIS BEDROOM WAS far enough away from hers that she wouldn’t necessarily hear when he came home each night. But somehow in the month they’d been married her ears had trained themselves to hear the slightest noise.

Like the opening of his bedroom door and the shutting of it a second later.

She heard the tell-tale click and her eyes drifted to the bedside table. She reached for her phone, checking the time. It was just after two.

How did he do that so often and still look so damned fresh the next day?

She tried not to think about who he’d been with and where. Though she didn’t need to be a genius to work it out.

He’d made no effort to hide his virility, and they’d agreed before marrying that he’d continue his life as before. And he was doing that. It was Emmeline’s fault that it no longer sat well with her.

She turned over in the bed, flipping on to her other side so she could stare out of the window. It was still warm, with the breeze that drifted in offering a hint of relief—but not much. The day had been sticky.

Was there only one woman in his life? Was it the beautiful redhead from the wedding?

She closed her eyes and the woman’s face came to mind. She’d been stunning—but so clearly cosmetically enhanced she should have borne her surgeon’s signature somewhere on her body. Was that the kind of woman he went for?

Emmeline would never be like that.

She blinked her eyes open but it was too late. An image of her mother had seared into her brain and she made a small sound in the dark room.

Patrice Bovington had been beautiful too. Stunning without cosmetic enhancement. But that hadn’t stopped her from seeing her doctor regularly, having a little Botox dabbed into her forehead, a tad of filler in her lips. Over the years she’d changed, but so subtly that it was only in looking back at photos that Emmeline could recognise the fact that beautifying herself had become an unhealthy obsession for her mother.

And a foolish one too. For there would always someone more beautiful, more svelte, younger. Why make one’s appearance the hallmark of one’s self-esteem?

‘You could almost be pretty if you put some effort in.’

She sat upright in the bed, the fever in her blood burning out of control. Did he know that looking pretty had led to all the problems she’d had with her mother? Guilt made her stomach flop as she remembered their last argument. The day before Patrice had driven her Mercedes convertible into an enormous elm around the corner from the house.

Emmeline rolled back to her other side, staring at the wall now. But it was no good. Her mind was wide awake, her legs restless, her body warm.

She sat up, then pushed her feet out of the bed.

She’d only swum a handful of times since arriving at the villa. Both times when she’d known Pietro was out of the house.

And now he was fast asleep—probably exhausted from seducing some beautiful woman all evening.

Emmeline changed into her swimsuit quietly. If she could hear the sound of his door clicking open and shut then he could certainly hear hers. She tiptoed out into the corridor, pausing for a second, her breath offensively loud in the silent evening.

The stairs were around ten steps away. She moved quietly but quickly, like some kind of night-time ninja.

She’d just wrapped her fingers around the top of the bannister when his door was flung open.

He stood there in a pair of shorts, otherwise naked, his scowl landing on her as though she’d driven a herd of elephants through the house.

‘Did I wake you?’ she whispered, not sure why she was keeping her voice down given the fact they were the only two in the house.

‘No. I was up.’ His eyes dropped to the swimsuit that was clearly on display, his frown deepening. ‘It appears we’ve had the same idea.’

‘Oh.’ She didn’t dare look at his shorts but, yes, she supposed they could be swimming trunks. ‘It’s a hot night...’ she finished lamely.

His grunt was an agreement of sorts.

She prevaricated on the steps for a moment, contemplating going back to her room and then deciding against it. When he began to move towards her, though, her pulse kicked up a notch. Her breath was held in her throat.

‘What are you doing?’

He looked at her as though she’d gone mad. ‘Going for a swim. We just discussed this.’

‘Oh. I thought...’ She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply; it was a mistake. The smell of him filled her, reminding her of how it had felt when he’d touched her so intimately.

‘The pool is more than big enough for the both of us.’