He had been imposing even before Emmeline had factored in her embarrassing confession and request in the pool last night. No. Not last night: in the early hours of that same morning.
The colour in her cheeks now had nothing to do with the fact that she’d been reading by the pool for hours. Though why she’d chosen to return to the scene of the crime was beyond Emmeline. In that moment, confronted by the ghost of what a fool she’d been, she wished she was anywhere else.
She flicked the cap off the bottle and squeezed some cream into her hands, then rubbed it over her exposed arms and the vee of her neck.
Pietro watched, but his temper wasn’t improved by the display. Nor was it improved when she placed more cream into her palm and reached down to spread it over her legs. Legs that were long, tanned and smooth...
He looked away from her, his arms still crossed.
But he could see her in his mind. As she’d been in the pool early that morning—her hair like a shimmering black veil, her eyes enormous, her lips curved into a smile.
Her question hadn’t been unreasonable. Hell, he’d backed her up against a wall and slid a finger into her wet heat until she’d come in his arms. Of course she was curious.
He’d stirred something inside her and now he was preventing her from experimenting. From exploring that side of her.
It wasn’t fair.
Was she annoyed that he’d turned her down?
‘The thing is,’ he said, as though their conversation from the night before was still going, had simply been paused for a few hours while they slept and he worked. ‘You’re my wife, and if we were to sleep together it would be too complicated...’
Her eyes flew to his face, the statement knocking her off balance completely. She hadn’t expected this, but she managed to pick up the threads of their negotiation as though it were just that—a simple business deal.
‘Complicated how?’
‘I have nothing to offer.’ He spoke stiffly, his shoulders squared. ‘I’m not interested in a relationship, and I suspect you’ll blur those lines if I do what you ask of me.’
She nodded slowly and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘Sure.’
Her easy acceptance was insulting. ‘If you came to want more from me I can promise you I wouldn’t offer it.’
She bit down on her lip and shrugged once more. ‘Whatever. It’s not important. Forget I mentioned it.’
He looked away once more. Why did she have such beautiful legs? Out of nowhere he pictured them wrapped around his waist as he pulled her closer, pressing into her.
His arousal throbbed painfully.
‘I know I can’t hold a candle to your usual...um...lovers. It was stupid of me to even suggest it.’
‘You are very different,’ he agreed softly.
Her battered pride was almost debilitating in its intensity. He didn’t need to tell her how different she was. She’d seen the photos. He’d all but told her that she wasn’t attractive. God, she’d thrown herself at his feet! Of all the foolish, embarrassing, childish, stupid things to do!
Regret washed over her heart. But pride was beating its drum, forcing her to remember who she was and what she wanted in life. This marriage was a stepping stone for Emmeline—a brick path to freedom.
‘I think I just got carried away last night. The moon... The water... The heat...’ Her smile was dismissive. ‘It won’t happen again.’
She briefly met his eyes and then looked back to her book, pretending fascination with the page she was on even as the words swam before her eyes.
It won’t happen again.
‘That is for the best, cara.’
He spun on his heel and stalked back inside the villa before he gave in to temptation and pulled her to her feet, roughly against his chest, and plundered those sweet lips that had been tempting him all afternoon.
* * *
Rafe let out a low whistle, his eyes locked on some point across the room. Pietro followed his brother’s gaze, though he knew what he’d see.
His wife, Emmeline Morelli, looking as if she’d walked out of a goddamned Vogue photo-shoot. Her dress was beautiful, but every woman at this event was draped in couture and dripping with diamonds. It was Emmeline he saw.
Her long dark hair had been set in loose curls that waved around her back, and the dress itself was a sort of Grecian style, in a cream fabric that gathered beneath her breasts then fell in floaty, gauzy swathes to her feet, which were clad in shimmering gold sandals. She wore a snake bracelet on her upper arm, and a circle of gold around her head.
She looked like a very beautiful, very sexy fairy. Something the two men she had been locked in conversation with for the past twenty minutes seemed eminently aware of. Her face was animated as they spoke, her eyes illuminated and her laugh frequent.