The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

Rigo’s breath hitched. The scent of warm vanilla and honey was reaching across the room to tease his senses.

Nicole pulled the belt of her robe tighter around her small waist, the movement only serving to push her breasts out further against the thin fabric. Rigo clenched his fist by his side.

‘They put all my things in here with yours.’ She spoke quickly, avoiding his eyes. ‘Your housekeeper was very...excited.’

‘I see.’

Rigo briefly took in the two perfectly toned creamy thighs below the bathrobe and felt the tension in his muscles increase. His gaze must have given away some of his thoughts, because Nicole cleared her throat and quickly grabbed her clothing from the bed. Without another word, she slipped back into the bathroom to dress, closing the door behind her.

Rigo leaned back against the dresser, feeling his breath hiss out between his teeth. This was an unforeseen complication in an otherwise perfect plan. His staff was from the best agency in Paris, but nothing was truly confidential in his world. They were presenting the media with a whirlwind love story. It was expected that he should share a bed with his new fiancée. As any red-blooded man would.

He had thought that seeing her for who she was would effectively erase whatever it was that had drawn them together that night. Clearly his body had other ideas.

He undid the buckle of his belt, sliding it out from its loops and coiling it up into a tight spiral as he walked across the room. His walk-in dressing room was of the highest specifications, with personalised nooks and cabinets for every little detail. Organisation was his secret pleasure. Seeing everything perfectly lined up gave him a sense of calm.

He opened his belt drawer to find it only half filled with his own items. The second half contained an array of colourful scarves. Frowning, he opened the next cabinet, to find that completely rearranged, too. His housekeeper had clearly taken a shine to Nicole, he thought with an uncomfortable prickle of foreboding. If they were expected to share a bed, of course they would be expected to share closet space. He felt as if he had jumped head first into a rabbit hole and there was no going back.

He abandoned his dressing room with a scowl, returning into the main bedroom to find Nicole dressed in simple pale pink linen pyjama trousers and a white tank top. She was gathering her things into a small case, a frown marring her brow.

‘All your things have been put away in my dressing room.’

His voice came out harsher that he’d intended. Nicole looked at him incredulously.

‘Is that somehow my fault?’

Rigo raked his hand over the growth of hair on his jaw, his mind wrestling with the myriad implications he hadn’t foreseen. ‘We will need to share a bed until this wedding is over with,’ he gritted, removing his tie and folding it up on the antique dresser. ‘We can’t risk the staff spreading rumours.’

Nicole’s brow rose. ‘That’s not happening.’

‘What’s wrong? Afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?’

He watched as she bit hard on her lower lip, looking away from him. When she looked back he was surprised to find anger in her expression rather than embarrassment.

‘This isn’t what I agreed to, Rigo.’ She stared at him. ‘It’s not...appropriate for this arrangement.’

‘Believe me, I am not a threat to you. I’m counting down the days until this wedding is over just as much as you are.’

‘Well, then, why on earth would we need to sleep together? Surely you trust your own employees?’

‘I make it a rule not to trust anyone.’ He began to open the buttons at his neck, noticing how her eyes followed the movement. ‘We are supposed to be in a whirlwind love affair here. We will share a bed. End of discussion.’

‘It’s nice to see that I have some say in this arrangement.’

‘About as much of a say as I do, cara,’ he drawled. ‘Sleeping alongside each other is the least of our worries right now.’ He removed his shirt, folding it up before moving to unhook his trousers. He looked up to find Nicole watching him.

She cleared her throat as if to speak, but no sound came out. He almost smiled when she averted her eyes, sliding quickly under the covers and pulling them up to her chin. He might have won this round, but who was the real winner when the prize was a night of physical torture?

Rigo finished undressing, opting to leave his boxers on. He usually slept completely nude, but he decided that might be a step too far in this cosy little arrangement. He lay down, crossing his arms behind his head. Her breathing was slow and contained, but he could sense the tension coming off her in waves. They both felt it—the madness they were capable of unleashing if they let their guards down.