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‘Brave words, Cara,’ he said silkily. ‘I think we’ve just proved how empty they are.’
And before she could be the one to walk away he turned and strode off, leaving her standing there, feeling thoroughly dishevelled and aching with unsatisfied desire.
The following evening Cara stood in the kitchen of the apartment, making dinner. She felt numb inside. And all over. She was married to Vicenzo Valentini. Something glinted as she moved her hand to get a pot, and she looked at the plain platinum band winking on her finger. She grimaced. For something that was so wrong, it looked somehow right. It suited her pale, slender hand.
Abruptly she pulled it off and put it down jerkily on the marble counter-top. She busied herself with the process of cooking and tried unsuccessfully to block out the events of the day. When she’d emerged from her bedroom that morning, in a simple grey shift dress, Vicenzo had marched her back into her room and flung open her wardrobe doors. When he’d seen nothing but varying shades of black, grey and dark blue he’d rounded on her.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
She’d forced herself to stand strong, ‘In case you’ve forgotten, we’re both in mourning. I’m certainly not going to play the part of some wide-eyed ingénue bride and make this marriage more of a farce than it already is.’
He’d looked at her for a long moment with a suspicious glint in his eye, before stalking back out of her room with a curt instruction to be ready to go in five minutes.
The ceremony in the register office had been attended by just two of Vicenzo’s colleagues. It had been possibly the most loveless ceremony ever conducted.
Cara had made sure his mouth didn’t land on hers for the kiss, and he’d whispered in her ear silkily, ‘Careful, Cara.’
She’d hissed back, her heart thumping erratically, belying her words, ‘You’re the last man on earth I want to kiss.’
On the steps outside as they’d faced the paparazzi he’d held onto her hand tight, and she’d been dismayed to realise that she’d needed that support in the face of the overwhelming interest. He’d spoken urbanely in English and Italian, lies tripping off his tongue as he’d informed them that he’d been so impatient to marry his bride that he’d foregone any celebration in Rome. They’d all take place in Sardinia, at the family villa. The press had lapped it up—this international rake brought to his knees by this pale, unknown and unremarkable girl.
And then Vicenzo had dropped her back to the apartment, telling her that he had business to take care of in the office for the rest of the day, in order to clear things before going to Sardinia.
She’d signed the pre-nuptial agreement, having read that he was cynically offering her nothing if she insisted on staying when the baby was born and a small fortune if she left. She’d had no problem signing it as she had no designs on his money and no intention of abandoning her baby. Her mind skittered weakly away from what Vicenzo would do when faced with that scenario…
As Cara took out her frustration at her feeling of loneliness on the kitchen implements she didn’t notice Vicenzo standing at the door, with his shoulder propped against the frame, watching her. She opened the fridge door and took out a jar of basil pesto. She was just muttering to herself about how typical it was that the kitchen was mysteriously stocked to the gills with fresh delicatessen-style food when she heard a deep, drawling voice. ‘How sweet—you’re making us dinner like a good little wife.’
Cara whirled around, her heart in her mouth, and promptly dropped the jar of pesto on the immaculate slate floor. In an instant Vicenzo was there, bending down to pick up the biggest glass pieces, but the speckled green sauce was splattered everywhere. Her heart was still hammering as she looked down at his dark glossy head. She moved jerkily to help, but gasped in sudden pain as a piece of glass lanced the underside of her bare foot.
Vicenzo stood and caught her expertly just as she was about to lose balance, and before Cara knew it he was lifting her bodily over the mess as if she weighed little more than a feather, sitting her on top of the island in the middle of the kitchen. He bent down to inspect her foot, which was throbbing painfully now.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gritted out. ‘You startled me.’
He lifted her foot into his big warm hands and looked at her briefly, coolly. ‘You shouldn’t have moved.’
Suddenly Cara felt huge emotion well up within her at the way he was so gently holding her foot, at such odds with his coolness. It was almost as if his touch was melting the ice she’d tried to pack around her heart to get through the day. But now everything threatened to overwhelm her… Her eyes smarted and she said chokily, ‘I’m sorry. It was an accident.’
Vicenzo stood to his full height, cradling her foot in his hand, and looked at the downbent head, gleaming dark copper under the lights of the kitchen. Was that true emotion he’d heard in her voice? He’d watched her from the doorway, banging around the kitchen, looking heart-stoppingly young in a plain black T-shirt and black skirt. The black had made his hackles rise. Her hair was caught up haphazardly.
He supposed she must be angry because now she knew she was truly trapped; she’d signed the pre-nuptial agreement that morning and, while she hadn’t shown obvious frustration, it couldn’t have been easy for her to sign away the potential fortune she could have claimed if there had been no agreement. He’d made it starkly obvious and easy; if she left and gave up her rights to the child she’d be compensated well. He didn’t doubt for a second that she would take that option.
Yet he had to admit to himself now that the previous night he’d almost expected her to seduce him—just to try and secure more money for herself…but she hadn’t. He’d jumped on her.
He forced himself to focus on taking out the surprisingly large splinter of glass, hearing her soft gasp of pain as he did so, and then busied himself with getting something to clean the wound. Her gasp of pain had affected him more than he cared to admit. But as he placed a plaster over the cut he became aware of her shoulders shaking, her head still downbent.
He tipped up her face but her eyes were shut tight, her mouth in a thin line. Yet he could see the track of a tear down one cheek. Something moved within him, and instinctively he rubbed it away with a thumb.
‘The splinter is gone now.’
She just nodded jerkily, her jaw tight with tension against his hand. And as Vicenzo looked down at her face all his thoughts scattered in an instant. His blood grew hot. He couldn’t resist doing what he’d held back from doing that night in London, what she’d stopped him from doing earlier…he kissed her.
Shock disabled any defence Cara might have put up if she’d known
what Vicenzo was about to do. It was too late. His two hands cradled her head, threading through the strands of her hair, loosening it so that it fell in a heavy mass down her back.
She knew she should fight, but she could barely breathe as she felt Vicenzo’s mouth slant over hers in a warm, intoxicating pressure to open and allow him to deepen the kiss. The pain was still acute, his rejection vivid. And she couldn’t believe she’d just let him see her crying. She was so mixed up; she was here with her mortal enemy, someone who had hurt her deeply, and yet all she wanted to do was sink into his embrace. It was like that first night all over again—the intense building desire drowning out extraneous concerns, the reasons why she shouldn’t want this…
The pressure of his mouth changed, became firmer, harder. His tongue traced along the seam of her tightly shut mouth, and still Cara fought not to give in. But her treacherous heart had started beating again, and the blood pounded through her veins. His mouth feathered kisses all over her lips, touching, tasting… It was becoming a battle of wills, and in that instant something gave way within Cara and she knew she was weakening. She couldn’t win against him. It was too hard to remain rigid and unmoved. The raw emotion was still close to the surface, and she couldn’t be sure she would be able to pull away without shattering completely and revealing herself.
