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“I…I appreciate your decency,” she said, and every miserable male instinct he owned shrieked, Yeah? Then how about proving it?
He sat up straight, all but tore Chiara’s encircling arms from his neck and set her back against the pillows, grateful—hell, hopeful—that his baggy sweats would hide the effect she’d had on him.
“Well,” he said brightly, “you’ll be okay now.” She didn’t answer. “So, ah, so try to get some sleep.” Still no answer. He cleared his throat. “Chiara? About that divorce?”
“Yes?”
The hopeful note in the single word would have thrilled him if this were Ingrid or any one of a hundred other women. As it was, it only made him feel a pang of remorse.
“I’ll phone my attorney first thing in the morning and get it started.”
She gave a deep sigh. “Grazie bene, Raffaele. The jewels—”
“Forget about them. They’re yours.”
“I can, at least, use them to pay my share of the legalities.”
“I said, I don’t want them.” He knew he sounded harsh but, damn it, did she really think he’d let her pay for the severance of their marriage? Okay, it was a bogus marriage but still…“I’d prefer you keep them,” he said, trying for a calmer tone.
“Grazie. I can use the money they bring to live on. New York is expensive, yes?”
“New York is expensive, yes. But it won’t be so bad. Not with alimony.”
“Alimony?”
Alimony? his baffled brain echoed. A settlement was bad enough but alimony? Why would he pay alimony to a woman who’d been his wife for, what, twenty-four hours?
“I do not expect alimony, Raffaele. We have not had a real marriage.”
“Yeah, but this is America. Everybody pays alimony,” he said with a straight face, even though he could already hear his lawyer screaming in legal horror.
Chiara smiled. “I think,” she said, very softly, “I think, perhaps, you are an honorable man, Raffaele Orsini.”
Guilt made his jaw tighten. She wouldn’t think that if she could see the response of his body to the soft hand she laid upon his thigh. He took that hand, gave it a brisk little shake and stood up.
“Okay,” he said brightly, “sleep time.”
Her smile faded.
“You won’t have that bad dream again,” Rafe said softly. She didn’t answer and he cleared his throat. “If you like—if you like, I’ll sit in that chair until you doze off.”
“Would you mind?”
“Mind? No. I’m happy to do it.”
“It would be comfortable for you?”
Comfortable? Not in this lifetime. The chair in question was a Queen Anne, a Marie Antoinette, a Lady Godiva or something like that. It was puny looking. He’d put his own stamp on the living room, the library, the dining room and his bedroom, but he’d grown impatient after a while and turned the interior decorator loose on the guest rooms. One result was this chair. It might hold a dwarf but would it hold a man who stood six-three in his bare feet?
“Raffaele? I would not want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said with conviction, and he pulled the chair forward, sank onto it and prayed it wouldn’t collapse under his weight.
“Grazie bene,” Chiara said softly.
Rafe nodded. “No problem,” he said briskly. “You just close your eyes and—”
She was asleep.
He sat watching her for a while, the dark curve of her lashes against her pale cheeks, the tumble of her curls against her face, the steady rise and fall of her breasts. A muscle knotted in his jaw, and he reached out and tugged the duvet up, settled it around her shoulders.
He wanted to touch her. Her face. Her hair. Her breasts.
Determinedly he forced his brain from where it was heading. Concentrated on taking deep breaths. He needed to get some rest but it was impossible. The damned chair…
What if he slipped out of the room? She was deep, deep asleep. Yes, but what if she dreamed of Giglio again? He’d promised she wouldn’t, but thus far, his clever predictions had hardly been infallible.
His back ached. His butt. His legs. He looked at the bed. It was king-size. Chiara was curled on one edge. He could sit at a distance from her—sit, not lie—and at least stretch his legs. He wouldn’t touch her and she’d never know he was there.
Rafe made the switch carefully, waiting to make sure she didn’t awaken before he leaned back against the pillows. Yes. That was much better. He knew he wouldn’t sleep even though he was exhausted. He yawned. Yawned again until his jaws creaked. Maybe he’d just shut his eyes for a couple of minutes….
