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She swallowed, wondering if he even realized what he'd said. 'Don't get cosy with me, Rico. This isn't my home any more. We both know that.'
And she didn't want to be here a moment longer than necessary. Being this close to him tore her apart, inside and out.
She wanted to hurl herself on his broad chest and claw at him until he begged forgiveness for throwing away what they'd shared without trying harder to protect it. Until he explained why he hadn't come after her. Why he 'd let her leave.
For a fierce, stormy moment his eyes clashed with hers and then he muttered something in Italian and his hands curled into fists.
'For the final time, we are still married.'
If ever she needed a reminder that their views on that particular institution were vastly different, that was it.
'I want to go to a hotel.'
'No hotel.'
'Rico—'
'Until she wakes up I want you at the villa, so that I know where you are. After that—' he gave a dismissive shrug '—you are free to go.'
She struggled with the familiar frustration. As usual he dictated. There was no question of him even considering her opinion. He was used to commanding and being obeyed.
She tossed her head back, her hair tumbling like fire down her slender back. 'I can make my own decisions, Rico,' she informed him in a hoarse
voice. 'I'm not one of your employees.'
'No. You're my wife.' His voice was cold. 'And you would do well to remember it.'
She gasped. This is not the time for your macho Sicilian possessive streak—' She broke off, silenced by the warning look from his glittering black eyes.
And suddenly she knew. Knew that he was feeling the same pressures that she was.
He still wanted her. And that knowledge must be killing him.
If she hadn't been so angry, so wrenched apart by misery, she would have smiled. After the accusations he'd flung at her, the things he'd been willing to believe about her, to still want her must offend his sensibilities. For a man who had to control everything, not being able to control his physical response to her must be galling in the extreme.
But she didn't feel like smiling. She felt like screaming, like sobbing, like hitting him.
The hopelessness of it all, the waste, just flayed her. It didn't have to be like this. It could have been so different.
'Rico—'
Immediately he withdrew from her, both physically and emotionally, his dark eyes shuttered, displaying the self-discipline that was so much a part of the man he was. 'If you have business obligations, then make calls,' he said coldly. 'Do what you have to do. But you will stay at the villa.'
She no longer had the energy to argue with him. Arguing with Rico required a set of fully charged batteries and at the moment hers were distinctly flat.
As if assuring himself that she no longer intended to fight, he stared at her face for endless moments and then gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘I’ll have you driven to the villa.'
The villa where they'd spent so much time together. Where they'd been so happy. She couldn't really believe he intended her to stay there. Surely it would increase the torture for both of them?
Or maybe he just didn't care that much.
She straightened her shoulders. 'What about you? You need sleep, too.'
She didn't question why, after everything that had happened, she was worrying about him. Rico Crisanti wasn't a man who needed or wanted the sympathy of others. He preferred to be seen as invulnerable.
His gaze was shuttered, forbidding any access to his emotions. 'I have some calls to make. I prefer to stay at the hospital.'
Part of her withered and died as the implications of his harsh statement penetrated her sluggish brain.
