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Her blunt words felt like the waves that battered the coastline during winter storms.
He stared at her in silence.
Probably ninety-nine percent of what was written about him was untrue, or at best vaguely based on the truth, but he never bothered demanding a retraction. There was no point. His ‘bad’ reputation was good for business. And, as Ciro’s brother, he had grown so used to unfavourable comparisons that he hardly registered them or even knew how to resent them.
But this woman seemed to know exactly which buttons to press. She made him feel things—good and bad—that no one ever had before. Somehow she’d sneaked under the barriers he’d built against the world, so that he was finding it harder and harder to maintain his usual couldn’t-care-less attitude.
With an effort, he tethered his temper. ‘I’m well aware we’re not in love. But what matters is that we appear to be.’
‘In public,’ she countered. ‘Look, we made an agreement—’
‘Yes, we did,’ he agreed. ‘It’s called marriage.’
Her chin jutted forward. ‘A marriage that I made clear would not include our sleeping together.’
He shrugged. ‘Okay, so go back to your father,’ he said.
It was an idle threat. She had already made it clear that was not an option. But as her eyes darted towards the staircase he felt his heart jolt, his mind tracking back to the way she’d looked at him when Matteo had been there.
Her smile had felt like the sun breaking over this balcony in the afternoon. Warm and irresistible and real.
He didn’t want her to leave.
In fact, he was determined that she should stay.
Obviously he wanted her to stay, or he wouldn’t get his father’s business back, but for some reason that seemed to matter less than getting her to share that soft, sweet smile with him in private.
‘Let him find you another husband,’ he said softly. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem. There must be a queue of men wanting to marry a woman who walked out on her wedding night. And, if not, I’m sure your papà will persuade someone to step up.’
Watching the colour leave he
r face, he knew she was cornered.
‘You did this on purpose—didn’t you?’ she prompted, her incredible green eyes flashing with anger and resentment. ‘You knew there was only one bedroom. That’s why you wanted to come here.’
‘Me? I’m just a passenger, cara,’ he said disingenuously. ‘This is your itinerary. I go where you tell me.’
Her green eyes flared. ‘Well, in that case, you can go to hell!’
‘Maybe later.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Right now, we need to get ready.’
‘For what?’
‘We have dinner plans. At the hotel.’
* * *
Was he being serious?
Imma gaped at him. They were in the middle of an argument—no, scratch that, they were in the middle of a power struggle—and he wanted them to just wrap it up and have dinner together.
As if!
Fury rose up inside her and, lifting her chin, she folded her arms. ‘I’m not feeling hungry.’
His eyes met hers, and the sudden dark intensity of his gaze made her breath stall in her throat.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry... I’m sure I can find something on the menu to prick your appetite,’ he said softly.
