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He couldn’t stop himself from dropping a kiss to the column of her throat, his body hardening as he felt her shiver of response.
‘Thank you for the dress,’ she murmured.
‘You look beautiful.’
Glancing down, he swallowed. The heavy satin looked like freshly poured cream, and his groin clenched as his brain feverishly rushed to bring that image to life in glorious 3D Technicolor.
‘It fits perfectly.’
She smiled. ‘You look pretty perfect too.’ Her eyes skimmed appreciatively over his dark suit.
Recovering his poise, he made a mocking bow. ‘This old thing?’ As she started to laugh he held out his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
* * *
Gazing across the water, Vicè breathed in the fresh, salt-tinged air.
The blunt outline of the motorboat was skimming easily over the indigo waves, the hum of its engine lost in the vastness of the bay. Behind him the glittering bracelet of lights along the Portofino seafront was starting to fade.
He glanced over to where Imma sat beside him. Her green eyes were wide with nerves or excitement or both, her cheeks flushed already from the rushing breeze.
They were on their way to the yacht, and he was still slightly surprised at her eagerness to go. But then nothing should surprise him about this woman who had agreed to be his wife. She had been surprising him ever since she’d walked into that church and refused to meet his eye.
Leaning back against his seat, he studied her profile.
Immacolata Buscetta. Prized eldest daughter of a notorious bully and a thief and a chip off the old block. But Imma was most definitely not what she seemed. The clues had been there. He’d just been too blinkered with anger to do anything more than focus on the obvious.
He had believed what he’d wanted to believe, and the fact that she was not the woman he had thought her to be was unsettling enough. More unsettling still was the fact that had she just walked away he would never have known his mistake.
Never got to know her.
The thought of that happening made his stomach clench.
Or maybe it was the sudden swell of the sea as the motorboat slowed alongside the yacht.
‘Party’s started,’ he remarked as they stepped on board.
He felt a rush of exhilaration beat through his body in time to the music drifting down through the warm evening air. Here, he was king. This was his world. And he loved it. He loved the laughter, the pulsing bass notes and the waiters with their trays of champagne. He loved the buzz of energy and the beautiful women with their sequins and high heels.
His eyes roamed slowly down over Imma’s body. Actually, make that one specific woman...
His heartbeat stalled. But who said anything about love?
Turning towards her, he caught her hand and pulled her towards him. ‘Le
t’s join in.’
* * *
Imma felt her heart start to pound.
As they made their way through the crowded yacht she felt even more exposed than when they’d first walked into the hotel together.
Everyone was so beautiful. Particularly the women. All of whom were looking at Vicè with naked longing. She knew what they were thinking. It would be like seeing a peahen with her mate. They must all be wondering how such an ordinary bird could attract this glittering peacock.
‘It’s okay,’ she said quietly as someone called out Vicè’s name. ‘I think everyone here believes we’re married. You don’t need to stay glued to my side all evening.’
His brows locked together. ‘I couldn’t care less what they believe, cara. I’m staying glued to your side because I want to. I like being with you, okay?’
