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‘Do you realise how easily I could disprove that statement?’
She swallowed but it was useless, her mouth remained dry, as though coated with sawdust.
‘Perhaps not,’ he said, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, but oh, his body was so close she could feel his warmth through the fine fabric of her clothes and her body swayed forward of its own accord, so that her too sensitive nipples brushed against his chest and a soft, husky moan escaped her lips unbidden.
‘You have no real experience,’ he said, low and throaty. ‘But what you’re feeling now is desire.’ He rocked his hips a fraction, so his arousal brushed against her and her eyes swept shut at his nearness and her needs.
‘I’m feeling...’ she said, searching for something, anything she could offer that would dispel his assertion. But nothing came to mind.
‘Desire,’ he supplied and then lifted a hand so he could smooth the ball of his thumb over her cheek.
‘I don’t...want you, like that,’ she denied, so much more weakly than she would have liked. Her body—traitor that it was—pressed closer to his and when she blinked up at him her eyes were awash with desire and invitation.
His smile showed cynicism at her words, and then he stepped back. ‘Yes, you do, hermosa, and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.’
CHAPTER NINE
AMELIA FELT AS though she’d slept for three weeks and on a cloud. She awoke the next day completely relaxed, her body comfortable, her mind blank.
And then she looked around the room and it all came rushing back to her.
Holy heck, she was in Antonio’s house. Her house. Their house! Because they were married!
The brief, but legally binding, ceremony came to her, and all that had taken place afterwards. She pushed out of bed, reaching for her phone—it sat on the bedside table. It was almost mid-morning!
She’d never slept so long in her entire life!
She was still wearing her wedding dress—if it could be called that. She’d worn it on the flight from England, and it wasn’t even something she’d bought new for the event. She’d refused to observe any such kowtowing to tradition when their wedding was little more than a contractual agreement.
Yes, you do...and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.
Awareness, hot and undeniable, pooled low in her abdomen. She galvanised her legs into action and made her way to the en-suite bathroom, where she freshened up. Her suitcase had been brought to this room at some point during her long rest. She cracked it open and pulled out a pair of shorts and a simple T-shirt, uncaring at how casual they were, refusing to feel the same insecurity when compared to Antonio’s usual choice of lover.
Did it matter that the women he routinely slept with would probably swan about, draped in the latest couture dresses, all elegant and unapproachable, like this house?
Not to Amelia.
She wasn’t going to let the ghosts of lovers past undermine her sense of self. With a nod to that commitment, she ventured out into the villa in search of Antonio.
Only the tour he’d given the day before, which had seemed to make perfect sense at the time, was a jumble in her mind. She found her way to the room he’d proposed using for the baby, and she saw it now with fresh, rested eyes and could admit it made perfect sense. In addition to being large, it was L-shaped, and she could imagine it with a small sofa and an armchair for nursing and, as he grew older, a little desk for his books and at which he could sit and do craft. It also lacked a terrace, and her concern for his safety made her glad for that.
The space beside the baby’s room wasn’t familiar to her. She pushed the door inwards and let out a gasp of surprise.
It was a library! A proper library. With thousands and thousands of books!
Antonio temporarily forgotten, she pushed deeper into the room, her breath unconsciously held as she scanned the spines. Many of the books were in Spanish; her heart dropped, but then it lifted once more.
So what? She had to learn the language—more than the bad words—at some point. Their son would be born in Spain, and his father was Spanish. In fact, their son or daughter would need to learn English, Spanish and Italian—all his heritages mixed together.
If they hired a nanny she would ensure it was someone bilingual, and perhaps she could include her own language tuition in the nanny’s job description.
Only it was the second day of her marriage, she still knew barely anything about her husband—except that he was apparently more reasonable than she’d expected him to be—and she was most definitely getting ahead of herself.
>
She stepped out of the library and continued her walk through the house, heading downstairs and checking his office—empty—before moving to the ground floor.
A noise alerted her—splashing—and she went towards it.
