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‘It is a party. My friends, some food, music, dancing. You will enjoy yourself.’
It was the wrong thing to say. Panic filled her mouth with a taste of adrenalin. Everything was happening too fast. ‘I can’t do that.’ She thought of all the parties she’d been to—first with her mother, then as a diSalvo heiress, and a shiver scratched over her spine.
‘I’m sure it seems inconsequential to you, but it’s not to me. It’s too much, too fast.’ She shook her head. ‘No party. Please.’
His eyes narrowed and she was reminded that one of the many facets of this man was the ruthless, hard-nosed tycoon. That he conquered whatever he turned his hand to in the corporate world. That he was determined and he was fierce and that he was used to getting his own way.
‘When you agreed to marry me, you told me you wanted me to be reasonable. Is there anything unreasonable about what I’m proposing?’
‘Yes!’ she snapped, and then shook her head because there wasn’t.
‘What is it, Amelia? Do you think you can keep this marriage secret for ever?’
‘I...’ She shook her head. ‘This is not negotiable.’ The words trembled with the strength of her emotion.
He exhaled softly and his warm breath fanned her temple, so her body swayed forward infinitesimally of its own accord. ‘You’re saying you wish me to cancel it?’
‘Yes,’ she responded quickly, too quickly, as her throat constricted. Her breath was hard and fast. How could she explain to him what her life had been like? At least, with Penny, Amelia had been dragged to events with an eclectic, artsy crowd. With the diSalvos it had been designer chic the whole way. Designer drugs, designer cars, designer everything. Amelia had never belonged, hadn’t wanted to belong, and she’d fled that scene as soon as she could. The thought of being right back in the midst of it was impossible to countenance.
‘Fine,’ he said darkly, his disapproval obvious. ‘Consider it cancelled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’
CHAPTER TEN
ANTONIO STARED AT the document and reread the contents for the tenth time in as many minutes. It was a simple feasibility study, the kind of thing he usually ate for breakfast, but on this night his mind simply wouldn’t focus.
His eyes drifted to the clock above his desk: it was into the small hours of the morning and he was still seething over their argument. Over her intractability, yes, but also over his own actions. And something else niggled at the back of his mind—the way her eyes had flooded with emotions he couldn’t quite unravel. It had made him want, more than anything, to understand her.
He’d organised the party out of a desire to smooth her transition into his life. Where the hell had that concern come from?
Why had he bothered?
True, she was pregnant with his baby, but had that fact completely erased all others? She was a diSalvo, and their family rivalry wasn’t likely to be forgotten easily. Not with a party, not with a baby, not with anything.
His attempts to pretend otherwise were futile. He was better to focus on what they had, and what they were, and forget anything else.
She was a beautiful woman and their chemistry was off the charts. If she chose to join him in bed, then so be it. He wasn’t going to lose sleep over her choice there. Their kiss, though, forced its way into his consciousness and his arousal strained against his jeans. She had wanted him then, and he had wanted her. Pleasure had been within reach. Only she’d pushed him away, as though the heat that flamed between them wasn’t going to demand an answer at some point.
And it would: the call of their bodies was too strong to resist. But he would bide his time and let the desire between them swamp her, drive her to the point of madness, and then he would be there, when she was so desperate for his touch that she couldn’t think straight.
And in the meantime nothing would be allowed to derail his reasons for marrying her. He wanted Prim’Aqua. He wanted the men who’d hurt his father to pay—and his marriage would bring that about, one way or another.
He kicked back in his chair, his fingers interlocking behind his head as he closed his eyes.
And saw Amelia, her huge blue eyes accusing in her face, her lips pulled downwards, a look of bewilderment on her expression.
She’d hate him, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
Nothing could be allowed to alter his course. Nothing, and no one...not even the woman who was carrying his baby. She’d made it obvious she didn’t welcome his involvement in her life, and didn’t want his help. So let her be, he told himself. Let her find her feet, have her breathing room and space.
What the hell did he care?
* * *
Three weeks into their marriage and Amelia would have given her left arm for some civil conversation. It wasn’t exactly that her husband was uncivil, he was perfectly polite, but the easy rapport they’d established on that first day had completely evaporated. So too the sexual tension that had threatened to unzip her completely.
They hadn’t shared a meal together either. He’d made a point of explaining his absences—he was working on a big deal and needed to be in his office late. It made sense for her to eat without him, he’d explained, giving her the number for the woman who prepared his meals so she could order whatever she wanted.
But three weeks into their marriage and she knew she had to speak to him. She’d tried to organise things herself but, with her limited language and no car at her disposal, she was hampered in a way she found utterly frustrating.
