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She giggled, but then the amusement died away and a softness came into her eyes. ‘It is difficult, always having to go through life limited in what you can and can’t do.’
‘It is not something I should complain about,’ he said dismissively. ‘I have a very privileged life.’ The strictures of his life were chains he had the freedom to break. No one would or could have physically stopped him from stepping onto the rugby pitch or getting into the go-cart, or prevented him following his dream into motor-racing. The only person who’d forced him to obey his parents’ commands had been himself because he wanted what was best for the monarchy every bit as much as they did.
Amadeo had never been susceptible to emotions that would steer him away from his predestined path. Emotions had never controlled him, not even when he’d been a hormonal adolescent. Duty came first. Always.
It was duty that had led him to this point. Married to a woman he’d despised on sight. But he’d spent the entire meal alternating between fantasising about taking her on this dining table and searching for a sign that his growing desire for her was reciprocated.
Dio, how had he been so blind to how sexy she was? The way she ate was sexy. The tilt of her head. Even her composure was sexy. The thought of breaking that composure down until she lost complete control...
‘You’re still human,’ she said.
If she could read his thoughts she’d discover just how human he was.
Dio, he wanted to lean across the table, gather the material of that sleeveless dress into a fist and pull her to him and kiss her so thoroughly she’d be unable to stand.
‘Human, but not like other men.’
‘If you were like other men you wouldn’t be married to me,’ she observed. ‘And if I’d been born into a different family I wouldn’t be married to you.’
Over a month of marriage and he’d never felt her tongue in his mouth. Never seen her naked.
‘Who would you be married to if you were a different man of a different family and hadn’t been obliged to make this marriage with me?’ she asked, breaking into his erotic thoughts.
His mind went blank. The only face he could conjure was the woman swirling her wine glass opposite him. Her hair had dried during their meal. Ungroomed, it was wavier than he’d thought, cute flyaway curls springing out around her temples.
‘I’m talking about your ideal woman if you could have chosen anyone,’ she persisted. ‘The fantasy of your imagination. Who would she be?’
‘I don’t have one.’
There was a slight narrowing of her eyes before a wry smile played on her plump lips. ‘I think that might be the first lie you’ve told me.’
He scraped the last of the chocolate torte onto his spoon and hit her with a meaningful stare. ‘A woman should only ask a man to reveal his fantasies if she’s fully prepared for the answer.’
The stain that covered her cheeks reminded him that, until their marriage, Elsbeth had been a virgin. If she knew of all the erotic thoughts that had played through his head during their meal she would probably run out of the room screaming.
Or would she?
Was that a blush of embarrassment or indicative of something else?
Dio, he needed to strip that composure away and get her to open herself to him.
As tempting as it was to challenge her, ask her if shereallywanted to know the female fantasy of his imagination, Elsbeth wasn’t ready for his answer. She was too inexperienced.
Dabbing his mouth with his napkin, Amadeo rose to his feet. ‘Time for bed.’
Elsbeth kept her chin up and her back straight as she walked the corridor to her bedroom. The twenty steps to reach the door took an eternity, as if she were in one of those crazy dreams where your destination was right in front of you but time itself had slowed down so much you couldn’t reach it, every step the same step.
But she did reach it. And so did Amadeo. He’d walked silently beside her with an ease to his gait she had to fake to match.
Lord help her, she thought she really might throw up. She hadn’t been this nervous on her wedding night. Nowhere near.
It was the deliberate way he’d thrown his napkin down and the decisive way he’d then stood. As if he’d come to a snap decision. Now was the time for sex!
She longed to believe the hunger she’d seen in his eyes throughout their meal had been real and not a figment of her needy imagination. She also longed for it not to be real, because if it was real then it was a false reality. How could a man with such an intense dislike of her and her family possibly want her?
But maybe she hadn’t imagined it. Maybe he did want her, maybe he was having one of those days her mother had warned her about when a man’s testosterone levels rose and he became amorous. But Amadeo would never wanther. She would always be the wife he’d been forced to marry, not the wife of his choosing. Not the wife of his fantasies, whoever that woman was. Whoever that woman was, she wasn’t a Fernandez.
At their pre-wedding party she’d convinced herself Amadeo was the husband of her dreams. Those dreams had been ripped apart on their wedding night and she must not allow the craving her body felt for him dupe her into believing the impossible.
