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He broke the kiss after a respectable amount of time—they were in a church after all—but the heat in his gaze was just for her. She knew with sudden clarity that this moment would be scorched on her memory forever, no matter what came after.
* * *
The wedding reception passed in a blur of wine and dancing. By the time Rigo’s father swept her up on the dance floor for the third time her feet were aching to escape from their designer shoe prisons.
‘May I cut in?’
Rigo’s voice came from somewhere behind her left ear as the music slowed down to a steady beat. They had shared a first dance already, earlier in the evening. The memory of it still clung to her skin, where he had pressed his face against her neck.
The photographers had been present then, trying their best to melt into the background but not really succeeding. All day he had touched her and kissed her, their charade successfully convincing the world of their marital bliss. But her traitorous body didn’t seem to realise that this wasn’t real. That he was playing a part.
Rigo’s hands rested low on her waist, his fingertips pressing just above her hips. As he pulled her close she thought she heard him release his breath on a deep sigh. But when she looked up he was looking away from her. She laid her head against his chest, her hands gripping on to the back of his jacket as she breathed in the scent of him.
All too soon the guests had formed a line to wish them well as they made the traditional exit through the arched arms of Rigo’s family and friends.
They made their way in silence up the stone steps to the master suite at the top of the chateau. Nicole stopped for a moment in the middle of the corridor to slip her shoes off her feet. She moaned with relief as her aching toes lay flat on the carpeted floor.
‘Better?’ Rigo said huskily.
She nodded. ‘It’s a long walk up here. Especially in heels.’
He took a step towards her, cupping her face in one hand. ‘I can carry you if you like?’
When she didn’t immediately respond he stepped closer again, his mouth lowering to lay another kiss on her neck. ‘I haven’t been able to stop inhaling this delicious scent all day.’
‘The photographers are gone, Rigo,’ she breathed, trying to ignore the immediate frisson of arousal that coursed through her body.
‘Let’s pretend they’re not.’
Those words seemed to unlock a tension inside her that she hadn’t known was there. This kiss was different from the others—more urgent. His hands cupped her jaw, holding her in place as his tongue moved against hers. Their breath mingled into one as the rest of the world fell away. There was no one watching them now, no one to perform for. This was just for them.
She stopped holding back and gave in to the arousal that threatened to burn her up, grabbing a fistful of his hair and groaning into his mouth as he pressed the evidence of his arousal against her. She wanted him. She wanted everything that she knew he couldn’t give her. And yet maybe just having tonight might make whatever came after easier to survive.
It suddenly seemed impossible to stop.
She took a deep breath, their eyes locked in the dim light of the corridor. ‘Rigo... If we go into that bedroom together, I want it to be real.’
Rigo took her hand, pressing it to the hard beating of his heart through his shirt. ‘Do you actually doubt that it is?’
She bit her lip, holding on to his hand as he led her down the hall and into the honeymoon suite. His lips were on hers as soon as the door had closed behind them. She barely had a moment to appreciate the romantic candlelight that glowed around the room before he was burning her up all over again. And, oh, it was good to burn.
She turned and swept her hair to the side so that he could access the row of tiny pearl closures that ran down to the base of her spine.
‘Per l’amore di Dio—is this a dress or a straitjacket?’ Rigo breathed, popping open the tiny buttons one by one at a torturously slow pace. ‘It would be easier to just rip them open.’
‘It would. But you won’t.’ She bit her lip. ‘At least I hope you won’t.’
‘I can tell that you love this dress, so I will try to control myself.’
He continued popping the tiny pearl fastenings until the dress was loose enough for her to shimmy it down. She did love this dress—not because it was haute couture, or because it was miles ahead of the fashion trend. She loved it because he loved it. And it would remind her forever of the awestruck look on his face as she’d walked down the aisle to become his wife.
Nicole let the material fall slowly down her body to the floor before stepping out of the mountain of silk and chiffon. With his eyes firmly fixed on her half-naked body, she became painfully aware of how utterly on show she was.
