Bound To The Sicilian's Bed: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

‘I’m nothing if not enterprising, Rocco. And I’ve been running my own shop for the past year so I’m pretty much up to speed with running a small business.’

Reluctantly, Rocco smiled. He’d forgotten that her very different upbringing gave her a sometimes irreverent take on his world, and how it had once enchanted him. Just as he’d forgotten how fresh and vibrant she could look, without even trying. He narrowed his eyes. Compared to the manufactured glamour of most of the women he mixed with, her natural beauty seemed to shine through—and the suddenly powerful throb of his groin was an indication of just how instinctively his body responded to that.

‘Did Michele show you where everything was?’ he questioned unevenly.

‘She did.’ She put the glass down. ‘Though I thought you might have turned up at the airport to meet me.’

‘And were you disappointed?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I would describe it as disappointment. I just thought that after all the fuss you made about me coming out here, you might have made the effort to meet me from the plane. If you’re supposed to be playing the spouse eager to get his marriage back on track, ignoring my arrival isn’t really the way to go about it.’

‘I’d planned to be there but I’m afraid it didn’t work out that way,’ he said smoothly. ‘I was snowed under with work.’

‘So I gather.’

Her thick curls were gleaming darkly in the bright sunshine and suddenly Rocco found himself wanting to tangle his fingers in them, the way he used to do. ‘What can I say?’ he said, with a shrug. ‘It was a call I needed to take.’

‘But mightn’t it have occurred to you to postpone it?’ she continued coolly. ‘Rather than dumping me on your assistant, who clearly isn’t quite sure what to do with me?’

‘Nobody was dumping you, Nicole. It was urgent.’

‘It’s always urgent with you, isn’t it, Rocco? Work always takes precedence.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You think organisations like the Barberi Foundation just run themselves?’

‘No, I don’t think that. But I do think work can become an addiction and a substitute.’

‘A substitute for what?’

‘You tell me. When was the last time you had a holiday?’

‘You know I don’t like holidays.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, what difference does it make who shows you around?’

And that was the trouble, Nicole reminded herself. He really couldn’t see it. He had no understanding of the way he treated the people in his life—as if they were mere accessories, to be brought out if and when it suited him. Wasn’t it time someone told him? Pointed out a few home-truths which were long overdue? She pushed back her curls, aware that she might be about to become the cliché of a nagging wife—but also aware there were things she’d never dared say to him while they’d been together and maybe she had nothing to lose now. ‘Didn’t you think it might have been awkward for me when your assistant mistakenly assumed we’d be sharing a bedroom?’

‘That was no mistake, tesoro,’ he said softly. ‘We’re supposed to be giving our marriage another go and naturally we will need to share a bedroom.’

She shook her head. ‘But that’s where you’re wrong. It’s only a game, Rocco,’ she reminded him. ‘Remember?’

It was only a game, Rocco repeated to himself silently—but right then it was hard to think of anything other than how much he desired her, despite the cheap jewellery and faded jeans. She was far more assertive than she’d ever been in the past and this unaccustomed display of spirit from his once passive wife was doing peculiar things to his pulse-rate. He swallowed. He thought about other women he had dated before his marriage. Classy women, who wore designer clothes instead of jeans and a shirt. With subtle diamonds glinting in their earlobes, not big silver hoops which dangled amid the wild tangle of curls.

Yet Nicole was the one who did it for him. Still did, if he was being honest. Who powered his heart so that it hammered against his chest like a piston. Who made him feel about sixteen again. Rocco felt a sudden rush of lust which wiped out every thought other than the blindingly obvious. He thought about the way her body convulsed and spasmed around him when she was coming—and the erection which was currently throbbing hotly at his groin became almost unbearable.

Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to assert the self-control which had become his default at the age of fourteen, when he had been forced to grow up overnight, but for once it was proving elusive. Was she feeling it too—this attraction which was almost tangible as it sizzled in the air around them? He looked into her eyes as all kinds of new possibilities began to open up in his mind. ‘It may only be a game,’ he stated softly, ‘but I think we need to make it as convincing a game as possible, don’t you?’

‘Not by sharing a space,’ she argued. ‘And before you try telling me that your staff will notice we’re not in the same room—I don’t care. I’m assuming everyone who works for you is loyal, since loyalty is something you’ve always demanded from the people around you.’

‘And were you loyal to me, Nicole?’ he said suddenly.

The question took her by surprise. ‘Yes, I was. Completely. More than you’ll ever know. ‘She gave a short laugh. ‘Or maybe you aren’t aware of the offers I got to tell my story when our marriage broke down?’

He leaned back against the railing and studied her, his blue eyes thoughtful. ‘What kind of offers?’

She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Big ones. Journalists who tracked me down wondering why a Barberi ex-wife was living such a shabby existence when she’d been married to one of the richest men on the planet. Why I was working in a puny little art shop instead of living in a luxury flat and giving your credit card a battering. I don’t know why you’re looking so surprised, Rocco—you can see how much they might have wanted the story. Isn’t that what newspaper readers love to read about? The fairy-tale marriage which came to such an abrupt ending.’

His sapphire eyes had become shuttered by the thick curtain of his dark lashes. ‘But you didn’t talk to them?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’ Frustratedly, Nicole shook her head. How could he even ask that? The raw pain of losing their baby had been replaced by a kind of numbness that her marriage was over—they had pushed each other so far away that there was nothing left between them. She’d forced herself into a zombified state of acceptance as she had stumbled through the days without realising what was going on, only knowing she needed to start over. She’d convinced herself that Sicily had been nothing but a strange interlude and she needed to reconnect with England, but it hadn’t been easy. She’d felt like a tiny craft thrown into a raging sea, not knowing which direction life would take her. One minute she’d been a cleaner and then a billionaire’s wife. One minute a mother-to-be and the next...nothing. There was no word in the English language to describe a mother who had lost her child, was there? Nicole swallowed. Only someone who was seriously deluded would have wanted to relive that pain and disruption and see it printed in a newspaper. ‘Did you really think I would ever talk to a journalist?’ she demanded. ‘Did you?’

He shrugged as his mouth flattened into its habitual uncompromising line. ‘The financial rewards might have tempted some people.’

‘But I’m not some people, Rocco! When will you ever believe that I was never interested in the money? That wasn’t what attracted me to you. What you’ve never had—you never miss.’

He was still studying her, still with that same intense scrutiny. ‘Is that why you left without taking anything?’

Nicole hesitated. Maybe this was what it all boiled down to for him. Because for Rocco, everyone had their price, didn’t they? He’d told her about the women who had been bewitched by the Barberi fortune and were eager to get themselves a slice of it for themselves. Just as he’d told her about the people who tried to muscle in when they found out who he was. He didn’t really trust people and never let them close. Much easier for him to believe that everyone had an ulterior motive where he was concerned because that gave him a legitimate reason to keep people at a distance. She wondered how honest she could afford to be—yet surely it was a waste of time trying to conceal the truth from him now, in these dying days of their relationship. Because her answers were academic. Whatever Rocco wanted, it wasn’t her.

She stared at him. ‘I didn’t take anything because I wanted to cut all ties between us. In fact, I never wanted to see you again.’

She met his eyes with a steady challenge and Rocco stilled. How dared she be so dismissive? It was an insult to his pride, yes—but it struck at something darker, too. Something deep inside which made him want to lash out at her blatant rejection. Yet there was no need to fight, not when there were different ways for him to vent his frustration or show her just what a mistake she had made. Things which had been on his mind all day—all week—ever since he’d walked into her little art shop in Cornwall and seen her bite her lip so that it took on a deep, rosy glow. And despite having told himself this was not going to happen, he found himself taking a step towards her.

‘So you never wanted to see me again?’ he mused silkily. ‘In which case it didn’t work very well for you, did it? Seeing as you’re here with me now.’

She continued to hold his gaze with a look of pure defiance. ‘And I can walk away whenever I choose,’ she said. ‘Divorce or no divorce. Either you accept that I’m not sharing a room with you, or I’m out of here. Because I’m not interested in you that way, Rocco, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘You’re saying you don’t want to have sex with me?’

She nodded. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

He saw her green eyes widen as he reached out to pull her into his arms, her luscious curves instantly pliable beneath his fingers. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to put that to the test, my defiant wife,’ he murmured as he lowered his head towards hers.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)

HE WAS GOING to kiss her and after everything she’d just said, Nicole knew she needed to stop him. But suddenly she found herself governed by a much deeper need than preserving her sanity, or her pride. A need and a hunger which swept over her with the speed of a bush fire. As Rocco’s shadowed face lowered towards her she found past and present fusing, so that for a disconcerting moment she forgot everything except the urgent hunger in her body. Because hadn’t her Sicilian husband always been able to do this—to captivate her with the lightest touch and to tantalise her with that smouldering look of promise? And hadn’t there been many nights since they’d separated when she’d woken up, still half fuddled with sleep, and found herself yearning for the taste of his lips on hers just one more time? And now she had it.

One more time.

She opened her mouth and Rocco used the opportunity to fasten his mouth over hers in the most perfects of fits. And instantly Nicole felt helpless—caught up in the powerful snare of a sexual mastery which wiped out everything else. She gave a moan of pleasure because it had been so long since she had done this. She’d forgotten what it was like to kiss him because kissing was one of the first casualties of a failing marriage. You stopped kissing and touching and all too soon it was difficult to contemplate anything other than the icy barrier you had created between you.

And Nicole had felt like a living statue since they’d been apart. As if she were made from marble. As if the flesh and blood part of her were some kind of half-forgotten dream. Slowly but surely she had withdrawn from the sensual side of her nature until she’d convinced herself she was dead and unfeeling inside. But here came Rocco to wake her dormant sexuality with nothing more than a single kiss. It was like some stupid fairy story. It was scary and powerful. She didn’t want to want him, and yet...

She wanted him.

Her lips opened wider as his tongue slid inside her mouth—eagerly granting him that early intimacy as if preparing the way for another. She began to shiver as his hands started to explore her—rediscovering her body with an impatient hunger, as if it were the first time he’d ever touched her. His fingers skated over her breasts, palms massaging the swollen contours until each taut and aching nipple was in an exquisite state of arousal. Instinctively she writhed against him and felt the hard cradle of his desire. And now the moaning sound she could hear was his as he deepened the kiss—underpinning it with a sudden sense of urgency.

‘Nicole,’ he said unevenly and she’d never heard him say her name like that before.

Her arms were locked behind his neck as again he circled his hips against hers in unmistakable invitation and, somewhere in the back of her mind, Nicole could hear the small voice of reason imploring her to take control of the situation. It was urging her to call a halt to what they were doing and to do it now, before it was too late. But once again she ignored it. Against the powerful tide of passion, that little voice was drowned out and she allowed pleasure to shimmer over her skin.