Convenient Brides: The Italian's Convenient Wife / His Inconvenient Wife / His Convenient Proposal

An unforgiving sliver of moonlight confirmed his assessment. The full, filmy skirt sagging disastrously where it had torn away from the bodice, and the smear of blood near the hem, indicated she’d done a lot more than take an innocent stroll in the garden.

“And wear what?” she cried, appalled at the thought of having to account for how she’d managed to ruin a dress that had cost a small fortune, never mind everything else she’d done.

“Nothing, of course. We’re going swimming.”

“In the nude?” More rattled by the minute, she stared at him. “Someone might see us!”

“I doubt that will happen, but what if it did?” he returned carelessly. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

No, he wouldn’t. The way he peeled off the rest of his clothes until he stood before her as naked as the day he was born, was proof enough of that. And the way she stared, as if she couldn’t get her fill of him, was nothing short of shameful.

“Well? Are you coming with me?” he said, standing straight and tall as a Roman god. “Or would you prefer to go back to the reception, looking like something washed up on the beach by the tide?”

Heaven help her, but at the sight of him, so beautifully male, so gloriously virile, that same prickling, giddy excitement swept over her afresh, and all she wanted was to go with him again down the illicit path of sexual discovery. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about looking her mother in the eye, about offering explanations for behavior that was inexcusable. Tonight was made for first love.

Her white kid shoes, satin panties and fine lace stockings already lay heaped on the cabana floor. Before she lost her nerve, she took off everything else and, worshiping him with her eyes, murmured breathlessly, “Of course I’m coming with you.”

Watching her strip had aroused him. Touching himself, he fastened his gaze on her small, high breasts, then let it dip to the shadow at the juncture of her thighs. And again, that wicked rush of heat left her damp and molten, and aching for something just beyond her frame of experience.

He stepped close enough for his penis to nudge gently against her. “That’s more like it,” he murmured huskily, rolling her nipple gently between his forefinger and thumb.

A quiver puckered her flesh and brought it to a vibrant, electric life that left her entire body yearning ever more desperately for that elusive “something.” She would have collapsed on the wooden floor and dragged him down on top of her, if he’d let her. But he backed away, teasing her with a smile, and catching her hand in his, ran with her across the sand to the water.

Once there, he dragged her, laughing, into the waves until they swirled around his chest. Only then did he pull her close and kiss her, tangling his fingers in her hair and driving his tongue deep into her mouth. Exhilarated, she returned his advances. His teeth were smooth, his lips warm, his tongue bold and hard, just like his erection.

She wound her arms around his neck, let her legs float up to encircle his waist. He slid his hands beneath her bottom, and with one finger, found the tiny bud of flesh hidden between the plump folds at her center.

It sprang to life like a wild thing, urgent and hungry for a satisfaction only he knew how to provide. Another slick, quick stroke from his clever finger, a little pressure in just the right place, and a lightning bolt shot through her.

“Oh…!” she gasped, and buried her face against his neck.

“Si, bella…now it begins for you,” he murmured, and touched her again, more insistently.

This time, a hidden coil sprang free in a backlash of sensation so wicked that she’d have leaped clear of the water had he not locked his arm around her so firmly. A helpless moan, borne deep within her, escaped her lips and hung in the still night.

“E ancora,” he urged, tormenting her a third time…a fourth…a fifth, until, at last, her body responded with the elemental might of a sleeping volcano awakened at last.

She tensed, clenched her eyes shut, and sucked in a drowning, desperate breath as a wave of tremors, each more powerful than the last, gave way to an onslaught of earthshattering spasms. Then the world as she’d known it exploded on her soft, high scream.

“I didn’t know!” she breathed, long minutes later. “I had no idea…!”

“You do now, Caroline,” he said, droplets of water running over his shoulders, and the heat of passion in his voice. “So let us proceed to the next phase of your education.”

There was no question of returning to the villa after that. They didn’t even make it back to the cabana. Right there, under the stars, with the warm Adriatic curling around them, they came together in a wild tangling of limbs and lips; of hands and tongues and fractured breathing.

To have him fill her completely, and know that they were joined not just in body, but in mind and heart as well, was surely the next best thing to heaven. “Oh, Paolo!” she whispered when, panting and depleted, they staggered ashore together. “You’re a wonderful teacher!”

“And you, an exemplary student.”

She turned her head and looked back along the beach. The faint sound of music drifted on the air. Just beyond the limestone outcropping, a rocket shot into the sky and cascaded back to earth in a free-fall of brilliant stars.

Fireworks, she realized. The wedding celebrations continued unabated, not in the least diminished by the absence of the best man and maid-of-honor. “I don’t want to go back there tonight,” she told him.

“Nor shall you,” he replied. “There are showers in the cabana, and a supply of towels. We will stay there until the villa is asleep, and return before it awakes at dawn.”

They bathed together, a playful, happy experience, laced with the promise of greater intimacy to come. Later, when she lay on a bed of thick white towels, he parted her legs and put his mouth on her. Stroked her with his tongue. And after her initial shocked reaction, she reveled in the forbidden pleasure he gave, awash in wonder at the sensuality she’d never guessed was hers to enjoy.

If their first time together had been embarrassing, and the second amazing, the third offered an unequivocal taste of sheer paradise, such that, when he collapsed on top of her, spent, she couldn’t help herself. “I love you, Paolo!” she gasped brokenly. They were the only words to describe the depth of emotion rolling over her.

For the longest time, he didn’t reply. Seemed unable to look at her, even. When he finally spoke, it was to say with calculated indifference, “It grows late, tesoro, and you are tired. We should sleep for a few hours. Regain our strength for yet another pleasurable encounter.”

When he awoke, though, just as the sun crept over the sea, Paolo was no more interested in making love to her than he was to remain cooped up on the island a second longer than he had to.

“We had fun, yes?” he said, climbing in to his clothes. “But the wedding fever is over, and it’s back to life as usual. For you, that means returning to America and your fine university.”

“Don’t you believe in marriage, Paolo?”

“For some people, perhaps.”

His shrug spoke volumes. But she was a devil for punishment, and couldn’t let go gracefully. “But not for you?”

“The world is full of beautiful women, Caroline,” he said cheerfully. “How can I be expected to choose just one?”

“Do you even believe in love?”

“But of course! I love women—all women.” He smiled his charming, devil-may-care smile. “I am Italian. I love love!”

She tried to smile back, and started to cry instead as all her hopes went up in smoke. “I thought I was special, but I’m just the latest in a long line of willing conquests, aren’t I?”

“Don’t do this, cara,” he said, rolling his magnificent brown eyes. “Don’t spoil our glorious time together with tears and recriminations.”

“I suppose I should be flattered you spared me one whole night. Silly me, to have thought it was the beginning of something lasting, something b…beautiful!”

“Ah, Caroline…!” Briefly he touched her face and let his fingers linger almost regretfully at her mouth, before stepping firmly away. “You see your world through rose-colored spectacles, cara mia, whereas I learned long ago that mine is painted in ugly shades of gray.”

If she hadn’t known then that she meant nothing to him, he drove the point home a few days later. On the Thursday before they were to fly back to the U.S., Callie and her mother stayed overnight in Rome, with the Raineros. The next morning, just as they stepped out to the street where a taxi waited to take them to the airport, Paolo drove up in a fire-red Ferrari.

He had a woman with him; a sultry, voluptuous, darkhaired beauty in a skimpy top and a thigh-high skirt, who sat so close beside him that she was practically in his lap. But when he went to kiss her, she laughed, pulled away and rolled her tongue provocatively over her full, red upper lip.

Suddenly Callie saw herself through his eyes—a pathetically naive girl with a bad case of puppy love. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to continue their affair. He liked his women sophisticated, sure of themselves and elusive. The more difficult the chase, the better he liked it.

She was so far out of her league, it was laughable. Rather than being the object of his desire, she’d been an amusing bit player. Someone to laugh about with his male friends. A convenient and willing body to keep him entertained until a better prospect showed up.

If only it could have ended then, with her humiliation complete, her heart in pieces, but her future, at least, intact. But he was not to be so easily dismissed. A month later, she discovered she was pregnant, and all that bright and shining opportunity she’d thought was hers for the taking, lay in shambles.

There would be no Smith College, no graduation summa cum laude. She had let down all the people who believed in her: her mother, who’d been so proud of her scholastic achievements; the board of governors at her private school, who’d awarded her their highest scholarship prize; her headmistress, who’d written such a glowing letter of recommendation to the college on her behalf.

And Vanessa.