His Convenient Wife

‘Ciao, Caterina.’ His voice slid over her like warm dark honey. She mumbled something and turned away to hide the heat that suddenly flared over her face. She preferred to be called Cat—it sounded sharper, definite, more like the self she knew herself to be—but Caterina, on his lips, sounded like magic.

Charm, she told herself, making no attempt to join in the ensuing conversation, which was being conducted in part Italian, part English. He could turn charm on like a tap. Obviously. So why was she feeling hot and bothered, overpowered, when she had to know that the way he had looked at her, as if he wanted to bed her right here and now, was just the stock-in-trade of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it? A man who was fully aware of his power over other people and used it.

The physical presence of the man filled the book-lined room with a dangerous sexual threat. A combination of a lean, powerful six-foot frame clothed in sheer Italian elegance, and that closely cropped black hair framing hard tanned features, that tough jawline and a mouth that could soften into a wicked, explicit promise whenever he looked her way made a tense, fluttery excitement curl in the pit of her stomach.

Cat rose with a sense of relief when Bonnie poked her head round the door to announce that dinner was ready, a relief that quickly turned into deep trepidation when Aldo rose to escort her, the palm of his long, lean hand hot against the small of her back, burning her. Burning her up with a sheet of wildfire that sizzled through her veins and made her feel light-headed.

No other man had ever affected her this way. She’d sort of fallen into her brief affair with Josh because he fancied her, was easy on the eye, and had been amusing company. And it had seemed to her that she was the only girl in her peer group not in a relationship. But this feeling was entirely different. It was immediate, insistent. Shattering.

Seated opposite him, Cat didn’t know where to put herself, and Bonnie’s meal, beautifully cooked and presented as usual, was untouched on her plate. But the champagne Gramps had insisted on eventually loosened her tongue and Aldo’s dark eyes locked on to her soft mouth as he murmured, ‘You speak fluent Italian.’

‘I was brought up on it—my grandparents insisted.’ She drained her glass, feeling reckless, feeling more like herself. The situation was weird, like something out of an old and rather silly novel, but undoubtedly exciting. What woman wouldn’t be feeling as if she were permanently plugged into a conduit for live electricity when face to face with such a breathtakingly sexy, brain-blowingly gorgeous male who was here with the express intent of looking her over, deciding whether she was suitable wife material?

‘Caterina has always been made aware of her heritage,’ Domenico put in with an undertow of satisfaction, like a breeder demonstrating the finer points of his bloodstock to a possible purchaser.

Far from experiencing all that earlier outrage, Cat giggled softly as she watched the bubbles rise in the crystal flute as Aldo helped her to yet more champagne. ‘I have far more English blood in my veins than Italian,’ she argued softly, feeling those bitter-chocolate eyes on her and secretly wallowing in the sensation of feeling more truly alive than she had ever done before.

Aldo leaned back in his chair, his eyes hooded now as they roamed from the crown of her glossy chestnut head, over her milky white skin and down to the lushly rounded breasts beneath the soft covering of fine fabric, the explicit shafts of golden light in the veiled depths making her blush as he murmured, ‘With your colouring, your grace, you could be Veneziana, and I hear from Zio Domenico that your temperament is fiery, pure Italiana, with nothing of the phlegmatic English.’

‘And could you cope with that, signor?’ she dared, green eyes sparkling through a thick sweep of dark lashes as she thrust the agenda out into the open, wondering if such exposure would wrong-foot this supremely self-assured male, unprepared for and wantonly excited by his softly drawled comeback, the slow and decidedly rakish grin that made her pulse flutter.

‘I am quite sure I could. With much pleasure.’

His purring, silken response filled her head with X-rated images. Married to him, enjoying him. His mouth on hers, giving her the heaven it had so far only promised, his hard, honed naked body covering hers, demanding, taking, possessing… It would be criminally easy to give him exactly what his eyes told her he wanted and then ask him for more!

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his; he mesmerised her, turned her blood to fire, filled her with aching need. And her breathing was going haywire, her pulse throbbing as Domenico rose to his feet, satisfaction in his voice after following their exchange as he announced softly, ‘You must excuse me. I am an old man and retire early. Caterina, why don’t you show Aldo where you work and give him coffee?’

Which was what she needed, yet didn’t need at all. She wanted to be alone with him and yet the prospect scared her witless. She didn’t trust herself around this man, she didn’t trust herself at all and yet the prospect was heady, electrifying, disturbingly exciting.

Aldo stood and turned to speak to her grandfather, his voice low-pitched. Cat wasn’t listening and she didn’t look at him either. It wasn’t safe.

Looking at him, drowning in that warm, honeyed voice short-circuited her brain. She needed to come down out of fantasy land and plant her feet firmly on the ground, put her brain in gear and tell him she knew exactly why he was here.

Tell him he didn’t need to waste any more of his doubtlessly precious time looking her over because the idea of their marriage was a non-starter.

And yet…

Angrily, she squashed the treacherous beginnings of a mental veer in the opposite direction, the shafting thought that it would be much too easy to fall helplessly in love with this man, that marriage to him would be a challenge, exciting, endlessly rewarding.

Indulging in wild fantasies was alien to her, alien, unwanted and unnecessary. It was time she did something about it, put a stop to all this nonsense. Laying down her napkin, she, too, got to her feet and said stiltedly, ‘Bonnie will bring coffee, signor; I’ll ask her on my way out. So I’ll say goodnight, too, Grandfather. I’m sure your guest has no desire to see a workshop.’

‘I have every desire, Caterina.’ The silken stroke of his voice made every muscle in her body tighten. His stress on that word ‘desire’ left her in no doubt that he wasn’t referring to her work benches and tools. And the gleam in his eyes as he let them drift lazily over her taut body terrified her. Already she had a violently insane need to get closer, to loop her arms around those wide, immaculately clad shoulders and submit the soft, melting femininity of her body to his hard domination.

She had to be losing her mind! Resisting the impulse to cover her burning face with her shaking hands, Cat made a strenuous mental effort to pull herself together.

She was free, she was independent, she had her work and she loved it. She was passionate about everything she had, and had no intention of accepting a hand-picked husband, selected and presented in cold blood.

It was her misfortune that the man in question was sexier than any man had a right to be. What she was experiencing was lust, she reminded herself tartly. Just lust. All the more shattering because she’d been celibate for a long time, ever since she and Josh had broken up before the end of their final year at college.

Having been left with no other option, Cat led the way over the cobbled yard, picking her way carefully on the uneven surface. The security lights were on but she was used to striding around in flat shoes and jeans or flowing, colourful skirts, and the skirt of the dress she was wearing was narrow and tight and her heels, although restrainedly elegant, were too high.

She more than half expected him to slide an intimate hand around her waist on the pretext of steadying her slow and tottery progress but he did nothing of the sort. She didn’t know whether to feel glad about that or strangely deprived. Whatever, her heart was beating so violently she was sure it would burst out of her chest.

As always, the double doors opened easily at her touch and as she depressed the light switch Aldo remarked coolly, ‘You don’t lock your premises?’

Cat shrugged slim shoulders. ‘Sometimes. If I’m out for any length of time. Does it matter?’ Which was her way of saying, Is it any of your business?

‘It shows carelessness.’

Wow! His mood had changed quicker than she could bat an eyelash! Watching the lean grace of his beautifully clad body as he ignored her and walked further into the studio, the way his long hands slid carefully over the thin sheets of silver laid out on one of the work benches, she felt sick with disappointment.

Oh, grow up! she snapped at herself. She couldn’t really want to fight a losing battle with him if he had brought that earlier covert seduction out into the open. Of course not. She should be deeply relieved that, away from her grandfather’s watchful eyes, he had reverted to what he truly was—cold and calculating.

He held up the garnet ear droppers she had been working on earlier, switching on the desk lamp and turning them to the light, examining the moulded silver settings before laying them carefully down again and going to stand in front of the open sketch book displaying her designs for future projects.

‘You have a certain talent.’ He turned to her, his hands on the narrow span of his hips. And then he lifted his impressive shoulders in a dismissive shrug. ‘Your grandfather tells me you sell your creations from a stall in a draughty, redundant church. You barely scrape a living.’

‘Don’t knock it!’ Cat’s eyes narrowed. How dared he dish out such a put-down? Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands, biting into the tender skin. Earlier she had wanted to kiss him; now she wanted to kill him! The effort of holding her temper in check made her words come out bitingly fast. ‘Everyone has to start somewhere. We’re not all lucky enough to be handed a ready-made thriving business empire at birth. One day I’ll have my own shop premises, a hand-picked team of craftsmen and women—’

‘When you get your hands on your inheritance?’ he slid in with insulting silkiness.

Cat’s face closed up. Had Gramps told him about her recklessly defensive message about selling those precious family shares to fund her own small business, thoughtlessly tossed out to stop him boring on about his wretched idea for an arranged marriage? Or had it been an astute guess?

Whatever, she had no intention of defending herself to this patronising monster. She didn’t want to get her hands on her inheritance, as he had callously put it, because it would mean that her beloved Gramps was no longer around and she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Her green eyes glittering with emotion, she spiked out, ‘Please leave. Now!’

‘So soon?’ The indolent tilt of one dark brow, his aura of sophisticated and total command, was probably meant to intimidate her. It might have done, had she let it. She didn’t.

‘Can’t be soon enough! You know where the door is.’

Unnervingly, his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘I also know I’m not leaving until we’ve thoroughly discussed your grandfather’s wishes. He is an old man, far from the country of his birth, estranged from his family. The least we can do is discuss the pros and cons of his suggestion. Even if we think it’s mad. Over coffee. This way?’

His dark head dipped towards the steep flight of wooden stairs that led to her living quarters. Cat ignored him. She bit her tongue to stop herself hurling verbal abuse at him as he mounted the stairs, arrogant self-confidence in every movement of his strong, supple body, then launched after him, kicking off her shoes and hiking her narrow, restrictive skirt above her knees.

Did he, too, think her grandfather’s scheme was crazy? Had he come all this way to humour a distant relative he had never met out of respect? Italians went a bundle on respect, didn’t they?

But the question flew out of her head as he reached the apartment well ahead of her, despite her best efforts in the scampering department. The door opened directly into her living room. She had left a table lamp burning and the room just looked like comfortable chaos. But when he found the main light switch and depressed it the room looked like a squalid hovel.

And Aldo, standing in the middle of the muddle, was so beautifully groomed and immaculate. The contrast made her cheeks flame with embarrassment. The velvet bow that had held her hair in check fell off. She heard it hit the floor behind her just before the riotous chestnut tangle tumbled around her shoulders. And she was still holding her skirt above her knees. She dropped the hem immediately and said starkly, ‘Coffee?’ and picked her barefoot way through to the tiny kitchen, avoiding the piles of trade magazines and glossies, the pile of curtains she’d laundered but hadn’t got around to re-hanging and the heap of work clothes she’d got out of before going through to shower and change earlier this evening.

When she was working, deeply engrossed in a new project, she forgot to be tidy, forgot everything. But no way would she explain or make excuses to this so obviously superior being, who probably had an army of servants to keep everything around him picture perfect plus one in reserve just to iron his shoelaces.

Thankfully, he didn’t follow her to the kitchen to sneer at the empty baked-bean tin with the spoon still in it. There’d been nothing else for breakfast because she’d forgotten to shop and the Belfast sink was over-flowing with unwashed dishes, but at least she did have decent coffee.

When she carried the tray through he had his back to her. He was studying the framed prints that broke the severity of the white-painted walls. Nudging aside a bowl of wilting roses, she set the tray down on the low table that fronted the burnt-orange-upholstered small sofa then stood very straight, dragging in a deep breath.

Time to get the show on the road. Throw Gramps’s stupid idea straight out of play and get on with the rest of her life. The old man would be deeply disappointed, she knew that, and would probably carry through his threat to disinherit her, but she could handle that.