Bound To The Sicilian's Bed

‘Capisce.’ He nodded his dark head.

He was just on his way to the door when he paused in front of a small display of pottery, picking up one of the pieces to study it. It was a glowing terracotta jug with a handle fashioned to look like the twisted leaves on a lemon branch. Raised yellow fruits dotted the surface and in the background was the flash of blue—an artistic representation of the distant sea. Slowly he turned it around in his olive fingers to study it, before glancing up to meet her eyes.

‘This is good,’ he said slowly. ‘It reminds me of Sicily.’

She nodded, the sudden clench of her heart making her wish he hadn’t made the connection. ‘That’s what inspired me.’

‘Perhaps I should buy it,’ he reflected. ‘You certainly look as if you could do with a few more customers.’

‘Particularly when you drive away the ones I do have,’ she observed acidly. ‘Anyway, it’s not for sale.’

She pointed to a bright red sticker, though in reality nobody had bought it, because it had never actually been for sale. It was the last remaining piece of the collection she’d made when she’d returned from Sicily, feeling heartbroken and empty. Her bestselling collection, as it happened, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Just as she wouldn’t tell him about the tiny, hand-embroidered romper suit she’d bought soon after she’d had her first pregnancy scan, which was lying shrouded in tissue paper in one of her bedroom drawers. She was planning to sell the jug just as soon as the ink was dry on her divorce papers. The romper suit she suspected she would never be able to part with.

He replaced the piece and all Nicole was aware of were those amazing sapphire eyes searing into her. He was always the most beautiful man she had ever seen and nothing about that had changed. He could still make her heart beat fast. Still make her shiver and her breasts swell into vibrant life against her lacy bra. Just as he reminded her of the darkest time in her life and her fear that she would never be able to recover. But she had recovered. And she’d done it without him—because they were no good for each other. She had accepted that. It was time that Rocco did, too.

And suddenly she wanted him out of the shop, before she gave into the pain which was welling up inside her and threatening to spill over. Before it dissolved into bitter tears, which would remind her of everything she had lost.

CHAPTER TWO (#uc639e09b-5f29-57f7-b17f-0b0c90555baa)

TWO CUPS OF herbal tea and a stern reminder that getting emotional would accomplish nothing meant Nicole’s nerves were less jangled by the time she arrived home to find Rocco waiting outside her apartment. She’d told herself that getting sucked in by dark memories wasn’t going to help anyone. She’d told herself she needed to be calm and impartial when it came to dealing with Rocco, but maybe that was just too big an ask with a man like him.

She thought how out of place he looked in the narrow Cornish street, his powerful body drawing attention away from the cute little houses which surrounded him. Every property had window boxes full of colourful flowers dancing in the breeze, but her estranged husband was a study in unmoving darkness—the whiteness of his silk shirt the only thing lightening his shadowed body and rugged features. Her heart began to pound as she walked towards him.

The usual batch of holidaymakers was spilling out from the tea room below her tiny apartment and others were strolling along the pavement on their way to eat fish and chips, or drink dark pints of bitter in one of the iconic little pubs close by. Yet every person turned to glance at Rocco—men and women alike—as if recognising the powerful stranger in their midst. And even though he was head of one of the world’s biggest pharmaceutical companies and one of the world’s wealthiest men, Nicole suspected he would have attracted attention even if he possessed nothing. And she mustn’t forget that. She mustn’t forget that underneath all her swarm of painful feelings, she was as susceptible to him as the next woman.

And he could hurt her all over again.

His sapphire eyes were fixed on her and Nicole felt stupidly self-conscious as she reached him.

‘You’re early,’ she said, reaching into her bag for her keys.

‘You know what it’s like. I couldn’t keep away,’ he said mockingly.

She gave a tight smile. ‘Then you’d better come in.’

Rocco stood back to let her pass, unable to stop himself from reacting to her unique scent as she pushed open the front door, a scent which had nothing to do with perfume. It was the essence of her, which he had once found so intoxicating. Still did, if he was being honest—and he really hadn’t expected that. But then, Nicole had a talent for making him do the unexpected, didn’t she? Her green-eyed look of provocation had lured him into breaking every rule in the book, just as her abundance of curves had made her seem more feminine than any woman he’d ever met.

When he’d seduced her he’d thought she was experienced. Why wouldn’t he—when she’d flirted like crazy with him after their initial meeting? Yet he hadn’t touched her until their fourth date, something which was unheard of for him. Despite the fact that she’d clearly wanted him—what woman didn’t?—he’d forced himself to wait. He still wasn’t sure why. Maybe he’d just wanted to delay gratification for as long as possible, in an attempt to preserve that delicious state of desire she had aroused in him.

And then he’d discovered she had been a virgin and that had been a whole new ballgame. It had blown him away. Intimacy with Nicole Watson had eclipsed every other sexual encounter he’d ever had and Rocco was tempted to pull her into his arms to see whether she felt as good as he remembered. To lose himself in her soft and feminine body and thrust into the wet heat which had always awaited him.

But she had deserted him.

She had thrown everything back in his face.

The memory of that was enough to dissolve his desire as he followed her up a rickety old staircase—unable to prevent the moue of scorn which escaped his lips as he entered the cramped living room. His mouth twisted. She had chosen to live here? A Barberi occupying a place such as this? Why, a medieval servant would have boasted of something finer!

He looked around. It was small. Unbelievably small. A tiny sofa had been covered with a brightly coloured throw—but nothing could disguise the battered surface beneath. There was a sagging armchair, an old-fashioned electric fire and an archway leading into a cubbyhole of a kitchen. And that was it.

The only photograph on show was an old one he recognised of her mother but there were none of him. Rocco’s mouth hardened. Did he really think there might have been? Perhaps a shot of them standing outside the Sicilian cathedral, a white tulle veil billowing around her dark curls and Nicole’s flat stomach concealing the fact that she was several weeks pregnant?

His jaw tightened as he wondered what had made him start thinking about such a taboo subject but, with the ruthlessness born of practice, he pushed the powerful image to the back of his mind as he stared at the woman in front of him, thinking how different she looked. Gone were the elegant clothes which had crammed her wardrobe during their short marriage and in their place was the distinctly Bohemian look she had always favoured. Clothes he had found attractive enough in a mistress, but which had been unsuitable for a Barberi wife. Silver hoops gleamed amid the wild tumble of dark curls and the lush sensuality of her mouth was fixed and unsmiling as she returned his stare.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What exactly is this all about, Rocco?’

He thought of chastising her for her lack of courtesy. He had lifted her out of the gutter and given her the chance of a better life. He had taught her everything. Everything. What to wear and how to behave. When to speak and when to remain silent. And now she was treating him with the barely disguised impatience she might show a persistent salesman who had shoved his foot in the door.

‘You don’t even offer me coffee?’ he drawled.

‘There won’t be time. I wasn’t planning a long visit. Were you?’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘You told me you had something you wanted to say, so why don’t you just say it?’

He sat down on the arm of the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘I need you to play a part for me,’ he said.

‘A part?’ she echoed non-comprehendingly. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘As my wife.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘Or rather, my reconciling wife.’

‘Your reconciling wife? Are you crazy?’

Rocco thought back to the number of times he had asked himself the same question, wondering how he could have fallen for someone like her. Why, despite the eager attentions of women of his own class, he had allowed himself to become transfixed by this one—a humble cleaner at his London headquarters. Because of her he had behaved in a way which still had the power to make him shudder as he remembered locking the door to his office and taking her over his desk. He remembered her curving hips facing upwards in a silent plea for him to remove her panties. And him complying with shaking hands, his fingers sliding over her molten heat, before entering her with a hunger so all-consuming that it had completely blown his mind. He swallowed. All his legendary self-control had deserted him the moment he’d laid a finger on her. The powerful head of Barberi associates thrusting hungrily into one of his lowly employees, with his trousers around his ankles like a teenager!

He swallowed before shaking his head. ‘On the contrary, tesoro—I’m deadly serious. This petition could not have come at a worse time for me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I’m in the middle of a deal, which is balancing on a knife-edge right now.’

‘Gosh. I thought you had a hundred per cent success rate where business was concerned. You must be slipping, Rocco.’

He gave an impatient flicker of a smile. ‘This deal is a big one,’ he said softly. ‘The biggest in a long time. I’m attempting a hostile takeover bid of a European company, which will increase my stock to make Barberi the biggest pharmaceutical business in the world.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. ‘The problem is that there has been some opposition to my involvement. Several of the shareholders have hired a PR agency to see what dirt they can dig up on me and a complicated personal life could provide fuel for their stories. Plus, one of the biggest shareholders is a man named Marcel Dupois who’s known for being extremely conservative, particularly around family matters.’ He shifted his weight slightly. ‘The last thing I need is an estranged wife coming out of the woodwork seeking a divorce at such a sensitive time.’

‘So drop your business bid.’

‘But I don’t want to drop it.’ His voice hardened. ‘It’s too important to me.’

Nicole nodded. Of course it was. Business had always been important to Rocco. The only thing which really mattered in his life. His go-to activity which took precedence over everything else, even his wife. Especially his wife. ‘So what are you expecting me to do—call off the divorce?’

‘Only temporarily.’

‘I wasn’t being serious, Rocco.’

‘But I am.’ His sapphire eyes flattened. ‘Deadly serious.’

‘You want me to delay the petition.’