‘Of course you haven’t.’
She hitched her slipping towel higher, affording me a glimpse of the tops of her breasts before she knotted the towel with firm decision.
‘So you expect us to share a bedroom? A bed?’
I nodded towards the king-sized bed. ‘It looks big enough to me.’
‘Of course it does.’
She bit her lip, and I wondered if she was waiting for me to be ridiculously gallant enough to offer to sleep on the sofa. I wouldn’t. I’d promised not to touch her—not that I’d keep my distance at all times.
‘Can you at least give me a little privacy while I get dressed?’ she demanded in a quavering voice, and I gave a gracious nod.
‘Of course. I’ll take a shower.’
After I emerged from the shower and dressed I found Daisy curled up in the corner of a white leather sofa in the living room, clearly dressed in the most modest clothes she could find, staring out at the starry night, her expression drawn in thought.
‘The food should be here shortly,’ I told her, and she nodded without looking at me. I regarded her for a moment, wondering what was bothering her. ‘You found something to wear, I see.’
‘Who do the clothes belong to?’
Ah, was she jealous? The thought pleased me. ‘No one. I had them delivered today—for you. Tomorrow I’ve arranged for several stylists and beauticians to come directly to our hotel in Paris.’
She gave another nod, without so much as a glance. I was starting to feel a bit irritated, or perhaps it was something more than that.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
Finally her gaze slid to mine, as quiet as the rest of her. ‘Nothing.’
‘Why are you so…?’ Sad? I stopped before I said the word—because why did I care? I had never once before been attentive or attuned to a woman’s emotions. The fact that Daisy’s affected mine so significantly was both worrisome and annoying.
‘Why am I so what?’
‘Never mind.’ I ran my fingers through my damp hair as I headed towards the kitchen for a beer. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Still, her quiet stillness, the definite sorrow emanating from her, persisted all evening—and persisted in irritating and unsettling me. Don’t care, I instructed myself, frustrated that I even had to issue such a directive. When had I ever had to before?
‘What’s wrong?’ I burst out, after we’d eaten a mostly silent meal and Daisy had announced her intention to go to bed.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘You’ve been looking long-faced all evening.’
‘This feels a bit strange, that’s all.’
‘Strange can be good.’
‘And it can also be bad. Or just…strange.’ She shook her head. ‘Why do you care, Matteo?’
Exactly. ‘I don’t,’ I said shortly. ‘But it’s not very entertaining, sitting with someone who looks as sour as a pint of old milk.’
‘What a lovely comparison,’ she snapped, her ire rising—which was debatably better than her melancholy mood. ‘I didn’t realise it was my job to entertain you.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ I said in exasperation.
But she was already gone, the bedroom door shutting smartly behind her.
CHAPTER NINE
I LAY IN THE DARK, staring up at the ceiling, feeling entirely out of sorts. I’d known it would be strange…coming here, being with Matteo…but I hadn’t been prepared for how strange—or, more alarmingly, how the yearning in me would feel like an empty well that desperately needed filling.
This afternoon in the sunshine felt like a very long time ago, rather than just a few hours. Coming to this sterile, stately apartment had reminded me just how much of a blank slate Matteo was—a deliberately blank state, with him not wanting to be known, never mind loved. And of course I didn’t love him. Because I couldn’t even get to know him.
And yet I still yearned. I saw glimpses of his kindness, felt the sun-warmed kiss of his approval, and my heart turned right over as my hopes started to soar. Those glimpses were so little, and yet somehow they almost seemed enough, and that scared me. I’d always known I wanted love. I’d felt that hunger and I’d made it a hope, a happiness.
One day…
Accepting Matteo’s proposal three years ago had put that hope on hold, naturally, but it hadn’t killed it. Even though life had done its best to beat it out of me, I’d held on to it all along. Against all odds. Against all reason.
One day…
And now here I was, letting that treacherous little seedling unfurl inside me and start to grow, even though I knew it shouldn’t. It absolutely shouldn’t. Because Matteo Dias, husband or not, was just about the last person who would ever love me. And more fool me if I loved him anyway, or tried to, simply because he paid me some scant attention.
I sighed heavily, turning over on my side, knowing sleep would be a long time coming as my thoughts continued their crazy dance of no, you shouldn’t and if only he did, with no answers in sight except the obvious one.
Be sensible, Daisy. Keep your head squarely on your shoulders for two weeks and then walk away!
Or rather, run.
I tensed as I heard the door click open, and then the quiet, slithery sound of clothes being shed as Matteo came into the room and began to undress. First the clink of his belt buckle and then the purr of his zipper, as loud as a car engine in the thick silence of the darkened room.
My heart lurched into my throat and my whole body tingled. Not with fear or nervousness, but with what I knew—much to my shame as well as my excitement—was anticipation. Electric, erotic anticipation.
I remained entirely still, determined to act as if I were asleep, even as tension twanged through every muscle and sinew and my nerve endings sizzled. The bed had to be at least five feet wide. As Matteo had said, there was plenty of space for both of us…which was more disappointment than not.
And yet…a bed. A bed that we were sharing. I’d never shared a bed with anyone but my grandmother before. What if we accidentally rolled into one another? What if he reached for me in his sleep? What if…?
The mattress dipped under Matteo’s weight and the cedar-scented musk of him assaulted my senses and battered them down. Longing swept through me like a river in full flood, and still I remained rigid as he made himself comfortable, turning over his pillow before settling down with a sigh as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if he wasn’t on fire the way I was.
The silence stretched on…and on. I couldn’t so much as twitch a finger, and my eyes felt gritty with fatigue as my body twanged and twanged—a violin longing for the touch of a bow. I was never going to go to sleep. I was going to combust.
‘Relax, Daisy,’ Matteo said, amusement lacing his words like rich honey.
Clearly he hadn’t fallen for my fake sleep routine, such as it was.
‘I said I wouldn’t touch you and I meant it. You can sleep safely.’
Which I supposed was meant to be reassuring, but it tasted like disappointment. I did my best to relax—not that he’d be able to notice. The night was going to be very long.
Soon enough Matteo’s breathing evened and deepened; the man had gone to sleep while I lay there tense and aching and so very aware. It was insufferable that he could be so little tempted while I was so much. The ache in me was intensifying with every breath I took. I wanted to nestle closer into the warm, solid curve of his shoulder and breathe in that manly, woodsy scent. I wanted to trail my fingers along the stubble of his hard jaw, tilt my head up for the touch of his lips on mine, deepen the kiss as he angled his head and slanted his mouth…
Stop it, Daisy. Stop it right now.
But already my mind was racing down rabbit trails, finding ways to justify snuggling just a little bit closer—or, if I was jarringly honest, more than a little. I’d be
en lonely all my life in one way or another, hoping for love without knowing how to look. What if this was the closest I ever got? Just what was I keeping my heart—my body—safe for?
Suddenly it seemed like a nonsensical idea, this instinct of mine to self-protect, to throw up invisible barriers where there needed to be none. If I was trying to keep myself from getting hurt, surely it was already a lost cause?
And in the meantime…
I rolled over onto my side, my heart beating like a drum, blood pounding in my ears. I faced Matteo, barely making out his features in the dark, yet sensing him in every way possible. If I reached my hand out I could touch his chest, feel his heart thud beneath my palm, the sculpted muscles rigid against my fingers. If I angled my head a little I could almost brush my lips against his. Already I recalled their velvety softness, the honeyed taste of him, and the way he took control of a kiss, made me drown in it. In him.
Then Matteo muttered under his breath, a garbled sound of discontent, and I stilled. Was he awake after all?
Embarrassment scorched through me, making my heart beat even harder. Was he laughing at me and the way I was wiggling my way across the bed to him, so blatantly and humiliatingly obvious in my intentions?
He muttered again, in Greek, and it took me a moment to make out the words.
‘Ochi…ochi…parakalo…’
No…no…please.
What on earth…? I stilled, straining to hear the words muttered under his breath, sounding like broken pleas.
‘Ochi…’ And then, agonised, the words were ripped from him, ‘Mi…mi!’
Don’t…don’t!
‘Matteo…’
Whatever was going on in his mind it was clearly terrible, and I couldn’t help but try to comfort him. The desire that had been rushing through me had been replaced by an even deeper concern.
Tentatively I laid one hand on his shoulder, felt his skin hot and silky beneath my touch. ‘Matteo, wake up. You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.’
His body jerked under my hand and still he muttered.
‘Matteo.’
I tried to give his shoulder a little shake, even though it felt like moving granite. Then his eyes opened, their silver depths blazing into mine, branding me. I stilled, trapped by his hard, metallic gaze, and then in one fast, fluid motion he rolled on top of me, pinning me beneath him—a movement not of desire, but defence.
I pressed my hands against his shoulders, afraid of what he might do in his sleep-addled state. ‘Matteo… Matteo…it’s me. Daisy.’
I knew he wasn’t really awake. His gaze was piercing and yet unfocused, his body trapping mine, hard and hot.
‘Matteo! You were dreaming!’
Shocked, I saw the silvery tracks of tears glistening on his cheeks. It was so unexpected I couldn’t make sense of it at first. Matteo…crying?
I gentled my voice. ‘Matteo, it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. It’s all right now, I promise.’
For a long moment he stared down at me, his body poised over mine, and then abruptly, muttering a curse, he rolled off me. My breath came out in a shuddering gasp, the intensity of the moment making my limbs feel weak, my heart stutter in my chest.
I scooted into a sitting position. Matteo was sitting on the edge of the bed, his tautly muscled back to me, and the tension in the room was thick enough to taste.
‘Matteo,’ I said quietly, trying to keep both my voice and body from shaking, ‘what happened? What were you dreaming about?’
‘I wasn’t dreaming.’ His voice came out terse, almost angry, in an instant rejection of the obvious.
I was half tempted to drop it, since he sounded so fierce, but I knew I couldn’t. ‘You were asleep. You were muttering something…’
‘No, I wasn’t.’ Again, utter refusal of the obvious.
Once more he’d drawn that invisible iron mantle around him like a cloak and there was no getting past it. He rose swiftly and stalked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a loud click.
I sat there baffled, uncertain, a little bit afraid and a lot curious. Whatever he said now, he had been dreaming, and it had not been a good dream. Yet he seemed like the last man on earth who would succumb to the terror of a nightmare.
My husband, I realised, had hidden depths. As blank a slate as he wanted to appear, as much as he pulled that wretched mantle around him, he wasn’t unknowable. He had memories and dreams, even hopes and fears, just like anyone else. He just didn’t want me to know about them.
A short while ago that would have quelled my hopes for our supposedly real marriage quite significantly, but now, for some contrary reason, it buoyed them higher. Glimpsing that moment of unintended vulnerability had cracked open Matteo’s heart…as well as my own.
Matteo had secrets…and perhaps if I got to know them I would be able to understand this complex, contrary man I had married. Perhaps I would learn to love him and he would learn to let me.
I stared grimly at my reflection. Sweat beaded my brow and the aftershocks of that wretched nightmare were still rippling through me. The suffocating darkness, the tiny space, the snick of the key in the lock—and then the hours. Oh, the hours. It had been endless…
Still, I had survived, and I’d certainly moved on. I hadn’t had that stupid dream since I was a child. Why on earth had I had it now, the first night I’d shared my bed with Daisy?
Turning on the water, I splashed my face, furious with myself for being so weak. I thought of the gentle pity in Daisy’s voice and everything in me cringed. This was not how our marriage was meant to work.
Taking a deep breath, I stared hard at myself in the mirror. I needed to get control of the situation immediately, because I could not countenance another episode such as the one I’d just experienced. Daisy could not create a weakness or a need in me; her artless ways could not crack open anything—and certainly not memories of the needy child I’d once been, begging for love when there was absolutely none to be had.
Love was an illusion. I’d had to inform Daisy of that fact. But it seemed I needed reminding as well—which was aggravating in the extreme. All along I’d been confident of managing Daisy, without realising that I needed to manage myself as well.
I turned from the mirror, and the hard blankness in my eyes, and went back into the bedroom. Daisy was curled up on her side, knees tucked up, hair spread across the pillow. She was silent, but I could tell from her wary stillness that she was awake.
For a second, no more, I thought about saying something. Touching her, even. Her curled-up position made me think of something wounded, bracing itself for more pain. And yet I was the one who’d had the wretched nightmare.
She didn’t move as I got into bed, her back still to me. I rolled onto my side away from her, everything in me tense and aching. Neither of us spoke, and I told myself that was good thing. It had to be.
Still, sleep eluded me, and the moon slanted silver shadows across the floor as I lay there, tense and angry, memories lapping at my senses in a way I hated.
Not just the old nightmare of the locked cupboard, which had been a staple of my sleep for several years of my childhood, but of other things. My grandfather’s complete and utter ignoring of me, stepping around me as if I were genuinely invisible, no matter how much I tried not to be…until he needed me. And Eleni…the spectre of my childhood…with her screwed-up face, her voice hissing at me like a snake.
You’re worthless…
She hadn’t been telling me anything I didn’t already know by heart.
I forced the memories away by a sheer, gritty act of will and tried to think of something else instead. Something positive. Andreas, smiling at me with his grin of pure joy. Daisy, looking at me from under her lashes this afternoon, her lips curving so sweetly…
But those memories disturbed me as well, because I wasn’t used to needi
ng people to make me happy. Needing anyone for anything. I’d trained myself not to, and yet here I was, thinking about people, about Daisy, in a way I’d never meant to.
Restless now, I rolled onto my back. Daisy was asleep, her chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, her face softened in sleep. She was a brown-haired angel, and everything about her was so very lovely. With every fibre of my being I hated the fact that she’d seen me so weak, and worse—far worse—that she’d felt sorry for me.
Finally, sometime towards the pink-fingered dawn, sleep descended like a mist, and to my great relief the nightmare did not return.
Sunlight streaming from the floor-to-ceiling windows woke me slowly, bathing me in warmth. In the fog of sleep I was conscious of a warm body next to me, of a sleepy, feminine scent enveloping my senses. Still not even half awake, I reached for her and she came, melting into me with warm pliancy. My lips found hers as her arms wrapped around me, drawing me even closer.
I lost myself in her warmth, in the easy and open acceptance of her embrace, one knee sliding between her legs as I deepened the kiss, felt her yield beneath me. It was all so sleepily delicious, so wonderfully potent…the way her arms wound around me and her body arched against my questing hands. So easy…
Then consciousness sparked and I opened my eyes. Stared straight into hers, which were full of jarring compassion as well as heady desire. Then Daisy gave me a tender smile, a smile full of generosity and understanding, and it killed my lust at its very root.
In one abrupt movement I rolled off her, my stomach roiling even as my heart thudded, my body still sizzled with awareness and need.
‘Matteo…’
Her voice was gentle—too gentle. I got out of bed, shrugging on a shirt and a pair of trousers, furious with both her and myself.
‘What’s wrong? Why did you…?’
‘Stop? Because I don’t need your pity, Daisy, especially in a moment like that one.’ I gestured to the bed and she stayed silent, not denying it, which made it all so much worse. ‘We leave for Paris within the hour,’ I told her brusquely, and I walked out of the room without looking back.
The Sicilian's Surprise Love-Child / Claiming My Bride Of Convenience: The Sicilian's Surprise Love-Child / Claiming My Bride of Convenience (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 25