‘Let me go.’ She tugged hard but he didn’t release her. ‘And don’t expect me to apologise. You deserved that. I’m just amazed no woman has hit you before.’
‘Clearly we’re going to enjoy an extremely physical relationship, and that’s fine by me.’
She yanked at her wrists, her expression frustrated. ‘Let go of me! Even you can’t force me onto that boat, Rocco! If you try and make me, I’ll scream. I’ll tell them you’re kidnapping me. I’ll—’ The words died in her throat as his mouth came down on hers with purposeful intent.
The heat of his kiss deprived her of the power of speech and she sank against him, her hands clutching his jacket for support. She felt the intimate invasion of his tongue, the erotic brush of his fingers against her cheek, and the world spun and whirled into a vortex of sensuality from which there was no escape. The feelings released inside her were so incredibly intense that she couldn’t think or breathe. Instead she tumbled down and down, falling deeper into a world where the only thing that mattered was satisfaction.
Attempting to relieve the throbbing, insistent ache between her thighs, she slid her arms round his broad shoulders and wriggled closer to him. His mouth still seducing hers, he slid an arm under her legs and lifted her onto his lap in a powerful movement, his arm anchoring her against him. Buttons sprang from her coat as he dragged it open, and then he ripped the thin fabric of her blouse with characteristic impatience.
‘You’re wearing far too many clothes,’ he muttered against her mouth. ‘Don’t do it again.’
She opened her mouth to tell him not to order her about, but then his clever fingers brushed against her exposed nipple and she cried out as an agonising shaft of excitement pierced her body.
He muttered something in Italian, slid his free hand into her hair to hold her face steady, and claimed her mouth with his once again. This time the kiss went on and on, the excitement heightened by the skilled caress of his fingers. Drained of all resistance, Chessie tumbled further and further into the dark temptation of passion, and when he finally lifted his head she was dazed and shaken—too shaken even to summon a protest when he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the warm night air towards the boat.
Dimly she heard a male voice mutter a coarse observation in Italian, and she heard Rocco’s lazy, masculine response.
‘Rocco—’ Her voice was hoarse, and she squirmed slightly but he held her tightly as he stepped onto the gangplank and issued a series of instructions in rapid Italian. Then he carried her below deck to an elegant living area.
‘Sorry to interrupt the fun, but we need to make a move. We’ll be on the island in less than twenty minutes. Then we’ll be able to take up from where we left off.’ Depositing her onto the sofa, he strode across to a cabinet and poured himself a drink. She couldn’t help noticing that his hand was totally steady. In fact he looked cool and in control, as if he’d just completed a business meeting.
Unlike her.
She was horrified and confused by her reaction. She didn’t like him. She didn’t like a single thing about him. And yet when he’d kissed her she’d forgotten everything.
Was she really that shallow?
Infuriated with herself, and hideously self-conscious about the fact that she was now half naked, Chessie wriggled on the sofa and tried to cover herself by closing her coat over her torn blouse. It was only now that she realised he’d somehow managed to remove her bra, and her full breasts were spilling out of the flimsy fabric.
‘You’ve torn my clothes.’
‘Buy more. Or, better still, don’t wear any. I’m going to be removing them anyway, and my villa is extremely private.’
‘You expect me to walk around naked?’
He gave a shrug, casually indifferent. ‘Naked works for me when we’re the only two people around.’
But it didn’t work for her. She hated her body and she always had. At school she’d been the opposite of all her stick-thin friends, and she’d died a thousand deaths from embarrassment. She’d longed to be flat-chested and slim-hipped, but had been blessed with the complete opposite.
Still shivering from the effects of his kiss, she watched in silence as he drank from his glass, trying to ignore the insistent throb of her body. What had happened to her? One minute she’d been ready to scream, and the next she’d been unable to string a sentence together. How pathetic was that?
She was furious with herself for reacting in such a predictable way!
‘So I’m your prisoner now?’ Her voice was hoarse and her fingers clutched the front of her coat together.
‘No, cara mia,’ he said softly, lifting his drink to his lips. ‘You’re my wife, and I want you to remember that fact and start behaving accordingly.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Did you remember it at our wedding?’
‘My girlfriend isn’t here now,’ he pointed out. ‘So you have me all to yourself. You can look forward to being on the receiving end of my undivided attention.’
She sank back onto the sofa, her heart pounding. She didn’t want his undivided attention. The thought brought turmoil to her insides. She sought comfort from the knowledge that Rocco was a businessman of international repute, and he hadn’t gained that reputation by sequestering himself on a remote Mediterranean island. Sooner or later he’d leave, and so would she. In the opposite direction. Even if she had to swim, she wasn’t going to stay trapped in Sicily. ‘When are you returning to New York?’
He gave a faint smile. ‘When I’m bored with sex?’
‘If you expect me to believe that you’re prepared to abandon your business in favour of our marriage, then you must think I’m stupid.’
‘I didn’t say anything about abandoning my business.’ There was amusement in his gaze. ‘This is the age of technology and hi-tech communication, tesoro. I have everything I need to work from the island. For the next few weeks nothing need disturb us, except perhaps the need to eat in between bouts of passionate lovemaking.’
She scrambled to her feet, thoroughly unsettled by the gleam in his eyes and the smile on his lips. ‘How can you talk about it so casually? Marriage to you is having a good, obedient wife who is going to stay at home and keep the fire burning.’
Rocco studied her face for a moment and then put his drink down. ‘And what is marriage to you?’
‘It’s a partnership. It’s about respect and lo—’ She broke off, realising that speaking the word ‘love’ in front of a man like Rocco would just be to risk exposing herself to ridicule. ‘Lots of things like that,’ she finished lamely.
‘Respect? Is that the same respect you showed me when you left our wedding with another man?’ Rocco’s voice was deceptively calm. ‘For your information, my staff are very excited about welcoming my new bride onto the island. Please remember that.’
In other words, she wasn’t to embarrass him.
A thought suddenly occurred to her and she frowned. ‘But surely they know we’ve been separated for the past six months? Everyone knows we haven’t been together.’
‘No one knows.’ He drained the glass. ‘I returned to New York the night of our wedding. Everyone, including your father, assumed you were with me.’
‘My father thought I was with you?’
‘Of course. You gave no thought to anyone but yourself when you ran off that night.’ His voice hardened. ‘Your father was in poor health, and yet you left without a word. He died without being given the opportunity to say goodbye to you. Family should be the most important thing in the world, and yet you didn’t even attend his funeral.’
Chessie stood still, frozen to the spot. Rocco Castellani had no idea. He had absolutely no idea what her life had been like.
She sank back onto the sofa, staring into the distance.
‘It is a little late for guilt, tesoro.’ Rocco’s voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘Your father is gone. It is too late to make amends.’
‘Make amends?’ Her voice cracked as she tried to speak. She ough
t to tell him. She ought to tell him what sort of man her father had really been. But she couldn’t even bring herself to speak of it. She was so used to keeping her thoughts completely private that she had absolutely no idea how to confide in anyone, least of all an arrogant Sicilian who was exactly like her father in almost every way. For all she knew, he might approve of her father’s conduct.
Suddenly depression and panic mingled inside her.
Marriage to Rocco had freed her from her father, but now she was essentially a prisoner again. Passed from one ruthless man to another.
What was the phrase they used? Out of the frying pan into the fire?
She was only too aware that the flames were well and truly licking around her ankles, waiting to consume her. ‘Rocco—’
‘The past is behind us. All that matters now is the future.’ He reached out a hand and hauled her to her feet. ‘We’ve arrived. Welcome to your new home. The sun is rising and I have some important calls to make. I had to leave New York in rather a hurry. Go to bed and get some rest. You’re going to need it.’
CHAPTER THREE
ROCCO toyed with his second glass of wine, watching his new wife across the table that had been laid on the terrace, careful to conceal the anger and frustration that simmered inside him.
They’d arrived at his villa just as the sun rose above the horizon, and he had left his bride sleeping and spent the day trying to unravel the millions of problems that had developed since his departure from New York. He was on the verge of closing another major deal, and his senior executives were in a state of high tension. Whichever way he looked at it, it wasn’t a good time to be closeted in Sicily.
Neither was it a good time to risk leaving his bride.
He sensed instinctively that if he left her she’d run again. Or worse. She might contact her lover. Who would have thought she’d be this complicated?
Rocco ground his teeth angrily and topped up his wine glass.
She was a mass of contradictions.
To look at her she seemed innocent and incredibly young. Her dark hair was caught up by a ribbon at the back of her head, and her clothes were extremely demure and wouldn’t have looked out of place in the convent school she’d supposedly attended. On the surface she appeared to be the woman he’d chosen to marry. Modest. Warm. A good girl. The perfect wife.
Not someone who would run away with another man on her wedding day.
But since he’d apprehended her at the airport he’d seen an entirely different side to her. Gone was the shy, tongue-tied young woman he’d had to coax into speech. That version of Francesca had been quiet and subservient, pathetically grateful for his attentions. In her place was a fiery, defiant young woman who clearly had a mind of her own. It was as if she’d suddenly discovered that she had an opinion and was determined to express it.
He’d definitely underestimated her, Rocco conceded. Something he never did. But it wouldn’t happen again. Already he’d made complex arrangements to guarantee her security. His wife wouldn’t be travelling anywhere without his agreement.
He was still smarting over the fact that she’d managed to disappear for six entire months.
Within moments of her stepping into the car with Carlo Mancini, he’d received a full report from his security team. Unfortunately not full enough for him to be able to prevent her departure or track her down.
They’d lost her.
She’d somehow managed to blend into the background and elude his usually eagle-eyed security team.
Rocco gritted his teeth as he reflected on how many staff he’d fired over that incident.
His expression grim, he stared moodily into his wine glass and recalled the occasion when Francesca’s father, Bruno Mendozo, had first mentioned marriage to his daughter. Rocco’s immediate impulse had been to recoil and renegotiate terms. It was true that he’d been contemplating marriage, but he’d definitely been going to select his own bride. But then he’d met Chessie and realised that she’d be perfect for his needs. In fact she’d been exactly the sort of woman he would have chosen himself. She’d dressed modestly, worn no make-up, and had obviously been not in the slightest bit interested in flirting. She’d lived her life in Sicily and she’d been a virgin. All his. And she had clearly been completely stars truck by him. What more could a man want from a wife?
Deciding that this was one business deal that was looking better by the minute, he’d agreed to the terms.
Looking at her now, dressed in a high-neck black top that drained the colour from her already pale cheeks, he wondered just what lay beneath that flawless skin and innocent expression. Was she missing her lover?
The thought of his wife with another man incited an attack of jealousy so fierce that Rocco wrestled with a sudden urge to splay her flat on the terrace and drive all thoughts of Carlo Mancini from her head. Later, he promised himself as he drained his glass. Later he’d take her to bed.
And she wouldn’t be thinking of anyone but him.
Chessie poked listlessly at the food on her plate, her appetite gone. She couldn’t believe she was back in Sicily with Rocco.
How had her life gone so horribly wrong? After all those years with her father, didn’t she deserve her freedom?
After the short boat crossing, she’d spent the day lying on a huge bed, staring at the ceiling, too stressed to sleep, trying to summon up another escape plan. But so far she’d failed to come up with anything remotely workable.
It was too far to swim, and Rocco’s staff were hardly likely to offer her a lift to the mainland.
She lifted her head and stared at the horizon. Beyond the vine-covered terrace was a stretch of fine golden sand and then the sea. It was exquisitely beautiful, but she didn’t notice. All she saw was the isolation. There would be no escape from here. The fire and resolve drained out of her, leaving her in a state of despair.
She had to get back to the mainland.
Staring at her plate again, she knew Rocco was watching her.
She could feel him looking at her with those dark, dangerous eyes. Those stormy, passionate eyes that reflected the bad boy that he was. One look from those eyes was enough to persuade the most virtuous of women to think extremely bad thoughts.
And she didn’t want him in her thoughts at all.
She didn’t want to think about his reputation with women, or the fact that she was trapped here with him, and she certainly didn’t want to think about that kiss on the boat.
The kiss had confused her, because at the time it had felt like everything even though she knew it had meant nothing. She wasn’t the sort of woman that Rocco Castellani normally glanced at once, let alone twice. Suddenly she had a clear vision of the blonde-haired slender girl who’d been wrapped around him at their wedding. If that girl was an example of his usual taste in women then it was no wonder that he kept reaching for his wine, she thought miserably. Her body was so far from his idea of feminine beauty that he probably had to get himself drunk in order to carry out his promise of taking her to bed.
How had this happened?
How had she ended up married to Rocco Castellani?
She put her fork down and picked up her wine glass, her mind drifting back to the day her father had told her of his plans for her wedding …
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
‘Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Bruno Mendozo’s voice was harsh and impatient. ‘Are you mute?’ No, she was shocked.
Chessie stared hard at the floor, knowing better than to look her father in the eye. Cringing with embarrassment, she curled her toes inside her flat, practical shoes. Oh, dear God, her father was going to try and buy her a husband. And not any old husband, but Rocco Castellani. Could there be anything more humiliating?
She didn’t need to think about the taunts of the girls who had attended her convent school to know that nature hadn’t been kind to her. True, she had blue eyes, but her hair was the colour of a raven’s wing and her body had carried on growing in every directio
n long after others had stopped. Fully aware of her own deficiencies, she didn’t need to study herself in the mirror to know that she was about as far from Castellani’s normal choice of woman as it was possible to be.
He’d turn her down, of course. Why wouldn’t he? Why would a sophisticated businessman like Rocco Castellani ever agree to marriage with a girl like her? A girl who’d never been allowed to travel further than the village? And the most humiliating thing of all was that deep in her pocket, carefully folded so that no one would see it, was a worn picture of him. She’d cut it out of a newspaper a year earlier and hidden it under her pillow. It had been a foolish, childish thing to do, but Rocco had a face and body that had fuelled a million female fantasies. He was just so impossibly handsome. The stuff of dreams. And dreams were all she had, because her life was totally barren and empty.
He was her Mr Darcy, her Heathcliffe and her Mr Rochester all rolled into one.
A man no woman had ever held onto.
In a world that increasingly encouraged a man to get in touch with his feminine side, Rocco Castellani was unashamedly masculine.
But Chessie hadn’t cared. In fact she’d been drawn by his raw masculinity, his dangerous reputation and his bold refusal to please anyone but himself. The wife of a man like that would travel and see the world, and she’d lain awake at night thinking about what it would be like to be desired by someone like him. But she was mature enough to know what it was about Rocco that really drew her, and it wasn’t his wealth or his looks. It was his strength. Rocco Castellani was tough and powerful and entirely indifferent to the opinion of others. And he was the only man she’d ever met who had what it took to stand up to her father.
And now her father was telling her that he’d set her up for the most humiliating rejection of all. He was telling Castellani that he had to marry her. But she knew that no price her father paid would be enough to persuade a man like Rocco to spend his life with someone like her.
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