‘Our marriage will never work.’
‘It will work.’ His rough, sexy voice made her nerve-endings tingle, but she rejected the sensation.
‘How?’ Her tone weary, she shredded the tissue clutched in her hands. ‘I just can’t begin to understand you, and it’s perfectly clear that you can’t begin to understand me either. And, given that we only ever meet to procreate, that isn’t ever going to change.
‘Children should be part of a relationship, not the whole reason for it. Our marriage isn’t what I expected. There’s no romance! No sharing!’
He looked at her stack of books on the table next to the bed, scanning the titles. ‘Perhaps you should remember that the success of romantic fiction usually lies in its ability to transport the reader into a fantasy world.’
‘A fantasy world? Why does a good relationship have to be a fantasy?’
‘I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be taken in by fiction. A relationship based on respect and understanding is far more successful than one based on physical lust. I’ve had those, and they’ve never lasted long,’ he assured her, clearly oblivious to the depressing effect his words had on her.
She didn’t know which was more upsetting—his tactless reminder of his numerous previous relationships, or the fact that he didn’t see her as a candidate for physical lust. She wanted him to desire her! ‘We have completely different aspirations and expectations,’ she said flatly, and he shrugged dismissively, as if her observation posed no great problem.
‘Then we will work to understand each other. You’re obviously saying that you need more traditional romantic gestures, and I’m sure I can oblige—so you can unpack your bag.’ He checked his watch and rose to his feet in a fluid athletic movement. ‘And now I have to go back to work. I’m expecting a call from Tokyo.’
‘I thought we were talking—’
‘We’ve talked, and I’ve got the message. You don’t want to have children immediately. Despite what you think of me, I can understand that. You’re still very young. So we’ll wait. And I’ll be more romantic. Get some sleep. You must be very tired.’
After all that baby-making, Chessie thought to herself, but bit her lip to stop herself saying the words aloud.
It was obvious to her now that he had very fixed ideas about her role as a wife and mother, and they didn’t coincide with her own. But how could she even begin to explain that she wanted him to find her sexy when that clearly wasn’t what he looked for in a wife?
She stared at the bag she’d packed.
At least he’d bothered to come and talk to her. That was a start, wasn’t it?
She sank back against the pillows, exhausted from the all the emotions, and she was still lying there when the first bunch of flowers arrived, exotic and confident.
Rocco’s housekeeper Maria brought them into the bedroom suite, with a beaming smile and a warm look of approval in her brown eyes.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’
Chessie stared. They were beautiful. And ordering them must have been the first thing Rocco had done on his return to the office. Despite her reservations about their relationship, she was touched.
‘Was there a card?’ Had Rocco included a few affectionate words? Her heart gave a little skip of anticipation, but Maria shook her head.
‘No card.’ The housekeeper arranged them in a vase and placed them in the centre of a table. ‘They look beautiful there.’
‘Yes. You’re sure there was no card? No message?’ Nothing personal?
‘Flowers say a great deal all by themselves,’ Maria said dreamily, and Chessie pulled herself together with an effort, trying not to be disappointed.
‘You’re right, of course.’
The second bouquet arrived half an hour later, and from then on one arrived every hour, on the hour, until dusk fell. By the time she’d eaten her lonely supper on the balcony, every surface in the room was crowded with scented blooms.
‘Good job I don’t suffer from hay fever,’ Chessie murmured as she cleaned her teeth in the bathroom and then slid into bed.
But he was clearly making an effort, and she appreciated the gesture. And if a tiny part of her would have preferred just one bunch of flowers and a thoughtful note, another part reminded her that Rocco wasn’t great with words and at least the flowers were a start. At least he was trying.
And she’d show him that she could try too. She’d unpacked her bag, and tonight she’d thank him. Properly. And this time their lovemaking would have absolutely nothing to do with making babies.
She lay in bed, hardly able to breathe as she waited for him to stroll through the door.
Tonight, she thought to herself, everything is going to be different.
It was going to be special.
She rolled over in the bed, her newly awakened body humming with delicious anticipation.
CHAPTER SIX
THE phone woke her from a fitful doze.
‘How were the flowers?’ It was Rocco, his voice smooth and supremely confident.
One glance at the bed was enough to confirm that she’d spent the night alone. He hadn’t come to bed.
‘Where were you last night?’ Struggling to throw off the cloud of sleep, she rubbed her eyes. ‘You didn’t come to bed.’
‘I left you to sleep.’
She felt the dull ache of disappointment. ‘I—I was expecting you. I thought we could—’ She broke off, suddenly realising that she had absolutely no idea how to tell her husband that she’d wanted sex. She’d never flirted with a man before, let alone seduced anyone. How was she supposed to tell him that she needed to know he found her attractive? ‘You usually spend the night with me,’ she muttered lamely.
‘You don’t want children yet, and I’m trying to respect that,’ Rocco replied immediately. ‘I’m happy for you to spend some time getting used to married life. Of course when you think you’re ready just say the word and we’ll be burning up the sheets in an instant.’
Discovering that there was nothing like anger and frustration for providing an effective wake-up call, Chessie sat up in bed. ‘So what you’re saying is that you don’t want to spend the night with me unless we’re making a baby.’
‘Francesca—’
‘You’re supposed to have a PhD in women, but you don’t know anything.’ Her passionate declaration was greeted by a tense silence.
‘You are making no sense at all,’ he growled. ‘You said you weren’t ready for children so I’m staying away from you. I’m being thoughtful.’
Which basically meant that he didn’t find her attractive. If a man found a woman irresistible, surely by definition he wouldn’t be able to stay away?
Chessie flopped back against the pillows, too demoralised to argue.
‘The flowers are lovely,’ she said finally, deciding that she ought at least to acknowledge the gesture. ‘There seems to be every type of bloom ever grown.’
‘Good. My assistant wanted to know your favourite, and I didn’t have a clue so she decided it was safest to order everything.’
Chessie closed her eyes, wondering if he even realised what he’d just said. His assistant. So the gesture hadn’t even been his own. She could almost see him ticking the boxes. Romantic gesture means flowers. ‘They’re great.’
‘She suggested that I ask you your favourite for future reference.’
‘Deadly Nightshade,’ Chessie muttered under her breath. ‘So that I can crush it into your drink and poison you.’
‘You’re mumbling. I can’t hear you properly.’
‘Roses,’ Chessie said flatly. Maybe she could stab him with the thorns.
‘I’ll tell her. At least now you can see that I’m capable of romance.’ His tone was businesslike. ‘There are some matters which require my personal attention over the next few days, so I left the villa yesterday. I’ll see you when I’m back.’
‘Right.’ What difference would it make, Chessie thought numbly, when she didn’t see him anyway?
‘I think you should go shopping. Just speak to Max, my head of security. He’ll arrange it. Feel free to spend my money.’
On what? she wanted to ask, but bit her lip ‘Thanks.’
‘When I come back, we’ll talk again.’
‘Right.’ Chessie wanted to scream at him that she didn’t want to spend his money or talk. What was the point of talking when they were on a completely different wavelength? She wanted passion! She wanted hot, steamy sex with a man who desired her so completely that he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone the fact that he had business commitments.
But Rocco didn’t associate her with hot, steamy sex. He didn’t see her as a lover, and the word romance didn’t enter his vocabulary. He saw her as a wife.
How was she ever going to change that? ‘Where are you, anyway?’
‘I’m in Florence. I hope to be home in another two days.’
Florence? Chessie felt the envy bubble up and swamp her as she thought of all the books she’d read and the art she’d studied in so much detail. ‘You lucky thing. I’d love to see Florence,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘How long are you going to be there?’
‘Not long enough for sightseeing. Another time, maybe. I’ll bring you here and we can go shopping.’
Why would anyone want to visit Florence and waste time shopping? Chessie wondered. All she wanted to do was enjoy the art and architecture.
Reminding herself that he did have a job to do, and couldn’t be expected to act as tour guide, she didn’t voice her disappointment. ‘You poor thing, having to work so hard.’
At least he was making an effort, she told herself as she replaced the receiver and flopped back against the pillows. And he was obviously thinking of her. When he arrived home she was going to find some way of persuading him that fun in the bedroom didn’t have to be restricted to making babies.
Suddenly hungry, Chessie sprang out of bed, showered, dressed and wandered through the cool, airy villa to the large, spacious kitchen.
The room was empty, but a half-drunk cup of coffee was on the table, and a television was on in the corner of the room with the sound muted.
Chessie reached for the coffee pot, and then froze as pictures of Rocco appeared on the screen, apparently leaving a Florence nightclub, his arm around a sexy, sleek blonde in a skirt so short it barely covered her bottom.
It wasn’t Lorna. Which meant that he was with someone new.
This was the news. Which meant that the picture had been taken the previous evening. When he’d supposedly been in Florence on business.
Business?
She stared at the blonde.
When he’d told her that he was working she’d believed him, but instead—
She sank onto the nearest chair, struggling to breathe. She’d done it again. Believed in him. Believed that in his own way he cared about their marriage. Given him the benefit of the doubt. But his assistant had sent the flowers and he wasn’t working hard at all. He was partying with another woman—an extremely sexy woman—while she, his wife, sat at home waiting for him to return.
How could she have been so stupid?
At what point had she forgotten that Rocco was Sicilian? When he’d said that she could postpone having children, she’d assumed that he intended to use the time to improve their relationship. Instead of which it was obvious that she was just supposed to do her own thing while he went out and enjoyed himself. And when she was ready to have children, he’d come back to her and perform the necessary biological function.
She ground her teeth with frustration.
When had he ever taken her out? When had he ever shown any inclination to spend time with her? It was obvious that if he wanted fun and enjoyment then he’d choose another woman.
He was her father all over again.
Her father had married her mother and then proceeded to spend their entire married life sleeping with other women. Marriage for him had been the respectable, socially responsible way of bringing children into the world while enjoying yourself on the side, and clearly Rocco was the same.
Wife. Mistress. Two separate roles with entirely different briefs. Her job was to stay at home, with her good, childbearing hips, and breed and feed their children. The mistress’s job was to have endless sex for pure pleasure and indulge in other fun pursuits.
Unless she could persuade him to change his attitude.
Chessie glanced down at herself, trying to see herself through his eyes. Shapeless skirt. Shapeless top. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely his fault that he didn’t see her as a sex siren. If she wanted Rocco to see her as sexy then surely the first thing she had to do was actually try and look sexy? If she wanted him to look at her differently then she had to start looking like a woman he might choose to date—and she certainly didn’t at the moment.
Casting her mind back to the girl on the television, she mentally evaluated the outfit she’d been wearing. Short skirt, high heels, revealing neckline. Hair loose and sexily dishevelled. At least she didn’t need to be ashamed of her height. It didn’t matter how high her heels were, the one thing she could guarantee was that Rocco, with his impressive build, would be taller than her.
Still in a daze, she stood up and walked back through the villa.
‘Is everything all right, signora?’ Max, the security chief at the villa, looked at her with consternation. ‘You look very pale. Can I get you a glass of water?’
On the verge of confessing that she didn’t need a glass of water, she needed a new wardrobe, Chessie stopped herself and thought quickly. ‘Rocco said you’d be able to arrange a shopping trip before my journey to Florence?’
‘You’re joining him in Florence, signora?’
‘In time for a night on the town,’ Chessie said with a smile. ‘I’m supposed to ask you to sort everything out. I’m meeting him at his favourite nightclub tonight. It’s called—it’s called …’ She pretended to flounder and Max quickly supplied a name.
‘That’s right.’ Her smile widened. ‘That’s the one. Perfect.’
‘Do you want me to arrange for you to fly to Florence, signora?’
‘I certainly do, Max.’ She beamed gratefully. ‘But do you know what? We need to go via some seriously expensive shops. Would you believe that I don’t have a single suitable thing to wear?’
‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’
‘And, Max—?’ Chessie licked dry lips, trying to look casual. ‘Do you happen to know a good hairdresser?’
‘Of course.’ Unconcerned by the request, he gave a nod. ‘I’ll arrange that too.’
Trying not to mind that Max had obviously been required to make similar arrangements for other women, Chessie smiled. ‘Thank you.’ She bit back a sudden impulse to grill him on her husband’s favourite type of woman.
‘I’ll arrange for someone to pack your things, signora.’
Chessie opened her mouth to say yes, and then closed it again. ‘Don’t worry about packing, Max, because I’m going to have new things,’ she said sweetly, suddenly remembering Rocco’s claim that she had access to his immense wealth.
He’d probably made that statement safe in the knowledge that her taste didn’t run to the glamorous.
Which meant that he was in for a shock.
Not only was she going to show him that her taste was perfectly capable of running to the extremely glamorous, but she was also going to teach him that it was possible for one woman to play a great number of parts—including wife and mistress.
‘You’re sure this skirt isn’t too short?’ Four hours later, Chessie scrutinised her reflection from every angle, feeling horribly naked and self-conscious. It was like wearing underwear and very little else. Did women really go out looking like this? She had an uncomfortable vision of herself being arrested for indecency and Rocco refusing to bail her out because he didn’t recognise her as his wife.
‘You have legs that most women would kill for, signora. Why cover them up?’ The stylist fussed
around her, narrowing her eyes as she assessed the finished result. ‘There aren’t many women who can wear that particular skirt, but you’re one of them. And that halter top is perfect on you. It actually provides all the support you need while looking incredibly glamorous.’
Glamorous? Did she look glamorous? Unconvinced, Chessie tilted her head left and right, examining the sparkly silver material that was cut to expose a tempting amount of cleavage. ‘My father would have fainted on the spot if he’d seen me in this outfit—’
‘Everyone’s father would faint at this outfit,’ the stylist drawled, a wicked smile in her eyes as she slipped several bangles onto Chessie’s slender wrist. ‘It isn’t designed for fathers. It’s designed for lovers, with sex and seduction in mind.’
Sex and seduction.
Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted?
Certainly it was exactly the sort of outfit that one of Rocco’s skinny girlfriends might wear. Mindful of that fact, she asked the question that was preying on her mind.
‘Does it make me look fat?’
‘Fat?’ The stylist looked genuinely startled by the question, and then gave a slow smile. ‘Well, you’ve got a body, if that’s what you mean, but fat? No. You curve in all the places that really matter to men. Be prepared to be besieged when you walk into that nightclub.’
Besieged? Chessie frowned slightly. She didn’t want to be besieged. She just wanted Rocco to notice her.
‘Now I just need to have my hair cut.’
‘Not cut,’ the stylist urged hastily. ‘Just trimmed. The length is fantastic. You just need some layers and texture to soften the effect.’
Never having been near a hairdresser, Chessie didn’t have the first clue what the other girl was talking about, and in the end she just put herself in the hands of the hairdresser and crossed her fingers. He, in turn, ordered a deep conditioning treatment and then proceeded to cut soft layers into her hair until it fell around her face and over her shoulders in a seductive curtain.
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