He inhaled deeply. ‘I don’t like the way you look.’
All the pleasure and warmth was extinguished, and pain shattered her fragile ego. ‘You hypocrite, Rocco. Remember the girl you were dancing with last night and this evening? How closely did you look at her? Because she was the inspiration for my wardrobe.’
He looked away. ‘You didn’t see her before this evening, so that can’t possibly be true.’
‘I saw the pair of you on the news last night. Short skirt, low neckline, high heels. I presumed that was what you liked in a woman, seeing as you were obviously having a good time with her.’
His handsome features set and tense, he turned to look at her. ‘There were pictures on the news?’
‘What? Did you forget that we have television in Sicily?’ Her voice rose as her courage returned. ‘Did you think that your little secret was safe as long as you stayed on the mainland? Judging from the way you were wrapped around her, you didn’t seem to have any significant problems with the way she was dressed.’
‘She isn’t my wife.’
‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious.’ She couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice as she slid her arms into the jacket he’d dropped into her lap. All her pleasure in the success of her new look had suddenly evaporated, and she slumped back in the seat, her body shivering.
He frowned. ‘You’re feeling cold?’
She sat for a moment without answering. Then she turned her head to look at him. ‘No, Rocco. I’m not feeling cold. I’m feeling totally humiliated. Have you any idea how it feels to see your husband dancing with a sexy girl and not even be allowed to compete?’
‘You don’t need to compete. You’re wearing my ring on your finger.’ He dismissed her statement with an impatient lift of his hand.
‘Well, do you want to know something?’ The lump in her throat almost choked her. ‘At this point in time I’d rather not be wearing your ring. If you gave me the choice I’d rather be your mistress than your wife. I don’t want to be left alone on a remote island in the Mediterranean, no matter how beautiful it is. I want to get out there and live. It’s becoming infinitely clear to me that if I was your mistress I’d have a much more exciting time than I ever will as your wife.’
‘You’re talking nonsense.’
‘You think so? Think about it from my point of view. Your mistress gets to dance in nightclubs and dress however she likes.’ She hugged the jacket around her. ‘You take her out, and I dare say you actually spend waking hours with her.’
‘I don’t have a mistress,’ he growled. ‘The only woman I’ve slept with since our wedding is you. I do, however, have a wide circle of friends, most of whom I’ve known for a long time. And, yes, we “go out” if I happen to be in the right city at the right time. It’s called having a social life.’
‘Well, forgive me for not recognising a social life when I see one! The problem is that I’ve never actually had one. All I know is that they’re fun!’
He watched her for a long moment. ‘And you can also have fun,’ he said finally, clearly seizing the opportunity to make peace. ‘Is this about money? We’ve never had a direct conversation about it, but whatever you may think I have never curtailed your spending. As my wife, you are free to spend whatever you wish.’
‘On what, precisely?’ She virtually threw the question at him. ‘You’ve trapped me on a remote island, Rocco. There isn’t a shop in sight. And even if I did manage to buy something, where would I wear it? Sitting on your terrace by myself? You never take me anywhere. This isn’t about money, Rocco, it’s about living my life the way I want to live it. I don’t want to be a hermit. You won’t let me leave, you won’t give me a divorce, but I have to have some say in the way I spend my time! Is that really so unreasonable?’
‘You’re trying to tell me that you want to live your life in nightclubs? That’s where you would prefer to spend your time?’ He looked at her as though he’d never seen her before, and she ground her teeth with frustration.
‘Maybe. I don’t know! I’ve never been to one before tonight. What I’m saying is that I want to find out. I want to do things that I’ve never been allowed to do before. Things that other people take for granted.’ She sank back against her seat, too choked to say any more. It was pointless trying to make him understand. He was exactly like her father. He believed that a wife’s place was in the home, bringing up children. ‘Marriage to you is like being sent to prison. You’ve locked me up and thrown away the key.’
He scanned her taut profile with mounting exasperation. ‘Suddenly I’m a gaoler because I refuse to take my wife to a nightclub?’
‘I’m just telling you how it feels.’ By a supreme effort she managed to get the words past the lump in her throat. She was so upset that she didn’t even notice that the car had stopped until the door opened and he nudged her gently.
‘We’ve arrived.’
Too miserable even to bother looking at her surroundings, Chessie followed him into a building and up some stairs into a palatial bedroom suite.
She plopped down on the edge of the bed, oblivious to the beauty of the room. ‘I suppose you’re going back to that other woman now?’
With an exasperated glance in her direction, Rocco pushed the door shut with the flat of his hand. ‘Stop talking rubbish.’
‘Why is it rubbish?’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘Given that you’re a highly sexed guy, obviously you’re going to be getting it somewhere.’
He let out a stream of Italian. ‘Since you returned to Sicily, the only woman I have had sex with is you.’
She wanted so badly to believe him. ‘You’re saying you’ve never slept with her?’ Her voice was small and hurt, and he paced over to the window and stood with his back to her.
‘No, I’m not saying that.’ He ran a hand over the back of his neck and then turned to face her, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘But it was a long time ago. Before I ever met you.’
‘So you have slept with her?’
He hesitated, and then muttered something inaudible under his breath. ‘I won’t lie to you. She’s an old friend, yes, but the sort of relationship you’re describing is very much in the past.’ His eyes glittered with exasperation. ‘Why are we even having this conversation? I have not been unfaithful to you.’
‘But you find her attractive?’
‘What sort of a question is that?’
‘A perfectly natural one, given that I’m your wife and you don’t seem to find me attractive.’
He exhaled sharply and jabbed his fingers through his hair. ‘This is not the sort of conversation I expect to have with my wife.’
‘Why not, Rocco? Because I was a virgin until just over two weeks ago? Believe me, I’m learning fast. You took her to a nightclub. What would have happened when the evening ended? Would you have dropped her home?’
‘No, someone else would have dropped her home, because she doesn’t live in this direction. I really don’t understand your obsession with her. My relationship with her is in the past, and most people have a past, Chessie.’
‘I don’t have a past, and at this rate I’m not going to have a decent future either.’ She leaned forward and eased the shoes from her aching feet.
‘This conversation is nothing short of ridiculous.’ He shook his head as if to clear it, and then strode to the other side of the bedroom, opened a cabinet and poured himself a large drink. ‘You’re my wife, Chessie. What more do you want?’
‘Too much, obviously.’ She wanted him to find her irresistible.
Knowing that she was making a complete fool of herself, Chessie gave a murmur of self disgust and sprinted through a door that she hoped led to a bathroom.
When she finally emerged, her tear-stained cheeks splashed with copious amounts of chilled water, the room was empty.
Rocco sat on the roof terrace of the palazzo, staring into the darkness, a large drink in his hand as he tried to reduce his tension levels. Dwelling on his actions of a
few hours earlier, he delved deep for some sort of plausible explanation for his uncharacteristic behaviour.
He’d taken her in a wild heat of lust, without thought or care for their surroundings.
What the hell had he been thinking of?
The answer was sex, he acknowledged grimly as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank deeply. He’d been thinking of sex. Wild, basic, primitive sex, with a woman designed to drive a man to the very limits of self-control.
The only problem was that the woman in question was his wife. And he hadn’t planned to feel that way about his wife.
He hadn’t wanted to feel that way about his wife.
He of all people knew just how dangerous such intense passion could be. He should do. He’d spent his life avoiding it.
Where exactly had he gone wrong? He’d planned it all so carefully, and suddenly everything was getting out of hand—and the fact that she was now was crying downstairs did nothing for his already disturbed state of mind.
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he ran a hand over the back of his neck and forced himself to face the fact that he’d treated his wife to an almost aggressive display of masculine lust. In the circumstances, he could hardly blame Chessie for being so upset.
He’d treated her as a hot, sexy woman designed to drive a man wild, rather than as his wife and the prospective mother of his son.
It was her own fault, he told himself firmly. She’d dressed in an utterly provocative manner. He started to tell himself that any man would have responded in the same way, and then realised that he was deriving little comfort from that particular strand of logic. The mere thought of any other man seeing Chessie looking the way she had when she’d walked into the nightclub was enough to bring Rocco out in a sweat.
Never again, he vowed as he drained his drink. Never again was she going out in public dressed like that. In fact he didn’t want her dressed like that in private, either.
He wanted to return to the way their relationship had been before she’d stripped down to black lacy underwear.
The memory triggered an instantaneous reaction of the most predictable variety, and he gritted his teeth, trying to picture her in unflattering, shapeless black.
She obviously wanted new clothes, and that was fine with him. With hindsight perhaps he had been a little remiss in leaving her at his villa without sufficient occupation to take her mind off his absence. Obviously she was bored. He’d take her shopping, but he was going to supervise the selection of her new wardrobe.
He’d make sure there was nothing remotely provocative about her clothing.
He’d make sure that every inch of her incredible body was covered.
Then he could go back to feeling the way he’d felt about her before she’d strolled into the nightclub.
The problem solved to his satisfaction, Rocco placed the empty glass on the table and rose to his feet. He didn’t trust himself to share a bed with her in his current state of uncontrolled lust, so he decided on a brisk walk through the streets of Florence.
Tomorrow they’d go shopping.
And then he could erase the images currently in his head and replace them with something more suitable and infinitely more comfortable to live with.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHESSIE woke early and found herself alone. It was obvious that Rocco hadn’t spent even the smallest part of the night in bed with her. Disappointment twisted inside her even while she tried to reason with herself and face up to the facts.
What had she expected?
Despite their frenzied, erotic encounter in the car the previous night, it was obvious that he didn’t really find her alluring. After all, hadn’t she had to dress up and virtually strip to get his attention? Why would he bother sharing a bed with her?
She didn’t expect him to love her, but the fact that he didn’t really find her attractive either was the final straw. How could their marriage possibly survive under those circumstances? Their expectations were entirely different, and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to change his opinion of her.
No doubt his next move would be to bundle her home to Sicily, out of the way.
But she wasn’t going to go quietly.
Dressing in her usual unflattering trousers and top, she lifted her chin and went in search of Rocco’s head of security.
She was in Florence, and she intended to make the most of it!
The fact that her marriage was a disaster didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy her surroundings and make the best of the situation.
Beyond the marble entrance hall doors opened onto a courtyard, and Chessie wandered outside, drawn by the beauty of the arches and columns. It was an oasis of peace, protected from the buzz of Florence by the high walls. The centrepiece was an elaborate fountain, and the continuous gush of water had a cooling effect on the otherwise stifling heat. In the corners of the courtyard, placed with almost geometric precision, large terracotta pots nurtured elegantly shaped orange trees, heavily laden with ripe fruit. The creamy vanilla walls of the courtyard filtered the bright sunlight, creating volumes of welcome shade. It was tranquil and calming, and she suddenly decided that it would be a lovely place to spend a quiet morning. Perhaps she’d save the sightseeing for later.
Delving into her bag for the pad and pencil that she always carried, she started to draw, her hand making bold strokes over the page as she reproduced the architectural perfection of the courtyard. The minutes stretched into hours, and she might have spent all day lost in her drawing had the sound of firm footsteps not disturbed her.
‘What are you doing out here?’ Rocco’s voice was exasperated and his expression was grim. ‘Have you any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?’
‘Trouble?’ Shock at seeing him made her drop the pencil, and she stooped to retrieve it, her face flaming. ‘How can I have possibly caused any trouble when I’ve been sitting in a courtyard?’
‘Perhaps because no one knew you were sitting in a courtyard,’ Rocco returned through gritted teeth. ‘Everyone in the palazzo is currently searching for you.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Chessie gave a guilty smile. ‘What a waste of time. Didn’t they think to look outside?’
‘Evidently not,’ he muttered, inhaling sharply and removing his mobile phone from his pocket. He stabbed a button with his finger, spoke in rapid Italian, and then dropped the phone back in his pocket. ‘You gave us a fright, tesoro.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we didn’t know where you were.’
‘You need to keep track of me, Rocco?’ She closed the sketchpad. ‘Not content with locking me away, you also need to know where I am every minute of the day? Perhaps you ought to just put an electronic tag on me and have done with it. Or tie me to a post on a long lead. You’re being possessive again.’
He inhaled sharply. ‘Not possessive. Protective. And I cannot believe that even you could be that naïve about security. It isn’t about locking you up or tracking your movements. It’s about caring for your safety.’
Her heart skipped. ‘What are you saying?’
‘You want me to spell it out?’ His eyes were hard. ‘I’m a wealthy man. Naturally you’re a target for those who would like to hurt me.’
It hadn’t occurred to her. ‘I was just enjoying the courtyard.’
‘All morning?’ He stared at her with blank incredulity. ‘What exactly were you doing out here that would take all morning?’
‘Nothing.’ She tried to sneak the sketchpad behind her back, but Rocco strolled over to her, his hand extended.
‘Show me.’
‘There’s nothing to see.’
‘Then you won’t mind showing me.’
He was an impossible man to argue with. Relinquishing the pad reluctantly, she turned her head, too embarrassed by her drawing to be able to view his reaction. ‘This is a nice hotel. Surprisingly quiet. I haven’t seen a single other guest all day.’
‘There are no other guests, and that’s because it isn�
��t a hotel. It’s my home.’ His voice was thoughtful as he slowly lifted each page of the pad, studying the contents. ‘How long have you been drawing, Chessie?’
Why lie? ‘All my life. And before you say anything, I’m perfectly aware that I have absolutely no talent.’ She watched as a tiny lizard scurried across the dry, dusty courtyard in search of shade. That was what she wanted to do, she thought. Hide. Only in her case she would be taking refuge from Rocco, not the sun. She braced herself for a derogatory comment, telling herself that his opinion didn’t matter. ‘I do it because I enjoy it. I find it relaxing. It’s a way of escaping.’
He studied her for a long moment, his expression watchful, and then handed the pad back. ‘I think you have exceptional talent,’ he said in his usual decisive tone. ‘Who made you think otherwise? Presumably it was the same person who made you think that you’re fat and unattractive? Your father?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Why was he being so nice? Was he just trying to make amends for the night before? ‘Drawing is just something I’ve always done. It doesn’t mean anything—’
‘Is this the job you want? You want to draw?’
Startled, she looked at him, astonished by how astute he was. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘When I’m so insensitive about so many other things, you mean?’ His tone was loaded with irony but there was humour in his eyes. ‘I’m good at spotting talent in others. It’s one of the things I do well. My company thrives on my ability to identify and nurture talent—especially talent that I don’t possess myself. Answer my question. Your ambition is to draw professionally?’
‘I don’t know.’ She gave a self-conscious shrug and studied the lizard again. ‘I don’t have the skills for that. No training. I just know I can’t go a day without drawing. It’s part of who I am.’
‘You should have studied art at university.’
‘I wasn’t given the opportunity.’ She stood up and glanced at him, and then wished she hadn’t because her stomach lurched in instant response to his physical presence.
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