‘Amelia?’ he repeated. ‘Are you okay?’
She blinked, her nausea nothing to do with the baby in that moment so much as the enormity of what she’d done. Marriage to Antonio was one thing, but until she’d stepped into his lavish home and been confronted with the sight of millions of pounds’ worth of artwork within the hallway alone, she hadn’t completely grasped what she was doing: the world she was moving back into.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Just hot.’ And it was a hot day, stiflingly so, but the house itself was perfectly climate controlled. Other urges were responsible for the heat that ran rampant through her veins...
‘Come, have a seat,’ he urged, gesturing deeper into the house. Three steps led down into a sunken living space that showed views of the park they’d driven alongside. The windows were floor to ceiling and several of them slid to open completely, so that the enormous terrace beyond could become a part of this room with ease.
The sofas were white leather, large and soft. She sank into one and wished she hadn’t because it was comfortable and she didn’t want to be at ease. She needed to keep her wits about her.
Antonio disappeared, then returned a moment later with a bottle of ice-cold water. ‘Drink this,’ he said, handing it to her.
‘Yes, sir,’ she couldn’t resist clipping back, diminishing his act of concern to one of dictatorialism.
He crouched down in front of her and, God help her, her eyes fell to his powerful haunches and the way the fabric of his trousers strained across them. He’d discarded his jacket somewhere, presumably in the kitchen or wherever he’d pulled the water bottle from, so her eyes roamed upwards, to the flat tightness of his stomach and, finally, up to his face. He was watching her but his expression gave little away.
‘Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?’
The question surprised her. She brushed it aside. ‘Not precisely.’
He arched a brow, as though he couldn’t believe this, and then shook his head. ‘A small fortune. No, a large fortune. You were worth millions of pounds before you married me, and now? Do you not see that there is some risk you have to accept with being so financially advantaged?’
‘I don’t consider my finances an advantage,’ she said seriously.
‘Obviously, to have been earning a pittance working as a teacher.’
‘How do you know what I earned?’ she asked, lifting a brow.
‘Do you think teachers’ salaries are secret?’
She shook her head. ‘It was more than enough to live on.’
At this, he regarded her through veiled eyes. ‘So you chose not to access your vast trust fund?’
Feeling that there was more weight to the question than was obvious, she stuttered, ‘W-why does that matter?’
‘I’m curious as to why anyone would turn their back on a life of such privilege.’
She considered not answering him, but hadn’t she been the one to insist they go into this marriage with the aim of making it work? And didn’t that involve, at some point, opening the lines of communication? Besides, her feelings were no huge secret. ‘I didn’t want money to define me,’ she said gently. ‘I...found...people treat you differently when you’re an heiress.’ Her smile was grim. ‘I didn’t like that.’
His eyes roamed her face and she hated that he seemed to be reading her as one might a book. But after a moment he straightened, standing and holding a hand down to her. ‘You experienced this when your mother died? And you went to live with your father?’
He wasn’t touching her and yet his proximity was doing crazy things to her body. She was breathless and her tummy kept flopping, as though she’d crested over the high point of a rollercoaster. She nodded, not sure her voice wouldn’t shake if she spoke.
‘But money is just a part of who you are.’
She cleared her throat. ‘The most important part, to many people.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Money, shares—even my marriage comes down to what I own, not who I am.’
At that he frowned, just an infinitesimal flicker of his lips, but he said nothing to dispute her summation. How could he? It was the truth.
‘Do you feel up to finishing the tour?’
She sipped her water and nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t suppose you’ve had a map printed?’ she said, only half joking. The place really was enormous.
‘You’ll get the hang of it,’ he promised, holding a hand out to her. She put hers in his and he pulled her from the sofa. His fingers curled around hers and the pulse that had already been frantic went into overdrive. At this height, her gaze dropped to his lips and her mouth was dry as memories slammed into her from all angles.
‘There are three bedrooms on this level,’ he said, apparently oblivious to the tension that was zipping through Amelia. He gestured to their left as he guided her through the living space. Another step down and they were in yet another entertaining area, this time with a grand piano polished to a high sheen and panoramic views of the city in the distance. ‘One can be for the nanny, and the other will be set up as a daytime nursery for the child.’
His words landed against her like little thuds. ‘What nanny?’
He frowned. ‘The child’s nanny.’ And at her darkening look he grimaced. ‘There is no need to pull that cross face. I haven’t hired anyone—you can do that. I’m simply saying this is where she will be accommodated. The third room along has its own kitchen and bathroom and is perfect for a live-in position.’
‘Why in the world do you think I’d want to hire a nanny?’
He stopped walking, releasing her hand so he could thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, seriously.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did I ever say or do anything that implied I mightn’t want to raise my child?’
‘You will be raising him,’ Antonio said with a frustration that belittled Amelia’s feelings and caused anger to surge defensively through her, even when she knew she was possibly being a little over-sensitive. ‘But you’ll have help. Help for sleepless nights, help for long days, help with feeding or if the baby is restless or ill. Help, Amelia, is not the end of the world.’
‘You sold me on this marriage by claiming you’d be a hands-on father and you’re already trying to outsource the raising of a baby who hasn’t even been born yet!’
He expelled a hiss of impatience. ‘I am doing no such thing,’ he said. ‘A nanny just makes sense. When you go to work, who do you imagine will look after our child?’
‘Work?’ She blinked at him, the question so surprising it took her a moment to frame any kind of response.
‘Yes, teaching. I presume you will want to return to work when our baby is older?’
‘I...’ A frown crossed her face. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want that.’
Now it was Antonio’s turn to look confused. ‘Why?’
Good question. ‘Because you’re...you. And I guess I thought you’d want me to be home with the baby, you know, being a mother...’
‘You will still be a mother, I imagine,’ he said, arching a single brow ‘And I do not care if you work or not. My assumption was based on what I thought your preference would be. It’s not a reflection of my wishes.’
‘So you don’t want me to work?’
‘I just said I don’t care either way,’ he said with the appearance of patience. ‘But if you are to return to work, we will need a solution to help, and I thought it would be better for the child if that person was someone they’d known from birth.’
It was all so damned logical and in her hormonal state that simply irritated her further. ‘Where would I even work? I only speak Spanish curse words.’
At that he laughed and, ridiculously, she did too, and the tension that had been curling around them shivered a little and then gave way, like a dam bursting its banks. ‘There is an international school,’ he said quietly, ‘just a fe
w miles away. Lessons are conducted in English.’
‘Teaching the children of rich moguls and tycoons?’ she asked, still smiling.
‘Teaching children,’ he emphasised. ‘Or are you so bigoted against wealth that you would judge the children who happen to be born to it?’
Another fair point that had her mood darkening once more. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We have time to make a decision.’
Yes, that was true; time at least was on their side.
‘The baby’s room,’ he said, opening the door to a room that currently housed little more than a bed and a small chest of drawers. ‘Obviously we will have it decorated suitably once we know the gender.’
‘I don’t think I want to know what we’re having. Not until it’s born.’
‘Why would you choose not to know?’
‘I want the surprise,’ she said with a shrug.
‘You do not think the baby will be a surprise in and of itself?’ he teased.
She tried to fight the temptation to banter with him. To succumb to his many, many charms. She’d done that once before and it had been disastrous.
‘You’re missing the point,’ she said with an attempt at coldness.
‘No, querida.’ He shook his head. ‘You are missing the point. We will decorate the room. We can paint it yellow. We can paint it green. We can paint it black, for all I care. We will make it a baby’s room rather than this. Just as I do not care if you go back to work or not. I am showing you my house, and showing you how I think it can accommodate you and our family, and your future. I am trying to show you that I have thought this through, that I want this to work, just like you asked of me, yet you seem to want to argue with me at every turn. Why is that?’
She couldn’t speak. Her heart was pounding, her mind was racing and her body was in flux. She was hot, despite the air-conditioning, and her cheeks felt flushed.
He took a step towards her, and then another, so that his strong body was almost touching hers. She stared up at him, her pale blue eyes meeting his stormy black ones and charging with electrical awareness. ‘You are nervous,’ he said simply.
‘I’m not nervous,’ she lied, her tongue darting out and licking her lower lip.
‘You are nervous,’ he said again. ‘Because you are my wife, and I am your husband, and you do not know what that means. We married for a baby, but we never talked about this.’
‘About what?’ The words came out as a husky croak.
‘About the fact that whatever madness drove us into bed that one time is still here, flaming at our feet.’
She drew in a sharp breath, surprise making her skin flush with goosebumps. ‘No, it’s not,’ she said, raising her chin in a gesture of defiance that was completely belied by the way her eyes clung to his lips. ‘Believe me, Antonio, I’m not so stupid that I’d make that mistake twice.’
His expression was scepticism itself. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She nodded sharply. ‘Sex has no part of this marriage.’
His smile was slow to unfurl and deadly in its danger to her. Because her heart began to beat off-rhythm and her pulse was thready. Legs that had been perfectly fine only minutes ago were wobbling now, threatening to give way.
‘Do you realise how easily I could disprove that statement?’
She swallowed but it was useless, her mouth remained dry, as though coated with sawdust.
‘Perhaps not,’ he said, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, but oh, his body was so close she could feel his warmth through the fine fabric of her clothes and her body swayed forward of its own accord, so that her too sensitive nipples brushed against his chest and a soft, husky moan escaped her lips unbidden.
‘You have no real experience,’ he said, low and throaty. ‘But what you’re feeling now is desire.’ He rocked his hips a fraction, so his arousal brushed against her and her eyes swept shut at his nearness and her needs.
‘I’m feeling...’ she said, searching for something, anything she could offer that would dispel his assertion. But nothing came to mind.
‘Desire,’ he supplied and then lifted a hand so he could smooth the ball of his thumb over her cheek.
‘I don’t...want you, like that,’ she denied, so much more weakly than she would have liked. Her body—traitor that it was—pressed closer to his and when she blinked up at him her eyes were awash with desire and invitation.
His smile showed cynicism at her words, and then he stepped back. ‘Yes, you do, hermosa, and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.’
CHAPTER NINE
AMELIA FELT AS though she’d slept for three weeks and on a cloud. She awoke the next day completely relaxed, her body comfortable, her mind blank.
And then she looked around the room and it all came rushing back to her.
Holy heck, she was in Antonio’s house. Her house. Their house! Because they were married!
The brief, but legally binding, ceremony came to her, and all that had taken place afterwards. She pushed out of bed, reaching for her phone—it sat on the bedside table. It was almost mid-morning!
She’d never slept so long in her entire life!
She was still wearing her wedding dress—if it could be called that. She’d worn it on the flight from England, and it wasn’t even something she’d bought new for the event. She’d refused to observe any such kowtowing to tradition when their wedding was little more than a contractual agreement.
Yes, you do...and I’m going to enjoy proving that to you.
Awareness, hot and undeniable, pooled low in her abdomen. She galvanised her legs into action and made her way to the en-suite bathroom, where she freshened up. Her suitcase had been brought to this room at some point during her long rest. She cracked it open and pulled out a pair of shorts and a simple T-shirt, uncaring at how casual they were, refusing to feel the same insecurity when compared to Antonio’s usual choice of lover.
Did it matter that the women he routinely slept with would probably swan about, draped in the latest couture dresses, all elegant and unapproachable, like this house?
Not to Amelia.
She wasn’t going to let the ghosts of lovers past undermine her sense of self. With a nod to that commitment, she ventured out into the villa in search of Antonio.
Only the tour he’d given the day before, which had seemed to make perfect sense at the time, was a jumble in her mind. She found her way to the room he’d proposed using for the baby, and she saw it now with fresh, rested eyes and could admit it made perfect sense. In addition to being large, it was L-shaped, and she could imagine it with a small sofa and an armchair for nursing and, as he grew older, a little desk for his books and at which he could sit and do craft. It also lacked a terrace, and her concern for his safety made her glad for that.
The space beside the baby’s room wasn’t familiar to her. She pushed the door inwards and let out a gasp of surprise.
It was a library! A proper library. With thousands and thousands of books!
Antonio temporarily forgotten, she pushed deeper into the room, her breath unconsciously held as she scanned the spines. Many of the books were in Spanish; her heart dropped, but then it lifted once more.
So what? She had to learn the language—more than the bad words—at some point. Their son would be born in Spain, and his father was Spanish. In fact, their son or daughter would need to learn English, Spanish and Italian—all his heritages mixed together.
If they hired a nanny she would ensure it was someone bilingual, and perhaps she could include her own language tuition in the nanny’s job description.
Only it was the second day of her marriage, she still knew barely anything about her husband—except that he was apparently more reasonable than she’d expected him to be—and she was most definitely getting ahead of herself.
>
She stepped out of the library and continued her walk through the house, heading downstairs and checking his office—empty—before moving to the ground floor.
A noise alerted her—splashing—and she went towards it.
It wasn’t a particularly surprising discovery that he should be in the pool, but when she stepped onto the timber deck she stopped walking abruptly and could only stare.
Antonio was doing laps, and he wore only a skimpy pair of black briefs. As his legs kicked and his arms pulled him through the water, she stared at him, her eyes chasing his movements, her body hot all over.
He turned underwater and when he came up for breath, midway through another length, his eyes met hers and he stopped, standing in the pool water. The look he sent her was a more powerful aphrodisiac than even the image of him pulling through the water.
It was a look of absolute speculation, and something more. Something else altogether, like fierce masculine possession. Her fingers knotted in front of her, echoing the knots in her stomach. ‘I thought I was going to have to wake you,’ he said after a moment. ‘It is almost midday.’
She nodded, moving closer to the pool and dipping her toe in. The water was delightfully cool. ‘I know. I can’t believe it. I guess that’s pregnancy.’
He was watchful, his intelligent eyes moving analytically over her face. ‘The books I read all say exhaustion is a symptom.’
‘You’ve read pregnancy books?’
He frowned then shrugged, so water droplets ran over his shoulders and her eyes dropped to his smooth caramel flesh. ‘Of course.’
He swam across the pool, coming to the coping right beside Amelia’s feet. ‘Have there been any other symptoms?’ he asked, looking directly up at her.
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