by Sara Craven
her skin.
It would be so easy to yield, she realised, staring up at the ceiling over his shoulder and making herself count the beams.
So easy and so fatal.
Because of him, all her dreams of a happy future life had been wrecked. Therefore she would deny him too.
Although she could not so easily control her own physicality, she realised with dismay, as the aching, melting sensation
between her legs could attest.
Not even Simon, whom she’d loved, had ever induced this kind of reaction from her—made her feel as if she was about
to vanish over the edge of the world.
Nor would she be able to hide it from Raf for much longer, because his knee was between hers, gently coaxing them
apart, so that his sensuously exploring hands could gain the intimate access to her body that they sought.
As he began, softly and rhythmically, to caress the secret places of her womanhood, Emily tensed into rigidity, closing her
eyes so tightly that coloured sparks danced behind her lids. But when he found the tiniest, most sensitive spot and started
to circle it gently with a fingertip, she almost cried out under the force of the sensations he was creating. Realised that her
iron determination was almost ready to collapse.
Frantically, she began to recite her twelve times table, verses of poetry she’d learned at school, even her Christmas card
list—anything—anything—that would help her withstand the witchcraft of his touch and break the web of sensual promise
he was weaving round her. Concentrating with such fierceness that she almost stopped breathing.
‘Emilia.’ His voice seemed to reach her from a great distance and she opened unwilling eyes and looked at him.
The caressing hand had stilled. Indeed, he wasn’t touching her at all, but was propped up on a elbow, studying her, the
hazel eyes hooded.
He said unsmilingly, ‘I feel I am boring you,carissima . If it is true, do not hesitate to say so, or tell me if there is some
other way I might please you more.’
‘I just want you to leave me alone,’ she said raggedly. ‘Nothing else. Can’t you understand that’’
He shrugged. ‘Your body does not seem to agree. Continue your passive resistance, if you must, but I still intend to make
you my wife. However, it would be easier for both of us if you were to—co-operate a little.’ He paused. ‘Would it be so
impossible to return my kisses—perhaps even to touch me’
‘Anything you want from me,signore , you will have to take.’ Her voice was quiet and clear. ‘I’ll give you nothing. Not
now—not ever.
‘Nor will I forgive you for breaking the promise you made on our wedding night,’ she added huskily.
He moved then, taking her by the shoulders and jerking her towards him, crushing her breasts against his chest as his
mouth took hers in a bruising kiss that was in total contrast to his earlier consideration.
She was gasping for breath, when he released her, allowing her to fall back against the pillows.
‘This is our wedding night,’ he said softly. ‘Here and now. And I will mark it with another promise to you,mia cara .
‘I swear that there will come a time—some day, some night soon—when you will desire me as much as I want you now.
‘And then, may God help you.’
He turned away, stretching down for his robe on the floor beside the bed. And, for a moment, with an odd jump of her
heart, Emily thought he was leaving.
But as he straightened, she realised that he’d only been reaching for the protection he intended to use.
He saw her eyes widen and said icily, ‘Our marriage has no permanent basis, Emilia. It follows, therefore, that there can
be no risk of a child.’
He positioned himself so that she could feel the hardness and strength of him pressing against the junction of her thighs.
And the breath caught in her throat.
‘Relax a little,’ he directed. ‘Or I may hurt you.’
‘Hurt me then,’ she flung at him. ‘Do you think I care’
As his mouth tightened in frustration and his eyes glittered with sudden anger, she knew a brief, almost savage satisfaction.
Then he moved fractionally and entered her.
He paused, drawing a deep breath. He said quietly, ‘Bend your knees.’ And it suddenly seemed wiser to obey.
He took her slowly, easing his way into her, his eyes never leaving her face. She lay very still, staring past him, her
clenched fist pressed against her mouth, bracing herself mentally. But there was no pain. And, instead, out of nowhere,
she found she wanted very badly to cry. But did not.
Because there was nothing to cry about. She’d endured—hadn’t she—the worst he could do to her and it would soon be
over.
She began repeating, Soon—over soon, inside her head like a mantra.
For a moment he too was motionless, as if he were waiting for something, then he said huskily, ‘I would have given you
the world, Emilia,’ and began to thrust his way to climax in long, powerful strokes.
Yet, in spite of everything, as she lay beneath him, waiting for him to finish with her, Emily became aware of one
infinitesimal, bewildered moment when the stark driving force of his body seemed to trigger a tiny echo of response that
flickered uncertainly somewhere in the depths of her being, but was immediately extinguished.
And, even as her throat tightened in shock, she felt his movements quicken almost to frenzy until, at the last, he cried out
and was still.
Emily remained where she was too, because she had no other choice with Raf slumped on top of her, the dark
dishevelled head pillowed on her small breasts.
When he eventually lifted himself away from her, there was none of the triumph in his face that she’d expected. In fact,
she thought, he looked reflective, almost sombre. But if he had regrets, he certainly did not express them aloud. Or any
other opinion either.
In the event, he simply got out of bed, put on his robe and left the room without a word.
So the mantra had worked, Emily thought, gulping with relief as she straightened the bed before turning on to her side and
pulling the covers up over her shoulder. It really was—all over and she’d survived, without visible marks. She was
conscious of aching a little internally, but she guessed that was only to be expected.
It also occurred to her that, in spite of the provocation she’d deliberately offered, he had not translated his anger into
brutality. On the contrary, she could accept, in the absence of other criteria, that he’d probably been—almost
considerate.
She’d not been really hurt, she thought wryly, just humiliated. But, all in all, it could have been very much worse.
Then she heard the bedroom door reopen and realised she’d been altogether too optimistic.
She turned defensively—warily. ‘I—I thought you’d gone back to your own room.’
‘And so I have.’ He put the bottle of wine he was carrying and two glasses down on the night table. There was faint
mockery in his voice. ‘My place is here, beside you,mia bella sposa .’
He sat down on the edge of the bed to pour the wine, then handed her a glass. ‘To our real honeymoon,’ he said and
drank.
Emily stared at him. ‘What are you talking about’ she asked breathlessly. ‘You got what you wanted. And I accept now
that there’ll be no annulment,’ she added bitterly. ‘You’ve made quite sure of that.’
She drew a breath. ‘But I’ll agree to your conditions for a divorce as long as—all ofthis —stops now and you lea
ve me in
peace.’
‘You thought that, having waited for almost three years, I would be satisfied by that one lacklustre performance’ Raf
asked cynically. ‘You are mistaken.’ He smiled at her. ‘You have an exquisite body, my sweet one, and I intend to
enjoyall of this whenever and however I wish, for the duration of our marriage.’
‘But—surely—you came here to talk about a divorce!’ She was pleading suddenly.
‘Oh, that is postponed,’ he said. ‘Indefinitely.’
Her voice was a croak of disbelief. ‘Until when’
He shrugged. ‘Until—perhaps—the ice melts.’ His smile was sardonic. ‘You see, Emilia, you have become a challenge.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Even though I’ve just shown that I don’t want you—and never will’
‘You punish no one but yourself,mia cara ,’ he told her quietly. ‘A man’s ability to gain satisfaction does not depend on
his partner’s pleasure. Although it is enhanced by it,naturalmente .’
He paused. ‘And never is a long time, Emilia. While I—I have become used to waiting. It will not be such a hardship,
especially when I expect the eventual rewards to be infinite,’ he added softly.
Her voice shook. ‘I hate you.’
‘Then at least you will not weary me with declarations of undying love when we part.’ His tone was brisk as he took the
untouched wine from her and set it aside, then reached into the pocket of his robe. ‘Now, give me your hand.’
She obeyed reluctantly, looking down mutinously as Raf slid her wedding ring back on to her finger.
‘Where did you get that’
‘From your former bedroom at the Manor. I gathered from the lawyers, among other things, that you were no longer
wearing it and made a special detour.’ His smile was ironic. ‘We are finally man and wife,carissima , and you will in future
acknowledge as much to the world.’
She was still staring down at the gleam of gold in the lamplight, but her head jerked up. ‘You said—former bedroom’
‘I have instructed the good Signora Penistone to prepare the master suite for us both when we next return to the Manor.’
‘But you can’t,’ she protested in sudden anguish. ‘Those were my father’s rooms.’
‘His rooms, Emilia,’ Raf said quietly. ‘Not his shrine.’
‘You have no right to give such an order in my house!’
‘I have any rights I choose to assume.’ He shrugged off the robe and rejoined her in the bed, pulling her effortlessly
towards him. ‘And maybe now is the time I should remind you of some of them,’ he added softly and put his lips to the
hollow between her breasts.
Emily awoke slowly. For a moment she felt totally disorientated, but two things rapidly became apparent—that a pale,
sharp light was filtering through the curtains and filling the room and that it was difficult to move because she seemed
weighted to the bed.
She turned her head cautiously and saw Raf sleeping beside her, his arm thrown carelessly across her body.
And then she remembered—a wave of embarrassed heat sweeping over her body as all the events of the previous night
returned inexorably to haunt her. Everything he’d said—and, oh, God, everything he’d done.
Inch by inch, she began to edge away from him across the bed, but he did not stir.
Too worn out by his exertions, no doubt, she thought, loathing him.
She gave a silent sigh of relief as her feet touched the icy floor. She retrieved her discarded nightdress and put it on in lieu
of a dressing gown, then tiptoed surreptitiously across to the window and looked round the curtain.
She had to repress a whistle of dismay, because there was the snow. And not the genteel icing sugar effect she was used
to either. Overnight, the world outside the cottage had become a series of anonymous lumps and bumps, shrouded by
drifts.
It looked, she thought unhappily, as if she was going to be stranded here for a while—and with him. And there wasn’t a
damned thing she could do about it.
She sighed, then went quietly round the room collecting a handful of underwear, a pair of dark blue cord trousers and a
cream roll-neck sweater in thick wool.
Then she slipped out, closing the door noiselessly behind her, and went to the bathroom, running a tub as hot as she could
stand. For a while she sat in a little huddle while the water cooled, legs drawn up to her chin as she stared into
nothingness, as she came reluctantly to terms with what had happened to her.
She felt exhausted too—by the unexpected strain of the passive resistance she’d managed to sustain until Rafaele had
eventually turned away from her to sleep and her taut, obdurate body had finally been able to relax.
Not that her stance had deterred him in the least, she thought bitterly. In fact, there’d been moments when she’d
suspected he was even amused by her obstinate refusal to permit herself even the slightest response to his lovemaking.
He’d simply shrugged and continued to use her for his own entertainment, as if she was merely some expensive toy with a
range of possibilities that he was curious to exploit.
And doing so, Emily realised, with a complete lack of inhibition that she found impossible to relate to the cool, elegant
young man who’d appeared from time to time in her life over the past three years.
Causing her, she thought, the kind of humiliation that she would never be able to forget. Or forgive.
She regretted now that she hadn’t fought him off, kicking and scratching, because instinct told her that Rafaele Di Salis
would have never lowered himself by resorting to using his superior strength.
But now it was much too late.
Dry eyes burning, she picked up the soap and began to wash herself from head to foot, massaging the lather carefully into
every inch of her skin so not one trace of him would be left behind.
Until next time, a small wintry voice in her head reminded her and she flinched, wondering just how much of him she
would be made to endure.
Surely he would become irritated with her stubbornness before long and find himself a more responsive lady.
He wouldn’t have to look far, she thought. His name had most recently been linked with that of Valentina Colona, a
twenty-seven-year-old former model who’d retired from the catwalk several years before to marry a wealthy industrialist
from Milan, three times her age. He was now in failing health and confined to his villa in Tuscany, but his money had
helped her start a chain of boutiques called Valentina X and she’d just launched her own perfume brand with the same
name.
And for the last six months she’d been coyly referred to in the gossip columns as Raf Di Salis’s ‘constant companion’.
Emily even knew what she looked like—raven hair, a heart-shaped face almost doll-like in its beauty and a stunning body
that managed to be lissom and voluptuous at the same time.
And last night Raf dared call me beautiful, she thought stormily. Compared with her, I’m a stick insect.
But what made his current behaviour truly inexplicable was the widely quoted story that Signora Colona would one day
become the next Contessa Di Salis.
As if Emily herself did not exist, her marriage to Raf brushed to the sidelines, she’d told herself when she read the