After it was over he fell on the bed on his back, his chest rising and falling as he tried to get his breathing under control.
Angelique trailed a light fingertip up and down his chest. ‘Better than average?’
He turned his head and gave her a sinfully erotic look. ‘The best.’
‘Are you just saying that?’
‘No.’
Wow. Oh wow. Her fingertip came back up and circled one of his flat, dark nipples. ‘How soon before you can go again?’
‘Why do you ask?’
She gave a casual little shrug. ‘Just wondering.’
He rolled her back over and trapped her within the cage of his arms. ‘You still want to play, mon trésor?’
She traced his lower lip with her fingertip. ‘Might as well make the most of our time together.’
He stopped the pathway of her finger by holding her hand in his. ‘Just so we’re clear on this—I’m not making any promises about Tarrantloch. I won it fair and square. I don’t do sentimentality or guilt trips. You need to understand and accept that.’
‘But I thought you said—’
‘If we continue to sleep together, it’s because we want to satisfy the mutual attraction we feel. It’s not about and should not be about anything else.’
Angelique knew how determined he could be, but then so could she. Clearly locking horns with him wasn’t going to work. It had never worked before. She would be better served in finding another way to appeal to his sense of fairness—assuming he had one, of course. Charm him. Woo him. Beguile him. Outsmart him.
She tiptoed a fingertip down his sternum again. ‘Do you ever not get your way?’
He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Giving in is about as much in my nature as submission and demureness is in yours.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Angelique gave a little sinuous movement beneath him. ‘I’m feeling pretty submissive right now.’
His eyes glinted as his hands pinned her arms either side of her head, his strong thighs trapping hers with erotic intent. ‘Then I’d better make the most of it.’
And he did.
CHAPTER TEN
ANGELIQUE BREATHED IN the sharp, clean air of the highlands as Remy helped her out of the car the following day. Tarrantloch in autumn was bleak and cold but that was part of the raw beauty of it. The turreted grey stone mansion had been in her mother’s family for over three-hundred years. It was set in a large verdant clearing in the middle of a forest and had its own lake and a burn that ran with ice-cold water full of salmon and trout.
She had spent some of her happiest times here as a child before her mother had turned into a browbeaten shadow of her former self. Coming here had been something Angelique and her mother had done together in the early days to spend time with her maternal grandparents while Henri had been busy with his business affairs in Europe.
But, once her grandparents had passed away within a year of each other, Tarrantloch had been left idle with just a handful of servants, as her father had insisted on living in his homeland of France so he could commute more easily to Italy, where he had his major business interests, including those with Vittorio Caffarelli.
Over the last couple of years, however, he had come back and taken up residence, strutting around like a proud peacock as he conducted various house parties with his business cronies. It disgusted Angelique to see her mother’s home exploited by her father and she had mostly kept well away unless she knew he was abroad on business.
Angelique hadn’t been to Tarrantloch since the summer when she’d had a ten-day break from her schedule. It seemed surreal to be here now, officially married to Remy, knowing the house was no longer hers.
Might never be hers again.
Remy had decided he wanted it as a trophy. What else could it be to him other than a prize to gloat over? He had luxury homes all over Europe and the Mediterranean. Besides, if he wanted to see snow he could go to his chalet in the Swiss Alps.
No, Tarrantloch was his way of publicly claiming victory over her father. What pained her the most was Remy could so easily turn around and sell it once it had served its purpose. And, one thing she knew for certain, he wouldn’t be offering it to her for mate’s rates. He was a ruthless, hard-nosed businessman. He wouldn’t allow sentimentality or emotions to influence him.
But she was not going to give up until she had exhausted every possible avenue to get it back.
Angelique walked with Remy over the pebbled driveway to the front door. ‘Have you kept on any of my father’s staff?’ she asked.
‘None, apart from the gardener, and he’s on notice.’
She raised a brow. ‘Why not?’
‘Because not one of them was doing a proper day’s work.’ He took out the keys he had in his pocket and unlocked the heavy door. ‘I’m going to conduct some interviews while we’re here. I want to employ locals, people who know the house and want it to be preserved. Your father surrounded himself with a motley crew of sycophants who didn’t do much more than take up space.’
Angelique was inclined to agree with him. More than inclined. She had never liked the obsequious butler and housekeeper her father had hired. The devoted staff her grandparents had employed had left in dribs and drabs over the years, either through retirement, death or disenchantment. ‘So who’s here now?’
‘Just us.’
She blinked. ‘What? No one at all? Just us?’ Alone?
He gave her a wickedly sexy smile. ‘It’s our honeymoon, ma chérie. We’re not supposed to have people with us.’
Her belly gave a little quivery swoop. ‘But what about the dinner with Robert Mappleton? After all, isn’t that why we’re here?’
‘That’s not until the end of next week.’
‘Why not get it over with this week?’
‘Ah, but that would appear too eager, n’est-ce pas? Better to let him think I’m in no great hurry to play ball.’
Angelique sent him a wry look. ‘I can see why you’ve accumulated the wealth you have at such a young age: you’re as cunning as a fox.’
He grinned as he held the door open for her. ‘No point in being too predictable. Where’s the fun in that? No, my philosophy is to keep them guessing for as long as you can and then reel them in when they least expect it.’
Is that what you’re doing with me? Angelique wondered as she followed him inside. Hadn’t she already been reeled in? She had been so determined to keep out of his bed, to keep immune to his potent charm, but as soon as he’d kissed her at the wedding ceremony in Dharbiri her fate had been sealed. What hope did she have resisting him when his passionate possession made her feel so alive and vital as a woman?
Coming here with him for a two-week ‘honeymoon’ was only going to make her need of him all the more entrenched. She knew that, but had come anyway, even though she could have made up some excuse to do with her new contract. She had signed and emailed it earlier that day. Her manager had already lined up a shoot with three of the biggest names in haute couture in Paris.
Angelique rubbed her hands up and down her arms as the chilly air of the old house goose-bumped her skin. ‘Right now I’m kind of wishing I had gone to Barbados.’
Remy flashed her a quick grin. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure, ma petite? It won’t take long to lay a fire.’
‘There’s central heating. The main switch is over there.’
‘I’ll see to it and the luggage while you have a wander around. Make yourself at home.’
She gave him a flinty look. ‘Excuse me, but up until a few days ago this was my home.’
‘Then you won’t need me to take you on a guided tour, will you?’
Angelique glowered at him. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you rubbing my nose in it like this? I realise you have issues with my father over what happened between him and your grandfather but that’s nothing to do with me. I didn’t do any dodgy deals. Why am I the scapegoat?’
His look was brooding and intractable. ‘T
his isn’t about you, Angelique. Last year your father circulated rumours about me that cost me millions. I don’t take that sort of stuff lying down. I wanted revenge, not just for myself but also for what happened to my family. My grandfather almost lost everything when your father pulled the rug from under him.’
‘You don’t even like your grandfather!’ Angelique threw back. ‘Why are you so keen to get justice for him?’
‘I’m not getting it for him,’ Remy said. ‘I’m getting it for Rafe. He worked harder than any of us to rebuild our assets. Rafe has always shouldered the responsibility of looking after Raoul and me. I wanted to do my bit to show him his sacrifice hadn’t gone unnoticed or been taken for granted.’
‘Don’t you care that you’re hurting me in the process?’
‘How am I hurting you?’ His expression turned mocking. ‘You’re the one who just landed a multimillion-dollar contract simply because you’re married to me. I have yet to reap any benefits, especially if this Mappleton deal falls through.’
But I don’t even want that contract. I shouldn’t have signed it. I wish I hadn’t.
Angelique pushed the errant thoughts back and planted her hands on her hips. ‘I seem to recollect you got some fringe benefits last night.’
His eyes started to smoulder as he closed the distance between them in a couple of lazy strides. ‘I didn’t hear you complaining.’
She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. ‘I have bruises.’
A frown flickered across his forehead. ‘Where?’
Angelique turned over her wrists to show him where his fingers had faintly marked her skin when he’d held her down the night before. Every time she saw the tiny marks she felt a shudder of remembered pleasure go through her. It had been like being branded by him. Owned by him. Controlled by him. She had been more than willing, which somehow made it worse. She didn’t want to need him in such an intensely physical way. She had always been the one in control with men in the past. Being dominated by Remy, even playfully during sex, made her feel as if she was relinquishing all power to him, especially when he still hadn’t told her if he was going to give her back her home.
He took her left wrist, brought it up to his mouth and gently brushed his lips against the almost imperceptible mark. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I’d hurt you.’
She felt a traitorous ribbon of desire unfurl inside her. ‘You didn’t hurt me. I just have a tendency to bruise easily.’
His thumb moved over her pulse point. ‘Maybe you should be the one who does the tying up next time.’
Angelique arched a brow. ‘You’d let me do that?’
His eyes smouldered some more. ‘Only if I knew I could get out of it.’
Like our marriage.
It wasn’t for ever. He wanted to be free as soon as his business deal was signed and secured. The bitter irony was she was going to help him achieve it. She would be breaking her own heart. Trashing her dreams. Ruining her hopes.
There would be no happy-ever-after with Remy.
It was foolish to dream of black-haired babies with chocolate-brown eyes. It was crazy to think Remy would ever utter an endearment he actually meant. It was madness to want him to fall in love with her.
It was madness to have fallen in love with him.
She would have to fall out of love with him. Quick smart. It would be the ultimate in humiliation to have him find out how she felt. It sounded so pathetic, being hopelessly in love with someone since you were sixteen.
Unrequited love.
Obsessive love.
That was all it was—a fantasy. A teenage infatuation that had grown into an adult fixation.
The sooner she got over it the better.
Angelique stepped back from him with a casual air. ‘What plans have you made about food and so on? I’m pretty sure my father wouldn’t have left anything healthy and nutritious in the pantry.’
‘I’ve organised a food parcel from our hotel in London. It’s in the car with our luggage. I’ll do some more shopping tomorrow.’
She widened her eyes in mock surprise. ‘You actually know how to shop for food?’
‘I do occasionally pick up the odd item or two. I quite enjoy it.’ He turned to the thermostat on the wall and began adjusting the temperature settings. ‘My mother used to take us shopping with her. She was keen for us to experience as normal a life as possible because she hadn’t been born to money or privilege. If we behaved well, she’d buy us a gelato at the end.’ His hand dropped from the panel and he turned. He had a wistful expression on his face. ‘Rafe would always have chocolate, Raoul would always have lemon, but I used to have a different flavour each time...’
Angelique studied him for a moment. He looked like he was mentally recalling each and every one of those outings with his mother. The boating accident on the French Riviera that had killed his parents had occurred the year before she had been born. She had only ever known the Caffarelli brothers as orphans. From her youthful perspective they had always seemed terribly sophisticated and racy, with their eye-popping good looks and wealthy lifestyle. But behind the trappings of wealth and privilege was a tragedy that had robbed three little boys of their loving parents.
Angelique remembered too well the shock of feeling alone. The utter desperation she had felt at seeing her mother’s body lowered into the ground on the dismally wet and grey morning of the funeral was something she would never forget. The build-up of emotion inside her chest had felt like a tsunami about to break. But somehow she had kept it in because she hadn’t wanted to disappoint her father. He had said she must be brave and so she was. But inside a part of her had died and gone with her mother into that cold, black hole in the ground.
Angelique blinked away the memory and said, ‘It must have been devastating for you when your parents were killed.’
A screen came down over his face. ‘I got over it.’ He moved past her to go back outside to get their bags. ‘Stay inside out of the cold. I won’t be long.’
Had he really got over it? He had only been seven years old. It was young for any child to lose a parent, yet he had not lost one but both. Angelique suspected that, like her, his restlessness and wild, partying lifestyle had come out of that deep pain of being abandoned so suddenly and so young. He was anchorless and yet shied away from anything that would tie him down.
His grandfather Vittorio could not be described as a nurturer. He was a cold, hard, bitter man with a tendency to lose his temper at the least provocation. She hadn’t seen Vittorio for a number of years, but in the old days when she and her father had been regular visitors to the Caffarelli villa in Rome she had given him a wide berth.
Of the three boys Remy seemed the most willing to deal with his grandfather. He visited him more often than his brothers and seemed to have a better relationship with him than either Rafe or Raoul, possibly because Remy had always relied on his natural charm to win people over.
Angelique wondered if Vittorio had found out about their marriage yet. It had been three days and as far as she knew Remy hadn’t called or spoken to him other than what he’d said on camera when the press had stormed them.
What did his brothers think? Had they contacted him and told him what a fool he was for marrying someone like her? She had always been a bit frightened of Rafe, who was so much older, but Raoul had always been nice to her.
Would he too think it was the worst disaster in the world for Remy to be locked in a marriage with her?
* * *
Remy was dusting the snow off his shoulders as he came inside when his phone rang. He knew it was his grandfather because he had set a particular ringtone to Vittorio’s number. He deliberately hadn’t called Vittorio before now to talk about his marriage to Angelique because that was what his grandfather would have expected, and Remy had learned over time that it was more tactical to do what he didn’t expect. It gave him more leverage with the old man and, he liked to think, a measure of respect. ‘Nonno, nice of you to call. What’s
new?’
‘I have a newspaper in front of me that says you’ve married Angelique Marchand.’ His grandfather’s voice had that thread of steel in it that used to terrify Remy as a young child. ‘There’s also a photo of you together outside some hotel in London.’
‘Is it a nice photo?’ Remy asked. ‘She’ll be hell to live with if it isn’t.’
He heard Vittorio’s intake of breath. ‘Is this a set-up? One of your pranks to gain publicity or something?’
‘It’s no prank. We’re married and we’re staying married.’ Until I have that Mappleton deal in the bag. Not that he could tell his grandfather that. If old man Mappleton got a hint that Remy’s marriage to Angelique wasn’t authentic, he would pull the plug on any negotiations.
‘You always did have a thing for that girl,’ Vittorio said.
Remy hadn’t realised he’d been so transparent about lusting over her in the past. He’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of disguising it. ‘Yes, well, you’ve seen what she looks like. I’m only human.’
‘Why didn’t you just screw her and get her out of your system?’ Vittorio continued. ‘Why on earth did you marry her? Have you got her pregnant or something?’
Remy gave himself a mental shake when an image of Angelique with a baby bump came to mind. ‘No, I did not get her pregnant. I’m in love with her.’ Ouch. That hurt. Not sure I want to say that again. It might make it happen.
Perish the thought!
Vittorio gave a disdainful laugh. ‘The day you fall in love is the day hell freezes over or I get accepted into heaven. Take your pick; neither of them is going to happen. You don’t have the capacity to love. You’re exactly like me in that regard. Love is for emotionally weak people who can’t survive without being propped up by someone else.’
Remy knew his grandfather was scathing about his brothers for falling in love. He mocked them any chance he could, picking Poppy and Lily to pieces as if they were not real people with feelings but department-store items Rafe and Raoul had picked up that, in Vittorio’s opinion, were somehow faulty.
Never Gamble With a Caffarelli Page 11