Bought with His Name & the Sicilian's Bought Bride

by Penny Jordan

  ‘I will miss him.’

  Still she didn’t respond, just lay there staring as Rico softly continued. ‘It hurts when I think of Marco. It is agony to know that he is never coming back…’ His hand was still on her face, and as he spoke this time she did turn her cheek, nestle a little in the warmth of his touch. ‘Marco was born in this country.’ Rico smiled gently. ‘I used to look after him. I didn’t want him to go through what I went through.’

  When Catherine’s eyes narrowed, Rico’s smile widened a touch. ‘When I started school I spoke no English. I was the little Sicilian boy with the lunch that smelt. Salami and forty-degree heat is not a good mix. And I suppose Marco looked up to me for a while, came to me if he was in trouble.’ There was a wistful note to his voice, then a tiny swallow before he continued. ‘I only wish he had carried on looking up to me; carried on coming to me for advice instead of going off the rails. But even though I knew he did stupid things, knew he made mistakes, still I loved him. He wasn’t always bad.’

  ‘Nor was Janey.’ She saw his shoulders stiffen, a denial undoubtedly bobbing on his tongue, but instead he nodded, afforded her the right to remember her sister as she saw fit.

  He sat just a breath away, his presence no longer intimidating, but strangely comforting. The lamplight drew dark shadows on his torso, highlighting the magnificence of his shoulders, defining the quiet strength of his muscular body, imparting confidence. A weary five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw now, but there was veracity in each and every tear that glittered in those brooding eyes—not mocking now, not clouded with suspicion, just infinitely understanding, giving the acquiescence she needed to continue.

  ‘I was thinking about when we were little—how we used to play, how she used to make me laugh. She was always the naughty one…’ a sob caught in her throat, ‘I can’t believe she’s really gone.’

  He pulled her towards him then, scooping her in his arms and wrapping them around her, a shield, a rock to cling to. ‘Let it out, Catherine. Now is not the time to hold back.’

  Oh, how she wanted to. How badly she wanted to give way to the tears that were threatening. This glimpse of his tenderness was taking her back to their first night together, when emotion had won, when feelings had been followed, and she was grateful to him—grateful to Rico for crossing the room, for taking her in his arms and telling her that he hurt too, for allowing her to glimpse that behind the cool façade beat a mortal heart that hurt too sometimes, that got broken, that mourned.

  But she couldn’t quite go there. Couldn’t give in to the tears that threatened to drown her. So instead she held him, held him ever closer. There was something about grief that suspended morals, something about loneliness that broke all the rules—because she didn’t want to be alone tonight and knew that neither did he. She didn’t want the light to go off, to be plunged back into the hell of the twilight zone she had inhabited moments before, and as he held her, caressed her, she was aware, achingly aware, of the shift in tempo. His caress was not so much comforting now, but urgent. His body beneath her fingers was now not so safe and reassuring. There was a tingling awareness of his skin against hers, his lips tracing her cheeks, and it was far easier to drown in his kiss than to face a night alone. Far easier to seek solace in the escape his touch afforded than face cruel reality…

  Oh, she might regret it, might see the folly of her ways later, but she craved oblivion now—craved the balmy bliss only Rico could provide. And as his tongue slid inside her parted lips, as his hand cupped her breast through the crisp cotton, she knew Rico craved it too.

  Her body arched towards his, long legs coiling around his hips, and he impatiently pulled at the shirt, kicked off his boxers until she could feel his manhood against her, swollen and urgent against her thighs. His lips were hot and urgent over her stomach as she lifted her arms, allowing him to slide the shirt away, and then he pushed her gently down, parted her legs with his hands.

  She stared, mesmerized, as he knelt before her, a knot of fear, excitement, anticipation welling as she eyed the velvet steel of his erection. Its sight was more intoxicating than any drink, blurring her senses into one, transfixed on this moment. Her pulse fluttered in a throat that seemed to constrict and she dragged her eyes to his, her whole body on high alert as he lifted the peach of her buttocks slightly from the sheets, held her aching and impatient in his hands and guided her towards him. A stab of pain so delicious she cried out for a moment. Her legs were coiling around him, dragging him deeper, moving against him.

  Hot breath burned on her shoulders as he moved inside her, his muscles taut beneath her touch, and she surrendered herself utterly. Focusing only on him—his skin, his smell, the salty, heady taste of him. She could hear her own gasps growing louder, could feel the rise and fall of her breasts as they moulded into him. The flush of her orgasm was whooshing up her cheeks, a dizzy, heady glow, and her thighs trembled convulsively. She could feel him growing more inside her, his breathing uneven, a low groan building inside as he bucked against her, his buttocks taut as she dragged her nails over him, in an animal frenzy as they climaxed together, contracting with an intensity more than merely physical. She could hear him call her name, but it seemed to be from a distance. She called his too, searching for him in the darkness, both calling out as they found the emotional haven they craved, and for a second she knew he needed her—that this release was as necessary as it was wondrous.

  And after, as he held her, as he reached over and turned out the light, she no longer feared the darkness. For no dark imaginings could hurt her with Rico by her side.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR a moment it was all okay.

  For one stolen moment between awakening and opening her eyes the world seemed right, but a strange sensation gripped her, a horrible sense of foreboding, and Catherine mentally tried to fathom what was wrong. The truth dawned with a sickening thud as her eyes snapped open.

  Janey was dead.

  ‘Here.’ A cup of coffee was placed on the bedside table and, pulling the sheet around her, Catherine sat up, taking a grateful sip of the liquid as she tried to fathom all that had happened. She’d never had a hangover, but from Janey’s description this must come precariously close, and she eyed the dripping percolator, already planning her second cup. She could see the crumpled shirt lying on the floor, Rico’s dark boxers beside it—evidence if ever it was needed of what had taken place. Under any other circumstances it would have overwhelmed her, but not today. Her grief was too overwhelming to allow much else.

  ‘My father just called. He and Antonia are at the airport; they’ll be here tomorrow.’

  Catherine looked up briefly. She’d only ever seen Rico in a suit, but now he stood unshaven, a towel wrapped around his waist. From the guarded look on his face the intimacies they had shared last night had been eradicated, and he stared back at her coolly.

  ‘I thought they weren’t coming until the funeral.’

  ‘They want to be here for Lily. At least that is what my father said.’

  Lily!

  A wave of guilt washed over her. She hadn’t even given her niece a thought since she had awoken. Catherine turned anguished eyes to his, replacing her cup in the saucer and spilling most of the contents. ‘I should ring—’ ‘I already have,’ Rico broke in. ‘The bruising is more extensive than they first thought, so they would like to keep her under observation for the next few days. She is fine,’ he added, as Catherine opened her mouth to ask. ‘The doctor said there is no need for concern; it is just as a precaution. I also get the impression they are assessing her social situation closely. The newspapers are full of it this morning, and though the doctor didn’t say as much I have a niggling feeling Antonia has rung from the States and let her feelings be known on the subject. As I feared, it would seem the battle for Lily’s future welfare is already gearing up.’

  He paused for the longest time. ‘Now, we really do have to talk, Catherine.’

  She didn’t want to talk, didn’
t want to go over and over things, yet she knew they had to—knew things needed to be sorted and that time wasn’t on their side.

  ‘This time tomorrow my family will be here. We cannot stop this from turning ugly. Antonia isn’t going to take it lying down, but if we can at least put on a united front with the social workers—if we can at least get the legal ball rolling—we can hopefully prevent Antonia from taking Lily from the hospital.’

  ‘She has no right,’ Catherine responded immediately. ‘She’s not even a blood relative.’

  ‘But my father is,’ Rico pointed out. ‘And my father will do whatever Antonia tells him, believe me.’

  Oh, she did believe him, as much as she might not want to. It had been the same with her own parents, and Catherine swallowed nervously. Only now was the magnitude of what she faced truly registering.

  ‘Look, Rico.’ She kept her voice deliberately even. ‘I understand your doubts about motives, but that aside, surely you cannot question my suitability? I’m a teacher, I work with children, I’m Lily’s aunty…’ She reeled off her possible attributes but he remained unmoved. ‘Surely after last night, after what we shared…’ Her voice trailed off as his face darkened. The fury in his eyes was more painful than any slap, the anger in his voice so visible she recoiled into the pillows, her eyes widening as he spoke, fury blazing in every word.

  ‘I wondered how long it would take you.’ He glanced at his heavy gold watch. ‘But you even surpassed my expectations. I thought you’d at least last five minutes, but you couldn’t even hold out that long.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You think last night changes anything? Well, it doesn’t.’ His finger jabbed accusingly at her. ‘You warned me yesterday you’d do whatever it takes to get Lily, and I should have bloody listened. So if you think you can use your feminine wiles to win me round you’re wrong. We had sex last night. That was all.’

  ‘You really are the limit, Rico.’ So blind was her fury, Catherine didn’t even bother to wrap the sheet around her, just stood up out of the bed and reached for a robe, tying the belt furiously around her. She stood before him, bristling with anger. ‘Do you really think I orchestrated last night? Do you really think I was lying there hoping you’d come to me? Well, you’re wrong. Last night we needed each other. Last night we wanted each other. There was no master plan intended. My God—’ Her voice was rising now, and her hand raked through her hair, utterly appalled at his slant on things. ‘Sleeping with you was the last thing I expected when I lay down on that bed. You know that, Rico. You know that,’ she repeated, grabbing his arm and trying to rattle some sense into him. But he flicked it away. ‘If we’d thought about it undoubtedly it would never have happened. We didn’t even—’ Her hand shot up to her lips, trembling, as an impossible thought came into focus.

  ‘Go on.’ Rico’s voice was like ice, and when Catherine said nothing it was Rico who continued for her. ‘We didn’t use any precautions, is that what you were about to say?’

  She gave a small, worried nod, wincing at the bitterness in Rico’s voice. ‘Why aren’t I surprised that you’re not on the Pill, Catherine? Why aren’t I surprised that, just like your sister before you, you had unprotected sex—?’

  ‘With a very rich man,’ Catherine finished for him, her voice a pale whisper. ‘You bastard.’

  Very slowly he shook his head, his eyes menacing as they held hers. One hand touched her cheek, one finger traced her cheekbone, but utterly without tenderness. ‘There are no bastards in the Mancini family. You know that, Catherine. Just as Janey did. There are no bastards in the Mancini family because, like the traditional Sicilian family we are, we always pay for our mistakes—and, my God, you’d make me pay, wouldn’t you?’

  The vileness of his accusation was almost more than she could comprehend. The fact that he could think she would stoop so low ignited the anger that had simmered unattended since the first knock at her door from the police.

  ‘We didn’t have sex last night, Rico. We made love. You think I engineered it? You think that while my sister lay in the mortuary I was planning to ensure a link with the Mancinis?’

  ‘You glimpsed wealth.’ Rico shrugged. ‘For a few hours you saw how your life could be…’

  ‘So I seduced you?’ She shook her head fiercely, scarcely able to comprehend what he was accusing her of. ‘I summoned you to my bed in the vain hope I might conceive?’

  ‘Just as your sister did with Marco.’

  Anger boiled within her, blurred her sense and took away her constraint. ‘Haven’t Sicilians heard of contraception, Rico? You make out I am some sort of tart when the truth is I have had only two relationships in my life and—as fleeting as it was—you were the second.’ She watched his face pale, almost took back what she had just said, lied to save herself. But she was beyond rationality now. Pride intermingled with hurt—a dangerous cocktail. ‘So, no, I’m not on the Pill, and I didn’t have a condom in my handbag just in case some six-foot-four Sicilian chose to make love to me. You’ll have to forgive me for my naivety, Rico, but the question really is, what’s your excuse? How come you didn’t think to take precautions?’

  To her utter exasperation he didn’t answer.

  ‘Because maybe, just maybe you needed me last night?’ Catherine suggested for him. ‘Because maybe you needed to be with another person? Needed—’

  ‘I needed sex.’ Rico shrugged. ‘It helps me sleep.’

  ‘What are you scared of, Rico? Why do you have to sully everything with your own warped take on things?’

  ‘Nothing scares me,’ he said proudly, but the lack of conviction in his voice was audible to Catherine.

  ‘Oh, yes, it does. You’re scared to believe that last night might actually have been about emotion, that maybe just for a moment in time you needed another human being. But don’t worry, Rico, I’m not about to trap you…’ Her mind was working overtime, tossing up answers to questions she hadn’t even considered. ‘There’s a pill I can take. I can see a doctor today…’

  ‘There will be no pills.’ His eyes narrowed menacingly. ‘Put that out of your mind this instant. And, contrary to what you just said, I do need you.’

  I do need you. His admission stilled her, but his lack of emotion told her this wasn’t going to be the declaration she secretly craved.

  ‘You’re right. You are a teacher, a supposed upstanding citizen, and on paper you probably look good. And at the end of the day Lily needs a mother figure in her life.’

  ‘So you won’t contest it when I apply for custody?’ She could scarcely comprehend it would be that easy, that Rico would give up with barely a fight. But he nodded and she felt her breathing even, her pulse-rate slow down as Rico’s eyes met hers and he gave a small smile.

  ‘Of course not.’ For a second she relaxed—a stupid move when Rico Mancini was in the room, for he struck like a viper the second her defences were down. ‘Why would I fight with my wife when we want the same thing?’

  ‘Your wife?’ Bewildered eyes met his, her mouth opening and closing as speech evaded her.

  ‘My wife,’ Rico confirmed, a malicious smile carving his strong features. ‘That is what you want, after all.’

  She moved to deny it, opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her tongue before they were even formed. Rico was right. That was what she wanted—for the last year it had been all she had wanted, all she had secretly craved. But not like this. Never, ever like this.

  ‘Antonia and my father can afford the best lawyers—’

  ‘So can you,’ Catherine cut in, but he withered her with a stare.

  ‘This could go on for years. Years,’ he repeated, making sure she understood. ‘And in that time Lily would be dragged between us. But if you and I unite, if we tell the social workers we are married, that Lily is our first and only priority, we would stand a chance. At the very least I’m sure we’d gain custody. and it would be up to my father and Antonia to try and prove
we were not fit.’

  ‘But marriage…I can’t believe you’re suggesting…’

  ‘Oh, but this isn’t a suggestion,’ Rico corrected. ‘This is what we will do.’

  ‘You can’t order me to marry you.’ She gave an incredulous laugh. ‘You can’t drag me up the aisle screaming, Rico.’

  ‘There will be no aisle; there will be no church. I think a quick discreet service would be more appropriate.’

  ‘You really think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Rico said with annoying patience, as if he were addressing a petulant two-year-old. ‘A young professional couple will certainly appease the family court judges.’

  ‘And I suppose once it’s all sorted we arrange a discreet divorce?’ Her words were laced with scorn. ‘What would happen to Lily then?’ Catherine fired. ‘I suppose I’d have her during the week and you’d rock up at the weekends?’

  ‘She’s not a parcel to be passed around; we will do the right thing by her.’

  Catherine shook her head, brown eyes blazing, appalled that he thought it could all be so easy. ‘A loveless marriage isn’t the right thing, Rico. A convenient divorce isn’t the right thing by Lily. She deserves better.’

  ‘And she will get it.’ He didn’t raise his voice, but something in the icy deliverance of his words told Catherine he meant business. She stepped back slightly, swallowing nervously as he walked over and took her none too gently by the shoulders, fixing her with a menacing stare. ‘You are the one who mentioned the word divorce…’

  ‘You can hardly expect me to sign my life away for ever.’

  ‘But that is what happens when you have a child,’ Rico pointed out. ‘That is the commitment you make. Yesterday you told me you wanted custody, that you wanted to do the right thing by your niece.’

  ‘And I do,’ Catherine protested, but not quite so forcibly. ‘But, Rico, what is a marriage without love?’