Bound by a One-Night Vow

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Izzy moved through the suite, stopping to look at the artwork on the walls—originals, not prints, of course. There was a dining area off the main sitting room and the master bedroom and en suite bathroom through another door. She peered inside the master bedroom, her eyes going straight to her overnight bag positioned on the velvet-covered luggage rest. No doubt it had been delivered while she and Andrea were in the elevator. She closed the door and turned and looked at him. ‘Where’s the other bedroom?’

  ‘There isn’t one.’ He shrugged off his jacket and laid it across the back of one of the sofas. ‘You’ll be sharing mine.’

  Izzy’s stomach dropped so far it bounced and knocked her heart into her throat. ‘What? What sort of penthouse is this if it only has one bedroom?’

  His expression was inscrutable. ‘Is that going to be a problem for you?’

  ‘Of course it’s a problem.’ She stalked as far away from him as she could get, sending him a glare so blistering she was surprised the paint didn’t peel off the walls. ‘I told you I’m not sleeping with you. I want my own room.’ She folded her arms and planted her feet. ‘I want my own suite.’

  Andrea casually loosened his tie, his gaze still meshed with hers. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you own the flipping hotel!’ Izzy’s voice was so shrill she thought it might shatter the chandeliers. She knew her outraged virgin reaction could be considered a little inconsistent given her reputation, but she couldn’t possibly share a bedroom with him. Sharing a bedroom meant sharing a bed. She’d shared an elevator with him and look how that turned out.

  Andrea’s tie landed alongside his jacket and he reached up to undo a couple of the buttons of his shirt. His calm demeanour and his slow and methodical movements as he released the buttons were in stark contrast to how she was feeling, which made her even more furious with him. ‘Precisely,’ he said, his eyes so dark her insides gave a little flutter. ‘Which is why you’re sharing this suite with me. I will not have my domestic staff think this is not a genuine marriage.’

  Izzy began pacing the floor in case she was tempted to undo the rest of those buttons for him. She forced her gaze away from his tanned and toned chest with its dusting of crisp masculine hair. She had to get a hold on herself. She was meant to be standing up to him, resisting him, not gawking at him like some kind of sex-starved spinster.

  He was enjoying every second of her panic. He was so cool. So enviably, damnably cool. He reminded her of a cat who had cleverly cornered a mouse. He was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment when one of his velvet-covered paws would strike his hapless prey.

  There was going to be no such moment.

  Izzy straightened her spine as if she were the star student at deportment school. ‘If you think I’m going to get in that bed with you and allow you to touch me, think again. If you so much as lay one finger on me I will scream so loud your staff will have to replace all the chandeliers. And the windows. In the entire hotel.’

  Andrea gave a low deep chuckle. ‘I have no problem with a little screaming coming from my bedroom. The louder the better.’

  Izzy spun away to stand stiffly in front of one of the windows. She couldn’t allow him to do this to her—reduce her to a tantrum-throwing termagant. She had to act cool and unmoved by his attempt to unsettle her. She had to call his bluff. He was doing this to needle her. He knew how much she hated him. He was trying to get the upper hand in their relationship. And she was handing him free points every time she reacted like a spoilt child.

  She had to think of another tactic—another way to outsmart him. Think. Think. Think.

  Izzy took a calming breath and turned around to face him. ‘All right. You win. We share the bed. But I should warn you I’m a terribly restless sleeper.’

  His expression showed no apparent satisfaction that she’d changed her mind, but she couldn’t help wondering what was going on behind the screen of his impenetrable gaze. ‘Perhaps I can find a way to relax you, sì?’

  Izzy turned away before he saw the longing she was trying to suppress. Why was he the only man who could do this to her? Make her angry and aroused in equal measure. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’ She turned for the master bedroom and its en suite bathroom.

  ‘What about dinner?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You might change your mind after your shower,’ Andrea said. ‘I’ll order something for you.’

  Izzy closed the bedroom door by way of answer. She leaned back against it with a heavy sigh, wondering how she was going to get through a whole night sleeping beside Andrea. It was like asking a chocolate addict to spend the night in a chocolate factory. How would she stop herself from touching him? And what if he touched her? He only had to look at her to get her hot and bothered.

  What had happened to her defences?

  To her resolve?

  She moved away from the bedroom door and went to the luxurious en suite. The bathroom was decked out in marble with the same blue-grey tones of the bedroom, teamed with a white freestanding bath and twin basins with stunning ornate silver-trimmed mirrors. Soft fluffy towels as big as blankets were on the silver towel rails and more were rolled stylishly on a glass shelf. The shower was so big it could have housed an entire football team, and it had a large square rainwater showerhead. The bathroom smelt of exotic essential oils and there were bottles of the Vaccaro signature toiletries positioned on the marble counter near the basin and more in the shower and next to the bath. Two blue-grey bathrobes hung on silver hooks on the back of the door, and Izzy couldn’t help wondering who had been the last woman to spend the night with Andrea here.

  Izzy stripped off her clothes and stepped under the shower, tilting her head back so the water could wash over her as if she were standing in a waterfall in a rainforest. She was no stranger to luxury. While she was growing up, her father had always insisted on staying at the best hotels because he believed a businessman of his status deserved the best. But something about Andrea’s hotel had more than just over-the-top luxury. It had class. Sophistication. Understated glamour. The simplicity of design and detail hinted at a man who liked and appreciated the good things in life but was not one to flash his wealth around in a status-seeking manner.

  Once she’d finished showering, Izzy dried off and dressed in her nightgown and slipped on one of the bathrobes. She roughly dried her hair using the hairdryer she found in one of the bathroom drawers and then scooped it loosely on top of her head in a makeshift ponytail. She looked at her make-up-free face and wondered if she should put on some cosmetic armour, but then decided against it. She wasn’t out to impress him. What did it matter if she didn’t look anything like his gorgeous and sophisticated bed buddies?

  She. Did. Not. Care.

  Izzy came out of the bathroom to find the suite empty apart from a dinner trolley that was set up next to the dining table off the sitting room. She did a quick search of the rest of the suite but there was no sign of Andrea. She went back to the dinner trolley and lifted the silver domes off to see if he had eaten anything but the delicious-looking food was untouched. There wasn’t a note left anywhere and when she checked her phone there was no text message either. If he was so keen to keep up appearances, then why wasn’t he in the suite with her?

  Izzy leaned down to smell the food and momentarily closed her eyes in bliss. There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, desserts under another lid, fresh fruit and a cheese plate under another. There were little savoury pastries and tartlets and some crab cakes and fresh oysters. A seafood dish that was fragrant with lemongrass and lime and chilli and coconut milk was in another dish with a bowl of fluffy jasmine rice flecked with coriander. It was a feast of her fantasies and she was suddenly so hungry she felt faint. She looked at her phone, wondering if she should call or text Andrea to see where he was but decided against it. She didn’t want to start acting like a sus
picious wife, checking up on his whereabouts.

  Why should she care where he was?

  There was a message on her phone from her flatmate, Jess, who had apparently seen something on Twitter about Izzy and Andrea’s surprise marriage. It was a little shocking to realise how quickly the news had travelled. Izzy texted back to say she would be moving out but not to worry about the rent because Andrea had promised to pay out the lease. Even as she typed the words, she realised how much control she had handed to him. He was paying her bills, sorting out everything for her like she had no mind of her own.

  Izzy put down her phone and sighed. She would have to suck it up because the only way she could get her grandparents’ house back was to abide by the terms of her father’s will. The allowance Andrea had offered to pay her would help, so too would the money her father had stipulated would be paid to her upfront upon her marriage, but the full balance would not be in her hands until the six months was up. She had already spoken to the current owners and they had graciously agreed to hold back from putting the house on the market until December. She’d had to make them an offer they couldn’t refuse to get them to hold off selling but she didn’t care how much it cost her.

  Buying back her grandparents’ house was a way to right the wrongs of the past—a way to honour her mother and her brother by bringing back what should never have been taken away.

  * * *

  Andrea sat in his office on the first floor of the hotel and sorted out a couple of issues his manager had brought to his attention. He knew he could have just as easily seen to them in the morning, but he felt the need to clear his head. Izzy’s response to him in the elevator had made him realise the electric heat that fired between them. He became like a horny teenager when he was with her. She excited him like no other woman. There was a dangerous element to what he felt about her. The raw desire that pumped in his blood pushed him into a place he had never allowed himself to go before now.

  He wanted her so badly it was all he could think about. How much he wanted to drive himself into her moist heat. How he wanted to hear her scream his name. How he wanted to feel her come apart around him.

  He’d contained his lust for her for years. For years he’d thrown himself into work, pummelled the forbidden desire out of him by long punishing hours, driven himself to achieve what others only dreamed about. He had everything money could buy. He had achieved more than he had set out to achieve.

  He wasn’t after the happy-ever-after package. And Izzy was certainly not the woman to give it to him. Her negative attitude to marriage was his safety hatch—the escape route so that when the six months was up he could walk away without a qualm. It was a means-to-an-end marriage. A mutually satisfying arrangement that would give them both what they wanted. He’d been rethinking his paper marriage stance. Why shouldn’t he indulge his desire for her and hers for him? It was clear they wanted each other. The way she’d responded to him in the elevator proved that she wasn’t immune to him any more than he was to her.

  She would get her inheritance and he would get her.

  But Andrea was prepared to take his time about it. He wanted her to be the one to come to him. And her coming apart on his thigh in the elevator was an indicator of how close she was to capitulating. She was only resisting him because he had rejected her advances seven years ago. He knew she had only targeted him back then because she knew it would jeopardise his relationship with her father. He’d been tempted. Sure he had. Every cell in his body had felt the strain of resisting her come-and-get-me eyes. For years he’d worked hard not to show it. Whenever he came into contact with her at one of her father’s parties or events he would screen his desire behind a mask of cynicism. But inside he was simmering, smouldering with lust.

  It was different now. She wanted him, not as a rebellious teenager out to make mischief. This time she wanted him as a fully grown passionate woman.

  He closed down his computer and smiled. Yes. It was only a matter of time before she would be finally his.

  * * *

  Izzy had eaten so much she had to lie down, but she refused to lie on Andrea’s bed. That seemed way too intimate, too...anticipatory, as if she was waiting for him to come and make love to her. She wasn’t... But she had thought about it. A lot. It was all she seemed to think about. Her body felt agitated, restless, needy. The response he had evoked in her in the elevator had made her hungry for more. She wanted to feel his arms around her, his body within her, his mouth locked on hers.

  She had a reputation as a sleep-around slut but she’d only had a handful of lovers and none of them had been satisfying. She’d always been uncomfortable with physical intimacy and had made herself tipsy in order to get through it. None of her partners had taken the time to get to know her needs or preferences but carried on regardless. She figured it was easier to pretend she was having a good time rather than speak up and risk being called a freak or frigid.

  Not that she felt frigid when she was around Andrea. Far from it. He only had to put his knee between her thighs and she’d shattered into a million pieces of bliss. What would happen if he made love to her in every sense of the word?

  Izzy curled up on one of the sofas in the sitting room and wrapped herself in one of the cashmere throw rugs. She had to stop thinking about Andrea making love to her. She had to stop craving his touch. She had to stop imagining his hands and lips and tongue on her flesh. Had. To. Stop. She turned on the television to watch one of her favourite shows but it didn’t capture her interest as it normally would. She closed her eyes and promised herself she would keep an ear out for when Andrea came back in...

  * * *

  Andrea entered the suite and found Izzy fast asleep on one of the sofas. She was wearing one of his hotel’s bathrobes but it had fallen open, revealing the slender length of her legs. Her feet were bare and her toenails were painted in an electric blue. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail but some strands had loosened and now fell about her face. Her skin was make-up free and as pure and unblemished as a cream-coloured rose, her eyelashes and eyebrows so dark in contrast she looked like a modern version of Sleeping Beauty. He had always considered her beautiful, but without the adornment of make-up and proper hair styling she looked almost ethereal, like an angel in a Renaissance painting. Serene and untouchable.

  He approached the sofa but she didn’t stir. He gently straightened the throw rug so it covered her legs, then he brushed back her hair, tucking it behind the shell of her ear. She smelt of the essential oils he had selected as the signature scent of his hotel chain. She gave a little murmur and burrowed her head further against the scatter cushion she was leaning on.

  He felt a jab of disappointment she hadn’t woken at the sound of him entering the suite. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been looking forward to sparring with her. He enjoyed the way she not only locked horns with him but threatened to rip his off and stab him with them. The way she stared him down and threw insults at him like darts. He enjoyed baiting her, watching her colour rise and her eyes flash. She hated him but she wanted him, and to him that was a sexy combination.

  He began to move away when she suddenly jerked upright, pushing her hair out of her face and looking at him through narrowed eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I was covering your legs with the throw rug.’

  She got up from the sofa and tied the edges of her bathrobe more securely, her cheeks stained a light pink. ‘Have you eaten?’ She glanced at the dinner trolley and her cheeks darkened a notch. ‘I was kind of hungry so you might need to order up some more.’

  Andrea picked up the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket. ‘Fancy some?’

  ‘It might seem strange to you but I don’t actually feel like celebrating.’ Her tone was so sour it would have curdled milk.

  He uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. ‘You should celebrate. You’re now a very wealthy young woman.’ He handed he
r a glass of champagne. ‘A very wealthy married young woman.’

  Her eyes flashed and her mouth thinned. She took the champagne and for a moment he wondered if she was going to throw it in his face. Then she touched her glass against his. ‘That is if we last the distance.’ She gave a small frown. ‘How can I be sure you won’t sabotage this by walking out before the six months is up? As you so kindly pointed out, I have the most to lose.’

  Andrea stroked a finger down the curve of her cheek. ‘You’ll have to trust me, won’t you, cara?’

  Something hardened in her eyes and she brushed his hand away from her face as if she were shooing away a fly, almost spilling her champagne in the process. ‘Stop touching me. I can’t think when you do that. And I thought I told you not to keep calling me that. No one’s here but us. It’s totally unnecessary and it’s damn annoying.’

  ‘What you find annoying is how much you like it when I call you that,’ Andrea said. ‘You like lots of the things I do to you but you’re too proud to admit it.’

  She plonked her glass down on the nearest surface. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She threw him another glare. ‘And no, that is not an invitation for you to join me.’

  Andrea put his glass down and came to her, taking her by the hands before she could step away. ‘I will not take advantage of you, Isabella. We’ll only make love if or when you give me the go-ahead. You have my absolute word on that.’

  She didn’t try to pull away from his hold and her expression softened slightly, the tight muscles of her jaw eased and her eyes lost their sheen of don’t-mess-with-me brittleness. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re doing this... Why you wanted to marry me in the first place. It doesn’t make sense.’

  He massaged the backs of her hands with his thumbs, holding her gaze with his. ‘Remember I told you it was convenient for me to get married just now? I have a hotel merger I’ve been negotiating for a while. The owner has a teenage stepdaughter who has developed a rather embarrassing crush on me. I figured if I had a wife then that little problem will be taken care of until I get the merger completed. A temporary marriage between us seemed a perfect solution to both of our problems.’