Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

by Michelle Smart

  Lisbeth laughed. ‘The last time I saw you, you called me a silly girl and pulled my hair.’

  Elena winced.

  Lisbeth took her hand. ‘I forgive you,’ she said, so earnestly Elena smothered a laugh.

  ‘I feel so bad that I haven’t kept in touch,’ she confessed a short while later.

  ‘That wasn’t your fault,’ Agnes interjected. ‘I take responsibility for that. I never should have suggested to your father that you come and live with us.’

  ‘Did you?’ Something else she hadn’t known.

  ‘When you were twelve. You were so unhappy and I—rightly or wrongly—thought it unfair of your father to lock you away as he did. I thought he would be happy for you to have some female guidance but he thought...otherwise.’

  ‘Is that why we stopped seeing you?’ They had never seen a huge amount of her mother’s family, just the odd family party here and there, but it had stopped completely around the time of Elena’s early adolescence.

  ‘You know what your father’s like. He rules with an iron fist and does not appreciate dissent, especially from a woman.’

  Elena gazed at Gabriele, standing with a crowd of men, all of them roaring with laughter.

  Gabriele would never treat a woman as anything but an equal. And he would never lock a child away. He might have stipulated that no child they had be allowed anywhere near her father or brothers but once a child came he would change his mind if he could see it would be in the child’s best interests.

  She kissed baby Annika’s sweet scented head.

  A pang rippled through her to think of the child she and Gabriele would have together.

  There might be a little cluster of cells in her that very second, steadily forming into an embryo that would be part her and part Gabriele.

  He had done this for her. He had brought her family over from Sweden without her knowledge. He’d given her back the family she hadn’t known how much she needed.

  It was the best present she had ever had.

  Agnes followed her gaze. A smile tugged at her lips. ‘I think your husband could not be less like your father. He must love you very much.’

  No. He didn’t love her. Gabriele could never love someone with Ricci blood. But what he’d done in bringing her family to Italy...

  But of course this went unsaid. Elena forced a smile to her face and took a sip of champagne.

  A few minutes later he was at their table.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies, but I need to borrow my wife. It’s time for us to say a few words to our guests.’

  Taking his hand, Elena got up, promising to continue their talk later.

  ‘Can you give me a minute to use the bathroom?’ she said, wanting some time to compose herself and fix her face.

  ‘Of course.’ He rubbed a finger up her cheekbone and smiled, his eyes flashing. ‘You really do look incredibly beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful.’

  She wanted to thank him, not just for the compliment, which she truly believed he meant, but for what he’d done in bringing her family here. But her throat had closed and she couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘I’ll wait for you by the bar,’ he said before placing the softest of kisses to her lips.

  Diving into the ladies’, she went straight to the mirror and took a deep breath.

  What was happening to her? Her emotions were all over the place, pulling her in directions she knew could never lead anywhere.

  Was she suffering from a version of Stockholm syndrome? She’d heard of kidnapped women falling for their captors and making excuses for them but had never understood how such a thing could happen.

  But she hadn’t fallen for Gabriele, she told herself stubbornly. She’d just come to accept he wasn’t the complete bastard she had thought him to be. He was much more complex than that.

  And so were her emotions.

  Satisfied her face was repaired as well as it could be, she left the sanctuary of the ladies’ to find her father waiting for her.

  He opened his arms and she gratefully slipped into his embrace.

  How could she have such doubts about him? He was her father. He’d raised her alone and while he had certainly made mistakes he’d only ever done his best by her.

  Hadn’t he?

  ‘You are happy, Elena?’ he asked, stepping back a little but keeping a tight hold on her arms to peer at her closely.

  What was he looking for? Signs of her doubt?

  The disloyal thought made her feel even worse.

  ‘Mantegna, he treats you well?’

  ‘He treats me very well and I’m very happy with him.’ And as she spoke the words she knew them to be true.

  She was happy with Gabriele.

  There were times—many times—when she forgot why she was with him and would feel full to the brim. And he treated her better than she had ever been treated in her life. He listened to her. He took her opinions as seriously as he took his own. He made love to her as if she meant something to him.

  If he could treat her, a Ricci, like that, she could only imagine how he would treat a woman he was in love with.

  His ex-fiancée needed her head examined. If she’d been Sophia she would have fought to clear his name. She would never have doubted him.

  Her head began to swim.

  ‘When are you coming back to work?’ her father asked, still holding her arms. ‘Your staff miss you.’

  ‘I need to sort some things out,’ she said, avoiding a straight answer. Because what her father hadn’t mentioned was that she hadn’t stopped working. She might not have physically gone to work since marrying Gabriele but she communicated with her staff daily and dealt with any problems as and when they occurred. Which was rarely. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back in the office soon.’

  Back in the office, running myself ragged around Europe, trying desperately to justify why I have the position I worked so hard for but which is ultimately worthless.

  These weeks away had forced her to see the truth. Her job was nothing but a sop. She was nothing but a highly paid supervisor. The divisions she managed didn’t need her. They were well run by their individual management teams and functioned perfectly well without her.

  She didn’t even enjoy it!

  Why had it taken her so long to see the truth?

  But what else could she do?

  She wasn’t qualified to do anything else.

  ‘I’ll let you know very soon,’ she promised, kissing his cheek and gently extracting her arms from his hold.

  ‘If he hurts you...’

  ‘I know.’ She nodded wryly. ‘I’ll tell you. But he won’t hurt me.’

  ‘What does he say about me?’ he asked as she made to move away.

  She had dreaded this question, had been certain that when confronted with it the temptation to confess all would be too great, that she wouldn’t be able to lie to him.

  It was the look in his eyes that made her keep her confessions to herself.

  He was worried about something.

  And it terrified her to think what that something could be.

  She was saved from having to answer by the singer of the band doing a call-out for her from his vantage point on the stage. Gabriele was standing by the stage, his arms folded and a mock-scowl on his face.

  She gave her father one last impulsive hug, cleared the lump in her throat, and made her way through the laughing crowd to the stage.

  Gabriele watched his wife walk to him, so much flittering over her face he couldn’t discern one distinct emotion. Until she looked at him that was, and all her features softened and something flickered in her eyes he’d never seen before.

  He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman than Elena that night. When she finally reached him
and took his hand, a tightness pooled in his gut that almost doubled him over.

  The singer from the band said a few words then handed the microphone to Gabriele, who jumped straight into his thanks to everyone for attending and apologised for marrying in such haste.

  ‘You know what it’s like,’ he drawled, pitching his speech between humour and sincerity, ‘you meet someone and within a day the life you know is gone and you find yourself signing the rest of your life away.’

  He waited for the laughter to subside before continuing. ‘But that’s what love does to you. It turns everything on its head and marks you to the person you’ve fallen for.’

  His intention had been to direct those last words at Ignazio, to hammer home the message that Ignazio’s beloved daughter had got into bed with the enemy, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman who wore his ring.

  He thought of Ignazio’s right-hand man, who was on the brink of defecting to him with all the incriminating documents. He thought of how Elena would react when she learned of this and learned that he still intended for her father to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison.

  But then he thought of his own father, dying within days of Gabriele being incarcerated, knowing full well that his only son was innocent and the man he’d considered a brother had betrayed him in the most heinous way.

  He thought of his mother, so full of life if a little forgetful when this nightmare had started, the stress of seeing her son imprisoned and the sudden death of her husband accelerating the loss of her mental capacity at an alarming rate.

  That was all Ignazio’s doing.

  It came to him that he hadn’t added Sophia to that list.

  But then Sophia paled in comparison to Elena. Elena would never have abandoned him. She would have been one of those wives who visited every weekend, the first to arrive and the last to leave. She would have believed in his innocence.

  She did believe in his innocence. After everything he was doing to her, she believed him.

  If he took the proof to the FBI as he intended then she would never believe in him again.

  It would devastate her.

  Could he really do that to her?

  Hadn’t she suffered enough?

  The cheers from their guests brought him back to the present.

  His silence had been so long they clearly assumed he’d finished. He couldn’t remember the rest of what he was going to say anyway.

  The band started playing again.

  ‘Shall we dance?’ he said.

  Her hand was still in his. She gave one of those shy smiles he adored so much and nodded.

  He led her to the centre of the dance floor and took her into his arms.

  Smiling, she looped her arms around his neck and sighed, gazing up at him. ‘Thank you for bringing my family here.’

  He knew she didn’t mean the Mantegnas.

  ‘You’re welcome. They seem like nice people.’

  ‘They do.’ Her eyes shone. ‘Thank you.’

  She moved closer to him, their legs touching, his groin pressing into her abdomen, even with the height of her sandals giving her an extra lift. And then she raised herself onto her toes and, her eyes still gazing into his, pressed her mouth tentatively to his.

  He stilled, unsure whether this was a kiss of gratitude or something more.

  Only when she tightened her hold around his neck and parted her lips did he dare believe it was something more.

  Her sweet breath suffused him. Her sweet scent filled him. The softness of her lips...

  He forgot that only weeks ago this party had been arranged with the sole purpose of showing Elena off on his arm in front of her father and letting him know in no uncertain terms that she belonged to him.

  None of that mattered.

  Elena was kissing him with feather-light movements and the tiniest darts of her tongue, and it was the most erotic, moving kiss he had ever experienced.

  Running his hand up her spine, he captured the nape of her slender neck and kissed her back with the same languidness she kissed him.

  When she eventually broke away, she buried her head in his shoulder and gave a muffled laugh.

  He squeezed her tightly, adoring the feel of her pressed so close to him. And wished that everything could be different.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE REST OF the evening passed in a happy daze. Elena had never expected to enjoy the party but she did. Meeting her Swedish family had been the pinnacle and when she and Gabriele left it was with promises to visit themvery soon.

  They took the short walk back to the apartment in silence, hands clasped, tension thick between them. Gabriele had long since removed his dinner jacket and bow tie, but the night air was so warm he slung it over his shoulder rather than put it back on. Or was it the heat swirling between them keeping him warm?

  She had never felt such depth for someone, or such gratitude. Every time she remembered her brothers’ faces when he’d reprimanded them she wanted to laugh. Every time she thought of what he’d done in bringing her Swedish family there she wanted to cry. It had been the most thoughtful thing she could imagine and he’d done it without any selfish motive. He’d done it for her.

  She could never explain how much it meant.

  The only way she’d been able to think to show how much it meant was by giving him the one thing she’d been denying him. She’d kissed him.

  And now she knew it hadn’t just been him she’d been denying by her refusal to kiss but herself too.

  In the apartment they went straight to the bedroom, Gabriele throwing his dinner jacket onto a chair as they passed.

  Elena closed the door behind them and leant against it, tugging at the ankle straps of her sandals and kicking them off, staring at him, the most beautiful man in the world.

  And he stared right back, a fever in his eyes that filled every crevice.

  She held out a hand. When he reached to take it, she took a step towards him and placed his palm on her chest, letting him feel the hammering of her heart. Her lonely heart that had somehow, without her knowing when or how, become whole.

  His breathing was as heavy as her own, his eyes dark, molten.

  Stepping even closer, she placed a kiss on his neck and inhaled his scent, then slowly moved her lips up, over his jawline, across his cheeks and then to his mouth.

  She breathed him in as she kissed him and wound her arms around his neck, exploring him with her lips and her tongue, heat filling her trembling body.

  He held her securely to him, letting her take the lead.

  Dragging her fingers down his chest, she undid the buttons on his shirt, their kisses deepening.

  One hand still splayed on the base of her back, he undid his trousers. Between them they removed his shirt and tugged his trousers and underwear down until he stood naked, his erection jutting against her belly.

  She’d never known she could feel such need for someone. She’d never dreamt there would come a day when she would physically ache for a man and that her heart would race so hard it would feel bruised.

  Now she broke the kiss and took a step back.

  Gabriele thought he might be drowning.

  He’d never known one kiss could make his entire body ignite with something more combustible than mere lust.

  Whatever this was, he’d never felt it before. There was a voice in his head warning him of danger but he was helpless to obey it.

  He didn’t want to obey it.

  Right now, this moment, Elena kissing him as if she would consume him, every one of her looks spearing him...it would be easier to slice a limb off than walk away.

  ‘Get on the bed,’ she whispered, standing as still as a statue, only the rise and fall of her chest showing lif
e...and those mesmeric eyes that bore into him.

  On legs that felt strangely boneless, he did as she bid, not taking his eyes off her.

  Only when he was leaning back against the headboard on the bed did she come back to life.

  She took a deep, trembling breath then gathered her dress in her hands and pulled it up and over her head. The movement dislodged whatever had been holding her hair in place, white-blonde locks spilling over her shoulders.

  All she had on now was a pair of lacy white panties.

  She gazed at him, colour on her face, but made no attempt to cover herself as she usually did.

  He swallowed the moisture in his mouth, gripping hold of the bed sheets lest he jumped out, threw her onto the bed and plunged inside her as the aching jut between his legs longed to do.

  She walked to him, not taking her gaze from him, until she stood at the edge of the bed and slowly, torturously slowly, tugged her panties down.

  Climbing onto the bed, she straddled him, then her hot, sweet mouth was back on his and she was kissing him as if she needed his breath for life.

  And then that beautiful mouth was dragging down his throat, her tongue darting out, and she was kissing him everywhere, moving down his chest, his abdomen, her fingers exploring, so many sensations igniting that it was a struggle to breathe.

  When she took him into her mouth his hands clenched into fists and he had to force air into his lungs.

  He’d never experienced anything like it, such pure, deep desire. It burned him.

  Groaning, he watched her head bob up and down, desperate to reach out and touch her but not wanting to do anything that might scare her or break her from the moment.

  Just at the point when he felt he might burst, she trailed her tongue back up his chest, her breasts brushing against his skin, until she found his lips. At the same moment her tongue swept back into his mouth, she sank down on him, taking him inside her sweet tightness in one long movement.

  He watched her eyes close and a look of bliss spread over her beautiful face.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tightly, fusing her to him as she began to move, little cries escaping from her mouth that soon turned into moans and then gasps.