Bound by the Billionaire's Vows

by Clare Connelly

  She saw it now for what it was—another part of his callous, calculated plan. He’d manipulated her inexperience and desire. She had been the one who’d pushed for a quick engagement. He’d withheld the sexual satisfaction she’d been desperate for, knowing it would lead to a fast-track wedding.

  What was that expression? Marry in haste, repent at leisure...

  To be back in his house, pregnant with his baby, still wanting him but so completely out of love... What a nightmare it was.

  Worse, he was right. His body still had the power to make all her will-power crumble. How she hated him for that!

  A noise behind her had Skye tilting her head, her dark hair falling like a curtain across her shoulder.

  ‘Dinner’s ready.’

  His voice was unrecognisable. It was so businesslike. So cold.

  She turned away, rejecting him and his closeness, her eyes running across the golden sky, seeking warmth from its light. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn.’

  Skye swept her eyes shut.

  ‘You are pregnant. You must eat.’

  ‘I’ll eat when I want to. When I’m hungry.’ She lifted her legs, curling them against her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She heard Matteo draw closer but didn’t risk looking at him.

  ‘Are we going to quarrel about everything?’

  Skye stared straight ahead. ‘I’m not quarrelling with you.’

  ‘If that were the case you’d already be on your way downstairs for dinner.’

  Skye didn’t respond.

  ‘Melania has prepared your favourite. She will be disappointed if you don’t at least make an appearance.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Skye said softly. Using her affection for his housekeeper to push her into doing what he wanted was a low trick. Then again, why would she expect him to play fair? Matteo had proven, again and again, that he would do whatever it took to get his way.

  ‘What isn’t fair?’

  ‘You know I’d never disappoint Melania,’ Skye said without meeting his eyes.

  ‘You and she seemed to have a special bond.’ Speculation stirred in the depths of his eyes.

  ‘I guess she liked having someone in the house who wasn’t a psychopath.’ The insult came out on a sigh of frustration. She stood, curving her hands over the balustrade, her eyes following a gondola as it moved slowly down the canal beneath them.

  Her frustration was largely aimed at herself. How had this happened? She’d come to Venice with a simple plan. And she’d been so close to freedom. If only she hadn’t fainted! If only he hadn’t seen!

  She swept her eyes shut again, inhaling deeply. ‘I’ll be down soon.’

  Apparently satisfied, he stalked out of the room without a backward glance, leaving Skye all alone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘DO YOU SEE these paintings, Matteo?’

  Matteo’s eight-year-old eyes followed the direction of his nonno’s finger, nodding thoughtfully as he studied the curious artwork. ‘What are they?’

  Nonno’s smile was rich with pride. ‘They were painted by a student of Modigliani—you can see his style in the faces, no?’

  Matteo nodded, though he had no idea who Modigliani was and what about the faces was reminiscent of his work. Nonetheless, he understood that the information was being imparted with gravitas and importance. He also knew that if he nodded, and at least appeared to know, it would impress his grandfather—and impressing the tall, smartly dressed man had become very important to Matteo in the six months since he’d come to live with him.

  ‘He would spend summers here, at this very hotel, every year, and leave a painting as a gift—in lieu of payment. It is how your great-great-great-grandfather managed to collect so many of the pieces.’

  ‘Modigliano?’ Matteo prompted.

  Nonno hid his smile. ‘Modigliani’s student,’ he corrected.

  ‘Are they valuable, Nonno?’

  ‘Valuable, yes.’ Nonno’s eyes narrowed. ‘But they are not for selling. They are for keeping and remembering. One day they will be yours, for you to keep and look after, and then to pass on to your son, and his son, and so forth. They are part of our family legacy, Matteo. That is their true value.’

  * * *

  Matteo’s thirty-two-year-old eyes fell on the same painting, studying the angular face, the bright colours and the eyes that seemed to follow him about the room. Thank God his grandfather had had the foresight to strip the hotel of its artwork before the bank had claimed them as assets of the hotel and included them in the degrading fire sale.

  ‘Ah, signora!’ Melania’s voice cracked through his reverie. He turned in time to see his wife pulled into an enormous hug by his housekeeper—a woman who had never shown him any degree of warmth or affection but apparently adored Skye. ‘I’m so happy you are home!’

  Skye’s face drained of all colour but she covered it quickly. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Melania. How have you been?’

  ‘Busy, busy. Here, come, sit. I make you risotto.’ Melania leaned closer so that Matteo had to hold his breath to hear what she said next. ‘And canoli for dessert, si?’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Skye nodded, moving towards the table. Matteo watched as she pulled a seat out and arranged a napkin on her lap, all without meeting his eyes.

  Her indifference infuriated him.

  So too her air of cold detachment, when he knew how heated she was. He’d felt her heat—even in the hospital it had burst between them, flaring up out of nowhere. But now she had her long hair scraped back into a simple braid that ran down her back, the thick fringe sitting in silent judgement of him, and dressed in clothes that had been hers before. Clothes that had been left, hanging in her wardrobe, all the weeks that she had been away...

  ‘So, Skye,’ he drawled, waiting until she was settled before taking the seat opposite. He kicked back in his chair a little, his eyes unable to hide their mocking as they latched to hers. ‘What exactly was your plan?’

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘It seems irrelevant now.’

  His expression was unchanged. ‘You were going to fly off into the Australian sunset?’

  Her eyes flew to his, shock holding her body rigid. ‘How did you—?’

  ‘How did I know?’ he interrupted scathingly. ‘Your handbag had your ticket. So this was going to be a fly in, fly out divorce?’

  She swallowed, the slender column of her throat moving visibly as she tried to keep her calm. ‘Was I supposed to spend the weekend?’ she fired back sarcastically, reaching for a water glass and sipping from it without shying away from his look. ‘Did you want to take me sightseeing? One last ride down the Grand Canal?’

  ‘Given that you’re carrying my child, I would have expected a degree of consultation, yes. Of course, knowing your father as I do, I’m not sure why I am so surprised.’

  She looked away, his statement instantly chastening her and angering her in equal measure. But she had no reason to be cowered by him. Not after what he’d done. ‘That brings us to the important point, doesn’t it? If you’d been honest with me from the beginning, we wouldn’t be in this situation,’ she pointed out.

  ‘And because you think I lied, you felt it appropriate to repay me by keeping my child from me?’ he demanded, reaching for the serving spoon and passing it to Skye.

  ‘You did lie.’ She took the implement, avoiding an accidental brush with his fingers as though they contained the plague. ‘And this wasn’t about repaying you.’

  ‘No? So why not tell me about the baby?’

  Skye stared at him long and hard, then shook her head. How could she answer that without admitting how much she’d loved him? Without telling her husband that his betrayal had broken her heart? Not just once, but every morning when she’d had to wake up and remember, anew, that he wasn’t in bed beside her.

  Pride kept her silent on that score. That he’d hurt her was bad enough—giving him the satisfaction of knowing just how
badly was something she wanted to keep all to herself.

  ‘Why not speak to me about the hotel in the first instance?’ She pushed back, scooping a moderate amount of risotto onto her plate and sitting back in her chair. ‘If you’d told me you wanted it, if you’d offered to buy it, I would have given that thought.’

  ‘And you might have said no,’ he responded, the words hardened by the long years he’d spent trying to get the hotel back. ‘How did you learn the truth?’

  ‘I asked our family lawyer about it,’ she said quietly. ‘He told me all about the feud with Dad. The fact you’d tried to buy the hotel. That Dad had said no. That you’d threatened to destroy him. That you’d “make him pay”.’ The threat sent a shiver running down Skye’s spine. Marrying her would indeed have been a punishment to her father, had he lived to see it.

  ‘That same lawyer would have stopped you from selling to me.’

  Skye swallowed, silently admitting that there was truth in that. Had she not loved Matteo, would she have sold an asset to a man reputed to be ruthless and selfish just because he wanted it? Would she have sold a damned thing to someone who’d been a sworn enemy of her father? She shrugged, feigning uncertainty. ‘You don’t know that. I certainly didn’t.’

  ‘I knew it,’ he said, the words hardened like steel.

  ‘So, what? You decided to seduce me, to propose to me, to make me believe I was in love with you? To take my virginity? And all so you could get me to sign some stupid hotel over to you?’

  He turned his face away, his profile resolute. ‘The hotel that you disdain means the world to me. Losing it was not an option.’

  ‘Oh, go to hell,’ she snapped, scraping her chair back and standing jerkily. ‘So that makes this okay? Me being collateral damage is something you can make your peace with because you wanted the hotel?’

  He compressed his lips, studying the slender silhouette of her figure, backlit by the evening light.

  ‘It should never have been sold. I had to return it to my family. It was my duty.’

  Skye’s eyes feathered closed, her lashes forming two dark half-crescents against her cheeks. But it was confirmation—confirmation she didn’t really need but somehow was useful to have. It was something to hold tight to her chest, to warn her from letting him anywhere near her heart ever again.

  ‘It was all a lie to you. A game.’ She bit down on her lip, the reality one that even now she found she couldn’t quite face.

  He stood and she followed his movements with eyes that were huge with her hurt.

  ‘Not all of it.’ The words were deep and sensual and should have been a warning.

  But Skye was too upset to use her brain, so she glared at him angrily and prompted, ‘No? You’re saying you did feel something for me?’

  ‘Oh yes, cara. I felt something for you. You cannot fake what we shared.’

  And the penny dropped with insulting clarity. ‘For God’s sake, Matteo.’ She spun away from him, moving across the room, staring out at the water beneath them. But her heart was beating at triple speed and blood gushed through her body so fast, so loudly, that she could hear its demanding torrent inside her ears.

  He came to stand behind her, his words whispered into her ear. ‘I hadn’t expected you to be innocent.’

  Skye’s eyes dropped shut. That night—that beautiful night! How tainted it was now by the knowledge she was forced to overlay on the experience. It hadn’t been special and wonderful; it had been fraudulent. A deception. A lie.

  ‘Yeah, well, I was. Innocent and stupid.’

  ‘Why were you stupid?’

  She swallowed and shook her head. But it was a mistake. He was still so close that the simple gesture brought her cheek against his chest. She moved away, a small sound of protest on her lips.

  ‘I should have seen through you.’

  Matteo didn’t respond. He watched her from the small distance she’d carved out; saw the way her head was held straight, her shoulders squared, begrudgingly admiring her for the courage she demonstrated again and again.

  ‘I’m so angry with myself. And with you!’ She spun around, forgetting how close he was. But there was nowhere else for her to go—her back was against the wall, literally and figuratively. ‘Did you really think I’d be so stupid in love with you, or so sex-fogged, that I’d forget to engage my brain when I signed important legal papers?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I mightn’t be any good at spotting cheating bastards, but I’ve been taught to read contracts with care before adding my signature. Even contracts prepared by my “loving” husband.’ She spat the last words as a final insult. Her breath was tearing from her chest, making her whole body shift with each intake.

  ‘But I will give you the hotel,’ she said after a long, tense silence. ‘I will give it to you without strings, right now. If you accept this marriage is over.’

  His laugh was a dry sound. ‘No.’

  ‘You want the hotel...’

  ‘You think I want it more than my child?’ His eyes narrowed and there was a dangerous anger in them.

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply, her expression filled with the sadness of that truth. ‘I think you are obsessed with getting the hotel back. To the exclusion of any kind of human decency or behaviour.’

  His eyes darkened with intensity. ‘The rules of the game have changed now.’

  ‘Game?’ she returned with undisguised fury. How could he refer to their marriage in such a cavalier fashion? She had loved him and he’d broken her heart. Anger bubbled through her.

  He spoke as though she hadn’t. ‘My child will inherit the hotel regardless of what happens to you and me. It will be back in the Vin Santo family one way or another. That is, and always has been, my primary concern.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And, in the meantime, we are married. What’s yours is mine, no?’

  She ground her teeth together. ‘You’ve just got everything worked out, haven’t you?’

  ‘Not quite everything,’ he said thoughtfully, taking a step towards her. A step that spoke of danger, desire and needs that had long been denied. ‘I still don’t know how we’re going to raise a child together when we cannot be in the same room without arguing at the top of our lungs.’

  Colour filled Skye’s cheeks. ‘I’ll do whatever I need to make sure my child is happy. Even pretending to put up with you.’

  His laugh sent shivers of danger dancing down her spine. ‘And will you put up with this...?’ he asked, taking another step towards her and brushing his lips over hers so that he felt the shiver that made her whole body tremble.

  ‘Will you make the most of our marriage by enjoying the one thing that is good about it?’ he prompted, sliding his fingers under the waistband of her shirt, connecting with the softness of her flesh.

  A husky moan dropped from Skye’s mouth. She closed her eyes, unwilling to see the triumph in Matteo’s expression that she knew would be there. If she were to admit how badly she wanted this, and him, he would have every right to gloat.

  How could she still desire him, even after what he’d done? He’d proven himself to be the worst kind of bastard, yet her body, her treacherous, hungry, body was his for a song.

  ‘No,’ she heard herself say, and practically groaned at the word. ‘And I know you won’t force me.’

  He froze, every line in his body like iron. ‘Force you? Dio!’ He stepped back and it was as though ice water had doused them both. ‘Of course I am not going to force you. What the hell do you think I am? A savage?’

  She tried to summon her anger. To rally it to her defence. But there was only sadness now. Grief and despondence at how much she had lost—and the minefield that lay before them.

  ‘I think you’re a horrible person,’ she said softly. ‘I think you’re capable of anything. And I hate you.’

  ‘You think I’d force you into my bed?’

  ‘You’ve forced me into this marriage,’ she whispered. ‘How is it any different?’

  He spun away from her, stalking to the ta
ble and sipping his wine. She could see from the set of his shoulders, the straightness of his spine, that she had upset him. Good. Let him feel some of the darkness she was contending with.

  ‘You married me of your own free will,’ he said, without turning to face her. ‘You chose this life. I am simply holding you to that commitment.’

  His logic was both undeniable and astounding all at once. ‘I chose a life that was based on lies...’

  ‘Yes, yes, so you’ve said. But when did I lie?’ He spun around, his eyes pinning her to the spot, his question raking her heart over steaming hot coals.

  ‘The whole time! You...’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted. ‘What did I say to you that wasn’t true?’

  Skye opened her mouth, staring at her husband, her mind drawing an absolute blank. ‘It was nothing you said, not specifically. It was everything you pretended to be.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Someone who loved me.’ She whispered the words, the hurt in her heart a weight she couldn’t dispense with. She was glad, in that moment, that she’d never told him the true grief of her upbringing, the loneliness that had lived inside her for as long as she could recall. A loneliness borne of being utterly unloved and unwanted that had only finally eased when she’d met Matteo.

  For the first time in her life she’d felt special. Cossetted. Adored. Wanted for who she was, for all of herself.

  What an easy target she’d been for him!

  ‘Did I say that?’ he queried, the words a simple question. He could have no concept of how cutting they were. Of how cold and cruel.

  Skye nodded, but her mouth drew downwards.

  Had he ever said those three little words? She had said them often, so often, and she had meant them each time. Had she thought she could love him enough for both of them? Had she thought it would mean something if she kept saying it? That it would make it true and right?

  ‘No.’ She whispered the word, grief bringing the sting of tears to her throat. ‘You never said it. But you must have known that I just presumed...that I thought you loved me.’