by Penny Jordan
“No,” Clio had replied, reeling from the frost in his words.
What had he meant by that? Had he not seen his parents all these years? How could he bear to keep them at a distance like that?
In that moment, Clio had realized what an utter stranger he was to her.
His distrust of her motives, his insistence that they do it per his rules, the cold front he presented if she asked anything personal—she finally understood he wasn’t just lost to her.
He had buried everything good and decent about him. But before she left his life, before he was through with her, she was determined to remind him what he had been once. And she had to begin with bringing his parents back into his life.
Hers would never forgive her, but Stefan…he could have his parents back.
“Clio?”
Coloring, Clio looked at Zayed. “Thank you so much for reminding me that I have friends, Zayed.” She blew a long breath out, remembering her mother’s unforgiving words, and their blatant refusal to come. Reminded herself that she had friends who would always stick by her. “And for agreeing to give me away.”
“You did me an honor when you asked me.” Still smiling, he cast a quick look ahead. “I can feel Stefan’s gaze drilling holes in my head. Not even my enemy country’s politics make me shudder so,” he said with a mock shiver. “Are you ready for him, Clio?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Clio turned toward her waiting bridegroom.
Dressed in a black evening suit, his thick hair combed back, he stood out so prominently amidst the rest of the men.
He had promised her he would help her. And that he kept his word—even though a wedding, even of the fake kind, clearly filled him with utter fury—she hugged it to herself.
Whatever else he claimed, Stefan Bianco was a man of honor.
“I’m ready, Zayed,” she whispered.
Her hold on the lilies in her hand shaky, she followed Zayed’s lead as the music began.
With both her parents and Stefan’s not in attendance, she had decided to do without a maid of honor, electing to stick to the traditions only by a bit. Somehow it felt as if it fit them—this wedding among friends who were their true family, in the city that had welcomed them with open arms a decade ago.
Everything about the wedding was perfection itself. Even the weather was a beautiful June day, gorgeous with the sun shining.
It wasn’t a real marriage, Clio reminded herself as they reached Stefan and Zayed handed her over. It was all a story they were creating for the media and Jackson.
Her heart zigzagged all over the place as Stefan clasped her fingers tight in his.
But as she met his gaze for the first time in a week and saw the dark, possessive fire flickering to life there, she shivered.
How was she supposed to resist him when the liquid lust in his eyes felt like the only real thing today? How was she supposed to resist him when despite his distrust of her, he made her feel as if she mattered?
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE HAD A WIFE.
One who was dressed in delicate white lace that displayed her alabaster skin in its glory. The row of buttons going all the way to her lower back was all he could think of.
Her flaming hair, combed back into a tight knot at the back, the long line of her jaw and neck were a temptation for his fingers.
Her dress, while lacy, was elegant, sophisticated, as it hugged her lithe frame and small breasts.
She looked as she always did—demure, stylish, perfectly put together. Only he knew what simmered beneath that calm exterior.
He had a wife and he couldn’t turn his gaze away from her.
The thought was so disconcerting and disturbing that Stefan kept turning the platinum band on his finger round and round, as if he could make it disappear, as if he could change reality by stubbornly refusing to accept it.
He not only had a wife but one he wanted to kiss more than he needed to drag in his next breath.
And the most shocking fact of them all was that his new wife had almost flinched when he had touched her lips with his.
He, Stefan Bianco, the man who had dated some of the most beautiful, accomplished women in the world, badly wanted to touch and kiss and seduce his wife, the one woman he should never touch or want in any way.
It was how he had felt when he had first eyed Clio across the campus lawn a decade ago—full of raging hormones, and an almost laughable naïveté about the world.
He still wanted her just as badly except now that naïveté was dead and in its place was a voice that kept whispering that he could have Clio if he wanted this time.
Like the rest of the women in the world, Clio Norwood had a price, too. And he had already paid the price.
It was such a disgusting line of thought that nausea filled his throat. And yet he couldn’t erase it.
Was this what he had become? Was there nothing honorable left in him?
For the first time in years, Stefan looked inward and cringed, wondered what else he had lost in the name of Serena.
“You’ll break the champagne flute if you don’t stop glaring at Zayed and Clio, fratello,” Rocco whispered from behind him.
He couldn’t blame his oldest friend for the continual jeering because what Stefan wanted to do was throw the champagne flute on the dance floor so that Clio would stop smiling at Zayed and look back at him.
“She’s always been a beautiful dancer, hasn’t she?” Christian chimed in, and now the vein in Stefan’s temple felt as if it would burst open.
He knew very well what his three friends were up to. He also knew very well that Rocco had eyes for no one but Olivia, and Christian for his pregnant wife, the beautiful Alessandra.
In the rational part of his mind, the increasingly small one, he was also aware that as much as Zayed seemed to be whispering little jokes in Clio’s ear and had been flirting with her outrageously for most of the evening, he had never had any interest in Clio.
Even if he hadn’t guessed that the fairy tale that Clio and he were projecting to the whole world was just that—a tale of epic proportions.
But knowing it and telling his body and his libido to behave accordingly was another thing.
Because the moment he had slid the gold band onto her trembling finger, the moment he had touched her lips with his own, the moment he saw the despondency in her eyes as she slid the ring onto his finger, Stefan had felt the most possessive, an almost Neanderthal, urge to drag Clio away from the celebration that followed and ravish her.
He wanted to drive the thought of another man from her mind, he wanted to kiss away the hurt from her mouth, he wanted to shred her control as she was so effortlessly shredding his.
He wanted her to smile at him as she did at the whole world, even though he had done everything to wipe it from her face.
He wanted to sink into her wet heat again and again, until the small fancy, which was now growing into a full-blown obsession, was gone from his blood.
He could seduce her, too. He had no doubt about it. Whatever poison that asshole Jackson had spewed into her mind, whatever she believed about her own nature—because there had been plenty of occasions over the past week to figure it out—there was an explosive energy every time they occupied the same space.
Something his all-too-clever and observant friends had remarked over the past week. But if there was one thing Stefan didn’t want, it was to see that betrayal in Clio’s eyes the next morning. She would never sleep with him and then walk away unscathed. And as fragile as she was right now, he didn’t want to be another bad decision she regretted.
He wanted her to be consumed by him as he was by her. Which seemed a far-out fantasy right then.
If he could forget the contract they had signed, he could have almost believed her to be the old Clio, having the
time of her life, supremely happy with her life and the world.
Except when she looked at him. Then, the smile fell off her face as if she had eaten something that lived under those gold-lined slippers she was wearing.
Except when it had been their dance. She had been stiff like a board, her features frozen into a mask of icy politeness, so tightly withdrawn that he could break her with a hard grip.
She had hardly touched her dinner but her face had lit up when it had been time for the red-velvet cake they had cut together.
Every time she had lifted the gleaming spoon and licked away the dessert, Stefan smothered a groan himself.
“Come have a drink with us,” said Rocco, interrupting Stefan’s thoughts as they veered into dangerous territory about how snugly Zayed was holding Clio and how neatly she fit against his tall, wide frame. Tendrils of hair were beginning to come away from her elaborate hairstyle and kiss that delicate jawline.
He heard another laugh fall from those beautiful lips, saw her tilt her head and whisper something and he’d had enough.
He was on the dance floor and cutting in on Zayed and Clio before he knew what he was doing. As though guessing that he was as rational as a charging bull, his friend instantly relinquished Clio, a cunning smile in his eyes.
Among the four of them, Zayed was the diplomat, yet Stefan didn’t doubt for a second that he was also the most perceptive. With a slap on his back, Zayed pulled him closer into a hug.
There was no humor in his gaze just then. “Take care, Stefan. Our fate cannot always be controlled by us, my friend.”
Stefan didn’t smile either. He knew he had become an untenable, mistrusting bastard in the past few years, that he had pushed Rocco to the limit by doubting the wonderful Olivia’s intentions toward his friend, but Rocco, Christian and Zayed—they had always stood by him and loved him no matter what.
That was the only relationship, the one good thing Serena hadn’t destroyed in his life, an anchor that had held him steady when he had been sinking.
“You think I’m capable of falling in love, Zayed?”
“No, I do not. I don’t think you or I will have the fortune that has been bestowed on Rocco and Christian, nor do we want it. But do not destroy the good that has somehow found its way into your life.”
With Zayed’s advice ringing in his ears, Stefan tugged his new bride toward him. Every muscle in his body tensed when she came into his arms pliantly, wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her small breasts rubbed against his chest, one toned thigh pressing flush against his muscular one. She smelled decadent, her skin soft like the sheerest silk. His pulse thudded heavily in his blood, the delicate crook of her neck and shoulders beckoning for a taste.
Wrapping his fingers around her nape, Stefan tugged her head back and looked into her eyes and received another shock.
“You…need to lighten up, my dear husband,” she whispered against his cheek, dragging her mouth over his stubble, toward his jaw. “We’re supposed to be madly in love, remember?”
Her touch was possessive, reckless, and it made him want it everywhere, made him forget right and wrong.
Clasping her cheeks, he pushed her chin up to meet his eyes.
His new wife was utterly sloshed.
Something akin to a burn began in his chest as he looked into her eyes, the blacks dilated against the glittering green. Tucking loose tendrils of her hair beneath her ear, Stefan picked her up to rising cheers and comments from the guests.
* * *
Clio had never imagined that she would be drunk on her wedding night. She had never thought she would feel like a half terrified, half hopeful Victorian virgin that the pirate would carry aboard his ship and ravish.
In the past couple of years when Jackson had evaded all talk of their wedding with such skilled precision, she hadn’t imagined she would ever have a wedding, much less a wedding night.
So with everything that had gone sideways in her life, the fact that she was drunk was the least disconcerting thing about the night.
Not that she had planned it that way.
She had signed the agreement as he wanted her to. She had smiled and gushed like a woman in love so much that her jaw had begun to hurt. She had tried not to flinch and betray the trembling need she felt when he touched his soft, hot mouth to hers.
Not once during the day had she behaved in a wifely manner whatsoever.
So she had no idea what it was that had turned Stefan more and more distant and forbidding. Unless, it was the very sight of her wearing his ring.
With him radiating an icy scorn from every pore at her side wherever she turned or whoever she looked at all evening, she had drunk her first glass of champagne without getting any food first.
Of course, she had devoured her cake—which sadly was the high point of her wedding day, but by then she had already had a buzz. Which made it all too easy to reach for the second one.
It had made her unafraid, as she had been a long time ago.
Unafraid, uncaring and free.
And because she had loved being that old Clio again, even if it was the alcohol, she had drunk two more glasses. Even the thought of a head-splitting migraine that was sure to arrive first thing tomorrow hadn’t stopped her.
She had thoroughly enjoyed dancing with Rocco and Christian, and Zayed flirting with her. He had done it out of pity because her very real husband couldn’t even fake a smile, much less pretend to be besotted. Still, she had enjoyed it.
The most disturbing thing about the night, however, was the solid hard muscular chest that she was cradled against with utmost care right now. The scent of his aftershave—lime—teased her nostrils.
But she didn’t want to be held like that, she didn’t want him to suffer her company as if he was cursed to do it.
Just then, the elevator rocked.
Giving up any effort at a pretense, Clio sighed and clutched him tighter.
Then she felt it more than heard it—the choked-up, almost suppressed laugh that had his chest rumbling beneath her arms. Cracking her eyes open, Clio dared a look at him.
He was laughing.
The beast who had glared at her all evening, who had looked at her as if she was the most untrustworthy woman on the entire planet, no the universe, who had driven her to drink when she generally couldn’t stand alcohol, was laughing.
Granted, to see that sensuous, cutting-grooves-in-his-cheeks smile was almost worth any price.
Thrusting her hands under the collar of his dress shirt, Clio tucked his chin up until he was staring into her eyes. “What the hell are you laughing about?”
“You, bella,” he replied.
“What about me?”
“A Victorian virgin aboard a pirate ship that was about to be ravished?”
Heat swarmed her face. God, she had said that out loud?
“I’m drunk,” she drawled, loving the thump-thump of his heart beneath her ears. He was so solid and warm around her that perversely, she felt safe around him. “Anything I say tonight should be disregarded,” she retorted. “And I’m no Victorian virgin that needs to be ravished or for that matter saved.”
“Seeing that I’m not the saving-hero kind, that’s good.” The elevator doors swished open. And he stepped out. “It’s almost scary how perfect we are for each other.”
“‘College Sweethearts Who Found Their Way to Each Other After So Many Years’?” she said, quoting the headlines about them. “‘Destiny Brings Old Lovers Together Again!’ ‘True Love Conquers All.’ I wouldn’t have wanted a better tagline for Jackson to look at every time he turned his head.”
Instantly, the smile slid off his mouth as if she had poisoned the very air around them. There was such a bright ire in his gaze that Clio wondered for a second if he would let her fall to
the floor.
But, of course, he didn’t.
Stefan would never cause her harm, she knew that. Just as he would never trust her any more than a strange woman he picked up in a club or a party or wherever he picked up women from.
She had thought she had accepted it, but it was beginning to matter more than it should. Even if she had fallen on her face these past few years, didn’t he know what kind of a person she was?
He crossed the cavernous lounge and carried her into one of the bedrooms at the back.
He slowly brought her to her feet. Miscalculating the buzz in her head, she swayed and he caught her.
His arms came around her from behind to steady her.
Her body operating on its own, Clio sagged against him. But his arms were like iron vises around her waist, holding her still, stopping her from leaning back.
A devil inside goading her, Clio clutched his forearms and pushed back.
But he didn’t loosen them.
“Stay still, Clio,” he said in a harsh whisper that had goose bumps rolling over the exposed skin at her neck.
Furious and confused and so many things that she didn’t have a name for, Clio pushed again. Her legs tangled with his and she fell back against him.
A shudder racked through her.
He was a cocoon of heat and hard muscle behind her. His fingers, splayed on her hips, burned through the flimsy silk of her dress.
Molten heat drenched her inside out, turning her blood into drugged honey.
He engulfed her every sense and she had never felt more like sinking.
“Do not tease a fire in me that you’re in no way equipped to handle, bella,” he whispered, before he licked the rim of her ear. “I’m not particularly fond of celibacy, especially now that I have every right in front of God and law over the one woman I’ve wanted so desperately for so long.”
Shock waves jolted through her, spreading heat and need to the tip of every finger and toe.
His thighs were concrete columns behind hers, his midriff a steel wall. And his erection grazed her left buttock.