Her Wedding Night Surrender (Harlequin Presents)

by Clare Connelly

  ‘Have you ever been in love?’

  Except that.

  The question came from her lips completely unexpectedly, uninvited and unwanted. He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  She reached for the plate but his hand caught hers, lifting it to his lips. He pressed a kiss against her palm and then took her finger into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment. Her stomach rolled.

  ‘Seriously,’ he murmured, coming around the kitchen bench to stand opposite her.

  ‘But you’ve been with so many women.’

  ‘Sex isn’t love, cara.’

  Just like that the floor between them seemed to open up; a huge hole formed and it was dark and wide...an expanse of confusion and heartache that she couldn’t traverse.

  Sex isn’t love.

  And it wasn’t.

  Sex was just a physical act. A biological function. A hormonal need.

  Nothing more. Why had she asked that stupid question?

  ‘What about that woman you broke up with? The one the press went into a frenzy over?’

  ‘Which one?’ he muttered, arching his dark brows.

  ‘Five years ago—before you bought this place.’

  ‘Bianca,’ he said quietly. ‘I cared for her. I still do.’

  Jealousy was no longer just a flame in her blood; it was a torrent of lava bubbling through her, burning her whole.

  ‘Bianca as in that beautiful redhead you were all over at our wedding?’

  Contrition sparked inside him—and regret too. He’d forgotten that Emmeline knew her name. It was a stupid, foolish oversight that Pietro would never ordinarily have made.

  ‘That was wrong of me.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ she snapped, reaching for a pistachio nut as a distraction. ‘You’re still seeing her?’

  Her insides ached. Her body still throbbed with his possession, her nerve-endings were vibrating with the awakening he’d inspired, and she was jealous. So, so jealous.

  ‘No.’

  Emmeline stood up. She felt strange. Strange and achy.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ she said quietly, moving around to the other side of the kitchen bench—ostensibly to grab some more food, but in reality because she needed space.

  ‘Of course it is. You’re my wife.’

  ‘But this isn’t a real marriage, remember? We have a deal. You’re free to...to do what you want.’

  He stared at her long and hard. ‘You don’t think that’s changed now, Emmeline?’

  Doubts flickered inside her. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I don’t want to see anyone else.’

  He hadn’t even realised that himself, but as he stared at his beautiful bride he knew it was the truth. And he knew she deserved to know it.

  ‘I want to sleep with you. A lot. I want to be married to you. And I know we are doing this all the wrong way around, but I want to get to know you. There is so much of you that is a mystery to me, and for some reason I have become obsessed with uncovering all your secrets.’

  He came around to her side of the bench and dug his hands into her hips.

  ‘Every. Single. One.’

  * * *

  ‘This place is so beautiful.’ She stared out at the rolling hills of the countryside, her eyes clinging to the fruit orchard in the foreground before moving on and landing on the glistening ocean. ‘I don’t know how you can ever leave.’

  ‘Business,’ he said simply. ‘My office can’t actually function for that long without me.’ He thought of the emails his assistants had been forwarding and grimaced. ‘I have to get back.’

  Emmeline sighed. ‘Today?’

  ‘Now,’ he agreed.

  Or soon, he amended, sitting on the spot of grass beside her. After three days in the countryside he wasn’t sure he could put off the reality of life for a moment longer. He wanted to, though.

  ‘But it’s so nice,’ she said again, tilting her head to look at him.

  She rested her cheek on her knees, which were bent against her chest, and he had to fight against reaching out and touching her. It was his ‘go to’ impulse now, and he suspected he might need some kind of ‘Emmeline patch’ to get through a day in the office without her.

  How had he ever thought her ordinary and dull to look at? She was so breathtakingly beautiful that he derided himself for not having noticed. It didn’t matter what she wore—these past three days she’d gone around in old shirts of his and she’d looked sexier than any woman he’d ever known.

  No, she was simply Emmeline.

  He saw every expression that crossed her face—including the slight flicker of regret that shifted her lips downwards now.

  ‘You can stay here,’ he said quietly. ‘I can come back on the weekend. If you’d prefer it...’

  ‘No.’

  The response was instantaneous. How could she stay away from him? Her addiction was firmly entrenched. She couldn’t remember a time when his body hadn’t taken over hers.

  ‘We’ll come back some other time.’

  She stood a little jerkily, wiping her hands across her knees.

  He followed her and got to his feet, then caught her around her waist. ‘I’m glad we came here.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Her smile was bright, but there was something in her expression that he didn’t like. An uncertainty he wanted to erase.

  Only he had no idea how.

  He’d spent three days with her but he hadn’t uncovered a single secret. Instead, he’d got to know her body intimately. He’d become acquainted with every single one of her noises, every single movement her body made that signalled pleasure, need, desire, an ache. He’d learned to read her body like a book, and yet her mind was still an enigmatic tangle of uncertainty...

  * * *

  ‘You seem nervous.’

  She flicked her gaze to him, wondering at his perceptive abilities. ‘I guess I am.’

  Her smile was tight. Forced. Anxious.

  Pietro slowed the car down, then pulled off to the side of the road. Emmeline’s gaze followed a young child skipping down the street, his mother walking behind, her arms crossed, her eyes amused.

  ‘What is it?’

  Emmeline shifted her gaze from the child—his mother was next to him now, her smile contagious.

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Si, certamente.’

  ‘It’s stupid.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said reassuringly, his voice low and husky.

  The statement was a balm to her doubts. Still, she hesitated before she spoke.

  ‘What happened back there...’ She bit down on her lip and cast a glance over her shoulder, towards the road they’d just travelled at speed. ‘The closer we get to Rome, the more it feels like a fantasy. Like it never really happened. Like it won’t happen again.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ he asked, a genuine smile of bemusement on his face. ‘I was there. It happened. It happened a lot.’

  Pink spread through her cheeks and she looked away, uncomfortable and disconcerted. ‘But it doesn’t feel real, somehow.’

  He expelled a soft sigh. ‘It was real.’

  She nodded, but her uncertainty was palpable. ‘I guess it’s just...the last time we were in Rome everything was still so weird between us.’

  His laugh caressed her skin.

  He pulled back into the traffic, his attention focussed ahead. ‘A lot’s happened since then.’

  And it had—but the fundamental truth hadn’t changed, except in one crucial way. It was weighing on him more and more, heavy around his neck. Knowing that her father was dying and that she had no idea was an enormous deceit now. They’d crossed a line; they were lovers.

  But Pietro wasn’t overly concerned. Of the many things he excelled at, one of his strengths was managing people and situations. He just had to manage this situation tightly. Starting with his father-in-law.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER NINE

  ‘YOU DO NOT sound well,’ he drawled down the phone, wondering at the sense of anger he felt towards this man he’d always admired and respected. A man he loved. A man who had helped him remember himself after the despair of losing his own father.

  Col’s cough was a loud crackle. ‘I’m fine. The goddamned nurse is here, taking my temperature.’

  ‘Rectally?’ Pietro’s response was filled with impatience. He softened it with a small laugh. ‘Because you sound cranky as all hell.’

  ‘I am. I’m a damned prisoner in this room.’ Another cough. ‘How’s my girl, Pietro? Are you looking after her?’

  Again, a surge of annoyance raged through Pietro’s chest. ‘She doesn’t appear to need much looking after. Emmeline is stronger than I’d appreciated.’

  Col’s laugh was broken by a wheeze. ‘Ah. I see you’ve come up against her stubborn side. Try not to judge her too harshly for it. She inherited that from me.’

  ‘Mmm...’ Pietro nodded, rubbing his palm over his stubble. He should have shaved. The pink marks of his possession had become regular fixtures on Emmeline’s skin.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Col’s question was imbued with the strength that was part and parcel of the man.

  ‘Si.’

  ‘What is it? She’s happy, isn’t she? You told me you’d look after her...’

  ‘She’s happy,’ Pietro agreed, thinking of her flushed face lying beneath him, her eyes fevered, her brow covered in perspiration. Then he thought of her uncertainty as they’d driven back to Rome the day before. The way she’d seemed pursued by ghosts unseen.

  ‘So? What is it?’

  ‘She deserves to know the truth about your health,’ Pietro said heavily. ‘She isn’t going to understand why you haven’t told her. You must give her a chance to see you. To say goodbye.’

  A wheeze. Then another. Pietro waited, but his loyalty was shifting from the dying man to his daughter—the woman who loved her father and had no idea his life was ending.

  ‘You can’t tell her.’

  It wasn’t the response Pietro had expected. He shifted his weight to the other foot and braced an arm against the glass window that overlooked the city. In the distance he could make out the hill that screened his villa from sight. Was she there, looking out on the same blanket of stars he was? Was she staring up at the sky, wondering about him, missing him, wanting him?

  His body throbbed with a need he fully intended to indulge. Soon.

  ‘Someone has to,’ he said, with a soft insistence that was no less firm for being quietly spoken. ‘She deserves to know.’

  ‘You aren’t to say anything.’

  Col’s voice was raised, and in the background Pietro heard someone—a woman—telling him to calm down.

  But Col was working himself up, his tone harsh. ‘If I’d wanted her to know I’d have damned well told her. She’s my daughter, Pietro. You’ve known her for a month—I’ve known her all her life. I know what she needs, damn it. You can’t ruin this.’

  ‘She deserves a chance to say goodbye.’

  ‘No.’ It was emphatic. ‘I’m already gone. The man she thought I was...the man I used to be...that’s not me now.’

  There was a thick, throaty cough, then the scuffling sound of the phone dropping to the floor.

  Pietro spoke quickly. ‘Col? Col?’

  A woman’s voice came more clearly into the earpiece as the phone was lifted. ‘Hello?’

  Pietro expelled an angry breath. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Senator Bovington needs to rest now. This conversation will have to wait.’ The nurse lowered her voice. ‘And next time please take more care not to upset the Senator.’

  The call was disconnected before Pietro could ask to speak to Col for a moment longer. He shoved his cell phone back into his pocket and paced to the other side of his room.

  And he swore, loudly, into the empty office, his temper ignited more than ever before.

  The confidence he’d worn into the office earlier was morphing into doubt. Emmeline deserved to know the truth, but it wasn’t Pietro’s confidence to break. Perhaps with anyone else, he would, but Col was like a second father to him. He wouldn’t share this secret until he had Col’s permission. He couldn’t.

  But the knowledge that he was lying to Emmeline was a weight on his chest, and he found himself hesitant to go home to her that evening. The idea of looking at her, kissing her, making love to her, knowing that he was sitting on such a fundamental secret, made his situation unpalatable, to say the least.

  He dialled Rafe’s number on autopilot.

  ‘Ciao?’ Rafe answered, the single word slightly rushed and breathless.

  ‘Are you free for dinner?’

  ‘What time is it?’

  Pietro gazed down at his gold wristwatch. ‘After seven.’

  ‘Dio. Already?’

  ‘Si.’

  ‘Okay. Dinner in an hour?’ He named a restaurant near his own apartment. ‘Is Emmeline joining us?’

  Pietro’s spine ached with rejection but he shook his head. ‘Not tonight. She has...something on.’

  Rafe was silent for a moment. ‘You’ve always been a bad liar. I’ll meet you soon.’

  He disconnected the call before Pietro could refute the claim. Then he flicked his cell phone from one hand to the other and finally loaded up a blank message.

  I have a meeting to attend. I’ll be late. I’m sorry.

  He grimaced as he sent it. Rafe was right; Pietro was a God-awful liar.

  He saw the little dots appear that showed she was typing a message, but they went away again almost instantly, without any message appearing. He frowned, waited a few more moments and then put his phone back into his pocket.

  Rafe was waiting at the restaurant when Pietro appeared.

  ‘So?’he asked, nodding towards the martini that was sitting at the empty place on the table. ‘What’s going on?’

  Pietro took the seat and threw back half the drink in one go. ‘I need your complete discretion,’ he said quietly, his tone showing the seriousness of his mood. ‘This is a...a private matter.’

  ‘Of course.’ Rafe was clearly resisting the urge to joke about feeling like an extra from a bad World War Two resistance movie. He must sense it was not the time.

  ‘Col’s sick.’

  ‘Col? Col Bovington?’

  ‘Yes. Who else?’ Pietro hissed.

  ‘What do you mean, sick?’

  ‘He has cancer; it’s terminal.’ He paused, in deference to the memories he knew would be besieging Rafe of the cancer that had taken their own father. ‘He has months to live. Perhaps only weeks.’

  ‘Poor Emmeline. She must be beside herself. I know how close they are.’

  ‘Yes.’ Pietro nodded angrily, his jaw clenched as he reached for his drink and twisted it in his hand. ‘The thing is, she doesn’t know.’

  ‘She doesn’t know?’ Rafe repeated with disbelief, his dark eyes latching on to his brother’s. ‘What the hell do you mean?’

  ‘Col wanted it that way,’ Pietro responded with a defensive lift of his shoulders. ‘And when I agreed to keep it from her I didn’t... I hardly knew her,’ he finished lamely. ‘I didn’t think it would be any hardship not to tell her the truth. I didn’t care about her at all.’

  ‘And now?’ Rafe pushed.

  The newness of what he was feeling was something Pietro wasn’t willing to ruin by discussing it, though. He kept his answer vague.

  ‘I know her well enough to know that she’d want the truth. She wouldn’t want Col going through this alone. She’d want to be with him at the end.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Rafe nodded. ‘But Col is obviously seeking to protect her from the grief of watching a much-loved parent die...’

  ‘We’ve been through that. But aren’t you glad we got a chance to say goodbye to our father? To honour him? To ease his suffering?’

  ‘We aren’t Emmeline. If Col is right—and you must assume he
knows his own daughter—then you’d be hurting her for no reason. And Col would never forgive you.’

  ‘No. I gave him my word.’ Pietro’s response was stony. Cold. His heart was iced over by the thought of how that promise was betraying Emmeline. ‘Until he frees me from that obligation I must keep it.’

  ‘It sounds to me as though you’ve made your decision,’ Rafe murmured gently. ‘So what do we need to discuss?’

  Pietro glowered. What he needed was for someone to absolve him of guilt, to tell him he was making the right decision. But no one could do that—and very possibly he wasn’t.

  ‘Niente.’

  * * *

  Emmeline turned the page of her book, having no idea what she’d just read. In truth, she’d covered several chapters, but she couldn’t have recounted a single incident that had taken place.

  Where was he?

  And who was he with?

  Her heart twisted in her chest as she thought of her husband with someone else. What assurance did she have that he wasn’t still seeing Bianca, or any number of his past lovers?

  Doubts filled her, making her feel nauseous and exhausted.

  She should have gone to bed; it was late. But waiting for him to come home had become an obsession. She didn’t want to fall asleep—to have him return at some point in the middle of the night and for her body to respond to his when he might well have been...

  God. Was he sleeping with someone else?

  A car’s engine throbbed outside the door, low and rumbling, and her tummy flopped as her eyes looked to the clock. It was just after midnight.

  Butterflies danced inside her, beating their wings against the walls of her chest, and her fingers were shaking as she flipped another page.

  The door was pushed inwards and she waited, her eyes trained on the corridor beyond. Waiting, watching. He didn’t see her at first. His head was bent, his manner weary. He stood dragging a hand through his hair, staring into space.

  ‘Oh. You’re home!’ she said, in an admirable imitation of surprise.

  He started. His eyes flew to Emmeline’s and she knew she wasn’t imagining the darkening of his expression. The look of something in his face that might well be guilt.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be awake, cara.’