Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence

by Abby Green

  Instead he’d taken a cold shower and checked in on the markets waking up across the world, and now he felt thoroughly disgruntled and had no one to blame but himself.

  ‘You slept well?’

  Chiara nodded, her face pinkening slightly. ‘Like a log. I must be more tired than I thought I was. In truth, the room I shared with the girls was like a train station—it was almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep.’

  Nico put down his pen. ‘Why did you put yourself through that? Why did you leave so suddenly? Didn’t I at least deserve a conversation?’

  The pink leached out of Chiara’s cheeks and he had the impression that she was ready to bolt. So much so that he got up and took her by the arm, leading her into the office and closing the door.

  He let her go and sat on the edge of the table. She was skittish, avoiding his eye. And then he saw it—the delicate flush on her face, and the pulse beating hectically at the base of her neck. A surge of triumph went through him. She wanted him. She might have slept through the night in the bed beside him, but she wasn’t immune.

  ‘You owe me an explanation, Chiara.’

  Chiara felt like a nervy foal. Why had she come looking for Nico again? She cursed herself now. She could be down in the kitchen baking a cake, or checking on the herbs and vegetables. Or taking Spiro for a walk. Anything but this.

  ‘I told you in the note. I thought it was a mistake for us to marry.’

  ‘Why? You got what you married me for—keeping your life at the castello. What changed between the wedding and the morning after?’

  Everything! cried a voice in her head.

  And suddenly, in that moment, Chiara knew it. Somehow—pathetically—she had fallen for Nico, and she’d used the wedding night and their passionate combustion as an excuse to run. Not wanting to deal with the fact that she never would have allowed someone such intimacy, no matter what the circumstances, if she hadn’t already been falling for him.

  ‘I... I just changed my mind.’ It sounded pathetically weak to her ears.

  ‘After a night like we had? I remember how you responded, cara. What we shared is rare. Maybe it scared you a little?’

  Chiara looked at Nico. He was so close to the truth that it shocked her. And it terrified her that he might realise. He was an astute man.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I told you—I married you because I thought it would be the only way I could negotiate terms to keep access to the castello. I didn’t marry you for...’ Chiara felt breathless ‘...for what happened.’

  Nico stood up, and he was so close now they were almost touching. Chiara had to tip her head back, and she was suddenly bombarded with memories of just what had happened. How good it had felt.

  His eyes were intense. ‘What happened,’ he breathed, ‘was amazing. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head for the past five months. I’ve cursed you every night when I couldn’t sleep, reliving that night.’

  He was echoing her thoughts like a sorcerer. ‘But you don’t want me... How can you...?’ She made a half-hearted gesture to her bump.

  ‘Because you’re pregnant?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It may surprise you to know that if anything I find you even more attractive. The sight of your body...ripening with my seed...is unbelievably erotic.’

  Chiara wondered dimly how she was still standing. She couldn’t feel her legs. All she could feel was an urgent spiking of delicious tension deep in her groin, where her intimate body was responding, getting hotter, damper. Aching.

  ‘You want me, Chiara.’

  It wasn’t spoken as a question, but Chiara heard a question. She also saw something in Nico’s eyes—a hint of uncertainty. She would bet that he’d never stood in front of a woman before and felt unsure if she wanted him.

  Chiara knew she could lie. She knew he wouldn’t push it if she insisted she didn’t want him. She could blame the pregnancy. Step back and break the tension. Leave. But an excitement she hadn’t felt in months was coursing through her veins, making her feel alive. She didn’t want to lie. Or leave. She wanted to experience that sublime union again.

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I want you.’

  A shudder seemed to go through Nico and he stepped up to Chiara, spearing his hands into her hair, tilting her face up to his.

  ‘I meant what I said before...about the wedding night. I’d never wanted anyone as much. I wasn’t capable of being rational. And I still want you like that...like a fever in my blood.’

  He bent his head and claimed her mouth in a kiss that showed her in no uncertain terms the truth of his words. It was heady and intoxicating to think that he’d been thinking of her, wanting her. That she’d driven him to the edge of his control.

  The kiss was all-consuming, and Chiara was slipping down into a vortex of heat. She dimly wondered how she’d survived for all these months without this. The solid wall of his chest was under her hands and desperately, not even aware of what she was doing, she searched for buttons, undoing them, ripping them apart in a feverish desire to touch his bare skin.

  Nico broke away from the kiss, breathing harshly. It took a second for Chiara’s eyes to focus again. His shirt was open and her hands were splayed across his pectoral muscles. One of her straps had fallen down and her breasts were straining against the bodice of her dress.

  They were so sensitive it almost hurt. Now she understood what the doctor had meant with that conspiratorial smile. Chiara’s whole body felt like an erogenous zone.

  Nico went over to the door and locked it and then came back, putting his hands under Chiara’s arms and manoeuvring her so that she was sitting on the edge of the desk.

  His eyes were so dark they glittered like black jewels. With his hands still under her arms, touching the sides of her breasts, he said, ‘I need you now.’

  She bit her lip to stop herself from sounding too eager. ‘Okay.’

  He kissed her again, moving between her legs, pushing them apart. The height of the table aligned her body with his perfectly. She could feel the potent thrust of his body through their clothes and, acting totally on instinct, she reached down and undid his trousers, finding him and pulling him free of his clothes.

  He drew back, a breath hissing out of his mouth. Chiara looked down, and the sight of her hand wrapped around all that majestic masculinity almost undid her.

  Nico caught the front of her dress and pulled it apart, baring her lace-clad breasts to his gaze. He pulled the straps of the dress down, found the clasp of her bra and pulled it off and threw it aside. Now she was bared to his gaze, and breathing so fast she was almost hyperventilating.

  Nico cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples. ‘I’ve dreamed of this...of you...so many times.’

  For the first time Chiara felt a pang of regret that she’d run. But then any coherent thought fled as Nico bent and sucked one hard nipple into his mouth, tonguing and nipping at the sensitive flesh.

  Chiara squeezed the stiff column of flesh in her hand. She could feel the tension in Nico and knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on. She was too close.

  She took her hand from him.

  He lifted his head and looked at her.

  ‘Now, Nico.’

  Nico reached under her dress and found her panties, pulling them off and down her legs till they dropped to the floor. He spread her legs even further and positioned himself between them.

  Chiara was panting. On some level she wondered what on earth she was doing, sitting on Nico’s desk in broad daylight, about to—But then he joined their bodies in a smooth but cataclysmic thrust and she didn’t care about any of that. She only cared about this. The inexorable glide of his body in and out of hers and the exquisite climb of tension, higher and higher.

  She pushed his open shirt off his shoulders, exploring his chest, wrapping her hands around his neck,
pressing her body even closer. Nico put a hand under her bottom, lifting her so that he could go even deeper. Chiara bit his shoulder to stop herself from crying out.

  Her belly was pressed against him and Chiara felt him touch the very heart of her as she shattered into a million pieces within seconds, every part of her pulsating and contracting as she drew every ounce of his own climax from his body.

  They were sweating...shaking...breathing like marathon runners. When Nico could move, he extricated himself from Chiara’s tight clasp and stood up. He felt dizzy. Undone. But also regenerated.

  Her face was flushed and her hair was wild. Her nipples were wet and her breasts were pink from where he’d touched her and from the hair on his chest. She looked up at him. Eyes huge and dazed.

  A feeling of intense satisfaction rushed through him. He couldn’t even feel regret that he’d taken her on his desk like an animal. He’d never taken a woman with such urgency. Not even her. The thought was fleeting and he batted it away, not wanting to look at that significance now.

  He tipped up Chiara’s chin so she had to look at him. Her eyes were too big, seeing too much. Nico felt exposed.

  ‘There will be no running away again, mia cara moglie. And you don’t need to cook for me and create some domestic idyll. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in this, and in having you by my side when I need you, and in you being the mother of my children. That’s why I married you.’

  * * *

  When Chiara woke the shutters were closed in the bedroom and the light was dim. She was totally disorientated. Her body felt heavy and lethargic. The baby moved and she put a hand on her belly—and then it all came rushing back, because she remembered Nico splaying a big hand across her belly and saying, ‘There will be no running away again...’ and ‘That’s why I married you.’

  He had married her to be his trophy wife...when she was the most un-trophy-like wife in the world. And to be the mother of his children. Not to cook or create a cosy domestic home. Which was exactly what Chiara had wanted to create here all her life, in this huge place that had always felt more like a mausoleum than a home. And that was because it had never been theirs.

  Nico had left her under no illusions that things would be different now. He’d reminded her all too brutally, albeit pleasurably, of her role.

  She rolled over on her side and then realised that she was naked under the sheet. She went hot all over, belatedly remembering how Nico had had to carry her upstairs to the bedroom, and how he’d laid her down, taken off her ruined dress, before pulling a cool sheet over her still tingling body.

  She got up, pulled on a robe and opened the shutters, noticing the setting sun. She’d slept through the whole day. He’d put her into a pleasure-induced coma.

  Feeling thoroughly discombobulated, Chiara took a shower and dressed in leggings and a maternity shirt—nothing that could be considered remotely provocative. She twisted her damp hair back and up and secured it onto her head with a clip.

  When she went downstairs Maria was walking from the dining room. She saw Chiara and smiled. ‘I was about to come and wake you. Signor Santo Domenico said you weren’t to be disturbed till dinnertime. He’s in the dining room.’

  Chiara forced a smile while feeling out of place, because she was usually the one making dinner and serving it up. With a pang, she realised that that was unlikely to happen again. And then she mocked herself. She had to be the only woman on the planet who felt hard done by for having less work to do.

  She steeled herself to see her husband again and went into the dining room. He sat at one end of the imposingly large table. There was another place set to his left, and Chiara went over and sat down. He put down the paper he was reading and watched her the whole way. She felt acutely self-conscious, wondering if he was thinking, What is it about her?

  ‘You had a good rest, cara?’

  Chiara felt prickly. He was so smooth. So used to these post-sex situations. ‘Fine, thank you. You should have woken me earlier. I didn’t need to sleep the day away.’

  ‘Clearly you did. You’ve been overdoing it.’

  Chiara heard the censorious tone in his voice and opened her mouth to say something, but a young girl came into the room with their dinner. A pasta starter. By the time she left Chiara had forgotten what she’d wanted to say.

  She asked, ‘Who is she?’ as Nico filled her water glass and poured some wine for himself.

  ‘She’s Maria’s daughter—helping out until we hire more permanent staff. Actually, I’ve arranged for someone from a local recruitment firm to come and speak with you tomorrow, so you can let them know what we need and the kind of people you want. We’ll also need a nanny for after the baby is born.’

  Chiara nearly choked on her pasta and put her fork down. This was what he’d done after their wedding night—made love to her with a zeal that had turned her inside out and stirred up all her emotions, only to behave as if nothing extraordinary had happened. And for him evidently it hadn’t. He’d merely been scratching a physical itch.

  Chiara knew she wouldn’t survive unless she could channel the same kind of detachment—but not right now. Her anger bubbled over. She looked at Nico. ‘I am not handing my baby over to a nanny.’

  He put down his own fork. ‘We will have a busy social schedule and I will expect you to be by my side. You’ll be traveling abroad with me when I require it.’

  When I require it.

  Chiara’s appetite disappeared. ‘I am not your employee, Nico. I’ll be the mother of your daughter and she will be my focus—not you or your career.’

  Upset at this reminder that for Nico this marriage was very much just a business transaction, Chiara stood up and left the room as elegantly as she could, feeling Nico’s eyes boring into her back the whole way.

  She passed Maria, who gave her a startled look. ‘The food...is everything all right?’

  Chiara took her hand and said truthfully, ‘It is delicious. I’m afraid I’m just not hungry.’

  The women patted Chiara on the shoulder and glanced at her belly before saying something sympathetic about knowing how she felt. She obviously assumed Chiara had some kind of morning sickness.

  Spiro appeared at that moment and came up to Chiara, nudging her thigh. She patted his head and then instinctively went to one of her favourite secret spots in the castello. The old library—a huge, cavernous room with hundreds of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

  She pulled one of her favourite books off a shelf, as familiar to her as her own face, and then curled up in one of the big high-backed chairs and opened it. She was hoping it would help to give her back some sense of equanimity and control, when she felt as if she was in deep water and in serious danger of drowning.

  * * *

  Nico threw down his napkin and stood up. He’d just endured a hurt look from Maria after telling her he wouldn’t eat any more dinner. He sighed. Since when had he grown a conscience and cared about people’s feelings?

  He took his wine glass over to the window. The view took in sweeping gardens all the way down to the sea. It was majestic. And his. Finally.

  He should be feeling extremely satisfied right now. He’d achieved it all. But he didn’t feel satisfied. He felt unsettled. As if the world to which he’d become accustomed, where everyone said yes and success begat success, just wasn’t functioning any more.

  Actually, there was only one area where he seemed to be misstepping all the time. Chiara.

  He scowled, thinking of the dinner she’d prepared the previous evening. He’d literally never tasted anything better. And yet at every moment he’d resisted the urge to sink into that cosy scene with every fibre of his being.

  The disturbing thing was how alluring it had been.

  He wasn’t stupid—he knew it stemmed from having grown up with a single father, and because their lives had been as far from a cos
y domestic scene as possible. In a very secret place he’d always envied harmonious family units, so he’d told himself that it was all just an illusion, hiding the cracks in unhappy families. Something he would never indulge in because it wasn’t real.

  But it had felt real last night. Sitting and talking to Chiara...

  Women had tried to seduce him over the years by creating something similar, believing they could be the ones to heal his fractured soul, but in every instance he’d walked out, earning himself a reputation as being cold-hearted. Impossible to please. Impossible to tame. As if he was a wild animal.

  He’d felt wild earlier, when he’d made love to Chiara. She made him wild. She made him forget everything. She made him want...want things he hadn’t thought of in years. Things he hadn’t even known he missed. Or needed. Things that would make him weak. Make him lose his edge. Because if he didn’t have his intense hunger to succeed and restore, what would be left?

  And that was why it was important to keep her back. Make sure she knew where the boundaries were. Make sure she doesn’t get too close? asked a jeering inner voice.

  Nico ignored it and drained his wine. She would soon adapt to his life, he assured himself. She would grow used to the ease and luxury he could provide.

  Her fierce assurance that their child would be her priority had made something dark spike inside Nico—something almost like jealousy. He told himself he was being ridiculous—that if anything it was a good thing that she felt so strongly about their baby.

  Nico left the dining room and went to find Chiara. He was about to give up when he saw the door to the library partially open. He saw her straight away, curled up asleep on a chair, legs tucked under her. A book open, resting on her bump.