by Abby Green
He sat back down, and Cara came into the room warily. As she helped herself to coffee and a pastry she forced herself to remember that he was a controlling, vengeful autocrat. With every sip of coffee and bite of the pastry she repeated that in her head, like a mantra.
‘I’ll need your birth certificate and your passport.’
Cara looked at him sharply. The walls were closing in on her. ‘I’ll need them back.’
Vicenzo smiled cruelly. ‘Don’t worry—I’ve no intention of holding your passport like some medieval overlord. Once you see where we’re going to be in Sardinia, you’ll know that escape will be difficult in the extreme. Not to mention the fact that even if you were to attempt such a thing Cormac’s debt would be back in your name within twenty-four hours, with the relevant authorities duly notified. However, I’ll keep the passport for insurance’s sake while we’re in Rome.’
Cara’s cup clattered down into the saucer. Anger coursed through her. ‘As much as I’d love to walk right out of here and never see your face again, the thought of sticking around and becoming a monumental thorn in your side has its appeal too.’
Vicenzo leant forward and said with a cold smile, ‘Don’t test me, Cara, and don’t attempt to play with fire. You won’t win.’
Later on that day Cara had to admit to herself that Vicenzo Valentini was possibly the coldest person she’d ever met. The man from the club that night was so far removed from the stranger who was now waiting in the main salon of the boutique he’d brought her to that she had to question her sanity—and how on earth she’d felt so at ease with him that she’d allowed him to become her first lover.
It had to be the grief and shock of that week. Had to be. Otherwise how could she live with the lack of judgement she’d displayed?
Her wandering thoughts were brought back jerkily to the present as the boutique assistant gestured to the clothes that lay in a pile around them.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to see anything else, madam?’
Cara shook her head. The assistant looked at her a little nervously, ‘And are you sure you don’t want to…brighten the palate up a little?’
Cara looked at her and shook her head forcibly. She knew what she was doing was a little childish, but it was giving her pleasure to know that Vicenzo’s extreme absorption in everything other than the clothes he was buying for her would have its consequences.
‘No, I’m quite sure,’ she said firmly.
The assistant, however, was not giving up easily, ‘But, madam, even the dress you’ve picked out to wear at the register office—’
‘Will be fine,’ she said harshly, and then softened it. This woman was just doing her job, ‘Really—I…that is, my fiancé and I—’ she nearly choked on the words ‘—we’re both in mourning…so it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear white.’
The young woman flushed prettily. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea… That is, I knew about Signore Valentini’s sister, but…’ She trailed off in embarrassment.
Her genuine compassion reached out and made Cara feel a surge of emotion. What was she doing? Vicenzo had told her not to play with fire and here she was, about to jump into it.
But before she could say anything the girl was packing up the clothes and showing Cara where she could get dressed again. They had been followed by a scrum of paparazzi all day, as soon as they’d left the apartment. Vicenzo had ushered her along the streets into various shops, and once inside he’d dropped any pretence of being the chivalrous fiancé, largely ignoring her until the clothes were packed and she was ready to leave.
That was what had prompted her little rebellion—which now felt silly and flat. Cara put it out of her mind and told herself that he wouldn’t even notice. A hair shirt and nothing else was all Vicenzo would be interested in seeing her wear.
When they left this last shop a newsstand nearby caught Cara’s eye. And a picture and a headline. The paparazzi had mercifully disappeared—probably happy with the wealth of shots they’d gleaned from this impromptu shopping trip that Vicenzo had insisted upon once he’d realised the dire state of her wardrobe. But now Cara found herself wanting to inspect the paper.
Vicenzo was right behind her, and lifted it free from the rack. He smiled sardonically as a picture that had been taken of them only that morning emerging from the apartment stared back out at them. Cara was shocked at how quickly the story had been turned around. No wonder the paparazzi had stopped following them for the day.
‘What does it say?’ she asked shakily. A huge headline was emblazoned across the top.
‘It says,’ said Vicenzo coolly, without any hint of arrogance, ‘“A nation loses its most eligible bachelor when Valentini weds in a few days”.’
Cara felt nauseous, and thought for a second it might be morning sickness coming back. But then it passed. She was so enmeshed now in this web of Vicenzo’s making—and her own, she had to concede bitterly—that she couldn’t escape until events had played themselves out. Until she had his baby. But, curiously, that thought didn’t arouse the fear she’d expected. She knew logically that as the baby’s mother she would have rights, no matter how rich and powerful Vicenzo was. His assertion that he would buy her off seemed to be born out of a belief he held about women in general. That revelation and her reluctant curiosity about why he should believe that kept her quiet during the trip back to the apartment.
Several mornings later Cara got up to find Vicenzo gone, as he had been every other morning, leaving only a cursory note behind to say that a bodyguard would be waiting downstairs if she wanted to go out and sightsee. Cara hadn’t fooled herself for a second into thinking that Vicenzo was concerned for her safety, but she had taken the opportunity to walk around the city, becoming enchanted with its ancient and awe-inspiring beauty.
She wandered into the dining room and went to look out at the view, feeling unspeakably lonely. What scared her slightly was that she felt lonely for contact…for a connection between her and Vicenzo. The connection she’d believed existed the night he’d set out to seduce her. For those brief moments when he’d made love to her…held her…she’d felt safe and secure. And when he’d taken her she’d felt something more transcendent than the mere physical act. She tried to push it down, to suppress it, but she yearned for that connection again.
She berated herself violently. She had to wipe that evening from her head—it simply had not existed for him on any level other than as a plan of vengeance. Enzo was dead. He’d never existed. He had been Vicenzo all along, and the sooner she remembered that, the better.
The phone rang then and Cara jumped, cursing the direction her thoughts had taken. She found the phone and answered warily, ‘Hello?’
Vicenzo. Cara clutched the phone cord around her hands, which felt damp and sweaty all of a sudden.
‘We’ve been invited to a private dinner party this evening.’ His deep accented tones resonated down the line, and Cara rejected the way his voice made her feel so weak, so achingly aware of being lonely.
‘Oh, have we?’ she muttered caustically.
‘Be ready to leave at seven. It’ll be good for us to be seen out together on the eve of our wedding.’
Cara opened her mouth to speak. It turned into a gasp of outrage when she realised that he’d already terminated the connection. She slammed down the phone and welcomed his action—because it was an illuminating reminder of the fact that no connection had ever existed between them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THAT evening Cara emerged from the bedroom and walked towards the main drawing room. She’d heard Vicenzo arrive home and move around, and it was now seven p. m.—the time he’d told her to be ready. She hated feeling nervous. She wanted to hang onto the anger she’d felt earlier, but it was deserting her like a cowardly traitor. She took a deep breath and walked in to find him pouring whisky or something similar into a crystal glass. Dusk was falling over Rome outside like a pale mauve blanket, with lights twinkling on, making the whole scene heart-stopp
ingly seductive. He turned to look at her and Cara quivered in her shoes, feeling very undressed and exposed.
Vicenzo’s hand gripped the glass tight in a reflex action. Her dress was sleeveless, black and fitted, with one shoulder bare. It came to just below her knees and had a pocket detail at her hip, accentuating the slim curve. High-heeled silver sandals drew his eye to small pale feet, the delicate shade of coral on her nails making him feel bizarrely protective.
Her hair was caught up in a loose bun, and silver hoop earrings swung against her neck. No overpowering make-up or flashy jewelry, just those incredibly long black lashes and her own evocative scent teasing his nostrils. Her soft pink mouth mocked him, making him regret not having kissed her before now. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her hard, so she’d feel his very imprint.
‘I wasn’t sure how dressy—’
‘It’s fine.’ He cut her off, her husky voice affecting him physically, making his body tighten uncomfortably against his trousers. He threw back his drink in one swallow and strode over to take her by the arm and lead her out before he did something stupid like kiss her.
She’d been on his mind all day, and all he’d been able to think about—disturbingly—was the revelation that she’d been a virgin. And how much he wanted to sink himself deep inside her again.
Cara sat in the back of the car next to Vicenzo. She still couldn’t figure out if she’d displeased him by her choice of dress. He wore a black suit, black shirt and rich dark blue tie. All at once modern, and yet so classic that he took her breath away. The black of the suit made him look darker, dangerous. He was looking resolutely ahead, just offering her his hard jawline and strong profile.
They reached a palatial house, with fairy lights twinkling in trees and along the perimeter wall. The car slowed to a crawl behind others ahead of them. Vicenzo leaned forward and said curtly, ‘Dario, stop here. We’ll walk up.’
The driver dutifully nodded and Vicenzo got out, quickly coming round to get Cara. As he gave her his hand she was reminded of the moment in London when she’d superstitiously believed that that whole night was meant to be. Again, as if mocking her, her hand found his unerringly. So much for intuition.
After a sumptuous dinner, during which Cara had tried her best not to feel out of her depth in the luxurious surroundings, she now stood by Vicenzo’s side as he made conversation with a few other men. She hadn’t missed their openly speculative looks, or those of the women around the dinner table. Some had been positively contemptuous, and Cara was reminded of his other women. She grimaced inwardly. In a moment of weakness she’d once Googled him, and had felt nauseated by the parade of stunning women in and out of his life. Her stomach clenched. Did he have a current lover? Had he been seeing someone already these last few nights in Rome? Was that why he’d been home so late? She hated to admit it but she’d been sleepless every night until he’d returned to the apartment.
And why did the thought of a lover hurt her so much? Cara took a swift gulp of her water, and then coughed as it went down the wrong way. Immediately Vicenzo’s hand was on her back, warm and disturbing, his face concerned. It nearly made her choke all over again. He’d been the perfect conciliatory fiancé all night—little touches here and there, making her nerves scream out at the play-acting.
She all but pushed him away, and ignored his look of warning, ‘The bathroom—I’ll just freshen up and get some water.’ She thrust her glass at him and fled.
A short while later Vicenzo tried to focus on the conversation but couldn’t. Where was Cara? He couldn’t stop a flutter of panic. He knew she’d hardly leave without him, but still…something within him prickled uncomfortably. They were getting married tomorrow, and while he would have expected his overwhelming feeling to be one of entrapment, it was something more akin to impatience. He told himself it was impatience to get her back to Sardinia, where he would have her exactly where he wanted her: under his complete control.
And then he caught sight of her. She was standing in the far corner of the room talking to a tall, distinguished-looking man. Vicenzo recognised him. He was a charmer, renowned for taking beautiful young mistresses while his wife played away with her toy-boys. Blind fury rose up within Vicenzo as he strode through the crowd. Cara was standing and nodding gravely, responding to whatever Stefano Corzo was saying, one arm wrapped around her belly and a fresh glass of water in her other hand. She stood out in the crowd, tall and slender, her weight on one leg, while every other woman there was fawning and preening to get noticed. In fact she looked so studiously demure that it made Vicenzo’s rage burn even fiercer.
Cara’s skin prickled and she knew Vicenzo was close. Fine hairs were standing up all over her body. She had to disguise her shiver of reaction when she felt him slide an arm around her waist. He greeted the other man urbanely enough, but Cara recognised the tension in his voice and marvelled that she already knew him well enough to know that.
Corzo was passing on his congratulations to Vicenzo, a mischievous glint that Cara didn’t understand in his eye. Then she heard Vicenzo say, ‘Time for us to leave. We have a big day tomorrow.’
The wedding. A flutter started in her chest as Cara followed Vicenzo, her elbow clasped firmly in his hand, as he bade goodnight to their hosts. Once in the car, the air positively crackled with tension but Cara was determined to ignore the fact that she was so burningly aware of him.
Vicenzo tried to push down his feeling of relief at having Cara back in his car, to himself, away from Stefano Corzo and all the other men he’d seen notice her pale and unusual beauty.
He forced himself to be civil when he felt anything but, and said, ‘So, what were you and Stefano talking about?’
Cara looked at him briefly, warily, before turning away again. Vicenzo had to quell the urge to turn her face back to him. He saw her throat work and then she answered. ‘We were talking about the recent boom and subsequent downturn in the Irish economy, actually, and its effect in Europe.’
Cara looked at Vicenzo, feeling defiant. She’d no doubt that he probably thought she’d been trying to seduce that other man, but Stefano was the one who had collared her, blocking her from getting back to Vicenzo. She bit down the urge to say something else and just clenched her fists in her lap.
Vicenzo looked at her, eyes glittering. She’d been talking about economics? Uncomfortably, the thought made something lurch in his chest, and he looked away before he might reveal how ambiguous her statement made him feel.
When they got back to the apartment, Vicenzo gestured for Cara to precede him through the door. She put down her wrap and turned to go to her room, but he seemed to be blocking the whole hallway with his huge dominating presence. She stepped back, willing him to move, looking up warily.
‘I’m going to bed…’
Why did she suddenly feel so breathless? A jolt of electricity seemed to pass between them, and out of nowhere came a tingling awareness of something so erotic that Cara felt as if she should run away—very fast. And yet she couldn’t move, pinned to the spot by Vicenzo’s dark, unfathomable gaze. His hand came out and tipped up her chin. His eyes rested on her mouth. Cara’s heart started to thump crazily in her chest. He wasn’t going to—
His scent enveloped her and his breath was feathering close to her mouth before Cara registered fully that he’d closed the distance between them and was about to kiss her. But just before his lips touched hers she had a deep and visceral reaction. She couldn’t risk that rejection again—that he might turn away from kissing her on the mouth. Not when she craved it so badly. Despair filled her. Nothing had changed. She brought her hands up to his chest to push him away, and twisted her head so that his mouth landed on her cheek. Even that was annihilating her equilibrium.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her in tight to his body, and Cara gasped, heat flooding her all over. She looked up and could see that Vicenzo’s jaw was clenched.
She stiffened in his hold even as she was made aware of his arousal and the co
rresponding pooling of desire between her legs. ‘No,’ she said fiercely, as much to herself as him, ‘I won’t let you do this. I don’t want you.’
Even as she said it she knew she was lying. She wanted him more than anything.
Vicenzo’s gaze moved down the pale column of her throat to her shoulder. Her skin seemed to tingle wherever his eyes rested. Then she felt him raise a hand and gently but firmly push down the strap of her dress, over her shoulder and down her arm.
Cara tried to get a hand out to stop him, but they were both trapped against his chest, which felt like a steel wall—a warm steel wall. Her heart beat so fast now she was sure he had to be able to feel it.
He bent his head and pressed kisses all along her shoulder, and then pushed her dress strap down further. Much to Cara’s deep shame she felt a weakness invade her. She could feel him start to pull the dress down to bare the swell of her breast.
‘Vicenzo, please…no.’
‘Vicenzo, please…yes.’ His voice sounded guttural, making her feel even weaker as she remembered how he’d sounded when he’d taken her that night.
‘Don’t lie to yourself, Cara. You might lie to me, but not yourself. You want this as much as I do.’
She shook her head desperately to deny it, even though she knew she lied to herself. She sucked in air as she felt him roughly pull down her dress to expose her bare breast completely, its design precluding the need for a bra. He took her hands in one of his, looking at her with challenge in his eyes, daring her to stop him.
Cara couldn’t move or think or speak.
With a triumphant gleam in his eyes he dropped his head again, and his mouth closed around the pouting peak, already hard and begging for his touch, his tongue. Cara realised the wall was supporting her and she sagged against it, her breath coming swift and sharp, her eyes closing in defeat.