Bound to the Sicilian's Bed

by Sharon Kendrick

  She was tempted to abandon the conversation but forced herself to continue. After all, they’d come this far—which was further than they’d ever come before. Why stop now? ‘Now you,’ she said, praying for him to address the subject they’d both shied away from for so long. She’d given him a lead by talking about her pregnancy—all he had to do was take it from there and confront the dark space which linked them both. ‘Your turn.’

  He took a sip of coffee before turning the full brilliance of his sapphire gaze on her. ‘That’s easy.’ His voice dipped into a seductive caress. ‘Did you enjoy last night?’

  Nicole blinked and stared at him in dismay, unable to believe he’d come out with something so...so...superficial. Was that the only thing which mattered to him? Sex? She swallowed. Maybe it was. Sex had been the thing which had brought them together and remained the only thing which united them.

  ‘You mean, was I satisfied?’ she demanded, her temper suddenly flaring. ‘Yes, of course I was. You’re very good at satisfying a woman, Rocco—but you don’t need me to tell you that.’

  It had been a mockery of a question and she suspected he’d asked it simply to even the score. To make him an equal player in this ‘game’—or maybe warn her against ever trying to do something like this in future. But his attitude infuriated her. Couldn’t he have done the bigger thing and asked her about something which mattered? No, of course he couldn’t—because Rocco Barberi didn’t do feelings. He acted like a machine and expected everyone else to do the same. And suddenly she knew she couldn’t let this opportunity go. She was going to say it, no matter how much it angered him, or how much it brought back the pain. Because she needed to say it.

  ‘You never talk about our child, Rocco.’

  She saw a shadow briefly cloud his face but if she’d been expecting heartache, or anger, or pain, or longing, or any of the dark stream of emotions which had dragged her down into the depths of despair so many times, then she was about to be disappointed. Because Rocco was putting his cup down on the saucer as calmly as if she’d just asked him how often it rained in Monaco, his rugged features as impassive as she’d ever seen them, his blue eyes their habitual shade of cold.

  ‘What is there to talk about?’ he questioned tonelessly. ‘It happened and there’s nothing we can do to change it. We both wish it hadn’t, but there you go.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think there’s anything more I can add to that and neither do I intend to.’

  She wanted to shake him. To rail at him. To accuse him of being unfeeling and heartless—but how could she do that when he’d never pretended to be otherwise? Everything she’d ever wanted from Rocco Barberi, he was incapable of giving her. She had been determined to somehow win his love if only she tried hard enough. But love wasn’t a competition you could win, she realised—and even if it was, surely having a winner would imply there had to be a loser.

  And she didn’t want to be that loser.

  She didn’t want to be anchored by the past. She wanted to be free of heartache and regret. Of him.

  Briefly she thought about getting up from the table and telling Rocco she was going back to England and if he wanted to make her wait for her divorce, then she would just have to suck it up. But she had run away once before and where had that got her? It had left her with an underlying feeling of failure, no matter how many modest achievements she’d managed to chalk up along the way. Wasn’t facing up to the truth like this—in a way they had never done in their marriage—a therapy of some kind, even if it hurt like hell?

  But Rocco didn’t hurt, did he? Rocco didn’t give anything away. Not then and certainly not now.

  Pushing back her chair, she rose to her feet and flung her napkin over her uneaten toast. ‘Oh, what’s the point of trying to talk to you?’ she said. ‘So why don’t I make it easy for you, Rocco? Let’s just spend the day apart and I’ll join you for your cocktail party later. That way neither of us will have to endure a second more of each other’s company than we need to. I’ll be there for you in public and that’s what matters. That was the deal, wasn’t it?’

  Rocco’s eyes narrowed. He was aware that he had hurt her and wondered if that had been deliberate. Part of him had suspected that his blunt answers to her unwanted questions would have her running for the hills again—and wouldn’t that have been simpler? Things were certainly less complicated when Nicole wasn’t around, because she was turning into a constant stream of surprises. For a start, she wasn’t intimidated by him. Not any more. She had the courage to ask him stuff and had been surprisingly calm when he’d given her the brutal truth.

  At times during that uncomfortable conversation, she had clearly been trying to hold back her own feelings. There had been anger on her face and bitterness, too. And pain, of course—plenty of that. But no tears. He found himself wondering if it was a struggle for her to maintain that politely enquiring expression and from somewhere he felt the unfamiliar stab of his conscience. Had he been unnecessarily harsh with her?

  ‘Yes, that was the deal,’ he agreed slowly. ‘But maybe we could amend it.’

  ‘Really?’ Their eyes locked. ‘And just what did you have in mind, Rocco?’

  It was unlike Rocco to search for the unspoken but he did so now. He saw the expression of resignation which had flattened her green eyes—as if sex was all he was capable of offering her. And even though up until a few minutes ago he might have echoed those very sentiments, now his ego rebelled against such an assumption. He would not tolerate being regarded as a stud, but it was more than that. Their conversation had left him feeling disquieted. He could see how vulnerable it had left his estranged wife, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it. And vulnerability was always a danger where women were concerned. It made them capable of misinterpreting an act of physical intimacy and loading it with imaginary significance. If they had sex right now, wouldn’t it be asking for trouble?

  He let his gaze drift over the simple white sundress which flattered her curvy body. She looked as sweet as on that first evening he’d met her, when she’d stood in front of him in her cleaner’s uniform, looking guilty for having splashed him with soapy water. The fabric of his trousers had been warm and wet against his ankle but all he could remember was the emerald blaze of her eyes—and Rocco was unprepared for the sudden jolt of nostalgia he experienced.

  His jaw clenched.

  No. Sex would be a bad idea. He needed to get them as far away from the vicinity of a bedroom as possible and, for once, the idea of leaving her to sun herself by the pool while he buried himself in work was leaving him cold. ‘Why don’t I take you walking?’ he said.

  ‘Walking?’ she echoed.

  ‘I meant around the Rock.’

  ‘The Rock?’

  ‘That’s what everyone calls Monaco. Because it’s built on a rock,’ he added.

  ‘I’d kind of worked that one out for myself, Rocco.’

  He gave a reluctant laugh as his gaze travelled to her feet—currently encased in a pair of high, strappy wedges which defined her shapely ankles and briefly made him regret his impetuous decision. ‘Do you have anything more suitable you could wear?’

  ‘Like trainers?’

  ‘Trainers would be fine,’ he said evenly. ‘Why don’t you go and put them on?’

  Glad to escape the disturbing scrutiny of his gaze, Nicole sped upstairs, her heart pounding as she pushed open her bedroom door. She’d straightened the rumpled bedding before going down to breakfast but someone had obviously been in and changed the linen because now the bed looked so pristine that last night might never have happened. But it had. She could feel her cheeks heating as she located her sneakers, trying to forget their explosive passion and to remember instead what he’d just told her.

  He had only married her because of the baby.

  She remembered the doctor telling her that early miscarriage was very common. That she should go home to her husband and get pregnant again as soon as possible. But how could that be possible when Rocco h
ad resolutely stayed away from her after she’d lost the baby? When he’d seemed almost relieved to have a legitimate reason not to resume marital relations. Was that how he’d felt only been afraid to admit it? Had some part of him recognised that the terrible thing which had happened was probably best in the long run, if it freed him from a marriage he had never intended?

  But she had never asked him, had she? Had never sat him down or confronted him and not just because she was feeling out of her depth as the billionaire’s new bride. She hadn’t talked about stuff because, in a way, she hadn’t known how. Those years in foster homes hadn’t exactly been warm and although Peggy Watson had loved her like a mother, she had come from a fierce generation of practical Irishwomen who got on with things, rather than discussing how they made them feel.

  Wasn’t she as much to blame as Rocco for the lack of communication between them at the time—which had speeded up the end of their forced marriage?

  Tying her shoelaces, she grabbed a canvas tote bag and went back to the terrace to find him waiting, blue eyes gleaming as he quickly appraised her change of footwear.

  ‘Much better,’ he murmured.

  Nicole’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Strange coming from the man who once insisted I parade about his office in a pair of sky-high stilettos. What happened, Rocco? Did your tastes undergo a dramatic change?’

  His face was impassive. ‘You are no longer my mistress, Nicole—that’s what happened.’

  But she’d felt like his mistress last night. He had treated her with that same raw hunger he’d displayed at the beginning of their relationship, before they were married. And that was something else which had always puzzled her, something else she had felt unable to ask him in the past. But now she had nothing left to lose and she looked unflinchingly into his bright eyes. ‘Those things you used to get me to dress up in. The packages you used to buy from that shop in Soho—’

  ‘You’re going to tell me now that you didn’t like them?’ he questioned roughly.

  ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not going to say that. I wore them because you did like them. But the more outrageous the outfits, the more...disapproving you seemed to be, even though they clearly turned you on. It was as if you were trying to turn me into someone you could ultimately despise. Is that what you were doing, Rocco?’

  Rocco felt his mouth dry. She was far more perceptive than he’d given her credit for, or maybe he’d just never stopped to notice it before. He’d been horrified to discover that the beautiful cleaner had been a virgin, because he hadn’t wanted an innocent, he had wanted a mistress. Turning her onto the more colourful sexual practices enjoyed by his previous lovers had been an attempt to place her firmly into the latter category. Because the alternative was admitting he was captivated by having straightforward vanilla sex with his eager young lover. And that admission had made him uneasy because what then would she want from him—and could he ever be that man?

  His mouth tightened. And then she’d fallen pregnant and once again he had been cast into the role which had haunted him all his life.

  Responsible adult.

  Ask Rocco.

  See how Rocco does it.

  Well, not any more.

  He was free now and that was the way he liked it.

  ‘Maybe I was trying to get you to despise me,’ he admitted eventually.

  Confusion fired in the leafy depths of her eyes. ‘But why would you do that?’

  He saw the colour which had risen to her cheeks and somehow he knew he couldn’t duck out of this. ‘Because I knew I was the type of man who could hurt you,’ he said, in as candid an admission as he’d ever made. ‘And I didn’t want to do that. Not when I discovered just how sweet and innocent you really were.’

  ‘Could you...elaborate, please?’

  Rocco scowled, wondering why she was being so persistent when this was only going to hurt her. ‘I thought that if I tried to objectify you, it would drive a wedge between us.’

  ‘And it did,’ she said dully.

  ‘It did,’ he agreed.

  Her teeth were biting into the cushioned pinkness of her bottom lip but she said nothing more. She didn’t have to. Her face gave it all away. That he’d ended up hurting her anyway. Because that was what he did. She’d tried to get close and he’d pushed her away. He didn’t know any other way. He didn’t want it any other way.

  His gaze swept over her. ‘So, have you changed your mind about sightseeing?’

  She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. ‘Actually, I’m looking forward to it.’

  He looked at her curiously. ‘Despite the things I’ve just said?’

  ‘Maybe because of the things you’ve just said,’ she agreed then gave a shaky laugh. ‘I’ve found this discussion very...useful.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like that word.’

  ‘That depends on the context.’ She shrugged and wound a curl around her finger. ‘Understanding what makes someone tick is always useful, Rocco. It helps me make some kind of sense out of what happened.’

  And then she smiled and inexplicably Rocco felt his heart pound and for a moment he found himself wishing he’d kept his mouth shut and that they could just have spent the day in bed. ‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THEY SAT BENEATH a canopy of tangled green leaves as the Mediterranean sea glittered in a blue haze in front of them. The waiter had just brushed away the remains of the seafood platter but Nicole could see a shiny pink piece of prawn shell he must have missed, which sat on the tablecloth like a picked-off piece of nail varnish. She leaned back in her chair, knowing she couldn’t keep staring at the table or distracting herself with the amazing view for much longer. Wishing there were somewhere else to look than at Rocco’s ruggedly handsome face.

  Yet there was nowhere else she would rather look. She could have feasted her eyes on him all day—on those fiercely intelligent eyes and lips which smiled so rarely, but, when they did, it was like the sun coming out from behind dark cloud. She wondered what he was trying to do to her. To beguile her with a glimpse of how life could have been as his wife, if he’d loved her rather than being programmed to hurt her?

  Today they had played tourist in his adopted city where he’d shown her the Monaco which was hidden behind the façade of glitzy shops, exploring narrow streets which felt as if they were full of secrets. They walked through the beautiful Saint Martin gardens and the Byzantine cathedral and the Place du Palais, where they joined all the other sightseers watching the daily changing of the guard. Side by side they stood, their bodies close but never quite touching while Nicole’s skin tingled with unwilling frustration.

  And they’d ended up in this beautiful restaurant where the waiter had just placed two leather menus in front of them and Rocco was still studying her with those mesmerising eyes, which spoke of his distant Greek ancestry.

  ‘Would you like dessert?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really. How about you?’

  His gaze became speculative. ‘What I want isn’t on the menu.’

  ‘You want them to make you something special?’

  ‘Like what?’

  She opened her eyes very wide because suddenly she realised they were flirting. ‘Oh, I don’t know—a soufflé maybe, or some crepes suzette?’

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice, even though nobody could possibly overhear them. ‘After what we were doing last night, I’m amazed you can ask those questions with such an innocent look on your face,’ he said. ‘Which makes me wonder whether it’s real or whether it’s feigned. Or whether it’s an invitation for me to acknowledge the heat which has been building between us all morning and won’t seem to go away. Is that what you’d really like me to do, Nicole?’

  She met his gaze before turning her head away, afraid of what he might be able to read in her eyes, when she didn’t even want to admit it herself. ‘I don’t know what I want,’ she confessed.

  ‘Then perhaps I will
make the decision for us. I think we ought to discuss this matter further, only in private.’ His words filtered over her skin. ‘So why don’t we leave the table and do just that?’

  The sudden tightness in Nicole’s chest was making it very difficult to breathe. ‘You mean...you want to go back to the house?’ she croaked.

  He shook his head. ‘No. That’s not what I mean. Who wants to waste time trailing back through the city?’

  ‘Well, what, then?’

  ‘We could get a room.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Right here. This restaurant serves some of the best food in the city, but it also has rooms.’ He paused as he looked at her. ‘But you might not want that.’

  Nicole shifted uncomfortably beneath his searching expression. Of course she wanted to. She’d wanted nothing else since they’d left his house that morning when the world had seemed to blur so that Rocco had become her only real focus, no matter how detached she had been when studying the architecture of the city or how many paintings she’d looked at. When just having him that near had been like electricity firing over her skin—making her long for them to get properly close. She’d told herself sex wasn’t going to happen again. That she’d emerged from that passionate bout last night with her heart just about intact and she wasn’t sure she’d be so lucky if there was a next time.

  But her body was hungry and her desire was strong—and maybe Rocco had picked up on that. She licked her lips, trying not to be affected by his raven-dark glint of his hair in the sunshine, or the pure muscular power of his body. If she was being sensible she would say no. She would suggest he call for the bill and take her back to the house while she whiled away a few blameless hours by the pool, before getting ready for cocktails on his yacht. She would play at being his wife in public and for the rest of the time she would do her best to avoid him, just as she’d originally planned.

  But being sensible wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. When was the last time she’d been reckless? When she’d thought about what she really wanted rather than what she needed? Next week she would be back in Cornwall with damp clay underneath her fingernails and bills to pay, but today she was on a sunny Mediterranean terrace and the only man she had ever really wanted was asking her to go to bed with him. Surely only a fool would turn down an opportunity like that.