Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride (Conveniently Wed!)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  And one day soon, very soon, he would claim what he had coveted for all that time—Frankie.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FRANKIE SPENT THE rest of the day moping about her room, wondering if there had ever been a more dissatisfied bride on her wedding day. She had changed out of her mother’s dress and hung it back in the wardrobe, feeling as if she had put on a costume in a drama. She had walked on set for her part and now she was back to being herself.

  Alone.

  Except now she had a new name—Francesca Antonietta Salvetti. Had she made a terrible mistake? Marrying a man for the sake of rescuing her heritage? To save herself from financial ruin? A man she was finding it harder and harder to resist. A man who claimed he would never love her and would only tie himself to her for a year. Her clumsy attempt to seduce him had shown her how truly vulnerable she was. He would not touch her until she asked and she was determined not to ask. Not to beg. Not to own the treacherous impulses she was feeling. For it would be the ultimate humiliation to fall for him. He had laid down the rules. This was a business marriage. A contract. An emotionless contract.

  And tomorrow they would travel to France for a honeymoon. A honeymoon. The words triggered those traitorous urgings again. His kiss during the ceremony had shown her a hint of the passion that simmered between them. A passion that was as addictive as it was disturbing. Disturbing, because she wasn’t sure she could control her response to him. She ached to be close to him. His kiss had awakened a burning need in her that refused to go away. She touched her lips with her fingers, tracing where his lips had pressed and caressed and teased and tempted.

  Frankie sighed and let her hand fall back by her side. She had to get a grip. Their marriage was only hours old. It wouldn’t do her pride any favours for her to be offering herself to him like a prize he’d bought.

  She was not for sale.

  * * *

  When Frankie came downstairs later that evening, she caught a glimpse of Gabriel out on the terrace. She stood at the French doors without opening them to go out to him. He was speaking on the phone, a frown pulling at his brow, and while she couldn’t hear the words from inside the house, she got the impression he was furiously angry with whoever was on the other end of the line. He paced the terrace, back and forth like a lion in too small a cage. His hand speared through his hair, leaving it sexily dishevelled, making her want to trail her fingers through those ink-black strands.

  He finished the call with what looked like a muttered expletive and turned and saw her watching him. He slipped the phone in his trouser pocket and came over to open the French door, his expression still taut with tension. He came in and closed the door behind him. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you were there. I thought you were resting upstairs.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  A mask came down on his features. ‘Sì. Ready for dinner?’ His brief smile lacked enthusiasm and she wondered if he ever took a break from business. He seemed distracted and tense even though he was mostly doing a fine job of disguising it. But she was becoming better at reading him. She was better at interpreting the micro expressions on his face, the subtle body language cues that hinted at the complexity of his personality, the mysterious depth and layers.

  ‘Surely you haven’t been cooking on your wedding day?’ Frankie wished now she had thought to come down and sort dinner out herself.

  ‘I’ve booked a table at Antonio’s. There’s a private room so we won’t be disturbed by the press or the public.’

  She frowned. ‘But don’t you want the press to find out about our marriage? I thought that was the whole point?’

  His eyes held hers for a beat. ‘I haven’t made the announcement yet. I thought you might need a little extra time before we go public.’

  Frankie chewed at her lip, her fingers toying with her wedding and engagement rings on her left hand, to remind herself that, yes, she was actually married to this most enigmatic man. ‘Who was on the phone just then?’

  Something at the back of his eyes hardened like frost. ‘No one important.’

  Frankie’s stomach pitched. What if he was doing the ring around to all his previous lovers? Letting them know he was off the market before the news became public. That was, if he kept himself off the market. What if he didn’t? What if he maintained his playboy lifestyle even though they were married? Jealousy rose in her like a tide, filling her with bitter bile. A toxic and painful reminder of how different their relationship was from that of any other recently married couple.

  Could she trust him to keep his word? She had trusted people before and look how that had turned out. She had been humiliated time and time again. She frosted her own eyes and her tone. ‘Let’s hope they stay unimportant for the next twelve months.’

  A muscle flicked on and off in his jaw like a miniature hammer tapping beneath his tanned skin. Tippety-tap. Tippety-tap. ‘What are you suggesting? That I won’t honour the promises I made to you today?’

  Frankie turned away from him but she only got two steps before his hand came down on her forearm, turning her back to face him. ‘I asked you a question.’

  She glanced at his hand on her arm before meeting his stern gaze, injecting her voice with icy hauteur. ‘You’re touching me.’

  A satirical light came into his eyes. ‘Isn’t that what husbands do to their wives?’ His tone was both smooth and rough—gravel and honey rolled together—making her resolve to resist him almost throw up its hands in defeat. How could it be possible to feel his voice inside her body? To feel its deep burring echo in all her secret places?

  Her heart skipped a beat. Two beats. Her breathing coming to a screeching halt. The air crackled with electricity, pulsing, throbbing with erotic undertones like the bass notes in a chord.

  ‘Not this wife.’ Frankie was proud of the stridency of her tone. Of her willpower. Of her I-can-resist-you award-winning performance.

  Gabriel stroked a lazy finger down the slope of her burning cheek, his eyes so black she couldn’t make out the circles of his pupils. ‘You like it when I touch you.’

  Frankie couldn’t quite suppress a shiver of reaction. ‘We made an agreement.’ Her voice came out so husky she could have been snacking on emery boards.

  His finger traced the outline of her mouth, setting off tingling, buzzing, wanting in her lips. ‘And I’ll honour that agreement if you stop looking at me like that.’

  She did her best to school her features into bland impassivity. ‘How am I looking at you?’

  He gave a soft sound of amusement and his finger tipped up her chin so she couldn’t escape the penetrating scrutiny of his gaze. ‘You want me to kiss you, don’t you?’

  ‘I do not.’ Frankie’s tone was so tart it could have curdled milk. But her breathing was out of control—hectic, shallow, desperate.

  His hand cupped the right side of her face, his thumb moving back and forth across her cheek like the arm of a slow-moving metronome. ‘I’ve spent years imagining how it would feel to kiss your beautiful mouth.’

  He had? At least she hadn’t been the only one with an overactive imagination. ‘I hope you weren’t disappointed?’ Frankie tried to keep the insecurity out of her tone and her expression.

  Gabriel stroked his thumb over her bottom lip, his touch as soft as a feather, but it triggered a tumult of sensation in her flesh that travelled all the way to her core. ‘Why would you think that?’ A frown tugged at his forehead.

  She shrugged one shoulder and lowered her lashes over her eyes. ‘I’m not exactly your usual type, am I?’

  He bumped up her chin once more to lock his gaze with hers. ‘My type is someone who responds to me with enthusiasm and enjoyment.’

  ‘I can’t imagine there would be any woman who wouldn’t respond to you with enjoyment and enthusiasm.’ Frankie glanced at his mouth and exhaled a fluttery breath, her voice coming out slightly breathles
s. ‘You’re very good at it. Kissing, I mean.’

  His eyes went to her mouth, his hand on the side of her face stilling as if deciding whether to release her or bring her closer to him. Frankie made the decision for him by closing the distance between their bodies, pulled by a magnetic force she couldn’t withstand. She planted her hands on his chest, one over the thud, thud, thud of his heart. Her body touching him from hip to hip, thigh to thigh, need to need. Male to female.

  ‘Say it, cara.’ His voice had that deep rough edge again, the edge that made her insides twist and coil with desire. She could feel his body responding to her closeness, the primal surge of his male flesh stirring her senses into a frenzy.

  Frankie swept her tongue across her lips, her gaze focused on the firm contours of his mouth. ‘Kiss me, Gabriel.’ Her words came out as a whispered plea.

  He made a sound that was part-groan, part-growl and covered her mouth with his. Heat exploded in her body when his lips contacted hers. Smouldering, blistering heat that flashed through her flesh like hungry tongues of flame. His lips played with hers in a series of presses and bumps and nudges, ramping up her need like he was stoking a fire.

  She opened her mouth under his and released a breathless sigh of pleasure when his tongue boldly mated with hers. A shiver cascaded down her spine when he placed his hands on her hips and drew her even closer to his hot hard heat. Her body ached for him. Ached and pulsed with a deep throb of longing that was as shocking to her as it was exciting. She hadn’t thought her body capable of such intense feelings, hadn’t thought it capable of such primitive urgings that pushed aside all her earlier reasons for keeping her distance like someone knocking down a house of cards. How could she have ever thought she could resist him?

  Gabriel slid one of his hands beneath her hair, the sensitive skin of her nape tingling from his touch. The other hand he placed on the curve of her bottom, pressing her harder against his need. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, sending her into raptures by the spine-tingling expertise of his lips and tongue. It was mesmerising magic to have his mouth on hers, his tongue playing with hers in an erotic dance that made her blood zip and sing through her veins. It was magic to feel the throb of his blood against her, the potent heat of him thrilling her, exciting her, tempting her beyond her control.

  After a moment, he raised his head to look at her with his gaze black with desire. Or was that a gleam of victory? A glint of gotcha? ‘You have no idea how much I want you.’

  Frankie pushed back against him to separate their tightly pressed bodies. The self-denial was as painful to her as the shame of being so predictable. He had been so confident she would beg him to make love to her. So arrogantly confident. The ink was barely dry on their contract hands-off marriage and here she was making out with him like a desperate wanton. ‘I’m not ready for this. It’s...it’s not what I want.’ She was ashamed of the waver in her voice. Ashamed and annoyed she was so being transparent.

  ‘Fine.’ His voice was so calm he could have been discussing the weather. Didn’t he feel the least bit frustrated? Was she that resistible? She could feel her own frustration clawing at her, rebuking her for pushing him away when her body ached so badly for his possession.

  He finger-combed his hair where her fingers had mussed it up during their kiss. She had barely registered she had done it at the time being so caught up in the moment, caught up in the heat and thrill and excitement of his mouth claiming hers.

  Frankie rolled her lips together—they were still tingling from his kiss. She could still taste him. Could still feel him even though he had put even more distance between them. ‘You’re not...disappointed?’

  He shrugged, his expression as unreadable as a blank page. ‘It’s your call, cara. I told you that from the outset.’

  Frankie brought her arms across her middle, trying to keep from reaching for him. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m a prude or uptight about sex or something...’ She kept her gaze averted, worried he would see far more than she wanted him to see.

  ‘Casual sex isn’t for everyone.’

  She brought her gaze back up to meet his. ‘But if we... I mean, would it be casual? We’re married so—’

  ‘But only for a year.’ His gaze remained steady and frustratingly inscrutable.

  She nibbled at her lower lip. ‘How long was your longest relationship?’

  His mouth slanted in a rueful smile. ‘I’m not a fan of long-term relationships.’

  ‘But what was your longest?’

  A flicker of frustration passed through his gaze. ‘Look, I know the press make out I have a revolving door in my penthouse, but I always make it clear to the women I date what’s on offer.’

  ‘Sex without strings.’

  ‘Pretty much.’ The tight set of his mouth told her the subject was off limits. He flicked back his sleeve to glance at his watch. ‘We should make a move or we’ll lose our booking at the restaurant.’

  ‘I’ll need to change into something more appropriate.’

  His gaze ran over her casual jeans, white shirt and lightweight baby blue cotton blend jumper. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Frankie could feel her cheeks growing warm. How many times had so-called friends said lovely things only for her to find out they weren’t genuine? ‘I’ve seen the photos of the women you date and I can safely say I am not in the same beauty league as them.’

  ‘You’re too hard on yourself, cara. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.’ His gaze drifted to her mouth and then back to her gaze. ‘Why are you frowning?’

  Frankie shifted her body slightly so she wasn’t facing him straight on. ‘Compliments confuse me. I’m never sure if they’re genuine or not.’

  He touched her lightly on the shoulder and she turned back to look at him. His forehead was etched in a frown. ‘Why do you think like that? Has someone hurt you in the past?’

  Frankie was touched by the concern in his gaze. There had been too few people in her life who had actually cared about how she felt. ‘It was hard growing up without a mother. Mothers are the ones that build up a kid’s confidence. Dads too, but mine was not the demonstrative type. And he was grieving for most of my childhood, which didn’t help. He spoilt me in terms of gifts and possessions and holidays but I got the sense he couldn’t bear to look at me sometimes. And he certainly never complimented me. I was a constant reminder of what he had lost.’

  She released a breath and continued, ‘During my teens, I never knew who was my friend because they liked me or the wealthy lifestyle I had. I got caught out more times than I’d like to admit. It was embarrassing. And deeply hurtful.’

  Gabriel took both of her hands in his, stroking the backs of them with his thumbs. ‘People can be so cruel but it’s mostly because they feel inadequate in some way. Broken people break other people to make themselves feel less damaged.’

  ‘Is that what your father is like?’

  His thumbs stilled their caressing strokes as if the mention of his father made him uneasy. His gaze became shadowed, closed off. Then he released her hands and stretched his mouth into a brief smile. ‘Let’s go and have dinner.’

  Frankie hesitated. ‘Do I have time to get changed? I’d rather be dressed in something more upmarket that jeans.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll do the same.’

  * * *

  The restaurant was situated on the shore of Lake Como and the views of the water and the mountains beyond was nothing less than magnificent. Grand villas, similar to Frankie’s home, lined the shore on every side and now that it was evening, the glittering lights were reflected in the lake like scattered gold.

  The maître d’ welcomed them and led them to a private room upstairs decorated in burgundy and black and gold. The plush velvet high-backed chairs, the polished walnut table dressed with a white starched linen tablecloth, fresh flowers and crystal cand
elabra and glassware and silver cutlery gave the room and the setting a royal residence feel. It made her glad she had got changed into something more glamorous.

  Gabriel was wearing a dark blue suit teamed with a lighter shade of blue shirt and a grey and blue striped tie, and looked so strikingly handsome her breath caught every time she looked at him. Her smoky grey satin cocktail dress and matching pashmina and spiky heels at least gave her some measure of confidence that people looking at them would not think her too unworthy to be his dinner date.

  Once they were seated with drinks in front of them, Frankie covertly watched Gabriel as he studied the menu. He was very good at concealing his emotions but she sensed he was mulling over something. The mention of his father perhaps? She knew he didn’t want to discuss his family but since she had shared so much about her childhood—things she had told virtually no one before—she felt it was only fair he revealed a little about his past.

  His forehead was creased in a frown, his dark gaze homed in on the menu, but now and again she saw the way he tensed his jaw. It may have been an unconscious gesture but each time he did it, the fine white scar on his cheekbone became more noticeable.

  Frankie took another sip of her wine before asking, ‘How did you get that scar?’

  He lowered the menu and absently touched his cheekbone with one of his fingers. ‘This?’ He twisted his mouth but it wasn’t really a smile. ‘From a fight when I was younger.’

  ‘How old were you?’