Italian Mavericks: Forbidden Nights With The Italian: The Forbidden Ferrara / Surrendering to the Italian's Command / The Unwanted Conti Bride. Sarah Morgan

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      Brotherly love, she thought numbly.

      She’d never had that. Her brother had been selfish and irresponsible and any warmth in their relationship had existed only in her mind. Unlike the Ferraras, where warmth surrounded the family like a protective forcefield.

      With visible reluctance, Santo let his hand drop from her neck. ‘Back in a minute.’ Relaxed and unflustered, he strolled away with his brother and Fia took advantage of the distraction to make an exit. She had no intention of waiting. The atmosphere was suffocating and anyway, what was he planning? A romantic walk on the sand? Hardly.

      Solar-powered lights lit the path to the beach and she walked quickly, blotting out the thought that this place was perfect for a lovers’ stroll. The setting sun sent a ruby glow over the darkening horizon and in the background she heard the rhythmic chirruping of cicadas and the soft swish of the sea on the sand.

      It should have been an idyllic setting but the perfection jarred against the reality.

      It felt as inappropriate as the cream silk wedding dress chosen by Dani.

      She should have worn red, she thought. Red for danger.

      She approached the villa, was momentarily checked by the sheer beauty of the infinity pool and then stopped dead at the sight that greeted her. It was obvious that the place had been lovingly prepared for a night of romance. The doors were open to the beach. Chilled champagne waited by the bed, candles flickered on every surface and rose petals had been scattered on the floor leading to the luxurious bedroom.

      She could have coped with the champagne and the candles.

      It was the sight of those rose petals that made her throat close.

      Rose petals said romance, and that wasn’t what was going on here.

      Their relationship was not about romance.

      Emotions that had been building since Santo had first strode into her kitchen exploded. Trying to destroy the atmosphere created by the candles, she flicked on harsh overhead lights and started to open doors, looking for a broom—looking for something that would help her remove that romantic symbol from the floor. When she failed to find anything remotely like cleaning equipment she dropped to her knees and started to scoop the petals up by hand, sweeping them into a pile by the bed.

      ‘What the hell are you doing?’ An incredulous male voice came from the doorway but Fia didn’t even look up. She didn’t dare look up in case everything she was feeling spilled over.

      ‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m clearing up the evidence of someone’s warped sense of humour.’ The mound was growing but before she could add any more she was lifted off her knees and planted on her feet.

      ‘What’s warped about it?’

      ‘It’s a mockery,’ she croaked. ‘Someone is being intentionally cruel. Making fun of our relationship.’

      Dark brows locked together in an uncomprehending frown. ‘I gave the instruction to prepare it the way we do for honeymoons and romantic breaks. I just married you. Short though it may be, this is our honeymoon. There are certain expectations. I’ve projected this as a romance because I don’t want any rumours that will hurt our son.’

      So even the rose petals by the bed were for Luca. All of it was for Luca.

      ‘But he’s not here now, is he? And neither are the journalists. So we can lose the rose petals.’ Her teeth were chattering and he made an impatient sound and his fingers tightened on her shoulders.

      ‘What is the significance of a few rose petals?’

      ‘Precisely! They have no significance! They have no place in our relationship, and if you can’t see that—’ She tugged herself away from him. ‘I think you are the most insensitive man I’ve ever met. I’ve gone along with this whole white wedding charade although I would have been quite happy just to have kept it small—’

      ‘That was small.’

      Fia wasn’t listening. ‘I’ve bitten my tongue when the press have gone on about Romeo and Juliet which, by the way, isn’t actually the best analogy given that both of them die at the end, I said my vows and I gave you my son. I did all that not because I have feelings for you but because I have feelings for him and I can see that already he loves you! I’m prepared to do all that for him and I’m prepared to be nice Mommy when we’re all together but when we’re alone—that’s different.’

      Suddenly she felt exhausted and she pressed her fingers to her forehead, struggling to contain emotion that felt too big for her body. ‘Do you know what? I actually respected you for not once pretending this was anything other than a marriage of convenience, mostly your convenience, by the way. But nowhere in our discussions have we ever pretended that what we share is about … about …’ her breathing stuttered ‘… rose petals.’

      ‘Cristo, will you stop obsessing about rose petals?’

      ‘I just don’t need rose petals in my life, OK?’ She was right on the edge and the thought of losing it horrified her. ‘It doesn’t matter how many rose petals you arrange to have strewn on the floor, our marriage is still a sham. And now I’m going to bed. And if you have any sensitivity you’ll sleep on the sofa.’

      ‘I have it on good authority I’m an insensitive bastard, so I guess that clears up any questions over where I’ll be sleeping,’ he drawled. ‘And don’t even think about making a run for it because I’ll just drag you back. Look at me.’

      She looked, and if breathing had seemed hard before it was doubly hard now. As she looked into those dark sexy eyes a part of her she’d buried sprang to life. She was used to controlling her feelings. She’d learned the skill as a child. Only once in her life had she truly let herself go, and it had been with this man. That night in the darkness, the night they’d made Luca, it had been all about touch and taste, soft sounds and a wild, maddening desire. It had unnerved her then. And it unnerved her now.

      Because she’d put on the lights, there was no missing the purposeful glitter in his eyes or his obvious arousal. And there was no disguising the instant response of her own body.

      It had been brewing, of course, since that night he’d walked into her restaurant, but they’d both held it in check.

      Now, there was nothing to snap that frighteningly powerful connection. It wasn’t about candles or rose petals, but an elemental force that was stronger than both of them.

      He stood absolutely still and the stillness simply raised the tension because she knew now how this was going to end.

      They moved at the same time, coming together with a violence that came close to desperation. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her hard. Her hands were on the front of his shirt, ripping. And then her fingers were on his flesh and he groaned against her mouth and grabbed the hem of her dress and yanked it upwards. They stopped kissing just long enough for him to strip it over her head and then his mouth crushed hers again, his hands buried in the thickness of her hair, his powerful body pressed hard against hers as the two of them staggered backwards into the wall. Still they kissed, his tongue hot in her mouth, her hands fumbling frantically with the zip of his trousers. She yanked it down and closed her hand over the thickness of him. He gave a savage groan, his hands bold and sure as he СКАЧАТЬ