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СКАЧАТЬ You don’t—’

      ‘Like you?’ he filled in. ‘That might have been true initially, but how can I ever get to like you, or even know you, if you hide yourself from me? Because that’s what the whole ice-princess act is, isn’t it? A way to hide yourself.’ He’d never felt more sure of anything. Her coldness was an act, a mask, and he felt more determined than ever to make it slip, to have it drop away completely.

      ‘Oh, this is ridiculous.’ She bit her lip and looked away. ‘I don’t know why you can’t just toss me on the bed and have your wicked way with me.’

      He let out a choked laugh of disbelief. Liana, it seemed, had read a few romance novels. ‘You’d really prefer that?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her eyes turned the colour of a stormy sea and she shook her head. ‘I want to want that,’ she said, her voice filled with frustration, and he thought he understood.

      She wanted something different now. Well, so did he. He wanted to know this contrary bride of his, understand her in a way he certainly didn’t now. But he was getting a glimpse of the woman underneath the ice, a woman with pain and secrets and a surprising humour and warmth. A woman he could live with, maybe even love.

      Unless of course he was being fanciful. Unless he was fooling himself just as he had with Teresa, with his father, believing the best of everyone because he so wanted to love and be loved.

      But surely he’d developed a little discernment over the years?

      ‘I’m not going to throw you on that bed, Liana,’ he said, ‘and have my way with you, wicked or otherwise. When we have sex—and it won’t be tonight—it will be pleasurable for both of us. It will involve a level of give and take, of vulnerability and acceptance I don’t think you’re capable of right now.’

      She didn’t answer, just flashed those stormy eyes at him, so Sandro smiled and took a step closer to her. ‘But I will sleep with you in that bed. I’ll lie next to you and put my arms around you and feel your softness against me. I think that will be enough for tonight.’ He watched her eyes widen with alarm. ‘More than enough,’ he said, and he tugged on the sash of her robe so it fell open and she walked unwillingly towards him.

      ‘What are you doing—?’

      ‘You can’t sleep in that bulky thing.’ He slid it from her shoulders, smoothing the silk of her skin under his palms. ‘But if you want to wear that frothy nightgown, go ahead.’

      Her chin jutting out in determination, she yanked the nightgown from the bed and put it on. It was made mostly of lace, clinging to her body, and Sandro’s palms itched to touch her again.

      ‘Now what?’ she demanded, crossing her arms over her breasts.

      ‘Now to bed,’ Sandro said, and he pulled her to the bed, lay down, and drew her into his arms. She went unresistingly, yet he felt the tension in every muscle of her body. She was lying there like a wooden board.

      He stroked her hair, her shoulder, her hip, keeping his touch gentle yet sure, staying away from the places he longed to touch. The fullness of her breasts, the juncture of her thighs.

      If he was trying to relax her, it wasn’t working. Liana quivered under his touch, but it was a quiver of tension rather than desire. Again, Sandro wondered just what had made his wife this way.

      And he knew he wanted to find out. It would, he suspected, be a long, patient process.

      He continued to slide his fingers along her skin even as his groin ached with unfulfilled desire. He wanted her, wanted her in a way he hadn’t let himself before. He’d fought against this marriage, against this woman, because he’d assumed she was the same as the other conniving women he’d known. His mother. Teresa.

      But he suspected now—hell, knew—that his wife wasn’t like that. There was too much fear and vulnerability in that violet gaze, too much sorrow in her resistance. She fought against feeling because she was afraid, and he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what fears she hid, and he wanted to help her overcome them. He wanted, he realised with a certainty born not of anger or rebellion but of warmth and fledgling affection, to melt his icy wife.

       CHAPTER SIX

      LIANA STIRRED SLOWLY to wakefulness as morning sunshine poured into the room like liquid gold. It had taken her hours to get to sleep last night, hours of lying tense and angry and afraid, because this was so not what she’d expected from her marriage. What she’d wanted.

      Yet it seemed it was what she’d wanted, after all, for with every gentle stroke of Sandro’s fingers she felt something in her soften. Yearn. And even though her body still thrummed with tension, the desire to curl into the heat and strength of him, to feel safe in an entirely new way, grew steadily like a flame at her core.

      And yet she resisted. She fought, because fear was a powerful thing. And her mind raced, recalling their conversations, Sandro’s awful questions.

      Were you abused? Raped?

      He wasn’t even close, and yet she was hiding something. Too many things. Guilt and grief and what felt like the loss of her own soul, all in the matter of a moment when she’d failed to act. When she’d shown just what kind of person she really was. He’d seen that, even if he didn’t understand the source, and she could never tell him.

      Could she? Could she change that much? She didn’t know if she could, or how she would begin. With each stroke of Sandro’s fingers she felt the answer. Slowly. Slowly.

      And eventually she felt her body relax of its own accord, and her breath came out in a slow sigh of surrender. She didn’t curl into him or move at all, but she did sleep.

      And she woke with Sandro’s hand curved round her waist, his fingers splayed across her belly. Nothing sexual about the touch, but it still felt unbearably intimate. She still felt a plunging desire for him to move his hand, higher or lower, it didn’t matter which, just touch her.

      And then Sandro stirred, and everything in her tensed once more. He rose on one elbow, brushed the hair from her eyes, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

      ‘Good morning.’

      She nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘Sleep well?’ Sandro asked, and she heard that hint of humour in his voice that had surprised her last night. She’d seen this man cold and angry and resentful, but she hadn’t seen him smile too much. Had only heard him laugh once.

      And when he softened like this, it made her soften too, and she didn’t know what would happen then.

      ‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat, inched away from him. ‘Eventually.’

      ‘I slept remarkably well.’ He brushed another tendril of hair away from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering.

      Liana resisted the urge to lean into that little caress. ‘What are we going to do today?’

      ‘We have a few engagements.’ Smiling, Sandro sat up in bed, raking his hair with his hands, so even though she was trying to avoid looking at him Liana found her gaze drawn irresistibly to his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles, the taut curve of his biceps. Her СКАЧАТЬ