Paper Marriages: Wife: Bought and Paid For / His Convenient Marriage / A Convenient Wife

CHAPTER FIVE

‘HOW do you feel?’ Solo asked, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘It never entered my head you might be afraid of flying.’

Strapped into a flight seat, one hand gripping the armrest as if her life depended on it, Penny managed to turn her head and glance up at Solo leaning over her.

Trust him to look incredibly attractive and disgustingly fit, while she felt like death. He was wearing a pale linen suit and a white shirt open at the neck. The suit had appeared from the back of his car yesterday along with the champagne and an overnight bag. Penny didn’t believe for one moment that he always travelled with a change of clothes prepared for any eventuality as he had said. She suspected he had had a much more sinister reason. If she had not fallen into his arms so easily, she was prepared to bet he would have hung around until she did. He was a devious, manipulative swine at the best of times.

Not that she cared in her present state of health. But to give him his due, Solo had called the flight attendant and demanded some water for her, and impatiently he had vacated his safety seat and walked the length of the private jet to get the water himself, such was his concern.

‘I didn’t ask to come to Italy,’ Penny said between clenched teeth. The water had eased her raw throat a little, but she was sure she was going to be sick again, and she had only been in the plane twenty minutes.

‘Open your mouth and swallow this pill,’ Solo demanded, his lean fingers reaching for her lips.

‘What is it?’

‘A travel sickness pill. Just swallow it, you will feel better, trust me,’ Solo soothed, stroking the back of her hand that grasped the armrest. ‘Try and relax, the nausea will pass.’ Meekly opening her mouth, she felt his fingers against her lips as he placed the pill on her tongue. ‘Now have another drink of water.’

With a hand that trembled she lifted the glass to her mouth and swallowed, then, feeling cold, she slid down in the seat in a state of near panic. Solo took the glass from her shaking hand and passed it to the male flight attendant, then sat down again.

‘Feeling better?’ His deep, husky voice was anxious.

‘Not so you’d notice,’ she tried to joke, but her nerves were shot to pieces. ‘I don’t like flying,’ she said with feeling.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She saw him stiffen, his jawline taut. ‘I could have done something about it.’ Prising her hand from its deathlike grip on the armrest, he held it firmly in one of his.

‘You never asked.’ His skin was warm and his grip comforting and Penny laid her head back and closed her eyes, feeling marginally better.

‘No, but it’s not that unusual,’ Solo said soothingly, slowly stroking the back of her hand. ‘Lots of people are afraid of flying, but there are excellent medications available to overcome the problem.’

Penny’s lips twisted in a wry grimace. Airsickness was the least of her problems. Her biggest problem was the man gently stroking her hand. It was hardly surprising she was ill after yesterday and a sleepless night. She was an emotional wreck before she ever got on the damn plane!

Until three days ago, she had been a reasonably contented woman. Her childhood had been happy until the death of her mother, but she had battled though her loss, and accepted her father marrying again and loved her half-brother. The only blip on the smooth running of her life had been the summer when she had first met Solo and fallen headlong in love with him, or so she had thought…

But with grim determination she had got over what she saw as his betrayal, and gone to university, passing all her exams. The trauma of losing her father and Veronica was fading and she was on the first step of the ladder to being a successful author of children’s books. She was quiet by nature, but with an inner core of strength that made her fight against adversity.

That was until yesterday afternoon. Before she had been an inexperienced girl who had not discovered the depths of her own sexuality. But Solo had changed all that in a couple of hours, when he had shown her what it was to be a sexually aware woman. She had been struggling with the emotional fallout ever since.

Last night she had watched him charm Brownie. Then he had stood at her side and listened while she’d rung Jane’s mum on her mobile and told her she was going on holiday to Italy for a week, and while she’d spoken with James. Then Solo had called her a coward for not revealing their marriage plans.

Penny had been furious, but later, when he had walked her upstairs to her bedroom, to her shame she had been torn between hoping he would leave her alone, and then, when he’d kissed her goodnight at her door, wishing he wouldn’t. No wonder she’d had a sleepless night.

‘Penny.’

‘Hmm,’ she murmured, her eyelids fluttering open.

Solo looked down at her through thick black lashes, an intimate glance that made her heart miss a beat. ‘Feeling better?’

As if he actually cared… Penny thought mutinously, but bit down on the childish response and hesitated for a moment, listening to her body. ‘Yes, I think I am.’ She sighed in relief. The nausea had gone.

Solo sank back in his seat, and breathed in deeply. Thank God she had got a bit of colour back in her face. Not willing to admit seeing her sick and as pale as a ghost had made him feel as guilty as sin. He had bulldozed Penny into coming to Italy with him. But seeing her ill had terrified him. There were times when he wanted to wring her lovely neck for the way she had rejected him in the past, but other times, like now, when he wanted to cradle her in his arms and comfort her.

He must be getting soft in his old age—then he dismissed the thought; age was not something he wished to dwell on. He cast her a sidelong glance. She was resting her head back, the elegant arch of her throat exposed by the open neck of the blue blouse she was wearing, as was the shadowy cleavage of her luscious breasts. He felt a tightening in his groin. What the hell was he thinking of? The girl was ill!

‘So, Penny, tell me,’ he said, calmly determined to divert his wayward thoughts. ‘How is it in the twenty-first century a woman of your age is still terrified of flying? Surely you must have tried to get over your fear before now. I know you and your family fly down to the South of France at least a couple of times a year.’

‘There are such things as boats and trains,’ Penny remarked, slanting him a wry glance. With her nausea gone, she had time to look around. The cream leather armchairs and the bar all portrayed the wealth of the man at her side. The fact she was still in the safety seat, and had no intention of moving until the plane landed, did not stop her appreciating the luxury the plane afforded.

‘But as it happens I’ve never been to the South of France—it was Dad and Veronica’s holiday. They stayed in England for Christmas, but when I came home for the Easter and summer vacations, they took off the next day. It was a chance for them to have a break on their own while I was there to look after James. I’ve never flown before. In fact, technically you could say I’ve never been outside of the UK.’

‘You have never flown!’ Solo declared incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it. You’ve never even been abroad?’

‘Unless you call the Channel-nel Islands abroad. No… James and I had a week in Guernsey two summers running. It is a nice journey by boat, and there is a lovely beach at St Peter’s Port. The weather is generally better than in mainland Britain.’

‘I need a drink.’ Solo got to his feet. He also needed to think. ‘Want anything?’ he asked curtly.

‘No, I’m fine.’ Penny looked up. His eyes burned into hers. He was angry.

Solo shook his dark head in exasperation, and moved to the bar. For years he-STRICKEN, had naturally assumed Penny had benefited from her father’s upturn in fortune at his expense. But now he was not so sure; either she was a great actress, or too soft-STRICKEN, for her own good. Unfortunately for him he was beginning to think it might be the latter.

The red dress apart, Penny’s clothes appeared to be classic but conservative. Today she was wearing a blouse and neat-fitting navy trousers, suitable for travelling. Her blonde hair was tied back-ck and she looked the same as she had at eighteen. And she had never flown before!

To a man who spent half his working life travelling in his own jet the notion was unthinkable. Plus he had known Veronica, and he could easily believe she would dump her child on Penny and take off to the high life. He was a bit surprised that Julian Haversham had agreed, but then he’d been an old man with a young wife—what else could he have done? That thought brought Solo up cold.

Solo was silent for the rest of the trip, and Penny turned her head towards the window and stared out at the vast expanse of clear blue sky. He was probably angry and disgusted with her for being ill. Served him right if he was fed up with her already. The whole sorry mess was his fault, and on that thought she fell asleep. When the plane slowed and the noise increased, she started awake with a nervous jolt. But she did not have time to feel ill before the aircraft touched down.

Solo unfastened her seat belt. ‘I think I better carry you,’ he said, his mPANIC-outh tight.

‘No. No.’ Penny struggled to stand up, knocking his hand away. ‘I can manage, just lead me to a house on terra firma, and a bathroom,’ she said with feeling.

Her mouth felt dry, her blouse was sticking to her, and it did nothing for her self-esteem to see Solo looking as cool and elegant as ever.

The customs officer waved them through without even looking at their passports.

‘You must be well known,’ Penny murmured as they exited Naples airport. Unaccustomed to the heat and the brilliant sunlight, she shielded her eyes with one hand and glanced up at Solo.

But his attention was fixed on a white-haired, casually dressed man in shorts and a black shirt who flung his arms around Solo like a long-lost brother, and a rapid conversation in Italian ensued. Then the older man turned to smile at Penny with sympathy and Solo quickly introduced him as Nico.

When she was seated in the back of an elegant black car, Solo beside her, he explained. ‘Nico and his wife look after my home, and they both speak a bit of English, so anything you need feel free to ask them.’

They drove for what seemed miles in silence. With each breath Penny took she was aware of the faint scent of Solo’s aftershave. He was too close sitting beside her, his arm casually resting along the back of the seat, his jacket pulled open, and the white shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his muscular chest.

When the car suddenly turned and she fell against him, she quickly straightened up and looked out of the window, and was glad of the distraction as the car was angling into a concealed driveway flanked by massive stone pillars and lined with trees.

She gasped when the house came into view. ‘This is your home!’ she exclaimed, turning stunned green eyes to his perfectly chiselled profile.

Amazingly, colour striped his high cheekbone. ‘Yes, it is, and I like it,’ he said, his voice hardening almost defensively, and stepped out of the car, opened Penny’s door and held out his hand.

A pretty fantasy—there was no other way to describe it. The pale blue stuccoed house, with delicately carved white-painted shutters, had fantastic sculptured scrolls and smiling nymphs at each corner and marching along a stone balustrade at the base of the high slate roof were twelve sculptured figures. In the vast expanse of a paved forecourt were three fountains with elegant dolphins and mermaids. The design was quirky classical, but so not Solo…

He was an aloof, arrogant man, and if she had had to picture his type of house it would have been something impressive and solid in granite, with no frills, as hard as he was.

‘Penny.’

She glanced up. ‘Yes,’ she said and, ignoring his hand, she got out of the car and looked around. Beyond the open courtyard there was a terrace with a riot of colourful flowers and shrubs leading to an oval swimming pool. A sloping lawn ended at a row of orange and lemon trees with a view of the sparkling blue sea beyond.

‘Do you approve?’ Solo asked, moving to stand beside her, and deliberately sliding an arm around her waist to hold her at his side.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she answered honestly. ‘But not what I expected.’

‘Things rarely are. As I am beginning to realise,’ Solo said enigmatically, and urged her towards the porch.

Nico preceded them in and a smiling dark-haired woman of about fifty waited for them. ‘My wife, Anna.’

‘Welcome back, signor, and this must be Miss Haversham. Good morning,’ Anna said with a heavy Italian accent.

Was it still morning? Penny wasn’t sure—the effect of Solo’s hand on her waist, warm and possessive, added to her confusion and, glancing at her wrist-watch, she registered it was almost one. ‘Good afternoon.’ She tried to smile.

Solo grasped Penny’s arm and led her across the marble-floored hall to the foot of the stairs. ‘Penny has had a bad journey,’ he explained quietly. ‘Leave the luggage till later, Nico. I am going to take her up to her room. She needs to rest.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Penny said as her delighted gaze swept around the beautiful hall, the delicately painted antique Italian furniture. A roll-top desk against one wall, a gorgeous hall table. ‘Can I—?’

‘No, upstairs,’ Solo said firmly and, striding forward, he almost dragged her up the curving staircase, and along a wide landing and into a room.

‘Why the rush, I am feeling much better and I would like to have a look around,’ Penny said as he released her and closed the door, her angry green gaze clashing with grey.

‘Because you have had a very traumatic journey and you need to recover,’ Solo said smoothly, walking towards her, his mouth curved in a brief smile, and to her astonishment he walked straight past her.

‘Here is your bathroom.’ She turned and he had opened a door, and beyond it was the gleam of cream and gold tiles and sparkling mirrored walls. ‘Drink your tea, then take a shower and have a rest.’

He was ordering her around like a child. ‘Now, wait a minute…’ Penny muttered, burning with resentment and other feelings she preferred not to recognise, but, ignoring her, he continued.

‘Your dressing room is over here, but don’t waste too much time unpacking.’ His grey eyes clashed with her rebellious green. ‘On Monday you will be moving into the master suite as my wife.’

Wife hit her like a thunderbolt. She glanced wildly around, then back at Solo. He had moved to stand only inches away from her, and it finally registered in her tired mind—Italy, this man, this room, this was reality.

Her head jerked up and she stared at him. ‘It’s impossible, Solo. You can’t get married just like that.’ She was panicking. ‘I mean, you need documents, a birth certificate, and papers.’ She tossed back her head, and hoped he would not recognise her panic. ‘What about my family, friends?’

‘All arranged. I spent a constructive hour in your father’s study. It wasn’t possible for us to marry in England quickly. Luckily I have some pull in Italy and I have the documentation.’ He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. ‘I have an appointment with the relevant authority in an hour, and later today we are going shopping for some clothes for you.’

‘There is nothing the matter with my clothes,’ Penny cut in angrily.

His grey eyes made a slow, indolent appraisal of her slender form, and she was horribly conscious of her crumpled blouse and trousers. ‘Not quite bridal finery,’ he remarked, moving closer.

‘I don’t need you—’

He lifted one finger and pressed it over her parted lips. ‘All you need to do is to look your usual beautiful self on Monday, and keep your mouth shut, except to say sì.’ He looked at her mouth and then into her eyes. ‘Everything clear?’

He must have gone through her father’s papers in the study, and she had let him, she thought, angry with her own trusting stupidity. He tipped her head up, and her breath caught in her throat when she realised he was going to kiss her. She told herself it wasn’t what she wanted, but when his lips replaced his finger on her mouth she welcomed his kiss with a soft sigh of surrender.

Solo lifted his head and looked down into her dazed green eyes, the softly pouting mouth, and offered, ‘If you like we can have a wedding reception for your friends when we return to England.’

‘That would be nice,’ Penny said rather nervously as she glimpsed the deep, sensual warmth in his eyes.

‘Good, because there is no going back,’ he mocked. ‘You’re mine.’

Something Penny was made very much aware of at six o’clock that evening as, stripped to her briefs, she stood in the changing room of an exclusive boutique silently fuming.

She had slept for most of the afternoon. Anna had awoken her with a cup of tea and some very English cucumber sandwiches, and the information the master would be waiting for her downstairs in half an hour. Physically feeling much better, Penny had showered and dressed in a plain rose-coloured shift dress in fine cotton, a matching scarf held her long hair back and, with sandals on her feet, she had made it downstairs in time.

Solo had taken a brief look at her and said, ‘Very nice, but I think we can do better than that for your wedding dress,’ which did nothing for her self-confidence.

‘In that case, you can’t come with me. It is unlucky for the groom to see the wedding dress before the marriage service.’

With a sardonic tilt of one ebony brow, Solo said, ‘Foolish superstition. A man makes his own luck in this world.’

Solo certainly did, Penny thought wryly, and did not bother arguing.

A short journey in a fire-red sports car saw them arrive at this exclusive boutique in Sorrento. The owner, a stunning-looking woman named Teresa, greeted Solo with a kiss and a hug, while Penny was subjected to a brief smile and a comprehensive examination of her slender figure, before Teresa turned back to Solo and a discussion in Italian followed.

Roughly Penny pulled the cream creation over her head and smoothed it down over her slender hips, her temper simmering. Half a dozen times already she had paraded out of the cubicle into the salon, and had to suffer the indignity of Solo lounging on a satin sofa and studying every inch of her body. Then discussing the relative merits of the garments in his native language with Teresa, before saying yes or no.

At least that was what Penny thought they were doing, but they could have been arranging a hot date for all she knew, and she felt like an idiot. She did not even bother looking in the mirror this time before she marched back out into the salon.

‘So will this do?’ she demanded, her green eyes flashing fire. Teresa was now on the sofa beside Solo. The woman might as well sit on his lap, Penny thought angrily. It was perfectly obvious they were very good friends and probably more. Not that she cared, she told herself…

Solo’s grey eyes lifted, and an arrested expression crossed his hard features. Slowly his gaze raked over her face and down her throat, to her slender shoulders and lower. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured.

She felt the heat of his glance down her body, like a flame, and looked down. Then blushed scarlet when she realised the strapless gown, embroidered in tiny seed pearls, revealed the upper curve of her breasts, and fitted like a second skin into her narrow waist and down over her hips to end above her knee. ‘There is a jacket to go with it.’ She spun around.

‘No, wait,’ Solo demanded and slowly she turned back to face him.

He had stood up, and moved to stop in the middle of the floor. She glanced up at him, a tall giant of a man with silver-grey eyes, and then quickly lowered her eyes as he slowly walked all the way around her.

She half turned. ‘I’ll get the jacket.’ But long, tanned fingers closed over her shoulders and turned her back to face him.

‘Not yet, let me look.’ His grey eyes raked over her from head to toe. ‘This is the one.’ His deep, husky drawl feathered across her nerves as smooth as silk. ‘You look incredible,’ and, turning to Teresa, ‘You agree?’

Penny made her feet move. ‘Right, so that is that,’ she said flatly, dashing back into the changing cubicle. But she did not escape quite so easily. By the time they left the boutique she was the owner of three formal gowns, a whole load of mix-and-match casual summer clothes, if one could call designer labels casual—the prices certainly weren’t—and to her shame some very flimsy underwear Solo took delight in choosing for her.