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

CHAPTER SIX

PENNY watched him drink his second cup of coffee with bleary eyes. Solo had eaten a good breakfast, ham, eggs and three pastries, with apparent enjoyment, while she had struggled to swallow one of the delicious pastries. He seemed to be in an excellent mood, his silver-grey eyes smiling at her across the top of his cup.

‘I’ve been in touch with decorators and Brownie, and with a bit of luck by the time we have to return to England at least the paintwork at Haversham Park will not be so bilious.’

‘You’ve what?’ she exclaimed. ‘Who gave you the right to instigate the decoration of my home.’

‘Our home, Penelope,’ he drawled sardonically.

He was right again. They were seated at a table outside on the terrace, the sun was warm on her bare shoulders. Italy in May was a lot warmer than England and she had dressed accordingly in a cropped white cotton top and a short denim skirt. But suddenly she felt cold. She tilted her chin. ‘You should have consulted me anyway,’ she flared, her pride stung.

‘I didn’t think it was necessary. Brownie assured me she remembers all the original colours.’ Solo shrugged. ‘I thought that would do for now as I remember it being very attractively decorated.’

He had been talking to Brownie behind her back, and that hurt. Solo had taken over her home and now the loyalty of the one person Penny trusted above all others.

‘Later we can discuss any alterations that need to be made, perhaps a new nursery.’ At her arrested gasp a glint of amusement flickered in his grey eyes. ‘You must consider the possibility, Penny, as you so succinctly pointed out we took no precautions.’

‘Well, if it ever happens again, you better make damn sure you do.’ Penny hated him for stating cold, hard facts. It was all his fault she might be pregnant.

The amusement vanished from his eyes. ‘Oh, it will happen again, and again, of that you can be sure,’ he stated emphatically, shooting her a penetrating glance. ‘As for protection, if the thought of having my child so horrifies you—’ his mouth thinned in a tight, ominous line ‘—I suggest you wait until we see what nature intends this month, and then I will introduce you to my doctor, and you can take the pill.’

If Penny had not known better, she would have thought she had deeply offended him, but she quickly dismissed the idea. He had made it very plain their relationship was strictly sexual, and of a temporary nature. With Tina in the background it could never be anything else. Why the thought depressed her, she didn’t dare question.

‘We don’t have to get married,’ she said quietly.

‘Yes, we do.’ Solo eyed her with cool implacability. ‘I was born a bastard and no child of mine will suffer the same fate.’

‘I thought your parents were dead!’ Penny exclaimed.

‘My mother is, she died when I was ten; my father, I have no idea. He was an American sailor, and my mother a whore.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Penny murmured, her tender heart aching as she pictured Solo as a small boy without family. ‘I can’t imagine not having a home and family.’ She lifted green eyes moist with sympathy to his. ‘It must have been awful for you.’

‘No, it was the making of me. The streets of Naples were my home. As for family, who needs one? Neither your father or your stepmother were particularly kind to you, or you would not be here now. Save your pity for someone who needs it,’ he declared callously. ‘Yourself perhaps, because you are still going to marry me. The arrangements have been made, and I will not be made to look a fool in my home town.’

Penny said nothing. But the insight into his upbringing or lack of it had a profound effect on her troubled mind. She could not get the picture of a young Solo having to fend for himself out of her mind. He had every material thing a man could want, wealth, power, stunning good looks, a home. A home filled with perfect objects, and who could blame him for collecting only the best, when he had started life with nothing? No wonder he had insisted on marriage, any child of Solo’s would have everything the world could provide.

She cast him a surreptitious glance through the thick fringe of her lashes—but would the child have love? He was so cold, so controlled, but, beneath the hard exterior was he capable of love? As a teenager she had once thought so; he had been light-hearted and had made her laugh, for a few short weeks they had had fun… Later he had made her cry. Perhaps it was not impossible to recapture something of the past.

But for the duration of the meal the conversation was limited to generalities.

Later, acting as though he were a tourist guide, Solo showed her around his home. She stared in amazement at the paintings in the main salon. She recognised a genuine Matisse, and her eyes boggled at the exquisite oriental china, the bronze statues.

His collection of objets d’art was eclectic, but everything the genuine original. He had not been joking when he had told her he collected only perfect objects. His home was beautiful, and she told him so after leaving a purpose-built gallery that housed modern art, a Picasso and Jackson Pollock just two of about twenty.

‘You are like a human magpie, Solo.’ She slanted a smiling glance up at him. They were in his study, and even the desk was magnificent, made of polished walnut, and the silver and crystal ink set had no modern use but was perfect all the same.

His lips curled sardonically. ‘If by that you think I am a thief…’ he gripped her arm just below the elbow, his fingers biting into her flesh ‘… let me disabuse you of the notion. Everything I have I have bought legitimately, and that includes you.’

Then he pulled her into his arms, crushing her breasts against his hard, muscular chest, moulding her slender thighs and stomach into the rocklike contours of his body. He lowered his head and his hard mouth covered hers.

Penny could not move, so she did the only thing possible and clung to his wide shoulders as he kissed her with a deep, burning, angry passion.

At last he lifted his head and moved back and her legs trembled, her breathing ragged. ‘I never meant…’ She suddenly realised the insensitivity of her comment with a background like Solo’s and wanted to apologise, but he didn’t give her the chance.

‘Shut up, Penny, and listen.’ His chiselled features impassive, his expression was hard. Walking around the desk, he said, ‘I have the pre-nuptial for your signature. Read it, and I think you will find I have not robbed you, then sign,’ he commanded cynically.

Penny looked warily at the papers he slid across the desk, rubbing her arm—she would probably have a bruise there tomorrow—then picked up the document.

‘More than generous,’ she said flatly into the long silence and signed it.

Penny’s wedding day dawned bright and clear. Anna insisted on doing her hair—apparently she had been a hairdresser in her youth—and swirled the blonde tresses into a fantastic concoction on top of Penny’s head. The final touch was a number of tiny rosebuds from the garden inserted in the soft curls.

Penny glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and hardly recognised herself. The strapless dress lovingly clung to her slender body, the tiny pearls glinting in the sunlight. She slipped on the short jacket with the pearl-studded stand-up collar, and she had never felt so elegant. The three-inch high-heeled matching shoes helped.

The ceremony at the civic hall was thankfully brief. Anna and Nico were the witnesses, and half a dozen other people appeared. Solo introduced her but she was too numb with nerves to take in their names. Penny stood still as a statue at Solo’s side as he signed the necessary documents, and she took the pen from his elegant fingers and added her own name where he indicated, and it was all over. It seemed unbelievable to Penny that a few words in a language she barely understood had changed her life.

She glanced up at the man who was now her husband looking as cool and remote as ever. Dressed in an expertly tailored pale grey business suit and looking for all the world as if he had just concluded another business deal. Which she supposed in a way was what their marriage was.

Suddenly, as Solo cupped her elbow in his warm palm, and ushered her out into the bright sunlight, a dozen cameras all seemed to go off at once.

In the noise and confusion that followed Penny felt totally lost. Somebody shouted Solo’s name and something else in Italian, and Solo chuckled, and the rest went off in peals of laughter. Penny did not get the joke. But then she didn’t get much through the meal that followed in a very plush restaurant—the conversation was quick-fire Italian.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Solo murmured during a lull in the conversation. ‘Are you all right?’ His mouth was close to her ear and she was aware of several things at once. Gleaming silver eyes alight with amusement, and the faintly cynical curve of his sensuous lips, and the gentle touch of his hand over hers on the table. She caught the glint of the gold wedding band Solo was wearing and wondered why he had insisted on them both wearing a ring. ‘You look a little flushed.’

‘It is rather warm,’ she murmured. ‘And I have had rather a lot of champagne.’ She made the excuse because she could hardly confess she was worried about what would happen next.

Since signing the pre-nuptial Solo had treated her with cool indifference. In fact she had begun to think he had changed his mind. He had made no attempt to touch her or kiss her, and when she had suggested again last night after dinner that they did not have to get married he had looked at her with a sort of lazy possessiveness, and reiterated it was too late to change her mind.

‘Not too much. I have been counting,’ Solo remarked softly. ‘But I think it is time we left.’

‘Already?’ Penny exclaimed, coming back to the present with a jolt. She glanced around the guests and saw they all seemed to be settled in for a long liquid lunch. ‘But what about your friends?’

‘Our guests, my dear wife,’ he said pointedly, ‘can take care of themselves. Whereas I have an overwhelming desire to take care of you,’ Solo drawled silkily, standing to his feet. He caught hold of her arm and pulled her up.

Solo said their farewells and thanks in a mixture of Italian and English for Penny’s benefit, and instructed Nico they would be away for three days, and began walking towards the door.

When they reached the street a sudden thought made her blurt out, ‘Three days—where are we going?’

‘A surprise.’ Solo opened the door of the sports car and saw her seated before sliding into the driving seat. ‘Obviously not far, as your penchant for being sick in an aircraft curtails the choice somewhat,’ he mocked. ‘I want you fit for our wedding night.’

She ignored his quip about the night ahead. ‘But I have no clothes,’ she declared.

‘Anna has taken care of everything, just relax and enjoy the ride.’ He flicked her a glance of mocking amusement. ‘I know I shall.’

In the close confines of the sports car she was aware of several things at once. His long, muscular body, the faint scent of cologne mingled with the male scent of him, the gleaming silver eyes, and the faintly mocking curve of his sensuous lips. She shivered and closed her eyes, battling against the strange fascination this one man aroused in her.

She opened them twenty minutes later and glanced out of the window ‘Oh, my God, no! You can’t drive down there.’ Penny grabbed Solo’s arm. ‘It’s a cliff.’

‘Trust me.’ He slanted her a grin, his typical macho excitement at the drive ahead obvious. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘God save me from would-be racing drivers,’ she murmured and squeezed her eyes shut, and did not open them again until she felt the car come to an abrupt halt. Warily she looked out of the window again, and saw only water.

‘Where are we?’ She turned to Solo but only his jacket and tie lay on the seat. He was already out of the car, and in a moment was holding the door open for her. Penny climbed out and the heat struck her. She slipped off her jacket and looked around, and looked again.

It was a complete suntrap. A tiny bay at the foot of a cliff with a small what looked like a log cabin perched on the very edge of a rocky outcrop, with a wooden deck and jetty reaching out a few yards into the sea. A small boat rested clear of the waterline on about twelve yards of beach. She turned and tilted her head back and looked up at what looked like a sheer cliff face, until she spotted the serpentine track cut into the rock.

‘You drove down that?’ Penny flung out a hand and cast Solo a horrified look. ‘You must be mad!’

He briefly caught her hand and pulled her around before flinging out his arm in a wide, encompassing gesture. ‘Look around you. Beautiful, no?’ he demanded in a slightly accented voice, and, not waiting for an answer, added, ‘The first time I landed on this bit of sand I was like you, scared stiff at the sight of the cliffs, but now I love it.’ A satisfied grin softened his tone. ‘The perfect hideaway, no television, no telephone.’ He started walking towards the cabin.

The image of Solo afraid of anything was something Penny had trouble picturing. He seemed indomitable. She watched his confident stride, the movement of his buttocks as he walked, and a sudden rush of heat that had nothing to do with the bright sunshine flooded through her. Quickly she moved forward and stumbled in her high-heeled shoes.

‘Sugar!’ she exclaimed, and in a moment was swung up in Solo’s strong arms. ‘Put me down.’ She tried to wriggle out of his hold, her jacket and shoes falling in the process.

‘Stop it unless you want us both to take a dip in the sea,’ Solo said dryly, pulling her closer and walking on, ignoring her struggles with an ease that was galling as he elbowed open the cabin door.

‘Alone at last, Penelope,’ Solo drawled mockingly, lowering her gently to her feet. He was so tense it took all his considerable self-control to speak normally. He wanted to tell her she was exquisite, he wanted to throw her on the bed, and feast on her beautiful body with eyes and hand and mouth. The brush of her body against his thighs as he set her on her feet was agony. He had never wanted a woman so much in his life. ‘You like the place?’ he asked quickly, but the question wasn’t casual.

He had discovered the tiny bay as a child of eight. He had set out to sea in a rubber dinghy he had found on the beach at Naples, even at that age desperate to escape the gutter and a mother who he’d known would never miss him. The dinghy had deflated, he had swum until his arms had ached and had finally been washed up in this bay, and it had saved his life.

Then there had been only the ruins of an old fisherman’s cottage and a rotten jetty, the place long since deserted, but it had become Solo’s refuge. Whenever the city had got too much for him, he’d walked the miles from Naples and scrambled down the cliff path. Later, when he’d had money, he’d bought the land, built the cabin, and had the track cut out.

Solo could feel some of the tension seep from his muscles as he glanced around the familiar room; it was his sanctuary. He glanced down at Penny. It didn’t matter if she didn’t like it, he told himself, but for some indefinable reason he knew it did.

Penny’s eyes skimmed around the room, and it was just one room. To one side of the entrance door was a kitchen and dining area that took up a quarter of the space. At the other side of the door a long sofa beneath a window, on the next wall an open fire, with bookshelves loaded with books either side. On the far wall, a large bed… She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move a step forward if her life depended on it.

‘It’s tiny,’ she declared hollowly. Her stomach began a series of somersaults as she was struck by nervous dread at the thought of the three days alone in one room with Solo. No escape from his overwhelming masculine presence morning, noon and night… Penny glanced up at him. ‘There is a bathroom?’ she demanded, tension making her clip the words.

So she didn’t like it. So what? ‘Of course.’ Solo frowned, indicating a door to the left of the kitchen area, his expression stern and remote. ‘All the facilities are located through there.’

Penny raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank God for small mercies.’

‘I am not completely primitive,’ he said coldly.

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ she muttered under her breath, and, without a word, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her hard against his long body. His head bent and his mouth closed over hers with brutal savagery, forcing her lips apart in a kiss that shocked her into numb submission.

‘That is primitive, my sweet wife.’ Solo’s eyes narrowed in a slow, raking appraisal of her slender form. ‘You need to know the difference, because what happens next is your choice, but don’t try my patience. I waited four years for you, and then another four days—symbolic maybe, but too long.’

She tilted back her head; her eyes, flashing with anger, clashed with his darkening gaze. ‘Very symbolic—four is the number of the devil in Japanese culture,’ she shot back defiantly.

‘Then as you have labelled me a devil, you silly girl…’ he grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger, and she could see the cold fury in his silver eyes… ‘I am quite prepared to act like one. I would hate you to be disappointed,’ he declared with mocking cynicism, his other hand sweeping around her back, and before she knew it his fingers had swiftly unzipped her gown.

‘I am not silly or a girl.’ She slapped his hand from her face and jerked free. ‘You saw to that,’ she hissed, burning with resentment and trying to grab at the front of her dress.

‘And you loved every minute of it,’ he declared sardonically, and, catching her hands, he held them wide, and to her utter humiliation the pearl-strewn gown sank to pool on the floor at her feet.

She heard his sharply indrawn breath and for a long moment he simply stared. ‘I have been longing to do that since the first moment I saw you in that dress.’ Solo’s voice lowered to a husky murmur as his eyes roved over her delicate features and lower to her firm breasts, the tiny waist, and the small white lace briefs that barely saved her modesty.

Struggling to free her hands and burning with embarrassment, she used the only weapon left to her and lashed out at him with her foot, connecting with a shinbone. But in seconds she was powerless to move as he linked her hands behind her back in one of his, hauling her hard against him and raking his other hand through her hair, sending rosebuds careering to the floor. ‘Let me go,’ she gasped, wriggling ineffectively in his grasp, the atmosphere suddenly raw with tension.

Solo laughed softly. ‘Never.’ His silver eyes held her furious green gaze, his teeth gleaming in a devilishly menacing smile. ‘And you don’t really want me to.’ His gaze flicked down to her breasts heaving with her recent exertion, and back to linger on her slightly swollen lips, and then her hair.

‘Your hair should always be loose.’ Threading his fingers through it, he smoothed the silky mass down over her shoulders in an oddly tender gesture. ‘That’s how I always picture you.’