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It was the casual, almost sneering way he called her his darling wife that did it. Something inside of her snapped. Gazing up at him, mere feet away, close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his powerful body, she said, ‘Cuckolded? Humiliated? What planet are you on? How many women have you slept with since we married?’
Oh, he had been discreet. She would give him that. But there was no way a man as overtly masculine as Nico would go eleven months without sex.
‘Do not try to twist the subject. We are not talking about me. We are talking about you and the fact you want to advertise to the world that we never have consummated our marriage.’
‘You know damn well I won’t be doing anything of the sort.’
‘You think the press won’t leap on a nugget like that? You think I want to be the butt of everyone’s gossip? To know friends and business acquaintances will speculate over the reasons you and I never had sex?’
Rosa turned her face away, a slow burn crawling up her neck.
Lord, she did not want to think of them having sex. It was bad enough dreaming about his hard, naked body taking her passionately and then waking up in the morning with a burning need deep inside her, knowing there was nothing she could do about it other than take as cold a shower as she could bear and push it from her mind. At least she could control her conscious thoughts.
She took a step away from him—away from that citrusy, masculine scent that was starting to swirl around her senses. ‘I don’t relish that scenario any more than you, but if you refuse a divorce you will leave me no other option than to go down the annulment road.’
‘I will deny it,’ he said, staring at her unsmilingly. ‘I will tell the courts that you are a fantasist.’
‘You would lie under oath?’
The ring of shock in Rosa’s eyes was all too apparent.
In truth, Nico had shocked himself.
Would he really go that far? Under ordinary circumstances the answer would be a resounding no. But these were far from ordinary circumstances.
Her suitcases sat neatly by her bedroom door. A sign of her intent.
Of her defiance.
Without any pause for thought, he reached for the nearest, flicked the clips to spring it open and tipped the contents into a heap on the floor.
‘I will do whatever is necessary to uphold my reputation,’ he said, staring intently into her startled eyes. He clenched his hands into fists and held them tightly by his sides to prevent them doing the same to the other suitcase. He had made his point. ‘You are a Baranski and will remain a Baranski for as long as I deem necessary.’
Rosa backed away from him like a wary cat, tugging at her ponytail, loathing written all over her pretty face. ‘I’ll be a Carty again before you can blink,’ she said, her chest rising up and down with rapid motion. ‘I’ll change my name back by deed poll if necessary. And if you think upending my possessions is going to make me stay, then you are delusional.’
He would never have guessed his starchy wife was capable of anger. Irritation, yes. Mild annoyance on a bad day, maybe. But full-blown anger? No.
She had not even raised her voice but he could feel it—those tiny ripples of fury kept under the tightest of reins.
What would it be like to unleash that passion? A passion he had blithely ignored over the eleven months of their marriage, not even aware of its existence.
It had been there all along. And another man had been the recipient of it.
The knowledge lingered in his senses like a pungent smell.
And it made him react in ways he had never believed himself capable of.
‘I have a proposition for you,’ he said, breaking the taut silence.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‘I do not want a divorce or an annulment. I like our marriage—it suits me very well.’ And he was damned if he was going to let it end on her terms. If they were going to divorce it would be on his terms and his terms only.
‘It doesn’t suit me.’
Clamping down on the fresh flash of rage that followed this little declaration, he forced his voice to remain calm. ‘I realise that. However, as you have done so much research you must be aware that we cannot divorce until we have been married for a year—which in our case is a whole month away.’
‘That doesn’t mean we can’t start the ball rolling,’ she said, displaying the stubbornness he had always admired in her when she had worked for him, working regular twelve hour days in an effort to ensure everything was in perfect order.
It was the same stubbornness she had displayed when she’d refused his every overture to work with him permanently.
With a flash of insight he realised the more he tried to force her to comply the more she would dig her heels in. Her obstinancy was liable to take the form of an immovable object.
Why had he never noticed how sexy such stubbornness could be?
He squashed the thought away.
‘Give me a month—until the date of our first anniversary—to change your mind,’ he said, in the most reasonable voice he could muster. ‘Come to Butterfly Island with me as planned—you’re a first-class PA and linguist, and there is no one capable of doing the job as well as you. Do that and I will grant you a divorce. Refuse, and I will fight you every inch of the way.’
‘I won’t change my mind.’
‘That remains to be seen. But unless you give me the next month to try you will find yourself with one almighty fight on your hands.’ Deliberately he stepped towards her, over the puddle of clothes, encroaching on her personal space—a move he had never made in all the time he had known her. ‘I will contest it every step of the way. If I wanted, I could play dirty and drag it on for years. And guess what? I never lose.’
A small tick pounded under her left eye, so tiny it was barely perceptible. He had only seen that particular affliction once before. Smelling victory, he pressed on a little further, leaning close enough to smell her clean, feminine scent. He swallowed the moisture that formed in his mouth.
‘One month, Rosa. I don’t think that’s a very long time to wait for a lifetime of freedom.’
She gazed back at him, the tiny tick still pounding, before she visibly hardened. ‘I want it in writing.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ His lips curled. He had never been so insulted. ‘I am giving you my word.’
‘You gave me your word eleven months ago.’
‘And you gave me yours. I am not the one planning to break my vows.’
For an age they simply stared at each other, neither bending. The tension between them had become so thick a steak knife would have had trouble cutting through it. Yet through the seeping tension he could not help but admire her. There were not many people brave enough to face him off.
Rosa caved in first. Extending her hand, she said, ‘We will shake on it. One month, Nicolai. And if at the end you refuse to give me my divorce then I will show you just how dirty I can play.’
Her fiery declaration sent a frisson of excitement racing through his veins. As he reached for her hand he realised it was the first time their flesh had touched since they had exchanged their rings.
And as he walked back down the stairs, victory still ringing within him, Nico realised it had also been the first time he had set foot in her suite since she had moved in.
A black Jeep awaited them at the landing strip that constituted Butterfly Island’s airport.
It was roasting hot, the heat shimmering like waves off the ground. Even though Rosa had had the foresight to change into a light, cotton summer dress, her skin was dampening by the second.
It had been eighteen hours since they’d left London and she was shattered. The thirteen hour flight on Nico’s plush private jet hadn’t been too bad, but she had been far too wired to sleep. Unlike Nico, who had the amazing knack of being able to sleep on command.
Fortunately she’d had a pile of documents to read through to keep her occupied. She’d devoted all her spare time over the past fortnight in getting up to speed on the contracts. There had been little else for her to do. Nico had been as elusive over the past two weeks as an escaped hamster.
The one-hour connecting flight to Butterfly Island on a four-seat Cessna had been a more cramped affair. Nico had sat in front of her. They had been close enough to touch—close enough for her to smell him.
She had spent the flight breathing through her mouth.
A squat, elderly gentleman who looked dressed for a safari, in a cream pocketed shirt, cream shorts, a panama hat and long white socks, got out of the Jeep and strode over to them. For his part, Nico had relaxed his strict business attire by removing his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves.
‘Nicolai—as always, it’s a pleasure to have your company.’
‘Likewise.’ Nico shook the offered hand vigorously. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Rosa. Rosa, this is Robert King—owner of Butterfly Island and King Island.’
His wife? Nico had introduced her as his wife? In the eight months she had continued working for him after their quickie wedding he had never introduced her as anything other than his assistant. They had agreed that when it came to business it was best to keep things on a professional footing.
Before she could think about this in any depth she was pulled into the American’s arms. ‘Wonderful to meet you, Rosa. Your husband has told me all about you.’ He released her, but kept hold of her forearms so he could look at her. ‘Nicolai, you never told me what a beauty she was.’
Nico placed an arm around her waist in what could only be described as a possessive manner, forcing a reluctant Robert to release her. Rosa, already reeling at being called a beauty, was so shocked at this unexpected and blatant show of possessiveness that she froze.
‘Rosa’s beauty speaks for itself,’ said Nico in his gravelly tones. ‘Now, have all the arrangements been made?’
She was not sure if she’d imagined it, but she could have sworn Robert dropped him a quick wink. ‘Everything’s in hand.’
The minor stupor caused by Nico’s introduction and his unprecedented hold on her receded, and she extracted herself from his arm. ‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Mr King, but—as I’m sure my husband has already informed you—I have accompanied him as his assistant and not his wife.’
‘His assistant, eh?’ Robert’s wink was a lot more obvious this time. ‘I get you, I get you. Say no more. Now, you folks must be exhausted after all that travelling. Let’s get you to your accommodation so you can freshen up. Oh—and, Rosa? It’s Robert.’
The air-conditioning in the Jeep had been turned to full blast. Rosa welcomed the freshness after the stifling heat of the airstrip. It was the only thing she did welcome as the men started to talk business. Robert didn’t exactly freeze her out of the conversation but all his attention was focused on Nico. She had a feeling if she offered an opinion he would ruffle her hair and tell her not to worry her pretty head about it. It was infuriating, but not half as infuriating as Nico’s obliviousness to it.
She comforted herself with the knowledge that once Robert had seen her work he would see for himself that she was there not out of the virtue of being Nico’s wife but out of the virtue of being good at her job.
Still, it made for an uncomfortable journey—at least for her.
Butterfly Island was small by anyone’s standards. According to her research, its circumference was only a touch over nine miles. They reached the complex where they were to stay for the next fortnight in less than ten minutes.
To Rosa’s eyes it certainly lived up to its high-class honeymoon resort billing. When over the past fortnight she’d allowed herself to think of being in a lovers’ paradise with the man who was her husband but not her lover, she had consoled herself that she would be too busy working to have time to witness any open signs of affection displayed by the other guests.
The driver pulled up outside a large, one-storey Tuscanstyle villa.
‘I’ll leave you two to settle in.’ Robert grinned, throwing her a wink. ‘Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll get a golf-buggy to collect you after breakfast and bring you to the hotel. The conference room’s all ready to go. And, Rosa—’ he winked at her again ‘—the spa here has been named one of the best in the world. My staff have all been instructed to give you preferential treatment on anything you desire.’
‘That is very kind. I’ll be sure to remember that.’ She smiled. The shimmering heat of the day and the ambient atmosphere of the island had already started working its magic on her. What was the point in getting antsy? He was an old man. She would change his mind soon enough. ‘See you in the morning.’
Entering the villa, she tightened her ponytail and sighed with pleasure.
‘Shall I take your luggage to your bedroom?’ the driver asked, depositing their cases on the terracotta floor.
‘I shall deal with it,’ Nico said, slipping him some local currency.
Once they were alone, he turned to Rosa. ‘I need to check in with the Moscow office, so take a look around.’
Leaving him to it, she headed off into the open-plan living quarters, which were as airy and sophisticated as one would expect for a villa of this calibre. On the gleaming dining table stood a bucket of champagne on ice, a large bowl of fresh fruit and a vase of the prettiest, most delicious-smelling flowers she had ever seen or sniffed. Tucked away discreetly in a corner to the rear was a large, fully equipped office, which she gave a cursory once-over before heading to the patio doors. Inspecting the office could wait. She would spend the next fortnight virtually chained to the desk.
She stepped out onto the decking. A sprawling lawn ran down to a sandy-white beach.
Bubbles of excitement started thrumming through her veins. Dozens of co-mingling scents converged under her nose, from fragrant flowers and freshly cut grass to the salty scent of the sea.
Rosa closed her eyes. She had travelled to many countries with Nico during her time as his PA. Relaxation had never been on the agenda. This trip would be no different. She was here to work.
All the same…
They’d always stayed in luxurious accommodation, but it had always been functional rather than beautiful.
Butterfly Island was stunning. This villa was stunning.
Wistfulness clutched at her belly. What would it be like if she were here with a lover? Someone she trusted enough to place her heart in his hands, who would not squeeze all the life out of it?
She scrubbed the image away—especially the image of Nico that kept trying to intrude. Finding another lover was the last thing on her mind. Sleeping with Stephen had been an act of folly—an act of desperation to purge the hurt that had almost consumed her whole.
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTER ONE LAST longing gaze at The beach, Rosa went back inside to search for the bedrooms. The first was easy to find, and immediately she chose it for herself. The bedroom, large and opulent, would be any honeymooner’s dream. Its raised emperor four-poster bed even had the clichéd rose petals scattered all over the silk sheets. The en suite bathroom was amazing. The bath! She had never seen anything like it: sunken, with gold taps around the edges, it was large enough to swim in.
To stake her claim, she chucked her handbag on the bed and then left it to find Nico’s bedroom.
A few minutes later, her brief good mood having plummeted, she found Nico in the partitioned office, his laptop open, still talking on his smartphone.
He took one look at her face and disconnected the call.
‘What is wrong?’ he asked. ‘You look as if someone has stolen your luggage.’
She stood before him. ‘There’s only one bedroom.’
She waited for his disapproval.
He leaned back in the Captain’s chair and stretched out his long legs. ‘Naturally there is only one room.’
‘What do you mean, “naturally”? I was assured by Camilla, or Emily, or whoever it is that currently runs your London office, that a two-bedroomed villa had been reserved for us.’
‘I changed it.’
Her chin nearly hit the floor. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because we are married, and married couples rarely sleep in separate beds. Unless, of course, they are not sharing conjugal relations.’
She shook her head slowly, wishing she could slap the smug arrogance off his face. ‘You clever bastard.’
‘I shall take that as a compliment.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ She knew exactly what he was playing at. ‘I’m not sharing a bed with you. I assume it is enough that people think we are sleeping together?’
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I do not control how other people think.’
‘You’ll have to sleep on the sofa.’
‘I think not. I will be sleeping on that big, comfortable bed. If you wish to join me…?’ He raised an eyebrow in invitation.
She blinked in shock.
Had that really been a suggestive tone in his voice? Surely not…
Unnerved, she took a step back.
Nico sat up and rested his forearms on his thighs, openly studying her. ‘Does the thought of sharing a bed with me scare you?’
‘Of course not,’ she lied, inching back a little further—as far as the edge of the desk. He was still too close, but there was no way she was going to scurry off like a frightened rabbit just because he was close enough for her to smell his fruity scent.
They had worked side-by-side for the best part of a year and his scent had hardly ever been a problem for her—at least not until the last few months of her tenure. That had been one of the reasons she had turned down his offer of a permanent position. Nico smelled far too good for her sensibility.
‘Then what is your problem?’ His eyes gave a sudden gleam. ‘Worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ As if Nico had ever looked at her with anything other than platonic eyes.
‘Why would you think that ridiculous? You’re an attractive woman—sharing a bed with you would be a temptation for any man.’
To her horror, she felt her neck burn. She turned her head, unable to look at him, suddenly scared of what he would see. ‘Now you are being ridiculous.’
His voice dropped to a murmur. ‘I’ve thought about you a lot these past few weeks.’
She fixed her gaze on a pretty landscape painting on the wall. ‘Sure you have.’
He had the audacity to laugh, with a low, gravelly timbre that sent tiny tingles dancing on her skin.
‘You are angry with me for not spending any time with you. That would have been easily rectified if you were still working for me. You would have travelled with me.’
‘Your ego astounds me.’ She paused to swallow a lump that had formed in her throat. ‘However, if your idea of getting me to change my mind about our marriage was to leave me alone for a fortnight, it was one heck of a rubbish plan.’
‘I had matters to arrange and business to tie up before this trip.’ He leaned closer and cupped the curve of her neck. ‘Did you miss me?’
His unexpected action caught her off-guard. She would not have been more surprised if he had told her he was gay. She could understand the arm around her waist when they had been with Robert—Nico was doing all in his power to set her up to look a liar and a fool if she went down the annulment route—but this?
She had to fight with everything she had not to respond to the feel of his warm palm against her sensitised skin. She would not fall into his blatant trap.
‘No.’ She pulled away from his clasp—his second touch in less than an hour. ‘I didn’t miss you. Now, will you stop playing games? It’s making me uncomfortable.’
His lips curved slightly. ‘I am not playing games.’
‘That’s what it feels like.’
‘You agreed to give me the chance to prove our marriage deserves another shot.’
‘So far you have failed spectacularly. And pretending you find me attractive is not the way to go about it either.’ Not after eleven months of complete uninterest.
‘Have you considered that maybe I am not acting?’
The breath caught in her throat. If she hadn’t already known how indifferent he was to her physically, she might almost have believed him.
She dragged air into her lungs and took a step to the side. ‘Actually, no. I don’t believe that for a second. You don’t find me attractive. You’re just using your masculinity to try and drive me into some kind of feminine stupor. You think I will fall for your charms and thus save you the unpleasantness of a public divorce—and save you from the hundreds of women who will come beating on your door, begging to be the new Mrs Baranski.’
He stilled, his eyes narrowing. ‘You have me all figured out.’
‘You’re an easy read.’
What else could it be? Their marriage hadn’t just been platonic, it had been positively frigid. Intellectually, they got along beautifully. They could talk business until the sun came up. But there had been no physical contact of any kind, not even when they had drunk more vodka together than was good for them. They would attend functions where couples were together in every sense of the word—holding hands, sneaking kisses. For all their cordiality, she and Nico wouldn’t even wipe a fragment of lint from each other’s clothing.
It was what she had signed up to. But she’d had no idea when she drew up that stupid contract that it would come to hurt so much and gnaw at her insides.
‘If I were to tell you I find you incredibly sexy, would you think I was lying?’
‘We both know I am not your type.’ Even when passing her a mug of coffee he made a concerted effort not to touch her.
‘Maybe my tastes are becoming more discerning.’
‘Unluckily for you, my tastes aren’t. If you think I want to share a bed with a man who has a deli counter of blondes queuing for a space in his bed, you have another think coming. Believe me, that was a strong positive for me when we made our no-sex pact.’
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