Bound To The Sicilian's Bed

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WAS GOING to kiss her and after everything she’d just said, Nicole knew she needed to stop him. But suddenly she found herself governed by a much deeper need than preserving her sanity, or her pride. A need and a hunger which swept over her with the speed of a bush fire. As Rocco’s shadowed face lowered towards her she found past and present fusing, so that for a disconcerting moment she forgot everything except the urgent hunger in her body. Because hadn’t her Sicilian husband always been able to do this—to captivate her with the lightest touch and to tantalise her with that smouldering look of promise? And hadn’t there been many nights since they’d separated when she’d woken up, still half fuddled with sleep, and found herself yearning for the taste of his lips on hers just one more time? And now she had it.

One more time.

She opened her mouth and Rocco used the opportunity to fasten his mouth over hers in the most perfects of fits. And instantly Nicole felt helpless—caught up in the powerful snare of a sexual mastery which wiped out everything else. She gave a moan of pleasure because it had been so long since she had done this. She’d forgotten what it was like to kiss him because kissing was one of the first casualties of a failing marriage. You stopped kissing and touching and all too soon it was difficult to contemplate anything other than the icy barrier you had created between you.

And Nicole had felt like a living statue since they’d been apart. As if she were made from marble. As if the flesh and blood part of her were some kind of half-forgotten dream. Slowly but surely she had withdrawn from the sensual side of her nature until she’d convinced herself she was dead and unfeeling inside. But here came Rocco to wake her dormant sexuality with nothing more than a single kiss. It was like some stupid fairy story. It was scary and powerful. She didn’t want to want him, and yet...

She wanted him.

Her lips opened wider as his tongue slid inside her mouth—eagerly granting him that early intimacy as if preparing the way for another. She began to shiver as his hands started to explore her—rediscovering her body with an impatient hunger, as if it were the first time he’d ever touched her. His fingers skated over her breasts, palms massaging the swollen contours until each taut and aching nipple was in an exquisite state of arousal. Instinctively she writhed against him and felt the hard cradle of his desire. And now the moaning sound she could hear was his as he deepened the kiss—underpinning it with a sudden sense of urgency.

‘Nicole,’ he said unevenly and she’d never heard him say her name like that before.

Her arms were locked behind his neck as again he circled his hips against hers in unmistakable invitation and, somewhere in the back of her mind, Nicole could hear the small voice of reason imploring her to take control of the situation. It was urging her to call a halt to what they were doing and to do it now, before it was too late. But once again she ignored it. Against the powerful tide of passion, that little voice was drowned out and she allowed pleasure to shimmer over her skin.

She drew back a little to pull some air into her lungs—and the expression on his face both shocked and thrilled her. Because she’d never seen Rocco look like this before. The tension had turned his features into a taut mask. His eyes were blackened with lust, their sapphire brilliance almost concealed by the dilated pupils. Two lines of colour flared along the edges of his high cheekbones and contrasted with the hue of his olive skin.

‘So, tesoro.’ His murmured words were provocative as his circling groin gave yet another candid demonstration of just how aroused he was. ‘Is this what you’ve been missing?’

Nicole swallowed. She should tell him not to be so arrogant. She should tell him a lot of things which were long overdue. But she was in no fit state to give a coherent answer because he was idly whispering his middle finger down over her midriff and somehow the barrier of her filmy shirt was making what was happening doubly provocative. So that instead of telling him to stop, she found herself whispering, ‘Yes.’

He gave a little groan of satisfaction as he slid his hand up beneath her shirt to cup the breast which was straining madly against her bra. So close to the skin, she thought frustratedly—and yet much too far away. Her mouth dried as he began to circle a nipple with his thumb and her eyelids fluttered to a close as she felt it puckering beneath the lace. How could a touch which was barely there feel so incredible? ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice sounding slurred against the seeking pressure of his kiss.

He gave a low laugh as his hand moved from her breast down to the waistband of her jeans and Nicole held her breath. Would he dare go further? Surely she shouldn’t allow this? She knew she ought to break the spell yet she was so in thrall to what was happening that she was powerless to move. She heard the rasp of her zip as he began to slide it down and she held her breath, praying he would continue even though she knew he ought to stop. And now he was slipping his hand into the space provided by the open denim, and was easing one finger on a downward path over the warm surface of her belly. She swallowed.

‘Is there something else you would prefer me to do?’ he murmured. ‘In which case, you’d better tell me, because although I have many skills where women are concerned, I’m afraid mind-reading isn’t one of them.’

His teasing incited her—it made the heat raging inside her intensify to such a pitch that the idea of calling a halt to this madness seemed unbearable. Yet it angered her, too. How dared he bring up the subject of other women at a time like this? Did he think she didn’t care about stuff like that? With a yelp of rage she kissed him hard and she could feel his mouth curving into a smile, because by now he was slipping his fingers inside her panties. And didn’t the molten wetness he encountered there seem like a kind of betrayal? A physical demonstration of just how much she still wanted him, no matter how much she wished she didn’t. Her head fell back as he began to circle the tip of her clitoris with a feather-light touch.

‘Oh, my,’ he said softly as she quivered uncontrollably beneath the rhythmic caress of his finger. He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Nicole. Just like old times. So wet and so hot. I think we’d better do something about this, hadn’t we, mio tesoro?’

She opened her mouth to tell him he’d got it all wrong but her desire was so great that she couldn’t speak. And even if she could, what the hell could she say?

Stop what you’re doing because it’s wrong. It’s making me feel weak and vulnerable and I vowed never to let myself feel that way again.

Because right now she didn’t care about any of that. All she cared about was the way he was making her feel. So she stayed silent as layer upon layer of pleasure began to build—so sweet and so achingly familiar. It took her to such a pitch of sexual hunger that she found herself wanting to whisper his name over and over again, like some life-affirming mantra. She was going to come—she knew she was—when the sudden memory of his mocking words crashed into her mind and shattered the magic spell he was weaving.

Just like old times, he’d said.

But it wasn’t, was it? It was nothing like old times, when she’d still been naïve and foolish enough to think there was some connection between them, which could get deeper if they worked on it. They weren’t those star-crossed lovers she’d imagined them to be and nor were they the unlikely newlyweds with no idea how to communicate with each other. The past was gone and this was not how she intended her future to be.

Nicole clamped her hand over Rocco’s wrist, halting the finger still poised with tantalising precision over the engorged bud as she summoned up all the willpower she possessed. And although her body was screaming out its objections, she blocked them. Because she’d been through a lot to get to where she was today. She’d worked hard and built her little business up from scratch—and it might not be very much, but it was all hers. She was beginning to establish herself as the artist she’d always wanted to be before life and Rocco had sucked her up and wrung her out to dry. She’d even started to convince herself that one day she would be properly over him. Was she really prepared to jeopardise everything—including her precious self-respect—just because her hormones had been reactivated by Rocco Barberi’s overt sexuality?

Heart pounding, she yanked his hand out of her panties and stepped away to turn her back on him while she readjusted her clothing. Her cheeks were burning as she zipped up her jeans and smoothed down her white shirt while the silver chains around her neck jangled like wind chimes. Slowly she came back to reality, blinking as she took in her surroundings to realise that they’d been making out on a penthouse terrace not far from Monaco’s picture-book harbour. And while they weren’t exactly being overlooked, what was to stop someone on one of those fancy yachts from peering through a pair of binoculars and seeing them? Some paparazzi photographer taking a few candid snaps to earn himself some unexpected money? Or one of Rocco’s staff turning up with papers for him to sign? She gave a violent shudder of remorse as she turned on him.

‘How dare you try to have sex with me?’ she hissed.

Unabashed, he shrugged. ‘That isn’t the message I was just getting. And isn’t it a little late in the day for such an outraged reaction? I thought only teenagers played games like that.’

‘I wasn’t playing games!’

‘Letting me go only so far and no further?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t consider that an adolescent game?’

‘Not in the circumstances, no. You were making me feel like...like an object.’

‘I was making you feel pleasure,’ he corrected. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

She shook her head. ‘And now you’re insulting me by asking such a dumb question. Having sex with you would complicate an already complicated situation—we both know that. And that’s not the reason I’m here.’

‘But you wanted me,’ he said slowly, his bright sapphire gaze taking in the breasts which were still heaving beneath her filmy shirt. ‘You want me now. Your body is crying out for me to touch you again. Surely even you wouldn’t deny that, Nicole.’

Nicole bit her lip, angry that he could look so cool and controlled when she felt so hot and bothered. Hating the fact that if she denied his accusation, she could rightly be accused of hypocrisy. And she didn’t have to answer him. She could flounce off this terrace any time she wanted except that wouldn’t be a very mature response, and she was supposed to be all about maturity these days. Wasn’t that one of the benefits of getting older, that you learnt from the knocks you experienced along the way? You learnt that what didn’t kill you made you stronger, even if at the time you wanted to just curl up and die.

She smoothed her hands down over her ruffled curls in a vain attempt to smooth them. ‘Of course I want you,’ she said carefully. ‘Or rather, my body does. You are a very charismatic man, as I’m sure many women must have told you in the past—’

‘You were always one of the most vociferous advocates,’ he reminded her softly.

‘I know. But I was young. And I don’t think talking about the way we felt back then is particularly helpful,’ she said. Because she was starting to realise how dangerous it could be. It was feeding those feelings she’d forced herself to repress. Dangerous feelings about love and longing, which had been pointless then and were even more pointless now.

‘Let’s just chalk it up to experience,’ she continued, swallowing down the lump in her throat. ‘We were just two people trying to do the right thing. It just didn’t work out.’

A thoughtful look shadowed his face. ‘But there’s no reason why that should stop us having sex right now, since it’s what we both want,’ he murmured. ‘Isn’t that so?’

Nicole shook her head, trying to fight the sudden desire provoked by the velvety caress of his words. ‘That’s not going to happen, Rocco.’

‘Do you want to tell me why?’

‘You know why. Because it would feel...wrong. And I’m pretty certain it would invalidate our two years of separation and take even longer to get a divorce.’

‘Ah, yes. Your precious divorce,’ he mused.

‘My ticket to freedom, you mean? Yours, too.’

His smile was mocking. ‘At least you’ve answered one question for me,’ he observed.

She looked at him. ‘Oh? What question is that?’

‘Back in England, I asked if there was another man waiting in the wings and you didn’t give me a satisfactory answer. But now I’d be prepared to bet my entire fortune there isn’t.’

‘I thought you said mind-reading wasn’t one of your skills.’

‘It’s not. It doesn’t need to be. It’s written all over your face, Nicole.’

‘What is?’ she said, even though on some level she was aware she might be walking straight into a trap.

‘You’re so horny,’ he answered throatily. ‘Hornier than any woman would be if she’d been having sex on a regular basis. Yet you were able to pull back, despite being so close to coming. Such steely resolve.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘And I admire that quality in you, Nicole—even if I’m the one who ultimately missed out.’

His words wrong-footed her because they sounded like a compliment and just like the next woman, Nicole was a sucker for a compliment. Had he said it to lull her into a false sense of complacency before moving in for the big seduction? She wondered how many other women had stood here, like this, their clothes all rumpled and their blood pulsing as they went willingly to the Sicilian billionaire’s bed. Well, she wasn’t going to be one of them.

‘I’m ending this conversation as of now,’ she said. ‘And now I need to find myself a separate bedroom because this is a pretend reconciliation, not a real one. We don’t share rooms and we don’t make out.’

Rocco saw the determined way she pulled back her shoulders and recognised she was serious. A flicker of disquiet edged his growing frustration. If it had been any other woman he could have persuaded her with a kiss. A kiss which this time she would find impossible to stop, because if Rocco Barberi was hell-bent on something, or someone, he always got it. But the steadfast expression flattening his estranged wife’s soft lips was unfamiliar and suddenly he realised he didn’t know this new Nicole at all.

When he’d gone to see her in England sex had been the last thing on his mind. He’d gone there to punish her and to use her, not to make love to her, yet something had changed his mind. That kiss they’d just shared had started out as nothing more than a challenge—a demonstration of his own power in the light of her resistance—and yet she had responded in a way which had sent his desire soaring.

And yet she had pushed him away.

His heart pounded, because now he was determined to have her one last time and nothing was going to stop him. But for once he realised that he was going to have to work for it. Maybe he should give her enough space to realise what she was missing, instead of pushing his own agenda. How long before she decided that denying her hunger for him was simply not sustainable—and slipped into his arms again?

So he nodded his head and gave her a cool smile. ‘If that’s what you want, then that’s what you shall have. Take any bedroom you want—there are plenty to choose from,’ he said, enjoying the confusion which had suddenly clouded her emerald eyes. ‘Just make sure you’re ready for the screening and dinner tonight. The car will be here just before eight.’

He ran his gaze over the unruly dark curls and the mismatched silver necklaces and a rogue glimmer of amusement found its way into his voice. ‘No doubt you’ve brought something deeply unsuitable to wear?’

Unexpectedly, her eyes danced in response. ‘You think I’m going to turn up looking like this?’

He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I offered to buy you some suitable clothes for this trip but you turned down my offer.’

‘Because we tried that once before and it didn’t work. Remember? You were so eager to make me into what you thought a Barberi wife should be that I felt like some kind of dress-up doll.’

He frowned. ‘I was trying to make you feel more comfortable.’

‘What, by employing that expensive stylist who put me in those horrible starchy dresses which didn’t suit me? Or the fancy hairdresser who decided to chop off all my hair so I ended up looking like a shorn lion?’

‘That was a mistake,’ he conceded.

She looked at him uncertainly, clearly taken aback by what for him almost passed as an apology, and the fleeting vulnerability on her face stirred something deep inside him, reminding him what had attracted him to her in the first place. Well, that and her killer body.

‘But not any more. Tonight I’m going to wear my hair and clothes exactly as I like them,’ she continued airily. ‘And if you’re worried I’m going to disgrace you with my appearance, Rocco—you shouldn’t be.’

‘Oh?’ He was curious now.

‘If people criticise my less than conventional appearance at least it will reinforce why our last-minute attempt at reconciliation didn’t work. If they see us together and think “chalk and cheese”, they’ll wonder why we ever got married in the first place.’ She slanted him a challenging look. ‘Because although opposites attract—they can also repel. We both know that.’

With that she turned her back on him and left the terrace with a sway of her denim-covered bottom, which Rocco found almost unbearably provocative.

And after she’d gone, he felt restless—a feeling kick-started by the echo of her final words. Were they better off without each other? Not right now they weren’t. The fingertip he ran over his dry lips only added to his frustration as he breathed in the earthy aroma of her sex. By now she should have been in his bed—eagerly opening her legs so they could lose themselves in sweet oblivion, not leaving him here aching and frustrated.

Looking out to sea, he scowled. When his PA had called to say Nicole had arrived at his Monaco home he had been unprepared for the primitive rush of satisfaction he’d experienced, knowing she was here. Back in the marriage she had walked away from. It had never happened to him before—a woman telling him she was going, and meaning it. Only the stark note lying on top of an unmade bed had made clear her wishes.

Please don’t follow me, or try to contact me. It’s better this way, Rocco. I’m sorry.

And that had been it. A few words signalling the end. Yet he hadn’t seen it coming and shock was something he didn’t handle well. Maybe the only thing he didn’t handle well—not surprising given his history. He remembered the blood draining from his face as he’d crumpled the note in his fist and had proceeded to do something completely alien. Taking himself off to the bar in the nearby village, he had got himself very, very drunk. Groups of the local Sicilian men had looked surprised because Rocco Barberi was not known as a drinker. He remembered smashing his fist down hard on the counter and shattering a glass and hearing the old men’s voices raised in alarm. Someone must have made a phone call because he vaguely recalled his oldest friend arriving and getting him back to the complex, and Salvatore telling him that women were capricious creatures and she would be back before he knew it.

But she hadn’t come back and Rocco had told himself he didn’t want her back. Why would he want a wife who had deserted him—who had given up at the first hurdle? Yet despite her behaviour, his sense of duty went deep and his tenacity even deeper. He didn’t like failure and a shattered marriage fell very firmly into that category. So he had written to her, reminding her of the solemn vows they had made in church and suggesting they give their marriage another go.

She hadn’t even bothered to reply and Rocco had geared himself up to resist the demands for money he was certain would follow. He remembered his growing anticipation of the forthcoming battle—a battle he would certainly win—and his determination to bring her to her knees in court. It was the first moment of pleasure he had experienced in a long time. If she wanted his money then she was damned well going to have to fight him for it.

But...niente.

Nothing.

There had been no demands for alimony. Even the recent letter from her lawyers had simply requested that the marriage be formally ended. She had asked for nothing and somehow that had only intensified his rage.

His features were set as he undressed and stepped into the shower, but the powerful jets of cold water did little to ease his aching body as he pictured Nicole on the balcony, her rosy lips parted with pleasure as his fingers flicked over her heated flesh and brought her so tantalisingly close to orgasm.

As he towelled the icy droplets from his skin a renewed determination crept over him.

He would have her, he vowed silently as he willed his erection to subside. Because sex was the only thing which would rid him of her enduring memory.

And he would not wait much longer.

CHAPTER FIVE