Delucca's Marriage Contract

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Gianni blanched a little. Had he been so obvious?

‘You see,’ she said hesitantly, ‘the thing is that it’s not for me.’

Gianni reacted on a deeply primal level. The strength of the rejection he felt at that statement was surprising. ‘Not for you?’

Keelin shook her head and looked pained. ‘No. It’s just—I hate it, to be honest.’

She shuddered delicately. ‘All that fuss over nothing. All that sweatiness and bodily fluids. Ugh.’

She must have seen something on his face because she said with a kind of dawning comprehension, ‘You didn’t expect me to be innocent, did you? Because I’ve been with, like, tons of guys. Which is how I know I hate it.’

She just wouldn’t want to be with him? The thought was like a red flag to a highly sexed male like Gianni. His jaw clenched. ‘Of course I didn’t expect you to be innocent.’

She continued in a conversational tone, ‘I’ve thought about this a lot and while I’m not willing to have sex, I don’t mind if you want to, you know, keep a mistress. You see,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that’s really why I’d prefer to adopt.’

She sighed a big sigh of relief and smiled, as if she hadn’t just landed a bomb between them. ‘I’m glad I got that out there. I was worried.’

Then she put her hand on his and said, ‘You’re a good listener, Gianni. I’m so lucky to be marrying you.’

Her smile almost dazzled him. He was beginning to feel slightly ill. And then that anger surged again to think of her father giving him an impression of a mature, intelligent woman. He took his hand out from under hers, not liking how those cool fingers had felt on his skin.

He put down his napkin, finally tipping over the edge of his patience. ‘I have no intention of taking a mistress during our marriage and I refuse to partake in the dubious exploitation of children and babies from third-world countries.’

He leant forward and tried to ignore those widening luminous green eyes. ‘And as for sex? Maybe you don’t like it because you haven’t been doing it right?’

He had a sudden urge to take Keelin’s face between his hands and stop that mouth from saying any more in the most effective way possible. His blood was pumping and he was afraid he might say something he’d regret, so he stood up abruptly. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment?’

Gianni barely waited for an answer; he strode out of the room, cursing the day Liam O’Connor had added the condition of a marriage of convenience to their contract.

He found himself pacing in his study, no less calm now that a few walls separated him and Keelin O’Connor. He could almost see her vacuous look of surprise.

Merda!

The woman was insufferable. The prospect of marrying her was unconscionable. She didn’t want children? And any children they did have or adopt she wanted to put in some stuffy boarding school? And she didn’t like sex? Well, right now, he had no desire to prove her wrong no matter how rogue his physical reactions to her were. He cursed again.

He took his mobile out of his pocket and dialled. As soon as his friend answered he instructed him curtly to do some digging into Keelin O’Connor. Something he should have done from the very start, instead of taking her father’s word that she would make him the perfect wife and partner as they went forward in business together.

He’d been so caught up with work and clearing his schedule for the merger and the wedding that he’d told himself he’d give Keelin the benefit of meeting her face to face to get to know her. He felt wrong-footed now.

He also had that persistent niggling sensation that something was amiss and he didn’t like not knowing what it was. He wanted to go back into the dining room and tell Keelin that he’d made a mistake but even now something was stopping him. The prospect of letting the deal of a lifetime go. Wasn’t there some way he could handle her? Women were usually the least of his worries!

But when Gianni did go back, something made him stop in his tracks just where he could see through a crack in the doorway to the room beyond. Keelin was looking around surreptitiously before pouring the contents of her champagne glass into a nearby plant. He kept watching, feeling a rush of shock and anger along with something else—a kind of relief, as he saw Keelin check her watch and sigh heavily.

A mix of irritation, boredom and weariness crossed her face. Nothing close to the vaguely surprised expression when he’d walked out moments ago. She could be a different person.

Gianni was glad he’d just called his friend, because it was no longer a niggling suspicion that something was off about his fiancée’s behaviour. It was a fact and he was determined to play her at her own game until he knew exactly what was going on.

* * *

About two hours later Gianni was standing back at the window of his study in his Rome apartment. He’d just seen Keelin back to her hotel, more distracted than he cared to admit by her wide pouting mouth and slightly tipsy demeanour. When he’d returned to the dining room she’d smiled brightly at him and for a second he’d almost wondered if he’d imagined what he’d seen through the crack in the door.

But then, when he’d put his hand over hers, and promised that he would do his utmost to make their marriage work, he’d seen the panic flare in her eyes.

And now he burned with anger. No one took him by surprise. His life had been full enough of surprises and danger already. He’d carefully cultivated an existence that was as far removed from all that as possible.

But Keelin O’Connor had almost taken him in. A second conversation with his friend Davide just now had told him enough to know for sure that she’d been playing him.

For one thing, his supposedly vacuous fiancée had recently graduated from one of Dublin’s most prestigious universities with the highest marks in her class, and a degree in business and economics. Not a degree in reality-TV trends, or the retail industry.

His mobile rang then and he answered curtly. His expression darkened as he bit out, ‘Which club?’

Gianni terminated the call and picked up the jacket he’d discarded earlier, his face grim. Anger turned to rage. Apparently his tipsy dizzy fiancée was not done with her sham act for the evening; she was now in one of Rome’s most exclusive nightclubs making a spectacle of herself on the dance floor while paparazzi congregated outside, tipped off that Giancarlo Delucca’s new fiancée was inside.

And tipped off by whom exactly? Gianni suspected he already knew exactly who and now he wanted to know why she was going to these lengths.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0a3210f6-e282-5fa6-b063-a223b4f34838)

THE FLESHY SWEATY man grabbed Keelin around her waist and she put her hands on his to dislodge them, while trying to make it look like she wasn’t really gritting her teeth. The idea of tipping off the paparazzi had seemed like a great idea about an hour ago after she’d sobered up with a few stiff coffees in her hotel room.

She’d had the strangest sensation after Gianni had returned to the dining room that he’d been looking at her with some kind of suspicion and it had been enough to galvanise her to pull out all the stops in her bid to deter him.

She forced another rictus grin at the dozen or so new best friends she’d made when she’d arrived at a VIP table and bought a round of champagne for everyone, courtesy of her fiancé’s black credit card.

Just when she was about to recoil in disgust because the man’s hot breath was getting closer and closer to her neck, his hands were removed and he was gone. To be replaced by someone infinitely taller, darker and more gorgeous.

Gianni. And just like that, her heart tripped.

She barely registered that he’d taken off his tie and his shirt was open at the top, giving him a rakish appeal. He came close and slid a hand around the back of her neck under her hair, tugging her shocked body towards him. He hadn’t touched her intimately up to now. Keelin had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself and could feel nothing but steel-hard pecs.

Between her legs pulsed. She was so stunned to see him and be touching him that she could only look up into eyes so dark they were black.

‘Cara,’ he said, low and seductive, ‘you really should have told me you wanted to go out after dinner. I would have taken you.’

‘I—’ Keelin stopped, her voice rusty. Not working properly. All of her usual inhibitions around men were dissolving away. Somehow he seemed to be able to reach right inside her, bypassing any rational consideration. Without even being aware of what she was doing her hands were spreading out over his chest as if to touch more of him. His smell was intoxicating, decadent and spicy. Very male.

She focused with effort. ‘I didn’t think you’d be into it.’

Gianni shook his head and smiled as if at some private joke. ‘Bella, I’m into anything you’re into. Now let’s dance.’

He took Keelin’s hand in an iron grip as he tugged her behind him to the dance floor. She felt sick, her legs wobbly in her high heels as she tried to assimilate this information and wonder how the hell Gianni had known where she was? Then she remembered tipping off the paparazzi and had her answer. No doubt Rome was full of people who would report back to him.

And without the fog of champagne clouding her judgement—she’d stuck to water since she’d arrived—she sensed an edgy tension coming from him. His hand on hers was hot and large. Experimentally she tried to pull away but his hold tightened. They got to the dance floor and the music worked against Keelin when it became slow and sexy, couples moving into sinuous embraces.

She was aware of people around them looking and whispering. This was not what she’d planned. At all. She’d planned on being all but carried out of the club, for maximum adverse news coverage.

But now Gianni was spreading his hands on her hips, and pulling her close, a wicked smile making his sensual mouth curve. But when she dragged her gaze up, there was something hard in his eyes. Keelin wobbled, and that suspicion returned. It was too huge to contemplate that he’d seen through her—so, weakly, she didn’t.

She kept her hands firmly between them even though a very rogue part of her was seriously tempted to melt against him and twine them around his neck. Gianni moved a hand down to leave it resting uncomfortably close to the swell of her buttocks. Keelin’s skin prickled into goosebumps of awareness.

He started to move in time to the music, their bodies fitting together far too well for Keelin’s liking. Gianni’s hand moved lower and Keelin’s breath came quicker as he subtly pressed her hips into his even more. When she felt the hardness of his thick arousal against her belly her feet stopped and heat climbed up over her chest to her face. It was shocking. Shockingly exciting. And what was even more shocking was that her immediate reaction wasn’t one of repulsion or fear.

Far too late Keelin tried to push him back a little. She was aware of how scantily dressed she was. The flimsy barrier of her silk jumpsuit affording no protection against his lean and aroused body.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his. They were definitely hard now, and assessing. Panic flared. Keelin tried to put some space between them when all her body seemed to want to do was press even closer, imprint herself on him. Shocked at her reaction and angry now, remembering her agenda, she hissed, ‘I told you, I’m not into this kind of thing.’

Gianni, not remotely fazed, queried with a raised brow, ‘What? The sex thing?’

The music was low and throbbing, colluding with Keelin’s heartbeat and body. She felt hot, flustered and out of her depth.

‘Yes,’ she hissed again.

Gianni’s hands moved over her languorously, sensually, heightening every nerve ending in her body. He put his mouth near her ear and drawled, ‘I think, bella, that we’ll have to agree to disagree. You see, I think you will be very good at this sex thing.’

Keelin jerked her head back but it was too late. Just as she realised what Gianni intended and as he pressed her even closer, his head swooped and his mouth covered hers.

Keelin had been kissed before. Plenty of times. She’d become something of an expert in her teens, having perfected the art of kissing and going so far with boys without going further—until that traumatic night when she’d realised just how close she’d skirted to the edges of danger in a bid to seek male attention.

But Gianni was no lanky twenty-year-old testosterone-fuelled guy. He was all man. In his virile prime. And Keelin had no defences.

She was pressed so hard into his body that she could feel every taut sinew and hard muscle. His mouth on hers was firm, but demanding. Hard. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and without even being really conscious of what she was doing her mouth opened to him.

And then Gianni dominated her with sensual ease. His tongue swept in, stroking hers roughly, eliciting a response that made her legs weak, and hot sensations eddy between her legs. Her lower gut tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before.

That finally sent some kind of awareness to her brain and Keelin pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide, staring into pools of dark brown.

Gianni’s face was all stark lines and an unsmiling mouth. Keelin’s lips tingled and felt swollen.

‘I think it’s time to leave, cara,don’t you?’

He didn’t wait for an answer; he just took his arms from around her and led her off the dance floor, taking her hand when people crushed around them. The music had changed to fast again and Keelin felt humiliated to imagine how they’d looked standing in the middle of energetically dancing couples while Gianni had demonstrated his easy dominance.

Everything in her chafed at that and when they got back up to the seating area she pulled her hand free. A girl was approaching with her short gold jacket and Gianni took it and held it out, for all the world the solicitous fiancé who was eager to get to a more private location.

Keelin had half a mind to stalk out and made a minute move but Gianni was blocking her way, as if reading her mind. She glared at him and he stared back.

With the utmost reluctance she put her arms in the jacket and let him settle it on her shoulders. Was it her imagination or was his slightly heavy-handed touch a warning?

When she turned again he had her clutch bag. She took it, just as he reached for her other hand again. But just like that kiss hadn’t been a lover’s kiss, his touch now was not gentle. It was an exercise in proving his strength and will.

And all she could think about was how she’d arched closer to him and let her tongue slip into his own mouth to explore all that heat and his intoxicating male taste. Humiliation burned her again; the minute he’d touched her she should have been flouncing off the dance floor, not pressing closer to him like a needy little kitten.