The Rings that Bind

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‘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.’