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The car had swung into the long, curving drive up to the hotel door and as soon as it stopped he was out, pushing open the door without waiting for the uniformed commissionaire to step forward and do it. For a moment Amber thought that his black fury was going to drive him to stride straight into the building, not stopping to let her get out of the car to be with him.
But then he apparently rethought his actions, almost skidding to a halt on the gravel drive and turning to hold out a strong, tanned hand to her to help her out.
Amber’s conscience stung her hard at the gesture. It was too late now to wish back the vicious words. She knew she’d lashed out in hurt, wanting to hurt, but that still didn’t make them true. When she’d married him it had been the happiest day of her life. In fact, it hurt so much now to think of just how happy she had been then. It was only later that she had come to realise what a mistake she had made.
‘Amber…’
Her hesitation was making him even more irritable. The hand that was held out to her moved in an imperious gesture, all but commanding her to stop messing about, take hold of it and get out of the car.
Knowing she had no choice but to co-operate—Guido was perfectly capable of reaching into the vehicle and hauling her out bodily if she tried his patience, which was obviously wearing very thin—Amber forced herself to take the help that was offered her, folding her fingers around his and letting him pull her towards the edge of the seat and then support her as she got to her feet.
And it was crazy, it was irrational, it was the most illogical thing in the world, but that simple touch suddenly changed everything. From shivering in the back of the luxurious vehicle, she suddenly felt flooded with courage, with new strength. The warm, hard power of Guido’s touch, the ease with which he took her weight as she stood up, adjusted her balance, seemed to flow into her body too, straightening her spine and stilling the racing panic of her pulse.
And that feeling stabbed even harder at her already uncomfortable conscience.
‘One thing,’ Guido said curtly, his tone brutal, ‘when we go in there, we go in as a team. We are together now and we act together, work on the story we agreed on. The story we have already told the Press. If by so much as a single glance, a single word, you do anything to turn that story into a lie then I will leave you there—alone with that pack of aristocratic vultures. Is that understood?’
‘Perfectly.’
How could it be anything else? Without him she would have no protection, no help. She would be totally at the mercy of the people who had never thought her good enough to marry Rafe, and now would like her even less. Vultures, Guido had said, and ‘vultures’ described them perfectly. They would have no hesitation in attacking a wounded soul as soon as they saw her weakness.
‘I understand.’
She was so close to Guido now that their bodies were almost touching. She could hear his breathing, breathe in the clean male scent of his body, look into the darkness of his eyes.
And when she did that the uneasy stinging of her conscience pushed her into hurried speech.
‘And I’m sorry,’ she said impulsively. ‘Sorry for what I said.’
His carved, impassive expression didn’t alter a bit. Not even a flicker of reaction showed in those deep-set eyes as he looked down into her anxious face.
‘No matter,’ he said dismissively. ‘It is best to be honest. We are way past the time of pretending and saying only what we think the other wants to hear.’
And, turning, he caught her hand in his, holding it firmly so that she was forced to follow after him as he strode towards the huge double doors into the hotel. It was either that or be dragged along unceremoniously in his wake.
And so she followed.
She still didn’t want to go into that hotel. She did not want to face Rafe and his family, possibly even her mother—least of all, her mother. She didn’t see why they had to do it—other than for Guido’s arrogant determination that the St Clairs should see that she was with him now, that she was his wife. That he, Guido Corsentino, had won the girl when their aristocratic candidate for her hand had well and truly lost out. If she could have done, she would have turned and run. Gone anywhere but here. But Guido was not going to let her do that, and right now he was the one in control. The one pulling the strings while she, as his puppet, danced to his demanding tune.
But at least with Guido beside her she was not facing this on her own.
From now on we’re in this together, whether we like it or not, he had said and he was sticking firmly to his side of the bargain. If she agreed to be his wife for as long as he demanded, then he would be there, with her, supporting and protecting her as he had done when they had faced the band of reporters outside the church.
Besides, there were more practical reasons why she needed to go into the reception hotel, she remembered. Apart from the fact that she needed to change her clothes—to get out of this expensive and restricting bridal attire—there were also several things she needed if she was just to get on with her life. The passport Guido had mentioned—though the thought of travelling with him to that home in Sicily he had mentioned made her shiver inside—but also her bag with her purse, and all her money, her credit cards, her phone. That was still locked in the hotel room that had been assigned to her for the end of the reception, so that she could change and dress in her going-away outfit for the honeymoon she now was never going to enjoy.
So she took a deep, calming breath, brought her chin up and marched up the steps behind Guido, walked at his side through the imposing foyer, following the signs that read ‘St Clair-Wellesley wedding reception.’
She only faltered when they reached the doors to the ballroom, where the buzz of conversation was so loud that it reached out into the corridor. Through the gold-decorated glass panels in the top halves of the doors, she could see the crowded room, filled with the people she and Rafe had invited to their wedding. The people who should now have been ready to enjoy the meal they had planned on, after she and her new husband had greeted them in a formal receiving line.
Instead of which she was now standing outside, looking in, an intruder at her own wedding celebration, still in her wedding dress, but with her hand in that of a totally different man—the man who, in the eyes of the law, if not in her heart, was actually her true husband.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind! It’s too late for that.’
For a moment, Amber didn’t realise where the words had come from. She only registered the cold fury in them, the way they were hissed at her in a dark undertone from behind, making her jump like a nervous cat. But even as she spun round she recognised the voice with a sinking heart. ‘Mother…’
But Pamela Wellesley wasn’t listening. Instead, her face drawn into a pale, tight mask of cold fury, she waved an elegantly manicured hand in the direction of the scene beyond the glass door.
‘Have you seen them all in there? Well, have you? That’s where we could be—where we should be, if you hadn’t lost the little sense you had inside your stupid head! They wouldn’t let me in and it’s all your fault.’
‘But I…’ Amber began but before she could get the words out Guido had taken a step forward. Just a single step but it brought Pamela’s gaze to him, her eyes widening as she looked up into his stern, unyielding face. Amber could have sworn that her mother had actually been unaware of his presence just for a moment because she had been so intent on spilling out her fury at the way she believed her daughter had ruined all her plans.
‘If you want to blame anyone, then I suggest you blame me.’
‘You!’ Pamela choked now.
‘Me,’ Guido confirmed with an easy calm, one that was belied by the tightness Amber could see in his strong jaw, the way his eyes were narrowed as they focused on the older woman’s face.
‘You’re here!’
‘Of course.’
He kept his tone soft and almost pleasant. But it only needed that to give the game away. Hearing it made Amber shiver faintly in recognition of just what he was holding back and what, she recognised with slightly stunned disbelief, kept even her mother quiet as their eyes clashed in silent confrontation.
‘Where else would I be but at my wife’s side?’
‘Your…’ Pamela began then spluttered to a halt. ‘It’s true then. You’re married…’
‘We’re married. And you might as well know—because you’ll read it in the papers tonight—that we’ve decided to try again. Have another go at making our marriage work. That means we’re a couple—and so anything you have to say to Amber, you say to me as well.’
There was no threat in the words, no aggression. There was only a cold, hard certainty that sliced through her mother’s assurance, making her gaze falter, her eyes flicker in uncertainty as they went to her daughter’s face.
‘Is this true?’
Amber didn’t need the small warning squeeze of her hand to remind her of the bargain they had made; the way that she had agreed to let the world think that they were back together.
‘Perfectly true.’ She was surprised at the depth of confidence she managed to inject into her voice. ‘Guido and I are together. My future is with him.’
It sounded so good. It sounded so real—when all the time it was nothing but a lie. It sounded so much like her dream of a year before that it tore at her heart, making her eyes burn, her throat close so that she couldn’t have said another word.
She didn’t have to. Already her mother was backing down, backing away. Her angry gaze took in the two of them then obviously decided against taking any risks.
‘I wish you joy of each other,’ she snapped, turning on her heel. ‘But don’t come running to me when it all goes wrong.’
‘Oh, I won’t.’ Amber didn’t care if she was heard or not. She needed to say it for herself. ‘I won’t…’ she repeated as she watched her mother disappear down the corridor.
It was only when Pamela turned a corner out of sight that she drew in a long, uneven breath and squared her shoulders.
‘So now what?’
‘One down, one to go.’ He indicated the door and the party beyond. ‘Ready?’
Guido could feel the tension in Amber’s body just through the link of their joined hands. He’d have to be totally insensitive not to be aware of the way that it had been growing stronger with each step they took towards the ballroom reception. And the confrontation with her witch of a mother had been the last straw. So now a swift glance down at her face showed the way that she had lost every last trace of colour, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her sharp white teeth were worrying at the softness of her bottom lip, digging in so hard that he almost expected to see bright pearls of blood spring to the surface at any moment.
‘Don’t!’
Concern made the word sharper than he’d intended, bring her brilliant emerald gaze up in a rush.
‘Amber—no…’
His tone was one of reproach but his touch was gentle as he reached out to place his fingers over her mouth to stop her from inflicting the small, unthinking damage on herself.
‘No, cara,’ he said again, more softly this time, and saw her eyes widen even more in disbelief and shock.
He didn’t blame her. She must be wondering what had happened to the coldly blazing fury of just minutes before. The rage that had erupted when he had been forced to face just how little her wedding to him had meant; how much she regretted ever having married him. She had flung those facts in his face with the deliberate intention of provoking him, and, like a fool, he’d let his reaction show.
But now, suddenly, all that heat, all that anger had gone. And the truth was that he didn’t know where or how it had seeped away. But he sure as hell knew why.
It had started in the moment that she had stood up to her mother by declaring them a couple, but more than that, it was touching her that had been his downfall.
At the moment that his fingers had touched the lush, yielding softness of her mouth, it had been as if someone had yanked out a plug somewhere so that all the stored-up anger and bitterness inside him had drained away, leaving only room for the intense jag of sensuality that arced through his body, pooling low down in his groin.
Having touched her, so very softly, he now found that he just couldn’t pull away again. His fingers stayed on her mouth, his thumb tracing the sweet shape of it, stroking over the fresh rose swell of her slightly parted lips, sliding between them.
On his hand he felt the cooler air of her snatched-in breath, the warm moistness of her inner mouth. And he could have sworn that, just for a split second, her tongue slipped up and out, to taste his skin as it rested against hers.
He had vowed to himself that he would drag her, kicking and screaming, into that room if he had to. That he would make her face Rafe St Clair with him, as his wife, even if he had to force her every step of the way. But suddenly that resolution escaped from him in a rush, like air from a pricked balloon.
‘Are you OK?’
Her expression showed that it had shocked her almost as much—no, more—to hear the question as he had shocked himself by asking. Clearly she had read his intent in his face and now she couldn’t believe that he was actually concerned about the way she felt.
‘I…’ she began but then the words failed her and he couldn’t tell if it was because she wasn’t OK, or if the movement of her mouth on the words had brought her lips and tongue into contact with the skin of his thumb again, and the sensation was what had driven the words from her mind, made the words die in her throat.
Her pupils had widened, seeming to fill the whole of her irises so that there was only the smallest rim of green around the edges, and under his restraining fingers the pulse at her wrist kicked up suddenly, fast and erratic, making her breath catch unevenly.
‘Guido…’ she tried again, her tone pleading, her voice low. But he shook his head to silence her
‘You can do this,’ he told her. ‘Don’t forget, I’ll be with you. At your side. You’re not alone.’
And to reinforce his words, to drive that point home, he bent his head and took her lips, replacing the soft pressure of his fingers with the firm demand of his mouth. He meant only to deliver a brief caress then move away but, as before, as soon as his mouth touched hers he knew such a twist of hunger, hard and hot and savage, that he had to fight against the need to grab at her there and then, pull her close, crush her against him.
He couldn’t even blame the fury in his blood on the way that she responded to him. Because she didn’t respond but simply took his kiss with calm compliance, her mouth lying passive under his, her lips warm and soft but unresponsive, not opening under his, giving nothing, just accepting.
And it was because she didn’t respond that he had the devil’s own trouble controlling himself.
He wanted her to respond—needed to make her respond. He wanted to take her mouth so hard, so strong—so softly, so enticingly-each and every possible way he could so that she was forced to respond to him—to open to him. It outraged him that she could stand there, so calm and submissive, giving nothing, when inside the claws of lust were threatening to rip him in two.
But now was not the time. Already the uniformed major domo provided by the hotel had spotted them and, opening the door, was looking at them enquiringly. He even gave a discreet little cough to get their attention.
With a savage effort, Guido wrenched himself away from the kiss and turned just in time to see the man’s obvious astonishment and confusion.
‘I’m sorry…’ he began stumblingly. ‘I thought…’
His bewildered eyes went to Amber, taking in the long white dress and the veil.
‘Mr St Clair is already here,’ he said, frowning in puzzlement. ‘I understood…’
‘It’s all right,’ Guido reassured him. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’
Stepping forward, he murmured swift instructions in the man’s ear. A generous tip slipped into his hand eased some of the remaining discomfort in his face.
‘You understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
With a curt nod of satisfaction, Guido turned back to Amber.
This was it, he told himself. This was when he put into place the last part of his plan to make sure that Amber and the St Clair family parted for ever and went their separate ways. After this, there would be no chance at all that they would want her to marry any one of them. And that was exactly how he’d planned it.
After tonight, Amber Wellesley would be all his.
‘Come…’
Once more her hand was enclosed in his. Once more she was obliged to move forward with him or risk embarrassment.
The double doors to the ballroom were flung open and, with Amber stumbling apprehensively at his side, Guido strode forward to stand firmly in the middle of the carpeted landing at the top of the short flight of stairs that curved its way down into the huge blue and gold ballroom.
And there he stopped. Stood still and silent, his spine straight, his shoulders back, dark head held arrogantly high.
Stood and watched and waited as first one person and then another noticed their arrival. Conversations died. Women elbowed each other in the ribs to draw their attention to what was happening. Men stared then nodded furiously in the direction of the sight.
And like the sea rushing away on an ebbing tide, the buzz of chatter stilled, a deathly silence fell, and eventually every eye in the room was turned on them.
Only when the silence was complete did Guido move. Turning slightly towards the man who was hovering at his back, he gave another small, commanding nod.
Immediately the maître d’ moved forward, cleared his throat.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he announced into the frozen silence, his words seeming to make the air shatter as he spoke. ‘I give you—the—the bride and groom. Mr and Mrs Guido Corsentino.’
CHAPTER SIX
THIS is your room, madam.’
‘Thank you.’
Amber waited until the maid who had shown her to the room on the second floor of the hotel had retreated before she slid the key card into the lock and waited for the light to turn green.
She had just endured the worst few minutes of her life. She had been peered at, examined, looked up and down.
