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She had had to watch in disbelief as, on Guido’s orders, bottles of vintage champagne appeared from the hotel’s cellars and were opened. Glasses were filled with a lavish hand, and to her horrified amazement Guido announced that he hoped that everyone there would drink a toast, ‘To my reunion with my beautiful bride.’
They were frightened of him, she realised on a sense of mind-blowing shock. Terrified of what he might do and—yes—there was a little touch of admiration there, a grudging respect that kept their tongues on the right side of civil, no matter what their minds might have been thinking.
In his all-black outfit, Guido prowled amongst them like a sleek black panther wandering lazily through a huge flock of birds of paradise. A sleek black smiling panther who was obviously enjoying himself while they all waited and watched, frozen in apprehension, not daring to make a move in case it was the wrong one and drove the jungle cat to pounce with deadly intent.
But Amber couldn’t find any cause for enjoyment of anything in the whole ordeal. To her, every second was an endurance test, her worst nightmare ever come true and actually existing in the real world. She didn’t even have the hope that she might wake and find it all behind her. To make matters worse, the elegant white satin shoes were beginning to pinch unmercifully, a brutal, pounding ache had set up in her head, and she felt as if someone had put a hard steel band around her temples and was slowly twisting it tighter and tighter.
So it was with a rush of intense release that she saw Guido beckon one of the staff to him and obviously make some sort of request. A moment later he had come close to her, touched her lightly on the arm.
‘It’s time you left now,’ he said in a tone that made it clear it was not a suggestion but a command. ‘This young lady will take you to your room—where your clothes and your cases are. Get changed and wait for me there.’
She had been so relieved at being released, at escaping from the torment of the reception that should have been hers and Rafe’s but that had, like her wedding, been hijacked and completely overturned by Guido’s intervention, that she fled from the room, like a bird freed from its cage, seeking the sanctuary of the haven provided for her.
‘Well, you have done well for yourself, haven’t you?’ a drawling voice said close by, jolting her out of her thoughts and making her look up into a familiar pair of cold blue eyes.
Of course. Rafe must have left his going-away clothes in the room next door and by some appalling stroke of fortune he had been coming out of his room just as she had reached hers. He had already changed out of his formal morning coat and was now dressed in the elegantly cut suit and silk shirt he had planned to travel in.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Amber tried twisting the door handle, but the light on the lock had already gone out. She would have to take out the key card and insert it once again.
‘She doesn’t know what I mean,’ Rafe echoed cynically, coming close and lounging back against the wall. ‘Why, setting yourself up with a handsome Italian billionaire who could buy us all in the blink of an eye, of course. If that’s not doing well for yourself, I don’t know what is. So tell me,’ he went on, not giving her a chance to speak, or even to think. ‘Was that what our marriage was all about, hmm? A way of bringing him to heel after you’d split up?’
‘Of course not,’ Amber insisted.
She’d no way of knowing where he’d got the idea that Guido was a billionaire, but she had to put him right on that. But Rafe wasn’t interested in listening to her. All he cared about was the sound of his own voice.
‘Well, you may have just done me a favour too, in the end, so I reckon we’ll just call it quits.’
And then, to her total shock and consternation, he did the last thing she had expected. Looking straight into her face, he actually smiled, though it was the most peculiar, most alien smile that Amber had ever seen. It hadn’t touched his eyes, which had remained as cold and ice-blue as a frozen floe in the Arctic.
‘At least with my heart having been broken so publicly this way,’ he went on, resting one long-fingered hand on the breast pocket of his elegant jacket just above where the heart in question lay, ‘no one will expect me to even think about marrying another woman for some time. And that suits me perfectly. So enjoy your Italian, darling—and I’ll enjoy my freedom.’
And with an airy wave he was gone, stepping swiftly into the lift and shutting the door right in her face.
Amber was still standing staring at the polished lift doors in shock, when the second lift just near by arrived at the second floor, opened, and Guido stepped out onto the green-carpeted corridor. A dark frown creased the space between his brows when he saw her.
‘You’re not ready. You’ve not even started to get changed.’
Guido’s tone was sharp and, coming on top of her private thoughts, it caught right on a raw edge of an exposed nerve.
‘Just because I’m your wife, it doesn’t mean I have to jump when you click your fingers.’
And then, because it was the question that was uppermost in her mind, the one that just wouldn’t stop fretting at her thoughts—
‘Why, Guido? Tell me why.’
At least he had the grace not to pretend he didn’t know what she meant. But he moved to unlock the door to her room, taking her by the arm and hurrying her into it before he stopped to answer her.
‘I told you—I wanted them to see you were with me. That you’re my wife.’
Amber crossed to the big, high, king-sized bed and sank down on it with a long, low sigh that was a blend of exhaustion and total despair
‘Wouldn’t the pictures in the paper tomorrow—and your “statement” tonight—have done the job as well?’
‘I don’t think so. I wanted them to see it with their own eyes. And I wanted to see their faces when I did so.’
‘You mean that you wanted to parade me in front of them like some sort of trophy!’
‘If you choose to see it that way,’ Guido dismissed her anger carelessly.
‘And what possible other way is there to see it?’
‘That I wanted to make sure they never got their hands on you again.’
‘Did you really think that after what happened, Rafe would even consider asking me to marry him again?’ Amber couldn’t hide her incredulity and it rang sharply in her voice.
‘He’ll have to come through me first.’
‘Well, from the way that Rafe just behaved I have very little doubt that isn’t going to happen.’
‘The way that…’
Guido’s head went back, his eyes narrowing sharply.
‘Has he said something?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Hurt you?’
‘Hurt me? No, he didn’t hurt me but…I think I need to talk to him.’
‘No!’
Moving further into the room, Guido kicked the door behind him, heard it slam and the lock click into place. ‘You will not speak to St Clair!’
But his tone had been too hard, his attitude too forceful. He could see it in the way that her chin came up, defiance flashing in her eyes, her jaw firming stubbornly.
‘And why not?’
‘Because I asked you to come up here to change your clothes so that we could leave as soon as possible.’
‘You didn’t ask—you ordered.’
‘And you really want to spend the rest of the day dressed up like a pantomime princess.’
‘You don’t like this dress?’
He’d intrigued her now and he welcomed the way it distracted her thoughts from wandering down paths he didn’t want her to follow. She smoothed a hand over the silken skirts of her wedding gown, frowning thoughtfully.
‘It’s very beautiful,’ Amber said.
‘I preferred the dress you wore for our wedding.’
‘That simple thing? It was just something I’d picked up from a chain store.’
But she’d looked amazing in it. She had looked so sweet and innocent, excited and yet nervous, anticipating her wedding day with such joy that it was just bubbling out of her. At least, that was what he had thought at first.
It was only later that he had realised how much she regretted what she had done, when a better opportunity—a more aristocratic suitor—a wealthier suitor, she believed—had come along.
‘This is a designer original—it cost a small fortune. I would never have been able to afford it by myself, of course. But Rafe offered to pay for it…’
‘He did what?’
It was the last thing Guido wanted to hear. He detested the idea of anything that man had provided touching her. The thought of Rafe St Clair sent his blood pressure spiking, made him feel nauseous with fury. Though that was nothing to the way he had felt when he had first learned just whom St Clair planned to marry.
But then, why was he surprised? Hadn’t she left him for just that sort of reason? Because she wanted the sort of man who could provide her with designer originals? He had never been more thankful that he hadn’t told her the full truth about himself. If he had, then she might have stayed with him for all the wrong reasons.
‘Take it off!’
‘What?’ Her eyes widened in shock.
‘Take that dress off.’
‘With you standing there?’ Amber shook her head sharply. ‘No way! At least have the decency to leave the room.’
If he went out that door, he wouldn’t stop until he found St Clair and ripped his head from his shoulders, the way he was feeling right now. Fighting the urge to do just that, Guido flung himself down in the chair that stood in the wide bay window.
‘I’m your husband and there’s nothing I haven’t seen. Take it off, Amber, or I’ll tear it off you myself.’
The look she flung him was one of total loathing but he let it bounce off the shield of restraint he had put up around himself. Whether Amber liked it or not, staying was definitely the safer option.
Or was it?
With another blazing, fulminating glare in his direction, Amber got to her feet and deliberately turned her back on him. Once again he was presented with the view of her he had seen as he entered the church. And once again he knew the twisting, primitive hunger low down in his gut.
It was worse this time. Worse in so many ways.
Then he had only seen her back view, in the white silk dress, with the long lace veil falling down from the crown of her head. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t touched her for months. But the long-ago memories had been bad enough.
Now he had newer memories to add to those long-ago ones. Now he was tormented by the recollection of how it had felt to hold her in his arms, to know the soft, warm pressure of her slender frame up against his; how it had felt to kiss her. If he slicked his tongue over his lips he could still taste the sweetness of her there. The scent of her perfume was still in his nostrils.
And the claw of lust was harder than ever before.
‘Want any help?’ Guido offered.
‘No!’
Did she know what she was doing to him with those small, sensual, wriggling movements? Rationally, he knew they were designed to enable her to reach the handle of the long zip at the back of the dress, ease it down. But the effect they were having on him was very, very far from rational.
She’d got the damned zip down partway now. Far enough down to reveal the bones and lace of some corset type of underwear. Underwear that exposed the delicate pink of her skin above and that skimmed downwards towards the narrow line of her waist, the sensual swell of her hips. And still she kept up those little movements, twisting, arching her back as she struggled to reach the bit right in the middle of her back.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. You come near me and I’ll—Ouch!’
It was a sharp, instinctive cry of pain and it had him out of his chair in a second, taking a step forward hastily and then freezing sharply, trying to assess the situation; see what had happened.
Amber too had stilled, one hand halfway up her back from below, the other reaching from her shoulder, both of them straining for and not quite reaching the small white handle of the fine zip fastener. Her head was also pulled slightly back, held at an unnatural angle.
‘The veil has caught in the zip. That’s why it won’t move down.’
‘I know!’ It was a sound of frustrated exasperation, hissed out from between gritted teeth. ‘But I can manage.’
‘Of course you can.’ He deliberately laced the words with sarcasm.
‘I can—I just need to…Ouch!’
And then it came, muffled, uneven, and very low.
‘Guido…please…’
He was at her side in a moment, bending to the spot where the delicate lace of her veil had snagged in the runners of the zip fastening. He could see now why she had been exclaiming in pain. Not only had the veil caught, but it was pulled tight, dragging her head back, tugging against the ornate hairstyle, the fine tiara too, in a way that must have been desperately uncomfortable. And each time she moved she only entangled herself further, adding to her discomfort.
‘Hold still.’
The best thing to do was to remove the tiara and the veil. With them loose…
His fingers were busy as his thoughts, reaching for and pulling out the hundreds of pins, or so it seemed, that held the headdress in place. Soft tendrils of hair fell about his hands as he worked. They stroked his face in silken caresses, soft as the touch of her hands. The heated scent of her body rose up to surround him, tugging on his senses, making him even harder than before so that he swore softly and savagely in his own language.
‘What?’
Amber heard him mutter but the sound was muffled by the way he had his head bent, his attention apparently focused on disentangling her from the veil and the headdress.
‘What did you say?’
No answer. He really was concentrating on what he was doing. And for that she should be grateful.
If he was absorbed in extricating her from the tangled veil and headdress, then he wouldn’t notice the way her colour came and went as heat suffused her body and then fled from it, leaving her cold and shivery as if she was in the grip of a fever. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure he must hear it, even through the boned and stiffened basque she wore underneath the silk dress. Her breath was ragged and uneven, and her head swam so that she swayed uncertainly on her feet, her eyes staring, unfocused, at the opposite wall.
His touch on her hair was soft but sure; it felt like a caress even though she knew that was not what he meant it to be.
Admit it! she reproached herself. Admit that you want it to be a caress. That you have wanted him to touch you—to caress you—ever since that kiss in the church.
That kiss.
Her skin flamed, her senses yearning, just to remember it. It was as if that kiss had swept away all the intervening days and months since she had walked out on Guido and their marriage. She had spent a long year trying to get over him and it had taken just one touch, one kiss and she was right back where she had started. Back in the yearning hunger, the demanding passion that his touch sparked in every nerve in her body. Back in the throes of the powerful sexual need that this man—and only this man—could awaken in her.
She’d grabbed back the vulnerable heart she’d given him, and guarded it from him ever since she had discovered his duplicity and his callousness, but the truth was that she was only safe from her sexual enslavement to Guido Corsentino while he was thousands of miles away, safely out of her life.
He had merely to walk back into her world and she was lost again. Adrift on a heated sea of longing and need without a compass or any sort of guiding star. The only recognisable landmark on her horizon was Guido himself. And, like the compass needle that was always pulled to the north, she was drawn to him whether she wanted to be or not.
