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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 (#u07d525c5-4f9b-5944-9875-4e6b2973d1d6)
‘SO. HOW DO I LOOK? Does my appearance confirm your worst fears, Rocco, or will I pass the test?’
Nicole kept her words deliberately light as she walked into the vast sitting room where Rocco was standing with his back to her, staring through the open windows which overlooked the sea. Because what she was not going to do was beat herself up or crumple with shame when she allowed herself to remember how nearly she had succumbed to him earlier. It had happened. She hadn’t been expecting it to happen because she’d thought those kind of feelings had left her. But they hadn’t, had they? Rocco had melted the icy wall which had surrounded her for so long, and her image of herself as someone who could no longer feel desire had been shattered. Heart pounding, she had left him on the terrace and gone to find herself a bedroom in this vast house of his—glad to escape from his disturbing proximity. But she had lain down on the bed for a long time afterwards, her body trembling with frustrated desire, unable to get him out of her mind.
She let her gaze drift over him, wishing she could acquire some kind of immunity against him. Dressed in an immaculate dinner suit, his powerful body was silhouetted against the bright light of the Mediterranean but at the sound of her voice he turned round. And even though she tried to fight it, the brief, unguarded expression on his face filled her with pleasure. She’d seen that look of appreciation before—but usually when she was naked. Not when she was wearing a long dress which, apart from a scooped neck and bare arms, covered her body all the way down to her ankles. Fashioned from fine, black jersey it clung to her curves like a second skin and she had teamed it with black pumps and a black bag onto which she’d sewn lots of glittery sequins. The green of the sequins matched her dramatic green necklace and chandelier earrings, which gleamed whenever her wavy hair swayed.
His eyes narrowed as, slowly, they took in her appearance. ‘What happened?’ he questioned softly. ‘Did you rob a bank?’
‘I bought this dress from a market stall, as it happens.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the dress,’ he growled. ‘I meant the jewels.’
It was a small victory and Nicole couldn’t quite hold back her smile of triumph. ‘These? They’re fake, Rocco. Paste,’ she added. ‘I told you—nobody can tell the difference these days. And these were cheap enough for it not to matter if I lose one of the stones—not like the time that big diamond fell out of the bracelet you gave me on our wedding day and caused so much trouble with everyone having to hunt round for it.’ She was aware that she had started to babble, but maybe that was something to do with the fact that he was still looking at her as a lion might look at a lump of flesh, just before devouring it. And even worse—that she liked him looking at her like that. In her current state of frustrated arousal she could have let him look at her like that all day. She resumed her inane monologue about the wedding bracelet. ‘Still, at least we were able to get the money back on the insurance and I—’
‘Was that why you left behind all the jewellery I gave you?’ he interrupted suddenly. ‘Because you didn’t like it?
There was a short silence and she shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was a joint asset,’ she said. ‘And as such, wasn’t really mine to take. And I wanted...’
‘What did you want, Nicole?’
She met his gaze, uneasy at this sudden line of questioning from a man who had never cared about such things before. ‘A clean break, I think they call it.’
‘A clean break,’ he echoed, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. ‘Yes, of course. The modern, disposable marriage. If you try hard enough you can pretend it never happened.’
She opened her mouth to ask him what he had done to help save it but the sudden pain spearing through her made the words die in her throat. It didn’t matter what either of them had done or failed to do. Bottom line was that they’d messed up so and it still had the power to hurt. ‘Why rake up all this now, Rocco?’ she questioned, trying hard to keep her voice steady. ‘I thought the whole idea was for us to appear tonight as a couple who are trying to get it together—and we won’t convince anyone if we’ve been fighting. People can always tell if a couple have been rowing. So why don’t you tell me about what kind of event it is, so I can be fully briefed?’
For a moment Rocco didn’t answer, unwilling to be placated by this newly assertive Nicole who looked so damned gorgeous that all he wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and get intimate with her, despite the market dress and fake jewels. But maybe she was right. What was the point of sparring when they had a whole evening to get through—a necessary preliminary before he got down to the more important business of seducing her. And when he seduced her... His mouth hardened. His anger and his resentment would disappear with one fell stroke. He would enjoy her matchless body one last time. He would take his pleasure and pleasure her in return.
And she would spend the rest of her life remembering it.
‘Some of the major shareholders from the drug company I’m trying to buy are in town,’ he said evenly. ‘They’ve financed an art-house film which looks as if it’s going to be a commercial success.’
She blinked. ‘You mean they invest in films and drug companies?’
He walked over to the mirror which hung over an ornate marble fireplace and adjusted his tie. ‘Why not? They like to spread their investments around. It’s how you make the big bucks.’
‘And where do I fit in?’
He turned back to face her, his expression unreadable. ‘You’ll accompany me to the screening and afterwards we’re having dinner with the stars of the film, who are over here promoting it. All you have to do is gaze at me adoringly, tesoro. You play the young wife eager to get back with her husband. Do you think you can manage that?’
His words were wry but Nicole wondered what he would do if he knew the truth. That behind her nonchalant air, her senses were on fire. That every time he even looked at her she wanted to melt. She dug her fingernails into the sequins on her handbag. And he mustn’t find out because then he might start touching her again. And she wanted him to do it to her again—that was the most dangerous thing of all. Next time she might not be strong enough to resist him.
‘Oh, I think I can just about manage to maintain the façade of adoring you for a few hours—just so long as we’re back before midnight strikes,’ she said coolly. ‘Just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll go and fetch my wrap.’
But that sense of unreality she’d felt earlier swept over her again as she climbed into the back of Rocco’s car—this time with the brooding billionaire by her side. She tried to make conversation but sensed that Rocco could see right through her attempts at chit-chat. Was he aware that it was all she could do not to reach out her hand and caress the honed hardness of his taut thigh, or run her fingertips through the ebony ruffle of his hair? Could he guess she was fantasising about him pressing the button which would bring down the screen shielding them from the driver, before lying her on the back seat and pulling her panties down. Little beads of sweat spring out on her forehead as she started imagining his tongue exploring her heated flesh and Nicole was relieved when finally they reached the venue.
The place where the screening was fancier than anywhere he’d ever taken her and she was amazed he could seem so relaxed in such a high-profile setting, for the Rocco of old would have curled his sensual mouth with derision. Flashbulbs popped as they walked up the flower-decked red carpet, his guiding hand placed unnervingly in the small of her back and making her shiver, despite the warmth of the evening.
The lights went down and the big screen lit up and Nicole watched a film which didn’t really do it for her, even though everyone else seemed to love it. She’d never been a big fan of black and white movies and, besides, she was distracted by what was going on in the semi-darkness. She noticed that the American actress who was starring in the picture and seated on Rocco’s other side was spending an awful lot of time cupping her hand over his ear to whisper into it. And suddenly all Nicole’s defiant words about nobody being able to tell the difference between real and fake jewellery seemed like so much hot air, because Anna Rivers looked a class act in her waterfall of diamonds, with the burly man from security who was guarding them never far from her side. Nicole shot her a glance, aware that the beautiful actress was flirting outrageously with her husband and that she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.
Afterwards, they ate dinner in the Café de Monaco, an award-winning restaurant which overlooked the harbour. Yet despite not having eaten anywhere this grand for a long time, the experience was wasted on Nicole. She seemed to have lost her appetite and the glass of champagne she’d drunk at the beginning of the evening had left her with nothing but a raging thirst. But she was determined to honour her side of this crazy bargain and did her best to chat as agreeably as she could to the various shareholders. She treated them as if they were prospective customers in her little Cornish pottery shop and tried not to be offended by their obvious surprise when they learned who she was. Even the star of the film gaped like a stranded fish when she overheard Nicole talking.
‘You are Rocco’s wife?’ clarified Anna Rivers slowly.
‘I am,’ agreed Nicole.
The actress frowned. ‘But I didn’t even know he was married.’
‘Well, there you go,’ said Nicole weakly, feeling a total fraud—although she was unable to deny her satisfaction when the actress spent the rest of the evening talking to her leading man instead of trying to monopolise Rocco.
Nicole stood there in her plain black dress, flashing a friendly smile whenever anyone looked in her direction. At one point she was targeted by an Argentinian ex-polo player, Javier Estrada—a flirtatious man with flashing black eyes who frankly left her cold. As the evening drew to a close, she found herself in animated conversation with Annelise, the wife of Marcel Dupois—the conservative shareholder Rocco had warned her about. The Frenchwoman turned out to have a passion for pottery so they had lots to talk about and when Nicole lifted her head it was to meet Rocco’s questioning gaze burning into her like bright blue fire.
Gaze back at him adoringly, she told herself. Act like a wife who wants to make up with arguably the best-looking man in the room. She managed a passable imitation of adulation and her cheeks flared in response to the answering intensity in his eyes. He didn’t look away and neither did she and for a few extraordinary seconds the make-believe felt almost real. Her chest tightened and suddenly she was having difficulty breathing. How was it possible to want a man yet hate him at the same time? To wish he were close, yet want to push him as far away as possible? Quickly, she turned away and stared out at the lights which were glittering in the harbour, trying to drink in a view which would soon be nothing more than a fast-fading memory.
‘Nicole?’
The sound of Rocco’s voice made her tremble and silently Nicole cursed it. She found herself remembering the way he’d purred her name like that when he had been unzipping her jeans on the terrace—and wasn’t she now in danger of playing out the memory in a little too much detail? Composing her face into a smile, she turned round, trying very hard not to react to the wicked gleam in his eyes.
‘Rocco!’ she said brightly. ‘Hi.’
His eyes mocked her. ‘Hi.’
‘Are you—’ she swallowed ‘—having a good time?’
He shrugged. ‘Tolerable. But I think we’ve had enough partying for one night, don’t you? We should think about going.’
It was an unequivocal statement intended to terminate the evening and Nicole wanted to protest. To say she was enjoying herself and could they please stay. But that was only delaying the inevitable—and why was she suddenly feeling so nervous? Just because she wanted him didn’t mean anything was going to happen, did it? Women wanted men all the time but they didn’t act on those desires. She certainly wasn’t going to jeopardise everything she’d worked for by falling into the arms of a man who spelled nothing but danger.
Her smile didn’t slip as she tucked her clutch bag under her arm. ‘Sure. Why not?’
In the limousine Rocco was silent, staring out at the principality’s glitzy shops as they drove by, as if he’d never really noticed them before. And Nicole did the same—concentrating on the steep roads and the breathtaking views of the harbour as the powerful car gained height. She told herself she was glad he didn’t want to engage in meaningless chatter but in truth the silence was unsettling her. At least talking would have been a distraction from the growing awareness inside her body—the unwanted tingling of her breasts and the heat pooling low in her belly, which was making her feel like a victim of her own desire. It was all she could do not to squirm impatiently on the seat beside him and beg him to put her out of her misery with the hard pressure of his kiss.
‘You did very well tonight,’ he said when at last the car drew up outside his house. ‘I could see how well you connected with Annelise Dupois. She obviously thought you were very engaging.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Our Argentinian friend certainly thought so, too,’ he added drily. ‘You seem to have won yourself a new fan.’
‘As did you,’ she said sweetly. ‘Why, Anna Rivers could barely contain her dismay when she discovered I was your wife.’
In the semi-darkness his eyes gleamed like a jungle predator who had suddenly appeared from behind thick foliage. ‘So we have discovered that we are both attractive to the opposite sex,’ he observed.
‘Hardly ground-breaking news where you’re concerned, Rocco.’
‘And that we can both be somewhat...territorial about each other.’
The lightness in her voice didn’t quite come off. ‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Oh, I am. But you can hardly deny your own irritation whenever Anna whispered in my ear,’ he said wryly. ‘Since it was written all over your face.’
Had she been that transparent? ‘I noticed you didn’t try to stop her. Were you enjoying her warm breath on your earlobe and the way she was giggling hysterically at practically everything you said?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. I was more interested in your reaction.’
‘I was acting, Rocco—that was all. Trying to play the part of the reconciling wife who would have been jealous at such an interaction. You really shouldn’t read anything more into it than that.’
She reached for the door handle and the waiting chauffeur must have been watching because immediately he jumped out to open the door and Nicole stepped from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the car. As she felt the warm Mediterranean air wash over her skin, she knew she needed to get a grip. To ask herself why she was feeling so possessive about a man who only ever tolerated her. And then to stop it.
Veronique must have been off duty because Rocco unlocked the door himself and the absence of servants made their homecoming seem curiously normal. Only it wasn’t normal, Nicole reminded herself fiercely. That was just another figment of her overactive imagination.
‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Rocco.’
‘Goodnight, Nicole.’ He didn’t try to stop her.
Had she thought he might?
Of course she had. Her body was in such a heightened state of desire that she felt almost deflated when she pushed open the door to the bedroom suite she had chosen—as far away from Rocco as possible—and clicked it shut behind her.
Stripping off the black jersey dress and letting the worthless gems spool into a green heap on one of the modern glass tables, Nicole gathered her hair up beneath a voluminous plastic cap and went to stand beneath the gushing shower. But rubbing soap over breasts which were already aroused and imagining it was Rocco’s dark fingers sliding between her thighs instead of her own was not the relaxing experience she’d been anticipating. In fact, when she turned off the jets of water, she felt even more churned up than she had done in the limousine.
She dried her skin and raked a wide-toothed comb through her curls but she was feeling much too edgy to think about sleeping. The moon was so bright that it was flooding the room with silver light and, pulling on a baggy T-shirt and slipping on a clean pair of panties, she walked across the room towards the terrace and stepped outside, the tiles cool beneath her bare feet. Above her the dark sky was punctured by the bright glitter of stars and the moon was huge as she leaned her elbows against the wrought-iron railings and stared out at the inky gleam of the sea.
Had she been crazy to come here?
Probably.
She realised it was going to be hard to forget Rocco after this and it had nothing to do with the fancy house, or cars, or the yacht he’d casually mentioned was moored in the harbour. It was being in his company again. She’d forgotten how charismatic he was and what a powerful magnetism he exerted over everyone, but especially over her. She’d forgotten because it had been in her best interests to forget and she had been trying to move on. But now she was confused and aching. He hadn’t kissed her tonight—he hadn’t even touched her—and yet it was as if he’d started a slow blaze inside her. A drift of wind lifted the curls from the back of her neck and she sighed, realising that sleep wasn’t going to come easily. Still, nobody ever died from a lack of sleep, did they? She would just stand there and watch the moonlight glinting on the water and wait until her eyelids started growing heavy.
She heard the click of the bedroom door as it opened but she didn’t turn round. She didn’t need to. Nobody else would walk into her bedroom uninvited. Nobody else would dare. But even if a hundred people had pushed open that door, she would have known it was Rocco from a hundred paces. Was she so sensitive to his presence that she could detect him—like some animal who had sniffed out her natural mate in the wild? Was that why her nipples had started puckering so that she wanted to open her mouth to cry out that they were craving his touch?
He was moving across the room and the only other sound she could hear was the amplified pounding of her heart above his approaching footsteps.
Tell him to go, she thought.
Beg him to stay.
‘Nicole?’
Like rich velvet, his voice filtered through the warm air and Nicole shivered as he stepped out onto the terrace behind her. Had she thought the spoken word would shatter the spell he’d managed to weave without even being in her eyeline? Because if so, she had completely misread the situation.
‘What?’ she said, in what was surely the most pointless question of all time.
‘Turn around,’ he said.
She told herself she was going to resist—but how could she? She felt herself turning in response to his sultry command and suddenly realised it wasn’t resentment she felt, but relief. Yes, relief. Because wasn’t this shimmering feeling of excitement better than the half-dead way she’d felt at the end of their marriage? Wasn’t it good to feel properly alive again in a way she hadn’t felt for a long time? ‘What do you want, Rocco?’
‘You know damned well what I want.’ His lips twisted into a predatory smile. ‘I want you.’
And, oh, the feeling was mutual. She wanted him to take away this terrible aching and the deep well of loneliness inside her but it was a risk—and a big one. What if having sex only increased her desire for him instead of killing it? Restlessly she shifted beneath his shadowed gaze, knowing it was a risk she was prepared to take because the thought of sending him away was intolerable. One more night, that was all. One night to finally rid herself of these lingering demons. All she needed to remember was to be on her guard against unwanted emotion because it had no place in what was about to happen. Rocco was programmed to want sex and she was programmed to want something deeper—because that was what women did. And love was something she would never get from Rocco Barberi.
So she stood beneath the silver spotlight of the moon and wondered if her expression gave away the hunger which was snaring her with its silken tendrils. He was wearing nothing but jeans—the top button undone so that dark hair arrowed down towards the ridge-like bulge pushing against his crotch. His chest was glowing and an arrogant smile was curving his lips as if he was already anticipating her surrender. And Nicole knew then that if she did this, it was going to have to be on her own terms.
