In the Italian's Bed: Bedded for Pleasure, Purchased for Pregnancy / The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain / The Italian Count's Defiant Bride. Carol Marinelli
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about a charade?’ Zarios frowned. ‘We will be engaged.’
‘But when it ends…’ Emma flailed.
‘It might not!’ Zarios just laughed at her confusion. ‘There is, after all, a high possibility we will get married!’
‘Married…’ She scooped up her bag. She had never heard anything more bizarre in her life. She loved Jake and would do anything to help him—well, almost anything—but a marriage of convenience with a snake like Zarios was way beyond the call of sisterly duty.
‘You’re hardly in a position to walk out,’ Zarios called to her departing back.
‘I’m in every position. You really think I’d marry you? After all you’ve done, the way you are, do you really think I’d want to be married to a man like you?’
‘I never said that you had to marry me.’
‘You just did.’ Her fingers were reaching for the door handle. She was in absolutely no mood to decipher one of Zarios’s cryptic messages—in no state to have her frayed emotions toyed with even for a little while longer.
‘If you would let me finish—you will see you do have an exit clause.’
‘An exit clause…’ She blinked in anger and frustration at his businesslike terms. His utter disregard for the sanctity of marriage had never been more evident.
‘Your parents’ insurance payout, the funds from their house—all are due for settlement around the same time as the board’s decision.’ Warily Emma nodded. ‘If you pay me back on the day you receive your inheritance you can walk away as soon as the board announces its decision.’
‘That’s all?’ Emma frowned, turning around to look at him. ‘I just have to pay you back?’
‘That’s it.’
‘But what about your father?’
‘I’ll worry about that.’
‘But it will devastate him…’
‘You have delusions of grandeur, Emma. I don’t think devastate is the word—I am sure we will all survive. Anyway, we are talking about a hypothetical situation—one I don’t believe will transpire. As I said, I have every reason to believe we will be married.’
‘Zarios, I will pay you back.’ She couldn’t really believe she was talking as if this was going to happen. ‘You know what I’m due to receive, and I always pay my debts…’
‘They are your debts?’
She swallowed, a dart of nervousness flashing in her eyes. Of course Jake would pay her back—she’d get it in writing this time, Emma decided. She’d get him to sign an agreement that he would pay her back in full on the day their parents’ inheritance came through.
‘You’ll get your money.’
‘We’ll see.’ Zarios smiled. ‘Until I do, you will be my fiancée. You will move in to my home so that I can take care of you—or rather deal with the press and the questions…’
‘I won’t…’ Emma flushed. ‘I mean, there’ll be no…’
‘I don’t understand what you are saying.’ He flashed her an innocent smile.
‘Oh, I think you do. I want to make it clear, very clear, that we won’t be sharing a bed.’
‘I think the cleaners might suspect something if my fiancée is sleeping in a separate bed. And, as I said, we will be at my father’s this weekend. He found out his son had lost virginity many years ago…’
‘Fine!’ Emma trilled, her face on fire. ‘But we won’t be sleeping together.’
‘You expect me to sleep on the floor.’
Bastard. The word hissed on her lips, but she swallowed it down. She knew he was goading her, knew he was going to make her say it—well, she would.
‘There will be no sex—and I want an assurance from you that there will be no pressure.’
‘Pressure?’ For the first time that day she heard Zarios laugh. He actually threw his head back and laughed at her statement. But Emma stood her ground.
‘You can add that to your precious clauses,’ Emma spat.
‘Why?’ He stood up and walked towards her. ‘Why waste my lawyer’s time getting him to write up a rule that is only going to be broken?’
‘It won’t be.’
‘And as for pressure…’ He wasn’t laughing now. ‘Be careful what you accuse me of, Emma.’
He was in her face now, so close she could smell him even as she backed further towards the door. His dangerous gaze held hers, black fading to indigo, just as it had on the morning he had saved her. Only now it felt as if she were drowning again—drowning in this man who could blind her to his faults. She dragged her eyes downwards, but there was no solace to be had there. His full mouth was moving in on her as he warned her to choose her words more carefully, as he made a mockery of the one rule she had insisted upon.
‘I have never, will never, pressure a woman.’
‘Good.’ Her voice was a croak, but somehow she got the word out. His hand was behind her now, lazily holding the door she leant against. There was not a shred of contact between them, but she felt as if he was inside her.
‘Do you feel pressured now?’
His mouth was mere inches from hers, her mind was quailing, but her treacherous body flared in an instant recall of their one dizzy time together.
‘You haven’t answered the question…’ Zarios said slowly. ‘Emma, am I pressuring you now?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want me to kiss you?’
Yes.
She didn’t say it, but the word snapped like a twig between them.
She wanted to forget, to escape…for just one moment. To forget this living hell and taste the heaven she had once witnessed. To accept the temporary relief his mouth would surely provide.
To be held instead of holding up.
He kissed her then, his mouth crushing hers. Except she was kissing him back with all her might, pressing her body into his as if she wanted to climb inside him to escape, revelling in the freedom that his touch, his kiss, his being somehow brought her. Oh, she was lost, lost, lost, and it was wonderful. She was back in oblivion and it tasted divine. His tongue stroked hers, extricated her from the hell of the past few weeks. How she kissed him back—biting on his lip, sucking his flesh, holding his head as he held hers. They were devouring each other with hot, angry kisses that soothed.
The ferocity of his erection pressed into her groin just wasn’t enough. The incessant pressure of his mouth, the delicious probing of his tongue and the contentious feel of his hand pushing up her skirt, creeping along her thigh, was bliss. Yet it still wasn’t enough! And he knew, he knew, because his fingers were hard on the soft flesh of her inner thigh. She parted them, just moved her feet a fraction, and still he kissed her, still his fingers crept higher, till they arrived at her sweet, welcoming moist warmth. As he slid his fingers inside her, his skilled hand dimmed reason. She pulled her head away from his kiss, biting on his shoulder or else she’d scream, knowing that in just a second she would come in his hand.
And then he stopped. His cruel withdrawal momentarily stunning her.
‘As I said…’ His free hand lifted her chin so he could look at her, even as still he held her in the palm of his hand. ‘I do not waste my time with rules I know will be broken.’
As he removed his hand, hers met his cheek. Tears, hate, shame and loathing—all