The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
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Keelin suppressed a shiver. She really didn’t know this man or what he was capable of, although she did trust implicitly that he wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically anyway. Even if he did look as though he wanted to throttle her right now.
‘Don’t you ever use my mother like that again, got it? You leave her out of this vendetta against me, Keelin.’
The clear warning ringing in his voice rendered her a little mute as something went tight in her belly, to recognise his protective streak and know that the last person it would ever be directed towards would be her.
* * *
A few interminable hours later as guests finally began to depart—his mother being one of the first as she hated leaving her home unless it was vitally necessary— Gianni was still seething with a mix of anger and mounting sexual frustration.
How dared Keelin use his mother just to score a point off him?
When he’d properly registered who the extra guests were, his blood had almost boiled over to see those familiar old faces from his father’s past, battered and bruised, hardened by the lives they’d lived and the things they’d seen.
Silly to think he’d felt a measure of complacency in believing he was far enough removed from them by now, but no. It had been like getting a cold blast of water in his face. He’d almost heard his father’s mocking laugh and rough voice in his ear: ‘So you’re too good for us now, heh?’
He could also see the headlines undoubtedly being run up at that very moment: Delucca’s Wedding Brings Out Familiar Faces... Like Father Like Son After All?
Gianni was mildly relieved to note that thankfully most of his father’s friends had left by now.
But the person who had subjected him to this very unwelcome scrutiny was still very much here and on the other side of the room, talking very energetically to a group of rapt-looking guests.
Keelin had studiously avoided him from the moment they’d emerged from the anteroom. Even while eating, she’d been practically sitting in the lap of the person beside her, rather than talk to him.
Wherever he’d moved, she’d gone in the opposite direction as if they were made of opposing magnets, when Gianni knew that was anything but the case. Just before she’d bitten his lip earlier, he’d felt her body tipping over the edge, softening, curving into his. She wanted him.
And he wanted her with a hunger made more intense by that edge of anger. It might have concerned him at any other time, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her sleek curves in that ridiculous dress. His hands itched to take it off and devour her until something of this ravenous beast inside him was slayed. He felt rough and raw, the reminder of the past far too close for comfort.
Making his excuses to the people around him, Gianni strode across the room to his wife. Her back was to him but he saw her stiffen minutely just as he came alongside her and took her hand in his with a firm grip.
Predictably she tried to break free but his grip tightened. He smiled urbanely even as he battled to keep his libido and body under control, just for a while longer. Until he could be alone with this biting gattino and tame her once and for all.
The guests melted away with knowing looks and smiles. Keelin turned to Gianni. She still wore the veil even though it was slightly askew. She held a glass of wine in her hand and her cheeks looked suspiciously flushed.
He took the drink and put it down, saying stringently, ‘I don’t like women who drink excessively in public.’
Keelin hissed, ‘Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have married me. It’s never too early to start divorce proceedings, you know.’
Gianni straightened up and looked at her and something in his chest tightened. She wasn’t drunk, he could see that. She looked beautiful. Angry, but stunning. Green eyes huge and mossy. Mouth ripe for kissing. And he intended to. But not here.
He curbed his libido. Soon—within a matter of hours—she would be under him and finally giving him the first sense of satisfaction and peace he’d had since he’d agreed to this whole thing. With the anticipation of that carnal satisfaction snaking through his blood and taking some of the edge off his anger, he said, ‘There will be no more talk of divorce. It’s time to go, mia amata.’
Immediately she tensed. ‘Where?’
Lust tightened his body in spite of his best efforts and fired up his blood. He smiled. ‘On our honeymoon, of course. I can’t wait to get you all to myself.’
WITHOUT EVEN GIVING her time to change, Gianni bundled Keelin, veil and all, into a waiting limousine outside the Chatsfield Hotel, accompanied by the inevitable flashes of the paparazzi cameras. They pulled out smoothly into the Rome evening traffic after Gianni had taken his seat in the back.
She had been avoiding him and that simmering rage all afternoon like a coward. Every time she’d looked at him she’d just seen those black eyes and the banked fire in their depths, and could still feel the firmness of his lip between her teeth all over again. And the guilt to have been audacious enough to encourage his mother to invite those people, especially when the meek and mild woman had said nervously, ‘I don’t know, Gianni won’t like it.’
So now she felt doubly guilty. When she was the one who had been marched up the aisle. So why didn’t you just turn and run? asked a snarky inner voice. Keelin ignored it, that feeling of inevitability and how she’d succumbed to it, too vivid for her liking.
She only realised then that she was still, ridiculously, holding on to her bouquet. She said a little redundantly now, ‘I should have thrown it.’
Gianni plucked it out of her hand and pressed a button so that his window slid down. A group of female tourists were standing on a corner reading a map near where the car was stalled at a red light. Gianni shouted out, ‘Signora!’
They looked up and Keelin could see their collective double takes as they took in who was calling to them and she could have rolled her eyes. But then he was calling out, ‘Catch!’ and he lobbed out the bouquet which flew high into the air and then into one of the girl’s outstretched hands. Much to her squealing delight.
Gianni didn’t respond, he just hit the button and the window slid back up again. Keelin’s mouth had opened in shock. He looked at her as the car moved off again, a mocking glint in his eyes. ‘Is it not traditional for the groom to throw it?’
Keelin shut her mouth and then said icily, ‘No, it’s not. But then not a lot about this wedding is traditional.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Gianni growled softly, ‘I have every intention of this marriage becoming very traditional very soon.’
Her breath shortened at the explicit look in Gianni’s eyes. ‘We have to talk about this. You can’t seriously expect that we’re going to just—’
He cut her off. ‘I do seriously expect that this marriage will be a real and enduring one, Keelin, so the sooner you come to terms with that, the better.’
She crossed her arms over her chest and was aware of how ridiculous she must look. Angrily she ripped the veil off her head then, wincing as pins caught in her hair. She shrank back when Gianni hissed his disapproval and put out a hand as if to help.
‘It’s fine. I can do it.’
She continued to pick out pins and said angrily, ‘Since when did someone like you ever want to have a real and enduring marriage?’
Gianni’s anger matched hers. ‘Since it came with a business deal that will make Delucca a brand name all over the world and a wife who I want more than any other woman.’
Keelin was fired up and ready to blast back with a response but her words dissolved on her tongue.