Ruthless Revenge: Priceless Proposal: The Sicilian's Surprise Wife / Secret Heiress, Secret Baby / Guardian to the Heiress. Margaret Way
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back, the long line of her jaw and neck were a temptation for his fingers.
Her dress, while lacy, was elegant, sophisticated, as it hugged her lithe frame and small breasts.
She looked as she always did—demure, stylish, perfectly put together. Only he knew what simmered beneath that calm exterior.
He had a wife and he couldn’t turn his gaze away from her.
The thought was so disconcerting and disturbing that Stefan kept turning the platinum band on his finger round and round, as if he could make it disappear, as if he could change reality by stubbornly refusing to accept it.
He not only had a wife but one he wanted to kiss more than he needed to drag in his next breath.
And the most shocking fact of them all was that his new wife had almost flinched when he had touched her lips with his.
He, Stefan Bianco, the man who had dated some of the most beautiful, accomplished women in the world, badly wanted to touch and kiss and seduce his wife, the one woman he should never touch or want in any way.
It was how he had felt when he had first eyed Clio across the campus lawn a decade ago—full of raging hormones, and an almost laughable naïveté about the world.
He still wanted her just as badly except now that naïveté was dead and in its place was a voice that kept whispering that he could have Clio if he wanted this time.
Like the rest of the women in the world, Clio Norwood had a price, too. And he had already paid the price.
It was such a disgusting line of thought that nausea filled his throat. And yet he couldn’t erase it.
Was this what he had become? Was there nothing honorable left in him?
For the first time in years, Stefan looked inward and cringed, wondered what else he had lost in the name of Serena.
“You’ll break the champagne flute if you don’t stop glaring at Zayed and Clio, fratello,” Rocco whispered from behind him.
He couldn’t blame his oldest friend for the continual jeering because what Stefan wanted to do was throw the champagne flute on the dance floor so that Clio would stop smiling at Zayed and look back at him.
“She’s always been a beautiful dancer, hasn’t she?” Christian chimed in, and now the vein in Stefan’s temple felt as if it would burst open.
He knew very well what his three friends were up to. He also knew very well that Rocco had eyes for no one but Olivia, and Christian for his pregnant wife, the beautiful Alessandra.
In the rational part of his mind, the increasingly small one, he was also aware that as much as Zayed seemed to be whispering little jokes in Clio’s ear and had been flirting with her outrageously for most of the evening, he had never had any interest in Clio.
Even if he hadn’t guessed that the fairy tale that Clio and he were projecting to the whole world was just that—a tale of epic proportions.
But knowing it and telling his body and his libido to behave accordingly was another thing.
Because the moment he had slid the gold band onto her trembling finger, the moment he had touched her lips with his own, the moment he saw the despondency in her eyes as she slid the ring onto his finger, Stefan had felt the most possessive, an almost Neanderthal, urge to drag Clio away from the celebration that followed and ravish her.
He wanted to drive the thought of another man from her mind, he wanted to kiss away the hurt from her mouth, he wanted to shred her control as she was so effortlessly shredding his.
He wanted her to smile at him as she did at the whole world, even though he had done everything to wipe it from her face.
He wanted to sink into her wet heat again and again, until the small fancy, which was now growing into a full-blown obsession, was gone from his blood.
He could seduce her, too. He had no doubt about it. Whatever poison that asshole Jackson had spewed into her mind, whatever she believed about her own nature—because there had been plenty of occasions over the past week to figure it out—there was an explosive energy every time they occupied the same space.
Something his all-too-clever and observant friends had remarked over the past week. But if there was one thing Stefan didn’t want, it was to see that betrayal in Clio’s eyes the next morning. She would never sleep with him and then walk away unscathed. And as fragile as she was right now, he didn’t want to be another bad decision she regretted.
He wanted her to be consumed by him as he was by her. Which seemed a far-out fantasy right then.
If he could forget the contract they had signed, he could have almost believed her to be the old Clio, having the time of her life, supremely happy with her life and the world.
Except when she looked at him. Then, the smile fell off her face as if she had eaten something that lived under those gold-lined slippers she was wearing.
Except when it had been their dance. She had been stiff like a board, her features frozen into a mask of icy politeness, so tightly withdrawn that he could break her with a hard grip.
She had hardly touched her dinner but her face had lit up when it had been time for the red-velvet cake they had cut together.
Every time she had lifted the gleaming spoon and licked away the dessert, Stefan smothered a groan himself.
“Come have a drink with us,” said Rocco, interrupting Stefan’s thoughts as they veered into dangerous territory about how snugly Zayed was holding Clio and how neatly she fit against his tall, wide frame. Tendrils of hair were beginning to come away from her elaborate hairstyle and kiss that delicate jawline.
He heard another laugh fall from those beautiful lips, saw her tilt her head and whisper something and he’d had enough.
He was on the dance floor and cutting in on Zayed and Clio before he knew what he was doing. As though guessing that he was as rational as a charging bull, his friend instantly relinquished Clio, a cunning smile in his eyes.
Among the four of them, Zayed was the diplomat, yet Stefan didn’t doubt for a second that he was also the most perceptive. With a slap on his back, Zayed pulled him closer into a hug.
There was no humor in his gaze just then. “Take care, Stefan. Our fate cannot always be controlled by us, my friend.”
Stefan didn’t smile either. He knew he had become an untenable, mistrusting bastard in the past few years, that he had pushed Rocco to the limit by doubting the wonderful Olivia’s intentions toward his friend, but Rocco, Christian and Zayed—they had always stood by him and loved him no matter what.
That was the only relationship, the one good thing Serena hadn’t destroyed in his life, an anchor that had held him steady when he had been sinking.
“You think I’m capable of falling in love, Zayed?”
“No, I do not. I don’t think you or I will have the fortune that has been bestowed on Rocco and Christian, nor do we want it. But do not destroy the good that has somehow found its way into your life.”
With Zayed’s advice ringing in his ears, Stefan tugged his new bride toward him. Every muscle in his body tensed when she came into his arms pliantly, wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her small breasts rubbed against his chest, one toned thigh pressing flush against his muscular one. She smelled decadent, her skin soft like the sheerest silk. His pulse thudded heavily in his blood, the delicate crook of her neck and shoulders beckoning for a taste.
Wrapping his fingers around her nape, Stefan tugged her head back and looked into her eyes and received another shock.
“You...need to lighten up, my dear husband,” she whispered against his cheek, dragging her mouth over his stubble, toward his jaw. “We’re supposed to be madly in love, remember?”
Her touch was possessive, reckless,