His Virgin Bride: The Fiorenza Forced Marriage / Bought: For His Convenience or Pleasure? / A Night With Consequences. Margaret Mayo
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right,’ Simone said. ‘If Dave was still alive he’d be so ashamed of me for subjecting Chelsea to this.’
‘Honey, don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Emma said. ‘I know how tough things have been for you. No one should have to deal with the stuff you’ve had to deal with. Just be strong, this will all go away and you’ll never have to worry again.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Simone said. ‘I really don’t know what Chelsea and I would do without you.’
Emma felt a little guilty not telling her sister the truth about how she was going about getting the money, but she reasoned that Simone had enough to worry about for the time being. If she were to tell Simone she was about to marry a man she had only met that morning, her sister would think she had gone mad.
But then maybe I have, Emma thought as Rafaele’s handsome features came to mind. She gave the pillow a thump and settled back down but it was ages before she could relax enough to sleep…
Emma’s eyes sprang open as the front door slammed. She heard Rafaele move about the villa with no attempt to keep the noise down, as if he couldn’t care less about disturbing her, no doubt because he considered her an interloper in his family home.
She heard the sound of a glass shattering in the lounge room downstairs and then a course expletive cut through the still night air. She waited a few minutes, listening as various cupboards and drawers were opened and slammed shut as he began hunting through the main bathroom.
‘Where the hell is the first-aid kit?’ Rafaele’s voice roared from the foot of the sweeping staircase.
Emma threw back the covers and, reaching for her bathrobe, tied it securely around her waist and came out on the third-floor landing. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, looking down at him. ‘Have you cut yourself?’
He swayed slightly on his feet as he held up his right hand wrapped in a hand towel. ‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. Want to kiss it better, pretty Emma?’
She frowned at him as she came down the stairs. ‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked in a reproachful tone.
He gave her a sinful smile. ‘So what if I have?’
She stood three steps above him to meet him eye to eye. ‘Did you drive home in this state?’
He swayed towards her, the strong fumes of brandy wafting over her face. ‘No, I caught a cab,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that sensible of me?’
‘It’s not sensible to drink to excess even if you’re not planning to be behind the wheel of a car,’ she said. ‘Let me look at your hand.’
He held it out to her and she gently peeled back the towel to find a gash near the base of his thumb that was still oozing blood.
‘Am I going to make it through the night?’ he asked with one of his mocking smiles.
Emma pursed her mouth and led him by his uninjured hand to the nearest bathroom. ‘Sit on the stool,’ she directed sternly as she washed her hands. ‘You’re very lucky, as it doesn’t need stitching. I’ll put a Steri-Strip on it to pull the edges together.’
She located the first-aid kit and set about cleaning the wound and dressing it. But she found it almost impossible to control the slight tremor of her hands as she touched him. His shirt sleeves were rolled back, revealing strong wrists with a generous sprinkling of dark hair, a potent reminder of his virility.
She was acutely aware of his closeness, his long legs trapping her between the basin and him at one point. He was such an intensely masculine man. She could smell the musk of his skin, this close to him she could see every pinprick of stubble on his jaw, making her fingers ache to touch him there, to see if her soft skin would snag on his rougher one.
She took an unsteady breath and tried to ignore the flutter of her pulse as his dark eyes locked on hers.
‘You have very soft hands,’ he said. ‘I wonder if that prim little mouth of yours is just as soft.’
‘I guess you’ll just have to keep on wondering,’ Emma said, trying to move to one side.
He stood up, his left arm blocking her exit. ‘How about I kiss you and find out, eh, Emma?’
Emma gave a nervous swallow, her belly doing a funny little somersault at the smouldering look in his darker-than-ink eyes. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea…’
He gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘Why not?’
She unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips. ‘You know why not.’
‘Is there someone else?’
‘No…I mean, yes, there is,’ she lied, but she knew the colour storming into her cheeks was betraying her.
‘You are not a very convincing liar, Emma,’ he said. ‘If you were involved with someone else you would not be sending me those hungry little looks all the time, now, would you?’
‘I’m doing no such thing,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He released her hand and placed the heated warmth of his palm at the nape of her neck instead. Emma couldn’t stop the little shiver that coursed like a tickling feather all the way down her spine, loosening every vertebra along the way. Her heart began pick up its pace, the thud of her pulse so heavy she was surprised he couldn’t feel it leaping beneath her skin where his hand rested.
‘You want to know, don’t you?’ he went on in that same toe-curling, sensuous drawl. ‘You have done it with the father, now you want to know what it feels like to do it with the son.’
Emma’s eyes flared in shock at his crude statement. ‘That’s not true!’
‘Did he make you come?’ he asked.
She tried to push at him, but if anything it brought him closer, the stirring of his body against hers sending sparks of heat coursing through her lower body. Her breasts were jammed against his chest, her stomach hollowing out at the diamond-hard glitter of his dark gaze as it drilled into hers. ‘L-let me go…’ she choked. ‘Y-you’re drunk.’
He countered her paltry escape manoeuvre by placing his injured hand in the small of her back, his left hand now buried in the curtain of her hair. ‘Perhaps a little, but that will not affect my performance,’ he said. ‘I can make you come like you’ve never come before.’
In spite of her outrage Emma could feel her body betraying her. His sultry promise set her senses alight at the thought of having him deep inside her, bringing her the sort of pleasure she had so far only dreamed about. She knew it was unusual in this day and age for a woman of twenty-six to be without sexual experience, but she had never met anyone she had been attracted to enough to take that final step. Getting involved with a playboy was not something she had ever contemplated and certainly not one as ruthless and arrogant as Rafaele Fiorenza. He was undoubtedly the most attractive man she had ever encountered, but allowing herself to be seduced by him was something she was determined to avoid if at all possible. He was an inveterate heartbreaker and she would do very well to remember it.
‘I don’t recall reading anything in your father’s will that stipulated I have to satisfy your disgusting animal urges,’ she said with as much acerbity as she could. ‘Now, if you don’t let me go this instant I will have to resort to slapping your face.’
He grinned at her, which wasn’t quite the effect she had intended. ‘You are quite something when you are all fired up,’ he said. ‘I bet you go off like a firecracker in bed.’
She drew in a sharp little breath, her eyes flashing him a warning. ‘I don’t have to put up with this,’ she said. ‘If you don’t stop this I will pack my bags first thing in the morning to make way for Ms Henning.’
A nerve twitched at the side of his mouth, his eyes hardening to narrow chips of black