Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride. Melanie Milburne
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was hard to be close to someone who reminded you of what you had lost.
It was hard to be close to anyone when you carried such a horrible curse.
‘But if you were so chummy with my father, then why didn’t you come to his funeral?’
A flicker or something passed through his gaze. A flash of pain, a lightning strike of guilt. He pushed one of his hands through the ink-black thickness of his hair, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I was unable to get there due to circumstances beyond my control.’
Frankie folded her arms like a starchy schoolmistress. ‘Did those circumstances involve a bikini-clad blonde bombshell?’
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘No. They did not.’
‘Then what kept you away?’
The shutter came back down on his face. ‘Suffice it to say it was a crisis and I was the only person who could deal with it at that time.’
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. She had been surprised, and yes, hurt not to see him at the funeral. He had only visited her father once in the last two months of his life and she hadn’t been there at the time. She’d been out picking up more incontinence pads for her father and by the time she got back, the nurse on duty told her about Gabriel’s brief visit. She wondered now if it had been deliberate. She hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted to see him at the funeral until he didn’t show. She couldn’t explain why it had disappointed her so much other than she had felt completely overwhelmed with making all the arrangements on her own. And it was hard not to think it was her fault her mother and her twin brother Roberto hadn’t been there to help her.
Frankie came out from behind the desk and went to stand in front of the windows that overlooked the parterre garden. She had spent most of her childhood playing in the gardens of the villa. It was her magical place, a place where she had exercised her imagination in order to make up for the absence of a mother and a sibling. She’d had a series of nannies and had never felt neglected in a physical sense. But emotionally she had felt isolated. Not necessarily unloved but not adored either.
She breathed out a long sigh and turned back to face Gabriel. ‘Can I have a couple of days to think about this...proposal of yours?’
‘I need your answer today. The press is sniffing around and I can’t hold them off for ever.’
Panic beat a tattoo behind her ribcage. Hurry. Stop. Hurry. Stop. Hurry. Stop. She had never been good at decision-making under pressure. Her thoughts fired off in all directions like a box of accidentally lit fireworks. Marriage was a big step. A monumental step that should not be entered lightly—not according to her values. But what else could she do? Other people would suffer if that money was not paid back soon. Her father had borrowed money from friends and associates and it would only take one of them to sell their story to the press for her father’s reputation to be permanently soiled.
But marrying Gabriel Salvetti?
Frankie covered her nose and mouth with her steepled hands, fighting to control her breathing. Everything was happening so fast. She didn’t have time to think. To measure the risks. To escape. The room began to shift around her. The walls closing in, the furniture dark and looming and oppressive. She needed to sit down before she fell down. She reached for the chair but it was like searching through vaporous fog...
Suddenly a firm hand came down on her left arm to steady her. ‘Are you okay?’ Gabriel’s deep voice was full of concern. ‘Breathe, cara.’ He took both her hands and led her to the chair. ‘Put your head down between your knees.’ He guided her with a gentle hand pressed to the back of her head. ‘That’s it. Good girl.’
Frankie took several breaths, trying not to notice how nice it felt to have Gabriel’s hand resting against her hair. A frisson of pleasure stole down from her scalp to her spine in a long streak of tickly warmth. He was standing so close to her she could feel the denim of his jeans through the silk sleeve of her top. And the potent heat of his muscled thigh. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so close to a man. Well, she could but it wasn’t a time she wanted to recall in any detail.
But this was different.
Gabriel was different. He was respectful and caring in a way she had never expected him to be. His touch did strange things to her. Wicked things. Forbidden things. Unleashed thoughts and desires she couldn’t suppress even though she wanted to. They were racing through her mind, triggering wanton images of him and her with entangled limbs and mouths pressed together in a passionate kiss, their bodies straining, yearning to get even closer.
Gabriel crouched down in front of her, his hand taking one of hers. ‘Feeling better now?’ His espresso-black gaze meshed with hers, making her feel dizzy all over again. Dizzy with the need to feel his mouth on hers. She moistened her lips and watched as he followed the movement of her tongue. His eyes came back to hers and it was like a switch had been flicked.
The atmosphere tightened as if every stick of furniture in the room had taken a collective breath and held it. Held it. Held it...
Frankie glanced down at her pale hand encased in his. His fingers were dusted with dark masculine hair, the nails neat and square. She couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on her body, touching her, pleasuring her. Awakening her. She tried to suppress a shiver but didn’t quite manage it. ‘I’m okay... I just felt a little faint...’
Gabriel released her hand and straightened, briefly resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know my proposal must have come as a shock but I give you my word my motives are exactly as I’ve told you. There is no hidden agenda.’
Frankie couldn’t hold his gaze. She didn’t want him to see the naked need that was stirring in her body. A need she hadn’t been aware of until now. She looked down at her hands resting on her thighs. ‘Marriage seems a little extreme, though. I mean, what will we do after the year is up?’
‘Get a divorce or an annulment.’ He said it so casually as if it was as simple as ticking a box.
Frankie brought her gaze up to meet his. ‘But you don’t seem to be getting much out of the deal. You’re prepared to spend millions for what? To be known as my husband?’
He moved to where she had been standing a few minutes before. His back turned to her as he too looked at the view outside. After a moment, he turned to face her but the light from outside put his face in shadow so she couldn’t read his expression. ‘You read the papers, do you not? You must have heard of my father’s latest scandal?’ The hardened tone of his voice alerted her to the shame he must feel about the criminal behaviour of his family. ‘Drugs. The recent haul one of the biggest in the history of this country. Do you need me to go on?’
Frankie shook her head and bit her lip. ‘No. It must be awful for you.’
‘Damn right it’s awful.’ He moved to stand behind her father’s desk, his hands gripping the back of the chair as she had done earlier. ‘It’s been virtually impossible to run my business lately. Deals have been cancelled at short notice. Big deals. Deals I worked on for months. Every time I turn up to a board meeting I can feel the tension, the uneasiness. Your situation is awful too, but we can fix both with a short-term marriage. It’s not as if you’re marrying a stranger. I will not treat you with anything but the utmost respect. You have my word on that.’
Put like that, it sounded a perfect plan. The trouble was the devil was in the detail. Devilish details such as her growing awareness of him. The physical awareness she could feel even now. The faint prickle of her breasts every time his gaze skated over her figure. The tingle in her lips when his eyes rested on her mouth. The hollow burning ache between her thighs when she thought about him touching her there. Frankie crossed her legs in an effort to quell the sensation but, if anything, it made it worse. It made her more aware of the secret tingling urgings of her body. ‘But if we were to marry on paper, say, won’t people expect us to be affectionate with each other, at least in public if not in private?’
His gaze drifted to