Her Exquisite Surrender. Lucy Ellis
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How would she ever be able to put herself back together again?
Natalie could barely recall the journey to Sorrento in the chauffeur-driven car. She had fallen asleep before they had travelled even a couple of kilometres. She had woken just after midnight as the car drew to a halt, to find her head cradled in Angelo’s lap, his fingers idly stroking her hair.
‘We’re here,’ he said.
She sat up and pushed back her loosened hair. ‘I think I dribbled on your trousers,’ she said, grimacing in embarrassment. ‘Sorry.’
He gave her a lazy smile. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed watching you.’
The villa was perched high on a clifftop, overlooking the ocean. It had spectacular views over the port of Sorrento and the colourful villages hugging the coastline. With terraced gardens and a ground area twice the size of its neighbours, the villa offered a level of privacy that was priceless. Lights twinkled from boats on the wrinkled dark blue blanket of the sea below. The balmy summer air contained the sweet, sharp scent of lemon blossom from the surrounding lemon groves, and the light breeze carried with it the faint clanging sound of the rigging on a yacht far below.
Angelo left the driver to deal with their luggage as he led Natalie inside. ‘My hotel development is much larger than this place,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you there tomorrow or the next day.’
Natalie looked around at the vaulted ceilings and the panoramic arched windows, the antique parquet and the original terracotta floors. ‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘Have you had it long?’
‘I bought it a couple of years ago,’ he said. ‘I like the privacy here. It’s about the only place I can lock myself away from the press.’
‘I suppose it’s where you bring all your lovers to seduce them out of the spotlight?’ she said before she could check herself.
He studied her as he pulled free his loosened tie. ‘You sound jealous.’
‘Why would I be jealous?’ she asked. ‘I don’t have any hold over you. And you don’t have any hold over me.’
He picked up her left hand and held it in front of her face. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ he asked. ‘We’re married now. We have a hold over each other.’
Natalie tried to get out of his grasp but his fingers tightened around hers. ‘What possible hold do I have over you?’ she asked. ‘You forced me to marry you. I didn’t have a choice. Five years ago I made the decision to walk out of your life and never see you again. I wanted to be left alone to get on with my life. But no; you had to fix things so I’d be at your mercy and under your control.’
‘Stop it, Natalie,’ he said. ‘You’re tired. I’m tired. This is not the time to discuss this.’
She tugged some more until she finally managed to break free. She stood before him, her chest heaving, her heart pounding and her self-control in tatters.
‘Don’t tell me to stop it!’ she said. ‘What hold do I have over you? You hold all the cards. I know what you’re up to, Angelo. I know how men like you think. You’ll hoodwink me into falling in love with you and then you’ll pull the rug from under my feet when I least expect it. But it won’t work because I won’t do it. I won’t fall in love with you. I won’t.’
He stood looking down at her with implacable calm. ‘Do you feel better now you’ve got all of that off your chest?’ he asked.
Goaded beyond all forbearance, she put her chin up and flashed him a challenging glare. ‘Why don’t you come and collect what you’ve bought and paid for right here and now?’ she said. ‘Come on, Angelo. I’m your little puppet now. Why don’t you come and pull on my strings?’
A muscle flickered in his jaw as his dark-as-night gaze slowly moved over her body, from her head to her feet and back again. She felt it peel her ivory gown away. She felt it scorch through her bra and knickers. She felt it burn her flesh. She felt it light an inferno between her legs.
But then a mask slipped over his features. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he said. ‘I hope you sleep well. Buonanotte.’ He inclined his head in a brief nod and then turned and left.
Natalie listened to the echo of his footsteps on the terracotta floor fading into the distance until there was nothing left but the sound of her own erratic breathing …
The bedroom she’d chosen to sleep in was on the third floor of the villa. She woke after a fitful sleep to bright morning sunshine streaming in through the arched windows. She peeled back the covers and went and looked out at a view over terraced gardens. There was a sparkling blue swimming pool situated on one of the terraces, surrounded by lush green shrubbery. She could see Angelo’s lean, tanned figure carving through the water, lap after lap, deftly turning at each end like an Olympic swimmer.
She moved away from the window before he caught her spying on him and headed to the shower.
When she came downstairs breakfast had been laid out on a wrought-iron table in a sunny courtyard that was draped on three sides in scarlet bougainvillaea. The fragrant smell of freshly brewed coffee lured her to the table, and she poured a cup and took it to the edge of the courtyard to look at the view over the port of Sorrento.
She turned around when she heard the sound of Angelo’s tread on the flagstones as he came from inside the villa. He was dressed in taupe chinos and a white casual shirt that was rolled up past his wrists, revealing strong, masculine forearms. His hair was still damp; the grooves of his comb were still visible in the thick dark strands. He looked gorgeously fresh and vitally, potently alive.
‘I thought you might’ve joined me for a swim,’ he said.
‘I’m not much of a swimmer,’ she said, shifting her gaze. ‘I prefer dry land sports.’
He pulled out a chair for her at the table. ‘Do you want something hot for breakfast?’ he asked. ‘I can make you an omelette or something.’
Natalie looked at him in surprise. ‘Don’t you have a twenty-four-hour housekeeper at your beck and call here?’
‘I have someone who comes in a couple of times a week,’ he said. ‘I prefer my time here to be without dozens of people fussing around me.’
‘Oh, the trials and tribulations of having millions and squillions of dollars,’ she said dryly as she sat down.
He looked at her with a half-smile playing about his mouth. ‘You grew up with plenty of wealth yourself,’ he said. ‘Your father is a very successful investor. He was telling me about some of the ways he’s survived the financial crisis. He’s a very clever man.’
She reached for a strawberry from the colourful fruit plate on the table. ‘He’s very good at lots of things,’ she said, taking a tiny nibble.
He watched her with those dark, intelligent eyes of his. ‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’ he asked.
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, taking another little bite of the strawberry.
‘I was watching you at the reception yesterday,’ he said. ‘You tensed every time he came near you. You never smiled at him. Not even once.’
She gave a shrug and reached for another strawberry, focussing on picking off the stem rather than meeting his gaze. ‘We have what you might call a strained relationship,’ she said. ‘But then he told you how difficult I was when you had that cosy little chat together, didn’t he?’
‘That really upset you, didn’t it?’
‘Of course it upset me,’ she said, shooting him a hard little glare. ‘He’s good at swinging the jury. He oozes with charm. No one would ever question his opinion. He’s the perfect husband, the perfect father. He doesn’t show in public what he’s like in private. You don’t know him, Angelo. You don’t know what