The Sicilian's Bought Bride. Carol Marinelli
‘Rico,’ she whispered his name out loud, dragging in the stuffy hospital air and closing her eyes, allowing her mind to drift away for a slice of time, drift away from this awful room and the awful day to the beauty she had once witnessed. The horrors of the days receded as his face came into focus—a face she had pushed out of her mind for a year now, refused to dwell on, forcibly removed from her consciousness, but a face that had always been there, slipping into her dreams at night, supposedly unwelcome but shamefully, gratefully received.
He had made her laugh.
The wedding she had dreaded had turned out to be the most exhilarating, heady night of her life, and it had all been down to Rico.
It had been Rico who had come up to her as she’d sat, seemingly aloof but actually tense and awkward at the head table, watching confused and bewildered as Janey and Marco made a mockery of everything sacred and twirled around the dance floor.
Rico who had turned her world around.
‘I need you to talk to me!’ The urgency in his voice had caught Catherine completely off guard.
‘Me?’ Turning, she had opened her mouth, questions bobbing on her tongue as to why the most eligible of eligible bachelors should suddenly be paying attention to her. ‘Why?’ Catherine asked rudely.
‘I’ll tell you in a moment, but I really need for you to talk to me,’ he insisted. ‘I know this is probably the last thing you need right now, but I want you to look as if you’re engrossed.’
She already was! It wasn’t hard to give Rico Mancini her full attention, wasn’t exactly a feat to stare into those dark, dark eyes and appear mesmerised. He had turned his chair so he was facing her. His knees casually apart he dragged her chair forward an inch or two, effectively caging her in, an earnest look on his face as he moved in closer and begged in low, urgent tones for her to stay put.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ Catherine giggled, embarrassed and pleased and suddenly excited all at the same time.
‘Would you believe me if I told you the minister’s wife was coming on to me?’
‘Esther?’ Her mouth dropped open and her eyes automatically flicked across the room to gape in open disbelief at the paragon of virtue, dressed in twinset and pearls, her newly set hair lacquered firmly in place. She was scarcely able to believe Esther was capable of coming on to anyone. Mind you, Catherine mused as Esther’s gaze wandered anxiously in their direction, from the effect two minutes up close with Rico was having on her, maybe even ministers’ wives weren’t immune.
‘Don’t look!’ He put a hand up to her cheek, forcing her attention.
‘I’m sorry.’ Catherine was flustered, jumping a mile as he touched her, her cheeks stinging red as a blush worked its way upwards. She desperately tried to keep her voice even. ‘Surely you’ve misread things!’
‘That’s what I told myself,’ Rico agreed. ‘That’s what I kept on telling myself as she started fiddling with the buttons on my jacket….’
‘She didn’t!’
‘That’s not the half of it.’ He gave a small shudder and Catherine started to laugh. ‘If your sister had settled for a good Catholic wedding, then none of this would have happened.’
‘That’s Janey for you,’ Catherine said dryly, and for a second so small it was barely there they shared a knowing smile.
‘I excused myself, of course—said I had to get back to my girlfriend; so if you don’t mind I’m going to have to borrow you for a while.’
‘Borrow away.’ Somehow she smiled. Somehow she accepted the champagne glass he offered with hands that were amazingly steady, given her heart-rate!
It had been the best night of her life—even if it had been a false togetherness; even if it had been just for Esther’s benefit he’d made her feel special. Made her feel as if she was the only woman in the room.
Later, alone in his hotel room, those dark, brooding and suspicious eyes had softened, gazing into hers as that strong, inscrutable face had moved in to kiss her. She could still almost taste the velvet of his lips, smell the heady tang of his cologne, feel her fingers in that jet hair as she had drowned in his kiss, responded to his urgent demands in a way she never had before. His kiss had fueled responses, unfamiliar, yet achingly welcome. Her breasts had pushed against his chest, her groin had pressed into his as his hand had worked the buttons of her dress, his frustration mounting as the tiny pink buttons proved too much for the frenzy of emotions that had gripped them. He’d ripped the pale pink tulle till her shoulders had been exposed, and she hadn’t cared—hadn’t cared he’d ruined her dress. She had hated it anyway, hated Janey for forcing her to wear it.
She had stood exposed but curiously excited, her dilated pupils struggling to focus, as one olive-skinned hand moved the fabric apart. The contrast of his dark skin on her soft white breast had caused her breath to catch in her throat, a tiny groan of ecstasy escaping as he’d buried his face in her bosom, his lips hot on her stinging nipples, flicking them with a firm tongue. The blood had rushed down—not to her breasts, though, down to her groin, and then the flicker of her first orgasm, as impatient hands slid up her legs, tearing the tiny panties aside. His fingers had snaked inside her wet warmth, his breath hot and hard as he sucked on her breasts, and she’d shuddered in the palm of his hand, lost in the frenzy of it all, stunned at how easily her body had responded, scarcely able to fathom how she could yield so much to him.
He had seemed to understand how overwhelmed she had been, had held her afterwards, and for that slice of time, for one tiny moment, life had felt safe.
‘We have to go back down,’ he whispered into her hair as the world slowly drifted back into focus, seemingly understanding that this was alien for her, that she was feeling overwhelmed by the frenzy of emotion that had gripped her.
But even Rico’s tender embrace wasn’t enough to stop cruel reality invading, the sting of shame to prickle her senses. She barely knew this man, had met him only that night, and yet here she stood in his arms dishevelled, her groin still curiously alive, eyes glittering, cheeks flushed. Her arousal was still only a whisper away, yet he quelled her doubts in an instant, reading her mind as if she were a book.
‘Don’t regret this.’ His voice was a low, delicious throb of reassurance in her ear. ‘You are beautiful—this was beautiful.’
‘I shouldn’t have—’
‘Hush.’ His own arousal still pressed into her and she felt a stab of guilt: No longer the situation, but at her own selfishness, sure all the pleasure of the moment had been hers.
One woefully inexperienced hand tentatively moved down, clasping the steel of his erection, terrified of her own boldness, yet sure it was expected.
‘Catherine, no.’ His voice was breathless, his hand clamping over hers like a vice, and she flushed with embarrassment, terrified she had hurt him, sure he could feel the inexperience of her touch. ‘We must go back, I am the best man and you are the bridesmaid. It is my brother’s and your sister’s wedding.’
‘But I haven’t…’ She swallowed hard. ‘You didn’t…’
‘There is time for that later.’ His accent caressed her like a warm blanket on a cold night, and the glimpse of tomorrow, of another time, satisfied her craving in an instant. ‘After the bride and groom leave I have to go to the airport, I have to go to the States, but before then we will talk—arrange to see each other again.’ He kissed her then, slow and hard, but laced with tenderness.
She held onto his words all night, like a precious jewel clasped close to her chest, and it made the night bearable—made the night she had dreaded suddenly exciting.
‘Well, you’ve changed your tune.’
Helping Janey out of her wedding dress and into her leaving outfit, Catherine was barely able to keep her hands still enough to undo the zipper.