Bound To The Sicilian's Bed. Annie West
why we ever got married in the first place.’ She slanted him a challenging look. ‘Because although opposites attract—they can also repel. We both know that.’
With that she turned her back on him and left the terrace with a sway of her denim-covered bottom, which Rocco found almost unbearably provocative.
And after she’d gone, he felt restless—a feeling kick-started by the echo of her final words. Were they better off without each other? Not right now they weren’t. The fingertip he ran over his dry lips only added to his frustration as he breathed in the earthy aroma of her sex. By now she should have been in his bed—eagerly opening her legs so they could lose themselves in sweet oblivion, not leaving him here aching and frustrated.
Looking out to sea, he scowled. When his PA had called to say Nicole had arrived at his Monaco home he had been unprepared for the primitive rush of satisfaction he’d experienced, knowing she was here. Back in the marriage she had walked away from. It had never happened to him before—a woman telling him she was going, and meaning it. Only the stark note lying on top of an unmade bed had made clear her wishes.
Please don’t follow me, or try to contact me. It’s better this way, Rocco. I’m sorry.
And that had been it. A few words signalling the end. Yet he hadn’t seen it coming and shock was something he didn’t handle well. Maybe the only thing he didn’t handle well—not surprising given his history. He remembered the blood draining from his face as he’d crumpled the note in his fist and had proceeded to do something completely alien. Taking himself off to the bar in the nearby village, he had got himself very, very drunk. Groups of the local Sicilian men had looked surprised because Rocco Barberi was not known as a drinker. He remembered smashing his fist down hard on the counter and shattering a glass and hearing the old men’s voices raised in alarm. Someone must have made a phone call because he vaguely recalled his oldest friend arriving and getting him back to the complex, and Salvatore telling him that women were capricious creatures and she would be back before he knew it.
But she hadn’t come back and Rocco had told himself he didn’t want her back. Why would he want a wife who had deserted him—who had given up at the first hurdle? Yet despite her behaviour, his sense of duty went deep and his tenacity even deeper. He didn’t like failure and a shattered marriage fell very firmly into that category. So he had written to her, reminding her of the solemn vows they had made in church and suggesting they give their marriage another go.
She hadn’t even bothered to reply and Rocco had geared himself up to resist the demands for money he was certain would follow. He remembered his growing anticipation of the forthcoming battle—a battle he would certainly win—and his determination to bring her to her knees in court. It was the first moment of pleasure he had experienced in a long time. If she wanted his money then she was damned well going to have to fight him for it.
But...niente.
Nothing.
There had been no demands for alimony. Even the recent letter from her lawyers had simply requested that the marriage be formally ended. She had asked for nothing and somehow that had only intensified his rage.
His features were set as he undressed and stepped into the shower, but the powerful jets of cold water did little to ease his aching body as he pictured Nicole on the balcony, her rosy lips parted with pleasure as his fingers flicked over her heated flesh and brought her so tantalisingly close to orgasm.
As he towelled the icy droplets from his skin a renewed determination crept over him.
He would have her, he vowed silently as he willed his erection to subside. Because sex was the only thing which would rid him of her enduring memory.
And he would not wait much longer.
‘SO. HOW DO I LOOK? Does my appearance confirm your worst fears, Rocco, or will I pass the test?’
Nicole kept her words deliberately light as she walked into the vast sitting room where Rocco was standing with his back to her, staring through the open windows which overlooked the sea. Because what she was not going to do was beat herself up or crumple with shame when she allowed herself to remember how nearly she had succumbed to him earlier. It had happened. She hadn’t been expecting it to happen because she’d thought those kind of feelings had left her. But they hadn’t, had they? Rocco had melted the icy wall which had surrounded her for so long, and her image of herself as someone who could no longer feel desire had been shattered. Heart pounding, she had left him on the terrace and gone to find herself a bedroom in this vast house of his—glad to escape from his disturbing proximity. But she had lain down on the bed for a long time afterwards, her body trembling with frustrated desire, unable to get him out of her mind.
She let her gaze drift over him, wishing she could acquire some kind of immunity against him. Dressed in an immaculate dinner suit, his powerful body was silhouetted against the bright light of the Mediterranean but at the sound of her voice he turned round. And even though she tried to fight it, the brief, unguarded expression on his face filled her with pleasure. She’d seen that look of appreciation before—but usually when she was naked. Not when she was wearing a long dress which, apart from a scooped neck and bare arms, covered her body all the way down to her ankles. Fashioned from fine, black jersey it clung to her curves like a second skin and she had teamed it with black pumps and a black bag onto which she’d sewn lots of glittery sequins. The green of the sequins matched her dramatic green necklace and chandelier earrings, which gleamed whenever her wavy hair swayed.
His eyes narrowed as, slowly, they took in her appearance. ‘What happened?’ he questioned softly. ‘Did you rob a bank?’
‘I bought this dress from a market stall, as it happens.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the dress,’ he growled. ‘I meant the jewels.’
It was a small victory and Nicole couldn’t quite hold back her smile of triumph. ‘These? They’re fake, Rocco. Paste,’ she added. ‘I told you—nobody can tell the difference these days. And these were cheap enough for it not to matter if I lose one of the stones—not like the time that big diamond fell out of the bracelet you gave me on our wedding day and caused so much trouble with everyone having to hunt round for it.’ She was aware that she had started to babble, but maybe that was something to do with the fact that he was still looking at her as a lion might look at a lump of flesh, just before devouring it. And even worse—that she liked him looking at her like that. In her current state of frustrated arousal she could have let him look at her like that all day. She resumed her inane monologue about the wedding bracelet. ‘Still, at least we were able to get the money back on the insurance and I—’
‘Was that why you left behind all the jewellery I gave you?’ he interrupted suddenly. ‘Because you didn’t like it?
There was a short silence and she shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was a joint asset,’ she said. ‘And as such, wasn’t really mine to take. And I wanted...’
‘What did you want, Nicole?’
She met his gaze, uneasy at this sudden line of questioning from a man who had never cared about such things before. ‘A clean break, I think they call it.’
‘A clean break,’ he echoed, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. ‘Yes, of course. The modern, disposable marriage. If you try hard enough you can pretend it never happened.’
She opened her mouth to ask him what he had done to help save it but the sudden pain spearing through her made the words die in her throat. It didn’t matter what either of them had done or failed to do. Bottom line was that they’d messed up so and it still had the power to hurt. ‘Why rake up all this now, Rocco?’ she questioned, trying hard to keep her voice steady. ‘I thought the whole idea was for us to appear tonight as a couple who are trying to get it together—and we won’t convince anyone if we’ve been fighting. People can always tell if a couple have been rowing. So why don’t you tell me about