His Virgin Bride: The Fiorenza Forced Marriage / Bought: For His Convenience or Pleasure? / A Night With Consequences

Emma gaped at him. ‘You did what?’

‘You are now employed by me to act as my wife. I do not want people speculating on whether this marriage is the real deal or not. What if a client needed you to live in for weeks on end? No one would expect any wife of mine to be employed and certainly not as a carer.’

‘Well, no husband of mine would ever expect me to give up the job I love to pander to his needs,’ Emma tossed back.

‘I am not asking you to pander to my needs, but if you feel the need to do so I will not stop you.’

She gave him a blistering glare. ‘What am I supposed to do all day? Laze about the pool and paint my nails? I’ll go stark staring mad.’

‘Think of it as a holiday, Emma,’ he said. ‘You can explore a hobby or two. Most of the women I know would give anything for a year to indulge themselves at a rich man’s expense.’

‘You really need to widen your circle of women friends,’ Emma said in a crisp tone. ‘Most of the women I know value their self-respect and independence too much to be indulged like a spoilt child.’

‘I am sure you will adapt very quickly,’ he said. ‘After all, you have had plenty of practice while living with my father as your sugar daddy. Money is your motive and always has been, has it not? Why else would you be marrying me if it was not for the money?’

Emma ground her teeth. ‘I don’t want the money for myself,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t dream of agreeing to any of this. Do you think I want to be married to someone as loathsome as you?’

A muscle leapt in his jaw. ‘Careful, Emma,’ he warned. ‘I will not tolerate insults from you once we are married.’

Her chin came up at a defiant angle. ‘If you insult me I will insult you straight back.’

His eyes glinted. ‘I will enjoy taming you, Emma March,’ he said. ‘You are a little wildcat under that demure façade, are you not? I can see the passion in your eyes; they flash with it like twin flames of grey and blue.’

Emma felt her stomach go hollow at the sensual threat behind his statement. Her heart was suddenly racing, her skin prickling all over and her face hot with colour. If it weren’t for Simone and Chelsea, she would tell him right here and now where he could put his money and his villa. But then how many times had her sister stood in the line of fire for her? Simone had taken many a slap intended for Emma; she had even had her arm broken once when she had blocked their father from lashing out at her in a fit of rage. It was not going to be easy, but surely Emma owed her sister this chance. Rafaele might not be Emma’s choice of husband material, but at least it was only a temporary arrangement.

She gave him a flinty look and moved past him to pour a cup of coffee. It annoyed her to see her hand shaking as she did so, but she comforted herself that her back was turned towards him so he couldn’t see.

‘The lawyer will be here at three p. m.,’ Rafaele said. ‘In the meantime I have some work to see to in my study. If there is anything else you need for tomorrow let me know and I will see to it that you have it.’

She cradled her coffee-cup in both of her hands as she looked at him. ‘Thank you but, no, there’s nothing I need.’

‘What about your friends?’ he asked. ‘Is there anyone you would like to attend the ceremony?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Most of my friends are in Australia. I have a couple of new acquaintances I made while I was living in Milan but no one here.’

‘What about your family?’ he asked. ‘Obviously it is too short a notice to get them here for the wedding, but have you told them?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s only my sister and my niece, but I didn’t want to worry them.’

He frowned at her. ‘What do you mean?’

She gave him a level stare. ‘My sister has always been very protective of me,’ she said. ‘If I told her I was marrying a virtual stranger she would have a blue fit.’

Rafaele rubbed at his jaw for a moment. ‘What if she finds out some other way? An announcement or photo in the press, for instance?’

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as she put her coffee-cup back on the counter. ‘I hadn’t thought about that…’

‘I have been doing some thinking,’ he said. ‘To give our marriage some sort of credibility we shall have to tell anyone who asks we met when you first began to look after my father and up until now we have conducted a long-distance relationship.’

‘Do you think that will work?’ she asked.

‘It will have to work. I do not want the world to know I have been manipulated into a loveless marriage by my father’s machinations from the grave.’

‘I’m not going to lie to my sister,’ she said with a spark of defiance in her eyes.

‘As far as I see it you have already done so by omission,’ he pointed out. ‘Concealing the truth is the same as lying in my book.’

She gave him an arch look. ‘And yet you are prepared to lie to the world about your relationship with me.’

‘I am prepared to compromise quite a few of my standards in order to secure what is rightly mine, including sleeping with the enemy if she so desires.’

Her eyes flashed at him again. ‘This particular enemy has no such desire.’

He smiled and stepped closer, close enough to take her chin between his index finger and thumb. ‘Are you prepared to lay some money down on that, Emma?’ he asked in a silky tone.

He felt her tremble under his touch and his groin leapt in response. Her mouth was like a soft, plump cushion of pink flesh just begging to be kissed. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. He lowered his head, slowly, watching as her eyes widened before her lashes began to come down, her lips parting slightly, her sweet breath mingling with his, giving him all the invitation he needed.

Emma came to her senses just in time. She slipped out of his light hold, her heart hammering, her breath catching and her senses on fire. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she said, rubbing at her chin as if he had burnt her.

‘I was doing what you were all but begging me to do,’ he answered smoothly.

She glared at him. ‘I was doing nothing of the sort. You touched me. I didn’t touch you.’

‘You will have to touch me tomorrow. In fact you will have to kiss me in front of the congregation, so perhaps we should rehearse it a couple of times now.’

Emma couldn’t quite control the flutter of nerves in her belly. ‘I-I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she faltered. ‘Surely we can just…you know…wing it at the time…’

He gave a wry smile. ‘Wing it?’

‘Ad lib,’ she said. ‘You know…go on instinct…’

His eyes darkened to black pools of ink. ‘I thought that was exactly what I was just doing,’ he said, ‘and so were you if you were honest with yourself.’

‘Maybe I was thinking of your father,’ she said, even though she knew it would infuriate him. Better that than admit to him how much she had wanted him to kiss her. That was just asking too much of her pride, battered as it was.

His features went tight with anger. ‘You gold-digging little whore,’ he bit out savagely. ‘I swear to God you will not be thinking of my father when I finally take you to my bed.’

His confidence fuelled Emma’s defiance. She gave her head a little toss and gave him a taunting look. ‘That is not part of the deal, Rafaele, remember? If you want the goods on display, then you will have to pay extra for them.’

A nerve pulsed like a jackhammer at the side of his mouth. ‘Goddamn you,’ he ground out. ‘I am not paying another penny for a cheap little tramp like you. When you come to me you will do so because you want it so badly you cannot help yourself.’

Emma stood her ground as he brushed past her in a swish of anger-filled air that lifted the strands of hair about her face. She closed her eyes once the door clicked shut behind him, her chest deflating on an expelled breath, her throat tight with the effort of holding back a stray and totally unexpected sob.

* * *

Emma heard the lawyer arrive just on three in the afternoon and made her way downstairs to the library. She wished she had thought to ask Rafaele what he intended to tell his legal advisor about their relationship. As she came into the room she looked at him for guidance but his expression was impenetrable.

Brief introductions were made and she sat down and began reading through the wordy documents, deliberately taking her time before she signed the places marked with a sign-here sticker. Emma had no problem with signing a pre-nuptial agreement—several of her friends back home in Australia had done so when they had begun living with their partners or got married. She totally understood Rafaele’s position, he couldn’t risk a division of his assets upon their inevitable divorce, but somehow she wished things were different between them. She wasn’t used to people taking an instant dislike to her. Even her parents, for all their faults, had not really hated her; they had just loved their drugs more.

She signed the last place and gave the lawyer a smile. ‘Thank you for going to the trouble of printing a copy for me in English.’

‘Prego.’

Once the lawyer had left Rafaele turned to Emma. ‘I have left my mother’s dress and veil in the dressing room upstairs. If it is not suitable will you let me know immediately so I can come up with an alternative?’

Emma arched her brows at him. ‘You must have some very fancy connections in that little black book of yours if you can come up with wedding finery at short notice.’

‘There are certain advantages in being extremely wealthy,’ he returned with a stretch of his lips that was almost, but not quite, a smile.

‘Yes, well, you’re lucky, I suppose, that you’ve got that going for you in compensation for your other numerous shortcomings,’ she said with a pert tilt of her chin.

‘If you are looking for an apology for this afternoon’s discussion I am not going to give it to you,’ he said.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to be civil,’ she threw back. ‘I know that about you at the very least.’

His black-brown gaze clashed with hers. ‘You will know a whole lot more about me before this marriage is over, let me assure you.’

She gave a bored sigh and folded her arms across her chest. ‘I can hardly wait.’

Rafaele felt his control slipping. She was goading him deliberately, making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. He had never met a more infuriating woman, or a more desirable one. He wanted her so badly his body burned with it. The blood was already thick and heavy in his groin, the pulse of lust so strong he could feel it pounding in his ears. But acting on it was out of the question, or at least until they were officially married. She stood between him and his last link with his father. If he made a wrong move now she might pull the plug just to spite him. How could he trust her? For all he knew she might have cooked this scheme up with that cold-hearted bitch Sondra Henning. They could share the spoils of their victory, leaving him with nothing.

He was not going to let that happen.

He rearranged his features and forced his tense shoulders to relax. ‘This is not getting us anywhere,’ he said. ‘We are arguing like children in a playground. Tomorrow is going to be difficult enough for both of us.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said. ‘That is why I am going to have an early night. If you want dinner you will have to make it yourself.’

Rafaele frowned at her churlish expression. ‘I do not expect you to prepare my meals, Emma. That is what I have a housekeeper for. I have employed a temporary one to fill in until my father’s lady returns from leave. She will start next week. I could not get anyone any sooner.’

‘Have you told her our marriage is not a real one?’

‘I did not see the necessity to do so,’ he said.

‘Isn’t she going to think it rather unusual we will not be sharing a bedroom?’

‘Many couples do not share a bedroom for a variety of reasons,’ he said. ‘I will tell her I am a very light sleeper if you like.’

‘Fine,’ she said and turned to leave.

‘Emma?’

He heard her draw in a breath of petulance as she turned back to face him. ‘Yes?’

He searched her features for a beat or two. ‘I hope I do not need to remind you that I expect you to refrain from bringing any of your lovers back here to the villa.’

She arched her brows at him. ‘Do I get the same guarantee from you?’

‘Any affairs I conduct will be discreet.’

Her eyes flashed with sparks of grey-blue hatred. ‘If you embarrass me publicly, then I swear to God I will do the same to you.’

Rafaele held her feisty glare. ‘Do so at your peril, Emma. You might think you have got the upper hand now your goal of marrying a rich man is just hours away, but do not forget who you are dealing with. My father might have been a weak-willed pushover, but you will not find me so easy to manipulate. You put one foot out of line and you will live to regret it. I will make sure of it.’

She gave him an insolent look. ‘Do you have any idea how much I loathe and detest you?’

His mouth tilted in a mocking smile. ‘If it is even half of what I feel for you, then I would say we are in for a very entertaining year of marriage.’

‘I am not staying married to you any longer than necessary,’ she said with another defiant glare. ‘Once I have what I want I am leaving.’

‘Believe me, Emma Money-Hungry March,’ he drawled dryly, ‘I will be the first on hand to help you pack your bags.’

She looked as if she was going to fling another retort his way, but suddenly seemed to change her mind. Instead she pressed her lips tightly together and brushed past him, her gait stiff with haughtiness. It was only later, much later, that he recalled seeing a glisten of moisture in her eyes before she had lowered them out of the reach of his.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN Emma came downstairs the following morning wearing the wedding dress and veil Rafaele’s mother had worn on her wedding day he felt a shock wave of reaction go through him. She had styled her chestnut hair into a smooth princess-like chignon at the back of her head, her flawless face lightly made up with foundation and eye-shadow and just a hint of blusher on her cheeks. Her lips were a glossy pink and the fragrance she wore floated down towards him with every cautious step she took as the dress’s train followed her down the stairs.

He felt his throat go dry and had to swallow a couple of times to clear it enough to speak. ‘You look very beautiful, Emma,’ he said. ‘I have never seen a more stunning bride.’

‘I feel like a dreadful fraud,’ she said with a little downturn of her mouth.

He took her by the elbow and led her out to where his car and driver were waiting. ‘This is going to be the easy part. The priest tells us what to say and we say it. You have probably been to or seen enough weddings on television to know how to act. Just smile constantly and look adoringly at me.’

She gave him a surly look without responding.

He settled her into the limousine and took the seat beside her, holding her hand in his. ‘Stop frowning, Emma,’ he said. ‘Think about the money that is going to be in your bank account at the end of today. Surely that should bring a smile to any woman’s face.’

She turned her head away to look out of the window. ‘I can’t wait for this to be over,’ she said.

Rafaele felt the slight tremble of her fingers where they were resting against his. He gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘Do not worry, Emma, it soon will be.’

The ceremony was very traditional even if the bride and groom had arrived in the same car, Emma thought as she mechanically repeated her vows. Then the moment came when the priest instructed the groom to kiss his bride. Emma could feel the anticipation of the congregation as Rafaele gently lifted the veil off her face. Her breathing came to a jerky halt in her chest as his eyes locked on hers. Her heart began to thud as he brought his head down, his warm, mint-fresh breath caressing the surface of her lips before he pressed his against them in a kiss that went from feather-light to red-hot passion within a heartbeat. Sensation exploded inside her as his tongue slipped through the softly parted shield of her lips to mate with hers in a blatant act of possession that sent electric shivers up and down her spine. Her breasts tightened and tingled simultaneously, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand upright and would have melted in a pool at Rafaele’s feet if his hand hadn’t been pressed to the small of her back, holding her against his rock-hard body. She felt the stirring of his groin against her, making her even more acutely aware of the formal ties that now bound them.

When he finally lifted his mouth off hers, Emma gave a tremulous smile for the benefit of the congregation, or at least that was what she told herself at the time. Rafaele smiled back, a warm, generous smile that made his eyes go very dark and the lines about his mouth relax, making him look all the more irresistibly handsome.

After the register was signed Emma stood sipping a glass of champagne an hour or so later, smiling until her face ached as she was introduced to the various colleagues and friends Rafaele had invited at short notice. Numerous people raved about her dress, remarking how it had made the wedding all the more special to think she had worn it in honour of Rafaele’s much-loved mother.

One woman in particular, someone who had known Gabriela Fiorenza personally, came and spoke to Emma while Rafaele was engaged in a conversation elsewhere. ‘I am so very glad Rafaele has found someone like you,’ she said in heavily accented English. ‘He always said he would never fall in love and marry, but that is because he did not want to end up like his father. Valentino did not handle Gabriela’s death very well. He had been in love with her practically since childhood. And then losing poor Giovanni…’ The woman crossed herself. ‘God rest his soul.’

Emma wanted to ask what had happened to Rafaele’s younger brother, but realised it might appear strange if she did so. As his bride she would be expected to know everything there was to know about Rafaele and his family, but, she realised with an unnerving quiver deep inside her belly as she met his gaze across the room, she knew very little…

Once the official photographs were taken and the wedding cake cut, Rafaele led her out to the car where the driver transported them back to the villa.

He turned to her once they were inside. ‘I will leave you to get changed. It has been a long day. I will see to the electronic transfer of the funds I promised you, also I have some stocks and shares to look up on my computer, which may take some time, so if you will excuse me, I will say goodnight.’

‘Rafaele?’

His expression locked her out. ‘The money is yours, Emma,’ he said. ‘That is what you wanted, was it not?’

She rolled her lips together, her eyes falling away from his. ‘Yes…’ she said. ‘Yes, it is…’

‘I will see you in the morning.’

Emma lifted her gaze, but he was already striding away down the hall towards the study as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

Emma barely caught sight of Rafaele during the next couple of days. He came in late at night and left before she was up in the morning, which should have made her feel relieved but somehow didn’t.

She did, however, get some measure of comfort from transferring Simone the funds to clear away the debt. She even decided to come clean and tell her sister about her marriage to Rafaele in case it was reported in the press back in Melbourne. Simone was shocked and expressed her concern about Emma marrying a man she barely knew, but Emma tried to reassure her by pointing out Valentino Fiorenza would never have insisted on such a scheme if he had not trusted his son to do the right thing by her.

‘You’re not going to do something stupid like fall in love with this man, are you, Emma?’ Simone asked.

‘Of course not!’ Emma laughed off the suggestion but later, after she had ended the call, she wondered if she had tempted fate by being quite so adamant. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers and her belly gave a little twitch-like movement every time she thought of his tongue moving against hers.

The last thing she wanted to do was to develop feelings for Rafaele, but as she moved about the property she couldn’t help thinking what it must have been like for him and his younger brother growing up without a mother. Every time she walked through the villa or gardens she imagined two little bewildered boys wandering around the huge mansion and grounds without the comfort and nurture of their mother. In many ways it reminded her of her own childhood, but at least she had had Simone to turn to. But then that also brought it home to her how lonely Rafaele’s childhood must have been after the death of his younger brother Giovanni. Rafaele had only been ten years old at the time. The large rooms, though beautiful, were formal and rather ostentatious, the many priceless paintings and objets d’art clearly not conducive to the presence of a young child.

As she had guessed, Rafaele had chosen not to occupy his father’s suite and instead had placed his things in one of the suites on the third level. For days Emma had felt uncomfortable even walking past his private domain, although she felt inexplicably drawn to the room every time she walked past to her own suite further along the hall. Finally she could stand it no longer, and, once she was confident she was alone in the villa, she opened the door and went in.

The huge bed was neatly made and several books were sitting on the bedside table, all but one of them in English. She could smell the trace of citrus in his aftershave lingering in the air and her nostrils automatically flared to take more of it in.

The sunlight slanted in at the windows, the dust motes rising like tiny wraiths in the air. Before she was even aware of what she was doing Emma moved across the room to sit on the bed, the creak of protesting springs sounding like a warning in the silence. She ran her hand over the pillow, smoothing out the indentation where his head had lain the night before.

She wondered if this had been his room while growing up at The Villa Fiorenza, but if it had been it held no trace of his previous occupation. His brother’s room on the nursery floor, on the other hand, was like a shrine. When she had gone in there for the first time a few days ago she had been more than a little taken aback to find the wardrobe still contained his clothes; his shoes were still lying at the bottom with his socks stuffed inside as if at any moment he were coming back to claim them. His toys and junior soccer trophies lined every available surface and, even more disturbingly, the urn with his ashes held pride of place on the mantel above the fireplace. Emma had found it a little creepy being in there. She felt as if the house wasn’t quite ready to let Giovanni Fiorenza leave even though, according to the inscription on the urn, he had died twenty-three years ago.

She looked at the photograph hanging on the wall; Giovanni had been as dark as his brother with the same deep brown eyes, but there was a relaxed and friendly openness about his features that wasn’t present in his brooding older brother’s. The photograph portrayed Rafaele as a rather serious young boy who looked as if he were carrying the weight of the world upon his thin shoulders.

Even though Emma had been in every room in the villa by now she had seen not a single photograph of Rafaele in the years since his brother had died.

She couldn’t help wondering why.

Emma was in the salon falling asleep over a book the following evening when Rafaele came into the room. She put the book to one side and got to her feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in case he somehow sensed where she had been mooching around earlier.

‘That looks like a riveting read,’ he remarked dryly.

She gave him a sheepish look. ‘I guess I must be a little tired. I should have been in bed an hour ago.’