She tasted of sunshine and vanilla, of warmth and woman, and the way her lips moved under his told him he was not the only one involved in this kiss. She was there, every part of her. She was his. He gathered her to him with his free arm, finding that sweet spot in the curve of her spine that brought her fully against his aching length.
She gasped into his mouth but she didn’t fight, didn’t move away. Instead she settled even closer, the subtle squirm of her hips a sweet agony that he poured into his kiss, to her lips, to her cheeks, to her eyes. And everywhere he kissed just fuelled the need that had been building ever since she’d stepped out of that helicopter, a need that refused to be compartmentalized and set aside.
I want you
, he wanted to whisper, while his teeth nuzzled at her lobe. She trembled as if he’d said the words and threw her head back, forcing her breasts harder against his chest, so that he ached to free them and reacquaint himself with their satin perfection, longed to draw their pebbled peaks deep into his mouth.
Instead, he dragged in a lungful of air, fighting the urge to take her, right here, right now, on this lonely path high above the city, knowing it was madness when the paparazzi made
an art form of lying in wait and holding out for the perfect shot, and yet still having to fight the beast for supremacy.
She’d already made him wait so long—
too long
—but soon, he told himself, encouraged by her participation, there was no doubt in his mind that very soon he would have her again.
Hesitatingly, reluctantly, he slowed the kiss, drawing back as he loosened his arms around her. She opened her eyes, and he saw her bewilderment, sensed her disappointment and very nearly changed his mind.
‘We should get back,’ he said, wishing she would argue, wishing she would demand that he stay and kiss her again, needing a damned good reason to let her go. ‘I have a meeting I’m already late for,’ he said, trying to convince himself. ‘Besides which, we don’t want you catching a chill.’
And before his eyes her back seemed to stiffen, her expression cooling so quickly that he ached to turn back the clock and take back his words.
‘Of course,’ she said, tucking the hair that had so recently coiled thick and silkily around his fingers behind her ears as she turned away. ‘I’d hate to catch a chill.’
CHAPTER NINE
S
HE
was a fool. Forty-eight hours later, that was the only explanation Sienna could come up with as she paced to and fro under the dappled shade of the vine-covered terrace, her various text books lying open and abandoned on the table nearby.
Two nights ago she’d gone to sleep—eventually—with the memories of that cliff-path walk playing through her mind. They’d walked together along a cliff top path breathing fresh sea air scented with a myriad different wild flowers and herbs, and then he’d wrapped her hand in his as they’d gazed out over a view that was to die for. And then he’d kissed her, and the defensive walls she’d built around herself, and that he’d been unsettling ever since he’d found her poolside and asked her to walk with him, had been rocked apart.
He hadn’t pushed, hadn’t demanded a thing from her, and yet one simple kiss and all her defenses had been ready to crumble, like some impressionable teenager on her first date.
And for a moment there—just one tiny moment, when they’d looked out over the view and he’d asked her if she could be happy here—she’d almost imagined that he’d meant it, that he cared that she might be happy, and that he wanted her to stay. In that precious moment, and in the kiss that had followed, she’d felt the barriers she’d put up around herself
tremble and shake, and her emotions tilt and slide within their unsteady walls…
And then, with one simple line, he’d firmed her emotions and her resolve. He hadn’t wanted her to catch a chill. The temperature must have been in the mid-twenties Celcius with no more than a slight onshore breeze, and he had been worried about her catching a chill.
And his concern hadn’t been for her benefit.
She’d ceased being someone who merited concern in her own right when she’d become his own personal incubator.
Of course he wanted her to be happy here—he needed to know the mother of his children wasn’t about to take off unexpectedly, with or without them—but he’d done nothing to ensure her happiness. Merely expected it, just like he expected her to marry him.
Sienna looked wistfully over to the vacant helipad, wondering what she’d be up to and where she’d be flying now if she wasn’t trapped here on this island. And then she remembered why she was trapped and that she probably wouldn’t be flying anyway, and her heart sank even lower.
She turned her eyes in the direction of the books that lay open and accusing in front of her, and she questioned herself why it was that she was going along with everything as though she’d agreed to this marriage.
Maybe her work options were limited, at least while any shred of morning sickness remained, but after finding out how Rafe had betrayed her by continuing to plan a wedding she hadn’t agreed to, why the hell was she still here? It wasn’t as if one kiss on their walk that night was going to make Rafe forget the tiny detail she was pregnant and want to marry her for her own sake.
Fat chance.
He’d kissed her, and she’d felt—at least, she’d thought she’d
felt—that there was something there, some hint of caring for her, and it had taken her unawares and she’d kissed him back.
But that faint hope had turned to nothing more than dust when he’d turned around and urged her to go back inside for the sake of her unborn babies.
Was it too much to hope that he might actually care for her for her own sake? Was that really too much to ask?
What kind of man would expect her to be able to marry someone who didn’t love her?
She gazed out over the view, the blue sea and azure sky totally wasted on her. She’d promised herself it wouldn’t happen. Years of watching the pain her mother felt, loving a man who’d been forced into a marriage he didn’t want, years of watching her parents’ marriage stagnate and fester until it had imploded in grand style, had convinced her that she could never marry a man who didn’t love her.
And years of bearing the guilt that she’d been the one who’d forced her parents into a pointless marriage had made her more determined than ever that any child of hers would never be forced to bear that same burden.
‘
If it weren’t for you, I could have made something of my life
.’
‘
If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a care in the world
.’
‘
If it weren’t for you
…’
How many times, in how many different ways, had her father made her realize that everything wrong in his life was all down to her? All because he’d been forced into a marriage he didn’t want. All because of an unplanned pregnancy.
Rafe might be a different man from her father, but his motives were hardly pure. She couldn’t bear for her children to realize they hadn’t been born in love, to know that their father had only wanted them for political purposes.
She couldn’t bear it.
If she had to marry anyone, there was only one way it might
happen, only one way it could possibly work. If she had to marry anyone, he was damn well going to have to love her first.
Which meant that she couldn’t just wait for Rafe to have the time to notice her. Whatever had motivated Rafe into taking her for a cliff-top stroll last night—probably guilt that she’d found out his duplicity—he’d not bothered to seek her company today. She knew work was his priority right now. She knew and understood that his focus was on getting Montvelatte back onto a sound financial footing, but it was also clear that if she wanted him to fall in love with her, then she was going to have to try something more than a friendly conversation.
Sienna picked up the nearest phone and dialed the number that she knew would put her instantly in contact with Sebastiano’s office. The phone was answered almost immediately, the transfer to Sebastiano taking only moments longer.
‘Where can I catch up with Rafe tonight?’
‘Prince Raphael should not be expected back at the Castello before eleven p.m., possibly later.’
‘And where can I find him before then?’
There was hesitation at the end of the line. ‘Prince Raphael is currently attending a meeting of the casino finance managers at Casino de Velatte after which he’s due at a recital in the casino’s Crystal Ballroom.’
‘Perfect,’ said Sienna, already mentally trawling through the myriad evening gowns that hung in her endless closets. ‘Can you take me there?’
This time the pause was longer. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, signorina. He’s not expecting you—’
‘Please, Sebastiano, I know you don’t think me a suitable candidate for Montvelatte’s Princess, but if you won’t help me get off the island, you have to help me try to make this marriage work. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
She squeezed the telephone tight in her hand, holding her breath while she waited for Sebastiano’s response.
Finally his voice came. ‘Can you be ready at nine?’
She breathed out on a grateful sigh. ‘I’ll be ready.’
Sienna was learning the benefits of having her own staff on hand. A deep oil-scented bath had been drawn for her, plump warmed towels at the ready, a professional hair stylist had miraculously tamed her mass of fiery hair into a sleek updo that shone gold under the lights, and Carmelina had selected and laid out the perfect accessories to the gown she’d decided upon.
She should have felt relaxed after such royal treatment, but inside she felt a tight bundle of nerves that coiled and fizzed and all the while tangled tighter in anticipation. She gave herself a last look in the full-length mirror and smoothed the long satin gloves up her arms, wondering how Rafe would react when he saw her. The sea-green silk gown fitted her almost as snugly as the gloves, the skilful beading around the almost modest bodice-line catching the light like a city lit up at night. Her other gowns had been elegant and perfect princess wear. But tonight she didn’t want to play princess. She wanted to play seductress. He’d never seen her dressed in anything like this gown, and she could hardly wait to see his reaction. Then she spun around, glanced over her shoulder, and almost decided he never would.
The backless dress scooped low below her waistline, the beaded border hugging the dress tightly to the curves of her body and shouting
look at me
in the expensive language of designer couture.
She was no catwalk model used to strutting her stuff in make-up and high heels. She was a helicopter pilot more used to wearing overalls and a headset. Was she doing the right thing in trying to get his attention like this, or was she about to make a total fool of herself?
There was a discreet knock at the door. ‘Your car is ready,
signorina
,’ and the time to change her mind was past.
Carmelina nodded as she handed her the tiny purse that matched her shoes and a gossamer-thin wrap to hang from her elbows. ‘
Bella
,’ she simply said, nodding as Sienna turned for the door.
She descended the sweeping staircase to the ground floor, unable to slow her racing heart or calm her racing mind. Because if this didn’t work, if it made no impression on Rafe, and he still failed to see her as the woman she was but for the purpose he was marrying her, then what chance did she have? And what chance their marriage?
The car was waiting, as advised, in the pebbled portico, the duco of the vintage Alfa Romeo gleaming under the lighting. Sebastiano himself emerged to greet her, and for once the smile that greeted her looked more than duty-bound.
‘Signorina Wainwright,’ he said, with a bow, ‘I would be honoured to escort you to Casino de Velatte.’
‘You would?’
‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Thank you. And I want you to know I’ll tell Rafe this was all my idea. I would hate for him to hold you personally responsible.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said, with a look that was fully appreciative without losing a hint of respect, ‘I bow to your wisdom. I think this is a very good idea indeed.’
Either Rafe’s secretary seemed incredibly attuned to her state of nervousness, or he was simply good at relating Montvelatte small talk and delivering it in easily digestible chunks as the car wended its way down the mountainside to the city far below.
Whether it was because he thought she needed time to soak in the details, or whether it was because he knew that by
saying nothing she would have more time to dwell on—and panic about—the meeting that was to come, she neither knew nor cared. She was just grateful for the company and for the quiet reassurance his presence offered.
Before long the vineyards of the slope had given way to the poplar-lined river road, studded with gated estates and grove after grove of orange trees, and then they were in the city itself, heading towards the harbour on narrow streets squeezed between two-and three-storey buildings, or beside cafés where the patrons spilled out almost to the street.
Sienna gazed out of the window, watching the city and its people, dodging through the scooter-filled traffic, which carried elegant-looking dark-haired women and men with equally dark good looks, and sometimes what looked like entire families hanging on around the driver. There was colour here, life and action, and every trip to Velatte City she found more fascinating.
And then they were on the wide Boulevard Lombardi that separated the hotels and casinos that hugged the shoreline from the marina filled with the latest and greatest in nautical accessories. And there, in the middle of the strip, she could see the dome of their destination glowing green above the surrounding buildings.
‘Casino de Velatte is our oldest and most prestigious casino, often referred to as the jewel in Montvelatte’s crown,’ said Sebastiano from alongside. ‘The recital is being held as part of the Casino’s bicentennial celebrations.’
The car slowed as they approached, and land that had once been at a premium opened up before them in a series of gardens, each more beautiful than the next with their skilful plantings and water features, and cleverly designed to draw the eye up to where the gardens gave way to the towering forecourt of the grandest casino of them all.
Rafe hadn’t brought her here, and she looked at the building in awe. It should be a palace, she decided, as the car pulled up at the doors, the gleaming marble-tiled entrance way glowing gold in warm splashes of light from the crystal chandelier above.
Her door was opened from the outside, and Sienna stepped out into another world, a world featuring not just the opulence of the Castello, but an extravagance she’d never experienced before. Even over the scent of the perfumed garden and the salty tang of fresh sea air, she could almost smell the money.
She didn’t belong here
.
In a moment of panic she turned back towards the car, but then Sebastiano was at her side, taking her arm, stilling her retreat. He exchanged a few words with the concierge and then was guiding her forwards, through the doors that would lead her to Rafe, and she was never more afraid in her life. She was no seductress. She was no princess. She was a fraud, and there was no way everybody wouldn’t know it.
Inside was even more opulent, and the glances they attracted more openly curious, and if it hadn’t been for the guiding hand at her elbow, she would have fled in a heartbeat. Instead she was led deeper and deeper into the building, skirting around tables surrounded by the rich and elegant, accompanied by the click and roll of the roulette ball and the hushed murmurs of encouragement to the wheel, past some of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen, wearing figure-hugging gowns, and bearing trays of champagne.
Ushered into a lift adorned in the casino’s signature colours of gold, burgundy and navy blue, she let out a long breath.
‘You’re doing fine,’ said Sebastiano, alongside her, reading her like an open book.
She looked over at him, surprised at his encouragement.
‘I was wrong about you,’ he admitted. ‘I was afraid you
weren’t what you seemed, that you were wrong for Prince Raphael.’
The lift seemed to have lost all its air. She fanned her face with her hand. ‘And now?’
He smiled on a nod. ‘I think you will be perfect for him, and for Montvelatte.’
She dragged in a welcome breath. ‘Do you think he’s going to be angry about me coming here?’