The Italian's Wedding Ultimatum Read online

  "And so," he added simply, "would I. Now," he said, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her face up to his. "No more crying."

  "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I suppose," she said, blowing her nose on the tissue he handed her, "it's my hormones. Oh, dear." She grimaced. "I swore I wouldn't use that excuse."

  "What happened at the hospital?" He removed his hand from her stomach - a situation Sam viewed with some ambivalence - and sat on the arm of her chair. "Your friend is ill?"

  "No, it's Harry. He's three, Alessandro, just three. It's not fair, is it?" Sam swallowed, dropped her head, and felt his hand on her hair.

  "No, cara mia, it is not fair." As his fingers moved in a strong, sweeping motion down her tense spine she expelled a shuddering sigh and lifted her head.

  "He's got meningitis."

  "Dio mio!" Alessandro exclaimed. While of course he felt sympathy for the unfortunate innocent and his parents, his first concern was for Samantha and their unborn child. "You had contact?"

  She shook her head. "No, he was in Intensive Care, and they wouldn't let me go in. But I could see him through the glass and he looked so small, and there were tubes, and Rachel kept saying it was her fault. And I couldn't do anything." Her voice suspended by tears, Sam covered her face with both hands. "I felt so useless." she confessed in a muffled voice.

  With a muttered imprecation he slid into the chair beside her, pulling her bodily into his arms. Lifting her hair off her neck, he cradled her head in one hand while looking tenderly into her tear-drenched eyes, before pressing her face into his shoulder. "You were there for your friend when she needed you, Sam. You did what you could."

  Her entire body shook while she wept. Alessandro, judging that the release was what she needed, let her cry herself out.

  When the sobs began to subside he stopped stroking her head and urged gently, Tell me about it."

  The sobs stopped completely and she lifted her head, turning a tear-stained face to his. "You don't mean that."

  "I do not say things I do not mean."

  "That makes you a pretty unusual person," she observed. "I'm not normally a crying person," she added with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry." she said again, trying to get up from his lap.

  His hands tightened around her waist. "Stay put."

  It was so tempting to obey his casual command. There was something awfully comforting about being in his arms. "I'm heavy." She was actually deeply mortified by her emotional outburst, but amazingly he didn't appear half as dismayed as most men she knew would have been in similar circumstances.

  He shook his head. "Heavy! You are like a small bird," he observed, running a finger along the elegant curve of her collarbone. "Though mostly you remind me of a sleek, elegant feline. Delicate to look at, but not someone you'd like to face in a fight. You even have the eyes of a Siamese."

  "My being delicate doesn't seem to stop you fighting with me." she muttered.

  "With us, fighting is foreplay." He angled a teasing eyebrow, wicked amusement registering in his dark gaze as she flushed.

  "Well, I've not much room for comparison." When she got up he didn't try and stop her. Sam immediately wished he had.

  "I have," he slotted in, watching her walk towards the baby grand piano that stood in the comer. "So you must take my word on this. Let me rephrase that. I suggest that you take my word on this. I have already learned that issuing a prohibition does not have the desired effect with you. You really are a natural-born rebel."

  This extraordinary analysis of her behaviour made Sam, whose finger was poised above the keys, stare. "It's not me, it's you. I'd never broken a rule in my life before I met you."

  "Then I must be good for you." In one flowing motion that made her stomach flip, he rose and walked to her side, Leaning across her, he pressed a key. "You play?"

  "Not well," she said, trying hard to disguise what having his brown finger casually skim over her cheek did to her.

  "Now, tell me, how is little Harry?"

  Sam sighed. "The doctors weren't giving anything away, but Rachel's nanny was brilliant. She called an ambulance, and apparently in a situation like that minutes can make all the difference. This morning the doctors seemed a little bit more positive, and Simon - Rachel's husband - had arrived, so I was surplus to requirements."

  "You didn't sleep all night?" he observed, scanning her pale upturned features with a frown. "I know you wanted to offer support to your friend, but in your condition-"

  "Rachel doesn't know I'm pregnant," Sam cut in. "And I had to go. Simon was in New York, and her parents are in Cornwall. Her dad is pretty frail since his heart attack last year."

  Alessandro pinned the strand of gleaming copper hair that had lain across her cheek behind her ear. "Her husband arrived this morning?"

  Sam nodded and, unable to resist any longer, rubbed her cheek against his hand, which remained close to her face. "Apparently," she said, closing her eyes and smiling weakly, "he paid a small fortune for a seat on the next flight out. You know, just seeing him this morning seemed to give Rachel strength. It was amazing."

  Alessandro mulled over her words for a moment, then said in a voice that was strangely lacking in emotion, "So you are marrying me because you think I will make a good father?"

  "Well, you will," she countered, confused by the strong hint of affront in his manner.

  "Thank you." he said, not looking overjoyed by the compliment.

  He seemed to be waiting, so she added, "And a child needs two parents." And I need you, "But of course there must be some ground rules."

  Alessandro raised his brows, but didn't interrupt as she continued.

  "I'll try not to interfere with your life any more than absolutely necessary."

  His hand fell away from her face. "That is very good of you," he said, walking towards the carved Adam fireplace.

  "I'm a realist. I just want you to be discreet."

  Alessandro, who had been standing looking at the room reflected in the over-mantel mirror, spun back. "Can it be that you are giving me permission to take lovers? Does that mean you intend to take lovers, to satisfy your newly awakened appetite for sex?"

  The colour flew to her face. "What a question!"

  "You introduced the subject," he pointed out. "Do you not believe in equality of the sexes^"

  "Of course. But I'm surprised if you do."

  "If I am at liberty to seek entertainment outside the marriage bed, would it not be right for you to do the same?"

  The thought of any man other than Alessandro touching her filled her with repugnance. "I'm pregnant," she reminded him.

  "This is not something I am in any danger of forgetting."

  The dry insertion made her eyes slide from his. She didn't need reminding that this marriage wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for the baby.

  "When you have my ring on your finger I think you will find that I can satisfy you, and if our relationship continues as it has begun, moral issues aside - Oh, yes," he said, seeing her expression, "I am acquainted with morals."

  Sam belatedly realised that he was furious. "I didn't mean that-"

  "Moral issues aside," he gritted, ignoring her, "I will not have the energy to seek excitement outside the marriage bed."

  "So long as I amuse you."

  Alessandro's accent was significantly stronger as he ground out, "You do not amuse me. You infuriate and provoke me."

  "The feeling's mutual," she flared.

  Alessandro, his jaw clenched, said something under his breath.

  Sam's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to learn Italian, and then you won't be able to do that," she warned him.

  "You want to know what I said? No problem. I said I'm not going to fight with you."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we will end up in bed."

  Sam didn't know which upset her more - the assumption that they'd end up in bed, or the implication that it was somewhere he wanted to avoid!

  "And, as much as
I would like to, you need to rest."

  "I suppose I should go home." she admitted, slightly mollified by his qualification and the frustrated gleam in his eyes.

  "No need. You can stay here, where I can keep an eye on you."

  It turned out he meant it quite literally. When Sam woke it was around three in the morning, in a strange bed. It took her a little while to recollect why she was in a strange bed wearing her underwear, and a few seconds longer to notice the figure in the armchair.

  Alessandro was sitting with his hands resting on his thighs, his body hunched forward.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, struggling into a sitting position.

  "Watching you. I like watching you."

  The throaty confidence sent a sharp thrill of sexual excitement through her body. No longer feeling at all sleepy, she threw back the covers and patted the bed. "You can watch me just as well from here."

  Even though he was sitting several feet away, she could hear the raw sound of his harsh inhalation.

  "I like to watch you too," she said as he rose to his feet, a dark, shadowy figure. "Even if you just want to sleep," she added, in case he thought she was being pushy.

  Sam heard the sound of a zip being unfastened and swallowed.

  "You will find, cara, that I actually need very little sleep." But one thing Alessandro had discovered he could not do without was a redhead with eyes like the sea.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The wedding took place a week later, in a tiny chapel on Alessandro's Tuscan estate which was just as spectacularly lovely as Emma had suggested.

  There were few people in attendance. Besides her parents, Sam had invited Emma and Paul. Other than his sister and Dorothy Smith, Alessandro had invited half a dozen close friends, but the only one Sam was conscious of was the dark-haired beauty who appeared to be in tears when she embraced Alessandro after the ceremony, Marisa Sinclair.

  Sam sealed her feelings behind a frozen smile, while inside her hurt and fury silently grew. Neither emotion found any release until after the wedding meal, which had been served in a room where the ceiling was covered in the most incredible frescoes. They and their guests, carrying drinks, had drifted out through the wide doors into the palazzo gardens.

  Sam was talking to the best man, whom she would have considered the best-looking male she had even seen if she hadn't seen Alessandro first, when Emma hurried over. She thrust a slim mobile phone at Sam and announced, "You'll want to hear this personally."

  As Sam stood there, emotional tears of relief streaming down her cheeks, Emma explained to the best man, "Our friend's little boy has been very ill in hospital, and the doctors have just given him the all-clear."

  When Sam had finished talking to Rachel, Emma took back the phone.

  "Kind of makes the day perfect, don't you think?" she said happily. "Will you tell Alessandro the good news or shall I... ?"

  "You do it," said Sam.

  "Any idea where?" began Emma, looking around.

  Look for the gorgeous brunette and you should find him, thought Sam, but said, "I think he was on the terrace."

  Sam had just finished receiving a lecture on the antiquity and history of mepakizzo from Dorothy Smith when Alessandro materialized at her side.

  "Do you mind if I borrow my bride for one minute, Smithie?"

  "Well, considering you have her for the rest of your life I consider that selfish. But who am I to stand in the way of true love? "

  Sam was so embarrassed by the comment that she couldn't even look at Alessandro as he drew her indoors.

  "A lot of books," she said, looking around the room - anywhere rather than at him as he closed the door. In her head she was seeing the beautiful lawyer with her arms wound around his neck. She pressed her fingers to her drumming temples. Suddenly crimes of passion made a lot more sense.

  "That is not uncommon for a library."

  Sam made herself look at him, He looked, of course, totally incredible. Every long, lean inch of him so rampantly male that her stomach muscles quivered. "What do you want, Alessandro?" she asked, wiping her damp palms along the silk skirt of her wedding gown.

  "I want a wife who can behave with some degree of circumspection," he announced frigidly.

  Sam did not have to pretend total incomprehension as she stared at him. "What?" For the first time she registered the anger in his body language.

  "You will not make assignations with Jonny Trelevan."

  Sam's wide eyes attached themselves to the nerve leaping in his lean cheek.

  "In fact," he decreed autocratically, "as you obviously have no self-control or sense of what is fitting where he is concerned, in the future you will not be alone with that man."

  The throbbing silence stretched, until Sam drew a long, shaky breath and, planting her hands on her slim hips, walked towards him. "For starters," she said, her voice shaking as she fought to control her anger, "I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about... assignations?"

  Alessandro's lip curled contemptuously as he dragged a hand through his dark hair. "Before we dined you vanished, and so did Trelevan." One dark brow elevated. "A coincidence?" he suggested. "I don't think so."

  "You think I-?" She broke off, shaking her head incredulously as she drew in air through her flared nostrils. "I'm really touched by your faith in me," she choked bitterly, "and I'm sorry I can't live down to your expectations of me. But if you had taken the trouble you might also have noticed that my mother was not in the room either. I spilled some wine on my dress." She touched her shaking hand to the spot on the pearl-encrusted bodice of her gown where the liquid had spilled. "Mum was sponging it off. You could always ask her to confirm my story - though of course," she added sarcastically, "She might be covering for me."

  The muscles in Alessandro's brown throat worked as his eyes locked with hers. "Your mother?"

  Sam nodded, and watched the dark color rise up his neck.

  His jaw tightened another notch, and a hint of defensiveness entered his voice as he said, "Trelevan was not in the room."

  "You really do have a nerve, Alessandro."

  "I might," he conceded stiffly, "have made a mistake."

  "I know I've made a mistake. I walked up the aisle," she retorted, too angry to notice that her comment had made the color leave his face. "You're acting like a little boy who doesn't want to share his toys with another kid." As she saw the incredulous anger flare in his eyes she realized the analogy might have been better.

  "Madre di Dio, I am a man who doesn't want to share his wife with another man. And if you flout me on this, Samantha, you will find I do more than throw a tantrum."

  "I don't think under the circumstances anyone would blame me for slipping off into the shrubbery for a snog." Ignoring his hissing inhalation, Sam continued in the same hard, angry voice. "My h.. .husband invites his mistress to the wedding!" she yelled. "And then has the cheek to fling around ultimatums!"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about." Alessandro, conscious of the dull roar of blood thundering in his ears, could see very little but the image her angry words had implanted in his skull. His wife in another man's arms.

  Sam released an incredulous laugh. "I'm talking," she told him, "about Marisa Sinclair - your mistress - who you expect me to smile at and say Delighted to meet you. Well, I'm not!" she cried, catching her trembling lower lip between her teeth and dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm not at all happy!"

  A shuttered look came over his face. "Marisa is an old and valued friend."

  "Oh, is that what they call it now?" she sneered. "You know, she is much prettier in the flesh than she looked in the newspapers - but then you already know that, don't you?"

  Alessandro studied her face for a moment, before saying quietly, "You have nothing to fear from Marisa."

  "You mean you're not sleeping with her any longer? Gosh," she intoned sarcastically, "I feel better already-because you always tell me the truth."

&nb
sp; "I do not wish to discuss my relationship with Marisa with you. It is not relevant to us." Alessandro, whose breathing had steadied, added softly, "You've never seemed jealous that Jonny has Katerina, but the idea of me with Marisa."

  "I'm not in-" Sam stopped abruptly, her eyes sliding from his as the color rushed to her pale cheeks. "I'm not married to him. Now," she went on backing towards the door, "I need to get out of this-" she fingered the strapless neckline of her wedding gown "-if we're to get back to London tonight."

  "Did I say? You look very beautiful today, Samantha."

  His accented voice sent shivers up her spine.

  "No, you didn't say," she admitted huskily as, her hand on the door handle, she spun back. She glanced down at the slim silk dress that revealed the creamy upper slopes of her breasts and clung to her still-slender waist before flaring out from the hip to swish sexily around her legs. "My mum helped me choose it."

  "The dress?" He dismissed the designer creation with a graceful wave of his hand. "I was not talking about the dress. I am sorry we have to get back tonight, but I promise we will have a honeymoon."

  She was within a hair's breadth of responding to the earthy invitation in his eyes when she recalled that he had offered no concrete explanation or even an apology for Marisa Sinclair's presence. Lips set in a hard line, she enquired bitterly, "Is Marisa coming too?"

  As she fled, before he could respond to her sarcastic retort, it hit her: I'm married. No matter how many times she said it, it still didn't feel real.

  The next day, back in London, her sense of unreality persisted. They had arrived so late the night before that she had fallen asleep fully dressed on the big four-poster. When she'd woken later that night she'd been wearing her underclothes. In the darkness she had made out Alessandro's profile. She'd lain there listening to the even sound of his breathing, experiencing a longing as strong as the one which caused her to breathe - a longing to feel his skin against her own, to taste him, to merge with him.

  It had been only the memory of their unresolved argument and the painfully awkward journey back to London that had held her back.

  It was light when she next woke, and Alessandro was already up and dressed. She barely had time to register his silent presence at her bedside and recall that he was now her husband, even if she didn't feel married, when she had to dash to the bathroom.