Chapter Twelve
Vincenzo
THE ORGASM THAT hits me is the most intense I’ve experienced in years—if ever—and for long moments afterwards, all I can do is simply hold Caterina against the side of the pool, my mind blank, mainly with astonishment at myself.
I was supposed to seduce her slowly and with patience, not dive into the water because I couldn’t wait, not to mention shoving her up against the side of the pool and taking her roughly. I’ve never lost control with a woman. Not ever.
But…the way she knew I was there, watching her, even though I was sure I hadn’t betrayed myself, had delighted me.
She drew me irresistibly to her like a siren on a rock.
Pale and lovely in the water with her hair smooth and silky and wet down her back.
Her thick black lashes were jewelled with water drops that made her eyes look like sea emeralds, and even though I should have walked away, I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I wanted to confront her with the reason she left our dinner, to make sure she knew that our attraction was mutual, and when she swam to the side of the pool, her green eyes dark and challenging, I’d only intended to give her a brief kiss, the start of my seduction.
Yet I hadn’t expected her to be the one to kiss me then swim away, as if this was a game we were playing.
I don’t chase women, but I ended up chasing her, because that kiss lit a spark inside me and that spark became a blaze that threatened to consume me whole.
I almost dove into the water there and then, but I managed to restrain myself.
I wasn’t going to dive fully dressed into a pool simply because I wanted one pretty woman.
You goaded her into taking her underwear off.
Yes, I did. But my conscience wasn’t working all that well and I wanted to see how far I could push her. How far she would let herself be pushed. She wanted me, I knew that, and it became obvious the moment she took off her bra and knickers, her pale body completely naked beneath the water.
So fucking beautiful. I should have needed more of a push than what she gave me, daring me to swim after her, but it turned out that I didn’t.
I was barely conscious of anything beyond my own need as I dove into the water, reaching for her and pulling her into my arms. Then she was wet and slippery and her mouth was hot and sweet, and I lost all sense of myself.
There was only her, the soft press of her breasts against my chest and the silk of her hair in my fist, her sweetness on my tongue.
I’d had her up against the side of the pool before I knew what I was doing and then the first press inside her…
She was hot and tight, and the movement of her hips against mine drove me mad.
Then the taste of her as she came, her little screams and growls, the pressure of her thighs clenching around my waist…
You hurt her.
Cold snakes through my post-orgasmic haze. I…think I did, yes. She cried out and tensed, and of course she would, because she’s a good, virginal daughter of the families.
I’ve hurt a good many people in my time, and not felt one flicker of regret, yet the thought of hurting her…
I look down at her dark head resting against my shoulder. She’s shivering.
‘Caterina.’ I cup her chin, tilting her head back so I can look into her eyes. ‘Are you all right?’
Her gaze is dark, the brilliant green muted, yet her cheeks are flushed and her mouth looks full and swollen from my kiss. She’s so beautifully wrecked by me, I want to growl with satisfaction.
‘Yes,’ she says, sounding dazed.
‘I hurt you.’
‘Only for a moment.’ She winces. ‘My back is sore, though.’
I tug her forward and that’s when I see the scrapes down her spine from where I pressed her against the stone side of the pool. And a curiously sharp burst of anger goes through me, at myself and my fucking lack of control. Because I know what happens when I lose it; people tend to die.
You also had sex with her without a condom.
That should make the situation a thousand times worse, yet even as my anger smoulders, a part of me, the wolf, is pleased that I’ve claimed her for himself. Pleased at the prospect of a child.
It’s a primitive thought and one I shouldn’t embrace, yet everything in me embraces it all the same. She’s mine now. Mine in every way, and there can be no letting her go. She’ll remain my wife, rule at my side, and bear my children. This will be a marriage in every way there is.
But will that be what she wants?
I don’t like the murmurs of my conscience and ignore it as I get us both out of the pool. There are towels on all the sun loungers, so I sit her down on one and start drying her, being careful with the scratches on her back.
She shivers deliciously as I touch her, gazing at me from beneath thick black lashes. ‘You look very serious all of a sudden,’ she murmurs. ‘Was it that bad?’
I’m kneeling on the stone pavers in front of her and the instant after she says the words I grip her chin firmly in my hand and force her to look at me. ‘That wasn’t bad,’ I say, suddenly ferocious. ‘That was fucking poetry.’
She blinks, searching my face as if she doesn’t quite believe me. ‘Oh…’ Colour flushes her cheeks. ‘Oh…well. I have nothing to compare it to and I thought that look on your face meant—’
‘That look on my face means I’ve decided you’re my wife in every way there is,’ I interrupt, forceful now. ‘You’ll be in my bed every night and once all the families are united, we’ll rule over them together. You’ll be the mother of my children and—’
‘Absolutely the fuck not.’ Her ready temper ignites, green and gold sparks glittering in her eyes. ‘Are you insane?’
I grip her tighter. I will not be denied, not on this. ‘I’m not. Why do you think I married you?’
But her gaze doesn’t even flicker. ‘To get my father’s loyalty. At least that’s what you told me.’
‘Gattina.’ I struggle to keep a grip on my temper, since getting angry with her will only make things worse. ‘It was always going to be a real marriage at some point, surely you must know that?’
She has no such qualms. ‘How would I know?’ she demands. ‘You didn’t tell me what else you were intending beyond having sex with your mistress tonight.’
Ah, Dio. She’s not going to let me get away with anything, is she?
‘Well, I’m telling you now,’ I say, refusing to feel any shame about the fact that I wasn’t exactly clear when I kidnapped her. ‘That’s what I intend.’
‘In that case, no.’ She jerks her chin from my fingers. ‘I want freedom, Vincenzo Argenti, not another cage.’
My grip on my temper slips and it flares in response to hers. This isn’t going the way I want it to, and I have a feeling that it’s my fault.
Of course it’s your fault. You’re treating her like an object again. The way your father treated your mother.
This time I can’t ignore the thought, or the shame that comes with it.
I swore to be a better man than that bastard Stefano, and yet here I am, doing exactly what he did to my mother, railroading her, ignoring her wishes in favour of my own.
I’m a man who learns from his mistakes and I should be learning from this one.
So I don’t move, still looking into her face as I force my temper into submission. ‘You think marriage to me would be a cage? Why?’
‘Why do you think?’ That stubborn little chin of hers juts. ‘I’ll be relegated to sidelines. Not allowed to do anything but bear children and support my husband for “safety’s” sake. Being the little woman looking after the home. That’s a cage however you look at it.’
She’s right. You know she’s right.
I grit my teeth, forcing away the urgent need to press her back against the sun lounger cushion and show her exactly how good this ‘cage’ can make her feel. ‘Then what does freedom look like to you?’ I try to make the words sound less reluctant, but no doubt I fail.
She gazes back, all challenge. ‘Are you asking me that because you think I need to hear it or because you actually want to know?’
Goddamn. Why had I ever thought this woman would make a good and biddable wife? When she opposes me at every turn? But oddly, when I force myself to think about it, I discover that I actually do want to know.
‘Tell me,’ I growl, getting annoyed with myself now.
Her expression is furious at first, but then that fades, and she glances down at her knees.
‘I only want a normal life,’ she says, her voice softening.
‘I want to have a career and get a flat, have some friends. Maybe have a boyfriend and a cat.’ She pauses and then lifts her gaze to mine.
‘I don’t want to be told what to do anymore.
I don’t want to be forced into a box I don’t fit and never have.
I don’t want to be surrounded all day every day by guards.
I don’t want to have to fear for my own life or those of any children I have someday.
And I don’t want to feel as if…’ Another little pause and then she forces herself to go on.
‘I don’t want to feel like the unloved and unwanted child my father was stuck with after my mother and brother died. ’
She’s got an uncanny aim when she throws those spears of hers. They always land directly in my chest, the tips brushing up against my heart, hurting.
Unloved. Unwanted. Those words resonate in a way I don’t like at all.
That was how my mother felt just before she died, and I know because she told me one night as the sedatives were kicking in.
That’s how I felt too, when my father struck me across the face for refusing to look at a torture session.
He didn’t care about me. He only cared about himself and how much I shamed him.
Elena didn’t care about you either.
A sullen anger sits in my gut, an anger I don’t want to acknowledge. For how my mother withdrew from me, slowly but surely retreating into herself. Nothing I did made any difference. She might not have left me physically, but she left me emotionally, and she never came back.
But then love does that to a person. It kills them slowly and by degrees, and so before it killed me, I cut it from my soul just like my father cut it away from my mother. He killed her love for him and so I killed mine for both of them, and I never regretted it.
Except I know that love hasn’t died for Caterina. I saw it in her tears at dinner just before, the grief that her father hadn’t come for her. Grief comes from love, and so no matter how awful her father was, she still feels some kind of love for him.
‘You are not unwanted,’ I say. ‘Know that right now. But love will not be part of our marriage, not ever.’
Surprise flickers across her face. ‘I didn’t say anything about love.’
‘You did. You said you didn’t want to feel unloved and unwanted.’
‘I didn’t mean loved by you,’ she snaps back, her anger returning.
‘Good.’ I ignore what surely can’t be a kick of disappointment.
‘I was talking about freedom,’ Caterina says insistently. ‘And love doesn’t mean freedom, so why should I want that anyway?’
I narrow my gaze, searching her expression, because this talk of love, when I’ve only known her an afternoon and evening, is far too premature.
‘Forget love,’ I say, dismissive. ‘I can offer you certain freedoms, but you must understand that your life will be curtailed to some extent purely because you’re married to me. ’
This does not mollify her. Unsurprisingly.
‘You can see why I didn’t want to get married, right? But, oh wait, you didn’t care about what I wanted, did you?’
Her sarcastic wit amused me before, but it’s not amusing me now. It’s hitting me in places I thought were well defended and I don’t like it one bit.
I rise to my feet, dropping the towel onto the cushions beside her, before getting rid of my wet clothes. Then I hold out my hand. ‘Come, gattina,’ I order peremptorily. ‘This conversation is over. It’s time for bed.’