CHAPTER FIVE
LAYLAFELLINTO the molten heat of Sebastiano’s hungry kiss. For a few heady moments she returned it, winding her arms around his neck and threading her fingers into his hair as their mouths moved together in a ravenous duel of tongues and clashing teeth, her aching breasts—she hadn’t even known how badly they’d been aching until he’d touched them—compressed into his hard chest.
For those few heady moments she purged herself, the angst she’d been living with all these months drowning in the feel and taste and scent of the man she’d danced into the fire with...
And who’d burnt her and reduced her to ashes.
Digging her fingernails tightly into his skull, she kissed him even harder, needing him to feel a fraction of the pain his rejection of both her and the life they’d created had caused in her heart, then wrenched her mouth away.
‘Do that again and I’ll bite your tongue off,’ she spat.
Sebastiano tried to think of a retort but his brain was temporarily dead. All his current thinking was coming from a lower part of his anatomy.
It had been like that during their night together, he remembered dimly. A complete capitulation of his body to the sensuous pleasures of Layla. So complete had the capitulation been that his brain—his real one—had fallen too, and when he’d finally been able to drag himself away from her it had been with the sensation that if he couldn’t be with her again, his life as he knew it would be over. He would be over.
He’d left his suite at the Diamond Club fully intending to be back in her arms by nightfall.
It had been mid-afternoon, sitting with the Governor of the Bank of England, barely able to concentrate on this most important of meetings, that sanity had pushed out the euphoric haze of their lovemaking. Or their sex as his sharpened brain had quickly renamed it.
At the end of the meeting he’d got in the back of his car and ordered his driver to take him to the airport.
The next evening a message from Layla had pinged. He’d read it with his chest so full of an emotion he couldn’t discern but which every instinct in his body had recoiled against that he’d come close to throwing his phone in the swimming pool. Instead, he’d made the less extreme choice of blocking her number, then deleted it for good measure too.
He couldn’t quite remember his reasoning for this other than the firm conviction that a night of great sex, especially with a bar tender, should not make a man come close to losing his head, but had felt a hell of a lot better in himself for doing it. It was quite possible that he’d sensed her opportunism, he now thought with the great benefit of hindsight. That must have been it. Some unacknowledged sixth sense had warned him Layla would bring trouble on him.
One full-blown kiss and that close-to-drugged feeling had come roaring back. The difference now was that he was going to marry her and have the luxury of revelling in the capitulation. For as long as the marriage lasted he would share a bed with the sexiest woman to walk the earth.
Gazing into her passionately furious forget-me-not eyes, he laughed softly. ‘And deny yourself the pleasure you would get from it?’
That wonderful contortion of emotions played over her beautiful face again. And it was wonderful. Glorious. His fiancée was a spitfire of emotion for him.
‘If you think that is going to happen again, you have another think coming.’
‘You think you can resist this chemistry between us?’
‘The only chemistry is in your head.’
‘Let’s see how much it’s in my head when you’re sharing my bed.’
‘That will never happen,’ she said with such vehemence he almost felt sorry for her.
‘You will share my bed for the duration of our marriage or our deal is void.’
Angry colour enflamed her cheeks. ‘No way.’
‘We have to be convincing, cara. I have many staff in my household. I trust their discretion but only to a point—careless words cost lives...or in my case, businesses. I am marrying you to distract the world from my foolish mistake and it has to be convincing or it will backfire. To be convincing you will share my bed.’ At her mutinous expression, he smiled and added, ‘I will make a deal with you. As my wife you will be obliged to kiss me and show me affection in public, but if I make a move on you in the privacy of our bedroom you reserve the right to bite my tongue off. Fair?’
She managed a nod so tight he could feel the effort it took for her to make it.
‘And to prove how reasonable I am and my willingness to show good faith, when you make your move on me, I promise to let you have your way without bloodshed.’
‘Never,’ she whispered even as her eyes pulsed and her breathing deepened.
Sebastiano inched his face closer to hers and lowered his voice even further to match the volume of hers. ‘If you’re that revolted by the idea then why are your fingers still in my hair?’
It was the blood pounding in Layla’s ears that delayed the horror of what Sebastiano had just pointed out from reaching her hands and enabling her to snatch them away immediately, a delay long enough for the pads of her fingers to continue their slow caress of his skull—when had she stopped digging her nails in to it?—through his soft dark hair.
In an instant she yanked them away and swiped at the hands still buried in her own hair.
Laughing, he put his hands on her waist but before she could react he’d gently steered her back and risen to his feet so she was no longer trapped between his thighs. ‘We should take our seats. We’ll be landing shortly.’
With the weight of Layla’s outraged stare following him, Sebastiano left the office and sauntered back to his seat.
Layla had expected Sebastiano’s villa to be big. He was one of the richest men in the world. It was inconceivable that he would live in anything less than grandeur and yet shortly after they’d driven the outskirts of Palermo’s colourful streets and into the verdant countryside, the tall trees cleared and there before her was a stunning gold baroque palace that rose from the earth like a pair of angel wings.
‘This is yours?’ she practically squealed, completely forgetting the vow of silence she’d made in the wake of their kiss. She’d made a pretty good fist of it up to that point though, refusing to exchange a word or glance with him during the landing or the quick march down the plane’s steps and into the waiting car. Aggravatingly, her silence and refusal to look at him hadn’t perturbed him in the slightest, and she’d had his silky voice and heavy accent polluting her ears by pointing out areas of interest to her during their short drive.
‘It is,’ he confirmed.
‘That’s not a villa. It’s a palace!’
He chuckled. ‘Not quite. It was built in the early eighteenth century for an Italian count but it is very much a villa. It was abandoned for decades. I bought it five years ago. The renovations in the main villa are complete but a number of the guest cottages are still to be finished.’
The long drive was flanked by a sprawling landscaped lawn so thickly green and vast it reminded her of the gardens of the English palaces and castles she’d visited with her mother over the years. The closer they drove to it, the more the villa’s beauty revealed itself. Soon she saw the gold was an illusion caused by the sun, the walls painted a pristine white, the tall sash windows and frames and roof a gleaming sandstone colour.
‘How many bedrooms does it have?’
‘Fourteen in the main villa but the guest cottages and lodges can sleep another thirty people. The staff have their own quarters.’
It made her feel quite faint. ‘All this for one man?’
‘One day it will be a family home filled with children.’
It should not feel like another twist of the knife to know the family he was envisaging did not include her own baby.
Determined to hide it, she airily said, ‘Can I bagsy a room for our child, then?’
‘If by bagsy you mean choose then of course. Choose whichever room you wish for your imaginary baby.’
‘Go and buy a pregnancy test for me to take,’ she said on impulse. ‘You will see with your own eyes that I am pregnant.’
He laughed. ‘You are tenacious, I will give you that. And if it does show that you are pregnant, what then? You cannot expect me to believe the child is mine.’
She could have screamed her frustration. ‘You are incredible.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It wasn’t a compliment.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ve already got the money. Why would I still need to lie?’ she demanded.
‘Because to admit the truth would mean admitting to the lie, and, before you start shouting at me again, we are about to go inside and be amongst staff so I need you to practise your complete adoration face.’
‘You are going to be a father! We have created a life together! How can you expect me to walk around the home you’re intending to fill with babies from another woman looking all pathetic and adoring when you’re stubbornly refusing to accept that you already have a child on the way with me?’
A sudden warning flashed from his green eyes, all sardonic amusement vanishing. ‘Do not test me, Layla. There are members of my staff I would trust with my life but we both know everyone has their price. I do not want to destroy a charitable law firm that does such good, so do not put me in a position where I have to destroy yours.’
Clenching her fists, she let out her frustration with a long, gritted-teeth scream and a stamp of her feet, then blew out a long breath of air, shook her hands loose, straightened her back and smiled. ‘Lead the way, darling. I’m just so excited to finally be at the home we’re going to lead a long and happy life together in.’
His eyes narrowed before a glimmer of amusement flashed back in them. ‘That hurt, didn’t it?’
Not dropping her smile, she nodded brightly. ‘So very much.’
‘Poor Layla.’ He tapped on his door. It opened immediately.
Once he was out, Layla accepted his offered hand with a, ‘Thank you, darling.’
He brought her hand to his mouth and razed his lips over her knuckles. ‘Il piacere e tutto mio.’
She gazed at him with open adoration. ‘I’ve no idea what you just said but I’m sure it was wonderfully romantic.’
‘Wonderfully,’ he agreed. ‘I can teach you my language, if you like?’
‘I would be thrilled,’ she cooed putting her hand to her heart.
He burst into laughter, palmed her cheek and murmured, ‘Possibly turn it down a notch?’
She covered his hand and gazed into his eyes with a dreamy sigh. ‘Too much?’
Amusement still writ on his face, he threaded his fingers through hers and led her through the magnificent arched entrance flanked by marble statues of men—Layla assumed Roman gods—in toga-style robes reading books.
The mid-afternoon Sicilian sun was far hotter than the sun they’d left behind in London and she welcomed the cool interior of the reception room, welcomed even more the fresh orange juice served by a smartly dressed middle-aged man with the shiniest shoes she’d ever seen as it gave her a legitimate reason to unthread her fingers from Sebastiano’s.
Clutching tightly to her glass, she walked beside him through palatially sized rooms with high frescoed ceilings, the dominant colour gold, and tried to ignore the awareness zinging through her veins at his closeness by concentrating all her attention on the ornate interiors that would feel at home in any palace.
‘This is nothing like I expected,’ she commented as she was shown into a dining room so vast it could accommodate her entire workforce and clientele.
‘What did you expect?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Something much more modern. This feels like I’ve stepped back in time, and when I compare it to your suite at the Diamond Club...’
‘Everything here has been renovated sympathetically. You do not buy a villa built for royalty and turn it into a play den.’
‘The Diamond Club’s building must be as old as this and you turned your suite there into a play den,’ she pointed out.
‘That’s because I use it as a play den. It’s a place for me to switch off and entertain my real friends, whereas this place... Just as I am the public face of my bank, this is the public face of me. It is a villa that befits my status and projects wealth, taste, capability and a serious mindset.’
She snorted.
He caught her eye and gave a wry smile. ‘I run a multi-billion-euro bank, cara. I entertain world leaders within these walls.’
‘So no table football here?’
‘Image is everything in my world. Let me show you the ballroom where we’ll be hosting our wedding reception and then you can freshen up before we eat.’
‘I’ve nothing to freshen up with,’ she reminded him.
‘Have you not yet noticed that I think of everything?’
‘Apart from effective contraception,’ she riposted so sweetly that the curdling poison that infected Sebastiano’s blood every time she mentioned the pregnancy was muted by the amusement threading like waves through his veins.
Layla’s luminescent beauty was the first thing he’d noticed about her, the years revealing a subtle wit that came only in infrequent flashes and only ever when they were alone and she was pouring him drinks as he relaxed from the stress of his job. All those hours spent together, revealing much of himself—it was only when he looked back on those hours that he realised how much he’d given away to her—but without her revealing anything of herself. He’d never asked. Never wanted to know. Layla had been his secret pleasure, a beautiful, sexy sounding board who listened attentively without venturing her own opinions. It was her lack of opinions that had led him to believe she listened without understanding. Let him believe there was little going on in her head.
He’d made the fatal error of underestimating her. He’d forgotten that she’d been paid to serve him. Paid to blend into the background unless called to the forefront. Paid to cater to his needs and be whoever he needed her to be.
It was with not a little discomfort that he acknowledged that he’d needed her to be a decorative adornment and had revelled in her adopting that role for him. Had revelled in the sexual charge that had grown between them during their hours together. Had arrogantly assumed she’d resigned her job at the club so that unspoken sexual charge could be acted on.
Their night together had blown his mind. He’d known they’d be good together but couldn’t have guessed just how good it would be. Not just the sex but the laughter that had come with it. Sex with Layla had been hot and fun and all-consuming.
It was only now with all their gloves off that he was seeing the real Layla emerge, a feisty, quick-witted beauty with hands that spoke their own language and facial expressions and eyes that told you exactly what she was thinking. He could only imagine the restraint it must have taken for her not to let her mask slip when working at the club.
‘I am a man of immense wealth, cara,’ he told her, matching the faux sweetness of her smile, ‘and I can assure you I purchase only the best in contraception.’ And there had been nothing during their night together to suggest it had failed for them. Nothing at all. Sure, there were a few shadows in their night together where the all-consuming nature of their coupling came to him as sensory imprints rather than concrete memories, but at no point had he failed to wear a condom.
And yet...
He blinked away the flicker of doubt that suddenly tugged at him as ruthlessly as he’d blinked it away the other times it had tugged at him.
‘And I can assure you,’ she said, not dropping the sweet act, ‘that you need to ask for a refund.’
Layla followed Sebastiano up a wide sweeping marble staircase that belonged in a fairy tale and found herself so overwhelmed as more of the villa’s majestic beauty opened itself up to her that she only listened with half an ear to him say, ‘A design team is on its way. They will bring a selection of clothing to go through with you so they can learn your style, and source and create a suitable new wardrobe for you.’
‘Suitable?’ She craned her neck to fully take in the spectacular mezzanine the stairs led onto.
‘Suitable for the wife of Sebastiano Russo.’
‘Referring to yourself in the third person? Classy.’
‘It often feels that the public Sebastiano Russo is his own singular persona.’
‘And you expect me to create a matching persona as your wife?’
‘It will be easy for you. You have already proven yourself a consummate actress. The design team will be here within the hour—I’ve had a room put aside for you to work with them. Once the wedding is announced, they will work with you to create a dress to marry in.’ He turned his stare to her and, with a tone of the utmost regret, said, ‘I know it will pain you to hear this, but we will both be kept busy before the wedding and so you will see little of me until the big day itself.’
As they were passing a room with the door open and two members of uniformed staff making up a four-poster bed, Layla made sure to look suitably crestfallen. ‘Oh, that is devastating.’
His regretful expression lifted. The gleam she so loathed and yet which made her pulses soar returned to his eyes. ‘Be assured you will have the pleasure of my company every night in our bed.’
Sniffing an opportunity, she put her hands to her racing heart and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Oh, darling, I wouldn’t want to scandalise the staff by sharing a bed out of wedlock, so why don’t I sleep in a guest room until our big day?’
They’d reached the end of the mezzanine. Leaning against a marble pillar, he caressed her cheek. ‘You are so thoughtful but the staff have already prepared my room for your arrival.’
She affectionately covered the hand resting against her cheek and dug her nails in. ‘Then I shall make sure to get the design team to source some all-in-one pyjamas for me.’
He tutted and murmured, ‘Image, cara, image. What will the staff think if you wear pyjamas in bed? You will find a selection of lingerie and nightwear already unpacked in your dressing room. Come, I will show you.’
With that, he opened the door to an intensely masculine room of deep green with goldleaf etchings patterned on the walls and ceiling, and heavy deep green drapes. The furniture was all dark wood, the soft furnishings a muted olive, the bedspread of the ginormous four-poster with tied-back dark green curtains black. If the room weren’t so vast in size and if light weren’t pouring in through the three sash windows running from floor to ceiling, she would think it oppressive. Instead, her first impression was that it was seductive. Her first instinct was to back right away and stay behind the threshold.
He stood behind her. ‘You like?’
She was having trouble taking her eyes off the bed. All she could picture was Sebastiano lying on it naked, a lascivious gleam in his eyes as he beckoned her to him...
Heated pulses fluttered low in her pelvis. Very much aware of the cleaning staff so close by, she had to swallow to huskily say, ‘Bit dark for my tastes but it certainly suits you.’
However aware she was of the cleaning staff, it had nothing on her awareness for Sebastiano. Seeing the bed she would sleep beside him in for nights with no defined end to them...
Hands gently gripped her biceps. A hard, lean body pressed into her back. Hot breath swirled in her hair, then a deep inhalation as if he were breathing her in before his lips touched the rim of her ear and, his fingers kneading into her skin, knuckles brushing the sides of her breasts, he whispered, ‘Tell me you’re not already imagining sharing the bed with me.’