Chapter 3
HIS HEART SANK THE SECOND she stepped out of the chauffeur-driven Rolls and started walking—no, sashaying—towards the plane.
How had he not noticed how elegant she was?
How naturally…sensual. Every shift of her hips was like a siren song, calling to him, begging him to do the one thing he’d been thinking about since leaving her the day before, and draw her into his arms.
The one thing he’d promised them both he wouldn’t do.
He had one week—their honeymoon—to inure himself to her charms. To get used to being in her space and not wanting her like this.
One week to conquer the desire that was running through his bloodstream like a virus.
But holy hell, she was a goddess. She had been all along.
In his shirt, with her hair messy and her face devoid of makeup, she’d been utterly beautiful.
Now, wearing a silk camisole—without a bra, he suspected, going by the soft curves that were revealed by the fabric—and a pair of skinny jeans, and bangles on both wrists, she looked both chic and sexy.
Just the kind of woman he would usually have on his arm.
“I take it you approve?” she asked as she drew closer, but there was a hint of anxiety behind the question, a genuine seeking of reassurance.
How? He wanted to know. How could a woman like this not be used to men falling at her feet? For all her beauty, she seemed so inexperienced and vulnerable.
“Si,” was all he said. It was a warm morning in Vegas, and the heat was waving off the tarmac of this private airport. “Ready?”
Her eyes shifted to beyond him, where a gleaming jet with the Di Santis corporate logo on the tail was primed for flight.
She looked very not ready. She looked like she wanted to duck her head under the covers and hide.
He braced for her to tell him ‘no’. She’d thought about it, changed her mind.
But then, his assistant had delivered a cheque to her the day before, and she’d already banked it, so backing out would be difficult.
“Yes,” she said, finally, her eyes awash with uncertainty. “I guess so.”
His laugh was soft, carried away by the Vegas breeze. “You sound like you’re on your way to eat poison apples.”
She grimaced. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“You never know, you might even enjoy being my fake wife,” he said with a lift of his brow.
Fat chance, she thought, as she walked up the steps of the private jet, his hand lightly, politely on her elbow. It took all her willpower not to react to the touch, the way just the brushing of his fingers against her bare flesh made her bones feel as though they were made of liquid gold.
How was she going to get through a year of this? Being in close proximity to him and acting as though it didn’t make her whole body tremble with anticipation?
What she wouldn’t do to go back to high school and get a little experience under her belt—literally.
If only she’d actually ever been intimate with a guy, she might not be so completely bowled over by her first run in with sexual chemistry.
But she hadn’t. She’d kept to herself, avoided the unsophisticated advances of her charmless classmates, and now she was a twenty four year old virgin with a seriously hot husband.
A hot husband who didn’t want sex to be a part of their arrangement. Ughhhh.
On the one hand, this marriage pact was her salvation. On the other…it was like being tormented. Still, she’d at least been able to wire the full repayment amount to the account her lenders had given her, putting paid to the very idea of her body being used as collateral instead.
Inside the jet was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
It was as big as a commercial airliner—at least, it looked to be, from the outside—but it had been completely reformatted to resemble an apartment rather than a plane.
There were seats, of course, but they were more like armchairs, set around a gleaming table. Every single item was luxe.
“The flight to Italy is about fifteen hours,” he said, gesturing to one of the armchairs.
She eased herself into it, trying to act like this was normal for her, when it was a very far cry from the cramped, distinctly ‘no frills’ flight she’d been on a couple of days ago.
“Whenever you’re ready, you can make use of one of the cabins. ”
Her brows inched upwards. Cabins? More than one?
She nodded quickly, and kept her gaze fixed on the window as the flight crew ran through the last preparations before takeoff.
Luca took the seat opposite her, and she really wished he hadn’t, when his long legs kicked beneath the table and inadvertently brushed against hers.
She swallowed quickly and tucked her feet further against her own chair, needing space.
Needing to be able to breathe a little better.
“Would you like something to drink? Eat?” he offered, glancing up from the papers he’d pulled from somewhere and was flicking through.
She shook her head and then changed her mind. Perhaps food would settle her stomach? She’d been too anxious to even attempt a meal that morning, and it was almost lunch time now.
He lifted a hand to beckon a crew member, spoke a few words in Italian and then turned his attention back to the papers. Ally watched as the crew member disappeared.
She wished she’d thought to bring a book.
She’d thought she’d have a chance to buy one at the airport, or at least grab a magazine, but the terminal the chauffeur had delivered her to was nothing like any airport she’d ever been into.
There was no newsstand to stop at. Just an elegant lounge, a discreet customs area and that was it.
How the other half lived, she thought, settling back in her seat and tapping her fingers against the arm rests.
She felt his gaze on her without so much as looking up. “You’re a nervous flyer?”
His accent tickled down her spine. She wanted to tell him she was a nervous bride, but it was the kind of confession that might weaken her.
“No. I haven’t flown often enough for the novelty to have worn off,” she said, a tight smile crossing her lips.
“No?”
She shook her head. “I only have a passport because—,”
Because the lenders had made her get one.
A shiver ran down her spine again, as that started to lodge in a suspicious part of her brain.
Why would they want her passport? To take it and blackmail her?
Or to use for identity fraud? Or to somehow get her out of the country?
Her heart rate increased as she thought again of how risky her dealings with them had been.
How completely she’d put her faith in such awful people.
Then again, she’d been desperate.
So desperate to do whatever she could to save her father, even paying a fortune for a high risk, low chance of success operation.
Emotions tightened in her belly and she dug her nails into her palms to try to stop them from taking over completely.
The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of her ‘husband’.
“Tell me about what I should be expecting.” She changed the subject clunkily, but to her relief, he didn’t interrogate her further.
“We’ll keep social interactions to as much of a minimum as possible. The less we do, the more likely we are to succeed.”
“Okay, good,” she agreed, on a shaky breath of relief.
“The most difficult challenge will be obligatory visits home. My grandfather will not let the company change hands without being convinced that this is for real.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why does it matter so much to him?”
Luca’s eyes burrowed into hers. “It’s not important.”
“I have a right to know, don’t I?”
A muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw. He stared at her a long time, his eyes almost lancing her with their intensity, and then he let out a short nod.
“He thinks my lifestyle puts the company in jeopardy.”
Her lips pulled to the side as she contemplated that. “What lifestyle?”
“My lack of commitment.”
“Meaning—you sleep around.”
“That’s part of it.”
She ignored the pang in her gut. His words, though, were like hammers, reminding her of his parting shot the day before, letting her know that he would not be faithful to their vows. And so? She was a fake wife, what did she expect?
“Look, he’ll probably bring this up with you, as part of his test. I was in The Middle East for two tours. While I was there, I lost someone important to me.”
It was the very last thing she expected him to say, and now she kicked herself for not having had the presence of mind to google him.
“I didn’t know.”
“My activities were not publicised. I used my grandmother’s maiden name while in the service, to avoid becoming a target for kidnapping.”
“You? Get kidnapped?” she repeated, smiling in spite of herself. Luca had to be six and a half feet tall, and he was pure muscle. It was hard to imagine anyone successfully bundling him into a car.
He lifted his shoulders. “It’s a risk.”
“Okay, but, isn’t it a risk here, too?”
“Sure.”
She frowned.
“I have security arrangements in place.”
“Like…bodyguards?” she asked, looking around.
“Not on my private jet,” he said with a wry smile.
“Okay, but I haven’t seen anyone else.”
“My drivers are all qualified security experts.”
“Oh.” She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. The crew member returned and placed a platter between them, filled with charcuterie, fruit, chocolate and cheese. A moment later, two sparkling mineral waters were added.
“Thank you,” Ally said, glancing up at her and forcing a smile.
The woman’s lips curved into a bright red acknowledgement before she left.
“After I came back, I had some adjustment issues.”
“What does that mean?” Ally asked, as she popped a grape into her mouth.