The Impatient Groom (7 page)

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Authors: Sara Wood

BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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It was Enrico, taunting him about Sophia. Apparently their story was splashed across the local rag on the lines of ‘Prince of Sorrow finds joy at last'.
And Enrico was fascinated. ‘What were you doing, Zano?' he gibed. ‘It's not like you to leap on a woman!'
‘She fainted when she heard who she was,' he answered laconically. ‘I was trying to bring her round. Shock, I think. Not surprisingly, she's overwhelmed.'
‘I can't wait to meet her,' Enrico purred. ‘Pity the photo was so poor—I couldn't make her out clearly. Do you think,' he added slyly in words meant to wound, ‘I'll get on with her as well as I did with Nicoletta?'
He couldn't breathe for a moment. Livid with rage, he forced his teeth together so that no betraying explosion would confirm his brother's suspicions about Sophia. With every ounce of his being he longed to threaten Enrico, to say that if he harmed Sophia—as he'd harmed Nicoletta—then he'd wish he'd never been born. But that kind of reaction would only fire Enrico up.
‘Don't get your hopes up. She's an English horse,' he lied, striding around the room to loose off excess energy. ‘Tall, big, awkward. Knocks things over.' He scooped up a sneer from somewhere. ‘Touch her and she'll neigh with fear.'
‘Is she a virgin?' Enrico asked, with a coarse laugh.
He'd swing for his brother one day! ‘How the devil would I know? She's weird, I know that. Doesn't know the first thing about etiquette and her clothes are appalling!' he scathed. And he hated himself for distorting the truth. ‘I must go, Enrico,' he said quickly. ‘Someone's at the door. Speak to you later.'
He was shaking. Although he'd cut the call, he kept the phone to his ear, trying to avoid speaking to Sophia for a few moments. He wasn't in control of himself yet. Fury blazed beneath his lowered lids as he pretended to murmur sporadically into his mobile. He became aware that he was gripping it so hard that the whites of his
knuckles showed, and he forced himself to ease up and to pace his breathing.
Think. He had to think. He knew his brother too well, knew how bored he was, how eagerly he grasped any chance for amusement. He glared at the wall, almost overwhelmed by the urge to drive his fist hard into it.
Enrico would make it his business to charm Sophia at the first opportunity. Women seemed to fall for his littleboy-lost look. Why should Sophia be any different?
Rozzano knew that he'd have to take any opportunity to seduce her. She must be his even before they reached Venice.
A whirlwind seduction. No holds barred. He glanced over at the anxious-looking Sophia and he felt his heart pound.
CHAPTER FOUR
 
‘M
Y BROTHER,' he said tautly, putting his phone away. ‘Enrico. Apparently we're front-page news in Venice. And here, too, I wouldn't wonder. My press office will issue a total denial of our relationship at home and threaten to sue. I can't do anything here, I'm afraid.'
Sophia gasped, her hand going to her mouth in horror. She wouldn't cope with a full-scale press onslaught, he thought.
Granite-faced. he called Room Service and asked for Tony to bring him a copy of every paper. When Tony arrived he grimly handed the waiter the ‘Do Not Disturb' notice to be hung on the door.
The tabloids had their pictures plastered all over their front pages. They'd gone for ‘Prince and the Pauper' as their angle. The name Cinderella cropped up a few times. He felt angry that Frank's temp had released Sophia's story. The woman could be seen simpering from several centre pages with her skirt hitched up, her body bent forward to display her cleavage.
‘Astonishing—some of the facts are true,' he observed cynically.
‘Lies are mixed up with truths. How can anyone separate one from the other?' she wailed.
‘It's how they work,' he said quietly.
He read on. Every article referred back to his wife's tragic death. And how his wife had been pregnant. He didn't want to think about that now. It was in the past. And best left there. He sat there, absorbing every word
in a zombie-like stillness, his face set like marble while she grew more and more agitated beside him.
Suddenly he feared that he wouldn't be able to win Sophia over. The time-scale was too brief. He'd fail—and she would fall into Enrico's hands like a ripe plum. He covered his face with his hands, unable to bear the thought of his brother ruining such an innocent and trusting woman.
‘This must be awful for you, Rozzano!' she said in a low, choked voice. ‘All this about your wife...'
Tight-lipped, unable to speak or stay for the searing anger and bitterness in his heart, he rose and walked stiffly to the connecting door, gesturing with his hand in wordless apology for his abrupt departure.
‘I can't bear to see you so unhappy!' she cried huskily as if she really did feel his pain.
That made it worse. He had to stop in his tracks—or risk stumbling like a drunk—because his mind was full of conflicting thoughts and his eyes seemed to be blurred.
Tentative fingers touched his back and he flinched, afraid that he might lose control completely and blurt out to her that his brother was evil, that it amused him to hurt others. And he might tell her that she was in danger if she didn't put herself under his protection. Even then, she'd have to stay with him all the time...
‘Forgive me,' she said. ‘I shouldn't have touched you like that. I only... I wanted to apologise.'
‘You? Apologise?' he queried, emotion roughening his voice.
‘It's
because of me all this has happened,' she said brokenly. ‘I can't imagine what it's like...' She bit her Hip, fearing she was making things worse. ‘You're having to re-live a tragedy. I'm so sorry.'
‘It's not your fault,' he said curtly.
‘Nevertheless, I feel responsible,' she ploughed on. ‘You're being kind to me by hanging around but...' her voice shook ‘...I think you should leave and let me give a press conference or something. It would take the heat off you—'
Slowly he turned, unwillingly touched by her concern and courage. And she'd softened his anger. Taking her face between his hands, he gazed down at her.
‘You're blameless,' he said quietly, disturbed by the brightness of her wide, silvery eyes. And her lashes were wet, as if she cared... He felt emotion welling up and clenched his jaw to quell it. ‘You are totally innocent. And I'm afraid you have no idea what you're getting into,' he muttered under his breath.
She stood there, sweet and anxious, tiny pearly tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd kissed the latest droplets just before they reached her mouth. She shuddered. With pleasure.
He couldn't resist stealing a kiss from her softly parted lips.
And once he'd started there was no stopping him. He kissed her again and again, harder, deeper, searching passionately for her response and finding it. Her body was pressing against his, her hands mussing his hair as she pulled his head more surely down and a kick of excitement rocketed through him when he realised that she was as eager as he for this.
The softness of her mouth was extraordinary. The sweetness of it made him groan. She threw her head back and shook her glorious hair from its pins. He drew in a sharp breath of need and kissed her throat and the warm, delicate skin just behind her ear while she trembled in his arms and ottered satisfied little moans.
Slowly he eased her willing body towards the sofa, kiss by kiss, pushing her forward with his hips. She must know what he wanted. For the moment he was content to kiss her, to feel the soft, firm curves of her supple back and waist and hips beneath his palms.
‘Sophia!' he whispered, sliding her skilfully onto soft cushions.
He saw the wonder in her eyes and tenderly kissed each delicate lid as he half lay across her. His mouth and fingers gently worked aside the straps of her dress. The feel of her silken, faintly perfumed skin against his lips was like an aphrodisiac.
Something else was happening to him; a choking surge of emotion was filling his heart and chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.
He didn't stop to question it. The needs of his body were driving him to take her chin between finger and thumb and kiss her senseless while he slid a shaky, questing hand to tentatively cup one full, high breast.
Sophia gasped but made no attempt to stop his exploration. Hazily she stared at him, utterly bewildered by what was happening. She couldn't believe that Rozzano found her attractive. Or that he wanted to kiss her, let alone... A warning sounded somewhere in the back of her brain. Why? it said. And she ignored it.
His smoky lids were lowered, the twin black curves of his lashes showing dark against his skin. As if in a dream, she saw his lashes lift till he gazed into her eyes. For a long time he held her gaze and she was incapable of looking away. Extraordinary things were happening to her. A melting of her flesh and bones. And there wasn't a scrap. of sense in her brain. Only the fact that he was holding her and looking at her with sultry desire and she was being overwhelmed by an unstoppable joy.
Her arms came up and wound around his neck. Her lips curved into a slow smile and there was a glow of happiness in her eyes. Without knowing, she pressed against him, and found herself moving with a sensuality that was strange to her.
‘Bellissima Sophia,'
he muttered in a heart-lurching growl.
Fascinated, she watched his mouth shape into kissable, high arching curves. Her whole body trembled. He felt hard and muscular and utterly desirable. Parting her lips, she shaped her hands around his smooth neck and brought his head a fraction closer.
It was an invitation he didn't reject. His mouth descended on hers with a passion she welcomed. Her back arched automatically and he slipped the bodice of her dress down, his fingers brushing tantalisingly across the globes of her half-revealed breasts.
Then his mouth was there, drifting around each curve, slowly, slowly inching down the sprigged material until...
She went rigid. Her nipple was enclosed in moist warmth and it was being gently, agonisingly sweetly sucked, played with, and teased. She couldn't bear it. Fiercely she held his shoulders, digging her fingers in, her mind focussed only on that hard, taut centre from which came fiery darts of promise, shooting along nerve pathways to every part of her body.
Tousled and breathing heavily, he lifted his head and impatiently wrenched at his tie and top button.
‘Help me!' he whispered hoarsely.
And, to her amazement, she did. Her palms touched his naked chest in awe, caressing the outline of his muscles while he brooded over her, his eyes black with passion. With a groan, she lifted her arms and put her hands
on his beautiful broad back, bringing him just close enough for each engorged tip of her breasts to brush seductively against his skin.
Why?
She tensed. She didn't know. And he must have detected that something was amiss because he moved back a little, watching her, his chest rising and falling with his harsh breath, his lips parted, eyes pained...
Of course. A flash of anguish scythed through her. He'd been distressed about his late wife. And she'd been there, a pair of arms for him to fall into. A soft cushion and a brandy would have done just as well, she thought miserably.
His hand tentatively touched a coil of hair snaking over her shoulders. ‘Sophia?' he said gently.
She avoided his searching eyes. ‘I'm sorry. I think we ought to call a halt to this, don't you? They'll be coming in to clean the room—'
‘Not while there's a notice on the door. But if you wish...' He eased himself away and stood, picking up his shirt and slipping his arms into it.
Deeply embarrassed and shocked by her eager responses, she rearranged her dress and swung her long, slender legs to the floor. They were trembling. And every inch of her body was aroused and hungry. What a fool she was, she thought bitterly. And wondered how on earth she'd deal with the situation now.
‘I'm the one who should apologise.' He slid his fingers down her cheek and tipped up her chin. A faint frown crossed his brow when he met her misty eyes. ‘Forgive me?' he asked huskily.
She swallowed. It was hardly his fault ‘Course!' she managed, and pushed out a wavering smile, which he
kissed from corner to corner, very gently, a little lingeringly. And it took all her will-power not to kiss him back.
‘I think you're right, we do need to get out,' he said drily. ‘Why don't you tidy your hair while I make a few escape plans? Take your time. I'll need at least half an hour.'
She nodded in relief and dashed for her bedroom, leaning back against the door with closed eyes and waiting for her leaping heart to settle down. It refused. So she scrubbed her hands in cold water and doused her face then put on some lipstick and punished herself by yanking her hair into a ballet-dancer's bun.
But she looked mutinous, her mouth pouting and full as if demanding kisses. She drew in a long, shuddering breath. She was hopelessly, deeply in lust and she wanted Rozzano with every fibre of her being. But common sense told her that he'd never touch her again.
So she made herself a cup of tea.
When she'd stalked up and down and read herself the riot act for a while, she became aware of voices in her sitting room. The escape committee? she wondered. And, glad of anything to distract her simmering passions, she took a deep breath and marched back into the sitting room.
‘Ah, there you are!' Rozzano gently took her arm and drew her forward while she continued to gape.
Huge displays of flowers filled the room and several men and women were fiddling with them in a rather pretentious way. ‘Gypsophila is
so
passé,' a florist was drawling.
Sophia blinked at the discarded sprays of tiny white flowers, which she knew as baby's breath. She didn't know that flowers could be in or out of fashion. Stepping back, her feet came into contact with a stack of boxes.
‘Hats,' explained Rozzano.
‘Hats.'
‘And shoes and underwear.' He grinned. ‘Grab the clothes you think will fit you,' he urged. ‘You might as well make use of some of this stuff, even if they are a smokescreen.'
‘But—!'
He beckoned to two women with armfuls of shoeboxes. ‘Trust me,' he ordered.
All became clear when they were sneaking through the hotel an hour later. She wore the manicurist's overall on top of her dress and a baseball cap low on her forehead. Sprays of eucalyptus filled her arms, almost obliterating her view. Somewhere behind her was Rozzano, his distinctive face hidden by the stack of hatboxes he carried.
Stifling their laughter, she and Rozzano clambered into the back of the florist's van and sprawled amongst squashed petals and crushed flower stems as it drove off through the traffic. After a decent interval, Rozzano shouted for the driver to pull over and let them out
‘How about that?' he asked smugly, lifting her down.
Grinning, she pulled off the cap and overall and pushed them into the back of the van. He thumped on the doors and the driver honked his horn then moved off.
‘Brilliant!' she said breathlessly, pretending not to notice that he'd kept his hands on her waist. He was a ‘toucher', she told herself. It was what he did with women. ‘You're a brilliant organiser,' she said in awe.

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