veloping? Almost ten years had passed since Serafina had waltzed down the aisle to her prince. He refused to think that she had burned him so badly that he had declined to risk getting deeply involved with anyone else. Yet he hadn’t even got an engagement or a live-in relationship under his belt during those ten long years.
In the darkness, Cesare’s wide, sensual mouth framed a silent but vehemently felt swear word. He did not appreciate the oddity of having such thoughts about the sort of thing he had never ever felt the need to think about before. It was that ring on his wedding finger that was getting to him, he brooded impatiently. It was feeling married and possibly just a tiny bit trapped...with Archie snoring beside the bed and Lizzie nestled up against him like a second skin.
Just like him, she was in this marriage for the end game and the prize, he reminded himself squarely. It wasn’t a normal marriage but, if they planned to conceive a child, the marriage had to work on a daily basis and why should physical intimacy always lead to a closer involvement than he wanted? The answer was that sex didn’t need to lead to anything more complex, he reminded himself stubbornly, certainly nothing that would break his rules of never getting more closely involved with a woman. And it was no wonder that he was feeling unsettled when he was in such unfamiliar territory. He hadn’t tried to please a woman since Serafina and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself trying to please Lizzie, was he?
Archie’s snores filtered up in direct disagreement.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CESARE GLANCED AT his wife and then at the party of men watching her every move in a pantomime version of dropped jaws as she alighted from his Ferrari. She was a lissom figure in a turquoise sundress, her gorgeous silvery mane blowing back from her delicately flushed face in the breeze, her shapely legs tapering down to impossibly delicate ankles and high-heeled sandals. He pushed up his sunglasses and gave the men a warning look before closing his hand round Lizzie’s in a display of all-Italian male possessiveness that he could not resist.
Lizzie sank down at the table in the piazza and the waiter was at their side within seconds, doubtless drawn by one glimpse of Cesare’s sleek sophistication. He had an air of hauteur and command that got them fast service everywhere they went and it was so inbred in him to expect immediate attention that he rarely even noticed the fact, although she was very sure he would notice if he didn’t receive it.
Now she feasted her attention on his lean bronzed face. She was magnetised by his stunning dark golden eyes as they rested on her and wondered what he was thinking. She was always wondering what he was thinking, had to bite her tongue not to ask, but it was hardly surprising that she was living in a state of constant befuddlement because their business-based marriage of convenience had become something else entirely...at least for her...
They had now been in Italy for a solid month. Cesare had made several business trips. He had flown his family and Chrissie in to visit for one weekend and the two days had passed in a whirlwind of chattering liveliness and warmth. Lizzie had never been so happy before and it scared her because she knew she was nourishing hopes that would ultimately lead to disappointment and the stark biting pain of rejection. What? Only possibly? jibed her more truthful self. Lizzie’s emotions had got involved the very first night they’d slept together and she’d wakened in the morning to find herself secure in Cesare’s arms.
For four whole weeks she had been living an idyllic life with an attentive husband, who was also a passionate lover, by her side. He had taken her out sightseeing, shopping, out to dinner in sun-baked piazzas, fashionable squares, and to wander through old churches lit by candles and the sunlight piercing the stained-glass windows. Today they had walked the seventeenth-century ramparts of Lucca. Her fingers toyed momentarily with the slender gold watch encircling her wrist, her most recent gift. If he went on a trip or even noticed that she lacked something he considered essential, he bought it for her. He was incredibly generous in bed and out of it. He was curious about her, knew everything there was to know about her childhood. His interest was intoxicating because she had never seen herself as being particularly interesting. In fact, being the focus of attention of a very handsome, entertaining male had made her see herself in a kinder, warmer light.
In truth, when Cesare Sabatino was faking being a husband, he faked with the skill and panache of a professional, she conceded ruefully. He hadn’t asked her to fall in love with him. It wouldn’t occur to him that bringing an ordinary woman out to beautiful Tuscany and treating her like a much appreciated, highly desirable wife while keeping her in luxury might turn her head. But Lizzie knew her head had been thoroughly turned. She found him fascinating. He was a spellbinding mix of rapier-sharp intellect and disconcerting emotional depth and, of course, she had fallen head over heels for him. Archie now rejoiced in a collar with his name picked out in diamonds and a four-poster bed of his own. How could she not love the man who had given her adored pet those quite unnecessary, ridiculously expensive but deeply touching things?
And the result was that now she was terrified of falling pregnant, fearing that that announcement would ensure that their marriage cooled back down to a businesslike arrangement in which Cesare would expect her to be terribly civilised and behave as if she didn’t give a damn about him. Within days of the wedding she had had the proof that she had not yet conceived and Cesare had just laughed and said that they had all the time in the world, as if it truly didn’t matter to him if it took months to reach that goal.
‘What if there’s something wrong with one of us and it doesn’t happen?’ she had asked him anxiously.
He had shrugged and suggested that they give it a year before seeking medical advice. If for some reason having a child turned out not to be possible, they would deal with it when it happened, Cesare had told her fatalistically while urging her not to stress about getting pregnant.
‘I hope you’ve got something special lined up to wear tonight,’ Cesare mused over their wine. ‘It’s a real fashion parade.’
‘I thought it was a charity do.’
‘In Italy such events are always fashion parades.’
‘I have at least four long dresses to choose from,’ Lizzie reminded him. ‘I won’t let you down. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Ma no...certainly not,’ Cesare cut in, stroking a long forefinger soothingly over her hand where it curled on the table top. ‘You always look fantastic, gioia mia. Why would I be worried about you letting me down?’
‘I’m not part of your world and I never will be. It’s a challenge for me to put on fancy clothes and pretend I’m something I’m not,’ Lizzie admitted in an undertone.
‘You only need to be yourself. You have two, no, three...’ he adjusted reflectively, amusement gleaming in his gilded gaze ‘...advantages.’
‘Which are?’
‘Beauty and class and my ring on your finger,’ Cesare completed with cynical cool. ‘I’m a powerful man. You will be treated with respect and courtesy.’
An involuntary grin lit up Lizzie’s face and she laughed, biting back foolish words of love. What an embarrassment it would be if she were to lose control of her tongue around him now! After all, he was playing a very sophisticated game with her, utilising his charm and a whole host of other extraordinary gifts to make their marriage work as if it were a real marriage. If she were to suddenly confess how she felt about him, he would be embarrassed and appalled to learn that she didn’t know how to play the same game.
‘We should head back soon,’ she commented unevenly.
‘Would that leave us time for an hour or so in bed?’ Cesare sprang upright, dropping a large-denomination note down on top of the bill, smouldering dark eyes flashing over her with a sexual intensity that never failed to thrill.
‘Again?’ There was a slight gasp in her low-pitched response because she had yet to adapt to Cesare’s high-voltage libido. He seemed to want her all the time, no matter where she was, no matter what she was wearing or what she was doing. She thought he was possibly a little oversexed but she didn’t complain because she always wanted him too and, in any case, the whole point of their marriage was for her to conceive a child.
A light hand resting in the shallow indentation of her spine, Cesare urged her back to the Ferrari. As she clambered in beside him he turned his head and closed a hard hand into the tumble of her hair to hold her fast while he kissed her. His mouth was hungry and hot and erotic on hers and every sense was on overdrive by the time he freed her again and started up the car.
The air conditioning cooled her overheated skin but the ache throbbing between her thighs was far less controllable. Cesare skimmed up her skirt to bare her thighs. ‘I like looking at your legs, especially when I know I’m about to part them,’ he husked soft and low, laughing when her cheeks flamed.
Early evening, Lizzie inspected her reflection in a black shimmering dress that delineated her slender figure with a spare elegance that appealed to her. She was learning what she liked and didn’t like in her wardrobe and she didn’t like fussy trims or frills or neon-bright colours that seemed to swallow her alive.