‘It was fine. How about you?’
Ignoring her question, he picked up the coffee pot. ‘How do you like it?’ he murmured. ‘Actually, no, don’t tell me... I already know.’
Her stomach muscles trembled. She knew he was just talking about the coffee, but that didn’t stop a slow, tingling warmth from sliding over her skin.
‘I’m going to go with no milk and just a sprinkle of sugar.’
He held her gaze, his eyes reaching inside her so that for a moment she didn’t even register what he’d said. Or that he was right.
Since agreeing to the terms of their marriage he’d been distant, cool, aloof... Sulking, presumably, at having the tables turned on him. Now, though, he seemed to have recovered his temper, and his dark gaze was lazily roaming her face. She knew it wasn’t real but, try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself—or her body anyway—from responding to him.
Annoyingly, she knew that he could sense her response and was enjoying it. The hairs on her arms rose. She had dictated the terms of their marriage. She was the one in control. So why did it feel as if he was playing with her?
Suddenly she wondered if she had done the right thing.
‘Marianna told you,’ she said quickly. She knew her face was flushed, and as he shook his head she frowned.
‘She did not,’ he said. His eyes hadn’t left her mouth. ‘But you’re my wife, so I assume you want your coffee like your husband. Dark, firm-bodied, and with a hint of sweetness.’
He poured the coffee and held out a cup.
For a fraction of a second she hesitated, and then she took it. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
His eyes gleamed and, reaching across the table, he picked up his own cup. He seemed utterly at ease, and she wondered if he was still acting or if his mood really had changed.
It was impossible to tell. Up until a few days ago he’d been a stranger. Yet in the space of those few days so much had happened between them. Big, important, life-changing things.
‘Sorry I took so long.’ He lounged back in his chair, his dark lashes shielding the expression in his eyes. ‘I needed to clear my mind. You know—’ he made a sweeping gesture with his hand ‘—so much emotion after that wonderful ceremony. It was simple and yet so beautifully romantic.’
Hearing the mocking note in his voice, she gave him an icy glare. ‘It’s all you deserve.’
His gaze locked on hers. ‘All I deserve?’ He repeated her words softly. ‘That’s a missed opportunity.’
The glitter in his eyes made her nerves scream. ‘What do you mean?’
Tilting his head back, he smiled slowly. ‘Just that if I’d known you were trying to punish me I would have suggested something more exciting. Mutually satisfying.’
Her muscles tightened and she felt heat creep over her cheeks. Stiffening her shoulders, she forced herself to look him in the eye. ‘I wasn’t trying to punish you. It was the only option under the circumstances. And I don’t see why you even care about the ceremony anyway. You seduce virgins under false pretences. You don’t do romance.’
Something flared in his eyes. ‘I don’t care, cara. But I can’t believe a convent girl like you had that kind of ceremony pinned on her wedding board.’
Without warning he leaned forward and brushed her hair lightly with his fingertips. For a heartbeat she forgot to breathe. And then, as heat rushed through her body, she jerked backwards. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You have coriandoli in your hair,’ he said softly, holding out his hand.
She gazed down at the rose petals, felt her pulse slowing. Vicè was wrong. She’d never planned her wedding day. In fact, she’d blocked it from her mind. Why would she want to plan a day that would so blatantly remind her that her life choices were not her own?
No, it had been Claudia—her sweet, overlooked little sister—who had dreamed of marriage and a husband and a home of her own.
Remembering her sister’s tears, she curled her fingers into her palms. ‘It’s sweet of you to be concerned, Vicenzu,’ she said. ‘But I can have my dream wedding with my next husband.’
* * *
Vicenzu stared at her, her words resounding inside his head. Seriously? They had been married for less than two hours and she was already thinking about her next wedding? Her next husband?
His chest tightened. The thought of Imma being with another man made him irrationally but intensely angry. And as his gaze roamed over her tight, taunting smile and the defiance in her green eyes, he felt his body respond to the challenge. To her beauty.
But his response wasn’t just about the swing of her hair or the delicacy of her features—the dark, perfect curve of her eyebrows, the full, soft mouth, those arresting green eyes. There was something else...something hazy, elusive...a shielded quality.