About avenging his nonno.
Hell, he’d married her because it had been the only way to get the hotel back into his family’s trust. Now she was giving him the thing he’d wanted all his adult life on a silver platter, yet he found himself hesitating.
Why the hell wasn’t he just agreeing to her terms?
Because he didn’t like to concede defeat. And, even though he’d have the hotel, he didn’t like the idea of Skye walking away from him before he was ready.
‘Sign the divorce papers, Teo.’ She used the diminutive form of his name by mistake. The way her face paled showed her remorse. That wasn’t who they were any more. Hell, they’d never been that couple. Not really.
He’d never even wanted a wife. He’d wanted the hotel, and their marriage had been the clearest way to achieve that aim, but Matteo Vin Santo was a bachelor from way back. If he signed this paper, he’d be rid of the wife he’d never really wanted and he’d have the hotel. The only thing to regret was that he wouldn’t have the pleasure of his wife’s body again. A small price to pay for achieving a decades-old goal, though. ‘Fine.’ His nod was curt.
Her relief was palpable. He tried not to take it personally. She’d be all kinds of stupid to want anything other than a divorce from him—and Skye Johnson was definitely not stupid.
‘But I have a condition of my own.’
Her brows shot up, her lips parted, and he ached to kiss her. To wipe that look of disdain from her pretty features. To remind her of just how she came apart in his arms. He’d always loved her in yellow. It showed off her flawless honey skin, the darkness of her hair, the innocence of who she was.
‘I want one more night with you.’
Skye froze, her eyes sweeping shut, her lips parting wider as she struggled for breath. He watched the words take effect; the way colour spread through her cheeks.
‘No.’ It was just a whisper. A husky denial. ‘Never.’
He laughed, a harsh sound of cynicism and frustration. ‘Never say never, cara. Not when you fall apart in my arms as you do...’
Skye tilted her chin, her eyes locked defiantly with his.
‘Desire is one thing, but I have no intention of acting on it.’
‘Then I have no intention of signing those papers,’ he threatened silkily.
Panic flooded her. Fascinating.
‘What’s the matter? Is the idea of being Mrs Matteo Vin Santo so abhorrent to you? I remember a time when you couldn’t wait to be my wife—and be in my bed.’
‘I didn’t know who you were then. Nor what you were capable of.’
‘And what am I capable of?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Haunted, miserable words that slammed against him. Guilt was not something Matteo had much experience of, but he felt a flush of it. He didn’t like it.
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His obligation was to his family.
Not Skye.
But her hurt was obvious and it was a hurt he had caused.
Yes, he felt guilt. He felt remorse. He wished...what? That he could change it? That he could have procured the hotel without hurting her?
It wasn’t possible. He’d tried that. He’d spent years trying to lure her father into selling and the bastard had been determined.
‘Over my dead body.’ Those were the last words Carey Johnson had said to Matteo. If Carey had only listened to reason, if he hadn’t been driven by the stupid grudge that had led to his taking the hotel in the first instance, it would never have come to this.
But, looking across his office at his wife, Matteo wasn’t sure he cared about the hotel, his grandfather or her father. None of them mattered. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could salvage their marriage—nor did he believe he wanted to. But he needed, desperately, to kiss her.
To touch her.