And Cecilia felt as if he’d lit her on fire. He was a perfectly formed, mouthwatering specimen of a man. She had thought so years ago—but it was even worse now. His scars tracked down his left side, where he’d sustained the most damage. But now they seemed like so much decoration. Not angry and livid, but simply scars. Markers on the map of his male beauty.
And the truth was, Cecilia wasn’t sure she was equipped to handle this.
“Then why did you bring me in here?” she demanded.
“You will sleep in my bed,” he told her as pitiless as ever, his black gaze unreadable. “And no, you will not come to my bed fully dressed. I will consider it an insult.”
“But Dante—”
“The child will be monitored, naturally. By staff members paid for the purpose. Should he need you, they will rouse us both at once.”
“But—”
“Cecilia.” And she truly hated that soft tone of his, because it was Pascal at his most dangerous. And his most implacable. “I did not marry so that I could live apart from my wife.”
“You married as a form of blackmail.”
“I did not marry you to blackmail you.” And she almost believed he meant that, until he shrugged. And that muscled wonder of his chest moved, making her mouth go dry. “But you would do well to remember that this marriage is for my convenience, not yours.”
Cecilia was entirely too aware of that. “I have already given you far too much for one lifetime. I’m not giving you anything else.”
And he had stood there, that faint smile on his sensual mouth, and something far too knowing in his dark gaze.
“I have already told you what will happen, but let me elaborate.”
“Not on my account,” she said, but he ignored her.
“You will beg me for my touch, and you will do so sooner rather than later. Believe this, if nothing else.”
Then, just when she thought he would put his hands on her and carry her off against her will… Pascal did the exact opposite. He headed away from her instead, toward the vast platform bed that dominated the room they stood in, which she had been doing her level best not to look at.
Cecilia watched, surprised and a little bit put out, as he climbed into the bed and sprawled there, like Roman emperors of old.
“Do you need a nap before you finish threatening me?” she asked. With perhaps a bit too much emotion in her voice.
“I want you in this bed,” Pascal told her in a dark tone that made her melt, then burn. “But I’m not going to wrestle you into it. If you go and sleep somewhere else, I will simply come find you, bring you back and set you on your own two feet. Right there. Until you come to your senses and get into bed beside me. The question you should ask yourself, Cecilia, is how tired are you tonight? How many times do you wish to do this?”
“I’m exhausted,” she had managed to say. “I don’t want to do this at all.”
“Then if I were you, I would come to bed. Now. Instead of performing a grand charade that will end the same way no matter what you do.”
And Cecilia had believed him. She had walked stiffly from the room, but not to escape him. Only to tend to herself after such a long trip—and the far longer walk down that aisle that she still couldn’t believe had happened. She’d washed her face, then changed into the only thing she’d brought with her that bore any resemblance to appropriate sleepwear. It was the slip she’d worn beneath her dress, and it seemed silly to put it on to sleep in.
But the alternative to that was to crawl into Pascal’s bed naked.
And that was clearly impossible.
She stalked back out into the bedroom to find Pascal typing something into his phone, looking wholly at ease. She glared at him, but he didn’t look up. Still, she was sure she could feel his eyes on her as she skirted the foot of the bed, then stood there for a moment on the opposite side.
Cecilia understood what he was playing at, suddenly. This was the first surrender. He could easily have picked her up and tossed her on the bed. He could have kissed her and made her forget her own name.
But he was making her do this. He was making her do thisto herself.
She should have turned and run into one of the many other rooms. One of them was bound to have a lock—
But she didn’t. She climbed into bed and lay as close to the edge as she could get without toppling off. Rigid and resentful, like a martyr at the pyre.
He turned off the lights not long after, and settled in. Cecilia waited. Every muscle inside her body was tense, prepared for him to reach over, take liberties, go back on his word…