Claimed by the Sicilian: Sicilian Husband, Blackmailed Bride / The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge / The Sicilian's Wife

‘I preferred the dress you wore for our wedding.’

‘That simple thing? It was just something I’d picked up from a chain store.’

But she’d looked amazing in it. She had looked so sweet and innocent, excited and yet nervous, anticipating her wedding day with such joy that it was just bubbling out of her. At least, that was what he had thought at first.

It was only later that he had realised how much she regretted what she had done, when a better opportunity—a more aristocratic suitor—a wealthier suitor, she believed—had come along.

‘This is a designer original—it cost a small fortune. I would never have been able to afford it by myself, of course. But Rafe offered to pay for it…’

‘He did what?’

It was the last thing Guido wanted to hear. He detested the idea of anything that man had provided touching her. The thought of Rafe St Clair sent his blood pressure spiking, made him feel nauseous with fury. Though that was nothing to the way he had felt when he had first learned just whom St Clair planned to marry.

But then, why was he surprised? Hadn’t she left him for just that sort of reason? Because she wanted the sort of man who could provide her with designer originals? He had never been more thankful that he hadn’t told her the full truth about himself. If he had, then she might have stayed with him for all the wrong reasons.

‘Take it off!’

‘What?’ Her eyes widened in shock.

‘Take that dress off.’

‘With you standing there?’ Amber shook her head sharply. ‘No way! At least have the decency to leave the room.’

If he went out that door, he wouldn’t stop until he found St Clair and ripped his head from his shoulders, the way he was feeling right now. Fighting the urge to do just that, Guido flung himself down in the chair that stood in the wide bay window.

‘I’m your husband and there’s nothing I haven’t seen. Take it off, Amber, or I’ll tear it off you myself.’

The look she flung him was one of total loathing but he let it bounce off the shield of restraint he had put up around himself. Whether Amber liked it or not, staying was definitely the safer option.

Or was it?

With another blazing, fulminating glare in his direction, Amber got to her feet and deliberately turned her back on him. Once again he was presented with the view of her he had seen as he entered the church. And once again he knew the twisting, primitive hunger low down in his gut.

It was worse this time. Worse in so many ways.

Then he had only seen her back view, in the white silk dress, with the long lace veil falling down from the crown of her head. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t touched her for months. But the long-ago memories had been bad enough.

Now he had newer memories to add to those long-ago ones. Now he was tormented by the recollection of how it had felt to hold her in his arms, to know the soft, warm pressure of her slender frame up against his; how it had felt to kiss her. If he slicked his tongue over his lips he could still taste the sweetness of her there. The scent of her perfume was still in his nostrils.

And the claw of lust was harder than ever before.

‘Want any help?’ Guido offered.

‘No!’

Did she know what she was doing to him with those small, sensual, wriggling movements? Rationally, he knew they were designed to enable her to reach the handle of the long zip at the back of the dress, ease it down. But the effect they were having on him was very, very far from rational.

She’d got the damned zip down partway now. Far enough down to reveal the bones and lace of some corset type of underwear. Underwear that exposed the delicate pink of her skin above and that skimmed downwards towards the narrow line of her waist, the sensual swell of her hips. And still she kept up those little movements, twisting, arching her back as she struggled to reach the bit right in the middle of her back.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. You come near me and I’ll—Ouch!’

It was a sharp, instinctive cry of pain and it had him out of his chair in a second, taking a step forward hastily and then freezing sharply, trying to assess the situation; see what had happened.

Amber too had stilled, one hand halfway up her back from below, the other reaching from her shoulder, both of them straining for and not quite reaching the small white handle of the fine zip fastener. Her head was also pulled slightly back, held at an unnatural angle.

‘The veil has caught in the zip. That’s why it won’t move down.’

‘I know!’ It was a sound of frustrated exasperation, hissed out from between gritted teeth. ‘But I can manage.’

‘Of course you can.’ He deliberately laced the words with sarcasm.

‘I can—I just need to…Ouch!’

And then it came, muffled, uneven, and very low.

‘Guido…please…’

He was at her side in a moment, bending to the spot where the delicate lace of her veil had snagged in the runners of the zip fastening. He could see now why she had been exclaiming in pain. Not only had the veil caught, but it was pulled tight, dragging her head back, tugging against the ornate hairstyle, the fine tiara too, in a way that must have been desperately uncomfortable. And each time she moved she only entangled herself further, adding to her discomfort.

‘Hold still.’

The best thing to do was to remove the tiara and the veil. With them loose…

His fingers were busy as his thoughts, reaching for and pulling out the hundreds of pins, or so it seemed, that held the headdress in place. Soft tendrils of hair fell about his hands as he worked. They stroked his face in silken caresses, soft as the touch of her hands. The heated scent of her body rose up to surround him, tugging on his senses, making him even harder than before so that he swore softly and savagely in his own language.

‘What?’

Amber heard him mutter but the sound was muffled by the way he had his head bent, his attention apparently focused on disentangling her from the veil and the headdress.

‘What did you say?’

No answer. He really was concentrating on what he was doing. And for that she should be grateful.

If he was absorbed in extricating her from the tangled veil and headdress, then he wouldn’t notice the way her colour came and went as heat suffused her body and then fled from it, leaving her cold and shivery as if she was in the grip of a fever. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure he must hear it, even through the boned and stiffened basque she wore underneath the silk dress. Her breath was ragged and uneven, and her head swam so that she swayed uncertainly on her feet, her eyes staring, unfocused, at the opposite wall.

His touch on her hair was soft but sure; it felt like a caress even though she knew that was not what he meant it to be.

Admit it! she reproached herself. Admit that you want it to be a caress. That you have wanted him to touch you—to caress you—ever since that kiss in the church.

That kiss.

Her skin flamed, her senses yearning, just to remember it. It was as if that kiss had swept away all the intervening days and months since she had walked out on Guido and their marriage. She had spent a long year trying to get over him and it had taken just one touch, one kiss and she was right back where she had started. Back in the yearning hunger, the demanding passion that his touch sparked in every nerve in her body. Back in the throes of the powerful sexual need that this man—and only this man—could awaken in her.

She’d grabbed back the vulnerable heart she’d given him, and guarded it from him ever since she had discovered his duplicity and his callousness, but the truth was that she was only safe from her sexual enslavement to Guido Corsentino while he was thousands of miles away, safely out of her life.

He had merely to walk back into her world and she was lost again. Adrift on a heated sea of longing and need without a compass or any sort of guiding star. The only recognisable landmark on her horizon was Guido himself. And, like the compass needle that was always pulled to the north, she was drawn to him whether she wanted to be or not.