Claiming My Bride Of Convenience

‘You will not go down that forsaken route,’ I ground out. ‘Is that clear?’

She shrugged, the movement of her slender shoulders tautening the material across her breasts.

‘There’s nothing about it in our agreement. I don’t have to be faithful, since you certainly haven’t been. I could even have a child without you.’ Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Consider this nothing more than a courtesy call.’

My fists clenched. ‘I will not be made a cuckold so you can have an illegitimate child.’ I spoke savagely, memories pounding through me in a relentless tide of rejection.

You’re nothing but a bastard. You were born one, you will remain one, and you will die one.

I certainly wouldn’t countenance another one being brought into the world, for that was what it would be if Daisy had a child that was not my own.

‘I hardly think that’s what we’re talking about here.’

Daisy’s chin was still lifted, but her lips trembled. She wasn’t as confident as she pretended. The thought brought satisfaction, as well as a surprising shaft of disappointment. Some contrary part of me had enjoyed her boldness.

‘And you can’t exactly call yourself cuckolded considering we’ve never…?’ Her voice wavered and she looked away.

‘We’ve never…?’ I prompted silkily.

My blood was flowing hotly through my veins and that slinky tube of a dress was begging to be peeled off her curvaceous body. What I’d insisted I would never do suddenly seemed like a very good idea. The right idea, all things considered. I could prove a point, and do it quite pleasurably.

‘You know what I mean,’ Daisy said, her voice little more than a whisper.

‘What I know,’ I replied as I closed the distance between us so that I could feel the heat rolling off her body and she could feel it off mine, ‘is that a few minutes ago you told me you wanted a baby.’

Her lips parted and her eyes widened in realisation. ‘Not yours.’

‘And yet I’m your husband,’ I remarked. ‘Wanting my baby is the most sensible idea, really.’

‘N…no,’ she stammered. ‘It isn’t.’

Her skin was pale golden and freckled and she smelled of vanilla and almonds. Delicious. I lifted my hand and traced the pure line of her collarbone with the tip of my finger.

She shuddered under my touch and took a step back. ‘You’re taking this all wrong.’

‘I really don’t think I am.’

‘What happened to marriage in name only?’

Yes, what had happened to it? It was starting not to seem like such a good idea. Distantly I remembered the original purposes for my marriage—to spite my grandfather and keep living my life the way I wanted to. And yet somewhere, tangled up in all that, had been the desire to do some good to someone and even be honourable about it—although whether I’d achieved those aims was debatable.

Yet all of it—all my resolutions and all my revenge—went up in smoke as I looked at Daisy standing in front of me, a flame of beauty, firing my own desire. In this moment all I wanted was her.

‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘we should renegotiate the terms of our arrangement.’

Matteo’s eyes turned the colour of smoke as he took another deliberate step towards me, his intent clear in every taut line of his body. I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move, to think. I’d never expected this—the heat in his eyes, the sure touch of his hand. The mere caress of his fingertips on my collarbone had sent arrows of exquisite sensation shafting through me. If he touched me again…

Why did that feel like a promise?

‘Matteo, you’ve made it very clear that you want a marriage in name only.’

My voice and legs both shook as I managed a step backwards, away from this sudden new temptation. I’d always known Matteo was handsome, appealing, sexual. But I’d thought I was strong enough, smart enough, to stay immune. Clearly I wasn’t.

‘Don’t mess that up just because your pride is dented by my asking for an annulment,’ I said, trying to sound reasonable instead of terrified…and tempted. So, so tempted.

‘This isn’t about pride, Daisy. It’s about desire.’

His voice was as smooth as silk, so assured as it flowed over me. He took a step closer, close enough that I could breathe the woodsy scent of him again, and it made me dizzy.

‘I meant—’ I began, my voice wobbling, but I was silenced by the touch of his hands spanning my waist.

‘And this is what I meant.’

His palms were warm and strong through the thin material of my dress, pulling me towards him. I gasped out loud as he captured my mouth in a kiss that demanded—and I gave.

I’d been kissed only once before in my life, by a man I’d found odious. As Matteo’s lips came down on mine I instinctively braced myself for a similar experience—bad breath, slimy tongue, pawing hands.

It took only a millisecond for me to realise how ridiculous that notion was, how little I had to fear, and yet at the same time how much. Matteo’s kiss was as different from the first one I’d had as the ocean to a mud puddle.

His mouth possessed mine as he explored it with sensual thoroughness, obliterating thought and weakening my knees, his tongue and lips moving in a dance as old as the ages and yet feeling startlingly new. How could a kiss do so much? It was practically a weapon.

But he didn’t stop with a kiss. His hands moved from my waist to my breast, his palm cupping it with that same deft and shocking assuredness, his thumb running over the peak. I mewled. I actually mewled. I felt as if I didn’t know myself any more—this creature who melted like candle wax, who clamoured for more. Because I wanted more from him—more than a kiss, a caress. In that moment I wanted it all.

Without even realising what I was doing, I clenched my hands on the lapels of his tuxedo and opened my mouth under his, inviting him in. I stood on my tiptoes and swayed as he anchored his hands on my hips and tugged me towards him.

My hips collided with that particularly impressive and overwhelming part of his anatomy, and it was enough to send a blast of icy realisation through me.

I stumbled back.

What was I doing? What was he doing?

‘Don’t!’ I managed to gasp, even though everything in me was reeling, my senses exploding like fireworks as if my whole body had come alive under his hands, my skin still prickling with need.

‘Are you sure you mean that?’

Besides a slight flush on his blade-like cheekbones, Matteo looked remarkably unaffected. He sank his hands into his pockets, his gaze terribly cool. The realisation that his kiss had affected me far more than it had him was utterly humiliating, and sudden unfortunate tears stung my eyes.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I think I could convince you otherwise.’

Already the flush had left his face and he stood there, the archetype of assured arrogance, his shoulders thrust back, his jaw set, his eyes glittering—while I was still raggedly panting, my heart rate skittering all over the place.

‘Only to prove a point,’ I choked out as I willed my flush to fade and my heart to slow. ‘You’ve told me enough times already.’

‘What?’

He raised his eyebrows, sounding distinctly nonplussed by my statement. Did he not remember? Had he not realised how insultingly clear he’d been about making sure this was a marriage in name only? Didn’t he recall the scathing look he’d given me, the reassurance that he would have no need to take advantage?