Paper Marriages: Wife: Bought and Paid For / His Convenient Marriage / A Convenient Wife

Her mouth felt dry, her blouse was sticking to her, and it did nothing for her self-esteem to see Solo looking as cool and elegant as ever.

The customs officer waved them through without even looking at their passports.

‘You must be well known,’ Penny murmured as they exited Naples airport. Unaccustomed to the heat and the brilliant sunlight, she shielded her eyes with one hand and glanced up at Solo.

But his attention was fixed on a white-haired, casually dressed man in shorts and a black shirt who flung his arms around Solo like a long-lost brother, and a rapid conversation in Italian ensued. Then the older man turned to smile at Penny with sympathy and Solo quickly introduced him as Nico.

When she was seated in the back of an elegant black car, Solo beside her, he explained. ‘Nico and his wife look after my home, and they both speak a bit of English, so anything you need feel free to ask them.’

They drove for what seemed miles in silence. With each breath Penny took she was aware of the faint scent of Solo’s aftershave. He was too close sitting beside her, his arm casually resting along the back of the seat, his jacket pulled open, and the white shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his muscular chest.

When the car suddenly turned and she fell against him, she quickly straightened up and looked out of the window, and was glad of the distraction as the car was angling into a concealed driveway flanked by massive stone pillars and lined with trees.

She gasped when the house came into view. ‘This is your home!’ she exclaimed, turning stunned green eyes to his perfectly chiselled profile.

Amazingly, colour striped his high cheekbone. ‘Yes, it is, and I like it,’ he said, his voice hardening almost defensively, and stepped out of the car, opened Penny’s door and held out his hand.

A pretty fantasy—there was no other way to describe it. The pale blue stuccoed house, with delicately carved white-painted shutters, had fantastic sculptured scrolls and smiling nymphs at each corner and marching along a stone balustrade at the base of the high slate roof were twelve sculptured figures. In the vast expanse of a paved forecourt were three fountains with elegant dolphins and mermaids. The design was quirky classical, but so not Solo…

He was an aloof, arrogant man, and if she had had to picture his type of house it would have been something impressive and solid in granite, with no frills, as hard as he was.

‘Penny.’

She glanced up. ‘Yes,’ she said and, ignoring his hand, she got out of the car and looked around. Beyond the open courtyard there was a terrace with a riot of colourful flowers and shrubs leading to an oval swimming pool. A sloping lawn ended at a row of orange and lemon trees with a view of the sparkling blue sea beyond.

‘Do you approve?’ Solo asked, moving to stand beside her, and deliberately sliding an arm around her waist to hold her at his side.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she answered honestly. ‘But not what I expected.’

‘Things rarely are. As I am beginning to realise,’ Solo said enigmatically, and urged her towards the porch.

Nico preceded them in and a smiling dark-haired woman of about fifty waited for them. ‘My wife, Anna.’

‘Welcome back, signor, and this must be Miss Haversham. Good morning,’ Anna said with a heavy Italian accent.

Was it still morning? Penny wasn’t sure—the effect of Solo’s hand on her waist, warm and possessive, added to her confusion and, glancing at her wrist-watch, she registered it was almost one. ‘Good afternoon.’ She tried to smile.

Solo grasped Penny’s arm and led her across the marble-floored hall to the foot of the stairs. ‘Penny has had a bad journey,’ he explained quietly. ‘Leave the luggage till later, Nico. I am going to take her up to her room. She needs to rest.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Penny said as her delighted gaze swept around the beautiful hall, the delicately painted antique Italian furniture. A roll-top desk against one wall, a gorgeous hall table. ‘Can I—?’

‘No, upstairs,’ Solo said firmly and, striding forward, he almost dragged her up the curving staircase, and along a wide landing and into a room.

‘Why the rush, I am feeling much better and I would like to have a look around,’ Penny said as he released her and closed the door, her angry green gaze clashing with grey.

‘Because you have had a very traumatic journey and you need to recover,’ Solo said smoothly, walking towards her, his mouth curved in a brief smile, and to her astonishment he walked straight past her.

‘Here is your bathroom.’ She turned and he had opened a door, and beyond it was the gleam of cream and gold tiles and sparkling mirrored walls. ‘Drink your tea, then take a shower and have a rest.’

He was ordering her around like a child. ‘Now, wait a minute…’ Penny muttered, burning with resentment and other feelings she preferred not to recognise, but, ignoring her, he continued.

‘Your dressing room is over here, but don’t waste too much time unpacking.’ His grey eyes clashed with her rebellious green. ‘On Monday you will be moving into the master suite as my wife.’

Wife hit her like a thunderbolt. She glanced wildly around, then back at Solo. He had moved to stand only inches away from her, and it finally registered in her tired mind—Italy, this man, this room, this was reality.

Her head jerked up and she stared at him. ‘It’s impossible, Solo. You can’t get married just like that.’ She was panicking. ‘I mean, you need documents, a birth certificate, and papers.’ She tossed back her head, and hoped he would not recognise her panic. ‘What about my family, friends?’

‘All arranged. I spent a constructive hour in your father’s study. It wasn’t possible for us to marry in England quickly. Luckily I have some pull in Italy and I have the documentation.’ He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. ‘I have an appointment with the relevant authority in an hour, and later today we are going shopping for some clothes for you.’

‘There is nothing the matter with my clothes,’ Penny cut in angrily.

His grey eyes made a slow, indolent appraisal of her slender form, and she was horribly conscious of her crumpled blouse and trousers. ‘Not quite bridal finery,’ he remarked, moving closer.

‘I don’t need you—’

He lifted one finger and pressed it over her parted lips. ‘All you need to do is to look your usual beautiful self on Monday, and keep your mouth shut, except to say sì.’ He looked at her mouth and then into her eyes. ‘Everything clear?’

He must have gone through her father’s papers in the study, and she had let him, she thought, angry with her own trusting stupidity. He tipped her head up, and her breath caught in her throat when she realised he was going to kiss her. She told herself it wasn’t what she wanted, but when his lips replaced his finger on her mouth she welcomed his kiss with a soft sigh of surrender.

Solo lifted his head and looked down into her dazed green eyes, the softly pouting mouth, and offered, ‘If you like we can have a wedding reception for your friends when we return to England.’

‘That would be nice,’ Penny said rather nervously as she glimpsed the deep, sensual warmth in his eyes.

‘Good, because there is no going back,’ he mocked. ‘You’re mine.’

Something Penny was made very much aware of at six o’clock that evening as, stripped to her briefs, she stood in the changing room of an exclusive boutique silently fuming.

She had slept for most of the afternoon. Anna had awoken her with a cup of tea and some very English cucumber sandwiches, and the information the master would be waiting for her downstairs in half an hour. Physically feeling much better, Penny had showered and dressed in a plain rose-coloured shift dress in fine cotton, a matching scarf held her long hair back and, with sandals on her feet, she had made it downstairs in time.

Solo had taken a brief look at her and said, ‘Very nice, but I think we can do better than that for your wedding dress,’ which did nothing for her self-confidence.

‘In that case, you can’t come with me. It is unlucky for the groom to see the wedding dress before the marriage service.’

With a sardonic tilt of one ebony brow, Solo said, ‘Foolish superstition. A man makes his own luck in this world.’

Solo certainly did, Penny thought wryly, and did not bother arguing.

A short journey in a fire-red sports car saw them arrive at this exclusive boutique in Sorrento. The owner, a stunning-looking woman named Teresa, greeted Solo with a kiss and a hug, while Penny was subjected to a brief smile and a comprehensive examination of her slender figure, before Teresa turned back to Solo and a discussion in Italian followed.

Roughly Penny pulled the cream creation over her head and smoothed it down over her slender hips, her temper simmering. Half a dozen times already she had paraded out of the cubicle into the salon, and had to suffer the indignity of Solo lounging on a satin sofa and studying every inch of her body. Then discussing the relative merits of the garments in his native language with Teresa, before saying yes or no.

At least that was what Penny thought they were doing, but they could have been arranging a hot date for all she knew, and she felt like an idiot. She did not even bother looking in the mirror this time before she marched back out into the salon.

‘So will this do?’ she demanded, her green eyes flashing fire. Teresa was now on the sofa beside Solo. The woman might as well sit on his lap, Penny thought angrily. It was perfectly obvious they were very good friends and probably more. Not that she cared, she told herself…

Solo’s grey eyes lifted, and an arrested expression crossed his hard features. Slowly his gaze raked over her face and down her throat, to her slender shoulders and lower. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured.

She felt the heat of his glance down her body, like a flame, and looked down. Then blushed scarlet when she realised the strapless gown, embroidered in tiny seed pearls, revealed the upper curve of her breasts, and fitted like a second skin into her narrow waist and down over her hips to end above her knee. ‘There is a jacket to go with it.’ She spun around.