Hot Nights with...the Italian: The Santangeli Marriage / The Italian’s Ruthless Marriage Command / Veretti's Dark Vengeance

Because of the heat, she deliberately took the climb up to the terrace very easily, pausing frequently to stand in the shade, and look back over the view.

But as she reached the top of the last flight of steps she halted abruptly, her heart thumping out a warning tattoo against her ribcage.

Because Renzo was there, sitting at the table, his feet up on an adjacent chair, reading a newspaper, a glass of wine beside him. He was wearing brief white shorts, a pair of espadrilles and sunglasses. The rest of him was tanned skin.

There was no way to avoid him, of course, Marisa realised uneasily, because this was the only route to the house. She just wished she was wearing more clothes. Or that he was.

It was all too horribly reminiscent of the last time he’d seen her in a bikini, when she’d given way to an impulse she’d hardly understood and been left to weep at her own humiliation.

She swallowed. But that had been years ago, and she wasn’t a child any longer—as he’d demonstrated last night.

And now there were things which had to be said, which couldn’t be put off any longer. Three birds, she thought, for the price of two. And bit her lip.

As she stood, hesitating, Renzo glanced up and saw her. Immediately he put his paper aside and got politely to his feet. ‘Buon pomeriggio.’ His greeting was unsmiling.

‘Good afternoon,’ she returned, dry-mouthed. In some odd way, he seemed taller than ever. ‘I—I was hoping you’d be back.’

He said expressionlessly, ‘I am flattered.’

His tone suggested the opposite, but Marisa ploughed on, trying to look anywhere but directly at him.

‘Evangelina said you might need medical treatment. I—I was—concerned.’

‘In case I had been blinded?’ he questioned with faint derision. He shook his head. ‘Evangelina exaggerates. As you see, no doctor was necessary,’ he added, removing his dark glasses.

She had to look at him then, staring with horror at the dark bruising at the corner of his eye. It was even worse than she’d expected.

She said huskily, ‘I—I’m truly sorry. Please believe that I didn’t mean to do it—that it was a total accident.’

He shrugged. ‘Then God help me if you ever intend to do it.’

Colour rose in her face. She said, ‘I never would. I—I was startled, that’s all.’ She spread her hands defensively. ‘All this—the strain of these last weeks—the wedding—it hasn’t been easy for me.’

‘And therefore my quite unreasonable wish to kiss you goodnight was the final straw?’ he said softly. ‘Is that what you are saying?’

She bit her lip. ‘Yes—perhaps.’ She looked down at the black and white marble tiles at her feet. ‘Although I realise it’s no excuse.’

‘At least we agree on something.’

He was not making this very easy for her, she thought. But then why should he? He was the one with the black eye.

‘Also,’ she went on, ‘I have to thank you for pretending that you walked into a door.’

‘It is the usual excuse, I believe,’ he said crisply. ‘Inoltre, I felt the truth would hardly be to the credit of either of us.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And Evangelina would have been most distressed. She is a romantic creature.’

She did not meet his gaze. ‘Then we must already be a terrible disappointment to her.’

‘No doubt,’ he said. ‘But we must all learn to live with our various disillusionments.’ He shrugged again. ‘And for some time to come, it seems, to judge by last night.’

The moment of truth had arrived. Earlier than she’d planned, but a few hours couldn’t really matter. Anyway, there was no turning back now, she thought, taking a deep breath. But her voice faltered a little just the same. ‘Well—perhaps not.’

There was an odd silence, then Renzo said slowly, ‘Why, Maria Lisa, are you saying you want me to make love to you?’

She realised that he was looking at her, studying her, allowing his eyes to travel slowly down her half-naked body. Thought again of a time when she would have responded with eager joy to the caress of his gaze, and how her pathetic attempt to lure him had met with rejection instead.

A small, cold stone seemed to settle in the middle of her chest.

She said, lifting her chin, ‘Shall we save the pretence for the staff, signore? You don’t want me any more than I want you. Julia told me you already have this Lucia Gallo in your life, so we both know exactly why we’re here, and what’s expected of us, and it has nothing to do with love.’

She stared rigidly past him. ‘You said last night that you wanted me not to—not to dread being with you, but that’s not going to happen. It—can’t. Because, however long you wait, I’m never going to be—ready in the way you wish.’

He was utterly still, she realised, and completely silent. In fact, she could have been addressing a statue. A man of bronze.

Oh, God, she thought. This would have been so much less complicated over dinner. And she wasn’t explaining it all in the way she’d rehearsed down at the pool either. In fact, she seemed to be saying all kinds of things she hadn’t intended. But she’d started, and she had to go stumbling on. She had no choice now.

‘You bought me for a purpose.’ Her voice quivered a little. ‘So you’re entitled to use me—in that way. I—I realise that, and I accepted it when I agreed to marry you. Truly I did. I also accept that you were trying to be kind when you said you’d be patient and—and wait in order to make … sex with you … easier for me. Except, it hasn’t worked. Because waiting has just made everything a hundred times worse. It’s like this huge black cloud hanging over me—a sentence that’s been passed but not carried out.’

She swallowed. ‘It’s been this way ever since we became engaged, and I can’t bear it any longer. So I’d prefer it—over and done with, and as soon as possible.’

She slid a glance at him, and for a brief instant she had the strangest impression that it wasn’t only the corner of his eye but his entire face that was bruised.

Some trick of the light, she thought, her throat closing as she hurried on with a kind of desperation.

‘So I need to tell you that it’s all right—for you to come to my room tonight. I’ll do whatever you want, and—I—I promise that I won’t fight you this time.’ And stopped, at last, with a little nervous gasp.

The silence and stillness remained, but the quality of it seemed to have changed in some subtle way she did not understand.

But all the same it worried her, and she needed it to be broken. To obtain some reaction from him.

She drew a breath. ‘Perhaps I haven’t explained properly …’

‘Al contrario, you have been more than clear, signora.’ His voice reached her at last, cool and level. ‘Even eloquent. My congratulations. I am only sorry that my attempt at behaving towards you with consideration has failed so badly. Forgive me, please, and believe I did not intend to cause you stress by delaying the consummation of our marriage. However, that can soon be put right. And we do not have to wait until tonight.’

Two long strides brought him to her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her towards the open French windows of the salotto.

She said, in a voice she did not recognise. ‘Renzo—what are you doing?’ She began to struggle. ‘Put me down—do you hear? Put me down at once.’

‘I intend to.’ He crossed the room to the empty fireplace, setting her down on the enormous fur rug that fronted it and kneeling over her. He said softly, ‘You said you would not fight me, Marisa. I recommend that you keep your promise.’

She looked up at him—at the livid bruising and the hard set of his mouth. At the cold purpose in his eyes.

‘Oh, God, no.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Not like this—please.’

‘Do not distress yourself.’ His voice was harsh. ‘Your ordeal will be brief—far more so than it would have been tonight. And that is my promise to you.’

He reached down almost negligently, stripping her of the bottom half of her bikini and tossing it aside, before unzipping his shorts.

He did not hold her down, nor use any kind of force. Shocked as she was, she could recognise that. But then he did not have to, she thought numbly, because she’d told him that she wouldn’t resist.