It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

‘Emilia.’ His voice seemed to reach her from a great distance and she opened unwilling eyes and looked at him.

The caressing hand had stilled. Indeed, he wasn’t touching her at all, but was propped up on a elbow, studying her, the hazel eyes hooded.

He said unsmilingly, ‘I feel I am boring you, carissima. If it is true, do not hesitate to say so, or tell me if there is some other way I might please you more.’

‘I just want you to leave me alone,’ she said raggedly. ‘Nothing else. Can’t you understand that?’’

He shrugged. ‘Your body does not seem to agree. Continue your passive resistance, if you must, but I still intend to make you my wife. However, it would be easier for both of us if you were to—co-operate a little.’ He paused. ‘Would it be so impossible to return my kisses—perhaps even to touch me?’

‘Anything you want from me, signore, you will have to take.’ Her voice was quiet and clear. ‘I’ll give you nothing. Not now—not ever.

‘Nor will I forgive you for breaking the promise you made on our wedding night,’ she added huskily.

He moved then, taking her by the shoulders and jerking her towards him, crushing her breasts against his chest as his mouth took hers in a bruising kiss that was in total contrast to his earlier consideration.

She was gasping for breath, when he released her, allowing her to fall back against the pillows.

‘This is our wedding night,’ he said softly. ‘Here and now. And I will mark it with another promise to you, mia cara.

‘I swear that there will come a time—some day, some night soon—when you will desire me as much as I want you now.

‘And then, may God help you.’

He turned away, stretching down for his robe on the floor beside the bed. And, for a moment, with an odd jump of her heart, Emily thought he was leaving.

But as he straightened, she realised that he’d only been reaching for the protection he intended to use.

He saw her eyes widen and said icily, ‘Our marriage has no permanent basis, Emilia. It follows, therefore, that there can be no risk of a child.’

He positioned himself so that she could feel the hardness and strength of him pressing against the junction of her thighs. And the breath caught in her throat.

‘Relax a little,’ he directed. ‘Or I may hurt you.’

‘Hurt me then,’ she flung at him. ‘Do you think I care?’

As his mouth tightened in frustration and his eyes glittered with sudden anger, she knew a brief, almost savage satisfaction.

Then he moved fractionally and entered her.

He paused, drawing a deep breath. He said quietly, ‘Bend your knees.’ And it suddenly seemed wiser to obey.

He took her slowly, easing his way into her, his eyes never leaving her face. She lay very still, staring past him, her clenched fist pressed against her mouth, bracing herself mentally. But there was no pain. And, instead, out of nowhere, she found she wanted very badly to cry. But did not.

Because there was nothing to cry about. She’d endured—hadn’t she—the worst he could do to her and it would soon be over.

She began repeating, Soon—over soon, inside her head like a mantra.

For a moment he too was motionless, as if he were waiting for something, then he said huskily, ‘I would have given you the world, Emilia,’ and began to thrust his way to climax in long, powerful strokes.

Yet, in spite of everything, as she lay beneath him, waiting for him to finish with her, Emily became aware of one infinitesimal, bewildered moment when the stark driving force of his body seemed to trigger a tiny echo of response that flickered uncertainly somewhere in the depths of her being, but was immediately extinguished.

And, even as her throat tightened in shock, she felt his movements quicken almost to frenzy until, at the last, he cried out and was still.

Emily remained where she was too, because she had no other choice with Raf slumped on top of her, the dark dishevelled head pillowed on her small breasts.

When he eventually lifted himself away from her, there was none of the triumph in his face that she’d expected. In fact, she thought, he looked reflective, almost sombre. But if he had regrets, he certainly did not express them aloud. Or any other opinion either.

In the event, he simply got out of bed, put on his robe and left the room without a word.

So the mantra had worked, Emily thought, gulping with relief as she straightened the bed before turning on to her side and pulling the covers up over her shoulder. It really was—all over and she’d survived, without visible marks. She was conscious of aching a little internally, but she guessed that was only to be expected.

It also occurred to her that, in spite of the provocation she’d deliberately offered, he had not translated his anger into brutality. On the contrary, she could accept, in the absence of other criteria, that he’d probably been—almost considerate.

She’d not been really hurt, she thought wryly, just humiliated. But, all in all, it could have been very much worse.

Then she heard the bedroom door reopen and realised she’d been altogether too optimistic.

She turned defensively—warily. ‘I—I thought you’d gone back to your own room.’

‘And so I have.’ He put the bottle of wine he was carrying and two glasses down on the night table. There was faint mockery in his voice. ‘My place is here, beside you, mia bella sposa.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed to pour the wine, then handed her a glass. ‘To our real honeymoon,’ he said and drank.

Emily stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘You got what you wanted. And I accept now that there’ll be no annulment,’ she added bitterly. ‘You’ve made quite sure of that.’

She drew a breath. ‘But I’ll agree to your conditions for a divorce as long as—all of this—stops now and you leave me in peace.’

‘You thought that, having waited for almost three years, I would be satisfied by that one lacklustre performance?’ Raf asked cynically. ‘You are mistaken.’ He smiled at her. ‘You have an exquisite body, my sweet one, and I intend to enjoy all of this whenever and however I wish, for the duration of our marriage.’

‘But—surely—you came here to talk about a divorce!’ She was pleading suddenly.

‘Oh, that is postponed,’ he said. ‘Indefinitely.’

Her voice was a croak of disbelief. ‘Until when?’

He shrugged. ‘Until—perhaps—the ice melts.’ His smile was sardonic. ‘You see, Emilia, you have become a challenge.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Even though I’ve just shown that I don’t want you—and never will?’

‘You punish no one but yourself, mia cara,’ he told her quietly. ‘A man’s ability to gain satisfaction does not depend on his partner’s pleasure. Although it is enhanced by it, naturalmente.’

He paused. ‘And never is a long time, Emilia. While I—I have become used to waiting. It will not be such a hardship, especially when I expect the eventual rewards to be infinite,’ he added softly.

Her voice shook. ‘I hate you.’

‘Then at least you will not weary me with declarations of undying love when we part.’ His tone was brisk as he took the untouched wine from her and set it aside, then reached into the pocket of his robe. ‘Now, give me your hand.’

She obeyed reluctantly, looking down mutinously as Raf slid her wedding ring back on to her finger.