Page 126 of A Diamond Deal
She dropped her hands to her lap, tearing her gaze away to stare down at them. Or, more specifically, the diamond. And it rammed home what should have been perfectly obvious. They hadn’t needed to argue about a bodyguard. Obviously it was a wise precaution, and completely normal for people in thismilieu. Soon, the whole world would know she’d married one of the wealthiest men in existence. Of course that made her vulnerable, just as he’d said. A shiver ran through her, but she nodded once.
‘A bodyguard will be fine.’ Her own voice sounded clipped to her ears, but at least it didn’t emerge small or weak. She forced herself to look back up into his face, then wished she hadn’t when she caught the triumph flaring in his eyes.
‘Good decision, Amelia.’ It was only then she realised he’d called hercaraearlier, and that she’d liked it. ‘Now, let me tuck you in.’
Her eyes flared wide and hope speared her right in the chest, but it was a false hope. After the heat of that kiss, Massimiliano had returned to an almost stranger-like presence. Their walk from the car to the lift was wordless, and then, from the lift to her front door, he simply went through the logistics of the following evening.
‘If you feel you cannot come, just send me a text. I can reschedule.’
She frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I be able to come?’
His hand lifted then, gently cupping her cheek, his eyes shifting to the same space. Her stomach lurched at the contact—at how much more she wanted. ‘If this gets worse.’
‘It’s fine,’ she promised.
‘Does it hurt?’
She nodded.
‘Do you need anything?’
Her lip curled in a half-smile. ‘Do you even need to ask?’
His eyes flared in surprise and then he dropped his hand and took a step back. ‘One night, Amelia—and it is not tonight.’
She swallowed past her disappointment, but covered it quickly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She swiped her keycard and went to open the door, halfway hoping he’d reach for her and kiss her again, but he didn’t. She had to wait until she fell asleep for some more satisfaction on the Massimiliano front.
The kiss had been a godawful mistake. Worse than the brushing of their lips in the restaurant, because now he knew how compatible they were. He’d kissed her and his whole body had lit up like a Christmas tree, responding instantly to her warmth and curiosity, to the way she was so utterly intuitive. Her moans had been like flicks of lava against his skin, heating him all the way through. If she’d been any other woman, there was no way he would have stopped it when he had. Hell, he’d have dragged her into his lap and fucked her then and there, making her scream his name at the top of her lungs, not caring who on the outside pavement heard, not caring about anything in that glorious, heady moment of possession.
But Amelia was not any other woman.
She was inexperienced. Almost completely, going from the way a single kiss had turned her to jelly. Yet she was also incredibly sensual, so he found it impossible to believe she hadn’t been with a man. Her desires were so strong, her body’s needs impossible to miss. How had curiosity not got the better of her before this? Her father’s illness had been protracted, he gathered, but even prior to that? Surely as a teenager, she’d wanted to mess around as hormones gripped her. Young men must have beaten a path to her door, given how beautiful she was.
It didn’t matter, though. His task was not to psychoanalyse her, or get to the bottom of her inexperience. It was simply to show her what sex could be. And all of a sudden, there was a rush of power inside his chest, an ancient, archaic instinct of pride that he would be the first man to teach her what her body was capable of. Gratitude as well, because he knew that, with his dying breath, he would make the experience everything it should be for her. He would send her over the edge again, and again, until she almost couldn’t bear it. If they only had one night together, he would damn well make it count.
The skin discolouration was worse the next night. So much so, Amelia had to find make-up tutorial videos on the Internet, with instructions for how to cover bruising. It took her down a rather depressing rabbit hole, but with the information gathered, she set to work, deftly mirroring the make-up artist’s ministrations until her face looked normal. No, better than normal, because on top of the foundation base, she’d experimented with contouring, and she had to admit the effect was worth the effort.
She’d never really been hugely into make-up. Whether that was a question of time, or money, or just who she was, she hadn’t been like her peers in high school who’d caked their complexions and extended their eyelashes from as soon as they could buy beauty products. She preferred the feeling of not wearing anything on her face except the lightest of cosmetics.
But for the next two years, she wasn’t herself. Not really. She was Amelia Rossi, and soon, Amelia Moretti. She would be the woman everyone expected—glamorous, elegant and with the utmost attention paid to her appearance.
She dressed accordingly, choosing a cream trouser suit and teaming it with a vibrant blue camisole that drew focus to the hue of her eyes. Tonight, she wore her hair loose and waved around her face. She’d paid attention when the stylist was working on it in London, and managed to achieve a similar look. Wearing her hair down had the added advantage of being distracting, somehow, from her face—making it even less likely people would notice her cheek.
She was ready several minutes ahead of the time Massimiliano had stipulated, unlike the night before, when shock had made her completely lose track of everything. It had been so much better that way, though. Now, all dressed up, and waiting for the doorbell, she felt her nerves build and build, replay last night’s kiss, every touch, until her insides were trembling with the force of her anticipation.
Which was really stupid.
His parting shot, the night before, had been to remind her that their wedding night would be the one and only chance for them to sleep together—per his contractual obligation. It wasn’t going to happen beforehand.
But why had he kissed her a second time? In the restaurant, she could understand. That kiss had been chaste, and for the benefit of her grandparents. But in the limousine, with no one to bear witness, it had just been about him, and her. And it had been so sensual, so incredibly hot, that a host of unfamiliar feelings had scuttled her brain power completely. She would have done anything he’d asked of her in that moment. Anything.
It both terrified and empowered her. She felt as though she was on the brink of something vital, something that would give her answers she’d wanted for a long time, and hadn’t known to reach for.
She felt as though she was stepping into her feminine power, and it was all because of this stranger, really—for that was what he was. And better for him to stay that way. After the power of the kiss the night before, she’d realised that someone like her—inexperienced and ill-equipped to deal with a man such as Massimiliano—could absolutely mistake the incredible rushing of sensual heat for something else. And the last thing she wanted to do was develop a crush on her husband.
Particularly when he had been so clear about what this relationship was, and always would be to him.
He’d even stipulated that he would continue seeing other women! For all she knew, he had plans to see them this week, in the lead-up to their wedding. After all, why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as though a simple kiss in the back of a limousine were enough to derail his life, and none of this was personal to him. Not in the relationship sense, anyway. This was all about her name, her mother’s name, the heritage she’d shunned, almost her entire life.
