The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(22)

“You already told her it was true. What you want is for me to let it stand.”

He met the accusation in her gaze with quiet irony and no noticeable regret. “I doubt you will be able to do anything else given the language barrier. Carita once tried to teach Carisa English, you know, but with little success. Regardless, it would be a kindness to allow this private deception for the short time you are here.”

The subterfuge was halfway understandable, and would last only a short while. It would not go beyond the family circle here, for Nicholas would surely see to that. The last thing he would want was for this complication to become tabloid fodder.

Pretending to be his fiancée while at the villa would change nothing for her. As soon as Jonathan was well enough to travel she would be gone. Whatever the fallout might be, Nicholas seemed more than capable of dealing with it.

Still, something did not feel right.

“Are you sure this is best for Carisa?” she asked. “I mean, what if she overhears something and fears the worst? She would trust you, I think, if you told her about the accident while assuring her Carita will be home soon.”

“Possibly. But what if she can’t come home? Carisa doesn’t forget lies, nor does she forgive them.”

Amanda gave him a quick look. “You lied to her about our relationship, something you will have to admit eventually.”

“That’s different,” he said with instant rejection in his voice.

Amanda could not quite see how. Did he mean she would not be around long enough for Carisa to become attached? Or did he think she would soon be revealed, along with Jonathan, as an enemy of the family?

He had a solution of some kind in mind, she was sure; he was not a man who did things without planning.

Amanda had the feeling she was being maneuvered into agreement again.

The problem was she could find no good reason to resist.





5


Nico spent the afternoon in his study with phone and laptop as he attempted to catch up on matters of business that had been neglected in the past two days. In the way of such things, it required more time than expected. He had thought to visit the hospital with Amanda again, stopping off for dinner before their return to the villa. When he emerged from his paperwork, it was too late for that program. He was also told that Amanda was lying down in her room, presumably asleep.

Her fatigue was almost certainly from stress, plus the shadows under her eyes suggested she’d not slept in the hours before lunch. Nor had he, if it came to that, something that might now be corrected.

Picking up the phone, he spoke to Carita’s doctors, also those looking after Jonathan Davies, and received the expected report that nothing had changed. Giving orders that neither he nor his supposed fiancée should be disturbed, he mounted the stairs to his bedroom, showered and stretched out on the bed.

He was perhaps overtired after long hours without rest, for he couldn’t drop off to sleep. He kept seeing Amanda Davies staring at his naked body, wide-eyed, flushed with embarrassment and what he dared hope was something more. He would have loved to take her hand and draw her back into the shower with him. It would be a new experience for her, or so he liked to think; she had the look of a woman whose sexual appetites had not been awakened. She would require careful initiation in these matters, just as he meant to slowly cultivate her appreciation for fine wine.

What would she do, he asked himself, if he soaped his hands and laved her body, every curve and hollow, while claiming the sweetness of her mouth? Would she moan and allow him access, or would he have to entice her to open to him? Would she complain that her hair was getting wet, or glory in the warm wetness that sluiced over them, around them? Would she urge him on as he pleasured her with his mouth or would she attempt to prevent it? And would she cling to him, crying out, as he took her against the tiled wall, plunging into her again and again?

Per l'amor di Dio, he muttered, turning to his stomach in hope of subduing his throbbing erection. It was insane to torture himself with such visions. She was forbidden to him unless she decreed otherwise, and he must accept it.

He had flung down his challenge before her, but had little hope she would bend to pick it up. If she did, now that she had seen the villa and recognized the extent of his wealth, he would be forced to consider the cause. How was that for trapping himself in a hell of his own making?

No, this charade of an engagement they had stumbled into would play itself out after a few days. Carita would awake, begin to heal, and that would be the end of it.

Well, it would be the end unless his sister married Jonathan Davies. If that happened, Amanda would become an official part of his family. What then?

Jonathan’s sister might visit on occasion. The families would mingle during holidays, and he and Amanda make polite conversation across a table or with the width of a sofa cushion between them. They would go their separate ways then, always wondering what it might have been like if they had abandoned principles and prohibitions and taken each other to bed.

If he could not have Amanda, he could at least have the fantasy. Rolling to his back again, he clasped his hands behind his head and allowed her phantom to come to him, gloriously naked, moist, hot, and with silvery promise in her eyes.

Ah, but that way lay torture, pure and simple.

With the contraction of powerful muscles, he heaved off the bed. He shook himself like a dog getting rid of stiffness then padded toward the bathroom.