say. How could you tell anyone that you were pregnant and about to marry the baby’s father even though he did not love you?
It was too pitiful, and so she sat and stared at the blue water until she finally gave up and returned to the penthouse suite.
The last thing she expected to find as she opened the door was a seamstress and a selection of wedding dresses. Shock rooted her to the spot as she stood in the entry with the key card in her hand and the door wide-open.
There were racks of gowns—gorgeous, expensive gowns with lace and silk and pearls—that must each have cost a small fortune.
He’d ordered them without her knowledge. Without her input. He’d made the choice for her, just as he’d made so many other choices since barging back into her life in the Pantheon.
It hurt in ways she hadn’t imagined possible. She was already feeling sorry for herself, feeling like a burden and a possession rather than a cherished companion and equal after seeing Faith’s text earlier, and her hurt feelings bubbled over until she had to act or burst with the effort not to.
She spun on her heel and marched into the office, uncaring that she was still in her bikini and flimsy cover-up.
Nico was not alone. Three men looked up in surprise when she entered the room. Nico’s expression could have stopped a bear in its tracks—but she refused to be intimidated. The two men with him excused themselves, slipping out of the office and leaving them alone.
She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. It was only when his gaze dropped down her body that she realized the pose thrust her breasts forward. It was all she could do not to hug herself, but she refused to shrink beneath his simmering gaze.
He met her eyes again, a flicker of interest kindling in his. “What is this about, Tina?”
She took a step toward him, her heart thundering in her chest. “Wedding dresses? You picked out wedding dresses for me?” She was so angry that she could barely get the words out without them tripping over each other.
His brows drew down. “No, I did not,” he said evenly. “You may pick what you want. I only asked for several for you to choose from.”
She dropped her hands to her sides, clenching her fists together rhythmically. Violent emotion swept through her. He was no different from her brother in the way he viewed her. No, he was different. Renzo might view her as an accessory, but he loved her. This man did not.
At least Renzo didn’t think so little of her that he would pick out her clothes for her.
No, but he picked your schools. And when you wanted to major in finance, you had to convince him he should approve.
She was so damn tired of men making decisions for her. It was going to stop. Now.
“I don’t want any of them,” she said tightly. Angry tears threatened to spill over as she worked to control her temper. She knew he thought she was being unreasonable, but she didn’t expect him to understand. How could he?
He waved his hand as if it were nothing. As if she were a bothersome mosquito flitting around his head. “Then send them away. It’s nothing to get upset about.”
“You have no idea, do you?” she flung at him. “Women are taught from the time they’re little girls to look forward to their wedding day. There are entire magazines dedicated to weddings—to gowns! You don’t pick a woman’s dress, or pick a selection of dresses, and tell her to choose one. It’s arrogant, unfeeling—what are you doing?”
He’d stepped around the desk and started moving toward her, stalking her, until she backed into the closed door with a gasp.
He looked angry—and so very handsome he stole the breath from her lungs. When he reached out and hooked an arm around her, she could only squeak in surprise. Then he hauled her against his hard body until she was pressed to him, breast to belly to hip.
“How is this for unfeeling?” he growled before his mouth came down on hers.
FOR a moment, Tina was stunned into immobility. But only for a moment.
Though her brain told her to resist his kiss, she wound her fists into his shirt instead and arched her body into his. He threaded one hand in her hair and tilted her head back, his other hand sliding down to cup her bottom.
Excitement shot through her in a chain reaction of sparks and sizzle and longing so sharp it made her moan.
She thought that she’d remembered what kissing him was like, but she hadn’t remembered even a tenth of it. He consumed her, his tongue sliding against hers, his mouth demanding everything she could give.
Had it been like this in Venice? Yes—and no. Yes, he’d kissed her with this kind of passion—but he hadn’t kissed her without restraint. Now there was no restraint. He was a sexual animal, pushed to the edge of control, and she welcomed his fierceness.
His kiss turned her inside out, and she only wanted more.
His hand slid beneath her cover-up—beneath her bikini—and she gasped. He cupped her bare bottom, squeezed, pulling her harder against him until she could feel his erection straining against her abdomen.
Liquid need melted into her core. She wanted him, wanted to feel his body inside hers again. She wanted that perfect storm of passion and heat, the tactile pleasure of touching him everywhere.
She’d never felt more beautiful, more alive and wonderful, than she had when they’d made love the last time. She desperately wanted that feeling again even if it was bad for her. Even if she’d wake up afterward, feeling hungover and hating herself for giving in.
She. Did. Not. Care.
Tina yanked his shirt from his trousers, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath her palms, but a sudden noise outside the door startled her and brought her crashing back to reality.
There were people out there. And dresses. Dresses that had made her so angry she’d come in here to confront him about his lack of respect for what she might want.
But before she could summon the energy to push him away, he stepped back abruptly. He looked wild, his eyes gleaming, his hair mussed where she’d threaded her fingers into it. Not only that, but his body was still aroused, still ready for her. She could see the outline of an impressive erection straining against the fabric of his khakis.
A part of her wanted to close the distance between them, unzip him and wrap her hand around that steely velvet part of him.
But she wouldn’t. She wasn’t that bold. And besides, she’d come in here for a different reason altogether. A reason she’d forgotten the instant he’d touched her.
“That is why we are marrying,” he said, his voice lashing into her with its coolness as he tucked in his shirt again. “Not because this is a fantasy, or a love affair, or any other reason that suits your romantic sensibilities. We are marrying because we have passion, cara. And because, as you so helpfully pointed out to me last night, there were consequences to
