She had been his. Moaning at his touch. Sighing at his kisses. Trembling under his caresses.
Nicolo cursed.
It had been nothing more than sex, as she’d so coldly pointed out. It was just that the passage of time had made it seem more exciting than it had actually been.
And even if it had been extraordinary, why would he want to tie himself to her? To any woman, but especially to this one, who had the disposition of a tigress?
That was fine in bed but out of it a man wanted a sweet-tempered, obedient woman. He knew dozens like that, every one beautiful and sexy and a thousand times easier to handle.
Which brought him back to reality and the knowledge that he couldn’t come up with a single, rational reason to go through with this wedding, and what a hell of a relief that was.
Nicolo slowed his steps. The rain had stopped. The sun was out. Taxis prowled the streets again. He hailed one, got inside and told the driver the name of his hotel.
He would go to Aimee’s apartment at ten tomorrow morning because he had said that was what he would do, but when he arrived, he’d tell her he’d changed his mind, that he didn’t want to marry her.
He’d tell her the rest, too, that he would support the child—and her, of course—and, in general, do the right thing.
Problem solved.
Nicolo folded his arms, sat back and smiled. He was soaked to the skin but he was happy.
Hours later, the bellman delivered a thin manila envelope from Nicolo’s attorney.
A note inside assured him that all he had to do in the morning was take the attached documents and his prospective bride to a building in lower Manhattan, ask for a particular judge and he and the lady in question would be married within the hour.
That there was no longer a prospective bride was beside the point. The papers were simply a reminder of how foolish he’d almost been, and he shoved them aside.
He went to bed at eleven. At midnight, he got up and paced the confines of the suite. When he lay down again more than an hour later, he fell into troubled sleep. His dreams were murky and unpleasant, involving a small boy wandering the somber halls of Stafford-Coleridge-Black in search of something nameless and elusive. Each time the child was on the verge of finding it, Nicolo woke up.
At dawn, he gave up, phoned down for coffee, rye toast and the Times and the Wall Street Journal. Showered, shaved and dressed in chinos and a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he sat by the sitting room window to have his breakfast and read the papers.
The coffee was fine. The toast was dry. So was the writing in both the Times and the Journal. Why else would he be unable to focus on any of the articles?
Nicolo tossed them aside and checked his watch for what had to be the tenth time since he’d awakened. Seven-thirty. Too early to show up at Aimee’s door and tell her she could forget about marrying him.
He could imagine how happy that would make her. She might even smile, something he hadn’t seen her do since the night he’d taken her to bed.
He was happy, too. If he was feeling grim, it was only because he wanted to get the damned thing over with.
Seven forty-five.
Seven fifty.
Seven fifty-seven.
“Merda,” Nicolo snarled, and shot from his chair.
He could arrive at Aimee’s any time he wanted. There was no right time to deliver good news. Besides, she didn’t have to be ready. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Traffic was heavy and it was almost eight-thirty when he climbed the steps to Aimee’s building. Yesterday’s rain hadn’t done much to clean the grungy stoop.
The first thing he’d do would be to buy her a condo in a decent neighborhood.
This was not a fit place to raise her child.
He paused outside her apartment, then rang the bell. He rang it again. She might be in the shower, getting ready for his arrival. Or, knowing Aimee, not getting ready.
It almost made him smile.
Whatever else she was, she was brave. He’d never known a woman to stand up to him before. He knew damned well yesterday’s argument wasn’t over. The second she opened the door and saw him, she’d lift her chin in that way she had and tell him what he could do with his marriage proposal.
He’d let her rant for a few seconds and then he’d say, There is no proposal, cara. I have decided I would sooner live with a scorpion than with you.
The door opened.
Everything he’d anticipated was wrong.
Aimee didn’t lift her chin. She didn’t rant. And, even though he’d shown up more than an hour early, he could see that she had been waiting for him.
She wore a simple yellow sundress and white sandals with little heels. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, her face was bare of makeup and her eyes were suspiciously bright as if she’d been crying.
She looked painfully young, heartbreakingly vulnerable—and incredibly beautiful.
For one wild moment, Nicolo imagined taking her in his arms, telling her she had nothing to be afraid of. That he would be good to her, that he would take care of her…
He frowned, then cleared his throat.
“Aimee. I have come to tell you—”
“What? More threats?” Her chin rose now, just as he’d expected. “Let me save you the trouble.” She took a shaky breath. “I thought it through.” She gave an unsteady laugh. “Actually, it’s all I thought about since you left yesterday. And—and you’re right, Nicolo. I have no choice but to marry you.”
He stared at her in disbelief. Say something, he told himself, tell her you’ve changed your mind!
“You were right. About my grandfather. I want to hate him but I can’t. He raised me. He gave me all the things he believed I needed and if I needed more, his love, his respect…”
Aimee stopped the rush of words. Why bare her soul? She was going to marry Nicolo Barbieri. That was enough.
“He’s old,” she continued, her voice low. “And growing frail. I don’t want to look back after he’s gone and know I denied him the only things he ever asked of me, the bank in your hands, and—” color rose in her cheeks “—and your child.”
Nicolo said nothing. After a few seconds, Aimee cleared her throat. “So, I’ll marry you.”
“But?” His smile was thin. “Don’t look so surprised, cara. One would have to be deaf not to have heard that unspoken word.”
“This marriage—it will be in name only. A legal convenience that will end on my grandfather’s death.”
Aimee
