be capable of resisting it?
Resisting him?
She had no choice. She didn’t want her heart broken all over again and therefore she mustn’t allow her sexy husband anywhere near her. All she needed to do was remember just how bad the pain had been and how much it had hurt to walk away.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do it, Rocco,’ she said, swallowing down the emotion which was threatening to make her voice tremble. ‘You must be able to see that.’
But if she was hoping for understanding or for a modicum of consideration then she was about to be disappointed, because his features darkened into a look of determination she recognised only too well. He nodded and glanced at his watch as if he was late for a meeting, before giving a careless shrug of his shoulders.
‘Then it looks like I’ll see you in court, Nicole,’ he said softly.
And she believed him. Rocco wasn’t a man who said things he didn’t mean. He was a man who had the power to do exactly what he wanted and if that involved using a wife he had never loved to further his business ambitions, then he would do it. He had her in a corner. He knew it and she knew it, too. Nicole’s heart was racing as she met his brilliant gaze, unable to keep the anger from her voice. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Since you leave me no choice... I’ll do it.’
Rocco nodded, his senses on alert as he registered her reluctant agreement. He had achieved what he had set out to achieve but now he found himself wondering why she was prepared to do something she clearly detested, just to get her damned divorce.
‘So why the rush to the lawyers?’ he questioned silkily. He cast a disdainful eye around the room. ‘Can’t wait to get your hands on my money? Did you wake up one morning and decide that this shabby little place simply wasn’t for you? Did you think your wealthy husband ought to provide you with a settlement which would enable you to get out of here—is that what this is all about, Nicole?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not about the money, Rocco. I’m not planning to bleed you dry, if that’s what you’re hinting at.’
‘No?’ And then something else suddenly occurred to him—and Rocco was startled by the powerful streak of jealousy which flooded through him like dark poison. Because he had thought he was over her. He had decided that from the moment he had arrived back from the States and discovered she’d left him. ‘Then maybe it’s something else, something rather more common in these situations.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Perhaps there’s a new man on the horizon and you want to be free for him. Is that what it is, my little temptress?’ His voice hardened as he allowed the thought to grow and suddenly he could see yet another benefit to making her work for her divorce. Because if Nicole did have a new lover, then wouldn’t that lover be outraged to learn she was spending the weekend with Rocco Barberi? He felt a sudden punch of sadistic pleasure. ‘Perhaps you’ve already started a relationship and he’s telling you to get rid of your Sicilian husband pretty damned quick.’
If Nicole had been feeling more genial she might have laughed in his face. For a start, no other man had even looked at her since she’d left her husband, mainly, she suspected, because she was giving out such negative vibes. But even if they had—even in the unlikely event of some gorgeous man sashaying into her little art shop and asking her on a date—it would have left her completely cold. Because no other man could ever be Rocco and he was the only man she’d ever wanted and sometimes she worried that was never going to change. Was that going to be another lasting legacy from her failed marriage—an inability to forget him?
But he doesn’t need to know that, she told herself fiercely. He doesn’t need to know anything about you. Defiantly, she met his questioning gaze.
‘My reasons are mine and mine alone,’ she said coolly. ‘And they are none of your business, Rocco.’
SO THIS WAS MONACO.
Stepping from the private jet, Nicole felt the warmth of the sun beating down on her head as she looked around, narrowing her eyes behind her sunglasses. In the distance she could see the bright blue blaze of the Mediterranean with fancy white and silver yachts bobbing on the glittering sapphire water.
She’d never been here before but she knew all about the sun-drenched principality at the tip of southern France, which was home to some of the richest people in the world. A place of luxury and excess and glamour. Her heart gave a funny twist. And now it was Rocco’s home, too. She pushed her sunglasses further up her nose. Strange to think of him living in this billionaires’ playground when he’d always been so fiercely loyal to his homeland and its rustic values. When he’d insisted that simple pleasures were what turned him on, not the lure of the gaming tables, or restaurants which were all about show instead of serving real food. Not for the first time, she wondered what had made him leave Sicily.
She walked towards the shiny black car which was waiting on the Tarmac, glad she’d insisted on a few days to herself before coming here. She’d told Rocco she needed to organise someone to take her place at the shop and water her plants for her and that much was true, but really she’d needed time to compose herself. To strengthen her resolve not to do anything she might later regret and try to achieve a state of impartiality before she faced her estranged husband again. She’d told herself that whatever happened, she couldn’t afford to let desire cloud her judgement and on the plane journey here she’d convinced herself that she had succeeded. But as she looked around in vain for Rocco’s dark head and spectacular body, she realised her heart was racing and her skin was clammy—and if that wasn’t desire then what was?
The uniformed chauffeur stepped forward to open the car door for her.
‘Welcome to Monaco, Signora Barberi,’ he said in perfect English, with a marked French accent. ‘Unfortunately, your husband has been delayed and was unable to meet your flight. He asked me to say he will see you at the house.’
Nicole opened her mouth to tell the driver that she actually preferred to be called Ms Watson these days, until she remembered. None of this was real. She wasn’t a feisty singleton who was forging a new and independent life for herself. She was supposed to be a woman fighting tooth and nail to hang onto her marriage. So be that woman.
Giving what she hoped was a suitably disappointed expression, she slid onto the back seat of the limousine, pressing her knees together and trying not to think how scruffy the faded denim of her jeans looked against the opulence of the car.
The seat was deliciously soft and the vehicle was coolly air-conditioned, but even so it was difficult to relax. As they drove through the pristine streets of Monaco, Nicole sat as stiffly as someone on their way to a job interview. She’d barely slept a wink since Rocco had turned up at her shop and sent her thoughts and her senses into disarray. Suddenly it hadn’t been so easy to put him into that forbidden box where he’d been locked away for so long. Suddenly she’d found herself wondering how on earth she was going to pretend to be reconciling a marriage which had barely got off the ground in the first place. When they’d been nothing but a pair of mismatched strangers with nothing in common other than twin tragedies in their young lives.
They were both orphans: Nicole had been dumped outside a snowy hospital in a shopping bag and Rocco’s parents had been killed outright in a speedboat accident when he’d been fourteen. Nicole had thought their dual losses might have provided some kind
