‘Well, maybe the bell was a step too far, but really, the plan is pretty solid, I think. Don’t you?’ She studied the floor for a moment before glancing back up to meet his astonished gaze. ‘I’m tired of not getting what I want.’
CHAPTER NINE
FOUR DAYS LATEREdoardo ran back up the hill, chastising himself for being increasingly bothered by the not so arduous task of satisfying his lustful wife. It ought to be the best deal ever. He had the freedom to focus on his work while having sex on tap—except his focus had disappeared the instant she’d walked into that boardroom in London and hadn’t yet returned. He was starting to worry it never would.
Phoebe had been beautiful and proud when she’d pushed for this ‘honeymoon’, but he’d thought there’d been vulnerability in that jut of her lower lip. Apparently he was wrong, because his determinedly independent wife was bold and passionate and increasinglyvital. She appeared when she wanted ‘servicing’, and he leapt to his feet like her slave and—depending on the location—either swept her into his arms there or took her to his bedroom.
At night—after—she retreated to her own room and presumably fell into a deep sleep while he lay awake most of the night. She was definitely well rested, given her radiance and clear eyes. She’d got what she wanted—allshe wanted. He was little more than astud. It was utterly wonderful and absolutely annoying at the same time. Of course he was happy to be used but, contrary to what he’d thought, he increasingly wanted beyond the barriers they’d willingly built.
In the small hours he’d set up an office space for her—one way of dealing with the insomnia and burning some of the excess energy he was struggling with. He’d even fetched flowers from the chapel to put on the desk. He’d been oddly nervous when he’d showed it to her the next morning. She’d stared at it and then asked him to thank the staff. He’d opted not to tell her he’d done it himself. He’d walked out and quietly closed the door. She’d put hours of effort in there since. And as pleasing as that was, part of him regretted setting it up at all.
Dinner was the only meal they shared and aside from their moments in bed—or the pool, or the shower—was the best bit of his day. Conversation centred around work—she’d already built herself a website to advertise her services and he’d heard her phone calls, canvassing for clients.
Conversely, he was struggling with working from home—working at all, to be honest. His mind constantly drifted to those moments in the chapel when she’d walked towards him, when she’d whispered promises he didn’t want her to keep…
His only salve was that her business-like exterior dissolved the second he gently bit one of her delicate earlobes, when he kissed his way to her collar bones, when he cupped her gorgeous curves. She melted in his arms, so he took her in them more and more—not waiting for her summons.
Even so, it irked that she spent more time talking to his staff than him. He heard their laughter in the villa.Herlaughter. Somehow he felt more distanced from her than he’d been a week ago when they’d been avoiding eye contact in George Scott’s office. And instead of focusing on that latest business acquisition, he wondered about Phoebe. About her family. Her friends. Her first marriage. What had gone wrong? Had she been in love with the guy? And why did that make him feel as if snakes were squeezing his vital organs? How could he feel jealous when she was with him now?
Because she wasn’t reallywithhim.
Curiosity relentlessly smouldered through skin to bone, finally becoming impossible to ignore any longer. He glanced up at the villa and saw she’d appeared on the terrace. She usually took breakfast out there. He went to join her. But when he arrived, he saw she wasn’t alone. Isabella was sitting beside her, while Mattia, his best bodyguard, stood too near. All three of them were laughing.
He stared at the short silk pyjama set he’d never seen her in before. He didn’t know what she wore to bed because she so determinedly vanished on him. Hell, they’d never actually spent an entire night together—the first night here he’d left her early, now she left—always. And this whole scene was far too intimate.
‘Leave us,’ he said curtly.
Both Isabella and Mattia vanished inside.
‘That was shockingly rude,’ Phoebe frowned as soon as they were out of earshot.
‘They’re employees.’
‘Not mine,’ she said. ‘I like talking to people.’
Oh? Just not him.
‘You distract them from their work,’ he replied defensively. That was what she was doing to him.
‘They’ve been helping me practise my Italian.’
He took the chair Isabella had vacated. ‘I’ll practise with you.’
‘I’m going to need a wider vocabulary than, “yes, yes, harder, don’t stop, please”.’
He gaped, heat shooting to his loins while a small smile curved her mouth.
‘Besides,’ she added blithely, ‘You usually work out now.’
He gritted his teeth. She knew his routine and was avoiding him as much as she could—outside of the bedroom. He noticed goose bumps peppering her upper arms and picked up the soft rug hanging on the back of his chair, rising to tuck it about her bare shoulders.
She stiffened. ‘You don’t need to—’
‘Don’t say it,’ he said gruffly, looking into her eyes. ‘Or I swear there’ll be consequences.’
That vixen spark burned brighter in her. Yes, the uncontrollable edge of their passion turned her on the most.
‘Of course, you want the consequences,’ he muttered huskily.
