CHAPTER 6
HE HAD MADE SURE THE wardrobe in Allegra’s room was stacked with clothes for her. He’d sensed her uncertainty about this marriage, about the difference in their circumstances, and he’d wanted to remove that worry for her. The job had been outsourced to one of his assistants, who’d no doubt outsourced it herself to some boutique manager or other. So he hadn’t had a hand in choosing any of the clothes for Allegra.
If he had, given the spark between them, he might have made sure all the necklines were high and the fabrics practical linen or similar. He would definitely have steered clear—or tried to—of slinky silky camisoles and skin tight leather skirts. He would definitely have pleaded with her to wear that distracting mane of golden hair in some kind of utilitarian bun or braid, rather than long, loose and wavy around her distractingly beautiful heart shaped face. Distracting because all he could think of was wrapping it around his fist and tilting her face back, kissing her like he had in the living room earlier, until she was moaning into his mouth, panting for him.
A virgin.
His wife.
The words kept running through his mind over and over again. It was bad enough to start with, as she sipped champagne and talked with Valentino, but when theantipastiwere brought, she popped a juicy olive into her mouth, and her full lips became sheened from the oil, it was like a literal gut punch.
He couldn’t ignore it. Besides, he wasn’tsupposedto be ignoring it. This was their ruse, no matter what else. Valentino was with them, which meant he wassupposedto reach over and draw his thumb over her lower lip, smile sensually, lower his head and whisper into her ear, “I could watch you eat olives all night.”
She on the other hand was not supposed to jerk back as though he’d stung her, to stare at him pleadingly, to look like a deer in the headlights, and yet she did, her reaction natural given how inexperienced she was.
How was it possible? He’d tormented himself with that question as he’d dressed for dinner. He couldn’t understand how a woman like her, who reacted so swiftly to his touch, had resisted this side of herself for so long.
She softened with obvious effort, forcing a smile and relaxing her shoulders, but he knew that if he were to look in his grandfather’s direction, he’d see shrewd observation on his features. Cynicism, too.
Because Valentino Di Santis knew Luca, and knew that he’d stop at nothing to secure the company under his control. Legally, fully and without limitations.
Perhaps Ally knew that too, and realised she’d made a mistake, because she continued to soften, moving her body in her seat so that she was almost nestled into his side, so close he could feel her warmth, and the velvety perfection of her skin. He couldn’t help but lift his arm and put it around her shoulders, his fingers dangling over her upper arm, touching so lightly he felt the goosebumps that spread across her.
She glanced up at him, lips parted and his body tightened with arousal.
A virgin.
Totally inexperienced.
There was no way he could act on what he was feeling.
He’d almost talked himself into it earlier. He’d told himself that sex was just sex, and if they were to succumb, then so what? He’d never had a problem compartmentalising physical relationships in the past. They were simply biology, nothing more.
But now, it was impossible to imagine giving into temptation, impossible to imagine making her his as he wanted. Even though his desire had only grown, as the day wore on, and they swapped careful biographical information, to learn what was necessary to fool his family.
Dinner seemed to last forever. By the end, he felt as though he’d been dragged over hot coals. Playing the part of her loving, lustful husband, touching her, flirting with her, all the while knowing he would need a frigidly cold shower afterwards, was wreaking havoc with his mood.
Finally, though, Valentino stood, expression unreadable as he reached into his top pocket.
“I meant to give this to you earlier,” he said, placing a small black velvet box on the table.
Luca knew what it was immediately.
“I notice there is no ring.” Was that accusation in Valentino’s voice? Or suspicion?
Luca reached out for the box and opened it, confirming that the Di Santis diamond was nestled inside. “This is the only ring I would choose for my bride,” he said. And that, at least, was the truth. He’d never planned to marry, but if he had, tradition would have dictated that this generational ring was gifted to his partner. “And it has been in the family vault.”
“You didn’t ask me to retrieve it.” Valentino probed, looking for a hole in their story.
“I planned on doing so myself.”
“Yet you hadn’t.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting something?” He knew from experience that there was no sense obfuscating with his grandfather.
“I just find it strange.”
Luca looked at Allegra and something shifted inside of him, making the answer so obvious he smiled genuinely before glancing back at the old man. “Allegra doesn’t need jewellery to know how I feel about her. None of this,” he gestured to the view, then pulled Allegra closer to his chest, holding her there with the fervour of a man who knew he was on borrowed time—soon they would be alone and the charade would end for the night, “matters to her. This,” he opened the box again, taking in the enormous solitaire diamond ring, “is just for the sake of form.”
