Ruthless Revenge: Priceless Proposal: The Sicilian's Surprise Wife / Secret Heiress, Secret Baby / Guardian to the Heiress. Margaret Way

Clio,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking into the kitchen. “You don’t have to arrange our meals, bella.”

      Her fork clanged on the counter, the tinkering sound of it filling the silence.

      She turned and watched him with those big eyes, color climbing up her neck.

      The silk blouse was so sheer that he could see the outline of her bra, and the dip of her waist. It was so strange how so many small things about her he observed, his fascination arising from the most mundane of moments.

      Like the delicate turn of her wrist and the blue veins there, like the crooked slant of her nose, the way she grabbed her hair away from her face with both hands and roughly pulled it back thrusting her breasts up...

      Dannazione, the woman was lethal in how quickly she made him think of sex and skin.

      Shrugging, she stepped back as he advanced. “I actually wanted to cook breakfast as a thank-you,” she muttered. “But this state-of-the-art kitchen doesn’t even have sugar and milk. So I walked a bit and grabbed breakfast.”

      “A thank-you? Why?”

      Her expression was straightforward, her shrug a bit too casual. “For looking after me yesterday.”

      “Do they always last that long?” he said, thinking of how she had held her head. For a couple of hours, he hadn’t left her side, a tenderness he had forgotten he had possessed keeping him there instead of ordering the staff to help.

      It had been a long time since he had done something so simple and satisfying as looking after someone. He used to do it all the time.

      Another of his innate traits that he had buried deep.

      “Kind of, yeah.” Another shrug. “This whole week has been very stressful and then I didn’t eat anything the whole day of the wedding and then guzzled down that champagne, so it was kind of like inviting the demons to play inside my skull.”

      “Why was it stressful? Didn’t the wedding planner take care of everything?” he said, covering the distance between them.

      The closer he moved to her, the heavier his blood flew in his veins. Just the scent of her soap and skin...it set up an instant reaction in him.

      Blinking rapidly, she clutched the counter behind her. Which stiffened her posture and thrust her small breasts up.

      “You’re joking, right?”

      “Why were you stressed, bella?”

      “Because I was getting married under the strangest conditions that I ever dreamed of and the beast I was marrying thought I had trapped him into it,” she said, thunder filling her voice.

      He grinned. “The beast?”

      “Yes. Anyway, I know that our contract doesn’t stipulate looking after each other in case of migraines brought on by stupid decisions and showing concern toward each other, so I’m really grateful to you for—”

      “Shut up, Clio,” he said, staggered at how easily she had him swinging from mood to mood, like a damn monkey being operated by a switch.

      Just fifteen minutes into the day, he had felt a strange warmth in his gut at the way she occupied every inch of the suite that had always been free of feminine intrusion, had given him unrivaled morning wood just by standing in his kitchen and now he was annoyed as hell.

      At her and at himself.

      All he wanted to do right now was tear up the bloody contract, pick her up, carry her to his bedroom, and peel that denim off of her slowly, inch by inch until he could touch her all over.

      “Is the migraine gone now?”

      “Yes, thank you,” she said primly.

      Was it his arrogance that rankled at being dismissed so well? Or was it the allure of a woman who didn’t immediately fall for him?

      Chewing on that errant thought, he picked up one of the coffee cups and took a sip.

      The bitter brew on his tongue instantly reminded him of his home, a home he hadn’t visited in so long. “You found a Sicilian blend in Manhattan?” he said, surprised.

      A flush claimed her cheeks at his pointed question. “I know a Sicilian coffee stand. I go there every once in a while.”

      “My favorite breakfast and coffee. Grazie, Clio.” Leaning next to her, he tried to corral the various emotions exploding inside. Clearing his throat, he offered her an awkward smile. “Take the day easy. Go to the spa or if you want, I can have the pilot take you to...”

      Her face fell. “I have no other machinations behind bringing breakfast for you except to say thank-you, Stefan.”

      Beneath the caustic tone there was a thread of hurt that struck a chord in him.

      Should he be so satisfied that she cared what he thought?

      Even as he had stood under the icy jet of his shower on his wedding night, his shredded control an astounding concept in itself, there had been a strange exultation in knowing that he had been the reason she had drunk.

      A sadistic streak that he now possessed apparently, in addition to being a mistrusting asshole.

      Dio, the woman was turning him inside out.

      “I was just surprised, Clio.”

      “Because I brought you breakfast? Is that really such a hard thing to grasp that I would want to do something so mundane for you? Are you going to weigh and give a price to every little exchange between us as long as we are stuck with each other?”

       Stuck with each other?

      That very phrase riled him up to no end.

      He had moved so close to her that he could see the green of her eyes darken, could see the pulse in her neck flutter unevenly, could hear the way her breath fell short. “Dio, bella. Shut up or I swear—”

      “Or what? Will you add another clause to the contract that I can’t speak unless you give me permission—”

      Grabbing her slender shoulders, Stefan slammed her to him and kissed her. It was the best thing to start the morning with.

      With a gasp, she fell against him, anchoring her hands on his chest.

      Shaping her head with his fingers, Stefan slanted her mouth and nibbled at it, his desire slowly spiraling out of control.

      She tasted of syrup and coffee, sweet and bitter, like fresh desire and old memories all blended together to drive him to distraction. The scent of gardenias entered his bloodstream and teased his senses.

      He groaned as she sank her fingers into his hair. Turned into stone as she sank those teeth into his lower lip.

      If only he could finish what they started in the kitchen...

      He couldn’t think of one reason why he couldn’t take his wife to bed. Or why kissing her first thing in the morning, in a domestic setting that should have given him hives, felt so natural.

      * * *

      If they continued this way—kissing and nibbling and pressed flush against each other—it wouldn’t be long before he had her trapped beneath him and thrusting into her wet heat on that huge bed in his room.

      The thought, instead of scaring her to her senses, painted such a vivid, erotic picture that Clio whimpered against Stefan’s mouth.

      The hands shaping her hips and her bottom with a possessive grip instantly relented, a breath of air blowing over her tingling lips. “Merda, Clio. What am I going to do with you?” his ragged whisper snagged onto her senses. “We should have included a clause for this, bella.”

      Somehow, Clio found the sheerest thread of self-preservation and hid her face in his shoulder. His skin was like heated velvet—the muscles beneath tensing.