Bound To The Sicilian's Bed: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed. Annie West

which was all his—a subtle mix of sandalwood and bergamot. The well-thumbed crime novel which lay open on the bedside table which was probably on exactly the same page as it had been since his last holiday. She could see a pair of gold and lapis lazuli cufflinks lying on the dressing table—and the intimacy of being inside his bedroom again was causing her heart to contract with a flurry of emotions which was making her feel dizzy.

      ‘Actually, I’d love something to drink,’ she said weakly.

      ‘In that case, come and I’ll have someone bring it up to the terrace, which I think you might like.’ Michele’s smile widened. ‘You see, I saved the best for last.’

      As soon as Nicole stepped out onto the terrace she realised Michele hadn’t been exaggerating. Pursing her lips into a silent whistle of appreciation, she looked out over the balcony. This was the kind of view which only wads of money could buy and Nicole’s first thought was how much she would like to recreate these colours on clay. The deep azure of the sea lay before her in an endless dazzle and above it was the paler hue of the sky. How incredible it would be to make a collection in all these different shades of blue and maybe to hint at the greens and greys of the distant mountains. It was opulent and stunning and it felt unreal. In fact, she felt unreal. But hadn’t she always felt out of place in this wealthy world she’d left behind?

      ‘Would you like water, or tea?’ Michele was asking. ‘Or we have champagne, if you prefer.’

      Nicole shook her head. ‘No, honestly. Water would be perfect. Thanks.’

      After Michele had gone, Nicole leaned over the railings and gazed ahead but this time she wasn’t really focussing on the view. She thought about the child she’d once been—the insecure little outcast who had been pushed from pillar to post until Peggy Watson had taken her in. Could that orphaned little girl ever have imagined standing somewhere like this, about to draw a line under her marriage? And despite everything, she felt a pang of pain that she hadn’t been able to make it work. It made her start wondering if there had been anything she could have done to have saved it. If her own grief had made her keep Rocco at arm’s length. Perhaps it had. Perhaps she might handle it very differently now.

      But you can’t keep going back over the past. It’s too late to do anything about it now. It’s over.

      ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ A rich voice washed over her skin like dark silk and Nicole turned round, her heart clenching. Because Rocco was walking towards her, a glass in his hand-the darkness of his hair almost blue-black in the bright sunshine.

      ‘Very beautiful,’ she said breathlessly.

      ‘That’s Cap Ferrat directly opposite—and the land you can see over there is Italy.’ He moved directly in front of her and held out the glass. ‘I believe you told Michele you wanted something to drink.’

      Nicole’s heart was pounding and suddenly her senses were going crazy because she couldn’t seem to think straight when he was standing this close. Her body seemed programmed to react in a way she couldn’t prevent—no matter how hard she tried. For a split-second she wanted to put her arms around his neck. To melt into the hardness of his body while he began to stroke her in that way which had always made her shiver with longing...

      Until she forced herself to remember that this was Rocco. Heartless Rocco who didn’t give a damn about her. Who had ridden roughshod over her feelings and brought her out here to help further his ruthless business ambitions. With a tight smile she took the water from him and sipped from the crystal glass. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

      ‘You’re welcome.’ His blue eyes were mocking. ‘Made yourself at home?’

      ‘Easier said than done,’ she quipped. ‘This place is so big it reminds me of one of those stately homes in London. I suppose if your business deal falls through you could always charge an entrance fee and make a little extra money on the side.’

      ‘A novel suggestion,’ he murmured.

      ‘I’m nothing if not enterprising, Rocco. And I’ve been running my own shop for the past year so I’m pretty much up to speed with running a small business.’

      Reluctantly, Rocco smiled. He’d forgotten that her very different upbringing gave her a sometimes irreverent take on his world, and how it had once enchanted him. Just as he’d forgotten how fresh and vibrant she could look, without even trying. He narrowed his eyes. Compared to the manufactured glamour of most of the women he mixed with, her natural beauty seemed to shine through—and the suddenly powerful throb of his groin was an indication of just how instinctively his body responded to that.

      ‘Did Michele show you where everything was?’ he questioned unevenly.

      ‘She did.’ She put the glass down. ‘Though I thought you might have turned up at the airport to meet me.’

      ‘And were you disappointed?’

      She shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I would describe it as disappointment. I just thought that after all the fuss you made about me coming out here, you might have made the effort to meet me from the plane. If you’re supposed to be playing the spouse eager to get his marriage back on track, ignoring my arrival isn’t really the way to go about it.’

      ‘I’d planned to be there but I’m afraid it didn’t work out that way,’ he said smoothly. ‘I was snowed under with work.’

      ‘So I gather.’

      Her thick curls were gleaming darkly in the bright sunshine and suddenly Rocco found himself wanting to tangle his fingers in them, the way he used to do. ‘What can I say?’ he said, with a shrug. ‘It was a call I needed to take.’

      ‘But mightn’t it have occurred to you to postpone it?’ she continued coolly. ‘Rather than dumping me on your assistant, who clearly isn’t quite sure what to do with me?’

      ‘Nobody was dumping you, Nicole. It was urgent.’

      ‘It’s always urgent with you, isn’t it, Rocco? Work always takes precedence.’

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘You think organisations like the Barberi Foundation just run themselves?’

      ‘No, I don’t think that. But I do think work can become an addiction and a substitute.’

      ‘A substitute for what?’

      ‘You tell me. When was the last time you had a holiday?’

      ‘You know I don’t like holidays.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, what difference does it make who shows you around?’

      And that was the trouble, Nicole reminded herself. He really couldn’t see it. He had no understanding of the way he treated the people in his life—as if they were mere accessories, to be brought out if and when it suited him. Wasn’t it time someone told him? Pointed out a few home-truths which were long overdue? She pushed back her curls, aware that she might be about to become the cliché of a nagging wife—but also aware there were things she’d never dared say to him while they’d been together and maybe she had nothing to lose now. ‘Didn’t you think it might have been awkward for me when your assistant mistakenly assumed we’d be sharing a bedroom?’

      ‘That was no mistake, tesoro,’ he said softly. ‘We’re supposed to be giving our marriage another go and naturally we will need to share a bedroom.’

      She shook her head. ‘But that’s where you’re wrong. It’s only a game, Rocco,’ she reminded him. ‘Remember?’

      It was only a game, Rocco repeated to himself silently—but right then it was hard to think of anything other than how much he desired her, despite the cheap jewellery and faded jeans. She was far more assertive than she’d ever been in the past and this unaccustomed display of spirit from his once passive wife was doing peculiar things to his pulse-rate. He swallowed. He thought about other women he had dated before his marriage. Classy women, who wore designer clothes instead of jeans and a shirt. With subtle diamonds glinting in their earlobes, not big silver hoops which dangled amid the wild