Italian Maverick's Collection. Кейт Хьюит

time you feel ill, tell me,’ he breathed with grim urgency.

      Poppy grimaced. ‘It was our first night together.’

      ‘That’s irrelevant. Your health comes first...always,’ he stressed. ‘I’m not a little boy. I can deal with disappointment.’

      She was relieved to see that his anger had gone. A nurse came in and went through a series of checks with her.

      ‘Why did I pass out?’ Poppy asked Gaetano once the nurse had departed.

      ‘You had an infection and it ran out of control. Your immune system was too weak to fight it off,’ he shared flatly. ‘From here on in you have to take better care of yourself. But first, give me an honest answer to one question...do you have an eating disorder?’

      ‘No, of course not. I’m naturally skinny...well, I have lost weight over the last few months,’ she conceded grudgingly.

      ‘You have to eat more,’ Gaetano decreed. ‘No more skipping meals.’

      ‘I didn’t eat on our wedding day because I wasn’t feeling well,’ she protested.

      ‘Am I so intimidating that you couldn’t tell me that?’ Gaetano asked, springing restively upright again to pace round the spacious room.

      ‘Come on, Gaetano. All those guests, all that fuss. What bride would have wanted to be a party pooper?’

      ‘You should have told me that night,’ Gaetano asserted.

      Poppy’s lashes lowered over her strained eyes. ‘You weren’t in the mood to hear that I was ill.’

      ‘Dio mio! It shouldn’t have mattered how I felt!’

      A flush drove away her pallor but she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the bed. ‘We had an agreement.’

      ‘That’s over, forget about it,’ Gaetano bit out in a raw undertone.

      She wondered what he meant and would have questioned him but the doctor arrived and there was no opportunity. Gaetano spoke to the older man at length in Italian. Breakfast arrived on a tray and she ate with appetite, mindful of the doctor’s warning that she needed to regain the weight she had lost. She was smothering a yawn when Gaetano lifted the tray away.

      ‘Get some sleep,’ he urged. ‘I’m going back to the house to shower and change and bring you back some clothes. As long as you promise to eat and rest, I can take you out of here this evening.’

      ‘I’m not an invalid...’ Uneasy with his forbidding attitude, Poppy fiddled with her wedding ring, turning it round and round on her finger. ‘What’s happened about the photos you mentioned?’

      Gaetano froze and then he reached for the jacket on the chair and withdrew a folded piece of paper. ‘It was a hoax...’

      The newspaper cutting depicted a reproduction of a calendar shot headed Miss July. In it Poppy was reclining on a chaise longue with her bare shoulders and long legs on display while a giant floral arrangement was sited to block any more intimate view of her body.

      ‘I kept my knickers on,’ she told him ruefully. ‘But I had to take my bra off because the straps showed. I was a student nurse on the ladies’ football team. We did the charity calendar to raise funds for the children’s hospice. There was nothing the slightest bit raunchy about the shots. It was all good, clean fun...’

      Dark colour now rode along Gaetano’s cheekbones. ‘I know and I accept that. I’m sorry I shouted at you. When Rodolfo showed me that photo in the newspaper I felt like an idiot.’

      ‘No, you’re not an idiot.’ Just very very possessive in a way Poppy had not expected him to be. My wife, he had growled, outraged by the prospect of anyone else seeing her naked.

      ‘You have an old-fashioned streak that I never would have guessed you had,’ Poppy remarked tentatively.

      ‘What is mine is mine and you are mine,’ Gaetano informed her in a gut reaction that took control of him before he could even think about what he was saying.

      That gut reaction utterly unnerved him. What the hell was wrong with him? Mine? Since when? Only weeks earlier he would have leapt on the excuse of inappropriate nude photos to break off their supposed engagement. He had not intended to stay engaged to Poppy for very long at all, had actually been depending on her to do or say something dreadful to give him a good reason to reclaim his freedom. How had he travelled from that frame of mind to his current one? All of a sudden she felt like his wife, his real wife. Why was that? Sex had never meant that much to Gaetano and had certainly never opened any doors to deeper connections. But he had wanted Poppy as he had never wanted any woman before and that hunger had triumphed.

      Poppy went pink. ‘Not really...’

      ‘For as long as you wear that ring you’re mine,’ Gaetano qualified.

      Poppy hadn’t needed that reminder of her true status, hadn’t sought that more detailed interpretation. Her heart sank and she closed her eyes to shut out his lean, darkly handsome features. It was no good because she still saw his beautiful face in her mind’s eye.

      ‘Lie down, relax,’ Gaetano urged. ‘You’re exhausted. I’ll be back later.’

      You’re mine. But she wasn’t. She was a fake bride and a temporary wife. Casual sex didn’t grant her any status. Suppressing a groan, she shut down her brain on her teeming thoughts and fell asleep.

      Late that afternoon, she left the hospital in a wheelchair in spite of her protests. In truth she still felt weak and woozy. Gaetano lifted her out of the chair and stowed her carefully in the passenger seat before joining her.

      She was wearing the faded denim sundress Dolores had packed for her.

      ‘I need to organise new clothes for you,’ Gaetano told her.

      ‘No, you don’t. When this finishes we go our separate ways and I won’t have any use for fancy threads.’

      ‘But this isn’t going to finish any time soon,’ Gaetano pointed out softly.

      Poppy studied his bold bronzed profile. So far they had enjoyed the honeymoon from hell but he was bearing up well to the challenge. His caring, compassionate husband act was off-the-charts good but she guessed that was purely for Rodolfo’s benefit. They were supposed to be in love, after all, and a loving husband would be upset when his bride fell ill on their wedding day. Lush black lashes curled up as he turned his head to look at her, blue-black hair gleaming in the bright light, spectacular golden eyes wary.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ he prompted.

      ‘I should compliment you. You can fake nice to the manner born,’ she quipped.

      His wide sensual mouth compressed. For once there was no witty comeback. ‘Dolores is planning to fatten you up on pasta. I also mentioned that you’re passionate about chocolate.’

      Chocolate and Gaetano, she corrected inwardly.

      She collided with his eyes and hurriedly looked away, struggling not to revel in the sound of his dark, deep, accented drawl and the high she got from the sheer charisma of his smile. Awareness shimmied through her like an electrical storm. Something low in her tummy had turned molten and liquid while her breasts were swelling inside her bra. He had taught her to want him, she thought bitterly, and now the wanting wouldn’t conveniently go away. That hunger was like a slow burn building inside her.

      When they returned to La Fattoria, Gaetano insisted that she went straight to bed and dined there. He ignored her declaration that she was feeling well enough to come downstairs and urged her to follow medical advice and rest. A large collection of books and DVDs were delivered mid-evening for her entertainment and although Poppy was tired she deliberately stayed awake waiting for Gaetano to come to bed. She drifted off around one in the morning and wakened to see Gaetano switching out the light and walking back to the door.

      ‘Where are you going?’ she mumbled.