The Italian Proposal. Maisey Yates

deal. Nothing but another contract.

      She shifted her bouquet and took her groom’s hand.

      * * *

      Elaine had no idea how she’d managed to make it through the ceremony, the receiving line, and four hours of the reception. Her feet hurt from wearing her extremely impractical shoes, and her face hurt from all the overly cheerful smiling. And dancing with Marco, clinging to his arm, trying to pretend that she wasn’t melting from the heat he was making her feel, had been as taxing as it had been torturous.

      She sank into the limo with a sigh, and rested her head on the back of the seat. “That was exhausting.”

      “New brides usually say that after the honeymoon.”

      Heat flooded her face. Her treacherous mind was all too willing to offer up possible ways Marco could tire her out. She did not need this. Not now, and not with this relic from the Dark Ages.

      The limo, which had been decorated with over-the-top script writing that said Mr. and Mrs. Marco De Luca, pulled up to the curb in front of Marco’s penthouse. She didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. She got out and waited for him by the entrance of the building.

      He caught up to her and passed her by, his long legs taking strides much faster than her own legs could carry her. She’d changed after the reception into a white silk pencil skirt and a green sweater, but she was still wearing the ridiculous stilettos, which made walking fast a little tricky.

      She trailed after him down the long marble corridor. This was the sort of love den she’d expected a man like him to own. His women probably fawned over it. Then over him.

      Her stomach lurched at the thought of him bringing other women back here. How many had there been? More importantly, how many would she have to see during their marriage? Would she be able to hear them as she lay in her own bedroom trying to sleep?

      “This is my elevator.”

      “You have your own personal elevator?” All those little tarts he paraded though here probably loved that.

      “Yes, it acts as the main door to my house. It would be a security risk if everyone could use it.” He spoke to her as if she might be a small child.

      “Does everyone have their own elevator?”

      “No, just me.” He offered a smug grin at that.

      He entered a key code into the number pad that was on the lift and the doors opened. The ride up was a long one; he was on the top floor, naturally—what penthouse wasn’t? When the ping signaled that they had reached their destination, the doors opened and revealed a bright, airy living room. It didn’t match with the rest of the building at all. Nothing tacky or overdone about it. No gold filigree on the windows. No champagne glass hot tub dominating the room.

      Far from any of the glittering garishness she’d imagined, it was a contemporary design with clean, sleek lines that didn’t suffer from the impersonal, cold feeling of some modern décor.

      White walls and vaulted ceilings added to the feeling of openness, along with floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded a fantastic view of the sparkling Manhattan skyline.

      The kitchen and living room flowed into one another seamlessly. The countertops in the kitchen were granite, and the appliances were top-of-the-line stainless steel. It was a modern luxury Mecca. The kind of home she’d always imagined setting up for herself. Of course her overcrowded one-bedroom apartment with its mismatched secondhand furniture could hardly compete with Marco’s spacious, state-of-the-art penthouse. She just didn’t have the cash to own such high-end things. Loath as she was to admit it, living here wasn’t going to be a trial.

      “You like it?” Marco asked. His husky, sexy voice sent a tremor through her body, and she had to tamp down the wave of longing that threatened to rise up and swamp her. No, it was going to be a trial, all right. Just a luxurious one.

      “I do. It’s very tastefully decorated, and the view is amazing. Although the windows don’t offer much privacy, do they?”

      “Will we be needing privacy?” He raised his eyebrows, his expression one of keen interest.

      Her face went hot. “No! I just meant…I mean because people could see in.”

      “They can’t. It’s one way glass. But I’ll make a mental note that you intend to do things in my living room that require privacy.” He gave her a look that was so hot it nearly melted the soles of her ridiculous shoes. “I’ll make it a point to work from my home office more often.”

      It was at times like this that she really wished she could come up with some witty, off-the-cuff remark, but his casual innuendos always left her a mess.

      She cleared her throat and tried to salvage some dignity. “Where is my room?” Anything to escape.

      “Down the hall, last door. You have your very own en suite bathroom, so you’ll have all the privacy you need. I’ll be in my office; I have some work to do.” She didn’t watch to see which direction he went—didn’t even try to. She just headed down the hall, the promise of a hot bath keeping her going.

      Her bedroom was white, like the rest of the house, and she was pleased to see that she had a view of the city skyline out of her window as well. It certainly beat the view from her own apartment, which consisted of a brick wall and her neighbor’s bedroom window.

      All of her worldly possessions, except for her furniture, had been brought over by movers earlier today, and most everything was still packed away in boxes and stacked neatly in the corner. She wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t going to be unpacking tonight. All she wanted tonight was her bath and then bed. An image of Marco, his chest bare, his skin tan against her white sheets, flashed in her mind.

      Alone. She would be going to bed alone.

      She padded into the bathroom and her heart nearly stopped. There was a separate shower and jet tub, all tiled with caramel-colored Italian marble. The tub was so deep it looked as if she could sink in up to her neck and lose herself completely.

      She went back into her bedroom and rummaged around until she found her iPod, then gave a casual scan for the bag she’d packed her clothes in. She didn’t see it, and decided to forego searching for pajamas until after she’d had a chance to let the warm water work the knots out of her muscles.

      It took a while to fill up the massive tub, but it was worth the wait. Elaine submerged herself in the warm water and felt the tension slowly recede from her tightened muscles. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, letting the events of the day slip from her cluttered mind.

      Her quiet moment was shattered by a rush of cold air. She jerked her head up and scrambled to cover anything that might be showing when she saw Marco standing in the doorway.

      “Good—glad to see you’re making yourself at home.”

      “Get out!” She had never been naked in front of a man before. She very likely hadn’t been naked in front of anyone since she’d been in diapers. She was the type to avoid public locker rooms and showers.

      “Spare me your maidenly modesty.”

      He had no idea how apt a description that was.

      “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and often.”

      Her ears burned at his casual reference to his love-life.

      “I had hoped that we could put this off for a day or two, but I’m needed in Hawaii to close a very important deal,” he went on.

      “Can we have this conversation when I’m not naked and dripping wet, please?”

      Marco clenched his teeth. The images that statement evoked were so erotic he nearly hauled her slippery body out of the tub so he could show her just what he could accomplish while she was naked and dripping wet.

      He had thought that by walking in on her bath he