The Platinum Collection. Maisey Yates

alcohol was a bad idea with powerful painkillers. He massaged his brow and tried to loosen his taut neck muscles while studiously endeavouring to suppress all the negative thoughts threatening his equilibrium. He had been warned about headaches and this was as bad as he had been promised: so far, so normal…

      He knew his bride thought that he was a cold, callous bastard, but he had said what he’d had to say and drawn a necessary line in the sand. He didn’t want her on his conscience. He didn’t want to hurt her either. It struck him as strange that he had not foreseen that possibility before he married her. Was he really so single-minded and selfish that he had not considered the damage he might inflict? Evidently, he was.

      Determined to stay grounded, he reminded himself that the marriage was a project, a business agreement and little more. His bride might seem vulnerable and naïve, but it would be unwise to overlook the fact that he had paid a fat price for her services when he accepted the loss of that painting and dropped the chance to prosecute her father. And obviously he wanted Jessica to find pleasure in his bed, since it might well take months for a conception to take place. The big seduction scene that he had unintentionally staged could only have been motivated by subconscious common sense, he reasoned grimly. It was then that he got himself the stiff drink he knew he shouldn’t have and still lay awake until dawn broke the skies.

      The following morning Jessica awoke to the chink of china rattling and sat up to be served breakfast in bed on a tray complete with a linen napkin and a pretty flower in a bud vase. So, this was what it was like to be spoiled, she thought ruefully, pushing her wild tumble of black curls out of her eyes as the smiling maid chattering in broken English opened the curtains and threw open the doors onto the balcony, inviting in fresh air and sunshine. Jess discovered that she was ravenous and she washed down pancakes and fresh fruit with juice and cappuccino coffee.

      A slim figure in floral shorts and an emerald green T-shirt, her black curls bouncing on her shoulders, she descended the stairs. A door stood open wide onto a rear courtyard and, with a hail of excited barks and yelps, her doggy posse came charging through it. All her pets, with the exception of Weed, were present, and as she straightened from her greeting session Cesario appeared in a doorway, Weed lurking shyly to one side of him.

      Self-conscious, Jess tensed and tried not to stare but it was a tough challenge. Cesario was less formally clad than she had ever seen him, in a casual shirt that clung to his wide shoulders and powerful chest and linen trousers that accentuated the long muscular strength of his legs and the lean tautness of his hips. But while informal it was still cutting-edge Italian designer style he sported, and his ruffled black hair and the shadow of stubble round his handsome mouth only roughened the edges of his usual perfect grooming to ensure that he looked even more masculine and sexy than he normally did.

      Her mouth ran dry, the colour in her cheeks heightening as she briefly relived the intensity of her pleasure with him the night before and her tummy flipped, her legs trembling below her.

      ‘Where have you been, Weed?’ she asked her stray pet, concentrating her attention on him because it was safer than focusing too much on the sleek predator by his side.

      ‘He just wandered in and went to sleep under my desk,’ Cesario told her with a shrug that disclaimed all responsibility for the development.

      ‘My goodness, you start work early! I’d better go and feed the dogs…’

      ‘They’ve already been fed. I employ a dog handler in my security team and he’s been taking care of the practicalities.’

      Taken aback by that assurance, Jess gave him a disarmingly natural grin. ‘I can’t get over the novelty of having people do things for me—I mean, breakfast in bed, what a treat!’

      ‘Every day can be a treat for you now,’ Cesario murmured, enchanted against his will by that sudden flashing smile that lit up her oval face. During the night he had thought about the knife attack she had mentioned. Belatedly recalling what had surely been a defensive wound on her hand, he had wanted to know the whole story, but he was reluctant to risk traumatising her by asking her to satisfy his curiosity. She had said she might have died and then he would never have known her. His lean strong face shadowed as he forced that gloomy thought out.

      ‘No, I don’t like being spoiled. I’m not helpless and I’m too used to doing things for myself,’ Jess fielded briskly, suddenly wanting and needing to hold onto what was familiar lest her life become subsumed entirely by his.

      ‘You’re on your honeymoon.’

      Her nose wrinkled. ‘Call it a holiday, not a honeymoon. By no stretch of the imagination could we be like a honeymoon couple,’ she pointed out drily.

      ‘What I said last night wasn’t meant to offend you,’ Cesario drawled. ‘It was intended to—’

      ‘Save you the hassle of dealing with a lovesick bride who wants to hang onto you a few months down the road?’ Jess trilled quick as a flash. ‘Relax, that’s not going to happen. I’ll be looking forward to getting my freedom and my own life back.’

      For a split second Cesario looked as though he might have been about to argue with that assessment, but then he closed his handsome mouth, watching her with screened liquid dark eyes that gave away nothing. Jess, however, had few illusions about the warning she had received the night before. The very fact she was still a virgin had probably given him commitment-phobia. She was, after all, dealing with a man accustomed to women who fell madly in love with him and his lifestyle and then were reluctant to let go of him and the luxury again. But she had no intention of becoming one of that undistinguished crowd. Jess had fought many a fight against poor odds in her life and had emerged triumphant. There was nothing of the loser in her genes. Hopefully she would walk away from Cesario di Silvestri with a child, but only because that was her choice as well as his, she told herself fiercely.

      ‘So, how do we spend the first day of this holiday?’ Jess enquired brightly.

      Cesario slung her a wicked grin full of sexuality and fantasy, his dark golden eyes dancing with amusement, and hot pink drenched her cheeks.

      ‘Okay…’ Jess conceded between gritted teeth. ‘But in between times I want to see Tuscany.’

      ‘Your wish is my command, delizia mia.’

      ‘Again?‘ Cesario husked as a slim hand wandered across his hair-roughened thigh with an intent he knew all too well only to discover that he was ahead of her and already primed and ready for another bout of lovemaking. Being with a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her, he had discovered as the days of their honeymoon had unfolded, was a very invigorating experience.

      This particular day, though, had started off on a purely cultural note with a trip to the beguiling hilltop town of San Gimignano, dominated by its thirteen medieval towers. Cool as a spring flower in a pale blue skirt and white lace top, Jess had admired the Ghirlandaio frescoes in the Renaissance chapel of Santa Fina and she had succumbed to highly infectious giggles when Cesario compared her profile to one on the wall. They had enjoyed a leisurely lunch in a thirteenth-century town house followed by vintage wine served in the piazza. There, slowly but surely, intelligent conversation had faltered as their eyes had met and other rather more basic instincts had taken over.

      But it was Jess who had taken Cesario by surprise when she had ultimately leant across the table to whisper feverishly, ‘Get us a room…’

      They had barely made it through the door of the airy tower room of a nearby hotel he had hurriedly taken for them before, still almost fully clothed, they were enjoying each other up against the wall with a scorching raw-edged passion that Cesario had never before dared to unleash on a woman. The looks they had shared in the piazza over the wine had acted as the most arousing session of foreplay he had ever experienced. Even now, lying naked and bronzed in a tangle of sheets, he was still reliving the hot, tight, wet seal of her body round his and the gasping sounds of unashamed pleasure that had rung in his ears even as she tried to stifle them for fear of being overheard. He had already had her three times and he knew it would not be the last time that day. As those delicate fingers of hers enclosed his