Anger made common sense impossible. ‘You should be with me,’ he grunted angrily. ‘Not talking to strange men.’
‘They weren’t strange men—they were perfectly nice. And staying with you at something like this is impossible,’ she responded curtly. ‘Everyone wants to talk to you, not me.’
‘I don’t care; you’re my wife.’
‘Yes, your wife. Not an accessory,’ she pointed out softly, keeping her voice low purely out of recognition of the fact that there were people everywhere.
‘We agreed that we wouldn’t draw attention to our relationship or lack thereof. I will not have people gossip that my wife’s interest is straying.’
She blinked up at him, her face pale. ‘You must be kidding me! Your ego is wounded because I was talking to two probably married professors from the university I’m going to attend?’
‘You weren’t just talking. You were...’
‘What? You think I was flirting?’ she said with disbelief. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘Forse,’ he acknowledged. ‘Nevertheless, I want you to stay with me tonight.’
Emmeline glared up at him angrily. She might have moved hell and high water to please her father, but that was where her submissive tendencies ended.
‘No way.’ To her chagrin, tears sparkled on her eyelashes. She blinked them away angrily. ‘Right now you’re the last person I want to see.’
And then, with her back up against the wall—literally—he placed a hand on her hip and stroked her flesh gently, teasing her, making her pulse throb.
‘Why do I find that so hard to believe?’ he asked throatily, the words a hoarse demand.
‘Don’t.’
She bit down on her lower lip, and there was such a look of need in her eyes and confusion in her face that he almost dropped his hand.
Almost...but not quite. ‘Don’t what?’
Don’t use this against me, she thought, her heart hurting. This desire she wasn’t used to was tormenting her enough already.
He moved a little closer, dropping his head by degrees, so that when he spoke his words were whispered into her ear. ‘Go and wait for me in the car. It’s time for us to leave.’
‘We’ve only been here an hour,’ she pointed out huskily, her body attuned to every shift in his.
‘Fifty-nine minutes too long,’ he responded.
‘Why are we leaving?’
Because I don’t want to watch you being drooled over by any other man.
Because I want to make love to you.
Because you’re mine.
He shook his head. ‘It’s time. I’ll be out as soon as possible.’
But it was not so easy for Pietro to depart. By the time he’d said goodbye to the more influential of the guests Emmeline had been cooling her heels in the car for almost a half-hour, and it was clear that she was in a foul mood.
‘Am I being punished for enjoying a conversation?’ she demanded, the second he was in the driver’s seat.
‘No.’ He revved the car to life and floored the accelerator.
He shifted a sidelong look her way. Her jaw was clenched, her hands gripped tightly in her lap, her body vibrating with barely suppressed anger.
‘I went to a lot of effort to come to this damned thing tonight because you told me you wanted me to! No, you told me I had to! I don’t appreciate being frog-marched out like some errant schoolgirl.’
Oh, God. The last thing he needed was to picture his wife as a schoolgirl. Hell. She had been a schoolgirl the first time he’d seen her, around the time of Patrice’s funeral. She’d appeared in the hallway in a navy blue dress, with a blazer that fell to her hips, and even then Pietro had known she had the potential to be trouble for him.
He had unconsciously stayed away from the plantation after that, avoiding her as much as he could. It hadn’t always been possible—there’d been a few dinners and parties, in the intervening years—but for the most part he’d kept a very wise distance.
Something about Col Bovington’s daughter had sent all his warning sensors haywire, and now he knew how right his instincts had been.
‘I was having a good time,’ she continued angrily, her gaze focussed on the streets of Rome as they drove.
She didn’t know it well enough yet to recognise that they were heading out of the city—away from his villa.
‘I’m glad,’ he said quietly. ‘But those men were all over you and you were encouraging them.’
‘How can you say that? We were just talking.’
‘Believe me, cara, with you in that dress no man will be “just talking” to you.’
Her jaw dropped and she whipped around to face him, her face lashed by pain. ‘It’s a nice dress. A respectable dress.’
‘You look good enough to eat—and I’m sure as hell not the only man who thought so.’
Emmeline’s face drained of all colour, and all the fight seemed to leave her in one second.
Pietro didn’t notice.
‘You’re my wife! It doesn’t matter that our marriage is unconventional. I will not have you dragging my name through the mud...’
‘Your name...’ She rolled her eyes, but her words were just a whisper. ‘For such a powerful, successful guy, you’ve got major insecurity about your reputation.’
He slammed his palm into the steering wheel, anger coursing through him. It wasn’t about that! Didn’t she understand? He had no insecurities; his virility left him little room for doubt on that score. It was just a stupid excuse. Something he could say that would achieve the desired result—which was what? Her total isolation? Dio. What kind of barbaric son-of-a-bitch was he turning into?
‘You said I should change how I look.’
She was shivering now—a reaction Pietro finally recognised, though he couldn’t understand it. Unconsciously he drove faster, turning the car onto the highway and picking up speed.
‘You said that I had to be what people would expect of your wife. Haven’t I done that?’
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his eyes focussed on the night sky ahead. She’d done it—only far too well for his liking.
‘You would have complained if I’d come to that thing tonight wearing something I was comfortable in—something I usually wear. Now you’re complaining because I’m dressed like
