The Borghese Bride Read online

  “Dominic, wait…”

  He walked away and she stood in the center of the room, feeling numb as she watched him go.

  She heard his door shut. The storm, growing nearer, sent a gust of wind howling through the trees in the courtyard.

  Arianna wanted to howl, too. Howl, and weep, and beat her fists against the wall, but she wouldn’t. Feeling sorry for herself had never helped, not when her parents died, not when she’d learned she was pregnant. What had gotten her through, each time, was facing the truth.

  That was what she had to do now.

  She had to find a way to end this sham of a marriage, fall out of love with a man who didn’t love her, and tell him he had a son. Nothing to it, she thought, and gave a choked, painful laugh.

  She slept fitfully, tumbling in and out of an endless dream in which she walked a long, narrow path beneath a sky where thunder rolled endlessly and lightning lit the somber clouds.

  She was alone. So terribly alone.

  A roll of real thunder from the storm outside the house rattled the windows. Arianna shot up in bed, shaking from the dream.

  Lightning lit the room. There was a distant hiss, as if a giant cat were showing its displeasure, and the illuminated face of the bedside clock went dark. So did the world. Not even a glimmer of light shone through the windows from the street.

  Her heart thudded. She’d been terrified of storms like this when she was little. Her parents had understood. Her grandmother hadn’t.

  “Don’t be a coward, Arianna,” the marchesa would say when she found her hiding in a corner as a storm pounded the sky above the palazzo. “Del Vecchios are never afraid.”

  She’d stopped being afraid. Of life, of loss, of violent storms, but tonight she might as well have been a little girl again, frightened of the roar of thunder, of the jagged streaks of lightning, of the thick, black darkness…

  Of the emptiness in her heart.

  “Dominic,” she whispered brokenly, “oh Dominic.”

  The door swung open. A bright beam of light pierced the darkness, found her huddled against the pillows. Arianna threw up a hand against the glare—against the risk of letting Dominic see her tear-streaked face.

  “Arianna?” He swung the flashlight away from her. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said brightly.

  “It’s a bad storm. I thought it might have awakened you, and then when the lights went out…”

  “Really. I’m—” another roar of thunder “—fine.”

  Dominic didn’t believe it. She didn’t sound as if she were fine. She sounded terrified.

  “Arianna,” he said gently, “it’s all right to admit you’re afraid.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Cara, everyone is afraid of something. It’s not a sign of weakness to admit it.”

  “I’m not a child, Dominic. I know that.”

  “All right. In that case, I’ll leave you the flashlight. If you need me—”

  “I won’t. I keep telling you, I’m—”

  Thunder roared directly overhead. Lightning slashed through the darkness, and Arianna almost jumped from the bed.

  The hell with this, Dominic thought. She was frightened, she was his wife, and it didn’t matter that she’d been making it clear for more than a month that she didn’t need him. He wouldn’t be much of a man if he turned his back and walked away.

  He was beside her a second later, curving his one good arm around her, drawing her close against his naked chest.

  “I’ll take care of you, cara,” he whispered. “Just lean against me.”

  It was the second time he’d offered her his strength, but she didn’t need it. Didn’t need anything. Didn’t need him…

  He slid his fingers into her hair and slowly raised her face to his. For one endless moment, Arianna held back. Dominic whispered her name again, his voice so tender, so filled with need, that she felt her fear give way.

  “Dominic,” she whispered.

  She clasped the back of her husband’s head, drew his face down to hers and kissed him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DOMINIC groaned as their lips met.

  The years spent without Arianna faded away. All that mattered was the taste, the touch, the sweet pleasure of holding her close again.

  He’d tried to put memories of a nameless woman and the one night they’d shared behind him but he’d never managed to do it. Now, he’d found her and made her his wife.

  And this—this was their wedding night.

  His kisses deepened. Was he moving too fast, asking too much? No. He wasn’t. Arianna was returning kiss for kiss; she was touching him, moving her cool hands over his face, his shoulders, his chest. He murmured her name, cupped her breast through her thin nightgown and she shuddered with pleasure.

  “Dominic,” she sighed, and his body tightened like a fist.

  He told himself to slow down. This wasn’t a hurried coupling of strangers. This was Arianna, his wife, holding him as if she never wanted to let him go.

  He could linger over the flicker of her tongue against his. The little moans humming in her throat. The way she arched toward him as he bit lightly at her nipples through the cotton gown. There was time for all that and more. He could take her to the edge of eternity and keep her there until she was wild for his possession.

  But she was wild already, writhing in his arms, sobbing his name, and he was on fire, so hard and swollen that his erection throbbed against her belly.

  Still, he needed her to tell him she wanted him, longed for him, that she’d spent the last years remembering, just as he had.

  She was saying it with every kiss. Why wasn’t it enough?

  “Dominic.”

  Had his name ever sounded so sweet on a woman’s lips? Soft. Tender. As if she spoke it from her heart. The storm had stopped; a quarter moon had risen and in its watery light he looked at Arianna’s face and saw something in her eyes, something that filled him with joy.

  “Arianna. Come sei bella.” He drew her closer, kissed her, fell back on the bed with her and a sharp pain lanced through his arm. The breath hissed between his teeth and Arianna reared back.

  “What? Oh. Oh, your arm! Dominic, I should have thought—”

  Pain still shimmered through him but he caught her wrist, brought her hand to his mouth.

  “Don’t pull away.”

  “But your arm…”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You aren’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He pressed a kiss into her palm, nipped gently at the soft flesh at the base of her thumb.

  “You could only hurt me by leaving me now.”

  It was true. The pain was subsiding. All he needed was the soft feel of his wife as she sank down against him.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his for a slow, deep kiss. Dio, the sweetness of her mouth. The way she sighed as their lips met, so that the soft whisper of sound became part of the kiss.

  “Arianna.” His voice was husky with need. “I want to see you, but I can’t undress you, not with one hand. Do it for me. Take off your gown, mia principessa.”

  She wanted to, wanted his hands on her skin. It was five years since she’d been with a man. There’d been no one since Dominic.

  Now, he was her lover again.

  And he was her husband.

  The realization excited her. To bare herself to her husband. To have, at last, the wedding night she had denied them both.

  “Undress for me, Arianna.”

  Nerves warred with anticipation. Her body had changed since he’d last seen it. She was rounder. Fuller. Would he notice? Would he find her beautiful still?

  “Cara.” He ran his hand down her back, stroking, caressing. “Let me see you.”

  Arianna slicked the tip of her tongue over her lips. Then she got to her knees beside him and slowly drew her nightgown over her head.

  Moonlight scattered wisps of ivory light over her skin.r />
  Dominic looked at her, his eyes moving slowly from her face to her breasts to the gentle curve of her belly.

  “I—I’ve changed,” she said unsteadily.

  She had. Time and the birth of a child had turned her from a beautiful girl to an exquisite woman. For a heartbeat, he felt a pain that had nothing to do with his broken arm. If only he were the man who’d given her that child…

  Arianna crossed her arms over her breasts. “Maybe this—maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  Dominic smiled. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had,” he said gently. He kissed the curves of her breasts. “You’re more beautiful than before, cara, so beautiful you take my breath away.” Eyes locked to hers, he eased her arms to her sides. “My only wish is that we hadn’t spent all these years apart.”

  Tears rose in Arianna’s eyes. “Mine, too.”

  He reached out, touched the tip of his finger lightly to the dusty rose center of one breast.

  “But we’re together again. That’s all that matters.”

  He moved his thumb, his hand, and she moaned.

  “You have beautiful breasts, cara.” His hand drifted down the valley between them, glided over her stomach, cupped the feminine delta between her thighs.

  “And this part of you, this place I remember because it is where the taste of you was the sweetest…”

  “Dominic.” Arianna caught his hand. “If you do that—if you do that—”

  “What?” His voice became thick. “What will happen if I do that, Arianna?”

  She closed her eyes as he slipped his hand between her thighs and found her. It was too much. It was too much…

  And it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Needed—

  “Please,” she whispered, “please.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Make love to me. Come inside me. Oh God, Dominic, I need you, need you—”

  Her cries made his blood pound. Between them, they tugged off his sweatpants. His erection sprang free. Arianna caught her breath, touched him, felt the velvet-encased hardness of him pulse against her hand, and instinct took over.

  “Dominic,” she whispered, “my husband.”

  Eyes on his face, she lowered herself on him, took him slowly inside her, deep inside her, her cry of pleasure a sweet counterpoint to his husky groan of satisfaction.

  This, oh this was everything. Dominic, filling her. Dominic, his eyes dark with passion. Dominic, his hand curved around her hip, his breathing quickening as she began to move.

  His touch, his whispers, urged her on. Her head fell back; she rode him hard, no inhibitions, no shame. Love had driven her past those barriers to a place she’d never believed existed.

  Dominic watched his wife moving above him. Her body glistened with sweat; her hair fell in a tumble down her back. She was the most beautiful woman who had ever lived and she was his.

  He groaned, felt the tightening in his groin, but he forced himself to hold back. He wanted to watch his Arianna as she flew toward the stars. When she cried out his name and convulsed around him, he pulled her down to him, rolled above her and let go of everything, his heart, his soul, his dreams, everything he was or ever would be.

  He felt her come again as the power of his orgasm shuddered through him. Their cries of release mingled and when he bent his head, kissed Arianna and tasted the salt of tears, he didn’t know if they were hers or his.

  “Dominic.” His wife’s voice broke. “Dominic, nonlo lasci mai.”

  “I won’t,” he whispered, “I’ll never leave you, cara mia. Never.”

  Still joined, he stirred inside her, kissed her, and as they began the journey to the stars again, Dominic finally faced the truth.

  He’d married Arianna for only one reason.

  He loved her.

  * * *

  Time passed. Moments, hours—what did it matter?

  Arianna sighed and stroked her hand lightly down Dominic’s back. His skin was warm and supple, the muscles beneath it hard and well-defined.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he murmured.

  She smiled. “I am very all right.”

  Dominic smiled, too. He rolled to his side, still holding Arianna against him. “Yes. You most certainly are,” he said, brushing his mouth softly over hers. “It was enough, then? The way we made love?”

  “It was wonderful.” A blush colored her cheeks. “Was it all right for you? Having me on top?”

  “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh. I thought—I mean, I never—”

  “Arianna.” Dominic caught a handful of her hair and gently tugged her face up to his. “I’m teasing you, cara. It was incredible. I was just hoping to convince you we’d have to try it a couple of dozen more times. Strictly so I could give you an opinion, of course.”

  “Ah. Well, I suppose, in that case…”

  Her lips curved in a smile. He smiled, too, and then he kissed her, lay back and drew her head to his chest. “I was a fool, five years ago, Arianna.”

  “No. It was me. I should never have sneaked off but it all seemed so—so wrong. What we did. What I did. I’d never—”

  “Neither had I, cara, but then, I’d never wanted a woman as I wanted you…as I want you still.”

  Another kiss, longer and deeper than the last. Dominic sighed. “I thought about hiring someone to find you.” He stroked his hand over her hair, toying with the soft curls that wound lightly around his fingers. “Then I thought, but if she didn’t care enough to leave me her name…”

  “I was embarrassed.”

  “Si. I know that now, but then…” He sighed again. “A man can make a fool of himself, cara, trying to protect his precious pride. I convinced myself it was best to forget you.” His voice roughened. “But I never did.”

  “I never forgot you, either,” Arianna admitted softly. “I dreamed about you, fantasized about walking into a room and finding you waiting for me.”

  Dominic drew her closer. “I’m here now, cara, and we’ll never lose each other again.”

  There was a sudden tightness in Arianna’s throat. She loved this man so much! How could she have lied to herself for so long?

  And how could she go on lying to him?

  Honesty was important in any relationship but especially in this one. Dominic had made that clear. He’d taken her as his wife because he hadn’t wanted a marriage built on lies.

  And theirs was built on the worst possible kind of lie. He had a son, and he had the right to know it.

  Now, Arianna thought. Right now, before her courage failed.

  But Dominic was whispering to her, caressing her…

  And she was lost to everything but his touch.

  * * *

  He said he would make breakfast, if she would tell him how to do it.

  Arianna gave a dramatic sigh, told him to sit at the kitchen counter and drink his orange juice and she would make breakfast for them both.

  He sat down and watched his wife bustle back and forth. It was a wonderful sight, he thought, and grinned.

  Arianna caught the grin out of the corner of her eye.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing, the man says.” She turned the bacon in the skillet, then reached for the eggs. “I saw that smirk, signore You can’t tell me it was nothing.”

  Dominic raised his glass to his lips. “I was just thinking that you’re a definite improvement over Rosa.”

  She laughed. “Wait until you taste your bacon. You might not agree.”

  “No, I don’t think I’ll change my mind, not even if you burn the bacon.” He cupped his chin in his hand, rested his elbow on the countertop and regarded her thoughtfully. “For one thing, you’re easier on the eyes.”

  Rosa probably weighed 250 pounds. Arianna tried not to smile.

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  “And you don’t harbor a burning desire to sing at La Scala.”

  “You haven�
��t heard me in the shower, or you wouldn’t even joke about the possibility.”

  Dominic raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t sing a note when we shared the tub a little while ago.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, I suppose, even one-armed, I did a pretty good job of keeping your mind off everything, but—”

  Arianna leaned over the counter and silenced him with a kiss.

  “Stop boasting,” she said softly, “and tell me how you like your eggs.”

  “Cooked.”

  “Oh, you’re funny today, signore.”

  “I’m happy,” he said simply. “Aren’t you, signora?”

  She looked at him. “Yes. Oh yes, I am.”

  They smiled at each other and then Arianna sighed and reached for the eggs.

  “The bacon really will burn if I don’t make the eggs soon. How do you want them?”

  “Scrambled, wife.”

  He said the word teasingly but it sent a tremor of pleasure through her. She looked at him, her lips curving in a smile. He smiled back. She cleared her throat. If she didn’t make those eggs soon, they’d both forget all about breakfast.

  And they couldn’t do that because after breakfast, if she didn’t lose her courage completely…

  “Scrambled,” he said, “with cream, not milk.”

  “Cream’s bad for you.”

  “Maybe. But it makes the eggs cook up softer,” he said with the authority of a man who’d washed dishes in a Roman trattoria for three months when he was seventeen.

  “It makes your arteries scream with terror.”

  He grinned. “I’m too young to have talking arteries.”

  Arianna leaned over and kissed him again. He cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. After a moment, she sighed and drew back.

  “I think I’d better make those eggs,” she whispered. She touched her finger to his mouth. “To keep up your strength.”

  They smiled at each other. She turned away and he watched her whip the eggs. Well, not really. What he was really watching was the way her delectable bottom wiggled from side to side.