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CHAPTER EIGHT

‘NO, I DON’T think that my wife has an eating disorder,’ Gaetano bit out between gritted teeth in the waiting room.

‘Signora Leonetti is seriously underweight, dehydrated...in generally poor physical condition,’ the doctor outlined disapprovingly. ‘That is why the bacterial infection has gained such a hold on her and why we are still struggling to get her temperature under control. That she contrived to get through a wedding and travel in such a state has to be a miracle.’

‘A miracle...’ Gaetano whispered, sick to his stomach and, for the very first time in his brilliantly successful, high-achieving life, feeling like a failure.

How else could he feel? Poppy had collapsed. His wife was wearing an oxygen mask in the IC unit, having drugs pumped into her. All right, she hadn’t told him how she was feeling but shouldn’t a normal, decent human being have noticed that something was wrong?

Unfortunately he clearly couldn’t claim to be a normal, decent human being. And his analytical mind left him in no doubt of exactly where he had gone wrong. He had been too busy admiring his bride’s tiny waist to register that she was dangerously thin. He had been too busy dragging her off to bed to register that she was unwell. And when she had tried to tell him, what had he done? Porca miseria, he had shouted at her and accused her of feigning illness!

‘May I see her now?’ he asked thickly.

He stood at the foot of the bed looking at Poppy through fresh eyes, rigorously blocking the sexual allure that screwed with his brain. Ironically she had always impressed him as being so lively, energetic and opinionated that he had instinctively endowed her with a glowing health that she did not possess. Now that she was silent and lying there so still, he could see how vulnerable she really was. It was etched in the fine bones of her face, the slenderness of her arms, the exhaustion he could clearly see in the bluish shadows below her eyes.

And what else would she be but exhausted? he asked himself grimly. For months she had worked two jobs, managing the hall and working at the bar. She had been so busy looking after her mother and her brother that she had forgotten to look after herself. He suspected that she had got out of the habit then of taking regular meals and rest. And even when both food and rest had been on offer in London she had still chosen to work every day at that café. In truth she was as much of a workaholic in her proud and stubborn independence as he was, he acknowledged bleakly. He could only hope that he was correct in believing that she did not suffer from an underlying eating disorder.

‘Your grandfather is waiting outside...’ a nurse informed him.

‘There was no need for you to leave your bed,’ Gaetano scolded the older man. ‘I only texted you so that you would know where I was.’

‘How is she?’ Rodolfo asked worriedly.

And Gaetano told him, withholding nothing. ‘I’ve been a pretty lousy husband so far,’ he breathed in grim conclusion, conceding the point before it could be made for him.

‘You have a steep learning curve in front of you.’ His grandfather sighed. ‘But she’s a wonderful girl and well worth the effort. And it’s not where you start out that matters, Gaetano...it’s where you end up.’

Rodolfo could not have been more wrong in that estimate, Gaetano reflected austerely. Where you started out mattered very much if you had previously blocked the road to journey’s end. His marriage was not a marriage and the relationship was already faltering. He had put up a roadblock with the word divorce on it and used that as an excuse to behave badly. He had screwed up. He had been shockingly selfish and with Poppy of all people, Poppy who had trailed round after him and his dog, Dino, on the estate when they were both kids. And what had she been like then?

Like an irritating little kid sister. Kind, madly affectionate, his biggest fan. He exhaled heavily. He had had more compassion as a boy than he had retained as an adult and he had not lived up to Poppy’s high expectations. Worse still, he had taken advantage of her despair over her family’s predicament. He had forced through the terms he wanted, terms she should have denied for her own sake, terms only a complete selfish bastard would have demanded. But it was a little too late to turn that particular clock back.

Was the selfishness a Leonetti trait? His father had been the ultimate egotist and his mother had never in her life, to his knowledge, put anyone’s needs before her own. Had his dysfunctional parents made him the ruthless predator that he was at heart? Or had wealth and success and boundless ambition irrevocably changed him? Gaetano asked himself grimly.

* * *

Poppy surfaced to appreciate that her head had stopped aching. She discovered that she could swallow again and that her breath was no longer trapped in her chest. She opened her eyes on the unfamiliar room, taking in the hospital bed and the drip attached to her arm before focusing on Gaetano, who was hunched in the chair in the corner.

Gaetano looked as if he had been dragged through hell and far removed from the sophisticated, exquisitely groomed image that was the norm for him. His black curls were tousled, his jaw line heavily stubbled. His jacket was missing. His shirt was open at his brown throat and his sleeves were rolled up. As she stared he lifted his head and she collided with glorious dark golden eyes.

Snatches of memory engulfed her in broken bits and pieces. She remembered the passion and the pleasure he had shown her. Then she remembered his fury about the nude photos, his refusal to credit that she was ill. But she remembered nothing after that point.

Gaetano stood up and pressed the bell on the wall. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better than I felt when I fainted...er...did I faint?’

‘You passed out. Next 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.

‘I’m sleeping next door,’ he said wryly.

‘That’s not necessary.’ Poppy had to fight to keep the hurt note out of her voice. She had been looking forward to Gaetano putting his arms around her again and she was disappointed that it wasn’t going to happen.

‘I’m a restless sleeper. I don’t want to disturb you,’ Gaetano countered smoothly.

Poppy’s heart sank as if he had kicked it. Maybe if sex wasn’t on the menu, Gaetano preferred to sleep alone. And why would she argue about that? It was possible that Gaetano had already had all he really wanted from her. She had heard about men who lost sexual interest once the novelty was gone. One night might have been enough for him. Was he that kind of lover? And if he was, what did it matter to her? It wasn’t as if she were about to embarrass herself and chase after him, was it? Why would she do that when their eventual separation and divorce were already set in stone?

So, it didn’t make sense that after he had gone she curled up in the big bed feeling lonely and needy and rejected. Why on earth was she bothered?

* * *

‘You shouldn’t be down here keeping an old man company,’ Rodolfo reproved as Poppy poured his coffee and her own. ‘No cake?’

‘Cinzia’s putting it on a fancy plate to bring it out. You’re getting spoiled,’ Poppy told him fondly, perching on the low wall of the terrace.

His bright dark eyes twinkled. ‘Nothing wrong with being spoiled. You spoil me with your cakes but Gaetano’s supposed to be spoiling you.’

Poppy’s luminous green eyes shadowed. ‘He does but I’ve let him off the honeymoon trail for a few hours to work. It keeps him happy...’

‘You look well,’ Gaetano’s grandfather said approvingly. ‘On your wedding day you looked as though a strong breeze would blow you over, now you look...’

‘Fatter?’ Poppy laughed. ‘You can say it. I’d got too thin and I look better carrying a little more weight. Dolores has been feeding me up like a Christmas turkey.’

Hands banded round her raised knees, Poppy gazed out over the valley, scanning the marching rows of bright green vines. The property referred to as the guest house was a substantial building surrounded by trees and it had a spectacular view. It had always been Rodolfo’s favourite spot and when he had tired of his late son’s constant parties at the main house he had built his own bolt-hole.

Cinzia, who looked after the guest house and its elderly occupant, brought out the lemon drizzle cake that Poppy had baked.

Poppy and Gaetano had been in Tuscany for a whole month, days fleeing past at a speed she could barely register. As soon as she had regained her strength, Gaetano had begun taking her out sightseeing. Her brain was crammed to bursting point by magnificent artworks and architectural wonders. But the memories that lingered were of a rather more personal variety.

Her delicate gold earrings were a gift from Gaetano, purchased from one of the spectacular goldsmiths on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. In Pisa they had strolled through the magical streets to dine after the daily visitors had left and he had told her that in bright light her red hair reminded him of a gorgeous sunset. In Lucca they had walked the city walls in the leafy shade of the overhanging trees and Gaetano had briefly held her hand to steady her. In Siena she had proved Gaetano wrong when he’d told her that climbing more than four hundred steps to the top of the Torre del Mangia would be too much for her and he had laughed and given her that special heart-stopping smile that somehow always rocked her world. And in the Grotta del Vento he had whipped off his jacket and wrapped it round her when he’d seen her shiver in the coolness of the underground cave system.

Personal memories but not the romantic memories of a newly married couple, Poppy conceded unhappily. There was no sex. There had been no sex since she had taken ill and he refused to take hints. And she refused to count as romantic all the many evenings they had talked long and late at the farmhouse after a beautiful leisurely meal because every evening had ended with them occupying separate beds.

Indeed, Gaetano only got close to her in his grandfather’s presence, clearly as part of his effort to keep up the pretence that they were a normal couple, and then he would close his arms round her, kiss her shoulder or her cheek, act as if he were a touchy-feely loving male even though he wasn’t. His determined detachment often made Poppy want to scream and slap him into a normal reaction. What had happened to the sex-hungry male who couldn’t keep his hands off her?

And while Poppy was lying awake irritating herself by wondering how to tempt Gaetano without being too obvious about it and scolding herself for being so defensive, another bigger worry slowly began to percolate in the back of her mind. At first she had told herself off for being foolish. After all, they had only had sex once and she had conscientiously taken the contraceptive pill from the first day it was prescribed to her. When her period was late she had believed that her illness or even the change of diet or stress could have messed up her menstrual cycle. As the days trickled past her subdued sense of panic had steadily mounted and she was very glad that she was visiting the doctor the following day for an official review following her release from hospital a month earlier. She would ask for a pregnancy test then just to be on the safe side. And of course she would soon realise that she had been foolishly worrying over nothing. There was no way she could possibly be pregnant.

Leaving Rodolfo snoozing in the shade, Poppy clicked her fingers to bring Muffin gambolling to her side as she strolled back to the main house.

Muffin had made a full recovery from his injuries and had been inseparable from Poppy from the day Gaetano had brought him back from the vet’s and settled the little terrier in his wife’s lap. The dog ran ahead as Poppy walked below the trees enjoying the cool shade rather than the heat of late afternoon. She smiled at the colourful glimpses of poppy-and-sunflower-studded fields visible through the gaps between the trees.

Since the wedding she had talked to her mother and brother every week on the phone. Damien was happy in his new job while her mother had renewed contact with Poppy’s aunt, Jess, who had stopped seeing her sister when she became an alcoholic. Now there was talk of Poppy’s mother going to live with her sister in Manchester after she was released.

That idea left Poppy feeling oddly abandoned and she told herself off for her selfishness because it was not as if she herself would be in a position to set up home with her mother any time soon. No, Poppy was very conscious that she had a long, hard haul ahead of her faking being happily married to Gaetano for at least a couple of years. And if she was miserable, well, she accepted that that was her own fault as well. If her emotions made her miserable it was because she had failed to control them. Her craving for Gaetano’s attention had been the first warning sign, missing him in bed after only one night the second. From that point on the warning signs had simply multiplied into a terrifying avalanche.

If Gaetano held her hand, she felt light-headed. If he touched her she lit up inside like a firework. If he smiled her heart soared. Her adolescent crush had grown into something much more dangerous, something she couldn’t control and that occasionally overwhelmed her. She had fallen madly, insanely in love with the husband who wasn’t a husband. It wasn’t fair that Gaetano should be so beautiful that she found intense pleasure in simply looking at him. It was even less fair that he was such entertaining company and had wonderful manners. Nor did it help that he took great pains to ensure that she ate well and rested often, revealing a caring side she had only previously seen in play around his grandfather. It was all a cheat, she kept on telling herself. It was a cheat because he wasn’t available to her in any way even though she loved him.

She loved Gaetano. She was ashamed of that truth when he had warned her not to make that mistake long before he’d even married her. How had she turned out so predictable? It was not as if she believed in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She was not a dreamer now that she had grown up. She knew that no happy ending awaited her and she would cope as long as she contrived to keep her emotional attachment to herself because she would die a thousand deaths before she allowed Gaetano to even suspect how she felt. He hadn’t asked for love from her and he didn’t want her love. No way was he getting her love for free so that he could pity her.

A fancy sports car that didn’t belong to Gaetano’s collection was parked outside La Fattoria. Poppy smoothed down her exotic black and red sundress, one of the designer garments Gaetano had purchased for her weeks ago. It was cutting-edge style and edgy enough to feel comfortable to her, so she had acquiesced to the new wardrobe, mortified by the suspicion that for her to insist on continuing to wear cheap clothing would embarrass Gaetano. No, he might deserve a kick for seducing her with unforgettable enthusiasm and then stopping that intimacy in its tracks, but she still cringed at the idea of embarrassing him in public.

Gaetano saw his wife from the front window, her show-stopping long legs silhouetted beneath the thin fabric of her dress. It was see-through, and it killed him to see her legs and recall that one indescribably hot night when he had slid between them. Feeling his trousers tighten, he gritted his teeth. The sooner he was out of their marriage and free again, the more normal he would feel.

In truth nothing had felt normal since their wedding. Being around Poppy without being able to touch her was driving him insane. He had a high sex drive and he had never tried to suppress it before. But for the first time in his life with a woman he was trying to do the right thing and it was hurting like a bitch. Poppy deserved more than he had to give. But inexplicably Poppy had got under his skin and since he had laid eyes on her no other woman had attracted him. Although he’d satisfied himself sexually with her, he still desired her, which was a first for him. The thrill of the chase had gone, but the hunger lingered, ever present, ever powerful. There was something about her that affected him differently from other women. She didn’t irritate him, she didn’t make demands, she didn’t care about his money. In the strangest of ways she reminded him of his grandmother, who had been as at home with staff as she was with visitors. Poppy’s easy charm was spread wide and he no longer marvelled that Rodolfo idolised her and the household staff couldn’t do enough for her. Even that ugly little dog was her devoted slave.

‘Sorry... I needed to freshen up,’ Serena announced as she walked back into the drawing room. ‘I got blown to bits. I forgot to tie my hair back before I drove over.’

Gaetano studied the smooth golden veil of Serena’s hair. He had never seen her with a hair out of place. Poppy’s hair got madly tangled, but she didn’t care. It had been wild that night in bed, he recalled, fighting off arousal as he pictured that vibrant mane tumbled across the pillows, her lovely face flushed and full of satisfaction, satisfaction he had given her.

Poppy entered and froze at the sight of Serena. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.’

‘Oh, I’m not company. I’m one of Gaetano’s oldest friends,’ Serena reminded her. ‘How are you, Poppy? I would have called in sooner, but it is your honeymoon, after all.’

‘Are you staying round here?’

‘Didn’t Gaetano tell you that my parents have had a house near here for years and years? We first met at one of his parents’ parties when we were teenagers,’ Serena told her with a golden-girl smile of fond familiarity aimed at Gaetano.

Serena was the wicked witch in the disguise of a beautiful princess, Poppy decided bleakly. Serena knew exactly where to plunge the knife and twist it in another’s woman’s flesh. She loved to boast of how well, how intimately and how long she had known Gaetano. ‘Fancy that,’ she said non-committally.

‘I’m actually here to beg for a favour,’ Serena confided cutely. ‘I met Rodolfo in the village last week and he told me that Gaetano was flying to Paris for a conference tomorrow. May I come too? As you know I’m looking for a new job and I could use the introductions you’d give me.’

‘Of course. I’ll pick you up on the way to the airport,’ Gaetano suggested calmly.

Hell no, Poppy thought, watching Serena look at Gaetano with a teasing girly smile and a shake of her golden head that sent the silken strands tossing round her perfect face. Her teeth ground together.

‘Are you coming too?’ Serena asked Poppy.

But Poppy could see that somehow Serena had already established that Gaetano would be travelling to Paris alone. ‘No, I’m afraid I have an appointment to keep,’ Poppy admitted.

‘I wish you’d agreed to reschedule that. I wanted to accompany you,’ Gaetano reminded her with detectable exasperation.

Poppy wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s only a check-up.’

And she didn’t want him attending the doctor’s surgery with her because she didn’t want him present for the discussion of the pregnancy possibility.

‘I could cancel and come to Paris with you,’ she heard herself offer abruptly, because she really didn’t want Serena getting the chance to be alone with Gaetano.

‘You need to keep that appointment,’ Gaetano countered levelly. ‘In any case, I’ll be back by evening.’

‘I’ll look after him,’ Serena assured her smugly and Poppy wondered unhappily if the other woman somehow sensed that Gaetano’s marriage was not quite normal. Or was it simply that the beautiful blonde could not imagine a male as well educated and sophisticated as Gaetano marrying an ordinary woman without there being some hidden agenda?

She had paled at Serena’s self-satisfaction. Gaetano had not been with a woman in a month. Naturally Poppy didn’t want him on board his private jet with a man-eater like Serena. Serena was already putting out willing and welcome signals as bright as traffic lights. But what could Poppy possibly say to Gaetano to inhibit him in such a marriage as theirs? He didn’t belong to her. She didn’t own him.

There were other ways of holding onto a man’s attention though, she reasoned abstractedly. There was using sex as a weapon, exactly the sort of manipulative behaviour she had looked down on before she fell in love with Gaetano. Now, all of a sudden confronted by Serena studying Gaetano as though he were one of the seven wonders of the world, Poppy’s stance on the moral high ground felt foolish and dangerous. Pride wouldn’t keep her warm at night if Gaetano succumbed to Serena’s advances and embarked on an affair with her. An affair that Poppy suspected would soon be followed by divorce and remarriage because she didn’t believe that Serena would accept being hidden in the background or that Gaetano would resist the chance to acquire a woman who would make a much more suitable wife.

* * *

Gaetano released his breath in a slow hiss when Poppy joined him for dinner in a black halter-necked dress that outlined her lithe, slender figure. His intense dark gaze rested briefly on the taut little buds of her breasts that were clearly defined by the thin fabric and he compressed his lips round his wine glass. Look, don’t touch, he told himself grimly.

‘I’ve been wondering,’ he remarked. ‘What made you choose nursing?’

Surprised by the topic, Poppy lifted and dropped her bare shoulders. ‘I like caring for people. Being needed makes me feel useful.’

‘Your family certainly needed you,’ Gaetano said drily.

The main course was served. After eating in silence for a few minutes Poppy said, ‘I’m thinking of doing something other than nursing when the time comes.’

‘Such as?’ Gaetano prompted impatiently.

‘Gardening,’ she admitted in a defensive tone.

‘Gardening?’ Gaetano repeated with incredulity.

‘I always discounted my interest in growing things because I come from several generations of gardeners. But I suppose it’s in my blood,’ Poppy opined wryly. ‘Of course if I’d ever mentioned it I would have found myself working for your family and I didn’t want that.’

‘I’ve never understood why not. We’re good employers.’

‘Yes, but working on the estate means real old-fashioned service.’

‘And what is bartending but service?’ Gaetano watched her turn to lift her water glass and his attention dropped to the firm, full, pouting curve of her breast revealed by her dress. He shifted tensely in his seat.

‘There’s not that same sense of inequality between employer and employee that there is on the estate. I can’t explain it but I’ve never accepted that you are superior to me simply because you were born into wealth and privilege.’

‘Have I ever made you feel that way?’

Poppy pushed away her plate and stood up. ‘You can’t help it. Your parents raised you like that.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘For a walk—it’s a beautiful evening. I’ll have space for dessert by the time I come back,’ she told Sean, who was hovering to remove their plates.

‘I’ll come too.’ Gaetano sprang upright.

Poppy was as restless as a cat on hot bricks, which was hardly surprising when she had set herself the objective of somehow seducing Gaetano before his flight to Paris. Sadly discussing her career aspirations and the class system wouldn’t get her any closer to him and she wasn’t very deft at flirting. If all else failed, she thought ruefully, she would simply slip into bed with him and pray that his libido cracked his detachment.

‘That’s a daring dress,’ Gaetano observed. ‘The split in the skirt shows me your thighs at every step and I can see the curve and shape of your breasts. Don’t wear it anywhere more public...’

Poppy was relieved that he had actually noticed the provocative outfit because it meant that she wasn’t yet fading into the wallpaper as far as he was concerned. Her high heels crunched through the gravel. A finger danced up her exposed spine like a flame licking at her bare skin and she shivered, snatching in a breath as he flicked the knot at the nape of her neck. ‘If I pulled that loose...’

‘The whole thing would probably fall off,’ she completed.

Gaetano groaned out loud. ‘Don’t tempt me.’

‘I didn’t think you could be tempted any more.’

‘Temptation runs on a continuous loop around you.’

Poppy glanced at him with disbelieving eyes. ‘Then why have you been keeping your distance?’

‘It should’ve been that way from the start, bellezza mia. I was a selfish bastard to insist on sex.’

‘So, tell me something new,’ Poppy invited.

After a moment of telling silence, Gaetano’s stunning dark golden gaze locked to her flushed face in near wonderment at that response before he burst out laughing. ‘Well, that’s telling me...’

‘If you wanted lies you married the wrong girl.’

‘Obviously,’ Gaetano conceded, lounging back against an aged stone pedestal table at the viewpoint where the land fell away to reveal the panoramic landscape beyond the garden. Poppy gazed out at the beautiful countryside, her hair glowing like a live flame against her ivory skin as the sun went down.

‘I’m not being fair to you,’ Poppy muttered with sudden awkwardness. ‘I wanted sex too!’

‘Maybe when we were actually having it but not before,’ Gaetano qualified.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Gaetano... I couldn’t wait to rip your clothes off!’ Poppy flung back at him in exasperation. ‘I didn’t stay a virgin until this age by not knowing what I wanted. I’m not some easily led little rag doll. Stop talking as if you took advantage of a naïve kid!’

‘But I did take advantage of you.’ Gaetano reached out to grip both her hands in emphasis and prevent her from her constant pacing back and forth in front of him. ‘You were a virgin and I’m a natural predator. What I want I take. And I very much wanted you.’

Poppy took a step closer to his lean, powerful body. ‘How much is “very much”?’

He brought her hands down lightly to the revealing bulge at his groin. Her fingertips fluttered appreciatively over the hard jut of his erection and he jerked in surprise at that intimate caress. His golden eyes smouldering with erotic heat, he pulled her up against him and crushed her ripe pink mouth beneath his, his tongue darting and delving deep to send tiny shudders of shocking arousal coursing through her lower body. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

‘You’re a tease,’ Gaetano told her darkly.

‘No, I’m a sure thing,’ Poppy contradicted, helpless in the grip of the need throbbing and pulsing through her trembling length.

She felt the sudden give at her neck as he tugged loose the tie of her dress. As the bodice dropped to her waist his hands closed to her hips and he lifted her up onto the stone table before reaching below the skirt to close his hands into the waistband of her lace knickers and yank them down.

‘Out here?’ she whispered, shaken by the concept as he dug her discarded underwear into his pocket with single-minded efficiency.

‘Out here because I couldn’t make it back indoors...and I believe I can promise you a very active night,’ he husked, bending her backwards to capture a rosy nipple between his lips and lash it with his tongue while his fingers stroked and teased the delicate pink folds at her core.

‘I want you,’ she framed jaggedly, her breath strangled in her throat by a responsive gasp as his thumb rubbed over her and then a long finger tested her readiness.

He slid a single digit into her lush opening and her body jackknifed, spine arching, hips lifting off the cold stone surface. And the coldness below her only added to the intense heat punching through her quivering body, steamrollering over her inhibitions and heightening every sensation to an unbearable level.

‘So wet, so tight,’ Gaetano growled, yanking down his zip with a lack of cool that even in the state he was in astounded him. On some level the hunger was so all-consuming that he honestly thought he might die of overexcitement if he didn’t get inside her.

His mouth roved between the straining mounds of her perfect breasts, tugging at the swollen buds, arrowing lower, letting her feel the long, slow glide of his tongue while he pulled her to the edge of the table to position her.

He plunged in and drove the breath from her body with the intensity of his entrance. She whimpered as he stretched her, her body clenching round him like a hot velvet glove.

‘So good,’ Gaetano ground out between gritted teeth as he pulled back and slammed back into her with delicious force.

Poppy couldn’t think, she could only feel and she was riding a torrent of excitement she couldn’t control, her entire being pitched to crave the peak of his every powerful thrust. The heat and the hunger and the pleasure all melded together into one glorious, overwhelming rush of sexual ecstasy. Her climax claimed her in an explosive surge of intense sensation and her teeth bit into his shoulder as the exquisite convulsions shook her violently in his arms.

In the aftermath she was as limp as a floppy doll. He fed her feet back into her underwear, retied her dress and lifted her down to the ground again where she swayed, utterly undone by the sheer primal wildness of their joining.

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you blew me away,’ she whispered truthfully.

‘You bring out the animal in me, delizia mia,’ he admitted raggedly, pressing his sensual mouth to the top of her down-bent head in what felt like a silent apology.

‘And I like it,’ Poppy admitted shakily. ‘I like it very much.’

‘What the hell have we been playing at, then, for the last few weeks?’ he demanded.

Poppy shot him a teasing glance. ‘You were depriving me of sex. Why, I have no idea.’

But Gaetano was in not in the mood to talk. He was already painfully aware of the lack of logic in his recent behaviour. He couldn’t answer his own questions, never mind explain or defend his decisions to her. He had honestly believed that for once he was doing the honourable thing and that she would appreciate his restraint. Evidently he had got that badly wrong. She was accusing him of depriving her. Diavelos...no doubt it was sexist but he was the one who had felt most deprived. And being deprived of the joy of her body had eased his conscience.

His brooding silence nagged at Poppy’s nerves. Perhaps even though he enjoyed the physical release of her body he had preferred the distance provided by their lack of intimacy. Maybe he was worried she was getting too attached. Maybe she wasn’t as good an actress as she liked to believe.

‘It was just sex, you know,’ she mumbled as lightly as she could. ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything.’

‘I know,’ Gaetano fielded drily while also knowing that he could never, ever have imagined having a wife who would admit that she had just used him for sex.

It felt wrong to him and downright offensive but he was willing to admit that getting married to Poppy and living with her while struggling to stay out of her bed had played merry hell with his values. One hint of encouragement from her and he had shelved honour without a backward glance. In fact he’d been a pushover, he conceded grimly. He craved her like a drug. He was already thinking of early nights, dawn takeovers and afternoon siestas, hopefully the kinkier, the better, because his bride was still on a wonderful learning curve. Did it really matter if she only wanted him for sex?

Why complicate something simple? She was right. It was just sex, not something he had ever felt the need to agonise over or attach labels to. Maledizione! What was she doing to his brain? Why was he dwelling on something so basic?