Chapter eleven-Riley

SOMETHING HAS CHANGED.

Before we left the Benenati estate, Matteo was... well... the husband of my dreams. No one looking at our wedding would ever have guessed that it was a sham... not even myself. Though we could easily enough have had a civil service, he had clearly gone to not a little trouble to make sure that the day held pleasant memories for me.

When he'd carried me off of the dance floor, I had felt feelings stirring for him that I'd never felt before. Since we'd known each other for such a short amount of time, I guess I would have to say that I had a crush. Yes, a crush... on my husband.

Which is just too weird for words.

I hadn't known what to expect, exactly, while we drove to wherever he was taking me. But after our flirtation, and the fact that we'd both admitted how much we wanted each other, I had thought... I don't know. That there would have been some kissing. Maybe even more... and I wanted it. Was even anticipating it.

But when Matteo slid into the car after me, something had changed. He'd gone from playful, full of sensual promise, to withdrawn. Tense.

I'd tried to tease him back to the way he'd been, flirting as best as I knew how. When my hand had brushed his leg, he'd jumped as though I'd burned him and retreated to the far side of the car.

It was a long ride to our destination... a massive, stunning white yacht. By this point I wasn't surprised to discover that it belonged to Matteo.

But now I'm sitting alone in the room that he showed me to... a room separate from his own! He bid me goodnight, then shut the door in my face.

"Damn it." This kind of turnaround doesn't happen without a catalyst. I sit on the bed, worrying the silken duvet between my fingers as I turn things over in my mind. Though my kneejerk reaction is to feel rejected, when I think about the look in his eyes, the way he kissed me before I went out to the car...

Someone said something to him to make him wary. And though I didn't see her there, I'd bet money that I don't have that it was Emilia.

My irritation is a palpable thing as I pace, sort through the contents of the bag that Alberta, one of the maids, packed for me—everything is brand new—and try to figure out what to do.

The only reason that the idea of this marriage is tolerable to me is because it's an excuse for me to be a bit wild, to explore the connection between Matteo and I that is apparent every time we're in the same room.

I'm dying to explore that connection... to explore it all the way.

And, I think as I come across a little white nightie, I'll be damned if that bitch Emilia is going to ruin my honeymoon with my sexy Italian fake husband.

My heart begins to hammer, pounding against my ribcage as I struggle to unzip the back fastening of my wedding dress. After it falls to the floor, I pick it up, hang it neatly in the closet.

I'm left in the strapless bra, bikini panties, thigh high stockings and heels that consist of the rest of my wedding day ensemble. I wonder who selected them... the wedding planners, or Matteo?

The thought of him deliberating, selecting these very garments for me to wear has my blood pumping through my veins, hot and fast. Slowly I remove the heels, the stockings, then the rest. The nightgown slides over my head easily, settling into place like it was made for me... and for all I know, it was.

Swallowing thickly, I turn to look at myself in the mirror, and almost swallow my tongue.

I'd worried that I wouldn't look like myself today... that I would be primped and polished until nothing of Riley remained. And while I was certainly pampered with a haircut, a massage, a pedicure, I still look like me. Just... more expensive.

The nightgown doesn't alter this. The pretty braids, the soft makeup... I look like a blushing bride. A virgin one, waiting for her husband in a little white nightgown that screams both innocence and sex appeal.

You are attractive, Riley. You can do this. You can seduce your... husband.

"Hoo boy." Before I lose my nerve, I light the scented candles that are strewn about the room, note the vase full of white roses and the empty ice bucket.

It reinforces the notion that at some point Matteo's plans were right in line with my own. And now I'm going to go coax them back into that line.

I hurry to the door of the room that Matteo has told me is mine, before I can lose my nerve. The corridor is dark, quiet—Matteo assured me that it is private, off limits to the crew.

At the end of the hall, I can make out the soft glow of a lamp. Exhaling heavily, I force myself to pad along the hardwood in my bare feet.

The room is a den of sorts... a very exquisite, expensive man cave. A chair and a sofa upholstered in hunter green leather are bolted to the floor, and teak bookshelves line the walls.

He has music playing... Coldplay, I realize after listening for a second. The selection surprises me... Matteo seems steeped in the traditions of his family, his culture. I don't know why that means I thought he'd be listening to a tarantella or something.

It reminds me that there is much I don't know about my husband. And, I think as my eyes search the room and find him silhouetted against the railing on the deck outside, much that I would like to.

I enter the room silently; the smell of his scotch hangs heavily in the air. My heart leaps into my throat as I take a moment to study him, the way the moonlight outside plays over the strong features of his ridiculously handsome face... a profile that holds more than a hint of melancholy.

I want him, for however long I can have him.

I could watch him like this forever. But as though that connection between us is a tangible thing, he stills, like a wolf scenting his prey.

He turns, and my pulse skitters.

"Riley. What are you doing here?" Slowly, as though he is being moved against his will, his gaze moves from my face, down my neck, my breasts, my belly and legs and back up. I burn everywhere he looks, his stare awakening something in me that I've never felt before.

I shift, nervous, and when his eyes widen I realize that the movement has made my braless breasts sway beneath the very thin silk.

"You know why I'm here." My voice doesn't sound like my own brash one, full of nerves as it is. Catching the hem of my little nightgown in nervous fingers, I twist it, all the while drinking in my new husband.

His shirt has been untucked from his slacks, and is unbuttoned, revealing golden skin stretched tight over... oh my. Over one hell of a stomach. Clearly when he's not cooped up in the office, Matteo Benenati works out.

And, to my delight, that delicious chest is dusted with some soft, fine whorls of hair. More of that hair starts beneath his navel, leading straight into his slacks, emphasizing the jut of ridiculously sexy hipbones.

I'm on fire, just from looking at him.

What will it be like when he touches me?

Belatedly, as I drag my stare back up to his face, I realize that he hasn't responded... and yet, the way he's looking at me, not to mention the way the front of his pants have tented out, tells me that he's burning for me every bit as much as I am for him.

"Matteo, it's our wedding night." I swallow thickly, then hold out my hand to him. "Won't you come to bed?"

His eyes darken, and wicked intent passes over his face. My nipples tighten, and heat throbs between my legs.

How did you ever think this would be a bad idea, Riley? You idiot.

He takes one step toward me, then another. I tremble as he reaches for me, closing my eyes.

Those eyes fly open when, rather than a sensual caress, I find firm hands clasping my shoulders and gently pushing me away.

"What the hell, Matteo?" Indignant and exposed, I cross my arms over my chest and glare. "You were the one who said that since you had to be faithful to your wife that I would have to be... you know... your real wife. And you want it. I know you do. So what the hell are you doing?"

My voice cracks; I'm very close to shrieking. But this is a rather delicate situation, and after the ways in which my life has been turned upside down in the last few days, I'm feeling more than a little bit on edge.

Matteo closes his eyes, rubs his fingers against his temples. When he looks at me again, his expression is set.

"Yes, the contract states that I have to be faithful." His stare flickers from my face to my breasts and back, and his face reddens with tension. He kinda looks like he's going to have a heart attack. "But it does not state that we are required to... consummate... the marriage."

Again he closes his eyes.

"Go to bed, Riley. I'll see you in the morning."

My mouth falls open, and I can feel mortification painting my skin pink.

Maybe I've misunderstood everything. Logically, I don't think so, but here I am, almost naked, throwing myself at my husband, and he's turning me away...

"You don't want me. I see." It's the only logical conclusion. I don't want to be the girl who cries, so I blink rapidly to hold back the tears as I turn and scurry toward the door. "I understand. I'll be going now."

And I do understand. I know I'm not exactly hard on the eyes—and when I looked in the mirror just moments ago, I really thought I looked pretty—but I'm not leggy, or thin, or glamorous. I don't look like any of the women he's used to seeing.

I don't look anything like Emilia.

"Damn it, Riley. Get back here!"

I ignored Matteo's shout as I run back down the hallway. His hand closes over my upper arm as I skid into my room; I try to close the door, but he's right there, blocking the way.

"Go away." Anger burns away the film of tears, and I glare daggers at my husband. "Go far, far away."

I push at him, then gasp when he slams the door, then pushes me back against it. I squirm, trying to break free, but he covers me with that long, lean body, holding me in place.

The heat of his skin pressing against mine is maddening. And as I wiggle, I can feel exactly how hard he is, the length of his erection pressing into the softness of my stomach.

He wants me just as much as I want him. So what the hell?

"Let me go." I try to sound as calm as I possibly can. I just want him to go, so I can be alone with my embarrassment and misery.

The thought of spending the next month like this does not sound appealing.

Rather than doing as I asked, fury crosses his face. I suck in a deep breath as, without warning, he grinds his rock solid pelvis against my softer frame.

"This has nothing... nothing... to do with me not wanting you, so get that out of your gorgeous head right now." The grinding turns to a slow roll, and my head falls back as delicious sensations take me over.

I open my eyes to find him looking right at me, the same desperate need that I feel mirrored there.

His mouth is just a whisper away from my own; a thin ribbon of space is all that keeps us from devouring one another.

And yet he doesn't make a move.

It's infuriating.

Grinding my teeth together in temper, I push away from the wall, ducking under his arm and escaping his grasp. He reaches for me, but I've caught him by surprise.

I scamper halfway across the luxurious room then turn. Before he can follow me, I fist my hands in the hem of my nightgown and, with a deep gulp of air for bravery, pull it over my head and throw it away.

"Oh my God." I'm standing in front of Matteo Benenati, the most eligible man in all of Italy... and I'm naked. I want to squawk and dive under the bedcovers, but I force myself to hold absolutely still as he devours me with his eyes.

I can feel my limbs starting to shake with the strain of the unknown when a garbled sound rises from the depths of his throat.

"Fucking hell, Riley." Matteo glares at me, his fists clenching and releasing, over and over again, The small movement makes the muscles of his chest ripple, and I can't tear my gaze away.

When he strips off his shirt with one swift move, I hold my breath.

"I'm a man," he says darkly, prowling – there's no other word for it—across the room toward me.

"That fact is readily apparent." My voice sounds faint even to my own ears. I can't swallow the small cry when he plunges one hand into my hair, loosening my mass of braids, the other hand finding my waist, and his lips attacking my own.

I groan, long and loud, at the decadent sensation of my bare breasts rubbing against the solid planes of his chest.

"Matteo—" I'm not a begging kind of woman, but in that moment, I'm ready to do absolutely anything to get him to follow through on the promises that he is making with his kisses and his hips.

Finished with my braids, his hands cup my bottom, and he lifts me, pressing me against the firmness of his erection.

And then I'm lying on the bed, completely naked, the sensual feel of smooth satin at my back. My husband stands over me, bare-chested, like a Greek god, and finally, finally, I can see that I've broken through his restraint.

My mouth goes dry as he loosens the fastening of his trousers, the reaches for one of the white roses in the ornate crystal vase. Seating himself on the bed beside me, he stops me with a stern look when I reach for him.

He presses the soft petals of the rose to my lips, further shushing me, and my pulse accelerates, as does my breathing.

"I won't take from you what I don't deserve to have." He quells my protest with another dark, dangerous look. My spirits sink, but then he trails the rose from my lips, down the column of my throat, and into the valley between my full breasts, where he pauses.

Whatever you do, Mrs. Riley Benenati.... do not move."