A Bride for a Billionaire Page 9

  I need her to understand that, even though we both know this marriage is a sham, for the month that it exists I intend for it to be very real.

  No one will harm my wife, in any way. That primal need to mark Riley as my own is only strengthened when she walks down the white petal strewn aisle toward me, her sparkling eyes wide and nervous.

  Though I didn’t tell the planners my reason for choosing white, they seem to have understood, and have emphasized the theme with the bride herself. Riley’s dress is white, of course, short and sleeveless and sweet. Her hair is a mass of innocent braids, all pulled back in a twist, and my fingers itch, to rip the short lacy veil away, to fist the long chestnut ribbons as I thrust inside of her.

  I couldn’t be more pleased with my choice of temporary bride. And that pleasure allows me to tamp away thoughts of marriage as I know it, a loveless, miserable union.

  I have no choice in this matter. And no matter that I paid this woman to be here, I intend to make the most of this next month, for us both.

  The ceremony passes in a blur of camera flashes and traditional Italian music. In the interest of keeping it on the smaller side of things, I decided that we wouldn’t have a full meal for our guests, but rather wine and antipasti and dancing, followed by a timely exit by the bride and groom.

  I am pleased with the dancing aspect as I pull my new wife into my arms for the first dance. She has had the same slightly dazed look on her face all day, and as press my body to hers I can’t resist claiming her lips with my own, a dark promise of what is to come.

  “Mmm.” She sighs, the trepidation and nerves disappearing as we both ignore the camera flashes that explode, recording the kiss. “It’s real then, isn’t it? We’re married.”

  “So it would seem.” It’s hard to remember, in that moment, that I barely know my bride. “Of course, it’s not entirely legal... not yet.”

  “Right.” Riley looks up at me, all big eyes, as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip.

  “Keep doing that and we’ll be consummating this before we can make it anywhere private.” I warn her. Her cheeks flush, and I grin. “Careful, Mrs. Benenati. I might forget that you’re a bride for hire and fall for you for real.”

  Riley stiffens in my arms, and I curse.

  “Dio. Riley, I didn’t mean it like that.” Stupid Matteo. Stupid. I know I’m an arrogant ass, but somehow, I don’t want to be with her. “I just meant... this all feels real. But... it’s not.”

  I don’t like the expression on her face. But then again, maybe it’s best that I remind her... remind us both.

  That small internal click that I feel when we look at one another... that will fade with time. It’s for the best that this union comes with an expiry date.

  “Right.” I expect her to ream me out, to have a tantrum. Instead she grins up at me mischievously. “Matteo Benenati with his foot in his mouth. Some might say you were nervous... like a virgin.”

  My body heats, my focus intensifying, narrowing until I see nothing but her.

  “Don’t taunt the lion, little lamb.” I whisper against her ear, my teeth nipping at the tender lobe.

  She shivers, her body pressing against me, and I’m done. I’m not used to waiting for things that I want, and now?

  Riley Tremaine... Riley Benenati... is mine, officially, legally. At least for the next month. There is no reason to delay any longer.

  I intend to spend the next month naked and in bed with her. It’s not such a bad deal, after all... sating myself on the only woman to ever intrigue me, and protecting my legacy by doing so.

  “We’re leaving.” I’m feeling quite smug, entirely pleased with myself as I scoop Riley into my arms without warning and carry her to the house. Catcalls and well wishes, as well as yet more camera flashes, follow the movement.

  Setting my bride down on her feet at the foot of the stairs, I kiss her soundly, long and hot and wet, pulling away only when her fingers slowly, tentatively, curl into my belt.

  “Take me upstairs?” Her eyes are wide pools, her stare innocent and hot at the same time. My fingers curl around her waist, then release quickly.

  “Not yet.” Swallowing thickly, I wrench myself away. “We’re going somewhere first.”

  Riley’s eyes narrow with determination, and she stands on her toes, pressing a kiss to my jaw. The smell of her perfume, her skin, are nearly my undoing... I’ve never wanted a woman more.

  “I don’t want to wait.” Her fingers toy with my collar, and I allow her to undo my tie and loosen the top button of my shirt. “Let’s go after.”

  “Mrs. Benenati. A little restraint, if you please.” Catching her wrists in my hands, I kiss her fingers, then step back. “It will be worth the wait, I promise.”

  Franco enters through the front door, nodding when he sees us.

  “Go get in the car.” I gently turn Riley in Franco’s direction, and can’t resist spanking her delectable ass, just hard enough to get her attention. Her cheeks flush, and I wonder if I can make it all the way to our destination without sliding inside of her.

  She takes a step toward Franco, then pauses, turns. “Your doctor came to see me today, while I was getting dressed. He said that everything is good.” She holds my gaze, and a growl emanates from my throat.

  “Get your ass in the car, woman.” I know what she’s saying.

  I had my doctor pay her a visit, to give her a birth control shot. He had warned me that it might not work for up to a week, depending on timing.

  But what she’s telling me is that the first time I make love to my wife, I can do it with nothing between us.

  My internal temperature rises as I watch her sashay through the front door, knowing full well what effect she is having on me.

  I’ve never met anyone quite like her.

  “You look like you’re about to have a stroke, Matteo.” Emilia’s voice floats through the air from behind me, and I stiffen, remembering the events of the last two days, before whirling and baring my teeth at my stepsister.

  Before I can say a word, she holds up her hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m just here to give my blessing.”

  “What?” This stops me in my tracks. I look her over suspiciously. Most weddings that I have seen Emilia attend, she has dressed in the skimpiest dresses imaginable, designed to display her fabulous body and detract attention from the bride. That’s just who she is.

  But right now she’s wearing a cream colored, textured shift. It’s the most demure I’ve ever seen her.

  “What are you doing?” I know this woman. She’s ruthless. I can’t imagine her vacillating between offering herself to me and... this... within a few days.

  She has the good grace to look down at her dress and flush. I’ve never, not once, ever seen Emilia Guerra blush. It edges me ever so slightly from suspicion into wanting to hear what she has to say.

  She might be a ruthless demon, but she’s the only family I have left.

  “I came to apologize. And, like I said, to give my blessing.” She purses her lips, and the expression makes her seem softer than her usual man eater persona. “The company was never meant to be mine. I know that. It just... it hurts to be cut out. I overreacted.”

  I don’t quite know what to say. I want to be suspicious. I know the way Emilia’s mind works. But...

  Something rings true, and I find a crack in my own ruthless armor.

  “Let’s set up a meeting for when Riley and I are back.” Though it’s a strange thing for me to do, I reach out and pat my stepsister on the shoulder.

  I can’t believe I’ve said it. I’m married now. I’m almost there—almost full owner of Benenati Enterprises.

  But Emilia has worked long and hard, too. She deserves something. Though not to the extent that I would be left with nothing.

  An expression that I can’t quite understand crosses her face, but it morphs so quickly into a smile that I don’t ponder it for too long.

  “Be careful with her, Matteo.” Emilia says shrew
dly, her eyes narrowing. “She’s not your usual type.”

  Anger flashes white hot. “I’m fully aware of that. It’s why I like her.”

  Emilia smiles knowingly, and I grind my teeth together. “Yes, but Matteo... this marriage... it’s only for a month. You know that you’ll be able to walk away after, because you know that money, excitement, woman will be waiting for you.”

  “I don’t like where you’re going with this.” I glare, even as her words worm their way into my consciousness.

  “I’m just saying, Matteo. A girl like Riley? She’s not going to be able to help falling for you. She’s not used to our kind of lifestyle. She could walk away with a broken heart if you’re not careful.”

  I shake my head irritably, even though Emilia’s words are a punch straight to my gut. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have cared about Riley’s thoughts or feelings. The idea of her being crushed at the end of this all wouldn’t have been my problem, so long as I got what I wanted.

  Now... I don’t like the idea of her hurting. Not at all.

  “I know what I’m doing,” I snap at Emilia. She smiles.

  “Just be gentle.” She places a kiss on my cheek, and it makes me think of how much smaller Riley is. Despite all of her bravado, she’s fragile when in this world. It’s my job to protect her, not to hurt her more.

  As I bid Emilia goodbye and leave the house, heading for the car where my bride is waiting for me to take her to our wedding night, I wonder...

  I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  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 stre
tched 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.”