She groaned more deeply but opened her eyes, and pierced him with their sensual clarity. He moved, every thrust dragging her closer to the edge of her sanity, her moans whipping around him, her voice like liquid heat. She held his gaze even as pleasure clouded her own and her nails dug sharply into his shoulders. She held him and she stared at him and she felt panic in her gaze as well as complete, total surrender.
It was a feeling beyond compare.
He watched her tumble away from him, and he kept moving, driving her pleasure higher, until she was incoherent with the intensity of her feelings. Only then did he slow, his body still, his breathing ragged.
“What are you doing to me?” She whispered, as she slowly regained the ability to speak. It was an excellent question; one he couldn’t answer.
Not with words, anyway. He moved his still-hard body and her eyes flared wide, surprise stirring in their depths. Her teeth claimed that lower lip of hers, in that way she had, and a flash of something burst inside of him, so he dropped his head and took her lip between his own teeth, before plunging his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her passion and desire as though his life depended on it.
And he thrust his cock deeper inside of her, his hands at her hips holding her low on his body so he could feel every delicious stretch of her core, her feminine heart stretching to accommodate him, pulsing with her own fevered responses. This time, when her face contorted with pleasure, he watched her through a veil of his own explosion.
A sharp guttural oath issued from his lips as he spilled himself deep inside of her, filling her with evidence of his pleasure, with proof of his desire. He held her still, his body pressed to hers, and he breathed in everything about that moment. He breathed in everything about his wife.
9
WITHOUT DISCUSSING IT, SWIMMING became an activity they shared often. It was a form of torment, a form of denial, their bodies so close, scantily clothed, a need growing between them that they wouldn’t answer until the evening. Cleopatra was growing used to the sense that her blood seemed to have turned to lava in her veins; she was now almost pure fire-creature.
She had virtually no experience with sex, but it surely had to ease this heat in her blood at some point? Surely desire would wane?
Her eyes shifted sideways, towards her husband – her husband! The words took on a whole new resonance now that they were together so often – and her stomach squeezed with a rush of feelings.
“This is beautiful,” she said, quietly, to fill the silence.
He turned in the water, his smile lighting more fires inside of her, not in her veins this time, but in her chest, filling her with warmth and making her own lips lift in a smile.
“Si. But it is nothing to Mare Vista.”
“What’s that?”
“My island.”
She stared at him as the words filtered through her mind. “Your island?”
He dipped his head in agreement.
“You have your own island?”
His broad shoulders lifted, so water trickled down his tanned flesh, and she laughed.
“Oh, like it’s nothing?”
His brow creased. “It’s…a part of me. I don’t think of it.”
“No, naturally.” She laughed again, teasing him in a way that caused his expression to shift speculatively.
“It’s just land.”
“Yes, a lot of land, in the middle of the water, and it’s all yours.” She closed the distance between them, moving into his arms as though it were the most natural thing in the world – and it felt like it, in that moment.
“It’s no different to this place, or my penthouse in Sydney, or my home in New York.”
“You can dress it up however you want, I don’t think I’m ever going to think of a private island as ‘normal’.”
“You’d be surprised.” He reached across, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Don’t forget I was not born with any of this at my feet.”
“No.” Wonderment filled her. She couldn’t even imagine the dedication it must have taken to create the kind of wealth and success he had. Admiration crossed her features.
“Would you like to see it?”
“See what?”
“The island.”
She lifted her eyes heavenward. “What do you think?”
His laugh was all kinds of sexy. “I’ll take you.”
“To your private island. In your private jet?”
His eyes narrowed; his lips grinned. “No, for this we need only use one of my helicopters.”
She laughed and punched his shoulder playfully. “You’re unbelievable.”
He caught her hand, holding it against his flesh. “Why?”
“It’s just…too much.” She shook her head. “I’m serious… How do you get used to living like this?”
“The trappings of wealth, while nice, do not define me.”
She could agree with him on that score. Regardless of his success and his significant fortune, Benedetto di Fiori was a man who would command the attention of any room he entered. Kings, politicians, tycoons – all would bow down to him, regardless of whether he had ten euro or ten billion at his fingertips. His power and strength came from within, his determination a force to behold.
He studied her contemplatively. “You didn’t have much money growing up.”
It was a statement, not a question, but it drew her back to the present with a thud. She blinked at him, her eyes dropping to the water between them.
“Don’t hide from me,” he reminded her, and she lifted her gaze to his eyes once more. There was sympathy there, and for no reason except that there was something almost magic-seeming in the air between them, she found herself thinking back to her childhood. The usual barriers that would have held her silent were conspicuously absent.
“My adoptive parents were comfortable enough.”
He stayed silent, watchful, as if silently encouraging her to continue. After a short pause, she did, her expression wistful. “But a lot of my foster parents didn’t. And my own mom was a terrible money manager. We never had much growing up despite the fact –,”
“Despite the fact?” he prompted, when she broke off abruptly.
But disloyalty to the woman she had loved to bits made it hard to find words. “She had earned very well until I was born, but then work dried up and she hadn’t really saved, or invested. It was tough for her.”
“What kind of work did she do?”
“Modelling,” Cleopatra admitted quietly. “She was very beautiful.” She closed her eyes for a moment and saw her mother as she’d been. “As a little girl, I was in awe of her. My favourite thing to do was watch her get ready for a party – the way she’d do her long, blonde hair and her make up, it was as though she were transforming into a princess.” She shook her head wistfully. “But it was hard for her to find work once I was born.”
“No one could mind you for her?”
“No.”
“You said your father wasn’t on your birth certificate.”
His memory of a much earlier conversation surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. His attention to detail was evident in everything he did.
She shifted her head in agreement.
“But she knew who he was?”
“I presume so.” Damn it, emotions were rioting inside Cleopatra now so her voice sounded tremulous. She swallowed to push away those emotions. “I mean, we never talked about it, but I have no reason to think she didn’t.”
“Did he know about you?”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I think so.”
“And yet he didn’t help you?”
She shook her head, and her barriers were sliding back into place, making this conversation incredibly unpalatable somehow. “I gather he was married. He probably wouldn’t have welcomed proof of his infidelity.”
Condemnation shifted through Benedetto’s dark eyes. “Then he should not have been unfaithful. His inability to keep it in his pants was not your f
ault. You should not have suffered because of his lack of willpower.”
She was surprised by his vehemence and it must have shown, because he shook his head angrily. “You should have had a better life.”
Her heart turned over in her chest, his concern filling her with something she hadn’t known she needed. “It was okay,” she said with a shake of her head. “I learned a lot. I miss my mom every day, but I think there’s a lot of her in me.” She forced a smile to her face, but it hurt a little.
“You know who your father is?” He was clearly not going to be mollified by her attempt to close the conversation.
“He’s dead now.”
“I see.”
And again, she wondered at the ease with which he could pry information from her. “I have a brother.” The second the words were out, she wished she could recall them. It was too much. She felt raw, and exposed.
“What’s he like?”
She swallowed, shaking her head, and moved to pull away from him. But he held her tight. “Don’t hide from me.” And his lips brushed hers, encouragement in the softness of his kiss, a question in the contact.
“I haven’t met him.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “It’s just biology. He’s no one to me. We haven’t actually met.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Yes. But I’m twenty four, not four. It feels a little too late to play happy families, you know?”
“You’re not curious?” He prompted, scanning her face in a way that made her feel completely open to him.
“I am,” she agreed after a moment. “But I can’t do it.”
He nodded slowly. “What do you know about him?”
She pulled a face. “Quite a bit, actually.” She looked at Benedetto earnestly, and frowned. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I never talk about it. I have literally never told another soul any of this.”
“Go on.” There was impatience in the words, and it made her smile in spite of the seriousness of this.
“I got a letter from him – my brother – a few years ago. No, more than that. Around the time I left home. I don’t know how he found me, but he was the last person I wanted to hear from.” Defiance squared her jaw. “I was so angry – I guess all teenagers are,” her laugh was wobbly. “But I…”
Guilt held her silent.
“Yes?”
She took a second to arrange her thoughts. “I really hated my adopted parents.” She grimaced. “I know that must make me sound so ungrateful. They took me in when they had no compulsion to. And it wasn’t like they were abusive or anything. They were just so…wrong for me. In every way. They hated reading – they thought it led to sin – they were so strict, so dull, so restrictive. I was miserable. And I felt like everything I said and did was wrong. It was…hard.” She grimaced. “So to hear that I had a brother, someone who could have taken me in all along – I know it wasn’t his fault but I was so angry with him.”
“Perhaps he didn’t have the means,” Benedetto offered in an obvious attempt to assuage her upset.
“Oh, he did. He’s some kind of financier or investor or something. My father was loaded, and quite the manwhore. He must have been in his seventies when I was conceived.” She shook her head angrily. “I was able to find a picture of him and my mom at a party. I don’t know what she was thinking – he was married, and way, way, way older than her.”
“Who is your brother?” Benedetto prompted.
She’d never said his name aloud and it stuck in her throat now. She swallowed to free it. “Vitalo Katrakis.”
Benedetto’s expression shifted.
“Why?” She prompted.
“I know him.”
Something like ice slammed into Cleopatra’s sides and now when she struggled free, he didn’t fight her. She stood on her own feet, so her head was just above water. “What do you mean?”
“We are part of an investment group that owns a group of eleven high rises in Dubai. I’ve met him several times.”
“Oh God, Benedetto, you can’t say anything to him. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want… he doesn’t know where I am. I don’t want to meet him. I’ve made a choice for him not to be a part of my life. I don’t want anything to do with him. Please.”
Benedetto’s frown was pronounced as he absorbed all of this. He closed the gap between them, pulling her into his arms once more. “It’s your life,” he said, gently, reassuringly, his hands stroking her back softly. “Of course you should choose how you live it.”
She relaxed, expelling a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
“But I do not think you are right to ostracise him.”
“I --,”
He lifted a finger, pressing it to her lips. “Let me tell you what I know of him, cara. He is a good man. Very different to his father – your father, who yes, was quite a renowned bastardo. Vitalo is clever, and honourable, and I respect him immensely. He was recently married, and has had a baby. A little girl he speaks of non-stop.”
Cleopatra’s eyes flared wide. “I have a niece?”
“Yes.” He held her face between his palms. “Cleopatra, you must make your own decision, but I am your husband, and I would stand by your side if you wished to meet Vitalo. I would be right there with you, and if you wanted to go away again immediately, I would take you.” His eyes bore into hers, his expression fierce. “You are no longer alone in this.”
The words rushed through her, somehow so utterly perfect that tears formed on her lashes. “Thank you.”
He nodded, perhaps taking the word as an agreement, at least that she would think about it. And she would. Already the information he’d given her was filling Cleopatra with something dangerous and new – her brother was coming alive inside of her and she was wondering at the choice she’d made to stay away from him, to ignore his presence.
And all because of this man she’d agreed to marry.
“You don’t have any other family? Brothers or sisters I mean?” She prompted, glad to change the subject but now wanting that particular conversation to be over. She liked this – talking to him. She liked being near him, near-naked, and sharing ideas and thoughts. She liked being with him.
“No. I was an only child.” There was a look in his eyes she wanted to understand, as though he were being sucked back into the past. “Jack was like my brother, though.” He grimaced. “Alfredo’s father.”
Sympathy lifted in Cleopatra’s chest. “How did you meet him?”
“At school. We were like chalk and cheese – I think he hated me initially.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I didn’t belong. My parents were drug addicts and criminals. I grew up rough. This was a school for royalty, for Christ’s sake. I was there on a scholarship, and I was angry and stubborn and liked to fight.” He laughed softly. “Whereas Jack came from one of the oldest families in Europe. He was worth a fortune and I hated that about him. I thought he was an entitled brat. Then again, I hated almost everyone back then.”
Her smile was spontaneous. “You obviously grew on each other?”
“Yes,” Benedetto’s eyes showed grief. “He was dyslexic, it turned out. No one had realised. But we were paired together for an assessment and I saw it quite clearly.”
“The poor thing. How could no one have known?”
“He was good at covering,” Benedetto shrugged. “I confronted him about it. We argued. I broke his nose, he gave me a black eye. That was it. I helped him study after that, encouraged him to speak to a teacher, and we were suddenly inseparable.” He shrugged and Cleopatra’s heart went out to him. “It was Jack who was my first investor, who was always my biggest champion.” Grief was unmistakable in Benedetto’s voice. “He met Veronica when we were in college.”
“And you liked her?”
“Yes.” Benedetto’s expression shifted once more. “She was my date, in fact, to a party we were both at. But the moment she saw Ja
ck, I lost her.”
Jealousy – unmistakable and fierce – burst through Cleopatra. She resented it at the same time she acknowledged it was completely inappropriate.
“Were you in love with her?”
The question surprised them both. Benedetto made a tsking sound. “Have we not already covered the fact that I do not believe in love?”
Cleopatra’s smile now felt false. She nodded. “Even then?”
“Perhaps then I was not quite so… cynical?” He laughed, but she didn’t. It hadn’t occurred to her that his cynicism might bother her but now, out of nowhere, it drove her all kinds of crazy.
“Why are you?”
“Why am I what, cara?”
“Cynical.”
It was like flicking a switch. The lights went out behind his eyes and he looked at her with a lightning crack of resentment, so fierce that she startled a little. He softened, but it was forced – the air of confiding in one another evaporated.
“I am as I am.”
“I know,” she refused to let it drop though. “I’m just wondering why.”
His eyes narrowed and a muscle jerked in his jaw, as though he were clenching his teeth together. “You need to ask that of me? After everything you’ve been through?”
Her jaw dropped, surprise juddering inside of her.
“You told me yourself that you hid yourself away, that you became aloof – what is that if not proof of your own cynicism?”
She compressed her lips, refusing to acknowledge that he sort of had a point.
“Have you ever been in love?”
His eyes flared and his face paled beneath his tan. “What kind of question is that?”
“One you’re trying very hard not to answer.”
“No.” He glared at her.
“I don’t believe you.”
His eyes probed hers, and she couldn’t fathom the emotions that were running through him. “You think I am lying?”
She nodded slowly. “I think you’re doing your best to shut this conversation down.”
“Because the past is in the past. It has no bearing on the future, on our marriage.”