Jane Porter - Bought by the Rich Man

“You’ve been married. How can you not miss the physical comforts? Sex? Intimacy?”

He didn’t realize she didn’t know anything about sex, or intimacy, and maybe that’s what kept her from ever becoming more intimate with anyone. People didn’t know that while on one hand she had this colorful, crazy life, on the other she was still hopelessly sheltered. Her emotions had been through hell while her body remained untouched.

Sam found it deeply embarrassing that at her age, approaching thirty, she knew as little about men and sex as she did at eighteen. Somehow a decade had come and gone and left her like one of those Dresden shepherdesses on a shelf. But she was all shattered inside.

Her mouth was so dry, her lips felt as if they were cracking. “I’m content,” she repeated huskily.

“You say that, but you’re not. I see it in your eyes, Samantha. I see it in the way you talk and smile. Forgive me, but you’re a martyr looking for a cause.”

Sam didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until her head started spinning. She forced herself to exhale and then inhale, trying to clear her head. “I’m no martyr. Some people have more heartache in their lives, some people have less.”

He rose from his chair and went to the fire where he took a poker and pushed the fire around a bit before adding more fuel. “There are things I need to tell you. And I’m not sure how to tell you.”

“It’s bad?”

He made a rough sound. “It’s not good.”

Sam stiffened, not wanting more bad news. Bad news in her life had been very bad. There was no in-between news, no disappointing news, just bad as in tragic, bad as in shattering, bad as in nothing will ever be the same.

But Cristiano remained standing in front of the fire and Sam felt his gaze travel slowly over her face, his thick black lashes lowered, and yet even without seeing his expression, she felt his inspection in every muscle and every bone. “What do you have to tell me?” she begged, terrified with suspense, just wanting whatever he had to say, said, so this could be over.

“It’s about Johann. I’ve learned things that will hurt, maybe even embarrass you. But you have to know the truth.”

“Embarrass me, more than he already has?” Sam laughed mockingly. “How could he possibly embarrass me more?” She laughed again, slightly breathlessly, thinking she’d made a silly joke, and anticipating his laugh.

But Cristiano didn’t smile and she suddenly felt out of breath.

“He has another wife.”

Sam just stared at him. She didn’t know what to do, how to react. “He has another wife?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. “He still lives with her, part-time in Vienna. They were married ten years ago. He’s never divorced her.”

“That means…”

“Your marriage isn’t valid. You’re not legally van Bergen’s wife.”

Sam shook her head slowly. “I’ve never been his wife?”

“No.”

“I’m not Baroness van Bergen. The wife in Vienna is.”

“Yes.”

She felt as though he’d taken a sledgehammer to her head and she looked up at him where he stood silhouetted by the fire, dazed. “So what am I?”

Cristiano didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Sam was nothing. Just the nanny, always just the nanny. Forever the hired help.

Sam lifted a hand, touched her forehead. “Does he have children with her?”

“No.”

Thank God. “But he still sees her?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know about me?”

Cristiano shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t leave Vienna. She doesn’t go out much with him.”

“Neither did I.” Sam laughed unsteadily. “I guess we made it convenient for him. It must be easy having two wives if you don’t take out either.”

“I know it’s a shock, Samantha. But you’re better off without him—”

“Of course I am!” She interrupted fiercely, surprised by the depth of her rage. “I didn’t love him. How could I love him? He was petty and selfish, vain and self-absorbed. He was horrible to Gabriela, horrible to me, but—” And then her voice broke, and the past four years hit her and she felt devastated, betrayed. “He didn’t even pay me!”

She looked up at Cristiano, alternately icy and feverish. “For three years I cooked and cleaned and sewed and gardened and received nothing. No allowance, no salary, no money, no income. Not even kindness.”

She wasn’t going to cry, she wouldn’t cry, it was so silly. So she laughed instead and turned away, looking toward the window, hiding the fact that her eyes were burning and her heart ached. Johann had treated her abominably. And she’d let him.

Let him .

In some ways it was a relief to discover she wasn’t Johann’s wife, but in other ways it was mortifying. Hurtful. Shameful.

All these years she’d worked so hard. She’d scraped, scrimped, selling everything she owned to help support Johann in his decadent lifestyle. My God. He must have been laughing all the way to the bank.

“That’s why he could gamble me away,” she choked. “I was nothing.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. At least to Johann.” She shook her head, not wanting sympathy, never wanting sympathy, and yet she didn’t know what to do with the wretched feelings inside. “You must think me silly, but all I can think about is how he took my wedding ring back—said we needed it to pay bills. And how he insisted I cut Gabriela’s hair myself since we didn’t have money. And yet, he was the baron van Bergen and everyone loved him. Everyone fawned all over him while Gabby and I struggled just to get by.”

“Gabby’s lucky she had you, Samantha.”

Her lungs burned, her eyes stung but she didn’t let the tears fall. She sat up taller, straighter. “How long have you known?”

“Awhile.”

“And how long is that?”

“Longer than you’d like.”

She nodded jerkily. “So Johann never married Mercedes.”

“They had an affair, and were still living together in Monte Carlo when Mercedes died. Johann kept Mercedes’s baby.”

“But why ? Why did Johann want to adopt Gabby?”

“If I’m being generous I’ll say sentimental reasons, but I’m not generous and I think his motives were purely financial. He was greedy. He thought if he adopted Gabby, he’d have access to her trust fund.”

“But he wouldn’t?”

“No. I’m not her guardian but I’m the trustee. Gabby doesn’t even have access until she’s twenty-five.”

“You were right,” Sam said after a moment, teeth chattering from shock not cold. “Gabby’s not even five yet and already men want her for her money. It’s so wrong, too. Gabby’s beautiful, and smart, and funny. But even better, she has a gorgeous heart. She should be loved, and loved for herself.”

“But isn’t that what everyone wants?” Cristiano countered softly.

He was right. It was what she wanted, it’s what she’d always wanted. She blinked back tears but Cristiano saw them. He swept the tip of his finger beneath each of her eyes to catch her tears, and she grabbed his hand, wrapped her fingers around his, and held on.

He tugged her to her feet and brought her toward him. Sam stared up into his face wide-eyed. With one hand he tilted her face to his, and the other he slid down her back, his hand so hot against her skin, his hand settling low in her back, pressing against her, melting something inside her, heating a part of her that had never been warmed.

She could feel his thighs nudge hers, feel his deep chest expand as he took a breath and then his head dropped as he cupped her face in his hand and covered her mouth with his.

As if he could feel her stiffen and resist, Cristiano gentled the kiss, stroked her cheek, her resistance melted.