Julia James - It Happened In Rome - The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

And, for a moment, I almost forgot that he’d married me solely out of a sense of obligation to my father. Although Rafaele soon reminded me, of course. Spelled out chapter and verse, then walked away.

While I told myself I should be relieved that he didn’t want me and even more thankful that I hadn’t made a fool of myself by smiling at him, or giving any other indication that he might be welcome to stay.

And yet there’d been times during that first year of marriage when Raf’s constant visits had been difficult to bear. Dreams, too, that she’d burned to remember.

But, eventually, as he’d begun to stay away and the rumours that he’d resumed his bachelor lifestyle had begun to circulate, Emily had been able to convince herself that it had all been a temporary aberration on her part, with no connection to the future she was planning for herself.

And when Simon came back and told me he’d never stopped loving me, she thought, I felt justified somehow. I was glad I could tell him that there’d never been—anyone else for me, and that we could start again—together. That I’d belong to him—and him alone.

Fine words, yet, so far, I haven’t shed a single tear for him. Is it possible that I always suspected, deep down, that I was just a means to an end? My father’s credulous heiress, looking for love in increasingly hopeless places?

Because I haven’t been very lucky in either of my suitors. One of them sold me out and the other used me to repay an old debt.

Which doesn’t leave me with many illusions about myself and maybe I will be able to cry about that one day. Before I begin to sort out exactly who I am and what I really want. But not yet.

Because I have to get through this somehow and I can’t afford tears or self-pity. I need to survive.

She closed her eyes resolutely, then opened them again.

That long ago night…

It occurred to her suddenly that this was the first time Raf had ever mentioned it. Up to now, he’d always behaved as if it had never happened. But then, she thought, he’d never required her to kiss him before either.

Not that it meant anything, she added hastily. It was just another way of asserting his male dominance. Another ploy to humiliate her, as she’d embarrassed him over the annulment issue.

But she would never let him see that it mattered. Not that—or anything else he might do to her. She would shore up the control she’d so painfully acquired. And there would be no more moments of weakness or inappropriate curiosity about how it might be if she ever surrendered herself completely to his lovemaking, she told herself fiercely.

Because, one day soon, he would become tired of this fruitless battle of wills and decide to let her go and she wanted to be able to walk away, her head held high.

And now, she thought, swallowing past the tightness in her throat, I have to stop thinking about him and try to sleep.

She dozed eventually, but it was no peaceful rest. She was assailed by snatches of dreams peopled by shadowed figures with faces she did not recognise, who turned away as she struggled to reach them across bleak and barren landscapes.

In the end she was never sure what woke her. But as she opened her eyes to the pale grey light filtering through the curtains, she had a overwhelming impression of being warm, relaxed and deliciously comfortable. All this, she thought drowsily, in total contrast to her miserable night with its fragmented dreams.

Yet, as her awareness increased, several disturbing facts made themselves evident. For one, she was no longer lying on the far side of the bed, clinging to its edge as if stranded on the north face of the Eiger.

Somehow, in the night, she had moved back across the broad expanse of the mattress to where Raf was lying.

But she wasn’t just next to him, for heaven’s sake, but right up against him as if she’d been glued to his spine. Her legs had somehow become entangled with his and her body had adapted every inch of itself to fit the long, lean curve of his back, her breasts crushed against its hard muscularity, and her arm draped round his waist. Moreover, her face was pressed between his shoulder blades, so that her nose and mouth were filled with the warm, clean scent of his skin.

Emily lay for a moment, hardly daring to breathe, intensely conscious of the violent, erratic beat of her heart. Out of one nightmare into another, she thought with horror. Dear God, I’m practically inside him.

But how could it possibly have happened? It had to be her own doing, because Raf clearly hadn’t moved an inch and, fortunately, was still sleeping deeply and peacefully.

Slowly, her bottom lip caught in her teeth, she began to detach herself from him, little by little, before edging stealthily backwards, every nerve-ending attuned to the possibility that he might wake up, and then…

But she wouldn’t consider that. She’d just concentrate on freeing herself. All the same, it seemed an eternity before she could slide out from under the covers altogether and she stifled a gasp as her warm skin encountered the icy air in the room.

Tiptoeing about, trying to avoid any sound, she found her nightdress and pulled it on. It might not be picturesque, and it certainly wasn’t sexy, but it provided a much-needed layer of insulation, she thought, topping it with a quilted gilet for good measure.

Noiselessly, she drew back the curtains and looked out. It had snowed again in the night, she saw without pleasure, and there were still a few flakes whirling past the window from the slate-grey sky.

And small wonder that it was freezing, she thought, testing the radiator with a cautious finger. The heating wasn’t on, which meant there was probably something wrong with the boiler.

She groaned silently. This was all she needed.

She went softly out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Coffee was the priority, she told herself as she filled the kettle and set it to boil. Strong and very hot.

She wandered into the living room, opening the curtains, shaking up the sofa cushions and collecting the glasses from the previous evening.

The kettle should have been boiling by the time she returned to the kitchen, but there was no cheerful sound of seething water or any trace of steam from the spout and it was stone-cold to her cautious touch.

She suddenly remembered Angus’s casual warning about power failures and the way the lights had flickered the night before and said aloud, ‘Oh, no…’

She tried the light switch by the door, again with no result, then returned to the sink and turned on the hot tap, willing there to be at least some hot water left in the tank, but it was like putting her hand into the ice of a mountain stream and she bowed her head defeatedly.

‘You are feeling the cold, carissima?’

The softly spoken words made her turn quickly to see Raf lounging in the archway, his dark face alight with amusement as he studied how she was dressed.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she snapped defensively, observing that, by contrast and in spite of the temperature, he was wearing nothing but a towel knotted loosely round his hips.

His grin widened. He strolled across, sliding both arms round her waist, his lips nuzzling her neck. ‘Then you should have stayed in bed with me,’ he whispered. ‘I find I am in a much better mood this morning.’

‘Then I hope it continues,’ Emily said bitterly, trying to free herself from his clasp. ‘Especially when I tell you we have no electricity.’

‘Davvero?’ He sounded more interested than perturbed. ‘Well, it is not the end of the world.’

‘No?’ She wrenched herself away and stepped backwards. ‘You enjoy being without heat or light, do you? I don’t think so.’

‘We have a fire, candles and a stove to cook on.’ He shrugged. ‘Life goes on.’