Sarah Morgan - Italian Mavericks - Forbidden Nights With The Italian - The Forbidden Ferrara / Surrendering to the Italian's Command / The Unwanted Conti Bride

If she licked her lips now, she’d touch him. If she made that single move she’d be kissing him. And she knew how that would feel. Knew how he’d feel. Even after more than three years, she’d never forgotten it. ‘Yes. We do it properly. We … get to know each other.’

‘I already know a lot about you—’ That wicked, sensual mouth held hers hostage. ‘I may not know how you like your coffee, but I know other things about you. Want me to remind you?’

‘No.’ She didn’t need reminding. She’d forgotten nothing. Not the way he tasted nor the way he touched her. And now those memories were unlocked and she could feel herself melting—feel the heat of her own arousal spread through her body and the hard pressure of his.

His hand came up to cup her face, those same fingers that knew how to drive her wild, now firm and determined as they forced her to look at him. ‘Sure? Because if this is going to work for Luca, it has to work for us.’ His mouth was just a breath away from hers, the heat of him a pulsing, throbbing force. ‘I have to get to know all of you, particularly the bits you’re hiding. And you have to get to know all of me, tesoro. Everything.’

OVER the next few days she experienced the full might and force of the Ferrara machine. Her grandfather was moved to a private room to convalesce, his near miraculous recovery attributed to Santo’s prompt intervention but also an astonishing will to live. And that will, the staff believed, came from a determination to see his granddaughter marry. And Santo fed that determination by keeping him appraised of the wedding plans—plans in which Fia had little input.

‘If you have any requests then let me know,’ Santo said one morning as they drove back from the hospital. ‘We’ll marry at the Ferrara Spa Resort, our flagship hotel. It’s licensed for weddings and it’s a beautiful venue, right on the beach. I’m planning on keeping it as small as possible.’

Of course he was. This wedding wasn’t something to broadcast, was it?

‘I’d like to invite Ben and Gina.’

He tensed slightly at the mention of Ben’s name and she fully expected him to refuse, but instead he nodded. ‘Yes. They are an important part of Luca’s life. They should be there. I will arrange it.’

He arranged everything, or rather his team did.

It was his insistence that one of his top chefs step in to run the Beach Shack that enabled her to spend as much time with her grandfather as she needed to in those early days. And the occasional phone call to Ben was all it took to reassure her that all was well with the restaurant and that the new chef was following Santo’s orders to run the place exactly as Fia ran it.

She wanted to be angry that he’d taken over, but the truth was that Santo had taken a hideous, stressful situation and made it as smooth for her as he possibly could. Because of him, her grandfather was making a good recovery, her business was safe and her child was happy.

And every time she felt wobbly about her decision, she just had to look at how he was with Luca.

‘My staff have interviewed and appointed three nurses with excellent qualifications who will provide round the clock care for your grandfather when he is discharged home.’ Santo negotiated the thick traffic with the ease of a native Sicilian. ‘They will work on a rota so that your grandfather will never be alone.’

For years her only mode of transport had been her dusty old moped. Now each journey was made in supercharged, superaccelerated, air-conditioned luxury. ‘I can’t afford that level of care.’

‘But I can. And I am the one paying.’

‘I don’t want your money. I can look after him myself. I’ve been running a successful business since I was eighteen.’

‘Even if you were not about to marry me, that would be an unsustainable proposition. You cannot raise a child, run a business and be a full-time carer.’

‘Plenty of people do just that. You may have missed the press release because it was sent to “modern man” and you don’t fall into that category, but it is possible to have it all.’

‘In my experience “having it all” usually includes a nervous breakdown,’ Santo drawled, leaning on his horn as the driver in front stopped to let out a passenger and blocked the road. ‘I want a wife, not a basket case so we’ll buy in the appropriate help, which should leave you with the energy for the important parts.’

‘I presume you consider the “important parts” to take place in your bedroom.’

‘Funnily enough, I didn’t mean that. I was talking about the energy required to care for a young child but yes, sex is going to keep you busy too. I’m a demanding guy, angelo mia. I have needs.’ The engine growled as he accelerated past the car, shifting gears smoothly. ‘And if you’re going to satisfy those needs, you’re going to need your sleep.’

She had a feeling he was winding her up but she didn’t know him well enough to be sure.

He was ferociously bright, that she was sure about, but he also made no apology for being a red-blooded male.

All he’d used were words and yet the desire came in a rush, the force of it shocking her because she’d never felt this way with any other man and she didn’t want to feel it about this one. Beneath all the worry and the questions, she was woman enough to wonder whether everything she remembered from that night was real or whether she’d imagined it all.

Yes, he’d been demanding, but she’d been demanding, too. In fact she couldn’t even remember who had made the first move in the thick sweltering darkness of that hot summer night. He’d slaked his appetite and she’d slaked hers. He’d taken and she’d taken right back.

Because she didn’t want to think about sex, she went back to something he’d said earlier. ‘There is one thing you’ve forgotten in all this. You’ve forgotten to make me sign a prenuptial agreement.’

He laughed. ‘We’re not going to need one of those.’

‘Don’t be so sure. You’re a very rich guy. Aren’t you afraid I’m going to take you for every penny you have?’

‘A prenuptial agreement is only necessary in the event of a divorce. I’m very traditional. I believe that marriage is for ever. Once a Ferrara wife, always a Ferrara wife. We will not be getting a divorce.’

‘Maybe you’ll want one.’ She didn’t understand her need to goad him but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Maybe you won’t find being married to me particularly entertaining.’

‘As long as you focus on one particular type of entertainment, we’ll be fine.’

She decided he was definitely winding her up and threw him a look. ‘If you’re so damn horny how can you be sure marriage is going to suit you? Being trapped with one woman might drive you mad.’

‘Been reading my press coverage?’ He threw her an amused glance and a sexy smile that travelled right through her body. ‘I never said I wasn’t going to keep you busy but you can relax. You have no reason to be jealous. I intend to focus all my attention on you. All of it, tesoro .’ His husky voice teased her nerve-endings. Or maybe it was the words again. The way he managed to inject each phrase with lethal promise. Under that veneer of smooth control she sensed darker emotions that simmered beneath the surface he presented to the world. From the rocky base of her own family, she’d watched him grow from boy to man. She understood the volatility that was so much a part of his nature, but she’d also seen the drive. Unobserved, she’d watched as he’d learned to windsurf and to sail. She’d admired the sheer determination that never allowed him to give up on anything until it was mastered. And then there had been the women. Golden-haired girls who flocked to the beach in the hope of attracting the attention of one of the Ferrara brothers.