JENNIE LUCAS - Priceless - Bought for the Sicilian Billionaire's Bed / Bought - The Greek's Baby

But something had changed—she could tell. Salvatore had withdrawn from her in more ways than one. It was true that in this bizarre situation she was probably being acutely sensitive, but it was quite clear that his mood towards her had changed, become cooler. What happened now—was she expected to get dressed and just go home?

‘Shall I go and get us something to eat?’ he questioned lazily.

And Jessica hated herself for the overwhelming sense of relief she felt that she wasn’t to be dismissed like a servant. Hated herself even more for just accepting it—for allowing Salvatore to dictate the terms of what happened next.

But how could she do otherwise when she felt so blissfully alive in his arms—as if up until that moment her life had seemed without direction and the whole reason for being born had just been made clear to her?

‘Yes, please,’ she said, forcing herself down from the clouds. She’d barely touched a thing all weekend. She’d been to visit her grandmother, who had asked her if she was sickening for something when Jessica had done the unheard of and refused a slice of her famous lemon drizzle cake. But what could she have said to the much-loved woman who had brought her up after the death of her parents? No, I’ve lost my appetite because I think I’m going to end up in bed with my boss on Tuesday. Wouldn’t that go against everything she’d been taught?

He flicked her an amused glance as he climbed out of bed, gloriously and goldenly assured in his nakedness. ‘Thank heavens for that,’ he murmured. ‘A little loss of appetite in the restaurant was understandable—but I can’t bear women who do sustained starvation as a matter of course.’

‘Er, no. Neither can I.’ Maybe she should pass that nugget of information on to Willow—who, of course, would never believe her. ‘Should I get up?’

His eyes lingered over her. She looked deliciously tousled with her cheeks flushed pink and her grey eyes huge. ‘No. Stay right there. You look enchanting. We’ll have a picnic in bed.’

Once he’d gone, Jessica hurried into the bathroom and tried to tame her hair. Then she got back into bed and rather self-consciously sat there waiting for him until he returned carrying a tray loaded with expensive-looking goodies.

Champagne. Grapes. Some crusty-looking bread. And there was a lovely wooden box containing cheese—as well as a box of dark chocolate.

‘That all looks wonderful,’ she said brightly.

He heard the nerves in her voice and put the tray down and took her into his arms.

‘You’ve brushed your hair,’ he observed softly.

‘Combed it. I borrowed your comb—I hope that was okay?’

Behind the tentative query, he heard a million other questions. From past displays of post-coital neediness, Salvatore knew that this was the most vulnerable time of all for a woman and the best time for ground rules to be laid down.

‘You can borrow anything you like, while you’re here,’ he said easily.

The words should have reassured her, but they did just the opposite. Silently, Jessica acknowledged that she needed to know where she stood. At work, she might just be his office cleaner—but she had just shared his bed. Surely that gave her the right to know what he wanted from her?

‘You asked me a question earlier,’ she said.

Salvatore raised his brows. ‘Which particular question was that?’

‘You asked whether I was a virgin. Why?’

He had been about to trickle a finger from her stomach to the tempting fuzz of hair which lay at the fork of her thighs, but he resisted. If it was the truth she wanted, then he would give it to her. That way he couldn’t be accused of having capitalised on sex to make her agree to something she would later throw back in his face.

‘Because it would make a difference to what happened next,’ he said, and went over to open the bottle—wishing now that he had brought something other than champagne, for that too could be misinterpreted. He said nothing until the liquid had foamed up inside the glasses in a creamy cascade, letting it settle before he topped them up. Then he walked back over to the bed and handed her a glass—though he put his own down on the bedside table, untouched.

‘Thanks.’ Jessica took the drink with a reluctance she hoped didn’t show. It looked like ginger ale, and frankly, she wished it were ginger ale, for suddenly she felt peculiar, sitting naked in this billionaire’s bed, drinking his champagne.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. ‘A woman’s virginity is the greatest gift she can give to a man—apart from the children she will one day bear him.’

There were two outrageously old-fashioned concepts here, but for now only one concerned her. ‘So … so what would the problem have been if I had been a virgin?’

He had hoped that she might have been able to work it out for herself without him having to spell it out. But he must—to do otherwise would be deception, and that he could not and would not tolerate.

‘It would have been wasted on me,’ he said softly. ‘If you had been a virgin, I would have sent you away and told you to save that gift for the man you will one day marry.’

‘But—’

‘You see …’ his blue eyes narrowed as he cut across her words, for there must be no misunderstanding on her part ‘… you must understand that I am Sicilian, Jessica, and that I have very strict values about life, as well as marriage. I intend to one day go back to Sicily, to marry a Sicilian girl who will be a virgin. That is a given.’

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