Bound by the Billionaire's Vows Page 6

  ‘Love is irrelevant,’ he snapped impatiently. He’d been in love before and he hadn’t enjoyed the experience one bit.

  ‘Not to me! Loving you, wanting you, it was all tied up in one for me.’

  He prowled closer, his eyes holding hers. He stopped right in front of her, so close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body—a warmth that was at complete odds with the coldness of his heart. ‘There is no love here, cara. It is best that you accept that and take what I’m willing to offer.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ she muttered, her heart cracking irreparably.

  ‘A place in my bed. And a promise to pleasure you in all the ways I know you love...’

  * * *

  Matteo’s words, his stunningly arrogant ‘offer’, stayed lodged in Skye’s head, chasing itself around, burning through her blood, making her body super-charged with a desire that she resented fully.

  The problem was that he had always been an incredible lover. Of course, she had no other point of reference, but she’d always found herself tipping over the edge of pleasure, time and time again. He had learned her body’s ways so quickly, supplicating her to him with insulting ease. He had been able to touch her breasts and bring her to orgasm; he had kissed her most private, sensitive parts and she’d fallen apart, piece by piece, until she was broken and rebuilt in an image of passion and need.

  He had woken her by moving over her, pushing inside her, stirring her to wakefulness from within, his body commanding hers effortlessly. He’d taught her so much about desire, need and sensual heat.

  He had been gentle when she’d needed it, and demanding and firm in a way that had raised every single goose-bump on her body. He had kissed every square inch of her flesh, branding himself on her in a million different ways.

  And she had always wanted him.

  But now, with her hormones in a state of rampant disarray, desire was thick in her veins, threatening to weaken her.

  Worse, threatening to lead her to him.

  Skye flipped over in the bed, staring at the wall across the room with its ornate wallpaper that she could just make out in the moonlit darkness of the room.

  Tears that she’d held at bay all night were closer to the surface now, wetting her eyes and thickening her throat. The wall grew fuzzy before her eyes as grief enveloped her. She pressed a hand to her stomach, breathing deeply, imagining their baby inside her.

  How she’d wanted this pregnancy! For the most part, they’d taken precautions, but not every time. And, on those occasions, Skye had wanted a baby to be the result more than she could ever have said.

  And she’d got her wish, only the joy she’d anticipated was nowhere to be seen.

  The discovery, after leaving Matteo, that they’d created a baby together had presented a whole new world of problems. For, almost immediately after, reality had descended on her like a hurricane. It might have taken two of them to create a baby, but there wouldn’t be two of them raising it.

  She’d be alone.

  Again.

  Like always.

  Yet not alone, because there would be a baby to care for. A baby she would love with all her heart. She’d love it enough for both of them, and she’d make sure the baby grew up to be kind and smart, adored and loved.

  And her child would never be capable of acting like Matteo had!

  Skye was determined that she would do everything right and give the baby all the love she’d never known. As well as stability and adoration, support and acceptance. She’d only known the baby to be inside her for days before she’d begun to make wholesale changes to her life and lifestyle.

  She didn’t want to raise her child as the heir or heiress to a billion-pound fortune—let alone two! She didn’t want them to equate wealth with luck or success. While she wanted her child to have everything it needed in life, Skye knew first-hand that true needs weren’t based on financial wealth. Not beyond the immediate concerns, in any event. A roof over one’s head, a bed, enough food not to feel hungry... Once these things were taken care of, what more did one need?

  She’d always had more than she needed, materially. But when it came to love?

  She had been starved in the cruellest of ways.

  A tear slid out of one eye, landing with a thud onto the silk pillow beneath her.

  She’d been such a perfect target for Matteo’s plans—what an easy deception it had been for him to weave. He had lied to her but, oh, she’d been begging for the lie.

  For the love.

  She’d been so desperate for anyone to love her that she hadn’t stopped for a moment to question a single, damned thing. She’d learned, years earlier, that fairy tales didn’t exist...so why had she let herself forget that so easily?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two years earlier

  HE WAS, WITHOUT a doubt, the most stunning man Skye had ever seen. Her eyes kept seeking him out, even when she knew she should have been paying better attention to the people she was locked in conversation with. After all, this party was for her family’s charity, and she was the sole surviving member of the Johnson fortune.

  How their ranks had dwindled! From her great-grandfather who’d had six children, to her grandfather who had raised four, and then to her father, who had come along with his inability to commit, his incessant cheating, his determination not to settle.

  Skye had been the result of an affair with an air hostess and, had her grandfather never intervened, she doubted her father would have known she existed, far less taken an interest in her upbringing.

  She had cousins, of course. But, while they’d inherited million-pound fortunes, it was Skye alone who’d been left the reins of the business empire.

  Undoubtedly because no one had realised how quickly her father would die—his skiing accident had been a completely unexpected death. Weeks later, her grandfather had died. The rumours spoke of a broken heart—but Skye suspected it had more to do with his daily habit of over-indulgence in whisky.

  She’d become a billion-pound heiress at nine years of age, and a childhood always marred by neglect and disinterest had descended into a barren wasteland devoid of human contact. Boarding school, where she’d found it hard to fit in; a great-aunt who’d tolerated Skye for the briefest stints possible during school holidays, and generally only when a nanny couldn’t be found to care for her.

  Her eyes flicked sideways and landed straight on his face. He was watching her. A frisson of something new and intriguing glanced across her spine.

  ‘We’re on track to open the children’s hospice by Christmas,’ the charity’s chairman Mr Wu said, his round face beaming.

  ‘That’s very good.’ Skye nodded. Generally, she was passionate about the children’s foundation. It had been one of the initiatives she’d launched when she’d turned twenty-one and had taken control of her family’s assets. It was then that she’d begun to attend the board meetings—despite her CEO’s misgivings. Gradually, she’d taken more and more of an interest in the running of the business, and had even planned to enrol in law school at some point to augment the corporate education she was gaining through her involvement with the company. The children’s work had long been at the fore of her mind, yet she found it almost impossible to focus on the discussions in that moment.

  His eyes were so dark they were like granite. She’d never seen anything quite like it. His dark hair, thick and raven’s black, was brushed back from his brow, and his face was strong and angular. Handsome? She couldn’t have said. Striking, definitely, and utterly breath-taking. It wasn’t that he was good-looking as much as he had an indefinable appeal. An attraction that slammed into her from the other side of the room.

  Then, there was his body. Broad-shouldered, tall, he looked like an ancient warrior. She could easily imagine him in metal armour, running into battle, his autocratic face determined, his mouth set in a grim line of reckoning.

  A shiver ran all the way down her spine and her nipples peaked against the gauze fabric o
f her gown.

  Her cheeks had a guilty, self-conscious flush as she trained her attention back on Mr Wu, listening with determination now, forcing herself to nod and comprehend even when her brain was trying to record if his hands were as large and dominant as the rest of his body. More so, had he been wearing a wedding ring?

  The thought came to her out of nowhere. Her blush deepened. Her temperature was skyrocketing—she felt as though she could spontaneously combust at a moment’s notice.

  Mr Wu made a joke and she laughed, but she couldn’t have repeated it for a billion pounds.

  It was at least an hour later—an hour filled with meaningless chit chat and forced laughter, an hour in which her eyes had mercilessly followed his progress around the room—when Skye finally found herself face to face with him.

  The man who had become rapidly an absolute obsession for her.

  ‘We meet at last.’ His voice was better than she could have imagined. The words were husky, thick with a foreign accent. Italian? Greek?

  Whatever, they sounded like sunshine and seduction and drove everything but desire from her mind. Skye’s lips parted, her eyes flew wide and her mouth was dry—her tongue too thick possibly to admit speech.

  It was a completely unfamiliar impulse, but her fingertips tingled with a desire to lift to his chest; to touch him for herself.

  Perhaps he felt the same thing because his hand caught hers and lifted it to his lips.

  ‘I’m Matteo Vin Santo,’ he said, his eyes probing hers, waiting for a reaction.

  There was none—not one of recognition anyway. Skye’s father had died before he could tell her the whole sordid history with the Vin Santos, and her grandfather so soon afterwards. Who would have enlightened her about their ancient grudge?

  Nobody.

  So Skye smiled, a smile of pure, innocent curiosity. A smile that was like a lamb willingly heading towards its own slaughter.

  ‘Skye Johnson.’

  ‘I know.’ His wink was slow and deliberate; its effect was marked. Her stomach swooped with instant awareness.

  ‘My reputation precedes me, huh?’

  ‘The place has your name on the door.’ His grin was devilish.

  ‘Sorry about that. They insisted.’

  ‘They tend to do that when you donate millions of pounds.’ Another wink. Skye’s whole body winked back. She felt her insides squeeze with needs she’d never known she possessed and her heart rolled in her chest.

  ‘Ah. Occupational hazard, then,’ she managed to murmur, surprised that she could sound normal and calm when her chest was hammering with the force of a very localised typhoon.

  ‘The cost of philanthropy.’ His eyes roamed her face thoughtfully, and Skye felt as though he was seeing all manner of secrets and thoughts. All of the things she usually kept wrapped up, tight in her chest.

  And she didn’t even mind.

  ‘I suppose I’ll learn to live with it.’ She smiled at him. He smiled back. Her heart clicked into a new gear.

  ‘You know, it’s all very refined and elegant,’ he said, with obvious disapproval despite the compliment. ‘But I’d kill for an actual meal. I don’t suppose you’d join me for dinner, Skye Johnson?’

  Skye blinked, her expression clouding with doubts for the briefest of moments, and then she nodded. ‘I suppose I would,’ she murmured, not even questioning the familiarity when he reached down and laced his fingers through hers.

  ‘Let’s go, then.’

  * * *

  Perhaps it was her broken sleep the night before. The dreams that had tormented her, shaking her whenever she’d felt close to sleep. Perhaps it was the memories that those dreams had invoked, little shards of the past that had dug painfully into her sides all night, reminding her of what a fool she’d been.

  Perhaps it was the way her heart had been tripping back into love in her sleep, against her wishes, reminding her of how she’d felt when first they’d met. Of the way he’d smiled and she’d answered. Of how simple it had all seemed, and of how right it had felt.

  Whatever the reason, the second Skye laid eyes on Matteo the next morning she felt as if she’d been pounded by a sledge hammer. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt open at the neck to reveal the thick column of his neck, the dark hairs curling at the base. She had to pause just inside the kitchen door—to brace herself physically before moving deeper into his atmosphere.

  How absurd. There was no such thing as ‘his’ atmosphere. There was only air, and it belonged equally to both of them. Never mind that he changed the feeling of everything simply by being in it—simply by existing.

  His eyes lifted to hers, roaming her face, seeing everything she wanted to keep hidden, just as he had that first night they’d met. No doubt he saw the bags under her eyes and the pallor of her skin.

  Good.

  Let him see how miserable she was!

  Let him feel some of the blame for his hand in that. Except he wasn’t capable of such an emotion, was he? Since she’d returned to Venice, he’d been unremorseful and unapologetic.

  ‘I wasn’t sure what you are eating,’ he said conversationally, as though there was nothing awkward about being back in his home more than a month after she’d left, presuming she’d seen the last of him and it for ever. ‘I had Melania prepare an assortment of things.’ He nodded towards the platter in the centre of the table. Skye’s attention drifted to it and her stomach gave a little lurch of nausea.

  ‘Just coffee,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t about to experience her first bout of morning sickness and vomit all over the tiled floor. Then again, she might get his expensive designer shoes in the process, so there would be some consolation...

  ‘Are you able to drink coffee in your condition?’

  Skye’s nod was terse. ‘A cup a day is fine,’ she said. ‘Far more risk if I don’t have it.’

  ‘To the baby?’ he enquired with interest.

  ‘To whomever denies me.’ The words were delivered without a hint of humour yet Matteo smiled, dipping his head forward so that she saw only the quickest flicker of amusement on his face before he stood and moved into the kitchen area.

  She watched as he retrieved the pot, pouring a good measure into one of the mugs and carrying it over to her. His eyes held hers as he passed it forward but this time, when she tried to carefully manoeuvre her fingers so that she avoided any skin-to-skin contact, he made it impossible. He placed a hand over hers, curving her fingers around the edge of the coffee cup, his eyes locked to hers in a way that made breathing hurt.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ The question was asked with a raw intensity. She ignored it, refusing to buy into the cessation of hostilities.

  She’d been manipulated by him once before—she was just going to have to work extra hard to avoid it happening again.

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ he muttered.

  ‘Bad dreams?’ she responded archly.

  ‘Very, very good dreams,’ he corrected, the words silky, his implication clear. Still, he added, ‘Memories.’

  ‘Ah.’ She cleared her throat and took a step away, retrieving her hand still wrapped around the coffee cup, and telling herself that the warmth spreading through her body had to do with the lure of caffeine rather than anything more threatening to her equilibrium.

  She lifted the mug upwards, breathing in its tantalising aroma, and fierce, beautiful memories slashed through her. How many coffees had they shared?

  Though their marriage had been short, coffee had been a lifeblood of it, and they’d indulged their mutual obsession often. Side by side and, she had thought at the time, in complete harmony. Physically, emotionally and intellectually. How wrong she’d been.

  The thoughts weren’t helpful. She pushed them aside angrily.

  ‘I have to go into the office today. Just for a few hours.’

  Skye didn’t turn around. It was a heck of a lot easier to think when she wasn’t looking
at him. The memories were less forceful. ‘Fine,’ she said with a nod. ‘Why are you telling me?’

  Silence.

  ‘I mean, it’s not like before, is it?’ she asked, the words soft. ‘I have no expectation you’ll change your schedule for me. In fact, I’d really prefer you wouldn’t.’

  ‘It’s not like before,’ he agreed, coming to stand beside her. ‘You are pregnant. The idea of leaving you alone doesn’t sit well with me.’

  Skye rolled her eyes. ‘I’m growing a baby. It’s not a particularly high-risk activity.’

  ‘You fell into the canal yesterday,’ he reminded her. Unnecessarily. It had taken four showers to wash the smell of Venice out of her hair.

  ‘And I’m still here today,’ she said with a shrug. She sipped the coffee, closing her eyes in appreciation as it made its way into her body.

  ‘Does it happen often?’

  She shook her head. ‘Fainting? That was the fourth time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a blood pressure thing,’ Skye said, trying to remember the specifics. ‘Some women are more prone to it than others. One minute I’m fine, and then I’m all faint, and there are stars in my eyes and the ground rushes up towards me.’

  He didn’t say anything, which Skye took to mean the conversation was closed. Good. She smiled in his general direction. ‘I might drink my coffee in my room,’ she said, needing space from him. Distance. Time.

  ‘Aspetti,’ he said. ‘Wait a moment.’ His accent was thicker once more, husky and dark.

  She paused, not looking at him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t like this.’ She heard the frown in his voice. ‘I will change my plans. You clearly shouldn’t be left alone.’

  Panic raced through Skye. ‘I’m fine!’ She spun around to face him, and one look at his expression made her stomach drop. His expression was as determined as she’d ever seen it.

  Great.

  ‘Melania is here,’ Skye pointed out desperately.

  ‘She has enough to do without playing nursemaid to you.’

  ‘And you don’t?’ Skye retorted quickly. ‘When we were together you were gone twelve hours a day.’