LITMIR.BIZ

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it must be with you. You hide yourself away from me every night; I won’t let you do that again. Because I love you, and I want to make love to you. I want you in my bed. I want to be in yours. Why won’t you make love to me, now that we are married, when you found no such barrier before? Or is there something painfully wrong with me you haven’t told me about?’

      ‘There is nothing wrong with you.’

      ‘Then what the hell is wrong with you? We are married, Raoul. You took me for your wife. What is it you intend to do with me that you bring me to this godforsaken end of the earth and as good as hang me out to dry? What’s with that? This is supposed to be our honeymoon.’

      He stiffened. ‘I did not realise you were so inconvenienced by being here.’

      ‘Inconvenienced? How ungrateful of me to imply such a thing, when clearly I’m having the time of my life! And when I try to seduce you—my own husband—you reject me. You turn me down. How do you think that makes me feel?’

      ‘Gabriella …’

      ‘Do you know how humiliating it is for everyone to know that your own husband will not make love to you?’

      ‘Nobody knows.’

      ‘Except for Natania and Marco. Or is that why you brought me here? To save me the humiliation and indignity of the entire world knowing? Should I thank you instead for your kind consideration?’

      ‘Gabriella, it’s not like that.’

      ‘Isn’t it? You know, I used to think you had bricked up your heart behind walls so high and thick that they could never be breached. But I thought there was hope for you when we spent those days in Venice. I thought there was hope when you asked me to marry you. But I was wrong.

      ‘Because you don’t have a heart at all. You’re empty inside. You’re not a man, you’re a shell. An empty, hollow shell of a man. Devoid of emotion. Devoid of feeling. And I wish to God I’d never met you.’

      His jaw was set tight, the cords in his neck pulled taut, and when the words came they sounded like they were ground out. ‘You have no idea what I feel.’

      ‘No, I don’t. Because you won’t tell me. You won’t share the slightest thing with me. Me, the woman who is supposed to be your wife! And yet you give me nothing. When I tell you that I love you, I get nothing in return. I don’t even know if you love me. I thought you did. I believed you when once you told me that you do not have to hear the words to be true, but now I need to hear those words. Can you say them? Do you love me, Raoul?’

      ‘Bella …’

      ‘Don’t Bella me! Don’t pretend I mean something to you when clearly I mean nothing. Do you love me? It’s a simple enough question. Yes or no, Raoul; what’s it to be?’

      He spun around, his hand raking through his hair. ‘Why are you doing this?’

      ‘Because I need to know. I need to hear those words. I need you to prove that they are true.’

      His hand slammed down hard on his desk. ‘Do you think I wanted this?’

      ‘What are you talking about? You’re the one who asked me to marry you. Who insisted on not waiting? Who told me that I was the one who made him want to break his vow never to marry again? You’re the one who asked me to marry you!’

      He shook his head wildly from side to side, like a stallion readying for a fight. ‘Do you think I wanted a wife who needed a man to love her and cherish her? Do you think I needed another wife?’

      Thunder rolled overhead, a long, booming sound that filled the silence in the room and turned it toxic.

      ‘But you asked me …’ She heard a sob, recognised it as her own and knew she had to escape, knew she had to get as far away as she possibly could from him. She turned and fled out of the room and across the stone entrance-hall, her shoes slapping on the stones.

      ‘Gabriella!’ she heard, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She had to get away, as far away as she could. She tore through the kitchen, looking for escape, finding it in the doors leading to the terrace and the path to the cove, thinking she could hide there, amongst the boulders on the beach, and find the time to work out what she should do.

      She would have to leave. She would have to run away, her tail between her legs. Humiliated. Defeated. Phillipa would take her in—Philippa, who had warned her to take her time.

      Two short days ago she had been so happy. So wondrously happy. So sure that he loved her.

       Do you think I needed another wife?

      Hadn’t he wanted to marry her? Then why had he asked her? What had she been thinking? Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. The bank of dark clouds blotted out the sun, the loose edges like thick, black fingers rolling dark dough across the sky; they rumbled and grumbled with discontent. But still she ran on, faster, towards the stone steps that led down to the beach.

      Behind her, she heard him call her name again and ran faster, her grief pushing her on. She flung herself down the time-worn steps to the beach, her feet barely touching the stones, before launching herself onto the sand. The skirt of her dress flew around her; she kicked her flat shoes from her feet at the first opportunity to give her purchase on the sand.

      ‘Gabriella!’

      Above her the sky darkened, the waves crashed against the cliff. She heard his voice on the wind that whipped through her hair, filled with salt and moisture from the sea, but she didn’t look back. She dared not. There was no point. What was the point of looking back at a man you loved—a man you thought you loved—who seemed incapable of loving you but had married you nonetheless?

      She could not bear to see him.

      Why had he done this to her?

       Why?

      Her feet pushed on, fighting the loose, soft sand, searching for somewhere to hide, somewhere she could be safe in her misery and despair.

      But the sand had been eaten up on the incoming tide and there was nowhere to run. The tide lapped at her feet and she turned back only to collide with a rock that should not have been there. Except this rock was warm, had a thumping heart and had arms that clamped tightly around her.

      Raoul.

      She looked up at him, panting, desperate and afraid. She saw her storm reflected in his eyes, wild, insane and wanting, as above them the storm broke in a thunderclap that shook the ground and sent the vibrations spiralling through her. They fell on each other like that storm, hungry, wild and insatiable.

      Their mouths meshed, their tongues dancing, duelling, her cheek scraping hard against his blue-black beard as she pulled his clothes free with busy, seeking hands, needing to touch him, to feel him; needing to feel his hot flesh against her own.

      Rain pelted down upon them, fat droplets that tugged on their hair, their clothes and stuck the fabric to them, but his hands were hot and liberating; the wet fabric was no barrier to those seeking hands. He groaned in her mouth and spun her away, finding their own private grotto, where he pressed her hard against the stone, and pressed himself hard against her, making her gasp with his size and his need while her own need spiralled out of control. Her hands explored him, fingernails raking his back, relishing the firm, hard flesh, the muscled tone; her fingers traced the lines of his ribs, the nub of his nipples, the thick column of his erection.

      He made a sound like a hungry beast, half-growl, half-roar, and she felt her dress tear apart, felt the rain on her hot skin and his hotter hands at her breasts. Felt her bones dissolve as he dropped his hot mouth to one breast, sucking her nipple in tight until she thought she would explode with the agony and the ecstacy, while his large hands travelled her body, heading south, taking away her last remaining scrap of cover.

      She battled with his waistband and, still locked together with her at the mouth, he pushed her hands aside and did the job himself; she

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