"I have five sisters." His tone was determined. "A mother. Numerous aunts."
She kept her eyes closed.
"What I meant with my comment about women," he trailed off, then tried again. "I meant that I know there's something wrong when a woman says there's nothing wrong."
Lara couldn't let that slide. "You mean women are silly and stupid and often say what they don't mean."
He made a disparaging noise in his throat. "I didn't say that."
"But it's what you meant."
"Dio. You drive me crazy." His voice changed, deepening. "In more ways than one."
A slither of heat spun across her skin. The air suddenly turned humid and electric. His physicality hummed and vibrated like a living current beside her. His focus was on her, she felt it as clearly as if he'd slid his hand along the length of her body.
The man was hazardous. Very hazardous to her.
Because the sexual tie was no longer the only tie binding them together.
The realization drove a spike straight through her heart.
She drew off her sunglasses and rose, the tile hot beneath her feet. Her lounge chair stood between them, a flimsy guard against his potent appeal. "I think I'll take a dip."
Her legs were shaking, yet she managed to walk to the steps and sink her heated body into the cool water of the pool. Swimming across its length, she tried to quiet and calm the clanging emotions running through her brain and heart. Identifying them, classifying them would help in banishing them, hopefully.
Jealousy. She couldn't believe it, but she was jealous of all the women he had slept with in the past. Which was crazy. At some point, after their divorce, she would almost certainly see him with another lover.
Awareness blasted through her mind.
"Bloody hell," she whispered and barely managed to keep a gulp of pool water out of her mouth. Why should she care if he took off for greener pastures eventually? This was what she wanted, to be free of him. It shouldn't matter to her if he took a thousand lovers after their marriage ended.
The echo of faint laughter deep inside her made her push aside the jealous emotion and the thoughts that came with it.
All right. What was the next sensation she was feeling?
Fear. Yes, fear. Fear she was sliding down a steep slope. His lovemaking was chipping away at the ice around her heart. His humor was melting her anger. His decency was breaking through her assumptions about him.
Her crawl picked up speed.
Next emotion, please.
Confusion. She'd told herself she could enjoy what happened in the bedroom without losing any of her anger or hate. She'd believed she could disassociate herself from her body and merely enjoy his powerful physique, his vigorous sex. Yet the swirl of uncertainty pumping through her told her she was a liar.
Still, what could she do about it? She was stuck in this marriage for the foreseeable future. Stuck with a man who was fire in the bedroom, who turned her on when he breathed. She was stuck with a man who made her laugh and was methodically burrowing into her soul.
How could she possibly have allowed this to happen?
This softening, this yearning.
How could she possibly think of forgiving him?
A wash of water slid over her shoulders as his strong body swam close to hers. With one powerful move, he grasped her waist and drew her to his side. They bobbed in the water, her gaze on his collarbone, his gaze sliding across her face.
"Bella," he murmured. "Whatever is bothering you, it will be all right."
She stared at the rivulets of pool water streaming down his shoulder and chest.
One long finger moved across her jaw to her chin. Tipping her face to look at him, he finally caught her gaze. "Don't worry. This marriage will work. I promise you."
His tone was confident and assured.
But as she stared at him-the keen intent of his gaze, the firm mouth, the strong jaw-she knew he couldn't cure everything about this marriage. Beyond forcing her to marry him, there were far worse problems. He was too much like Gerry: too demanding and hard, too controlling and cool.
What was worse, he was even more hazardous to her than Gerry was. She knew this instinctively. If she allowed him to get closer, she would eventually lose herself completely. Unlike the situation with Gerry, she would never recover.
Dante noticed her turmoil. His jaw clenched and then he dipped his head, his mouth slanting gently on hers, trying to reassure her without words.
Could a kiss, could mere sex, cure what was between them?
She shivered in the water. They were going back, back to where they'd come from. This time during their honeymoon had been a fantasy and now they had to confront the reality of what this marriage was all about.
This wasn't about hot sex, it was about heirs for the king.
This wasn't about liking each other, it was about convenience for him.
This wasn't about love in any way, shape or form. Not for him.
And she couldn't let it be for her.
* * *
Dante scrolled through the hundreds of emails waiting in his inbox. The laptop's blue glow was the only illumination in the airplane cabin. The whirr of the airplane's engine was the only sound breaking the silence.
He glanced across at Lara.
The faint light cast a shadow on her profile. Her long lashes brushed her cheeks, her mouth pouted a moue, a slight frown creased her forehead. He leaned back in his leather chair and studied his sleeping wife with some satisfaction. The honeymoon had gone well, much better than he could have hoped. There'd been that odd moment in the pool yesterday, yet she'd recovered from whatever had bothered her by the evening. She'd made the last night of their honeymoon a time to remember.
He smiled.
His gaze moved across her face, memorizing the dip of her lower lip, the firmness of her chin. Her soft breathing lifted her chest and he couldn't help tracking the shift of her breasts up and down.
The sex between them did astonish him. He would admit that to himself. The chemistry between them had been there before the marriage. He'd suffered several cold showers because of it. The level of his need, though, when he finally took her to bed unsettled him. Like any man, he enjoyed a passionate woman and Lara was certainly passionate. Initially, her eagerness for him, her touches and embraces, her urgent desire had soothed his battered ego.
She wanted him. Him. Not merely his money.
Yet as the nights blended together, a slight unease came over him. Every time he kissed her, every time he touched her, he promised himself this would be the time he would retain command on his libido. Each time they fell into bed, naked and needing, he tried to rein in his body's reactions. He told himself he wanted to ensure her satisfaction-although, she always seemed satisfied. No, honestly, it was for his own safety, his own emotional safety, that he tried to cling to his control.
He never could.
Shame wasn't what he experienced. His wife's response was more than any man needed to understand he'd made her happy. But his wild side emerged every time and the renewed familiarity with this side of him disturbed and distracted him.
Hell, she was the distraction.
Even now, with a cashmere blanket hiding her curves, she managed to ignite a heated fire in his blood. The primitive male inside him was constantly on alert when she was around. The overwhelming lust surprised him. He couldn't manage it, either. That, more than anything, the fact he couldn't manage this part of himself, bothered him.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. Eventually, this level of passion would have to burn a bit cooler. Wouldn't it?
This was what he hoped. For his sanity.
He should take her to the bedroom. She would be more comfortable there. When she'd started to nod off, he suggested it, but she'd declined for some obscure womanly reason. Still, it was obvious she was out for the duration and it was best he move her. Standing, he stepped across the aisle and lifted her from the chair with an easy hoist.
"Mmm." She snuggled into him, her warm body heating his blood. Predictably.
He walked to the back of the plane and nudged the open door wider, before easing his wife's body on the bed. Using the dim blue light shining from his computer, he pulled the high heels off her feet. Should he undress her fully? It would make her more comfortable. However, the temptation to keep going would be hard to resist.
With a grimace he decided against it and began to tug the covers over her.
"Dante?"
"Go to sleep."
One slim hand lifted and cupped his jaw. One stroke, one touch was all it took to crash through his good intentions. "Kiss me," she whispered.