she loved with all her heart, raise a baby with him, knowing that he’d used her in the most cynical of ways?
Her only hope was never to see him again. To go far from where he could find her. And that was her plan. Once he’d signed the papers she was going to disappear again. She thought of the ticket in her purse, a flight to Australia for later that night, where she planned to find her way to a remote corner of the country, somewhere with a view of the beach, and set about healing her broken heart.
‘You’re wrong.’ She pulled away from him with determination, moving back to the window and staring out at Venice.
‘Am I?’
‘Oh, fine.’ She shrugged her shoulders, not turning around. ‘Apparently, I still...desire you. So what? You were my first lover. I dare say my body won’t ever completely forget the lessons you taught me.’ Fragments of their nights cut through her determination. The way he’d kissed her for hours; the way his mouth had owned her body. The way they’d swum naked in the moonlit ocean off the coast of Sicily or in the rooftop pool at his Venetian mansion. The sensual massages he’d given her. She pushed those thoughts aside. ‘But nor will my heart.’
‘And what did I teach your heart, cara?’
‘Not to trust handsome strangers,’ she said, the humour of the comment sucked away by the desperation in her voice. ‘Sign the papers, Matteo. This marriage is over.’
‘And if I won’t?’ The words were thick with emotion. And for a second hope scorched her. But it was a foolish hope, the same blind love that had led her into the marriage.
‘You wanted revenge. You got it.’
‘I wanted the hotel,’ he said with a dangerous softness to his voice. ‘You were...a silver lining.’
‘A silver lining?’ she returned angrily. ‘For God’s sake, Matteo. I loved you! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
He stared at her long and hard. ‘That wasn’t love you felt. It was infatuation. Sex.’
She swallowed past a lump of bitterness in her throat. He was wrong. She’d loved him with her whole heart. She wouldn’t tell him that now, but somehow knowing that their baby had been conceived with goodness in her heart, at least, mattered a whole lot to her.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. ‘It’s all academic now. Our marriage is over. There’s obviously no way on earth I could ever forget what you’ve done. Nor forgive you for it.’ She sucked in a breath and stared at him headlong. ‘You can have the hotel.’
He was instantly still, every nerve ending in his body in a state of stasis. ‘You’re saying you’ll sell me Il Grande Fortuna?’
‘On one condition,’ she said frostily, devastation at this final, damning proof seeping into her blood, turning it to ice. ‘Sign the damned papers and stay the hell out of my life.’
* * *
When Skye had walked out on their marriage, having learned the truth behind his motivations for pursuing her, he’d had to reconcile himself to the reality that he might never recover his grandfather’s beloved Il Grande Fortuna.
He’d put all his chips on the one square, gambling on marriage to the rich heiress as the best way to get what he wanted. And to have a little fun along the way.
His plan had been simple enough—seduce her and blind her with the passion they shared, making her willing to do, say or sign anything he asked of her. And he’d come so close. She had been eating out of the palm of his hand. Until she wasn’t.
Their marriage had always been about the hotel.
About returning his family’s property to its rightful owner—him.
It had been about righting a wrong of the past.
About avenging his nonno.
Hell, he’d married her because it had been the only way to get the hotel back into his family’s trust. Now she was giving him the thing he’d wanted all his adult life on a silver platter, yet he found himself hesitating.
Why the hell wasn’t he just agreeing to her terms?
Because he didn’t like to concede defeat. And, even though he’d have the hotel, he didn’t like the idea of Skye walking away from him before he was ready.
‘Sign the divorce papers, Teo.’ She used the diminutive form of his name by mistake. The way her face paled showed her remorse. That wasn’t who they were any more. Hell, they’d never been that couple. Not really.
He’d never even wanted a wife. He’d wanted the hotel, and their marriage had been the clearest way to achieve that aim, but Matteo Vin Santo was a bachelor from way back. If he signed this paper, he’d be rid of the wife he’d never really wanted and he’d have the hotel. The only thing to regret was that he wouldn’t have the pleasure of his wife’s body again. A small price to pay for achieving a decades-old goal, though. ‘Fine.’ His nod was curt.
Her relief was palpable. He tried not to take it personally. She’d be all kinds of stupid to want anything other than a divorce from him—and Skye Johnson was definitely not stupid.
‘But I have a condition of my own.’
Her brows shot up, her lips parted, and he ached to kiss her. To wipe that look of disdain from her pretty features. To remind her of just how she came apart in his arms. He’d always loved her in yellow. It showed off her flawless honey skin, the darkness of her hair, the innocence of who she was.
‘I want one more night with you.’
Skye froze, her eyes sweeping shut, her lips parting wider as she struggled for breath. He watched the words take effect; the way colour spread through her cheeks.
‘No.’ It was just a whisper. A husky denial. ‘Never.’
He laughed, a harsh sound of cynicism and frustration. ‘Never say never, cara. Not when you fall apart in my arms as you do...’
Skye tilted her chin, her eyes locked defiantly with his.
‘Desire is one thing, but I have no intention of acting on it.’
‘Then I have no intention of signing those papers,’ he threatened silkily.
Panic flooded her. Fascinating.
‘What’s the matter? Is the idea of being Mrs Matteo Vin Santo so abhorrent to you? I remember a time when you couldn’t wait to be my wife—and be in my bed.’
‘I didn’t know who you were then. Nor what you were capable of.’
‘And what am I capable of?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Haunted, miserable words that slammed against him. Guilt was not something Matteo had much experience of, but he felt a flush of it. He didn’t like it.
His obligation was to his family.
Not Skye.
But her hurt was obvious and it was a hurt he had caused.
Yes, he felt guilt. He felt remorse. He wished...what? That he could change it? That he could have procured the hotel without hurting her?
It wasn’t possible. He’d tried that. He’d spent years trying to lure her father into selling and the bastard had been determined.
‘Over my dead body.’ Those were the last words Carey Johnson had said to Matteo. If Carey had only listened to reason, if he hadn’t been driven by the stupid grudge that had led to his taking the hotel in the first instance, it would never have come to this.
But, looking across his office at his wife, Matteo wasn’t sure he cared about the hotel, his grandfather or her father. None of them mattered. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could salvage their marriage—nor did he believe he wanted to. But