Never Gamble with a Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne

I want to see spilled right now is yours.’

      ‘You’re really hating this, aren’t you?’ His expression was amused.

      Her eyes went to slits again. ‘By “this” I suppose you mean this ridiculous subservience.’

      He gave one of his loose, get-over-it shrugs. ‘It’s the way things are done here.’

      She shook with outrage. ‘But it’s the wrong way!’

      ‘The women here are happy.’ His voice was calm, measured. ‘They don’t have to do anything but be who they are. They don’t have to primp and preen. They don’t have to have a spray tan every week or put on false nails or colour their hair. They don’t have to pretend they’re not hungry when they’re starving, because they’re not going to be judged solely on their appearance. It is who they are on the inside that matters.’

      He was describing a paradise...or was he?

      She set her mouth. ‘That’s only because they probably don’t know what they’re missing. If just one woman gets a glimpse of what she could have, you could have total anarchy out here.’

      An amused quirk tilted his mouth. ‘And I suppose you’d be out front and leading the charge of that particular riot?’

      She gave him a beady look. ‘You’d better believe it.’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      REMY WAS ENJOYING every minute of his ‘marriage’ so far. It was so amusing to press all of Angelique’s hot buttons. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it—even the way to look at her to get a rise out of her. The reason he knew was because deep down he felt exactly the same.

      Marriage was a trap.

      It was stultifying. Restraining. A freedom-taking institution that worked better for some than for others.

      And he was one of the others.

      He didn’t like answering to anyone. He had spent too much of his life living under the shadow of his brothers and his grandfather. He wanted to make his own way, to be his own person. To be known as something more than a Caffarelli brother or grandson.

      He didn’t want to be someone’s husband.

      And as for being someone’s father... Well, he was leaving that to his two older brothers, who seemed pretty keen on the idea of procreating.

      Remy was not interested in babies with scrunched-up faces and dirty nappies; sleepless nights, running noses, temper tantrums. Not for him. No way.

      He was interested in having a good time. Playing the field. Working the turf. Sowing his oats—the wild variety, that was.

      And at times his life could get pretty wild.

      He loved the element of risk in what he did—scoping out failing businesses, taking chances, rolling the dice. Chasing success, running it down, holding it in his hands and relishing the victory of yet another deal signed and delivered.

      He was a gambler at heart, but not an irresponsible one. He knew where to draw the line, how to measure the stakes and to raise or lower them when he needed to.

      And he was a firm believer in the golden rule of gambling: he only ever lost what he could afford to lose.

      Besides, he’d already suffered the worst loss of all. Losing his parents so suddenly had been shattering. He still remembered the crushing sense of loss when Rafe had told him about their parents’ accident: the panic; the fear; the terror. It had made Remy feel that life was little more than a roll of a dice. Fate was a cruel mistress. Your life could be perfect and full one day, and terrifyingly empty the next.

      Remy looked down at Angelique who was trying to disguise her fury at the little ‘proof of virginity’ story he’d spun her. He wondered how long he could spin it out. She looked so infuriated he thought she was going to explode. She probably had no idea how gorgeous she looked when she was spitting at him like a wild cat. He wouldn’t mind having those sharp little claws digging into his back as he rocked them both to paradise.

      Are you out of your mind?

      If you sleep with her you won’t be able to annul the marriage as soon as you get home.

      Right. They would have to share a room—there would be no avoiding that—but he could always sleep on the sofa.

      There had better be a sofa or you’re toast.

      ‘Right.’

      Angelique looked up at him and Remy realised he’d spoken aloud. ‘Pardon?’ she said.

      ‘How’s your headache?’

      She looked at him blankly for a moment. ‘My...? Oh yes; terrible. Absolutely excruciating.’ She put a hand to her temple again. ‘I’m getting blurred vision and I think I’m seeing an aura.’

      ‘We’d better get you to bed, then.’

      The words dropped into the silence, suspended there, echoing with erotic undercurrents that were impossible to ignore.

      ‘To sleep,’ Remy said. ‘Just in case you were getting the wrong idea.’ Like his body had. It was already hard. Getting harder. Deep breath.

      She angled her head at him suspiciously. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re playing with me?’

      He wanted to play with her all right. His body said yes but his mind kept saying no, or at least it was saying no so far. But how long would he be able to keep his hands off her? Theoretically she was the last woman in the world he wanted anything to do with. She was too high-maintenance. Too wild.