Page 13 of On His Bride's Terms

Because there, in black and white, she’d made it clear that she would only agree to a marriage if they could review the situation in six months’ time and decide at that point whether to carry on or divorce.

It gave Faye a get-out clause, and she was sure that Primo would want to get out by then too. Because she’d also made it clear that under no circumstances would she consider having children, so at least she could feel that she hadn’t deceived him.

But you didn’t tell him the full truth, pointed out a little voice.

No, she hadn’t divulged the full extent of her infertility.

She had no intention of baring her innermost pain to someone who she hardly knew. After all, she wasn’t planning on this being a long-term union. If Primo was so determined to marry her then this was how she was doing it. Onherterms.

Six months of a marriage between the two families would solidify the business deal between her father and Primo, and give them added protection and security for the future. She’d ensured that there was a clause in the marriage agreement that, in the event of a divorce, it wouldn’t have any detrimental effect on the business deal. And, as little as she knew Primo, he didn’t strike her as a vindictive man.

Faye knew what she was doing was ruthless on some level, but it was no more ruthless than Primo expecting that he could secure himself a convenient wife on the back of a deal. And he’d made it very clear that this marriage had nothing to do with emotions, so there was no danger ofhurtinghim. If anything, divorcing in six months would be an annoyance, but she was sure he could go to number two on his list of potential wives and secure another bride.

And in the meantime you’ll be married to a man you want for the next six months.

Faye flushed at that incendiary thought.

Her mind slipped back to Primo’s offices a week ago. He’d looked at her from across his desk, leaning back in his chair, supremely relaxed. Fingers steepled before him. She’d noticed how masculine his hands were. Short, blunt nails. She’d imagined they’d be slightly calloused. Not soft. Hard. Like the rest of him.

‘So you’re saying that you don’t want to cohabit and that you’ll only agree to us appearing together in public at pre-agreed events?’

She’d nodded, a quiver in her belly, knowing that she must be pushing him to the edges of his patience with her list of requirements for their marriage agreement.

She’d said, ‘I’ve been independent for a long time and I won’t give that up. I’ve also got a busy work schedule, so I simply won’t be available for every public outing. I might not even be in the same country. But I’m sure if an event is important enough, and organised far enough in advance, we can ensure you get what you need out of the arrangement.’

His eyes had flashed at that, sending more than a quiver through Faye.

He’d commented dryly, ‘What I’m getting, by the sounds of it, is a part-time wife.’

He’d stood up then, and walked over to one of his floor-to-ceiling windows. His loose-limbed grace had caught Faye’s eye more than the commanding views of lower Manhattan. The way his shirt pulled across his broad back and shoulders, hinting at the muscles underneath, the narrow waist and the firm buttocks—

He’d turned around to face her and Faye’s face had flamed guiltily.

He’d said, ‘If we don’t live together, and only meet intermittently, then how do you suppose we’ll consummate our marriage? Or will you do me the honour of cohabiting with me on our wedding night? I have every intention of this marriage being a real one, Faye. I don’t sleep around and I’m not unfaithful. And I like sex.’

‘I like sex.’

At that blunt pronouncement, Faye hadn’t been able to stop a slew of images of their limbs entwined from spooling out in her head.

But he’d made it sound so...functional. Like something they’d do that was part of the agreement, to tick a box. He hadn’t alluded to what he’d said before, about there beingsomethingbetween them. Did he know she wanted him and so he didn’t feel the need to feign his own desire any more? She’d felt vulnerable. Exposed.

‘No one needs to know the intimate details of where we’re living. We both have busy lives.’

Primo had stalked back towards his desk and Faye had felt herself tensing against the way her skin prickled with anticipation. He’d perched on the edge of the desk, one strong thigh in Faye’s peripheral vision. It had taken all of her strength and control to keep her gaze up. He’d been striking a dominant pose and yet she hadn’t felt intimidated. She’d felt very keenly that he was curious about her reactions to him.

‘That’s not really answering my question.’

Faye’s throat had suddenly been dry as sandpaper. ‘I’m not saying we can’t...consummate the marriage...’

After all,whispered a little voice,isn’t this what you want too? Something out of this arrangement for you?

But the thought of surrendering to him on a more intimate level had been terrifying. Because without even touching her he’d made her feel things she’d never felt before—a kind of wild yearning. An awareness of herself that no other man had ever made her feel. A sense of not being fully in control. When he seemed to be scarily in control.

She’d forced her brain to work. ‘I’m open to discussing making plans, but if you want to get married on the date you’ve specified, I’m afraid I’m already booked on a flight to Venice that evening. I have clients lined up to meet during Carnival.’

Primo had narrowed his gaze on her before saying dryly, ‘Discussing making plans to consummate our marriage? How romantic.’

The disdain in his voice when he’d saidthat had made Faye stand up. She’d shot back, ‘We both know this isn’t about romance, but if you’re going to mock me then perhaps you need to look for another convenient bride.’

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