Page 36 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

“I want you,” he added, reaching out to capture a curled tendril that rested on her collarbone, the warmth of his fingers setting her skin on fire, “but I can’t make love to you tonight, and I won’t make love to you until you’re comfortable being...mine.”

“I am,” she said faintly, face hot.

He put his hand on her waist, stroked her side, and her gently rounded hip. It was, oh, so delicious, she thought, and so seductive. Clare swayed a little as he plucked at the tiny thong, adjusting the pink fabric to better cover her. She sucked in a breath as her nerves screamed with pleasure. He was toying with her, she thought, and her body loved it. He ran his palm over her bottom, cupping the full cheek, caressing on one side, and then the other before taking his hand away.

“You’re not,” he said, looking up into her face. “You can hardly look at me. One day when you’re ready, we will make love, but not until then.”

Disappointment rushed through her as he rose and stepped around her. She felt silly and naked, and rather rejected. “Lots of people have sex on the first date. This isn’t even a first date. We’re married—”

“And I don’t want to have sex with you. I want more than that. I want it, when we come together, to mean something.” He tipped her chin up and looked deeply into her eyes. “Trust me, we will be glad we waited—”

“I doubt it,” she interrupted, cheeks hot, knees locking, her innermost core clenching. “I think you just enjoy having all the control!”

He drew her into his arms and kissed her then, a hot fierce kiss of possession that stole her breath and fogged her brain. She couldn’t think of anything but him, her senses overcome, her bare body pressed to his frame. He was so warm and his arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer, his hands cupping her butt, and lifting her up against him so that she felt the length of his erection through the trousers, his body hard against her pelvis. His body so much muscle and power.

By the time he let her go, she didn’t know where she was, only that everything within her was hot and molten. She couldn’t bear for him to leave her like this, couldn’t bear to be left so full of unanswered desire.

But then he brushed her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking her swollen lower lip before heading to the door where he quietly wished her a good night and disappeared into the connecting dressing room, his door closing behind him.

Rocco took the longest, coldest shower of his life, and he emerged still hard, still throbbing, still so hungry for her.

She was beautiful, truly beautiful and the shape of her, and the softness of her skin, and the tiny little moans she made while he touched her nearly drove him mad. All he wanted was to be in her body, feeling her warmth and softness, giving her the pleasure and release they both knew she wanted. That he wanted, too, but his needs came second to hers. And he’d been waiting five years for her and now that she was his wife, he didn’t just want her body, he wanted her heart.

Clare didn’t understand this new marriage, or her new husband, who was as handsome and charming and devoted as a new husband could be...except that he avoided touching her, and kept kisses to a minimum, mostly a light kiss good-night before they retired to their own rooms.

They didn’t sleep together once that first week.

Rocco was attentive during the day, spending time with her and Adriano. He planned excursions for them, making the honeymoon feel like a holiday, one that focused on Adriano, which she appreciated, but Clare wanted Rocco to focus on her.

Instead they enjoyed a private tour of the coliseum, Rocco arranging for them to enter an hour before it opened to the public so their tour was truly private, focused on the interests of a young child, featuring tales of brave gladiators and wild beasts, a moveable stage, and how it would have looked filled with all the people.

Another day they visited the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Stairs, this done under a very tight, discreet, security detail. There was also a trip to the mountains, where they did an easy hike in the regional park of the Monti Simbruini, walking amongst the birch trees, keeping their eyes open for wildlife. Adriano was thrilled to spot a peregrine falcon, although he’d called it a hawk, and Rocco saw a fox peeking between ferns and rocks while Clare mostly saw gophers. They enjoyed a lunch at a guesthouse that had been booked for them. The service was attentive, and the meal was delicious. Clare had no reason to complain. Not with the guesthouse anyway.

Now, Rocco...he wasn’t just puzzling, he was infuriating.

He was charming during the day, but he wasn’t oblivious to her. She knew he watched her, and his focus was intense; his focus made her feel naked, breathless. He wanted her. She could feel how he desired her. But why then at night did he stay away?

Why kiss her good-night and then disappear, leaving her to go to bed alone?

She’d been alone for years now. She shouldn’t mind, but she did.

Another day passed. Another day of a devoted husband being attentive to his new family. Another night where he slipped away from her after a sweet, chaste kiss and a pleasant good-night.

The chaste kiss made her rage, and she knew he felt her impatience. Annoyance. She knew because the energy between them just kept building, the energy humming strongly, the awareness so hot and sharp the air practically crackled with desire. And still Rocco left her.

Two weeks of marriage with no intimacy. No husband in her bed. No touch, no friction, no satisfaction.

Clare was beyond frustrated. She was ready for more from her husband, certainly more than conversation and little pecks good-night. The next time he kissed her good-night, she wouldn’t let him walk away from her. She’d demand more. He owed her more. They were married, weren’t they?

The next time was that very evening, after dinner, after drinks in his gorgeous library that also served as a media room with an enormous TV screen that came down, hiding a long wall of books. The surround sound system had been built into the antique shelves giving the old room new life and purpose. After Adriano had gone to bed they’d curled up on the leather sofa and watched a thriller, and it had been quite intense in places, resulting in Clare sitting ever closer to Rocco.

Even though they were both watching the film, and she was trying to concentrate on the plot, she was more aware of Rocco, and his arm behind her shoulder, his other hand on her thigh.

At first the hand on her thigh was nothing, but gradually his palm felt warmer, and she grew hotter, and she didn’t know if she shifted, or his hand moved up, but his fingers were on the inside of her thigh and he wasn’t doing anything, but the weight of his hand and the pressure made her wish he’d do something.

The movie finally ended and Rocco turned off the TV with a remote, and then pushed another button on the remote and the screen disappeared.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked, turning to look at her.

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