Page 35 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

Rocco laughed, too, and lifted Adriano up into his arms. “Let’s go inside. We’re having an early dinner tonight so we can all celebrate together.”

They had dinner in a room painted silver and gold. Pink flowers with silver-and gold-painted leaves formed a centerpiece, and the china was white with gold, and the glasses were pink Venetian stemware. It was just the three of them eating in the formal dining room. Adriano was curious about everything and took in the new environment with admirable calm and confidence. The meal, five courses’ worth, did drag on, far more food than Clare wanted or needed, but finally a wedding cake was served and Adriano, sleepy and yawning, tried to wake up enough to eat a slice.

He managed to eat three and a half bites before his eyes began to close again. Clare had taken her watch off for the wedding and couldn’t alert Ava, but someone must have because it was just a few minutes later that Ava appeared, her gaze meeting Clare’s.

Clare nodded, and Ava lifted him from his chair. He nestled his chest on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

“I’ll be just down the hall,” Clare whispered to Ava.

“I’ll be in the nursery with him. Gio is here, too, don’t worry.”

As Ava passed by Rocco, Rocco reached out and smoothed Adriano’s dark hair. The tender gesture made Clare’s heart tighten and her eyes burn.

But she wasn’t going to fall apart, she told herself. There would be no tears tonight. She’d made the decision to marry and she was now Rocco’s wife, and there would be no more looking back, no more lamenting the past.

Rocco sat at the end of the table feeling Clare’s emotion. He was always aware of her, but tonight he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes and he remembered how she’d trembled in his arm in the chapel, exhausted, overwhelmed, uncertain of her decision. But then she’d found her resolve and she’d made it through the ceremony and they’d made it through the dinner, too.

This was not a happy wedding, this wasn’t one of those events celebrated by a loving family and dozens of friends. They had no others. No one to celebrate with, no one who’d care that this wasn’t a love match...at least on Clare’s part.

Rocco had no regrets, though. This was what he’d wanted. He’d wanted her for so long, and he’d waited for her, not allowing another woman into his life, unwilling to even entertain the idea of another woman for him. He’d loved his wife, and he’d loved Clare and that was all. There would be no other loves, not for him.

But he hated seeing Clare with tears in her eyes, hated knowing she was struggling. He wasn’t struggling. He had what he wanted. Clare as his woman, his wife. It might take weeks, maybe months, but one day she’d drop her guard and let him in. Not just tolerate him but love him. Which is why he could be patient. He’d waited this long for her...what was another six months, or a year?

He’d give her time, and seduce her so slowly she wouldn’t even realize she was being wooed, and won.

They had separate bedrooms, a his and her layout with an enormous shared dressing room in the middle. Alone in her room Clare couldn’t get out of her wedding gown, not without help and unlike at her villa, she had no staff here to call, no one available to help her with the hooks that lined the hidden seams of the dress. She could ask Ava to come to her, but that wasn’t Ava’s job, and Clare respected the nanny too much to ask her to leave her room just to help Clare undress. On her wedding night. It would look silly and possibly cause gossip that she didn’t need.

Drawing a breath for courage, Clare went to the door between her and Rocco’s room. She knocked once, firmly, and waited.

He opened the door after a few moments, so tall and broad shouldered that he filled the doorway, nearly blocking all the light shining behind him. He was in the process of undressing, and his white shirt was unbuttoned, but he was still wearing his black trousers. His chest, although scarred, was a wonder of hard muscle, planes and hollows and a dusting of black hair low on his abdomen, disappearing into his trousers. She jerked her head up and focused on his chin—so much safer than his hips, or even his eyes or mouth. “I’m afraid I need assistance with my dress. There are dozens of little hooks.”

“I was wondering if you’d need help,” he said. “But I didn’t want to presume.”

“These gowns are made for women with stylists and designers,” she said, trying to sound casual when her pulse raced and her mouth felt dry.

“Or husbands,” he said lightly, gesturing for her to step back. She did and he followed her into her room.

He took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the marble surround and reached a hand to her. “Come. Where are these hooks?”

She stood with her back to him. “They’re tucked into those small seams. I warn you, there are many.”

“I am prepared to do my duty,” he said dryly, hands settling on her hips, his warmth steeling through her skirts into her skin.

She could feel his fingers on her back exploring the dress and the exquisite tailoring and held her breath as he slowed to inspect the long seam where the majority of the hooks were. With one hand on her lower back to keep her steady he unfastened the first hook, and then the next. Clare closed her eyes trying not to let her imagination run wild, but every time his knuckles brushed her spine, every time her gown opened a little more, shivers raced through her, little darts of sensation that made her mouth dry and heart race.

She’d never been undressed by anyone before. It was new and erotic and she didn’t want it to be erotic. She wanted to think of Rocco as a partner, not a lover, but his touch stirred her senses and as her gown opened down the back, revealing bare skin she found herself wishing he’d touch her, slide a finger across her sensitive skin, caress the hollows of her lower back.

Her inner muscles clenched as he turned her sideways to work the last of the hooks that ran on the seam beneath the corset-like bodice. His fingers brushed the underside of her breast and she bit into her lip, feeling carnal and full of longing.

It had been so long since she’d been loved. It had been years since she’d been held and touched. If Rocco wanted to kiss her, she’d let him. If he wanted to take her to bed, she’d welcome the company. She hated feeling so much need, but standing half-naked in front of him had filled her with wants and needs that felt almost overwhelming.

The bodice of her gown slid down to her hips, and then Rocco’s hands were at her hips helping to ease the gown over her bottom, sliding it down until the pale pink gown pooled at her feet.

She turned to face him, her hands covering her breasts, her eyes meeting his.

His gaze traveled over her, from her dark hair over her covered breasts to her rounded hips and the delicate pink scrap of satin that was her thong.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his deep voice pitched low, the husky timber reverberating in her.

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