She got a chuckle from him but he kept his gaze on the road. “My papa and I had a difficult relationship,” he admitted. “He looked upon my racing as a dangerous, selfish hobby. Eventually, he pushed me to choose—my career or the family bakery. I chose the circuit, so he told me to leave. I packed my stuff, went on the road, and tried making myself a name. But when I got the call that he had a heart attack, and saw him so frail and sick in the hospital, I realized my wishes weren’t as important as I originally thought.” He shrugged. “I realized sometimes others have to come first. As Papa once told me, a real man makes decisions for everyone, not just himself. I owed it to everyone to make the business work, and I did. In a way, I have no regrets.”

She stared at him a long time “Do you miss it?”

He tilted his head as if considering her question. Then shot her a grin. “Hell, yes. I miss racing every day.”

Dear God, this man was going to break her apart. Not only was he honest, he never viewed his self-sacrifice in any negative manner. How many men had she dated who whined about anything that didn’t please them or fit perfectly into their own wants or needs? No, Michael held a core of beliefs she’d never experienced with another lover. “Your family is lucky to have you,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just squeezed her hand as if he’d never let her go.

They reached the vacation home a few hours later. Maggie inwardly laughed at the Contes’ version of a rental. The elaborate mansion held its own helicopter pad, lagoon, gardens, and hot tubs. Ivy climbed over the massive brick walls and matching clock tower surrounded by jungle greens and elaborate gardens. The cobblestone path led up a massive staircase where an open terrace held comfortable rocking chairs and was connected to a full bar. Polished marble, brightly colored mosaic tiles, and rich chocolate browns and gold made up the color scheme. A warm breeze flew through the rooms from the open windows, and the scents of lilac and citrus flooded her senses.

Her heels clicked on the gleaming tile as Michael grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the bar, then led her upstairs. One door opened up to a huge bedroom with a king-size platform bed. The balcony doors were opened as if they were expected and the room was already prepared. A full bouquet of bloodred roses sat on the high table, serving as the centerpiece of the room. She walked over the rich Oriental carpet, admiring the carefully placed antiques and fine white lace curtains. Then she realized her husband stood to the side, hip propped up against the bureau, studying her from across the room.

Maggie swallowed. Suddenly, a rush of pure terror overtook her. This whole thing was too much—the bed, the wedding, and her realization of her true feelings for her count. The ground broke beneath her and she scrambled for footing. Her nails curled into her fists in an urge to grab for leverage. Damned if she’d let her voice shake like a virginal bride. She chided herself for this type of behavior and straightened her spine.

“Do you want to go to dinner?” she asked.

“No.”

The blood thickened in her veins. His lip quirked upward in a half smile, as if he sensed her sudden awkwardness.

She stuck her chin out and refused to break his gaze. “Do you want to go for a walk in the gardens?”

“No.”

“Take a swim?”

“Nope.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide the obvious thrust of her nipples. “Well, what do you want to do? Just stand there making googly eyes at me?”

“No. I want to make love to my wife.”

Grief ripped through her. His wife. God, how she wanted it to be real.

“Don’t say that,” she hissed. Maggie grabbed on gratefully to the anger that burned in her blood. “I’m not really your wife and we both know it. You promised to leave me alone. No sex.”

He closed the distance and took her in his arms. The concern and tenderness on his face broke her in two. “La mia tigrotta, what is wrong? I would never do anything you didn’t want.” He stroked her hair back from her face and tipped her chin up.

“This is a lie.” She blinked back blinding tears, enraged at her weakness before him. “We’re a lie.”

His breath rushed over her lips and he kissed her gently, slipping his tongue inside to tenderly mate. She longed to fight him but her body weakened under each hot stroke and his musky scent. She opened for him and gave back, digging her fingers into his shoulders as every carved muscle pressed against her curves.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Inky dark eyes seethed with a blistering heat that seared through her and crashed every ounce of resistance. “No, Maggie,” he said fiercely. “This is not a lie anymore. We are not a lie. I want to make love to you, my wife. Right now. Will you let me?”

His honor came first, and Maggie knew only a shake of her head would force him to his own separate corner. Dear God, what was wrong with her? Why did she want this man so much after only a few hours of being in his arms? He’d destroy her.

He waited for her decision.

Her body and mind warred, but deep inside, the tiny voice triumphed. Take what you can get now and you’ll have the memories. She’d survived much worse. But she didn’t think she could survive pushing him away tonight.

She dragged his mouth to hers. He kissed her completely, his tongue tangling with hers as he carried her to the bed. Each movement melted into the next as he stripped off her clothes and explored every part of her body with hands and mouth and tongue. She moaned as he brought her to the brink, stopped, then stripped off his own clothes and started again. She writhed and begged until finally he parted her thighs and paused at her entrance.

As if sensing her innate fear, he immediately rolled her to the side without question, grabbed her hips, and pulled her down onto his shaft.

He filled every aching crevice and she cried out and began moving, frantic for release. His hands rubbed her breasts, flicking the tips, and with one final scrape against her clit she exploded into a thousand pieces.

He cried out her name as they rode out the orgasm, until she collapsed on top of his chest. His arms came around her and he whispered in her ear. “This is real.”

Maggie didn’t answer. Her heart wept, and her lips trembled to burst out the words inside of her, screaming to be free. I love you. But the taunting whisper reminded her of the only truth she’d ever known. Not forever. No one could love you forever.

So she said nothing. Just closed her eyes and slept.

• • •

Michael sat beside the bed with two flutes filled with champagne, watching her sleep. Odd that only yesterday, he’d claimed her for the first time. Usually, once he slept with a woman he cared about, the edge of need dulled a bit more at each encounter, each day, until nothing was left but a lukewarm friendship they both couldn’t do anything with. But now, looking down at his new wife, a sense of excitement and rightness coursed through his blood. The same exact feeling he’d embraced on the track, the call of the unknown with a deep knowledge he was meant to drive a race car.

Maggie was meant to be his.

He knew this now. Accepted it. Realized he needed to make some careful moves if he was ever going to convince her they could have a real marriage. Funny, how love seemed this distant, magical thing in the future until you wanted it so bad, you actually pretended feelings were there that never were.

Now he knew. All along, he’d been waiting for Maggie Ryan.

He’d sensed the connection that night of their blind date. Her wit and kick-ass sexuality pummeled him like a sucker punch. She fascinated him on every level, but the lure of something deeper and more permanent sang in his blood, so he’d frozen in fear. He knew once he made love to her he’d never want to let her go. And she was everything he believed he didn’t want in a wife. He sensed she’d stomp his heart to tiny pieces, and he’d never recover.

He’d thought of her many times throughout the year, but always pushed her image to the back of his mind, convincing himself they would be an impossible couple. Now, it seemed every step led straight to Rome.

She was his soul mate.

He just needed to convince her.

But in order to do that, he needed to break down some walls. Michael took a deep breath at the task ahead. He’d been thinking of the right course of action to take, but it was a risky move. He wanted to reach her on a deeper level, and her constant unease with him taking control in bed told him she owned secrets that needed to be told. Could she ever trust him enough to share? Could she ever completely surrender?

He was about to find out.

She opened her eyes.

He smiled at that sleepy, satisfied look as she stretched against the pillows. The sheet fell and offered him the tempting sight of her perfect breasts. She grinned. “See anything you like?”

She’d put him in an early grave, but he’d go to heaven with a smile on his face. He shook his head and handed her the glass of champagne. “The letter C stands for all the items needed in life,” she said. “Coffee, chocolate, and champagne.” She sighed with contentment and took another drink.

Michael leaned back in the antique floral chair and smirked. “Aren’t you missing the best letter of all?”

“What’s that?”

“S. For sex.”

Her grin grew wider and more satisfied. His erection rose to full staff and he shifted in the chair. “Oh, Count, when are you going to learn all the American words?” she drawled. “C is also for climax.”

He burst out in laughter and shook his head. “Cara, you are amazing. Both in and out of bed.”

“I try.” She sipped her champagne, but Michael sensed her guard already solidifying. He needed to move at a steady pace and keep her off balance.

“Maggie, do you like being in control?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He kept his gaze steady but she refused to lift her head. “Not at all. You’re a strong woman and you wouldn’t have made it this far in life without such a quality. I just wondered how you felt about being dominated in bed.”

She gasped and her head shot up. “Why? Do you like domination?” She shuddered. “I’m not into that sub stuff, Count. I’ve read those BDSM novels but whips just don’t do it for me.”

Dios, he was nuts about her. “No, cara, I’m not into pain, either. It seems you prefer to control the lovemaking, which is fine, but I wonder if you’ve ever truly surrendered.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I surrender every time I climax. What are you getting at?”

He went to the bathroom, tugged two of the sashes from the luxurious white robes, and returned to the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Getting kinky?”

He sat beside her. “Do you trust me, Maggie?”

Wariness skated over her features. “Why?”

“Do you?”

She hesitated. “Yes. I do trust you.”

Relief coursed through him at the raw honesty in her voice. “Thank you. I’m asking you to let me do something to you.”

“What?”

“Tie you up.”