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FRANCESCA COVERED HER naked body with a white T-shirt. Barefoot, her hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders, she stepped out of the bedroom onto the terrace of their honeymoon villa. The air that rushed at her was hot, laced with the scents springing from the lush tropical gardens hemming the property, of all that was Bora Bora, and she breathed it in.
James outdid himself when he booked the secluded villa, Francesca thought scanning the panorama. The pool gleamed against the reflection of the sun. Beyond it, the turquoise lagoon deepened into a sapphire-blue as it stretched to the horizon to meld with sky. Strokes of greens and deep browns from the chain of mountains created a postcard-perfect scene.
“Good morning, Mrs. Templeton?” James chained his arms around Francesca and rested a stubbled cheek against hers.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Francesca’s scent wrapped around him like the Polynesian heat.
“You didn’t. I turned to you in bed, hoping to make love to my wife, and you weren’t there,” James said, kissing her neck and shoulders. “But then I did keep you up most of the night. I can’t seem to get enough of you, Mrs. Templeton.” James nibbled on her ear. “You look great in my T-shirt, by the way.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I grabbed the first thing I came across.”
“Of course, I don’t mind. What’s mine is yours now, Mrs. Templeton. Even my T-shirts.” James walked her to a wicker chair lined with soft cushions and gestured Francesca to sit on his lap.
His hair sexily tousled, his chest bare, and his jeans carelessly fastened, he looked handsome and desirable. Wealthy, a respected prosecutor, and a great lover, James certainly ticked all the boxes. Why couldn’t she stop thinking of Tommy?
Francesca had thought of Tommy every time she and James made love last night. She’d imagined Tommy’s mouth and tongue feasting on her body each time James had. Francesca had wished it was Tommy kissing her, inside her instead of James. Her feelings of betrayal for Tommy when James made love to her was as overwhelming as the remorse she felt for not being the loyal wife James deserved. She was Mrs. James Templeton now, Francesca told herself, and she had to stop fixating on Tommy before James sensed something.
“Are you all right, Frankie?” James asked when Francesca’s gaze focused on some faraway point. “You’ve seemed distant since we got here.”
Francesca aimed the eyes she knew would give away her guilt from James to the lagoon where sunlight sparkled diamonds over glass-smooth water. “I’m fine. I ... I just wished my mom had been at our wedding,” she said, aiming to distract the probing eyes.
James chained his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I should have guessed.”
“No. It’s me who’s sorry for sounding so sad on our honeymoon. Let’s not talk about it.” Francesca brushed her lips over James to end the conversation, which would drive her to pile lie after lie, and that tower was getting mighty tall. “I can’t get over how beautiful this place is.”
“Do you like it?”
“How could I not? It looks like I imagined paradise would.” Francesca watched a flock of birds set off from one tree to another in synchronized flight.
“Well, it’s all ours. The house, the lush gardens, the white sand beach that stretches for miles. It’s all ours.”
Francesca’s eyes opened wide. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s my parent’s wedding gift.”
“They never said anything.”
“Because they wanted me to surprise you.”
“Well, you have. They have.” Francesca’s smile curved wider. “We’re definitely coming here often.”
“If you like. I want to make my wife happy.” James caught sight of her erect nipples straining against the T-shirt, and he slipped his hand under cotton to fondle. The sensation of her hot skin under his touch was like fire. He felt himself go hard. He had to take her there now.
Seeing the stunned arousal in his eyes, feeling it against her leg, Francesca pressed her hands to his chest. “James, the staff will see us out here.”
“I don’t give a shit what they see.” James temper bubbled at an alarming speed, unnerving Francesca. “They can turn around and leave if they don’t like what they see. You’re my wife, and I want you here. Now.” He suckled on her nipple, liked it when she winced in pain when he bit down hard on it. “God, you taste great.”
“Let’s go back to bed.” Francesca was half off James’ lap when he gripped her wrist and pulled her back down.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” James’ eyes were so intense they burned through her. “I want you here now. I’m sick and tired of rolling around in a comfortable bed. I need more excitement than that, and as my wife, you should want to please me.”
“I do want to please you, but not here where everyone can see us.”
“Stop being such a prude and focusing more on pleasing me.”
“I want to please you, but not out here.” Francesca started to push to her feet.
“You don’t walk away from me,” James snapped like a German Shepard before the unexpected backhanded slap that left Francesca dazed came.
Francesca’s breath caught at the suddenness of the strike. Pain, hideous pain reared up. When she started to turn away, James’ hands gripped her waist and spun her to face him. The anger Francesca saw in his eyes was huge, and she feared he was going to hit more forcefully this time.
This wasn’t the James Francesca knew, and all she could think to do was mumble an apology. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”
“Don’t give me that teary-eyed, innocent look. All I said was that I want to fuck you right here and now. Is it so wrong of me to want to fuck my wife? Jesus Christ, Frankie, I just gave you a goddamn villa. You’d think you’d want to bend over backward to please me.”
“I do want to please you.” Francesca struggled with the tears that wanted to come but refused to shed.
“I’m glad to hear it. Bend over. I want to take you from behind.”
“I’ve never...” Francesca’s strength was no match for James’ when he wrapped his hands around her waist to force her into position.
“Today, you will because it’s what I want.”
Francesca couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. “You’re hurting me, James. Please stop,” she cried out, bucking against the pain.
James enjoyed the sound of her trembling voice. “Stop wriggling.” His hands ruthless and rough, dug nails into her hips to hold her still. “I need to be inside you right now.”
Francesca swallowed hard when he plunged himself into her with a savagery she hadn’t known James to possess. Speechless, disorientated Francesca remained silent the entire time James drove himself in and out of her without regard for how much he was hurting her.
“I think this suits me just fine. It’s better I don’t look at your face when I’m fucking you. You don’t think I can’t sense you’re miles away every time I have. Like it’s a chore for you. Are you thinking of him every time I’m inside you? Do you wish it was him?” The anger Francesca heard in James’ voice went deep. “Get back inside. Can’t you see we’re busy?” James snapped at the young maid when she appeared on the terrace with the breakfast tray he’d ordered.
Francesca couldn’t have felt more humiliated than she did when the maids’ eyes widened in shock then waned into what she construed as pity for her.
“Get back to the kitchen. Now,” James shouted.
Fearing for what James might do to the eighteen-year-old maid, Francesca, said, “It’s fine. Go back inside, Samaria.” Only then did the gawking, dark-haired Polynesian maid walk away. “You’re hurting me, James,” Francesca cried out, her voice and her dignity breaking.
“Maybe now, you’ll remember that it’s me who’s fucking you and not that criminal you’re so in love with.”
“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“I didn’t ask you to talk.” James slapped Francesca’s left cheek hard enough to leave his handprint stamped red. “I can’t compete with a goddam memory you won’t let go of.”
James waited for the cries, the complaints to come, but Francesca sucked up the throbbing pain reverberating through her from the strike, and all he heard was her deep breath of distress. Aroused by her discomfort, James’ body bucked. With a hideous groan of triumph, he released himself inside her.
“That was the best orgasm I’ve had with you in the time we’ve been together. I need to wash you off me now,” James said, pulling out of her and walking back to their bedroom.
Frankie lowered the T-shirt to cover herself, her shame and collapsing into the lounge chair, coiled herself into a fetal position. With the sound of chirping birds and the scent of paradise, Francesca cried her humiliation out of her system.
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HATE, ANGER, FEAR, CONFUSION, MASHING INTO a storm of emotion, Francesca spent the night in her darkened bedroom, alone, crying. James, her newlywed husband, the man who’d sent her flowers weekly, who’d been nothing but attentive, loving, and kind, had done the unspeakable to her. He’d degraded, shamed, broken, and stolen her trust.
At dawn, when the world was still asleep, Francesca aimlessly walked the miles of beach next to the endless blue curving on the horizon, trying to come to terms with what had happened. Twenty-four hours later, and she still couldn’t wrap her head around the horrendous violence her husband, the man she’d come to trust, inflicted on her.
Francesca blamed no one but herself for James’ reaction. James had never lost his temper before. She was his wife now and should have tucked her thoughts of Tommy away the moment James slid the ring on her finger. She should have stopped fantasizing about Tommy when James made love to her. Francesca’s eyelids shuttered close. She vowed to become a better wife. She’d put all thoughts of Tommy away.
Francesca took several cautious steps back when James walked into the bedroom.
“I slept in the guest room last night. I thought I’d give you space—from me.”
Francesca said nothing.
“Did I do that?” James asked when he caught sight of the yellowing bruise she’d tried to hide under a layer of makeup.
Francesca said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
Francesca promised herself she wouldn’t give James the satisfaction of crying. The bruises would heal in a few days, the deep scars he’d inflicted would take much longer.
“Please, look at me, Frankie. I need you to look at me so I can properly apologize to you.” James waited for a beat to give Francesca the time to consider. When she turned, she shot him a look meant to wither a man. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you yesterday. You know that’s not me.”
Francesca heard the remorse in his voice, but she stood her ground. “It may not be who you are, but it’s what you did.”
“I know, and I ask for your forgiveness. It’s just that... It drove me crazy when I saw the distant look in your eyes every time I made love to you when we were dating, but when I saw the same look after exchanging vows after we became husband and wife, I couldn’t bear it anymore. In my mind, I can’t help but think you wish I were him.”
“I don’t, James.” Francesca lied with conviction and reaffirmed to herself she had no one to blame but herself for James’ actions. “I was exhausted. Our wedding day was a long one, and we’d barely slept that night. Then the trip was even longer. By the time we got in, I was so tired, and when you turned to me the moment we got in, I didn’t want to disappoint you. Like I didn’t want to disappoint you on our wedding night. I just need some sleep. That’s all it is.”
James got a good look at Francesca, saw the swollen eyes, the fear in them, the pale face, and guilt balled in his stomach. “Why didn’t you say so, Frankie? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’ve been so physically demanding. It’s just that I love being with you, and the thought of making love to my wife thrilled me. Promise me you’ll be more forthcoming in the future. If this marriage is going to work, you have to tell me what’s on your mind. Promise me you’ll talk to me and tell me how you feel.” James flashed a sincerity and a sweetness that reached deep into Francesca’s tangled thoughts and frayed emotions to heal.
Calmer eyes swept over James. “I promise.”
James offered his hand and waited for Francesca to take it. When Francesca eventually did, James walked her to the bed. “You get the rest you need,” he said, pulling back the covers.
“But I thought you wanted to go into town today.”
“We can do that another day. Right now, I want you to get some rest.” James started to help her out of her T-shirt. When she let him, he proceeded to unhook her jeans and helped her into her nightie.
“Are you sure you don’t mind, James?”
“Of course not. I only want what’s best for you, Frankie. I always will.” There was soft sympathy in his tone. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll have the kitchen staff whip me up some lunch. And for the rest of the day, I’ll relax by the pool.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I don’t want to hear another word. You rest up for as long as you need.” He covered her, and touching his lips to hers said, “I love you, Frankie.”
“I know.”
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FRANCESCA WATCHED YOUNG SAMARIA STEP OUT of the guest room. Her luxuriously dark, shiny hair spilled around the pretty, heart-shaped face. “Good morning, Samaria,” Francesca said, somewhat uneasy. She couldn’t take back what innocent eyes had seen yesterday, nor could she explain the complexity of the situation.
Samaria jerked back several steps when the unexpected voice came at her. “Madame, bonjour.”
Noting Samaria’s agitation, Francesca gave her a sunny smile she hoped would telegraph all was fine. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re in early.”
“Oui. Madame.” Samaria’s tone betrayed her discomfort.
How, Francesca wondered, was she to explain what she’d seen yesterday? “Everything is fine. Do you understand, Samaria?”
“Oui, I think so.”
Francesca drew in a breath of relief. “Good. Do you know where Mr. Templeton is?”
Samaria pointed a finger to the closed bedroom door. “I, ah, take Monsieur Templeton towels. He says he take a shower,” she said in an unusually loud voice.
“I needed to rest, and he slept in the guest room so he wouldn’t disturb me,” Francesca explained, stepping around Samaria, and just as she reached for the doorknob, James threw the door open. He wore nothing but a white towel wrapped low on his hips. His hair was tousled from sleep, and his eyes had a euphoric look to them.
“I heard your voice.” James leaned in to peck Francesca on the cheek. “You look rested.”
“I am.” After their talk last night, Francesca slipped into a satisfying dreamless sleep and woke up refreshed.
“I was about to step into the shower. Come in and wait for me. We can go down to breakfast together.” James stepped aside to let Francesca in.
“By the way, Samaria, you look pretty with your hair flowing loose. Don’t you think she looks great, James?” Francesca urged James to agree hoping the compliment would paint him in a better light in Samaria’s eyes.
“Yes, she certainly does,” James said, and the moment Francesca walked into his bedroom whispered, “You looked great from behind too,” giving Samaria’s butt a suggestive squeeze.
The smile on Samaria’s lips bloomed wide. “You are very kind for saying so, Monsieur,” she said, reaching down to stroke his crotch and feeling him go hard. “Hmmm, nice. Too bad, I must go, but you call me anytime. And next time, five hundred dollars more gets you S&M, which I suspect you like.” Samaria slipped her hand under James’ towel, wrapped her hand around his steel-hard erection. “Madame, Monsieur, please let me know if you need anything,” Samaria said, loud enough for her voice to carry into the bedroom.
“I will.” James watched Samaria sway the tight butt that had given him such pleasure all night.
