Hot, white need snaked through him.
‘Married life seems to agree with Mrs Morelli,’ Rafe said, and grinned, grabbing a glass of wine from a tray being walked past by a waiter.
‘Si,’ Pietro agreed, willing himself to look away but finding it almost impossible.
‘And you?’ Rafe turned to study his brother, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. ‘I would ask how you’re finding the leap into married life, but I can see for myself that it is no hardship.’
Pietro’s expression was shuttered.
‘No comment, eh?’ Rafe laughed good-naturedly.
A muscle jerked in Pietro’s jaw. ‘There are too many of these twinkling lights,’ he snapped, changing the subject. ‘I feel like they are everywhere I look.’
Rafe’s laugh was annoying Pietro. Everything was annoying him. Who the hell were those men? Had she met them before? It was possible that they had dealings in America...that they knew Col. Perhaps she’d hosted them at the plantation. Maybe they were old friends.
A groan of resentment died in his throat. He nodded dismissively at his brother. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’
Pietro moved quickly, cutting through the crowd, ignoring any attempt to draw him into conversation. But there were so many people between him and his wife and he was the man of the hour, in huge demand.
He spent a few minutes in curt exchange with a board member, and then smiled briefly at his cousin Lorena before getting within striking range of his wife.
He paused, watching her up close for a few seconds, seeing the way her face moved while in conversation.
Guilt was not something he was used to and yet he felt it now. Her father was one of his most valued friends, and yet he’d hardly taken the time to speak to Emmeline. What was making her laugh like that? What did she find funny?
He compressed his lips and moved closer, but at the moment of his approach the two men stepped away—not before one of them pressed a kiss against Emmeline’s cheek and almost earned an angry rebuke from Pietro.
‘Oh, Pietro.’ She blinked up at him, her expression shifting swiftly from enthusiasm to confusion.
His chest felt as if it had been rolled over by a car. He manoeuvred his body, placing himself between Emmeline and the crowd, her back almost touching the wall, so that both of them would be reminded of the night he’d made her come.
Her breath snagged in her throat. She stared up at him, a pulse beating wildly in her throat.
‘Who were those men?’
A frown tugged at her lips, but only for a second. Then the enthusiasm was back in her eyes, apparently irrepressible.
‘Oh, they’re professors at the university! One of them is a lecturer in the psychology department. It’s going to be so helpful to have people there I know already.’
Great. She’d continue to see people who looked at her as though she was an ice cream they wanted to lick regularly.
Anger made common sense impossible. ‘You should be with me,’ he grunted angrily. ‘Not talking to strange men.’
‘They weren’t strange men—they were perfectly nice. And staying with you at something like this is impossible,’ she responded curtly. ‘Everyone wants to talk to you, not me.’
‘I don’t care; you’re my wife.’
‘Yes, your wife. Not an accessory,’ she pointed out softly, keeping her voice low purely out of recognition of the fact that there were people everywhere.
‘We agreed that we wouldn’t draw attention to our relationship or lack thereof. I will not have people gossip that my wife’s interest is straying.’
She blinked up at him, her face pale. ‘You must be kidding me! Your ego is wounded because I was talking to two probably married professors from the university I’m going to attend?’
‘You weren’t just talking. You were...’
‘What? You think I was flirting?’ she said with disbelief. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘Forse,’ he acknowledged. ‘Nevertheless, I want you to stay with me tonight.’
Emmeline glared up at him angrily. She might have moved hell and high water to please her father, but that was where her submissive tendencies ended.
‘No way.’ To her chagrin, tears sparkled on her eyelashes. She blinked them away angrily. ‘Right now you’re the last person I want to see.’
And then, with her back up against the wall—literally—he placed a hand on her hip and stroked her flesh gently, teasing her, making her pulse throb.
‘Why do I find that so hard to believe?’ he asked throatily, the words a hoarse demand.
‘Don’t.’
She bit down on her lower lip, and there was such a look of need in her eyes and confusion in her face that he almost dropped his hand.