Wed on His Terms: Million-Dollar Marriage Merger. Charlene SandsЧитать онлайн книгу.

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clenched and he swore. “For God’s sake, Rena. I’m not about to force myself on you. But we will sleep in the same bed.”

      Rena glanced at the bed, then up at him. “I understand.”

      â€œAh, hell.” He rolled his eyes at her robotic answer. “You’d think we’d never had sex before. Mind-blowing, earthmoving, do-it-until-we-can’t-breathe-anymore sex.”

      Rena nearly tripped over her own feet backing up, his statement stunning her. Her face heated, and her body shook a little. Speechless, she lowered her lashes, fighting off memories of their lovemaking. He’d been blunt but accurate in his description. “That’s when …” she began, almost unable to get the words out. “When we were in love.”

      â€œRight.” Tony tossed his overnight bag on the bed. He pulled out aftershave lotion, deodorant, razors and a hairbrush. “You have a place I can put these?”

      She pointed to the master bathroom. “It’s small, but you should find some room on the counter.”

      She’d taken David’s things out of the bedroom, unwilling to have that daily reminder of his absence. But she’d yet to remove his clothes from the closet. She’d be forced to now. Tony would need the room, and unlike his home with massive walk-in closet space, her closets were barely big enough for two people.

      She held out hope that he’d get disgusted with her small three-bedroom house and move back to the estate where he’d be ensconced in luxury.

      Rena opened her closet and began gathering up David’s clothes to make room for Tony’s. Before she knew it, Tony stood beside her and placed a stopping hand on hers. “You don’t have to do it now. You’re exhausted.”

      â€œIt needs doing. I just never could fa—”

      â€œIf it makes you feel better, I’ll do it.”

      â€œNo,” she said with a shake of her head. “I should do it.”

      Tony grabbed both of her hands while they were still on the hangers. He stood close. So close that she noted the golden flecks in his dark eyes. “Okay but not today. It can wait. Agreed?”

      She nodded, breathing in his subtle, musky scent. A lump formed in her throat thinking of his stirring kiss before. She didn’t want to be attracted to Tony. She’d gotten over him a long time ago, yet when he touched her or looked deep into her eyes or kissed her, emotions rolled around inside. And made her nervous. “I’ll make dinner.”

      â€œThank you.”

      She strode out of the room, confused by what she was feeling and angry for feeling anything at all.

      Rena stirred the spaghetti sauce, watching as little bubbles broke on the surface sending a pungent, garlic scent into the air.

      â€œSmells great.” Tony came up behind her, his body close again, surprising her in how quietly he appeared in her kitchen. He reached for the wooden spoon. “May I?”

      She handed it to him. “I hope you don’t mind pasta tonight.”

      â€œAre you kidding? I’m Italian. You know I love pasta.” He stirred the sauce, then lifted the spoon to his mouth, tasting it.

      â€œWhat do you think?”

      â€œNeeds a little salt,” he said, then grabbed the salt shaker and added a few shakes. “There.”

      â€œYou like to cook, don’t you?”

      He shrugged. “I get by. When a bachelor wants to eat, he’s got to know more than how to boil water.”

      â€œI didn’t think you’d ever have to cook a meal for yourself.”

      Tony continued stirring the sauce. “When my gourmet chef was off, I had three other servants waiting on me hand and foot.” He turned to her and grinned.

      â€œYou’re teasing.”

      â€œYeah, I’m teasing.” Then he set the wooden spoon down and stared at her. “I’m not going to apologize for how I live. I’ve earned it. Racing has afforded me a good life. But there were sixteen-hour work days, long lonely times on the road. Times when I had to cook for myself when I longed for a home cooked meal. Eating out is overrated.”

      â€œThere must have been plenty of women happy to cook for you. Never mind,” Rena said, catching herself. She didn’t really want to know. “Forget I said that.”

      Tony’s expression changed, and he gave her a quick shake of the head. “Your image of me is way off.”

      Rena pursed her lips. “It really doesn’t matter.”

      Tony grabbed her arms gently as steam rose up from the sauce and bathed them in heat. “Yes, it does matter. I’m your husband. I care what you think of me.”

      Rena stared into his eyes, unable to answer. She had mixed emotions when it came to Tony Carlino, but for the most part, she didn’t want to see any good in him. She wanted to keep him a safe distance away in her mind and heart.

      When he realized she wouldn’t respond, he let her go and she went about filling a big pot of water for the pasta noodles.

      Tony watched her work at the stove for a long while before he spoke again. “What can I do to help?”

      Grateful to give him something to do, she barked orders. “Take out the romaine and tomatoes from the refrigerator. I think there’s a cucumber in there, too—and anything else you can find for a salad.”

      She heard him going to work, and much to her surprise, he fixed a delicious salad, and, adding black olives and herbs, he made his own olive oil-based dressing.

      When she walked over to taste it, she cast him a nod of approval. “Yummy.”

      â€œMy mother’s. One of a few recipes I learned from her before she died.”

      Tony’s mother died when he was fifteen. Rena hadn’t known her, but she’d heard she was a saint among women. She’d have to be in order to be married to Santo Carlino. Rumor had it she’d kept him in line. When she died, Santo poured himself into building his business taking no prisoners along the way.

      â€œAnd you remembered it,” Rena said. “It’s funny the things we remember about the ones we love.”

      â€œWhat do you remember about your mother?” he asked.

      Rena smiled wide, recalling her mother’s favorite pastime. “That’s easy. She had a morning and nightly ritual of walking three miles. No matter how tired she was, no matter the weather. She’d get into her walking clothes, put on these beat-up old shoes and go for a walk. She said it cleared the mind, cleansed the soul and kept the weight off.” Rena grinned, confessing. “My mama liked to eat.”

      Tony chuckled. “That’s a good way to remember her. Walking, I mean. Not eating.”

      â€œHmm, yeah.” Rena blinked herself back to reality. Even with all her exercise, her mother still contracted a deadly disease. She’d lingered for years, missing her daily walks and everything else that required a bit of effort. It was a brutal reminder of the unfairness in life.

      Once the meal was ready, they sat down to eat at her country oak kitchen table. She wondered what Tony thought about this rustic house. To her it was home, and she wasn’t ashamed of it. Through the years, she’d put personal touches throughout, cheerful curtains, comfy sofas with throw pillows she’d sewn, refinished tables, armoires and cabinets. When she looked

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