Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (11 page)

“Don’t play me for a fool,” she jeered. “I can see where you’re going with this.”

“What are you—”

“I marry you and you save my family.”

Her words hit him square in the solar plexus and sucked the air from his lungs. For a moment, he experienced nothing except complete disbelief. Complete and utter disbelief.

She truly thought he was a monster.

She didn’t understand anything about him.

The rage descended on him like a thick, deep blanket of scarlet. Rushing through his veins and arteries, it blew away any sense of honor, any sense of integrity. In its place pounded a fury so volcanic, it blew everything good out of him.

The woman had insulted him beyond bearing. No one had ever dared think of him in this way. No one had ever charged him with such a despicable act. No one had ever thought Dante Casartelli would need to force a woman to be with him.

She deserved everything ugly inside of him.

“That’s right,” he said, madness roiling in his gut. “You have it exactly right.”

H
er nails cut
into her palms. She wouldn’t be surprised if she bled. But there was no alternative. If she let go, her hands would wrap around the bastard’s neck and her family’s troubles would multiply with a murder trial.

Her brain refused to think in a clear way. Instead, a fuzzy mist descended, obscuring any coherent thought. Lara pinned her focus on his face. His expression was a mask, his usual mask.

Dark frown. Haughty nose. Blank gaze.

He stared back. No emotion, no compassion.

You are mine.

A man who got whatever he wanted, damn the consequences. He’d decided he wanted her and so, he’d have her. One way or the other. Fair means hadn’t worked, so foul means would do.

She’d known he was bad, known he was capable of anything. Yet, yet...

The pain in the pit of her stomach ached with disappointment.

And something like despair.

“I should have expected something like this.” She wasn’t proud of the quiver in her voice, but at least she’d said something.

Anything. Except yes.

His dark brows arched and his mouth tightened. However, he gave nothing else away. No flares of passion in his black gaze. No need or desire rolling off his big body. Everything was cold. From the look in his eyes to the feel of the air around them. “I always strive to meet your expectations.” His voice was iced precision.

She couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bare to look into that stare filled with...nothing. She glanced down at his mouth. The mouth that had moved over hers with swift passion and purpose.

Don’t go there.

She yanked her focus away from him altogether. The library was perfectly normal, comforting and solid. Her father’s pipe lay on the side table next to the old leather chair he read in. The photo of Andy in his graduation gown stood on the fireplace mantel along with a recent picture of her sitting in the garden, laughing at her brother’s joke. The room was a warm and friendly reminder of family and home and love. Amazingly ordinary after what had just been said. Though not for long. Not unless she—

He sighed, the sound harsh, taut. “This is not how—”

“All right,” she said before she lost her nerve. “You win.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him take a step forward. “Lara—”

“No.” She put her hand up. “Don’t touch me.”

“This is insane.” He stood right by her chair. Poised to swoop for a kiss, no doubt. This was a business deal, though, not a romance ending in a loving embrace. That’s how she would force him to play it.

“It’s your insanity.” She rose and walked away from him to stare out at her father’s garden. She could not stand by and see her papa lose this last reminder of his beloved wife. She could not stand by while her brother was carted off to jail. She had the means to save them and she would do so. Yet there would be revenge. Starting now. “I want every detail put down on paper.”

“That is not needed.” His tone turned hard and cold.

“It damn well is.” She twisted to glare at him. “I don’t trust you.”

His black eyes instantly blazed with raw anger and hate.

Hate.

He hated her. The emotion was clear in the darkness of his gaze.

A twist of anguish twined around her heart. Glancing past him, she pinned her gaze on the door. She’d have preferred his damned eyes stay blank. Which made no sense, since she hated him as much as he apparently hated her. Why would he want to marry a woman he hated? The scene’s unreality made her want to laugh hysterically. Or weep uncontrollably.

She pushed down the tears, focusing on her revenge. “I want your promise to save my brother. I want your promise to pay off my father’s mortgage. I want your promise to set up a foundation for my school and other schools. I want it all in a legal document, signed by you. Then I’ll marry you.”

He walked to the desk and leaned against the edge. His arms folded over his chest in a nonchalant, easy-going way. Still, she sensed the blast of his rage roll across the room towards her like a living force.

Good
, she thought with savage delight.

The anguish and despair twisted and twisted until they suddenly became a knot of need inside her to make him pay. Make him hurt. Enjoy his frustration and anger and pain.

Good
.

“I have some demands of my own,
tesoro mio
,” he drawled, his tone sarcastic and biting.

“Your treasure?” Her bitter snort struck him back. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“In return for all that I do for your family, you will become my wife.” His stare pinned her down, leaving no escape. “My sweet, biddable wife.”

“Don’t think—”

“No, Lara. You have demands, I have demands. You will act as if you adore me in front of my family and yours.”

“Impossible.”

“With your loving smiles and soft looks you will convince your father and brother, my mother and sisters, you are in love with me.”

“Dante.” She laughed, her throat choking on the thought. “I am not that good of an actress.”

“This is necessary and you know it.” His arms dropped, hands fisting at his sides. “If you do not convince your father of your love for me, he won’t believe we want to get married. And if we’re not married, then why would I help you and your family? Isn’t that correct,
bella
?”

Closing her eyes, she swallowed down bile. The idea of smiling at this man, pretending he was the man she loved—how could she fool anyone, much less her family and his?

“You must.” His voice rang out, an implacable demand.

“I see your point.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do it.”

“My, my.” She edged her words with an acid slice. “Is this how you talk to your employees?”

He chuckled, a forced, cruel sound. “That is what you are, isn’t it? I am buying your services.”

“I hate you.”

“Ah.” He appeared unfazed. “You express that same opinion every time we meet.”

“That doesn’t bother you? You’re marrying a woman who hates you?”

For a moment, she thought she’d penetrated his tough hide. A cloud of some emotion passed through his eyes before they became blank and hard once more. “I am not done with my requirements.”

“What else could you possibly want?”

“You. In my bed.” His mouth curled into a sneer. “You will come to my bed willingly.”

“You are dreaming.”

“You have once or twice entered my dreams.” His voice went as dry as the Sahara.

The thought of Dante actually dreaming of her made her eyes widen.

“You doubt me?” He tilted his head in a gesture of dismissal. “It is the truth. I have no problem admitting my lust for you.”

“I…I…”

“For some reason, you have labeled me as something other than a man.”

“You are a monster.”

His smile came, tight and feral. “A monster who wants you in his bed.”

She couldn’t summon a word. Frantic thoughts leapt into her brain and down her throat. He would know. He would find out her biggest secret. He would laugh. He would pity her.

“You will come willingly. That is my demand. You will give me children.”

A pain-filled blow right into the center of her being. This man, this man who’d destroyed her with his rejection, who’d denied her a happy ending, who’d lied and manipulated and forced her into this impossible situation—this man dared to push her dead dream in her face. “Even you, Dante, with all your power and wealth,” she choked out, “can’t command me to become pregnant.”

“You and I are both healthy. I expect it will be inevitable since I plan on keeping you busy in the bedroom for the foreseeable future.”

Immediate, spontaneous heat pumped into her stomach, and lower. Her reaction shocked her. How could she hate him with every fiber of her soul and yet, want him with every particle of her body? She felt as if she were flying apart: her brain mush, her body betraying, her soul dying.

Stop! Stop! You’ll confront these issues one at a time
.
First, save your family.

“Put everything in writing and I’ll sign it after you do.”

He stood away from the desk and stared at her. “This doesn’t have to be—”

“As you would say, Dante, just do it.” She was at the end of her rope and wanted him gone so she could recover some of her composure. She still had to confront her father and brother and, God help her, convince them she loved this brute. She no longer had any remaining energy for this man.

His black glare blazed again with his hate, an inferno of destruction. “All right. You’ll get exactly what you have asked for.”

He left. At last.

Lara slumped into a chair, her bones aching. What had she done? What had she committed herself to? She couldn’t possibly go through with it. This was a dream, a nightmare, and she would wake up. Soon. Right away.

No.
No
. Not a dream. A reality.

As she had done with Gerry, she would endure and somehow escape. But only after her family was safe. She would do what had to be done. Eventually, she would find a way out from Dante’s iron grip of control.

First though? First she would get her revenge.

O
ne hour
.

Lara stared into the full-length mirror. A gaggle of female Casartellis swirled around her, adjusting her veil, tugging on the wedding gown, talking and laughing and crying.

She and Dante Casartelli. Married.

One hour.

For a whole month, she’d been successful in hiding herself in a lovely floating cocoon of nothingness. The wonderful cocoon had allowed her to put on a show of shows. She deserved a Palme d’Or for this month’s performance. Only Dante was aware of the hostility vibrating from her every time he drew near. The rest of the family members had apparently bought the entire act, bought the absurd notion he and she were always meant to be.

Yet now, as she inspected herself, draped in cream lace and ivory silk, the cocoon ripped.

Only for a bit. For a moment.

Signora
Casartelli and her daughters were splendid organizers. In no time at all, the church had been reserved, the flowers ordered, the caterers engaged. What bride would not be enchanted at the speed with which this had been put together?

One hour.

The sliver of panic flirting through her bloodstream needed to be squashed immediately. If she let it take command, she might do something obscene. Such as jumping onto the nearest piece of furniture and yelling
Help!
at the top of her lungs. Or she might grab her father’s prized antique sword on the way out to the limo and stab her beloved fiancé right in the middle of his rock-hard abdomen when she reached the altar. Or maybe she would resist making a scene or creating bloodshed and escape to a distant Pacific island, where she would spend the rest of her days weaving baskets and swimming in deep blue waters.

She thought about the sword.

The bloodshed option appealed to her more than the others.

One hour until her marriage.

Smiling at one of his sisters, she focused on pulling herself out of her building panic. She had to marry him. She had signed that bloody agreement he’d sent over the very next day after their confrontation and she was a woman of her word. Dante was already in the process of saving her brother’s neck. Andy was happy and relieved. As soon as the ceremony took place, her papa’s mortgage would be paid. With the conniving monster’s pledge, the bank had backed off. Her father was happy and relieved. The foundation for her school, and others to follow, was set up, ready to go. She should be happy and relieved quite a few children would be helped.

Honestly, she should feel grateful.

She couldn’t drum up even a drop of grateful.

Not one drop.

He could have helped without forcing her into this. If he’d been honorable. He was a close family friend. He could have pulled strings without demanding this farce of a union. It was a lot to ask; still, he could have helped in another way if he owned an ounce of integrity and character.

As the shock of the situation had worn off, though, she’d come to a clear realization.

Dante Casartelli had no real interest in her. In his typical cold-blooded way, he’d decided it was time to have children, glanced around, spotted her, and made his decision. When she hadn’t fallen at his feet in fits of ecstasy, he’d maneuvered circumstances until she fell in line. It didn’t matter to him what she thought or wanted. Like some ancient king of the past, he acted as if everything he surveyed was his.

He wanted, he took.

Simple. Brutal. Decisive.

She hated him, but she still had to marry the bastard.

In one hour.

This last month had been a long torture of spending day and night with him. Endless parties, endless family gatherings, endless fake smiles. Thank God she’d had the school opening to focus on and sometimes use as a convenient excuse to get away from him.

They hadn’t shared any kind of real conversation all month.

Nor had they spent a moment alone at any time.

Not once had he tried to kiss her.

She hadn’t detected a smidgen of any emotion from him in the slightest. No rage in his eyes. No anger in his voice. Certainly not love or desire or even liking. He’d retreated into the horrible, empty reserve she’d noticed the first night she’d seen him after twelve years.

Which was perfectly fine with her. The less contact she had with her chilly fiancé the better.

Except…except…tonight she would have to go to bed with him. Embarrassingly, that had been listed in the disgusting document. In dry legal terms, yet nevertheless, explicit.

Clause #3. Lara Derrick Casartelli will willingly engage in marital relations with her husband on a daily basis
.

Daily basis? The man who barely talked to her wanted to have sex with her daily?

Every time she thought about that clause during the last month, she’d glance over at the cold man by her side, absolutely unable to imagine he’d want anything of the kind. Something far worse lingered on the edges of her thinking, however. Something she’d managed to ignore for a month. Because the reality of it was too awful to contemplate without her running madly into the streets. And that wasn’t an option, was it?