Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (13 page)

He wanted her. That one look had brought back the memories of his kisses and his touches.

A blast of unwilling, unwanted passion blazed through her blood as the memories scorched her brain with images and feelings and heat.

She wanted him, too.

She wanted him, too
.

Sucking in her stomach, she allowed the treacherous thought to leech into her heart.

She wanted him to kiss her with his desperate, driving passion. She wanted him to lick her breasts and touch her until she lost herself in pleasure. More than anything, she wanted him inside her. Even though she knew nothing about handling a man like her new husband. A man who wanted her as a woman. A man filled with lust.

She still wanted him.

Lara stared through the airplane’s small window at the billowing clouds. The empty silence continued behind her.

There’d been another look as well. One more she hadn’t had time to assimilate as he’d led her down the aisle and into the Italian sun. A look she hadn’t had time to think about as the pictures were taken, and she was hugged and kissed by his sisters, and the limos had made their stately march to the Casartelli villa.

He’d looked at her. Right before he kissed her at the altar.

Pleading
. His black eyes had pleaded.

Promising
. His dark eyes had promised.

Pleading? Promising?

Dante Casartelli?

She puffed out a breath, a short burst of disbelief. The sound only seemed to amplify the silence.

“Would you enjoy a cocktail,
Signora
Casartelli?”

Swinging around, she met the gaze of the smiling attendant. She could get drunk. Maybe getting drunk would make her lose her inhibitions and she’d be able to fool him into thinking—

“No, thank you.”

She wasn’t going to wimp out. Not like before in her previous marriage. She wasn’t going to retreat or pacify or submit as she had with Gerry. She’d face Dante’s pity when it came and deal with it. She wouldn’t offer excuses or explanations.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” The attendant nodded and moved to the end of the plane.

Lara barely noticed her leaving with all the thoughts tumbling around in her head.

Wait a second. There was more she could do. More than acting stoic and taking whatever her new husband dished out. She could take control of this sex thing. If she was aggressive perhaps he’d never even realize her secret.

She was a virgin.

But she hadn’t been living in a cave over the last eighteen months. She’d watched her share of movies and TV shows; ones that had been banned when Gerry was alive, yet had come along with her freedom after his death. She’d listened to Dante’s sisters giggle about their husbands. She’d read a ton of previously forbidden material the last few months: women’s magazines, romances, erotica.

Her tongue cleaved to her mouth.

Could she do it? Could she pull it off? Could she make her new husband believe she knew what she was doing in bed?

The plane arced in the sky, veering left, dipping beneath the clouds.

In another couple of hours, she’d be in a private bedroom with her new husband. A man her heart hated, but her body wanted. Did she have enough guts to take what she wanted?

She allowed herself a glance across the cabin.

Her stomach fluttered, then fell somewhere around her feet.

Her new husband still stared at his laptop as if his next decision would save the world or perhaps the universe. For hours, he’d read and typed and read. And ignored her. On their honeymoon.

Exactly like Gerry.

He might lust for her, yet just like Gerry, to him she essentially was a mere tool.

An ugly wash of pain slapped her inside. This was so familiar. So horrible. How could she possibly think she had any chance of seducing this man into missing the potent fact she didn’t know what she was doing sexually? How could she even think of approaching this man when he plainly saw her as nothing more than a womb he’d use to implant his seed?

Anger bloomed inside her tinged with an ache of hurt.

Dammit. She would not let him hurt her. Never again.

“I suppose I will have to search for the nearest bookstore when we arrive in Barbados.” Her tone was dry and cool. She was proud of herself—not a hint of the burning bitterness churning inside her slipped through.

Dante’s fingers stilled on the laptop as he turned and stared at her.

What was it about him that drew her attention? He could not even be classified as good-looking. His nose was too prominent and his brow too dark and heavy over his eyes. His appearance was all command, all masculinity. No touch of softness or gentleness edged his hard jaw or broad forehead. Only the slash of his mouth gave a hint of the volcano of passion she’d glimpsed so briefly in his gaze hours ago and experienced so shockingly weeks ago. His mouth’s current tightness eclipsed any thought of kissing or touching.

“Why do you need a bookstore?” His tone was composed showing he clearly couldn’t care less what she did.

“I’ll have to entertain myself for the majority of our honeymoon.”

One dark brow arched as he leaned back into the leather chair. “You have come to this conclusion for what reason?”

“I understand the way you think.”

“Ah,” he murmured. “You do?”

“Yes.” She smoothed her hand down the pink cashmere, wiping away the slight film of sweat on her palms. “Marriage was only one of the many items on your to-do list today. You’ve accomplished the goal and now you are focused on other goals. More important goals.”

“Goals more important than marriage?” He pushed the laptop away and gazed at her with intensity.

“In your mind, business goals will always be what are most important.” She stared at him, a smile pinned on her face. “I’m completely aware I am merely an acquisition, a cog in the wheel of your life.”

“An acquisition. A cog.” His jaw tightened. “And you willingly accept this?”

“Yes, I want as little of your attention as possible.”

“That was not my impression when we were in the garden together mere weeks ago.”

She would not blush. “You’re mistaken.”

His hand flexed and then relaxed against the leather. “I am sorry I will have to disrupt your plans to spend this honeymoon catching up on your reading,
bella
. However, I will need to have your full attention for the next couple of weeks.”

A shot of pure lust pulsed through her body. Fear clanged through her straight after. She shifted her legs and kept her expression blank. “I can’t think why. You’ll probably be way too busy with your business.”

“True, my business is vitally important to me. It feeds my family, maintains my estates. It also gives me the opportunity to help friends when needed,” he said, his tone ironic.

She hissed out a shot of hot breath and glared at him. “I don’t need a reminder of how I ended up here and who holds complete power in this relationship.”

“Complete power. Interesting.” His hand clenched. Then released. “If I have not given you the attention you desire during these last couple of hours, it is for a reason. I was trying to ensure that when we arrive in Barbados, I will be free from business concerns for the foreseeable future.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Except my money.”

“Yes. Only that.” A sudden rush of tears surprised her and her entire focus became the will to push them back. He would not see her cry.

She glanced away.

Silence hung between them.

Finally, he sighed across the aisle. “Lara, I propose a ceasefire.”

She couldn’t speak, not yet. The tears clogged in her throat.

“I know this marriage did not start the way you would have wished.”

A choked laugh escaped her.

“I suggest we set that aside, though, and enjoy these two weeks.” He paused as if unsure of what to say. Which was impossible. This was Dante Casartelli after all.

His voice was husky around the edges when he spoke again. “We need to start building a better relationship.”

Another pause, this one longer, heavier.

“I’ll think about it.” Standing abruptly, she didn’t meet his stare, but sensed it on her face. Thankfully, none of the tears swimming in her eyes had managed to drip down her cheeks. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“As I said before,” he gestured to the rear of the plane, “there is a bedroom and bath through the door.”

“I know.” She turned and hurried toward the one area of the plane she hadn’t wanted to see or be in or contemplate going near. Still, she had to find somewhere, away from him, to find some equilibrium.

She opened the steel-lined door and stepped in.

The bedroom was as elaborate as the rest of the interior. The bed was covered with a crimson velvet coverlet embroidered with a gold lattice design. Cream pillows in various sizes and styles were piled at the head. Scrolled mahogany side tables and an armoire filled the spacious room. She found it impossible to believe she was flying thirty thousand feet above the sea. This felt more like she was ensconced in a royal palace.

With the king outside the bedroom more interested in his work than in her.

For the first hour on the plane, she’d been on pins and needles, thinking perhaps he’d want to go straight to bed. She’d been a scared little rabbit, huddling in her chair, refusing his offer to go get comfortable in the back, to lie down.

He’d given her one cursory glance when she’d said no and then dived into his work.

For a few hours, she’d dozed in her seat, dozed with the knowledge drumming in her—he couldn’t be bothered with using his honeymoon time and his private plane to take his wife to bed.

Another sliver of pain lanced through her.

She bolted to the bathroom. Once more, complete elegance. Gold fittings and swirling cream marble. The shower could easily fit two.

If the king was willing.

“Stop it.”

I will need to have your full attention for the next couple of weeks.

A shiver of panicked anticipation ran down her spine.

She looked up and stared at herself in the gigantic, circular mirror. Her face was slightly flushed, her eyes free of tears, at last. But she was an absolute basket case of clashing emotions. She hated the feeling. This reminded her of the awful days with Gerry, when his obsessive need to control, his bruising condescension, his driving compulsion to confine her, had achingly swallowed and destroyed every piece of her confidence.

Now her new husband created the same crazy emotional war inside of her. Different emotions, yet the same ugly pull and tug of conflicting desires.

She didn’t want these highs and lows. She didn’t want to want Dante.

Damn him.

Zipping her purse open, she withdrew the small plastic case. After signing the marriage contract, she’d been so angry, so filled with the wish for some command over this ridiculous situation, she’d made an immediate appointment with her doctor. She’d made no promises to give him a child. Surprisingly, there’d been no stipulations in the agreement regarding her producing an heir and a spare. Or for that matter, a dozen
bambinos
for his kingship.

She wasn’t breaking the contract and she wasn’t breaking her word.

But the spirit of the contract? No. She would feel absolutely no guilt. Her new husband would receive no compassion or forgiveness from her. He was using her. Fine, she would use him. Her family was safe, her school had plenty of resources. In return, he would have use of her body. For a time.

And you’ll have use of his.

Her hand tightened, the plastic edge of the case cutting into her skin.

If she played this right, if she held onto her confidence and pretended she knew what she was doing—well, perhaps in this one area of their relationship, she could find some pleasure. Because she had to admit, she wanted Dante inside her. She wanted to know what it was like to make love to this man more than any other. In some twisted, ugly way, it seemed right he would be the one who finally took her virginity.

Twisted and ugly it might be, yet there was lust between them. That would have to be enough. For her and for him.

Because she would never give him a baby.

Eventually, in a year or two, he would give in. His lust for her would fade. Her contempt for him would rub him raw. When she didn’t conceive, month after month—he would let her go.

Then her revenge would be complete.

She would be free. Free from a marriage with a man she desired and detested.

“
T
his place is beautiful
.”

His wife was beautiful. Dante stood behind her as she walked to the edge of the veranda surrounding their private beach house. The bright sun slid towards the horizon, casting bands of golden light on the calm surface of the pool. A soft wind rustled through the lush garden surrounding the private area and the yellow-green leaves of the palm trees danced above them.

Lara’s hair was pinned up in a loose bundle at the back of her head, stray curls catching the breeze, brushing against her neck and cheek. The urge to reach out, to touch, strained at the tight rein he’d held on his lust for the past month. The lust that had never left him, even when his rage had been at its peak. But now the rage was gone, swallowed up by his need to make her his, his desire for her body, the yearning for a connection he wanted in his soul.

Respect, Dante, respect
.

“You own this, I gather,” she said.

“
Si.
” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his linen trousers. “The hotel and the surrounding gardens, which include four of these private houses.”

“The stone?” Her hand swept lightly across one wall of the building.

“Coral stone. Traditional in Barbados.”

She hummed before going quiet.

The silence lingered between them. His skin tightened on his muscles as her hand moved slowly back and forth across the rough rock. Soft touch…slow, soft touch. The movement mesmerized him. The pumping of his blood began to beat under his skin, notching up the lust he always experienced around her. She thought him made of stone, yet he was not. He burned for her. If he was lucky enough to be the coral beneath her fingers, the creamy roughness would now be red with heat and taut with passion.

Tonight
.

The erotic thought drummed in him, his blood moving to the pulse. Tonight he would finally, finally have her beneath him. There would be no force, he was almost sure. She always responded to him sexually. She wanted him.

She wouldn’t say no.

She couldn’t say no. He would die if she did.

Lara moved away from the stone wall and stepped onto the Italian mosaic tile work surrounding the pool. She glanced over to the sea and he followed her gaze. The sunset turned the azure blue of the water to teal. The light danced off the white sand of the private beach standing only steps from the house.

Beauty and quiet and privacy.

Hopefully, this would bring a certain peace to their relationship and they could begin to build the type of marriage he envisioned.

“I’ve arranged to have dinner delivered here within the hour.” He waved to the elaborately carved teak table standing on the veranda. Long teak couches with pristine white pillows and cushions surrounded the table. Two chairs with plump white padding stood waiting to be occupied. “There’s time for you to shower and dress before then.”

“No.” She stared at the pool. “I’m going to take a swim.”

“A swim?” He frowned. “You are too tired for that.”

She laughed dryly. “Have I told you I’m tired?”

“I’m only trying—”

“I know this doesn’t fit your well-thought-out plan for the evening.” She eyed him with irritation. “The only thing I can say is, tough.”

“I’m trying to ensure your comfort.” Here it went again, the heat of anger, mixed with frustration. She always misunderstood him, always disparaged his attempts to take care of her.

“I can take care of my own comfort.”

“I’m your husband now,
bella
.” He tried to find the words to make her understand. “It is my job to take care of you.”

“By penning me in. By telling me what to do. By always taking—”

“
Merda
!” One of his hands slipped from his pockets of its own volition and slashed across his chest, stopping her accusations. “That is not what I’m trying to do.”

Cocking her head, she stared at him, not intimidated at all by his displeasure. “Tell me, Dante. Are you ever spontaneous?”

His hand fisted at his side. “I can remember being very spontaneous a few weeks ago.”

The blush swept up her neck to her cheeks, but she was game, his wife. She kept her gaze steady on his. “Well, I guess there’s some hope for you.”

“Lara,” he growled.

She walked past him, stepping into the dimness of the interior, heading for the lone bedroom. “I’m swimming.”

Pacing the length of the veranda did not help the frustration. He needed to get away, rein in his seething emotions. Slipping off his leather shoes, he hiked past the pool and onto the beach. The heat of the day still lingered on the sand beneath his feet.

Cazzo
.

His fast gait was tight and forced. His body hot with annoyance and hunger, a knot of frustration coiled in his gut. He kept walking, walking, taking deep breaths. The last rays of the sun drifted across the lapping waves, at last soothing his temper and his lust.

Well, at least his temper.

He walked until he couldn’t see the house or the pool. Stopping and staring out at the sea, he took in another deep breath. She wanted to go swimming. So? Why had he made such a big deal of this? Why hadn’t he let it go?

Another deep breath.

He did enjoy control over his life. In this, his new wife was correct. But it wasn’t a drive or desire, merely something he’d become accustomed to. He was good at it, and it had become second nature. Unlike Lara, the people around him wanted him to direct things. His mamma and family expected it. His board of directors, his devoted staff, everyone looked to him for direction. So he gave it.

That did not make him a bad man, did it?

Why was it that of all people, she would object so strenuously to this trait of his? No one else seemed to mind. In fact, they depended on him to seize power, make decisions, and ensure all was well.

He sighed and glowered at the sand beneath his feet. The gold and white grains clung to his toes, rooting him to the beach and the sea waves lapping not far away.

Calm down, Dante
.

His father’s whispered words soaked into his consciousness. Breathing deeply once more, he relaxed. Okay. He would try and curb his natural tendency to protect, arrange, and direct. He needed to remember this marriage was a work in progress. Part of marriage was accommodation. So he would accommodate.

They had a spat, nothing more. He’d bet it was as much about the wanting and lusting he held inside him—and hopefully inside her as well—as any serious problem with who was in charge. As soon as he got her into his bed, the tension would subside. Of this he was sure.

He looked across the ocean, watching the red and pink streaks of the sunset.

Time to take her to bed.

Time to claim his wife.

Time to make love with the woman who’d held his heart in her unknowing hands for years.

S
he hadn’t played
that well, had she?

The water slid on her skin like warm silk, soothing her resentment at his high-handedness. The last rays of the sun slanted into her eyes, bright and gleaming and the caw-caw call of a gull echoed in the silent dusk. The peace of the place seeped into Lara’s emotional turmoil as she stroked across the pool length, taking in the scent of the lilies encircling the garden.

What she needed to do was keep her focus on what she’d set out to do: Seduce her new husband. Make him so lustful he didn’t notice her secret. Instead, she’d immediately been irritated at his inevitable arrogance.

She had to accept it. The man was arrogant and nothing was going to change that.

“Focus on what you want,” she told herself as she floated in the cool water. “Not on what gets you riled up.”

Though she didn’t like him at all, this hadn’t stopped her from watching the way his hand moved on the stick shift of the Mercedes as they’d driven from the airport to the beach. His fingers were long and elegant: an artist’s fingers. Yet his palm was broad and big: a man’s hand. The image of both of his hands on her breasts, brushing and stroking…

Her nipples had hardened beneath her cashmere dress.

Then there’d been the impossible temptation to watch the way the linen of his pants tightened across his taut thighs and the roundness of his butt as he lifted their luggage from the car trunk. Or the moment he’d taken his suit coat off and his tie; the movement of his arm and chest muscles under the silk of his shirt.

She’d needed the swim to cool herself off.

Because, dammit, the man showed no signs of lust. Not one iota.

His one look at their wedding reception hadn’t been only her imagination and she hadn’t dreamed of his need in the garden. He wanted her.

He was just hiding behind his bloody mask.

If he would kiss her, take her, then she could ignore his irritating attitude. At least for a while. Why didn’t he throw her on the bed and make it happen? Instead, he was distantly courteous, talking about dinner and resting. Why couldn’t he be like every other groom and get right down to business?

Sighing, she splashed to the other side of the pool where an underwater bench provided rest. He didn’t jump her because he saw her as a possession, something to be taken when he got around to it. She was a means to an end. He would do his duty, at some point, and that would be that.

How depressing.

But she would ignore that. Ignore everything except what was important. She wanted to have sex with him. Somehow, some way, she was going to have to get him to act, get him to take her to bed.

A virgin seducing an experienced man.

A clutch of fear mixed with anticipation made her stare into the depths of the turquoise water in distress.

“Lara.”

His deep voice jerked her attention away from the contemplation of the aqua waves. He stood at the edge of the pool, barefoot, his silk shirt damp. The blue fabric lovingly clung to his heavy shoulders and strong arms. The expression on his face was fierce, intent.

She shivered in the water.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have to make the first move after all. Apparently, her new husband had suddenly remembered what a honeymoon was supposed to be about.

Dante’s stare pinned her in the water. She watched with helpless fascination as his hands moved to the top of his shirt and began to unbutton.

One button. His strong neck and collarbone glistened with sweet sweat.

Two. The curve of his pectorals was taut and clear. A faint wisp of black hair shadowed his muscles, hinting at his masculine virility.

Her breathing escalated.

Three. The wisp of hair became a band, an arrow pointing down to the beginning of his abdomen. Her nipples hardened beneath the slow lap of the water.

Four. He jerked the edges of his shirt out of his pants and parted the fabric, uncovering his small, brown nipples, tight and drawn. Dark hair swirled around them and her mouth watered.

Five. His shirt slipped totally open, revealing his firm stomach, the deep darkness of his navel, the beginning of his hip bone. Black hair graced the flat planes of his lower abdomen. She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her back to the cool tile, stifling the desire to grab him and pull him into the water so she could touch.

Slipping the silk shirt off, he threw it on a wicker chair, while keeping his hot gaze pinned to her face.

Lara swallowed hard. Avoiding his stare, she allowed herself the pleasure of looking her fill. His shoulders were heavy with muscle, his biceps cut and clean. His broad chest tapered down to a tight waist, not an ounce of extra flesh hiding the musculature of a man in his prime. Clearly, her husband did not spend all his time behind a desk. She truly could just stare at him for the rest of the night.

Dante had other ideas.

His hands moved to his belt.

Nearly gasping, she sank farther into the water, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t embarrass herself by groaning out loud her desire. Every thought of irritating male attitudes, disturbing control issues, or aggravating commands disappeared like smoke in a windstorm. His deft hands unbuckled the leather belt and slipped it off his pants.

The belt landed with a slap on the discarded shirt.

He looked down as he unbuttoned his pants. The dark slash of his eyelashes hid his penetrating gaze and she took the opportunity to stare at the arch of his brow, the sharp line of his jaw, the slight hook of his large nose. She detected the beginning of the shadow of a beard edging his neck and cheeks. He wasn’t pretty, he was arresting: commanding, dominant, overpowering. All primal male, oozing testosterone from every pore. The pull of him drew her like a strong magnet, calling to every feminine instinct.

The zip of his pants crackled across the stillness of the dusk.

He glanced at her, a slight smile curling on the edge of his lips. The man knew he had her full attention. Her hands clasped beneath the water and she attempted a frown. His smile grew as he pushed the clothing off.

His black silk boxers went with them.

She gasped out loud. There was no help for it.

The last remnant of his clothing slid down, down, to his feet. The sharp edge of his hips melted into heavy thighs, covered with dark hair. He was fully erect, his penis long and arched along his stomach. The impact of him, entirely naked, silhouetted against the darkening sky, blanked her mind. The underwater illumination of the pool and the dim lights of the house highlighted every muscle with loving detail. Her inner muscles clenched and the wetness seeped between her legs that had nothing to do with the water surrounding her.

He stepped out of the clothes and took one pace to the edge of the pool.

His gaze never left hers as he moved down the stairs, the dark blue water slowly covering male flesh inch by inch. Dante swam towards her in easy, lazy strokes, yet the blaze of his eyes told the real story. A marauder, a man, who would not be denied.

A trembling began deep inside. A flurry of trepidation mixed with anticipation.

Sitting still was the only thing she could do. No thought entered her head to run or flee or hide. All considerations disappeared other than claiming this man’s body. She had to have him. This last month had been endless, excruciating after those moments in the garden. Having him by her, but never beside her. Having him near her, but never in her. She’d begun to think he didn’t want her.