Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (23 page)

“I know, I know.” Her husband was a man of his word. How could she object to a characteristic she admired in him?

“Believe me, though, if there was any way I could think of to drop it and take you to bed, I would.” Running his palms down her arms brought a fresh wash of warmth and electric energy to her.

Pulling herself form his grasp before she started to beg, she glanced at the dress she held in her hands, and then at her husband once more. “Okay. We have to go. Although, in punishment, you have to finish dressing me.”

His mouth twitched in amusement. Her teasing no longer threw him. In fact, he’d become quite adept at joining in the fun. “It would be my honor,
Signora
.”

Chuckling, she skipped out of the wardrobe and bounced on the bed. “This should be interesting.”

Dante turned, brows rising. “You think I cannot do this?”

“Everything means everything. Shoes, stockings…frilly things.” she grinned.

“Ah,” he mused. “Your collection.”

She nodded before arching her own daring brow at him. “This dress will need a very special bra and panties. Something that won’t show beneath the sheerness of the fabric. I’m not sure a man will be able to—”

“Perhaps not an ordinary man.” He marched over to her bureau and pulled the drawer open with a flourish that startled a fresh set of giggles from her mouth. “Yet I, as you know, am not an ordinary man.”

Watching his broad back, covered in white silk that showed the movement of his muscles as his shoulders flexed, she gave her inward assent. No, her husband was not an ordinary man, in any sense of the word. He was special and unique: gorgeous on the outside and amazing on the inside.

And in this playful mood, irresistible.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she sent a swift prayer of thanks upward. How could she have been so lucky to have landed with the exact man who would fulfill her, in body, in soul, in spirit? How could one woman be so lucky to have been forced into marriage to the man who was perfect for her?

A pink satin thong plopped on her lap, as he started tossing multi-colored bras and camisoles and panties and thongs haphazardly on the bed, the floor, and his wife.

“Dante!” She laughed and tried to catch each brightly colored piece of her collection as it got tossed over his shoulder.

“I am only doing your bidding,
Signora
.” Her husband’s tone was solemn, but edged with a tease. “I have been tasked with outfitting you tonight, and I will not fail.”

Another cream bra landed on her head, causing her to laugh again. “You are determined to accomplish the task.”

Turning to face her, hands filled with lace and silk, he wiggled his brows and then looked down at himself. “As you can see, I am up to the task as well.”

Her gaze slid over his broad torso, across his flat stomach, and zeroed in on his blatant arousal. She couldn’t help another peal of laughter, and to her delight, a grin crossed his face. A grin that reminded her of the boy she’d fallen in love with long ago.

“Better watch out,” she managed between chuckles. “I might take you up on that offer.”

“Hold that thought for later tonight.” He turned again to the drawer and pulled another lacy concoction out, glanced at it, shook his head and threw it over his shoulder.

She grabbed it as it hit her face, smiling at his antics. Dumping it on the pile of lingerie lying on the bed, she turned to tease him once more.

And then, she noticed his sudden stillness. “Dante?”

With infinite slowness, he lifted out a small plastic container and set it on the top of the dresser. Her heart slammed to a stop. She’d forgotten. She hadn’t taken the pills for weeks, knowing she wanted his baby, his love. But she’d stupidly forgotten to get rid of the last of those pills. She could tell from his silence, his tense body, this was going to be a problem.

“Dante.” Scrambling off the bed, she took a step toward him, only to be stopped by a large palm held out in rejection.

“Don’t come near me.” His voice was cold as ice.

Panic started to claw on her insides. Taking a deep breath, she deliberately controlled her voice into a calm, reasonable tone. “I can explain.”

For the first time, he looked directly at her and the expression on his face made her step back. “These are birth control pills,
si
?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean—”

A sharp, cutting laugh interrupted her. “Why am I not surprised?”

“You don’t understand.”

“But I do.” He was pale as death, yet his tone was as cool and collected as she’d ever heard it. “You don’t want my child.”

Her mouth went dry. “No, that’s not—”

“There is nothing left to say, Lara.” With a jerk, he pulled himself away from the hand she’d tried to hold him with and headed for the bedroom door.

The panic clawed up her throat and into her brain, making it hard for her to breathe or think. She followed his rigid form into the living room and watched helplessly as he slipped on a leather coat. Which words should she use first? What confession should she give him to stop this misunderstanding? If only she had a moment to think. “Wait,” she cried.

“There is no longer any reason to wait.” Turning, he gave her one more distant look. “I’m sorry. This is my fault and I will take care of it.”

Clutching the ends of the towel around her, she rushed to the open door and followed him into the hallway. They were the only ones on this floor, and who cared if anyone saw her like this? He was leaving, before he understood, before he realized she—

“Stop,” she wailed. “I have something—”

The lift door closed, showing her a brief glimpse of his shoulders as he stood facing the wall of silver. Facing away from her.

He didn’t realize she loved him. He didn’t realize she desperately wanted his baby. He hadn’t given her the chance to tell him. Why had she lost her voice and reason at this most critical time?

With a curse, she ran into the flat and sprinted to the dresser. Throwing on the first shirt and pants she found, she slipped on a pair of loafers and dashed for the lift.

The trip to ground floor seemed to take forever, but finally she was there and running towards the door.

“
Signora
.” The doorman’s cheery smile was like a slap on her face.

“Where is he?” She knew she sounded demented, yet she didn’t care.

“The
Signore
?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“He said to tell you he would be in touch shortly.” The doorman’s smile deepened. “He will take care of everything, he said.”

Wildly, Lara looked down the street. Nothing. No limo. No tall man walking away from her. He was gone.

“He’ll be in touch shortly?” she whispered.

“
Si, Signora
.” The doorman gently pulled her back into the lobby. “I think it would be best to return to your home and wait. I know the
Signore
would not like it if you were out in the night streets without him.”

“That’s true.” She clutched the front of her shirt and looked out one more time. Nothing. He was gone.

But he’d be back. He had to come back.

H
e didn’t come back
.

Not that long, silent night, and not the next day either. Lara alternated between staring out the window, cursing herself, and debating whether she should call anyone in his family to find out where he was. She decided against it. Why would she want a worried Daniella or Mamma or any one of the numerous Casartellis pacing the floor with her?

She deserved to suffer by herself.

Why hadn’t she taken the chance and told him she loved him? Why hadn’t she swallowed her pride and been the first to say those fateful words? She’d hidden behind kisses and laughter, hoping he would be the one who would break the silent tug of wills. Because the battle had still been there between them, she acknowledged it to herself now.

When it might be too late.

The momentary pause whenever he saw her. The shadow of something awful that crossed his eyes. The silence he fell into after making love. She’d ignored it, hoped it would go away. Instead of grabbing the bull by the horns, she’d hidden from the confrontation. Just as she had with Gerry.

Hadn’t she learned anything?

The day passed. Slowly and grudgingly. She called him a dozen times on his mobile phone yet it always went straight to voice mail. He was avoiding her. She fell asleep on the terrace bench overlooking Florence. The twinkling night lights tormented her. Where was he? Somewhere down in the city? Holed up in a hotel? A friend’s place? Did he have another apartment she didn’t know about?

The next day, she called in sick to the school for the first time. She couldn’t possibly concentrate on the children, the paperwork, the fundraising. More importantly, it was Monday and Monday meant her husband was at work.

She would confront the king on his own turf. If it meant they had to battle it out in front of his employees, so be it. She wasn’t willing to wait for him anymore.

Changing into a conservative dress and shoes, she managed to slap some makeup on, comb her hair into a knot on the top of her head, and call for the limo. He didn’t have any foreign trips scheduled. Plus, he never missed work. The king would be waiting.

This time, though, it wouldn’t be a seduction.

This time they needed to talk.

The drive to his office was silent. She’d tried to pry information from the security team yesterday with no success. But she couldn’t bear to tell them she was desperate, that she didn’t know where her husband was, that he’d left her without telling her where he’d be. The conversation would be too embarrassing.

She wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

The shimmering glass of his modern business building came into view and she took in a deep breath. She wouldn’t hold anything back this time. She would tell him the truth about her love; how she’d let go the grudges she’d held against him, how she hadn’t been taking those wretched pills for weeks, how it was her hope she was already pregnant with his child. After that, she’d ask if he loved her.

God, she hoped he loved her.

Even if he wouldn’t say it, she knew in her heart. She knew. How could a man make love to her with such passion and tenderness and not love her? How could a man stare into her eyes as he came into her, his gaze alive with wonder and possession and not be in love with her? How could a man care for her needs, both physical and emotional, and not love her?

She didn’t need the words.

She just needed him with her again.

“
Signora
.” The driver opened the door with a flourish, his face solemn.

Straightening her shoulders, Lara walked with shaky confidence into his building. The place was a hive of activity, people rushing past her to catch one of a dozen lifts. The lobby was stunning in glass and crystal, all silver and light. The receptionist recognized her from her previous visit and with a smile, waved her onto the farthest lift that was reserved for the top floor executives.

The lift raced upward, making her feel slightly dizzy. Or maybe the coming confrontation was making her dizzy. Stepping into the foyer, she immediately caught the attention of Dante’s PA. The woman sat in solitary splendor, guarding her employer’s double doors.

“
Signora
?” The woman’s dark brow rose.

“I’d like to see my husband.” She pasted on a smile.

The brow rose further. “I’m sorry, Signora Casartelli. He is not here.”

Heart sinking into her stomach, she managed to maintain her smile. “A meeting?”

“No.” The PA frowned in confusion. “He called me this morning to tell me he would not be in this week. Were you not aware of his plans?”

Her spine stiffened in embarrassment. “Obviously not.”

“I will be glad to pass on any message?” The PA instantly appeared as embarrassed as Lara felt.

“That won’t be necessary.” She had to get away from here. A flush rose up her neck. Turning on her heel, she started toward the lift’s sanctuary.

Dante? Not at work? She rushed across the lobby and into the waiting limo. Settling into the leather seat, she tried to put the pieces together. He was going to be gone all week? Her husband rarely missed work and never for an entire week. He was harder on himself than on any employee.

He must be far more upset than she realized.

Panic shut her throat. She had to find him soon. The panic pumped her blood into a shaky froth of anxiety. Soon, or he might freeze up as he had once before. Freeze so hard she’d never be able to punch through the ice.

Walking through the front lobby of their flat, she frantically tried to think of the next step. Should she break down and call his family? Admit that he was gone, that they’d had a fight?

“
Signora
Casartelli.”

The cold voice broke into her concentration. Turning, she confronted a middle-aged man dressed in a conservative business suit. His eyes were grey and cool, his mouth set in a firm line.

A sudden shaft of pure ice went up her spine. “Yes?”

“This is for you,
Signora
.” He pulled out a thick file from his briefcase and held it towards her. “You will need to sign for it.”

She knew, with a deep-seated instinct, she did not want what was in that file. “I—”

“It is a mere formality.” A silver pen was placed in her hand with firm guidance. A single piece of paper was laid on the file. Signing seemed to be the only option open to her.

“
Grazie
.” The stiff bow matched his entire demeanor. He left with a silent tread.

Lara stared at the manila folder he’d placed in her hands. The thing was bulky. Not a gift, surely. No one would have a present delivered by that kind of man. Taking hold of her diminishing composure, she stepped into the lift and focused with numb bemusement on the silver-paneled door as it rose to the top floor. She discarded her jacket and then sat down on the sofa with the packet in hand.

Slipping the leather sleeve off, she pulled the pile of documents out. For a long moment, the language swirled in front of her eyes, not making any sense. But one word leapt into her gaze, with complete clarity.

Divorce
.

A sharp cry of horror escaped her lips. “No!”

Still, there it was, in stark words. Dante wanted a divorce.

How could he have moved so fast? Not even forty-eight hours had passed since she’d seen him last. Closing her eyes tight, she remembered the laughter, the teasing. She wanted that back. She wanted him back.

She didn’t want a divorce!

Sucking a deep breath in, she managed to open her eyes and scan the documents, looking for some clue to what was driving him, some clue to where he was. Could she get to him through these lawyers? She had to see him. She had to talk to him. She had to tell him…

I love you. Don’t do this
.

The settlement page stopped her cold. Her father’s mortgage was paid off completely and there were no ties or conditions to the payoff. Her brother’s job was guaranteed. The foundation for her schools would continue, with annual payments from his business, also guaranteed.

A sharp stab of pain and guilt ran through her. Even if he had forced her to marry him, look at the generosity he displayed when he was trying to get rid of her.

“No, no, Dante.” Her hands tightened around the papers. “I won’t let you force me to divorce you. I won’t let you force me to let you go. Not without a fight.”

I
n the middle
of the night, the idea came to her.

The villa.

Why hadn’t she thought of it before? They hadn’t spent much time there since returning from their honeymoon, but it was his home—his family home. He would go there, to think, to retreat.

By six a.m. she was on the road. Not wanting to wait for the limo, she used the grey Fiat that had been parked in the underground lot since she’d arrived in Florence. Her husband had argued about it; if she had to have a car, he would buy her a Mercedes or a BMW. She’d never been interested in cars, though. Why purchase an expensive car when she rarely needed one?

Not caring if security followed her or not, she made good time getting out of the city and traveling north towards the sea. Rolling down the window, she relished the soft morning wind whipping her hair around her face and drying the tears that seemed to fall on her face whenever she thought about her situation.

For the thousandth time, she castigated herself. Hadn’t she learned anything from being with Gerry? Hadn’t she learned that sticking her head in the sand, trying to avoid confrontation, only made things worse? She should have been courageous and told Dante she loved him when she’d figured it out. Instead, she’d hidden from him and from herself.

Because she was scared he didn’t love her.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. How could he have forced her to marry him if he didn’t have some strong feeling about her? His smokescreen about it being time to marry and wanting children—it didn’t ring true. Not now. Not now that she knew, really knew, Dante. The man she knew was methodical, yes, yet not cold and calculating. He was cool on the outside, all heart on the inside. He showed it in the way he cared for his family, the way he cared for her.

He cared. But did he love?

Whether he did or he didn’t, she had enough love for both of them. There was no way she was going to sign those divorce papers.

Driving up to the Casartelli villa, her gaze scanned the grounds, the windows. It was early morning, so it wasn’t surprising the house still dozed. Her husband was an early riser, however, maybe he was sleeping in. Maybe she could surprise him in the bedroom and find more than words to convince him of her feelings.

Lara shivered. She missed him. Missed his warmth in the bed, his strong arms encircling her, pulling her into his chest. She missed his soft snore in her ear, and the way his hand smoothed over the skin of her stomach, even when he was asleep. She missed his passion as he slipped inside her, murmuring Italian praise as he kissed her neck and shoulders.

God, she hoped he was still asleep.

Jerking the car to a stop, she hopped up the stairs and threw open the carved door.

“
Signora.
” The housekeeper bustled towards her, astonishment on her face. “This is such a surprise.”

Good. Surprising Dante worked to her advantage. “Ariana, where is he?”

The older lady’s eyebrows rose. “He?”

How embarrassing. Could she say she’d misplaced her husband? At this point, though, she no longer cared what others thought. She wanted to find him; that was the only thing that mattered. “Dante? Is he upstairs?”

A hand stayed her instinctive turn towards the grand staircase. The housekeeper’s face was wreathed in frowns. “The
Signore
is not here.”

Her heart thumped to the bottom of her stomach. “You’re sure?”

“
Si
.” Worry clouded the old woman’s expression. “He would not have arrived last night without my knowledge.”

Ariana ran a strict household. Nothing except the best for the Casartellis. If her employer were here, she would know. Where was he? A sense of hopelessness coursed through Lara and a sheen of tears threatened to spill. She’d been so sure he’d be here.

Alarm flashed in the housekeeper’s eyes. “The
Signore
is missing? We must alert—”

“No, no.” She grabbed the woman’s shoulders before she could move away. “Ariana, it must be a misunderstanding between Dante and me.”

“You thought he was here?”

“Yes.” Patting the older woman’s hand, she plastered on a smile. “We must have got our signals crossed.”

“
Si, si
.” The wreath of frowns turned into a gentle smile. “This can sometimes happen. It is too bad you have traveled all this way—”

“Not a problem.” She blinked and swallowed her tears. “I’ll nip over and see Papa.”

“
Bene
.” Ariana nodded. “He will be glad to see you.”

“I’m sure he will.” Turning quickly to hide the tears slipping down her cheeks, Lara headed toward the open front door.

“If the
Signore
appears, I will have him call you.”

Waving an airy hand, she slipped into the Fiat. Driving out to the main road, she pulled along the side of the lane and stopped to lay her head on the wheel.

Where could he be?

Was he zooming around the European capitals, ignoring her calls, already putting her out of his mind?

A fierce determination surged through her. Whatever he was thinking, wherever he was hiding, he couldn’t ignore her forever. Some way, somehow, she was going to find him and confront him with her love. If he wanted to throw away what they had after that…she would deal with it then.

Pulling onto the road, she drove towards her family home on autopilot. Seeing her father was exactly what she needed. His quiet calm would be a balm and give her courage for what lay ahead.

The fountain’s water sparkled in the morning sun, the flowers surrounding it alive with vivid color, lifting their faces to the warmth of the rays. Pulling to a stop, she took a deep breath, wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks and put on a happy smile. She would say hello, grab a comforting hug, before returning to Florence to track down her husband.