Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (4 page)

His eyes were still closed, lashes stark on his olive skin. He gave her nothing.

“I don’t care what you do,” she told him. Told herself.

His eyes snapped open and her pride wouldn’t allow her to look away. They appeared black as night, though she knew from staring into them as a child they were filled with sparkling brown highlights and golden gleams. A person had to pay close attention to catch the flashes of radiance and warmth, yet they were there.

Or they had been once, long ago.

The air thickened between them, and she found herself holding her breath.

“I don’t believe you,” he said softly.

The knots inside tore at her control. Fear, lust, anger churned in her gut. Why was he pushing her to feel? Feel the old, unwanted bond between them. Feel the awakening of her sexuality.

She stared at her book, willing herself to stop thinking and feeling.

“So, tell me about your marriage.”

“You seem to have an obsession about my marriage,” she shot back, struggling to collect herself and push him away.

“All right,” he grumbled. “Tell me about your school instead.”

“What do you know about my school?” Swinging her head around again, she met his keen gaze. Like a mother hen, she felt protective and territorial about her school. For some reason, the fact he knew about it frightened her. She didn’t want him lurking around even the perimeter of her dream. The school was hers, only hers.

“My sisters chatter. I listen.”

“This school has nothing to do with you.”

“It could be.” His look was direct. “I hear you need funds. I have acquaintances—”

“No.”

Her blunt word hovered between them.

“As you wish.”

She couldn’t have possibly penetrated that thick hide of his and actually hurt him. Still, she knew she had. The way he said the words, dry as dust with a touch of pain. The way he pulled back, lying down on the cushion with another hushed sigh.

She refocused on her book and flipped another page, trying to ignore the good manners that had been drilled into her as a child.

The attempt was fruitless.

“The school is for children with learning disabilities.” This was the only olive branch he was going to get.

“Ah.”

“What does that mean?” Immediate defensiveness flashed through her.

“It means, I am listening.”

Another memory raced through her mind. Of his serious face staring at her as she prattled. Of his black gaze never wavering from her as she confided her deepest dreams, her scariest fears. The boy had always listened to her. Even as he grew into manhood and spent days and weeks away at school and at work with his father. Even then, he’d made time for her. Still grinned when he’d seen her, still teased, still listened.

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the book. No. He was not that boy or that young man now. Maybe, probably, he’d never been what she’d imagined. She shouldn’t be fooled by old memories into offering him any leeway.

“Why learning disabilities?”

He wasn’t worthy of her confidences anymore. He never had been. She wouldn’t let him inside her ever again only to destroy her for the second time in her life.

She managed a nonchalant shrug. “Because.”

His hand fisted one more time. “Now it’s my turn to ask the question,” he growled. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means none of your business.”

“Ah.”

Damn him. That was all he was going to say? Damn him even further because she felt it as he drew back, felt him retreat into himself.

This is what you should want from Dante Casartelli. Distance.

Turning the page, she stared at the first paragraph. The sun slanted against her sunglasses, dipping lower in the sky. Soon she would be able to leave, her pride intact, emotions safe. Unexpected and unwanted tears clogged her throat.

“You married so quickly. It was a surprise.” His dark tone cut through her emotional turmoil.

“A surprise?” Why did he keep circling around to something that surely meant next to nothing to him? Distress and irritation welled inside her. “Why would you be surprised?”

“You were only eighteen.”

“Old enough to marry.”

He snorted. “You were a child.”

“How would you know that?” She slammed her book closed, distress flashing into anger at the oh-so-familiar slur. “We hadn’t spoken or seen each other in almost two years.”

“I kept track.” Black eyelashes fell, masking his gaze.

“Sure you did.”

“I am growing tired of this sarcasm of yours.”

“Too bad.” Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes once more, trying to quell the roiling emotions in her heart.

He kept track of her? How? His sisters had occasionally written her an email. Her father had once or twice told her Dante had inquired about her. Still, she’d never heard from him or seen him during the years of her marriage. If he’d kept track of her, he’d have known why she was sarcastic. He would have known why she’d become this way. He would have known...

But that wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want him to know her. Know her history and her pain and her scars. She wanted nothing from him. “You know nothing about me. You never did.”

A taut silence fell. She heard his breathing, harsh, uncontrolled.

Angry. Truly angry.

The cold icicle had unexpectedly turned into a fire-breathing man. Towards her. Well, she’d asked for it, hadn’t she? She hadn’t been able to stop herself from poking and prodding him until she got a reaction.

The tang of tears burned deep in her throat.

“I knew enough to know you weren’t ready for marriage.” His voice rippled with vehemence. “
Dio
, he was your instructor.”

The emotion in his voice shook her. Yet what shocked her most was his words. She thought he’d been mad at her, at her sarcasm and rejection. Instead, he was mad at Gerry? Shock mixed with the bittersweet memory of how he had once protected her all the time. Tears threatened to push past her eyelids. “Yes, that’s right,” she sputtered. “Just a teacher. Not a rich man.”

A sound of male frustration rasped in his throat. “That is not what I meant. I meant he was twenty years your senior and had a responsibility. He took advantage of you.”

Gerry had. She would never confess that fact to this man, though. Honestly, when she boiled down to the bottom line, it was Dante who had placed her in the position where she’d fallen for Gerry’s lies. A fact she needed to hold onto for dear life.

She swallowed the tears.

“Say something,” he ordered.

Swallowing once more, she kept her eyes closed.

“This is rather a childish response,” he snarled. “Stop ignoring me.”

There it was again. The humiliating putdown. A child. He thought of her as a child. Precisely like Gerry, he thought of her as a stupid, silly child. Anger rushed through her, swamping the last of her stupid, silly tears. This man didn’t deserve her tears. This man had no idea what she’d gone through and overcome. No matter how much he’d kept track of her.

She turned to glare at him. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do. Ever again. That is not childish. It’s a fact.”

Swinging his legs over the side of his chair, he exuded masculine indignation. “When did you ever do what I told you to do? I have very clear memories of continually rescuing you from one childhood scrape or another when you did exactly the opposite of what I said.”

A dark red fury burst inside her. “Let me remind you of one particular night twelve years ago. I did exactly what you told me to do then, didn’t I?”

The muscles in his shoulders stiffened. “
Si
. Let us talk about that night.”

He wanted to talk about it? Disbelief ricocheted deep inside her and she scrambled for emotional cover. “I’m surprised you don’t need me to refresh your memory.”

“I need no reminders,” he said, the words stark. “I live with the memory every day.”

A choked, pained laugh escaped her. “Now it’s my turn to tell you I don’t believe you.”

“It is true.” He stared at her, his face grim. “We will talk about this.”

“No, we won’t. I have no interest in going down memory lane with you.” The pain was too great, the memories too overwhelming to deal with. Whipping her sunglasses off, she stood. “I’m going swimming instead.”

H
e’d nearly lost
his temper.

Dannazione
.

He never lost his temper anymore.

Dante took in a deep breath, leashing in the bubbling frustration and annoyance. The attempt was superseded and submerged, however, by a more powerful reaction as she walked toward the pool. The emotions running through him turned instantly to lust as his gaze roamed down her body. The graceful line of her shoulders and spine smoothed into a trim waist. The creamy bare skin continued down over flared hips. Her derriere was a firm, heart-shaped temptation as it moved back and forth. Long legs ended with perfect pink-tipped toes.

The woman strutted like a queen.

His hands itched to grab. But like an unworthy subject, he couldn’t take what wasn’t his and clearly wasn’t on offer.

Yet.

Closing his eyes, he focused. Focused on his goal. Before she arrived in Italy, he’d assumed it would be fairly easy to convince her they were meant to be together. After their meeting two nights ago though, it was clear he needed to step back and prepare more carefully.

He’d thought about it all last night and the night before.

Sleep had never been much of a requirement for him, and he often used the midnight hours to take stock, think things through, and formulate a path forward. Just as he did in his business dealings, he did it with family issues. So it was natural for him to do the same with this current challenge.

Lara.

The splash of water told him it was safe to open his eyes. She cut a clean, fluid line in the water, her strokes sure and poised. As children, they’d spent hours here. He’d been the one to teach her not to be afraid of the water. He’d been the one who taught her the exact stroke she used right now.

For a moment, grief welled inside. A sense of aching loss. If they’d been children, she would have greeted him with a joyful grin, flown into his arms, chatted excitedly about what stroke he was going to teach her today. Still, they weren’t children anymore, and
Dio
, he did not actually want to go back to a time when he had to keep their relationship platonic. Instead, he would move forward and continue to teach her. Teach her to smile once more. Teach her to fly into his arms once again.

Teach her how to forget her damned dead husband.

White-hot jealousy billowed inside him with astonishing speed. The sun’s rays instantly turned blistering and sweat broke out over his entire body.

Calm down, Dante
.

His father’s stern voice echoed in his head. He closed his eyes again, forcing his focus back to what was important. Her first marriage was not important. He’d been foolish to bring it up; he’d only irritated her and irritated himself. The impulse to shake Lara until she confessed she no longer loved and mourned a dead man…the driving need to push the man out of her memories…the raging frustration he’d felt for days, months, years…all of it had churned inside him until it loosened his tongue and he’d made a mistake.

Going forward he would not mention it anymore. He would follow the path he’d decided on over the last few days. Losing his control—either his temper or his lust—was not acceptable. He could not let her goad him. That would be counterproductive.

His intentions were detailed, decisive, and, like every one of his goals, when fully implemented, would be successful.

First he needed to address what had happened that long ago night. Explain to her why he had pushed her away and spoken so bluntly. Once this incident was put behind them, he would remind her of this bond they had. The memories, the joy in each other’s company, the powerful emotions they shared years ago.

Another powerful link lay between them. One that no longer had to be denied, one he could use to convince her of what was inevitable between them. He was not the only one who felt the intense link of mutual awareness, he was positive of that. The way she’d looked at his body mere minutes ago told him all he needed to know. The sexual heat and draw could not be denied. The connection simmered between them, every moment they were in each other’s presence.

She could not ignore these ties binding them together. Not for long.

This was meant to be.

They would become lovers.

His skin prickled with another kind of heat. Thick hot blood ran through his veins. Lust threatened to overpower his reason.

He sucked in a deep breath of salted ocean air. The tang of the breeze quieted him as it often had when he’d been a kid walking along the beach at the edge of his family’s property.

The goal. Think of your goal. Don’t allow yourself to lose your concentration
.

He sucked in another breath.

Soothing her anger was only the first step. Reminding her of the bond only the second. Using the sexual heat between them merely a stepping stone. Once he’d accomplished all this, he would still move forward with patience. He was not interested in a quick tumble. Which meant he needed to keep himself on a tight, firm rein until he’d reached his ultimate goal: Lara as his wife and mother of his children. The mate he’d chosen and loved from the very moment he’d held her in his boyish arms.

Opening his eyes, he stared at her. Her mahogany hair had turned black in the water. Her skin still held the milky white of her years in England, with only a light glow of a tan on her shoulders. She kept her focus fastened on the surrounding gardens.

Ignoring him, but not for long.

One step at a time. He would not allow her to run, walk, or swim away until she understood what had truly happened twelve years ago. Until she acknowledged what he’d done was the right thing. The only thing he could have done.

He stood and walked to the pool. She was on the far side, making her way to the other end. With a swift plunge, he entered the water. Long strokes through the refreshing coolness swept away the sweat, the jealousy, the lingering lust.

She passed him, going the other way. Paying no attention to him.

Gritting his teeth, he drove himself to the end and then turned. She moved away from him with quick, sure strokes. He’d always been the faster swimmer, however. Pushing himself, he quickly reached her side.

She gave him a fleeting glance as her arm arched over her head. Big gold eyes, lashes wet with water drops. Then she ducked her head underwater and surged past him.

He swam closer, matching her stroke for stroke. Felt her next to him. Felt the rush of the challenge, the test of gaining her attention. Lara picked up her pace, yet her frosty dismissal was no match for his formidable determination.

She would learn this eventually.

He would have his way.

Hitting the end of the pool, she stopped. He grabbed the edge of the tile and watched her as she gulped deep breaths into her lungs. The lapping of the water settled, the air hung around them redolent of sea and sun.

Her gaze was all gold ire. “What are you doing?”

“Swimming. With you.”

She took another deep breath, her glare never wavering.

“Do you remember how we would swim together as children?”

Rejecting his words, she turned her back to him and started a slow crawl through the water.

One stroke and he was beside her. “Do you remember how I taught you to swim in this pool?”

With a quick jerk, she stopped. “What are you trying to prove?”

His feet touched the floor of the pool, but she had to move her hands beside her to keep afloat. Taking advantage of this, he moved closer. Rivulets of water slid down her cheeks to her mouth. The urge to kiss, to take, was fierce, but he locked it down with dogged resolve. “I’m trying to remind you of what we once had. Our time together was not all bitter. There are many memories that are good.”

Twisting away, she made for the other end. He was not done with her, though, not ready to let her go. Moving fast, he came right behind her, his hands beside hers on the side of the pool.

“I’m getting out,” she blurted.

“Not until we finish our conversation.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I told you I have no interest in childhood memories.”

“Nevertheless, we will discuss this particular memory you brought up. Then put it behind us.”

She yanked around to stare at him, her glare heated. “I put it behind me long ago. The memory doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me.”

“So…I have to listen to you.”

He cocked his head, thought for a moment. “
Si
.”

Dante swore he could hear her grinding her teeth. A burst of satisfaction coursed through him. Any intense reaction from her told him what he needed to know. He got to her. He would use this, use this to win her.

The slap of her hand on his shoulder yanked his attention back to her. “Move.”

Leaning in, he stared into her glaring eyes. “No.”

The silence thickened between them. The lapping of the water, the soft roar of the ocean, the sound of their breathing—everything faded as he got pulled into the honey heat of her gaze, the petal softness of her lips, the smooth glow of her skin.

The beat of his blood pounded. In his heart. In his cock.

“All right.” Her harsh words cut through the haze of his sexual desire. “Have your say and then I’m leaving.”

Easing away from her, putting inches between himself and temptation, he struggled to put together the explanation he’d practiced so carefully. Exasperation stirred inside at his lack of concentration. This was important and he should not have allowed himself to become so tongue-tied with lust his brain could not operate at full capacity.

“So?” Her voice was laced with disdain. “Speak.”

Exasperation turned to anger. No one in his life would dare talk to him with such disrespect. “Do not talk to me like that.”

“I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do.”

Frowning, he folded his arms in front of him in order to keep from the temptation to shake her. Or grab and kiss her quiet. Still, he would not allow this to descend into another spat. That would not further his goals. He took in a deep breath and forced his brain to function. “We are going to discuss the night of your seventeenth birthday.”

“We?” She copied him and folded her arms also. “I believe I was going to listen to your monologue about it.”

“That night, I did and said what I had to for both of our sakes.”

Her eyes snapped with immediate fury. “I’m supposed to be grateful you called me a
puttana
?”

Had he called her such a thing? Dante searched his memory. Maybe he had, though it had been done in desperation to keep her away. Which he was not going to share with her. But surely she could be made to understand his position. “I was trying to stop you from throwing yourself at men.”

“You thought I’d been trying to kiss other men besides you?” Her mouth dropped open and a flash of hurt crossed her face.

“
Per amor di Dio
,” he swore under his breath. “No. No, Lara.”

“Then what?”

He looked out over his garden as he remembered. “Try and put yourself in my shoes for a moment.”

Silence greeted him, yet he forced himself to continue. To show her at least a taste of the agony he’d experienced that long ago night. “I was twenty-four. You were seventeen.”

“I know that.”

“Think of what your father would have said to me if I’d taken you up on your offer.”

He heard her swift intake of breath. “I only offered a kiss.”

Turning, he glowered at her. “I would not have been satisfied with a kiss.”

Her gold eyes widened. “You can’t mean—”

“I mean exactly that.” His hands landed on the tile beside her shoulders, as he stared at her, willing her to understand. “I had to push you away. Before it was too late.”

Lara’s stare never wavered from his.

“I had to say those brutal words so you would leave,” he said. “So you would go.”

“You wanted me.” She stated each word as if it were foreign to her tongue.

Constantly, bella, forever
. Instead of blurting out his deepest secret, he forced a harsh bark of laughter. “
Certamente
.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I want you now.” His ragged words hung in the air between them.

All at once, her mouth compressed, her face turned cold. “Too late.”

Shock coursed through him at her sudden change. What had happened? He thought he’d made a breakthrough, thought he’d reached her, yet she was still shutting him out. “Lara?”

Two determined hands pushed once more at his shoulders. “I said, you’re twelve years too late.”

“Liar.” His temper flared, the temper he never let loose anymore. Patience and plotting and purpose all fell away into the cold water surrounding him, leaving only hot, hard frustration coursing through his body. His voice became harsh against his will. “We both feel it. This bond. And now there is nothing standing in our way.”

“Yes, there is.” Her honey eyes went dark gold with determination. “I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

A twisting fear took his breath. No, no, he wanted to howl.

She glanced down as if she’d seen something in his expression she couldn’t face. The action drove him crazy. Had she seen something he was not willing to reveal? The urge to retreat thrummed through him, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away. “Tell me you didn’t want me several nights ago.”

She met his look, her gaze now cool. “I believe I was clear about not wanting your kiss.”

“You responded.”

“No.”

Had he mistaken everything? Dreamed something that wasn’t true into reality? His throat filled with raw disbelief, an icy coating of horror.

He took a step back.

Lara’s eyes narrowed. Then she shrugged.

Shrugged.

With a last dismissive look, she turned and slid under the water, swimming to the far side of the pool. He wanted to follow her, but checked the instinct. His emotions were too close to the surface for his comfort.

She’d destroyed him with one simple word. One simple action.

Best to let her go. Give himself some time to regroup. Figure out another way.