Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (5 page)

She glanced at him as she reached the end of the pool, her expression filled with derision. “What? Not chasing after me now?”

“No.” Male pride roared at him to go after her, buy her silence with his kisses. His hands clenched at his sides. He forced himself to stay where he was. “Stopping this conversation. For now.”

“Forever.” She turned and lifted herself out of the water in one fluid move.

His gut churned with confusion and a crushing sense of fear that his entire adult life had been wasted dreaming of this woman. This woman who appeared to want nothing from him at all. He stood, silent, as she walked over to the lounge chair. Picking up the towel, she glanced at him before wiping her face.

A sharp strike of hope crackled through him in an instant. Because there’d been something, some flash of emotion in her eyes, some flicker of response in the way her mouth curved that told him what he needed to know.

She was lying. Lying about what he did to her.

His heart pounded with renewed resolve.

“I know you feel this connection between us,” he said, his voice quiet, yet he knew she heard him. “I know you responded two nights ago to my kiss. I felt it.”

She slid her pool dress over her head and picked up her book. “You’re mistaken.”

“I do not make mistakes.”

“Oh, Dante.” A wry laugh twisted her mouth, as she turned to walk to her car. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Lara.” Her name stopped her, but she didn’t turn to face him again. “Some things you cannot run away from.”

The sunlight glistened on her hair as she disappeared around the corner of the pool house.

A
wash
of cool air hit her as she stepped into the ancient stone church. The strains of Vivaldi filled the foyer with the sweet singing of violins. The low murmur of the hundreds of guests filling the sanctuary proved the power of the Casartellis.

No one would dare miss Carlotta’s wedding.

Except Hugo Derrick.

Lara exhaled a puff of remaining annoyance. Of all the days her father could choose, why today? He’d gone to Florence to see her brother, leaving her to handle the apologies and explanations.

“
Signorina
.” A fresh-faced, eager usher appeared at her side.

Forcing a smile, she handed her invitation over.

He offered her his tuxedoed arm and ushered her into the deep well of the sanctuary. High arches circled the room, white stone interspersed with medieval statues of saints. Large bright canvases of swirling motion added color and texture to the church. As a child, she’d often attended mass here with the Casartellis. The fond memories flooded her mind as she walked slowly down the aisle between the heavily carved wooden benches. Benches filled to capacity. The men dressed in sleek Armani or Didonna, the women in the sultry silk of Versace or Moschino. Gucci bags and Ferragamo shoes competed for attention with splashy jewelry and beautiful smiles. Anyone looking at this crowd would know the power and prestige of the family who commanded their attendance.

The usher kept walking. Lara nodded at neighbors she’d become reacquainted with and new friends the Casartelli sisters had introduced her to. Her heart had warmed at how speedily and thoroughly she’d been absorbed back into the circle in which she’d grown up. Their acceptance had made the adjustment of leaving England much easier.

The usher kept walking. Past the neighbors. Past the throngs of friends. Past the elite of Florence and Rome.

Right up to the front of the church. Right up to the family.

There must be some mistake.

“
Signore
.” She frowned.

He smiled and waved her in. Into the second pew from the altar.

“I don’t think—”

“Lara.” Daniella Casartelli Rossini, her closest friend as a child, and now quickly becoming her closest friend once more, beckoned. “Come on. Sit.”

“But…”

The usher walked away.

Feeling like she was the focus of all eyes, she stepped into the pew and sat down. “I can’t sit here.”

“Why not?” Daniella bounced a laughing toddler on her knee. Her husband, sitting beside her, smiled from above another baby’s head. Dani was younger by three years, yet her marriage and the subsequent birth of her twins had added a layer of contentment and maturity to her features that Lara envied.

“I’m not family.”

“Close enough.” Her friend grinned.

The crash of the organ replaced the trilling of the violins. She watched as, with great ceremony, Giana Casartelli was ushered into the pew right in front of her.

“I’ve got to go and find a seat in the back.”

Dani’s hand latched onto her arm. “Too late.”

With resignation, she glanced around to see a string of bridesmaids walking down the aisle. Behind them, the bride stood in the entryway. Carlotta looked beautiful, yet it was the tall man standing beside her who garnered Lara’s reluctant attention.

The stark black of his tuxedo contrasted with the blinding white of his shirt and tie. The suit fit him, in more than one way. The cut emphasized the broad hardness of his shoulders, the trim edge of his hips. The absence of color in his clothes highlighted the rich olive of his skin and the glossy strands of his hair. The contrast was like him: all black and white, all cold and hot.

“He wanted you to sit here,” Daniella whispered in her ear.

Instant irritation bubbled through her veins. She’d forced him out of her memory, out of her conscience, with grim determination over the past five days. Throwing herself into the school and work until she was exhausted meant her days were filled. Her nights were filled too. With weary sleep. No time to think of him in the day, no dreaded dreams of him at night.

Or rather, nightmares.

The bridal processional boomed and the couple began the long trip down to the altar. If there had been any way to escape, she would have run for the door, yet there was nowhere to go. His family crowded the pew on her left. The aisle to her right was strewn with bridesmaids, a bride…

And him.

The damned man had manipulated her once again. Forced her into a situation she couldn’t get out of. Not without making a fuss and causing a stir.

Which would only call more attention to her dilemma.

The crowd stood. The Casartelli clan surrounded her like a smothering blanket. Giana wiped her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, Dani’s babies babbled, all the sisters smiled as their youngest sister and oldest brother passed.

Lara wondered if they’d mind if she tripped him on his stroll.

The man was as controlling, as conniving, as cunning as she’d thought. She’d made it absolutely clear she wanted nothing to do with him. More than once. She’d been pleased to hear nothing else from him for the rest of the week. See nothing of him.

She hadn’t thought about him at all. Not at all.

Maybe a dozen times.

His words of five days ago kept ringing in her ear. He’d wanted her twelve years ago—a revelation that had stunned her. Turned her memories of the night of her seventeenth birthday upside down. In vain, she’d tried to dismiss them, label them as a lie, another of his manipulations.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t remember his face, the taut line of his jaw, the intense blaze of his eyes, and reject his words as lies. He’d been telling the truth. She knew it in her heart.

He’d wanted her that night.

His cold rejection and cruel taunts had been a shield.

A mask.

I want you now
.

She remembered the gruffness of his voice as he said the words. This cool, contained icicle of a man burned for her, wanted her with unwavering passion. What made it worse was this knowledge fed her growing desires, desires she’d shut down long ago. The thought of sitting beside him, close to him for the next half hour, all through an emotional, symbolic ceremony, twisted the answering burn of lust inside her into a solid knot.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Dani squeezed her hand and smiled. “This feels exactly right.”

This wasn’t right. This burn. This twist. This knot.

Giana Casartelli turned around at her daughter’s words and beamed. “
Si. Si
. It is right you are here with us. This is where you belong.”

She didn’t belong beside him. She didn’t.

The revelation of his want for her had been a shock and she had to admit during the last few days, it had also soothed some of her pain. He’d wanted her twelve years ago as much as she’d wanted him. But he had far more to answer for than one confrontation and a few nasty words. He’d done much worse than that. If he thought his confession of still wanting her would be enough to win her forgiveness for everything, he was in for a surprise.

Dante handed his youngest sister over with a kiss and turned. His black eyes were, as usual, blank, his face austere. Yet her breathing notched up when she met his gaze because there was latent heat there, a smoldering burn that matched what she experienced inside herself.

His face gave nothing away, however. Cool and autocratic. A mask?

Lara cursed under her breath. She would not allow him to make her burn and twist and tie herself into a knot, questioning her conclusions. Imagining there was anything behind that mask other than arrogance was a fruitless waste of time.

She needed to focus on what was genuinely important.

Dante Casartelli’s motives for what he did twelve years ago were not important. Whether or not he wore some kind of mask was not important. The fact he ignited her libido was also not important.

What was important right now was the fact he’d decided to involve his family.

She knew the Casartelli women. Their keen gazes and talking tongues would be gossiping and thinking and plotting. Which would fit nicely into his machinations. She wouldn’t have to deal with only him going forward. Oh, no, she would be deflecting and avoiding a slew of Casartellis.

There is nothing going on between your brother and me.

Maybe she should have it tattooed on her forehead.

He strode to the pew and stepped beside her.

“Manipulative jerk,” she muttered.

One dark brow lifted, but his face stayed completely neutral.

As one, the congregation sat. The rustle of silk dresses as the women seated themselves, the cry of a Casartelli baby as his mother settled him in her arms, the shuffle of leather-clad feet on the stone floor filled the church. The groom and bride moved forward to the priest.

The heat of his body simmered next to her, down the measure of her arm, the length of her leg. His distinctive smell encircled her.

Her heartbeat increased. “Why are you here?”

“I am attending my sister’s wedding.”

His wry tone stirred her annoyance even more. “I mean, beside me.”

“This is where my seat is.”

“You arranged this.”

“
Si
,” he admitted, his voice calm. “I arrange many things.”

“I don’t want to sit here beside you.”

He glanced at her then, his black eyes veiled by long lashes. “Really?”

“Sssshhh,” Dani hissed. “You lovebirds can talk later.”

Frustration rushed through her. She was stifled, entrapped, not only by him, but by his family and their growing expectations. The curious glances, the slight smiles, the knowing looks between the sisters.

“Where is your father?” he said out of the side of his mouth.

“What do you mean?” she whispered back, sarcasm rolling on her tongue. “I assumed you were the one who arranged for him to be absent.”

He sighed but said nothing.

The traditional mass proceeded, yet she barely heard a word. Much to her disgust, her entire focus was on the man beside her. With unwilling interest, she focused on his hands. Large, broad palms, long, elegant fingers draped over thick, muscled thighs.

Her skin heated.

He shifted slightly, easing his feet out and the scent and heat of him circled her, like a silken web, pulling her body towards him.

She stiffened and moved an inch away from him.

He looked at her. The gaze, the searching black eyes.

The awareness between them.

But he embraced it. She rejected it.

His hand smoothed down his leg and the muscles of his thigh tightened, then eased as he slid further back on the bench. An ache of desire bloomed inside her and she wrestled with the instinct to smooth her own hand down the long length of him.

“Blushing?” A deep voice rumbled beside her. “What could you be thinking of,
bella
?”

With grim determination, she focused on the ceremony. Her attention was eventually caught by the priest’s calm voice, his slow delivery emphasizing the words of commitment and devotion. The young couple standing before him were so young and hopeful, so in love. The groom stared at the bride as if she were the center of his universe and the bride gave him a smile of pure joy.

Had she ever been that naïve? Had she ever believed in love as much as this couple did?

The sudden tears blurring her vision surprised her. She thought she’d cried every last tear she had over the past few years. Tears of regret and resentment. Tears of fear and frustration. However, this ceremony brought back the memories of what she’d once innocently dreamed of. Dreams dashed long ago by the man sitting beside her.

A white handkerchief floated in front of her, held in a strong male hand.

“Thank you.” Making sure not to touch him, she grabbed the cloth and dabbed at her tears.

“
Non c’è problema
.”

No problem? She was afraid he was determined to become her very big problem.

The shattering of glass drew her focus to the altar once more. The good luck tradition signaled the end of the ceremony. The bride and groom kissed and turned, faces beaming with accomplishment and pride. She hoped, for both of them, their marriage would be a better journey than hers had been.

Everyone stood as the couple passed, and the swell of congratulations and good wishes followed them as they marched down the aisle and out into the Italian sunshine.

Lara glanced at the man standing beside her. He was so tall. She was not a short woman, but he towered above her. And he was so large, his shoulders wide and muscled beneath the sleek smoothness of his tux. The gangly teenager she’d loved was completely gone, in every way. Bittersweet wistfulness swirled inside her.

The man’s mouth was grim.

Another difference from the teenager who’d often grinned.

“I thought you liked Sandro.”

His gaze snapped to her face. “I do.”

“Then why do you look like you’re attending your sister’s funeral instead of her wedding?”

“I am not thinking of my sister at this moment.”

She frowned. “What could possibly be wrong?”

“The ceremony.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “It upset you.”

He was worried about her? A brilliant joy jumped in her heart, but she immediately beat it down. Once upon a time, she thought he cared and notice where that had landed her. She glanced away from him, grabbing for composure. “No, it didn’t.”

“
Si,
it did.” His voice turned arctic. “The memory of your husband is still fresh. Still painful.”

Startled, she gaped at him. His olive skin appeared strangely pale. “You have it all—”

“He is dead.” His words were clipped and taut. “He is out of your life.”

A choked laughter escaped her. Before she thought, she spoke. “Thank God.”

He froze beside her and a sudden stillness descended. The crowd around them seemed to drop away and it was only the two of them. His black eyes held hers, penetrating into her deepest secrets.

No, no. She wouldn’t let him in. Wouldn’t give him any more clues to her past. How foolish to give him even one small piece of knowledge. She pinned her gaze on the smiling priest who was congratulating Carlotta’s in-laws. “I don’t know why I cried, but it has nothing to do with my marriage.”