Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (6 page)

“Ah.” He paused as if mulling her statement over in his mind. “So you are saying it was merely a woman’s customary practice of crying at weddings that caused you to break down.”

“I did not break down.” Exasperation twisted in her words. “And obviously, you would think only women cry at weddings.”

“You should be glad I did not weep, as you seem to think a man should,” he said. “Or I would not have had the opportunity to offer you my handkerchief.”

She didn’t remember this sardonic humor. As a boy, he’d been more inclined to funny jokes and amusing pranks. The changes in him continued to disconcert her. And distress her in an odd way she couldn’t explain.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. The black eyes still questioned, still searched. He would find nothing. After long years, she’d learned how to hide her emotions. She wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she let herself focus on his harsh face, all angles and cuts, the only touch of softness in the long lashes and the slight dip of his lower lip. She found it hard to imagine this cool, contained man kissing her. Hard to imagine his mouth on hers, the desperate passion, the powerful calling.

How could two such contrasting impulses reside in the same man?

His eyes turned into hot velvet darkness.

Instantly, hopelessly, she could imagine.

A bridesmaid and groomsman laughed as they passed in the aisle, and she welcomed the distraction. Tearing her focus from him, she glanced at the cloth in her hand. “I’ll get this back to you after I’ve washed it.”

“I believe I will survive without it.” His voice was low, slightly rough. “You can have it as a keepsake.”

The arrogant statement caused her eyes to jerk to his. “Why would I want a keepsake from you?”

“I remember you keeping many keepsakes of our time together.” His gaze was alive now with memories. Their memories. “A shell from the sea I found for you. A ribbon I bought for your hair. The special gold leaf from our garden—”

She took in a shaken breath. “I destroyed all of those long ago.”

“Destroyed.” His tone cooled. “Ah.”

His family rustled around them, collecting purses and bibles and children. He stepped out of the pew and his laser stare landed on his mother, who appeared overcome with emotion. Turning to his brother, he waved him over. She immediately felt as if he’d released her from some bondage. The relief was palpable. She grabbed her purse and stepped into the crowd moving toward the door.

“
Ferma
.” Dante’s hard hand landed on her elbow. “You will walk with the family.”

Irritation smoldered inside her. “Let me go.”

Ignoring her words, he slipped her hand under his arm and pulled her to his side. “
Vene.
”

Lara fumed as he led her down the aisle. Stop. Come. He treated her like a pet dog. Next he would be snapping his fingers and giving her treats if she performed for him. As the resentment flooded through her, profound relief followed. As long as she held this hatred inside, she would be safe. Safe from him and the velvet darkness inside of him that called to the depths of her.

“You are a horrible bully,” she grumbled, forcing herself to concentrate on his arrogance, not on her libido.

He nodded at a fawning couple, shook an usher’s hand, and then guided her toward the open doorway. “I am collecting many new titles,” he said, under his breath. “Arrogant ass. Manipulative jerk. Horrible bully.”

The sunshine was bright and warm after the coolness of the church. The crowd of family and friends surrounded them in a buzz of color and conversation. Yet it seemed to her as if a circle of vibrating energy tied both of them in a cocoon of intense awareness. She fought against it, yanking her antagonism around her like a shield, she also yanked her arm from his grasp.

He glanced at her. Unexpectedly, the edge of his mouth quirked. “It is a good thing I have a healthy self-confidence. If not, your words would wound me to the core.”

“I’d say your self-confidence borders on egomania.”

“So many compliments,
bella
.” His black eyes gleamed as if he delighted in her insults. “You leave me speechless.”

This was crazy. Why did she keep going at him? It only encouraged him.

She turned.

His hand landed on the tender, naked skin of her elbow once more.

“You will drive to the villa with me.”

“I will not.” She tried to pull her arm from his grasp again, but there was no easy way of doing this without calling attention to what was going on between them. His family and neighbors encircled them, and she suddenly noticed how many smiles and glances the two of them were receiving. Apparently, she and Dante were already gaining attention. Bloody hell. She needed to get out of here before the attention turned to speculation and then to certainty.

“The limos are here.” His dark head nodded to the line of cars waiting on the street.

“I drove here.” Dangling her car keys in front of him, she gave him a look of feigned regret.

“Your car will be taken care of.” Swiping them from her hand, he passed them to an usher.

“Now wait just a minute—”

He leaned in, his breath heating her cheek. “Do you actually want to make a scene here?”

She simmered with suppressed rage at his high-handedness. Still, he was right. The only way out of this was making a scene, and she wasn’t quite at that point.

Almost. But not quite.

The black eyes above her glimmered with humor and victory. He took her arm and led her toward one of the first limos.

His family followed, laughing and joking with each other. She tried to slide into the middle of the crowd, but his hand kept a firm grip on her, forcing her to stay beside him until they approached one of the more isolated cars.

“Get in,” he commanded as the limo door was pulled open by a smiling driver.

Brushing past him without touching, she sat down on the supple black leather. She slid into the far corner, hoping for a flurry of family members to come in before he entered. She needed some buffers.

Dante stepped in and the door closed.

“What about the rest of the family?” she protested.

He unbuttoned his coat and eased back along the seat. “They have all been assigned to different cars.”

“Assigned by you.”

“Correct.” He glanced at her, obsidian gaze once again unreadable.

“You made sure I would be riding with you to the villa.”

“
Si.
”

“Alone.”

“
Si
.” His focus never left her face.

“Do you have any idea the gossip this is going to start?”

“I am not in the habit of worrying about what people say about me.” He finally released her from his scrutiny and stared out the window.

“Your sisters are going to suspect the worst.” She couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him. The sunlight played a serenade across his olive skin, the black of his hair, the long blade of his nose.

“The worst?”

“Us. Together. A pair.”

His gaze landed on her once more while his hand clenched on his lap. “Paired with me? The worst?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t make her position any clearer.

His hand shot out and pulled her across his warm, muscled body. “You have managed to make me annoyed with only a few words.”

Stunned at his sudden move, she sagged into his heat, and for a moment, only a moment, she was tempted to stay.

One long finger pushed her chin up. Instead of his blank stare, she saw the embers of velvet warmth. “The impact you have on me,” he muttered. “Remarkable.”

Then his mouth slammed onto hers and she was lost. Waves of heated male energy poured over her and into her. His hard lips told her he was irritated, his tongue told her he wanted no more of her words. He gave no concessions, only demands.

Against her will, she filled every one of them.

“Wait—” she managed to say when he slipped his mouth to her neck.

But his lips caught hers once again and he pulled her under his spell. His arms tugged her into his body, surrounding her with his searing need. It startled her, over and over, the difference between his cold exterior and his hot passion.

Unexpectedly, he let her go. Set her away from him in one abrupt shift.

A haze of desire kept her from finding any words of rejection. Breathing was about the best she could do at the moment. Her mind and body were filled with a mist of pleasure that refused to clear.

“I will give you some advice.”

She started at the cool cut of words. His voice was bland, though she detected the ruthless current underneath. He was still irritated. Sudden inexplicable elation pumped through her. She’d been able to penetrate the ice surrounding him. The impulse to keep pushing him could not be contained. “I don’t need your advice.”

“Nevertheless, you will have it.”

She braved a glance his way. His face was turned from her, his gaze fastened on the flow of red-tiled houses and cypress trees passing by. He was trying to draw back behind his shell, his mask. However, she wouldn’t let him. “Why would I take advice from a man whose priorities are upside down?”

His mouth tightened. “What does that mean?”

“All you care about is money, position, power. I’ve been listening to your sisters for months.”

“Listening to gossip.” He made a disparaging sound.

“Listening to information,” she countered. “They love you for some reason, but it’s clear what kind of man you’ve become.”

His big body relaxed against the leather, all male elegance and casual interest. “Please. Continue. Give me more of your lovely conclusions about my character.”

She was beginning to see beneath his mask. Slight clues, yet they were there if she was very observant. He was taut with tension. She was sure of it. A delicious thrill of daring ran through her. “A man who spends all his time at work.”

“Mmm.”

“A man who directs his family like a tyrant.”

“Ah.”

“A man who only thinks about his next deal, his next billion, his next power play.”

“All this,” he mused. “From some gossip and three brief meetings between us.”

She would not retreat. She would not allow him to withdraw inside himself without letting him know exactly what she thought of him. Someone had to tell him how awful he’d become. “You have become the most cold-blooded man I know.”

He appeared completely unfazed by her comments. However, his long fingers curled into his palm. “More cold-blooded than your husband was,
bella
?”

The strike was stunning and accurate. It cut into her like a fine blade, right to the bone. He’d taken her one stupid slip in the church and jumped to conclusions. The correct conclusions, but he didn’t know that for sure.

Wrenching her head around, she stared at the passing scenery. She couldn’t look at him now, couldn’t challenge him. The shock of his words might show on her face, and then he would know his guess had been more accurate than he realized.

Yet she could not escape the gaping hole in her heart he’d sliced open. She knew she still carried enormous baggage from her marriage. Rage and bitterness and self-pity mixed in with loss and pain and self-hate. And now, somehow, some way, these emotions had laced around her memories of this man, their past, his actions against her, magnifying them inside her like a horrid brew of destruction.

Lara fisted her hands in her lap and pressed them into her stomach, trying to keep it all in, trying to push it all away. It was still there, though. The reality inside her.

“Your two simple words regarding your dead husband were enlightening,” he continued, relentless. “The anger you have shown towards me is now more understandable. I’ll be interested to find out about your marriage.”

“I am not talking to you about my marriage,” she whispered.

“But it is only fair. Since it appears I am paying the price for your husband’s actions.”

“You have your own actions to pay for,” she blurted.

Her body, her heart sensed his retreat. The air cooled between them. For some awful reason, it hurt her. The deadening silence extended, the link between them leaching away.

Taking in deep breaths, she managed to stop the jumbling emotions running through her. She would endure this reception for a short time and then scuttle home. She would not talk to this man again. Ever. She would concentrate on her school and her friends. She would stay away from men, all men, until she healed completely. Then, only then, would she look for the man of her dreams. A man who listened. Who respected her. Who would never destroy her self-confidence or tear her heart to pieces.

The limo eased to a stop on the driveway circling in front of the Casartelli villa.

“I believe I was going to give you some advice.”

Another breath. Another.

“When a woman runs. A man has the compulsion to chase.”

“I’m not running. From you or anyone.”

“Quite the opposite, I would say.” His deep voice was cool and precise. “I believe you are running as fast as you can from what you know is inside you.”

“There is nothing inside me,” she managed through the knot in her heart and her throat. “Nothing for you.”

“I am a patient man. And also a determined one.” He held his body still, yet she sensed the coiled heat and need. “You cannot escape what is between us. I will chase you for as long as it takes. Until you eventually admit what you truly want.”

Heart jumping in her chest, she forced herself to meet his black stare. No longer cool and indecipherable, the blackness radiated resolve and ruthless will. Exactly like twelve years ago, he thought he could dictate what was between them. Bitter anger surged inside her and laced her every word with warning. “Don’t chase me.”

“Ah, Lara.” His dark lashes slowly shielded his eyes. “I am afraid it is far too late for that.”

T
hank God
.

The simple words echoed in his head.

Thank God
.

The expression on her face when she’d said those telling words in the cathedral played inside his mind. Relief, mixed with ironic cynicism. No grief over a lost love. No sadness. No desperate wish for her dead husband to come back from the grave.

Thank God
.

Dante watched Lara as she raced up the stone steps of his villa. As if she could race away from what she’d revealed to him. As if he would let her run away from what she’d given him. Only a tiny slip really. Any other person might have missed the slight inflection in her voice or the way she tilted her head in relief. Or the tight edge to the two words that said so much.

To him.

“
Signore
Casartelli?” The limo door opened wider and his devoted driver peered in, a look of shocked concern on his face.

Why wouldn’t he be shocked? No woman had ever rushed from the Casartelli limo in obvious distress. At no time had his driver ever seen The Casartelli sitting silently, staring blankly at the tinted window in front of him.

“Everything is fine, Aberto.”

Stepping out of the limo, Dante grimaced. Everything was not fine, of course. Far from it. Lara had now become a riddle. A riddle he needed to solve before he could ever approach achieving his goal. A riddle that increasingly grew more incomprehensible and complicated every time he saw her. The dozens of million euro deals he’d negotiated over the last eleven years paled in comparison to what he faced in trying to figure her out. Obviously, he had to figure her out before he could ever hope to win her. Win not only her body and her mind, but her heart.

A heart clearly damaged by her past marriage.

A thick fire of pure rage flashed in his gut. All those pictures, those videos, those reports he’d been sent over the years. How had his family’s security team missed the fact that something was wrong? Wrong with the marriage. Wrong with her.

How had he missed it?

The thought made him grit his teeth. He stomped up the villa steps, the solid smack of his handmade leather shoes on the marble stone acting like a slap on his conscience. Twelve years ago, when he’d convinced Hugo Derrick that sending his daughter to England would be a good move, he sealed the deal when he promised his security team would keep an eye on her. He’d given his word. He’d promised on his honor she would be protected.

The double doors of the villa, with the distinctive Casartelli crest, loomed in front of him.

Onore soprattutto
.

The gilded scroll swept over the crown, the castle, the cross. Mocking him.

Honor above all
.

His ancestor, the founder of the family, stared at him from the middle of the crest. The wooden eyes gleamed black with paint, the long nose pointed high in the air, the hardness of the jaw clenched. In disgust. At him.

He had failed. When all these years, he thought he’d done the right thing.

Dante closed his eyes for a moment, only a moment, and when he opened them it was his housekeeper staring at him from the doorway, holding the heavy stone door ajar. She looked just as concerned as his loyal driver had.

“
Signore
?” She frowned in puzzlement.

Why shouldn’t she be puzzled? This was not like him to stare at the door of his own home. Or stand here doing nothing. Or not have any words to soothe the worries his staff, his family, his business associates might have.

The purr of a dozen limos came from behind him.

“
Signore
?” she said again, her eyes filling with anxiety as she glanced at the stream of cars circling the driveway and coming to a stop. “
È successo qualcosa?
”

Si.
Something has happened. He’d found out. Found out he’d failed Lara. Found out he’d broken his promise to her father. All these years, he’d congratulated himself for honoring her marriage vows by staying away. He’d foolishly thought he’d done the right thing when he stepped back. He’d even assured Hugo Derrick he would continue to provide her security in England on the off chance her stable, secure ass of a husband failed in his duty.

During those years, she had suffered. He didn’t know what, or why, or how. Still, he knew she had by the look in those honey eyes as she’d said those two simple words.

Thank God
.

“Thank God we’re finally here.” Dani’s voice came from behind him. “The twins were driving me crazy in the limo.”

“The twins always drive you crazy,
il mio amore
,” her husband commented.

“Because you spoil them.” Giana Casartelli marched to Dante’s side and glanced at the housekeeper and then him with a frown. “What is going on?”

“
Le mie scuse
.
”
His housekeeper rushed her words, a flustered flush on her broad-cheeked face.
“Non lo so—
”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Ariana.” This was not the time to continue these thoughts. Not the time to contemplate his failures.

“What is wrong?” His mamma’s emotional radar immediately tuned into the turmoil he was stuffing down, down, down inside.

“Nothing.” He glanced at her now, sure he’d wiped everything clean from his face. “The wedding was perfect as expected.”

His mother’s gaze never wavered from his. “Where is Lara? Is she all right?”

His attempt at diversion had not succeeded and her question scrambled what little was left of his brain.
No, she was not all right. And it was his fault.

“
Signorina
Derrick is here.” Ariana unknowingly rushed in to save him. “She said she needed to use the lavatory.”

“So do I,” Dani grumbled from behind him. “Do you mind moving, Dante?”

His sister’s words managed to cut through his ragged thoughts. Thoughts he had no time to go over and ponder. No time right now to figure out a better course than the one he’d chosen when he decided to place Lara in the limo with him. And place her beside him—

“Come, come, Dante.” His mother patted his arm and gave him a gentle push. “Time to...”

Her words faded as his thoughts kept pummeling him. Yet, somehow, he found himself in the foyer, greeting the guests alongside his beaming bride of a sister and his proud peacock of a new brother-in-law. His mother laughed and cried happy tears beside him, still managing to shoot several questioning looks his way.

He used the minutes well. By the time the wedding party had greeted all the guests and been ushered onto the terrace and lawn, he had himself back in control. Though his goal for today might push Lara a bit too much, if well handled, it could still work. He would merely have to be gentle, go slow, execute everything with delicacy.

Don’t chase me
.

Now that he knew there were issues behind that statement, issues that did not involve him directly, he would proceed with more patience. Whatever her damned dead husband had done to her would be dealt with during the next few months. He would find out—she would tell him. Then together they would resolve the problem. At that point, she would be more receptive to his desires. And perhaps, at some point, he would forgive himself for his failure to keep her safe.

He could wait. He’d become good at waiting.

Dante strolled onto the terrace. The chattering crowd circled around him, the ladies smiling and batting their eyes at him, something he’d gotten used to over the years as his wealth had grown. The men tried to engage him in conversation which inevitably would evolve into some sort of business proposal, something he’d also gotten used to.

However, it appeared today he had no reservoir of patience as he usually did.

He withdrew to the far end of the terrace. Taking a deep breath, he looked for Lara in the sea of people.

“Mamma’s outdone herself.” Tomas strode to his side, giving him a slap on the shoulder. “All you have to do is pay for it.”

He flicked a finger in a gesture he’d used with Tomas since they were boys.

His brother chuckled.

But Tomas was right. His job was to provide. He never questioned the responsibility anymore. He glanced over the rolling lawn stretching out from the family villa. The hot sunlight brightened the white roofs of the tents set up to accommodate the wedding reception. Hundreds of guests milled around white linen tables, chatting, drinking champagne, nibbling on a variety of olives, peperoncini, mushrooms, and anchovies. The five-course meal would begin in a few minutes and then there would be dancing.

As host, he was obliged to stay until the very end.

A sudden impulse to run, to grab Lara and run, tore through him.

He clamped down on the emotional urge immediately. Exactly as he’d been taught.

“I noticed the lovely Lara at your side earlier,” his brother said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“
Si.
”

Tomas slid him a mischievous glance. “I told you she’d turned sexy.”

“
Si
.”

His brother laughed. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

“Did you imagine I would?” Turning to stare at his brother, he arched one brow.

His brother chuckled. Tomas was only nine years younger chronologically, yet sometimes he felt a thousand years older.

“Dante.” His mother’s voice snapped behind them. “It is time for the meal to begin. Please help me get everyone to their seats. If you seat yourself, the crowd will follow.”

He gave her a quick nod and stepped off the terrace and into the crowd. Moving slowly but methodically, he greeted guests and urged them toward the dozens of circular tables spread out over the lawn. Within a few minutes, he’d made his way to the large family table in the center of the widest tent. The wooden dance floor was right behind the table, and already the orchestra played a soft medley of classic love songs.

Spotting his name on the place card sitting before the elaborate mix of polished silver, crystal goblets, and wedding gifts for each guest, he eased himself onto the puffed seat of the chair. The wedding reception might be outdoors, but the Casartelli class and clout were on full display.

As they should be.

Glancing over, he read the name on the place card next to him.

Was this worry suddenly coursing through him? He never worried anymore. So what could this be, this thread of emotion wrapping around his brain so he couldn’t think, sliding down his spine making it straighten, tightening around his lungs so he couldn’t breathe?

No matter. He’d decided his goal for today and even though subsequent events and revelations had come, the goal was still solid. He’d make it work.

The next act in this play between them was about to begin.

The crowd swirled around him, laughing and joking, finding their places. His family circled the table, arranging chairs, hugging the bride, kissing the babies.

“
Zio
Dante.” A childish tug on his tux caught his attention. He looked down into eyes as black and alert as his own. “I fell and bled all over.”

“Ah.” The relish in the boy’s voice almost made him smile. He examined the bandaged finger with interest. “Your mamma has fixed it, I see.”

“
Si
.” His nephew, Giorgio, clambered onto his lap without hesitation. “She told me I had to be more careful.”

Curb your impetuous impulses, Dante
.

He heard his father’s voice as plainly as if he stood by his side right now. Some last remnant of his youth rebelled inside of him. “It is also important to have fun.”

His nephew reared his head to stare at him. Astonishment shone in his gaze for a moment and then a huge grin split his face. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

“And get me in trouble?”

The five-year-old laughed.

All at once, she was there. He sensed her presence by his side as if she’d touched his hair and neck and shoulder. His skin heated and his blood flowed faster in his veins.

He glanced over and met her intent scrutiny. “Lara.”

Giorgio might be young, but he was an Italian male. He eyed the female before them. “Pretty,” he blurted.

Lara Derrick, the woman who claimed she was all grown up, the woman who’d told his sisters she was tough and hard and over men, blushed.

His heartbeat picked up as his heart melted at the same time. She might claim to be a stranger to him. Yet the charming, loving girl he’d grown up with, the young lady who’d captured his heart, the devoted friend he’d leaned on when the demands of his future role seemed too great to bear...the heart of her was still there, waiting for him to reawaken it and love her as she deserved.

He would make it happen. He would make up for his failure to protect her. He would find some way to heal her wounds. Now was the time to start.

“Go to your mamma,” he said to his nephew, easing him off his lap.

The little boy scuttled off, leaving a well of silence between them. She broke it by turning and frowning at the place card with her name on it. “You did this.”

“Actually, I hired people to do this.” He waved a negligent hand to indicate the elaborate celebration swirling around them.

“You know what I mean.” She glanced around, noticed she was one of the few guests left standing, and with a huff, plopped herself onto the seat beside him.

“How nice to have you here with us,” his sister, Dani, piped up from across the table. “It’s like you’re part of the family, Lara.”

Dante eased his chair back. With faint amusement and rueful resignation, he noted how his entire family smiled and agreed and slanted encouraging looks at both of them. This had been a factor in his original plot for this day. Now he wished to be with her alone so he could find out her secrets. Boxing her in when she was hurting was not a good strategy. He knew this from thousands of business negotiations.

However, it was too late. He’d been too thorough in his usual way and he’d boxed them both into a long night with his family making many sorts of hints and suggestions. The thread of worry slithered across his skin and he had to focus to keep the bland expression on his face.

She stiffened beside him. “I’m glad to be here with all of you.”