Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (7 page)

Maybe teasing would work to relax her. His teasing had always made her laugh. Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “All of us but one. Right,
bella
?”

“Exactly.” The word was a bullet aimed right between his eyes. No laughing response or teasing as she had done long ago.

He should give her some space. Give himself some time to come up with a better way. Winging it was not in his repertoire.

He should retreat.

Yet he could not. His focus could not be drawn away from the faint smell he’d always known as uniquely hers.

Roses. Sunlit sweet. Spicy sass.

Was it because as a child she’d gleefully run through his mother’s rose gardens, weaving the flowers through her hair, laughing as she threw them in the air to land on her shoulders and head? Had those hours sitting in his family’s park, watching him climb trees, chatting as she plucked the thorns off the stems, giggling as she tried to put a rose behind his ear—had those endless, blissful hours imprinted the smell into her very being?

He leaned in, closer. Breathed in. The silky, sexy, subtle scent of her. He breathed her in again and the hectic beat of the pulse on her neck matched the drumming beat of lust in his blood. The urge to take her and run rushed through him once more.

“Dante,” she choked. “You’re embarrassing me. Move away.”

Reluctantly, he eased away. The chatter of his family swelled and as the moments passed, he sensed her relaxing in her seat. Regrettably, he could not follow her into relaxation. His erection was painful and if he stood, would be obvious. His host speech would be a spectacle if he did not clamp down on his libido.

His reaction to her continued to astonish him.

White-coated waiters quickly appeared everywhere, circling the tables with large china bowls filled with
cioppino
. He found himself grimly amused as the bowl of steamed mussels, lightly spiced with garlic, was set before him. The last thing he needed was an aphrodisiac.

“So,” he said, trying to distract himself. “Your father was unable to attend.”

She puckered her lips, blowing on the hot soup in her spoon.

His erection pressed against the zipper of his pants.

Dio
. Was she doing it on purpose? But no, her body language screamed her dislike. Some primal male part of him roared to life, much to his amazement. The female challenge to his pride, the demand to make her aware of him, to admit he got to her as much as she got to him, threatened to consume him.

He stared at the mussels and forced himself to focus on the conversation instead of any challenges. “Lara? Your father is all right?”

“I’m sorry he couldn’t make it,” she finally responded. “He had to go to Florence to see my brother unexpectedly.”

Not so unexpectedly. Dante had spent the last week in a productive manner. He’d wrapped up the remaining details of his overseas trip, freeing him from crushing business demands in the near future. There would be time to focus on the goals he had for his private life for once. He’d also caught up on the financial news and gossip that often gave him surprisingly good tips.

One particular tip had been important enough to investigate thoroughly.

He frowned. He would have to step in and fix things in that area. Soon. As a family friend to the Derricks, and as one who had the power to change the outcome, it was the least he could do. His intervention into her family’s financial problems might also be the key to softening her feelings toward him. A win-win situation. “I’m sorry he was called away.”

“I’m still not sure you aren’t behind it.”

“I am not in control of everything.”

She glanced at him, eyes honey hot with hate. And passion if she would only acknowledge it. “That must be awful for you,” she cooed.

“
Bella
.” Pushing his soup away, he leaned back in his chair and watched her as she cleanly separated a mussel from its shell. “Believe it or not, I do not seek control. It comes to me.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I believe I told you I do not follow directions very well.”

“But you give directions right and left, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat. “Someone has to.”

“So you’ve appointed yourself.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. Again.

Sudden anger coiled in his gut. Again.

She had no idea of the demands he dealt with every day. Demands he’d shouldered as his father lay on his deathbed. Willingly, of course. His duty and his destiny. He’d been old enough at twenty-five to understand he had no other choice. Yet he wished, just once, someone other than his mother could see the toll it took on him.

To always have the answers.

To always take charge.

To never have time to be.

Dante stared at the woman who sat beside him, the woman who stared right back at him, a curl of mahogany hair whispering along her tight mouth.

Who was he kidding?

He wished for the friend he’d had in Lara. The friend who listened and loved him when he was struggling to come to grips with what he’d have to deal with when his ailing father died. The friend he’d lost the moment he rejected her advances. Still, he’d explained his actions, told her why he’d done what he’d done. So why couldn’t she cut him a break? She continued to judge him, harshly and unfairly.

“No,” he said, his voice intense. “Actually, no, I did not do the appointing.”

She focused on him, her gaze intelligent and questioning. Then the swarm of waiters descended on them, and the main course of
osso buco
and
risotto
was served. Her attention was drawn away by another family member, and he used the time to calm his anger and quiet his surprise at what he’d almost revealed.

After Lara had left for England, he’d never talked about his frustration, his fear of what had been given to him. He never confessed to anyone the long hours of pacing in his bedroom or the times he’d spent rehearsing his speeches in front of his mirror. Or the endless, stark moments of watching his company’s stock move down and then up, feeling his heart move down and up at the same time.

What good would it have done? His mother had been too engulfed in her grief. His sisters and brother had been too young to shoulder any of the responsibility. And his father’s investors had been waiting for him to show even a sliver of weakness.

So he’d dealt with it. Alone.

Now, it was so long ago, behind him, not important. Yet her cutting tongue had loosened the old memories and he’d spilled a bit of himself out in front of her. For her inspection.

His hands fisted in his lap.

Act with your logic, not your emotions
.

His father was right. This was not a time to react with his feelings. This was not the time to dredge up old emotions that were no longer relevant. This was a time to look at the situation, look at this woman, in a calm, patient manner. Make his decisions and act using his brain, not his emotions. Certainly not with his libido.

“You don’t like the food?” she questioned, shifting her attention to him once more.

“Apparently, I am not hungry.”

“Apparently?” She gave him a scathing laugh. “Do you need to check with your board of directors before you make a decision?”

“Me? Check with anyone before I make a decision?” Instantly, his breath burned hot in his throat. He tried to rein in the resurgent anger simmering inside him, but his patience unraveled. “According to you, I would never do such a thing.”

“Do you ever think, Dante, that you could be wrong when you make a decision?”

The old memories twisted inside. The memories of constant second-guessing. The memories of the sweat running down his back as he confronted the board he’d inherited from his father. The memory of coming home to his weeping mother and siblings and not knowing what to say. “Never,” he spat the word at her, his gut churning.

She stared at him, her gaze alert and faintly pitying. “I believe you are a robot.”

Rage purpled his vision and clouded his mind. She insulted him. Judged him.

Pitied him.

“I’m sorry.” She wiped a hand across her brow. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

If he opened his mouth, he would yell at her. Or spill the old memories out in front of her. Then, she would pity him even more.

Glancing at him, she sighed. “I can see I didn’t even make a pinprick in that thick hide of yours. I’m not going to apologize again.”

“No need,” he managed to say. Dimly, he felt pride that his voice was low and controlled. “After all, I have no feelings, do I? A cold-blooded man, I believe you said.”

“True.” She gritted her teeth in a fake smile.

“I am…” he twirled his glass of wine in a languid motion, belying the surging fury running through him, “…a...robot.”

“Yes,” she stated, her smile intact. “You’ve got it exactly right.”

“And yet.” He paused to glance around the table, checking to make sure this conversation was only between them. His family, surprisingly, was giving them space. “And yet, you eagerly fall into my arms whenever I kiss you.”

“I don’t—”

Leaning in, he breathed into her pale pink shell of an ear. “You do. You respond to a robot. How can that be?”

Her distinctive smell wafted around him, wrapping lust around the temper he barely contained. The primal male roared in him: take her, punish her, conquer her.

“I do not—” She began to rise in outrage.

He clamped his hand around her thigh and pushed her down onto her seat. “
Sieda
.”

“Stop. Come. Sit.” Her hands tightened into fists and he wondered if she were going to hit him. “You treat me like I’m a dog.”

“You are no dog,
bella
.”

“Stop calling me that,” she hissed.

“Dante.” His mother’s voice cut through the tension between them with a swift slice.

He tore his gaze away from his infuriating nemesis to the sharp, assessing scrutiny of his mother. With a difficulty that astounded him, he managed to plaster the bland look on his face he rarely, if ever, dropped. “
Si
, Mamma?”

“It is time for the speeches.”

Thankfully, his erection had subsided, replaced by a pure anger he’d forgotten how to feel. He stood. Immediately, the crowd fell silent.

He was the respected Dante Casartelli. No one pitied him. No one insulted him. No one held him in contempt.

Except for her.

He’d given her patience. For years. He’d given her his heart. For years. He’d given her an explanation for what he’d done years ago, but all he got from Lara Derrick was abuse.

Dante began his speech. The words came easily and smoothly. He never experienced the nerves anymore, nerves that had nearly driven him mad when he first started speaking in front of hundreds of people. Not anymore. He never felt much of anything anymore except duty.

But the moment she had stepped into his life again, he’d felt everything.

Lust and longing and love.

Fury and frustration and fear.

His brain whirred as he kept on speaking.

He didn’t want this. All this emotion. No, his original goal had been something quite different. He and Lara would marry. They would have children. It would be as it was meant to be.

Life would be...satisfying.

Not filled with chaotic emotion he couldn’t control.

He finished his speech and sat down. His family clapped and smiled at him. He’d done well, he’d done his duty as everyone expected. Something ugly inside him moved, threatening to upset his stomach.

“Very good, Dante.” Lara’s sugared tone held only contempt. “You could have been giving a speech to your stockholders about their latest dividend check.”

“What do you mean by that?” His gut bubbled with nerves and anger and resentment.

Her golden eyes were filled with—with that damned pity again. “What I mean is your youngest sister just got married and you couldn’t care less. This event is as important to you as another corporate takeover or some meaningless business meeting.”

“Lara.” She had to stop, had to stop before he did something—

“But it’s nothing to do with me, is it?”

Then she shrugged.

Shrugged
.

S
he’d run
.

Her pride stung at the thought. However, truth was truth.

She’d run away from him.

Dusk snuck around the trees and bushes as she strode down one of the many garden paths. Away from the dancing, laughing wedding crowd. Away from the lights and conversation. Away from him.

The dance had done it.

She’d managed to hold it together through the dinner. She smiled and deflected his family’s comments about her and Dante. She managed to mostly ignore the man seated beside her through the long torture of a five-course meal. When the dancing had started, she laughed and clapped as the bride and groom circled the floor. She chatted with Dani and her husband as the crowd joined the married couple and the music’s volume rose. She ignored the man still sitting beside her.

Until he stood up and offered his hand. Looked at her as if waiting for her rejection.

She should have used her good sense and declined. In fact, she tried, but before she could get the words out, he’d tugged her off the chair and into his arms.

Treacherous territory.

She should have pulled herself out of his grasp and slapped his face, made a scene even though it was the last thing she wanted to do in front of his family and at Carlotta’s wedding. Yet before she could start the attack, he’d pressed her into his heat and she’d noted his desire.

And promptly lost all thought.

Which showed, he’d been right.

When he touched, she lost.

Lost her good sense, her determined decisions, her mind. The look in his eyes told her he knew it. Knew what burned between her legs and fired her blood and torched any need to leave his arms.

He’d held her tight, his arm taut against her back, his broad hand curled around hers in a firm grasp. The heat of him had encircled her, a fire of male intention. His smell, as she found herself leaning in, the musky man smell of him filled her nostrils and she’d been very, very close to snuggling into him and nuzzling his strong neck.

He’d made a sound in his throat then.

Not quite a growl or a moan or a groan. The sound had been more animalistic, more primitive than anything she’d ever heard. It had sent a shiver of feminine need down her spine.

She’d been lost. Utterly lost.

She’d glanced up instinctively. Met his stare. Black and hot and burning with lust.

And anger.

She’d sucked in her breath and stilled in his arms. Anger? When she’d been falling, falling, falling into...him? “What—”

“Do I feel like a robot now,
bella
?” he’d snarled. “Do you feel anything cold-blooded about me now?”

What she said before, at dinner,
had
penetrated his thick hide. Evidently, it had done more than penetrate. Her accusation had sliced right into his pride, carved a gaping gouge into his ego.

Then, she’d seen something flash in his eyes. Had her words actually hurt him?

“Dante,” she’d whispered.

He twitched in her arms as if he’d hit an electrical current. His lashes fell, masking his eyes. When he looked up, a mere moment later, everything, every emotion, was wiped clean from his expression. She swore she sensed his body temperature cool several degrees in seconds. She immediately doubted she’d ever seen anything in those blank, black eyes other than blank, bland distance.

“Dante.” No longer a whisper, her voice had turned hoarse.

“I want you.” His mouth, the upper lip thin, the lower lip lush, had twisted. “But I’m not willing to turn myself into a crazy man in order to get you.”

I want you
.

His words rang in her heart exactly as they had when he’d said them in the pool days ago. Her feminine core rejoiced and she’d trembled in his arms with her unwanted need.

Then his other words hit her.

Crazy man? What did he mean by that? She’d jerked her gaze up to meet his once more.

Black eyes stared at her. Intent resolve flashed in them, golden highlights mixed within the darkness. “We’re going to do this my way.”

Her trembling turned from need to anger in a mere second.

“We’re going to do this in a civilized manner.” His hand tightened on her hip, a signal of dominance. His voice was pitched low and it was hard. Tight.

She tried to find some words in her scrambled brain, but the heat of his body combined with the coldness of his statement struck her dumb.

“My aim is to give you some time, court you as you deserve.” He turned them in the dance so her blurry eyes stared out at the swarm of his family, all smiling as they watched her with their cherished son and brother. “And you will eventually tell me what happened to you in your marriage.”

“No.” The word pushed out, instinctive and automatic. The one word was no to everything he stated, yet more than anything, it was a no to the last command.

He laughed, a dry, raspy sound. “I’m not even going to respond. I’ve figured out that’s what you do when you want to rile me. I refuse to let you do that to me anymore.” He’d looked down at her and scared her with his next words. Scared her with his goal.
“
You are mine
.”

The determination in his stare told the story. He meant to hunt her down and have her.

She’d yanked out of his arms and fled.

Like a rabbit or a fawn or prey.

Lara sucked in a deep breath of sea-salted air. She was nothing of the kind. Not anymore. She was no longer a cowering, stupid girl who served only as a pawn for a rigid, disapproving husband. She’d had eighteen months to recover after Gerry’s death, recover her pride and her intelligence. Recover the person who’d disappeared layer by layer in England.

The last thing she needed was to be the focus of another controlling man.

What was she going to do?

Perhaps she would find the answer in the place she was instinctively going to now. The part of this garden that had always soothed her as a child. She intentionally hadn’t visited since returning to Italy because it was the place where he’d rejected her and changed her life.

Yet, she needed to be there.

Her pace slowed and her steps brought her deeper into the wilder part of Giana Casartelli’s prized gardens. The formal walks and finely cut hedges gave way to ivy-covered stone walls and beds of honeysuckle and wild rose.

She’d stayed away purposefully, sure the place would no longer hold magic, only pain for her. But she needed a moment to settle and breathe. She needed a magic moment to figure out what she had to say to Dante to make him understand it was useless to keep trying to win her. Somehow she had to find a way to show him that with this one goal, no matter what strategy he had, he would never win.

A streaking tear slid down her cheek.

Impatiently, she brushed it away and walked around the last corner. With unerring memory, she stepped up to the wall and poked her hand under the ivy. A large metal ring, one that was never removed from the lock, clanged as she pushed.

And stepped into her childhood haunt.

The enclosed, secluded garden appeared exactly as she’d left it. She vividly remembered the last time she’d been here. A crying seventeen-year-old. Trying desperately to hold the devastation in until she got far, far from him and his rejection.

A rejection that no longer stung, surprisingly.

All she experienced now, as she closed the stone door behind her, was a bittersweet tug in her heart for that girl she’d once been. So headstrong, so sure of her love, so positive she’d get her happy ending.

What a silly, too-too-young girl.

Sighing, she walked to the center of the walled garden. There was still light enough to see the colors of the roses climbing their vines, covering the walls. Plush pink and ruby red and brilliant blue. The lone tree stood in the middle of the patch of grass, a tall oak, aged and sturdy. She touched the rough bark, remembering the precious moments spent here. The times she shared her girlish secrets with him, the times he laughed at her jokes.

The pain her memories caused caught her by surprise. She’d expected the pain to come from the last memory, the memory that had destroyed her dreams. Instead, the pain flowed out of the memories of happier times. Times she’d forgotten purposefully. Memories she’d pushed away as figments of her imagination.

Yet they were so real as she stood in the spot where she’d loved so fiercely.

She missed the boy who made her laugh. She missed his laugh as he teased her. She missed his silly jokes and the way his eyes blazed with unconcealed joy when he looked at her. She missed his crazy...

Crazy. His words came back to her.

Turn myself into a crazy man
.

Lara leaned on the tree and stared blankly at the row of roses along the wall softly dancing in the wind. Was that what he had meant? That he wasn’t willing to be the spontaneous, enchanting boy she’d once known? The boy who dared to be crazy and take chances and risks. The boy who acted from the heart, not the head.

Isn’t that what she’d been doing when she poked and prodded him with her words? Hadn’t she admitted to herself, more than once, this was what she was doing?

Trying to drive him crazy.

What had he said? She leaned her head against the rough bark.

I’m not willing
.

Not willing to be crazy. Not willing to lead with his heart and risk being spontaneous. Not willing to do anything except carefully court her under the surveillance of his family and hers until she eventually laid out her secrets for his distant inspection. Then he would marry her and put her in a box and she would end up with another husband who saw her as an object to dust off when needed.

“No. Never.”

Her words drifted in the air, filled with certainty.

She hated this, this man he’d become. Beyond the fact she wanted no man at all right now, Dante was the last man she would ever get involved with. Because he wouldn’t ever be crazy in love with her and give her the passion and the life she knew she wanted and needed and deserved.

“He’s never going to be the man for you,” she whispered to herself. “Not then. Not now.”

Another lone tear dribbled down to her chin. She didn’t wipe it away this time.

Then why did her body rebel against this sure knowledge her mind knew? For the first time in years, for the first time since her innocent crush on Dante, she came alive sexually around a man. There’d been an insatiable need inside her to nuzzle into his neck while they danced. Even the imprint of his hand on her thigh, as he pushed her down in her seat at the wedding dinner, still tingled with delight. The fact he was enforcing his will on her at the time had done little to stop the tightening of her nipples or the wash of wet between her thighs.

This was perilous, far too perilous. Because if she ever acted on her desire, if she ever let him go beyond kisses, he would find out another one of her secrets. A secret she didn’t want anyone to know, but above all, not Dante.

Because he would pity her. He would think, again, she wasn’t anything more than a child.

“You have to find something to drive him away for good,” she stated under her breath.

Before it was too late and he drew her in with his body and need.

“Ah,” he said from behind her. “I thought I might find you here.”

Jerking around, she stared in utter dismay at his enigmatic face. “Go away.”

He closed the stone door behind him and leaned against the ivy, his tux unbuttoned, hands in his pockets. “When I last checked, I owned this garden.”

“Then I’ll go.” She walked with a resolved air right up to his relaxed body. Still, she couldn’t make herself invade his personal space. Getting too close was a deadly trap.

She glared at him.

His mouth quirked.

“Move.”

His brows arched.

With a sound of disgust, she twirled and marched away from him. He couldn’t keep her here forever. He was the host of the party. He had to leave soon. She moved behind the tree, blocking him from her sight.

He would leave. Eventually.

She sensed him, sensed him, God help her, move to her side.

“You do not appreciate my dancing abilities?” His voice was laconic.

Ignore him
.

“I cannot remember a time when a woman left me on the dance floor so abruptly. Or left me at all.” He strolled a few paces and turned to face her. “A remarkable experience.”

She would not meet his eyes.

“My family. My neighbors. My business acquaintances.” His voice wrapped an edge of hostility around each word. “Everyone looking at me. Then talking.”

Her tongue leapt to action. She tried to still the words, but they tumbled forth. “Poor Dante.”

His mouth turned down, a grim line. “Be careful. You are pushing me too far.”

“You don’t scare me.” She knew it as a lie, yet her pride demanded she keep going at him. She even managed a short laugh after the lie and noted with stupid satisfaction that he tensed. For a moment, she was sure he would pounce.

A thrill of pleasurable terror raced through her.

But then he turned, a sharp motion, and paced away from her to lean on the stone wall once more. “Time to cut to the chase,” he said, his tone mild.

How did the man do that? She’d sensed his sudden surge of frustration, an almost visible wave of aggravation. And then, nothing. How could he possibly think this would be attractive to her? That she would have any desire to spend the rest of her life with a man who stifled every emotion until all he exuded to the world was bland disinterest and haughty arrogance?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“There is something between us.” His black stare was pinned to her face. “A spark.”

“A spark of dislike.”

“Keep telling yourself that. However, eventually you will see what it actually is.”

Folding her arms in front of her, she turned her back to him, avoiding his gaze.

“There is a bond between us no one can break. Not even us.”

His words arced between them, adamant and assertive. Alluring seduction slid through every consonant and vowel. He made no move toward her, and yet she could almost feel the silken tangle of his desire reach out and wrap around her.