Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (8 page)

“We have nothing between us but dislike.”

He stood silent, a shadowy form in the deepening dusk.

“All we do is argue.” She turned to look at him. “All we do is disagree.”

“
Bella,
how quickly you forget. That is not all we do.”

Lara was glad for the darkening night because it hid the blush sliding across her face. “We won’t be doing anything together anymore.”

“It is time you faced reality. Time you faced the truth.”

“Your take on reality. Your version of the truth.”

“
Si.
” The beginning glimmer of moonlight gilded his tight jaw. “But it is yours too, whether you acknowledge it or not.”

“My reality is I want to be left alone.”

His deep voice came from the shadows, brutal and hard. “I am not going to allow your dead husband to stand in the way of what we could have.”

“Back off,” she choked. This was too much. How could she explain to him that it wasn’t merely Gerry standing between them? There were other secrets, other wounds. And more than anything, what he’d become stood between them. “You have no right to keep coming at me when I’ve so plainly told you I’m not interested.”

“
Merda
.” He straightened from the wall and took one step toward her. “You are interested. You’re just using good old Gerry as a shield against what you feel for me.”

“I feel nothing for you—”

“You are hiding behind a dead man because you’re scared of what will happen between us. And it will happen. Let us be very clear about that.”

His words hit her like stones. Stones she didn’t deserve and didn’t want. Stones she couldn’t handle. With a shudder, she turned and headed for the door.

With a swift step, he followed. His arm wrapped around her from behind, bringing her to an abrupt stop. “No more running,” he breathed into her ear.

Stifling the shiver of response from the touch of his breath and the feel of his heat, she armored herself with resentment and turned in his arms. “What part of no don’t you understand?”

“Then make me understand.” His ebony stare held hers, prying into her secrets.

Impossible. No one knew and no one would ever know. The years in England, from the moment she was told she was stupid until the moment she’d buried her abusive husband, all those years were frozen in her heart like old bones in ice. The thought of unfreezing even one for this man’s scrutiny—

“No,” she said softly. “No.”

Dante’s arm tightened around her and he growled in disagreement.

Those secrets were well hidden and she meant to keep them that way.

But his hold was tight and strong, and she had to find some way to get him to let her go. Once and for all. She’d told herself she would never tell him how much she knew of his betrayal. He didn’t deserve to know, didn’t have the right to know how devastating his actions had been for her. But if it was the only way—

“All right.” She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I’ll make you understand.”

His grasp went lax in apparent surprise at her unexpected acquiescence. His eyes flamed with immediate victory. Little did he know, this would be his ultimate defeat. “Tell me what he did to you.”

Stepping away from him, she folded her arms in front of her, tucking her shaking hands to her sides. “I’d rather tell you what you did to me.”

He stilled. “What?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” She chuckled, a hoarse, harsh noise. “Did you think I was that stupid?”

He didn’t move, only stood silently, waiting.

“My father has a terrible habit of leaving papers lying about.” The cool night air clung to her skin, sending goose bumps up her arms. “Sometimes those papers find themselves into letters. Old-fashioned letters sent by snail mail.”

“And?” His one word was cautious, hesitant. As if he were approaching a bomb.

He was. A bomb that would explode any of his hopes for their future together.

“About a year after I got to England.” She lit the fuse. “I received a letter from Papa.”

He said nothing.

“In it were some papers I don’t believe he wanted me to see. He must have shuffled them into the long letter he’d written me.” She chuckled again. “The information was very clear. The plane ticket paid for by you. The college entrance exams waived at your request. It wasn’t my father’s idea to send me to England, was it, Dante?”

The line of his shoulders went taut.

“No, it was your idea.” The bomb exploded inside her exactly as it had eleven long years ago.

A pungent, piercing silence descended, leaving only the whisper of the wind and the whooshing of the waves to fill the air between them.

“
Si,
” he finally admitted. “The idea was mine.”

The simple admission shocked her. She’d expected a denial, some attempt to shift the blame. “How could you? How could you have sent me away from my home?” The wail came from her broken heart, the heart that had never quite recovered from this blow.

“Lara.” He stepped forward, but came to a halt when she shrank from him. “Let me explain.”

“This should be good.” Before she wept in front of him, she walked past him and headed toward the sturdy oak. She stopped with her back to him, wiping her tears from her face in a quick jerky movement. “Go ahead,” she threw over her shoulder. “Try to explain.”

“After that night.” His voice was cool, yet a strand of desperation ran through his words. “The night of your birthday, I knew I had to do something.”

She gasped and turned to stare at his shadowed figure. “More than what you’d already done? More than brutally reject me?”

Moonlight traced his tight jaw. “I would not have been able to stay away from you.”

Another shock ricocheted through her, leaving her breathless and speechless.

“I went to your father the next day.” One large hand ruffled through his hair. “I told him about the educational opportunities England could give you. I suggested it might be good for you to stay with his English relations for a while.”

“You made him feel guilty for keeping me in Italy.” The memory of Papa’s face as he told her about his plans for her to visit her uncles and aunts came back with painful intensity. Hugo Derrick had been doggedly determined, even in the face of her anguished pleading to stay home.

“
Si
.” He paced away to lean on the wall as if trying to run from what he’d done. “That was the only way I could convince him to let you go.”

“You bastard.”

Her stark words blasted into the garden. The garden that had once been filled with their laughter and friendship.

“Perhaps.” He stared across at her. “I did it with the best intentions, though.”

“Really?” She wouldn’t let him get away with it. Even if it meant telling him of her painful years. “Your best intentions left me in a cold house in England with relatives who didn’t know me and couldn’t have cared less about me.”

“It was not my intent—”

“Your best intentions put me at Oxford where I wasn’t prepared enough to be anything else but a disgrace to my English relatives.” The old shame bubbled in her words, making it hard to catch her breath.

His big body flinched.

“Your best intentions,” she ruthlessly drove her spiked accusations into him, “had me marry a man because he was the only one who’d been nice to me in the year I’d been in the UK.”

“I thought,” the desperation in his voice was now palpable, “the experience of going to Oxford would be good for you. I thought going to England would allow you to spread your wings.”

“Spread my wings.” Her fingers tightened on her arms. “Well, thanks, Dante, for letting me spread my wings these past twelve years.”

Straightening from the wall, he moved his shoulders as if taking on a huge weight. “I will admit, it didn’t turn out the way I expected—”

Her laugh was hard, jarring.

“However, we cannot go back and change the past.” He obstinately pressed on. “We must face what happened and learn from it.”

“I learned a lot.” She’d learned never to trust a man. After Dante, and then Gerry, she had learned that lesson very well. “That’s why I’m sure you and I will never work.”

“Just as I’m sure we will.” He strode toward her. “You can’t let one bad relationship stop you from—”

“Two.” She stood her ground. “You and Gerry both taught me well.”

“We never had a relationship.” He came to a standstill, hovering over her. “Not in the male-female sense.”

“Dante.” She struggled to find the words, the final words between them. “I am not interested in having any kind of relationship with a man—”

“He’s not worth throwing yourself—”

“And even if I were,” she forced herself to keep her gaze on his dark visage so he would understand she meant what she said, “the last man I’d pick is you.”

He tensed. Then, with the swift move of a practiced hunter, he wrapped a warm hand around her neck and pulled her to within an inch of his face. Her focus dropped to his lips, firm and smooth. They moved, and she experienced the warmth of his exhalation and smelled the cleanness of his breath. “I hear the words coming out of your mouth.” His glittering gaze swept over her. “But the mouth itself—”

His touch was soft as a butterfly. He angled her head and moved his lips on hers with a measured, searching taste. Nipping at her, he took advantage of her gasp. His tongue slipped into her, sipping and sucking and pulling her into him.

Trying to keep herself from ceding everything to him, within moments she lost the battle, losing herself in his grasp.

He let her go, easing his lips off hers. “But the mouth itself,” he whispered. “Says yes.”

“No—”

“Someday soon, you will also say the words.” His voice rang with resolve. “Yes, Dante, yes.”

Jerking herself out of his arms, she pulled the rags of her pride and will around her. This man would not win. She was stronger, older, wiser than she’d been with Gerry. This time, she would protect herself. “Your ego amazes me.”

He gave her a slight bow. “
Grazie
.”

“That was not a compliment,” she bit out. “News flash. Not every woman wants your body.”

“You do though.”

Frustration whipped through her blood, giving her fresh fuel. “A few kisses mean nothing.”

“You kiss every man like you kiss me?” His tone brewed with irony.

“No, of course not.”

“Which is exactly my point.” He took a step toward her, but she backed away. Stopping, he put his hands in his pockets. “You’re not the kind of woman who gives so much of herself to a man if she doesn’t have feelings for him.”

Realizing the trap, she tried to break free. “How do you know what kind of woman I am? Maybe I’ve slept with dozens of men in the past eighteen months since Gerry’s death.”

A low grunt of disbelief was his response.

“Maybe I sleep with any man who catches my fancy.”

“If that is the case, then I am in luck. Since you clearly fancy me.”

“Again, the ego.” She strode away from him, hands clenched at her sides. “I’m astonished any woman can stand you for more than a moment.”

“Actually, that has never been a problem for me.”

A pang of jealousy slithered through her at the thought of him with another woman naked together…Lara pushed the vision back, pushed the emotion she wouldn’t accept down deep inside. Turning, she threw up her hands. “Then go find them. Go get the harem waiting for you in every room in Europe. They are welcome to you.”

“The problem is,” he stated, “I have chosen you.”

Her hands clutched her arms as her stomach did a somersault. Why hadn’t he admitted this twelve years ago when she’d been his for the taking? Her heart grieved. He’d waited until it was far too late for them. Her broken heart could never accept him now. “I’m not

avail—”

“Only you.” His words were like solid planks of steel. Rigid and inflexible and immovable.

T
he words
of his sisters floated into Lara’s mind.

Dante always has a goal.

Dante never gives up.

Dante always wins.

Her throat tightened around a cold lump of fear. His formidable will combined with the sexual draw was a potent weapon. “Stop pushing me.”

Ignoring her plea, he moved close, close enough she caught his scent, masculine and clean. A shudder of forbidden desire raced through her. “Look at me,” he commanded.

Closing her eyes, she kept her face turned away.

A deep sigh escaped him. “
Bella
, I understand enough to know you were hurt—”

“You understand nothing.”

“—however, you must put it behind you,” he continued. “You must look at this from a logical point of view.”

The male condescension in his voice lit up all the old memories buried in her heart. He sounded precisely like Gerry had when he’d lectured her. Chastising her for not being able to read simple English. Chiding her for thinking she could handle her own money. The censure in his voice when she’d attempted to get a job.

“Logically,” Dante said, continuing to dig himself a deeper hole. “We have many things in common.”

“Logic. Typical of you. Yet missing the total point, as only a man can do.”

“As I am only a man.” His tone turned harsh. “Please illuminate your point.”

“My point is there is no bond between us.”

“You are deluding yourself.”

“This sexual thing—” She waved her hands in dismissal, trying to appear nonchalant, as if she discussed sex with a man every day of her life. “This sexual draw—”

“Ah.” His voice turned husky. “At last, you admit there is something between us.”

“Nothing of importance.”

“Sex is not important?”

“Not for me.” She struggled to find the words that would keep her secret while still successfully getting him to stop coming at her. “I’m not interested in sex.”

“You seem very interested whenever you are in my arms.”

“Which is why I don’t want to ever be there again.”

“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

His soft, low voice did not eclipse the hard, brutal truth.

“All right.” She braved a straight look at his face. “Let’s say he did. That doesn’t change the facts. I’m not interested.”

“This is not going to get any easier. And I am here to help you get over it.”

“How nice of you.” Another desperate laugh escaped her. She hoped it sounded practiced and experienced. She hoped the inflection in her tone and the laughter hid her secret well. “But no thank you.”

“Almost two years is a long time.” He straightened from the wall, his body still appearing relaxed. Yet his words pulsed with intent. A quiet, lethal purpose. “A relationship with me is exactly what you need.”

“I believe I’ll pass on your offer of sexual healing.”

“Do you think sex is the only thing I’m offering you?”

She knew it wasn’t. He’d made it clear. But discussing sex, even though that was hard enough, was much easier than talking about what he wanted. “That’s all there could be between us.”

“I disagree.” He paced slowly toward her. “There is much more for us.”

“I don’t want anything more.”

“So, the only thing you want from me is sex.” His deep, dark voice swirled, seduced, made her dizzy.

“I don’t want anything from you,” she cried. “Why can’t you let this go?”

“It is not in my nature to let things go.” He kept coming at her with his words, his intent. “Not when I see so much potential. What we have is an opportunity here.”

There it was once more. His cold dispassion. How could he ever think she would want a man like this? “Potential? Opportunity? You make it sound like we are going into business together.”

“In a way you are correct.” His stare never strayed from her face. “I believe it is worth exploring the possibility.”

“You told me you didn’t want to get crazy. You’re bordering close to that right now.”

His broad shoulders jerked, but he didn’t step back and he didn’t stop his barrage. “Is it crazy to acknowledge the sexual connection between us?”

“Stop—”

“Is it crazy to realize we have many things in common?”

“We have nothing in common.” Her heart beat in double time.

His stare never wavered. “Is it crazy to think of what we could create between us?”

“What could we possibly create between us other than anger?”

“What do a man and a woman together often create?”

Sucking in a shocked breath, she stared at him, stunned. “You can’t mean—”

“The thought has crossed my mind that neither of us is getting any younger.”

“My God. You are crazy.” She straightened, the realization stunning her, although it shouldn’t have. For all his
I want yous
and passionate kisses, what he actually wanted was a breeder.

Dante was not only crazy. He was cold to the core.

“Not in the slightest.” His mouth tightened and his brows furrowed. “I’m practical.”

“We’re not talking about a business. We are talking about—”

“It has also not escaped my notice you like and enjoy children.” His words cut her off as if what she had to say was of little importance.

Her gut churned, a mix of potent anger and hurt.

Dammit.

Hurt
.

He didn’t want her. Not truly. He only wanted someone to give birth to his children.

His hands slipped into his pockets. “As do I.”

A vivid memory of her shock as she watched him with his nephew at the wedding reception hours ago flew through her mind. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t believed it. Yet it had been right in front of her, impossible to ignore. The easy way he held the boy. The slight softening of his grim features. The way the boy laughed up into his uncle’s face with complete trust.

Dante would be a good father,
she’d thought.

Struggling past the memory of what she’d thought at that moment, she tried to marshal her resources. “I don’t want children.”

“That is why you are opening a school for dozens?”

“I’m not ready to have children. Certainly not your children.”

“I believe there’s a saying in your adopted country.” Irony crept around his words.

“I’m sure there’s nothing I can say to stop you from telling me.”

“The lady protests too much.” The complete confidence in his voice was maddening.

“Dante,” she blurted out. “I am not going to marry you. Ever.”

Silence fell.

Finally, his black brows lifted. “I believe it is customary to wait until you are asked before giving your answer.”

“Opportunity. Potential. Customary.” The words rushed out of her, in an agitated wash of frustration at his insistence on labeling anything with emotion as merely a formality. “Are you alive in there? Do you have a heart anymore?”

His dark eyes blazed with a sudden flash of fury. “Keep putting me down. You only make me more determined.”

“That’s supposed to scare me? Impress me?”

“I won’t give up.” Moonlight spilled across the flinty muscles in his face. “I won’t stop.”

Relentless. Persistent. Stubborn.

A terrible exhaustion hit her. She stumbled to the other side of the tree and tried to still the thudding of her heart and head.

“I have decided.” His voice was velvet over steel. “You are mine.”

“Your decision? Yours only?” With a bang, her exhaustion flew away in the soft night air. The violent urge to push him until he exploded was more than she could resist. Turning, she pinned him with her glare. “A decision that involves me? And I’m supposed to go along with it?”

The dusky shadows of the night filtered around his broad shoulders as he stood still.

“Let me guess,” she continued to prod. “You make the decision and I submit.”

He stiffened.

“You make all the decisions, and they’re always the right ones, aren’t they?”

A disparaging sound came from his throat.

“I shouldn’t worry my silly little head about anything. I should coo and giggle and do just what you tell me to do.”

“
Dio santo
,” he groaned. “You drive me crazy.”

“Right. Exactly right. And it’s not what you want, is it? You said so yourself.”

“I won’t let you do this,” he muttered. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

“Ditto. I won’t let you do this to me either.” She stepped away, one step towards escape. “I won’t let you put me in a tidy little box you control.”

His hand slashed in an arc of rejection. “That is not—”

“It is.” Another step away. “We are bad for each other. In every way.”

“Is that so.” With one stride, he was upon her. Grabbing her arms, he pulled her into his heated body. “Not in every way, damn you.”

His head came down, his lips pressed on hers. His tongue dove into her mouth, pushing her, pulling her, coaxing her into his stormy need. In the dim regions of her mind, Lara heard a voice, laughing, taunting her...
this is what you wanted, isn’t it
?
…this is what you pushed for, wasn’t it
?

Was it? Was this what she wanted? The cold man now hot with need. The cool customer now panting with desire she’d created inside him. The haughty aristocrat brought low by his uncontrollable lust for her.

A shiver of delighted horror ran through her. Because she knew the truth. In an instant.

Yes. She wanted this. She wanted him.

Her mouth softened, then sucked him in.

He groaned in response and with one swift turn, he had her pinned to the rough bark of the tree. Yet all she felt was the heat pouring from his skin. All she felt was the air around them burn with passion. All she felt was her heart and body open to him.

To Dante.

Skidding his lips down, he nipped her chin before licking the side of her neck. A pure zip of adrenaline flooded her nerves and blood and body. Gasping, she tried to find a foothold, something to stop herself from falling completely under his spell.

But she found no help. Only him.

His hands tightened their grip on her. “
Abbracciami
,” he husked.

Hold me
.

His heated demand shot through her and before she could process it in her brain, her arms settled on his warm, wide shoulders.

“
Sei bella
.” His breath rasped along her neck and cheek and then he covered her mouth. His tongue swept over her lips, slipping past her teeth and sliding across her own. He lifted her into him, pressing his erection on the most sensitive part of her.

She panted as the heat and power of him flamed against her.

And she lost the last lingering desire to keep herself from him.

Her hands moved across his neck into his hair. The softness was surprising after the hardness of his muscled shoulders. She weaved her fingers through the beginning of curl, her dazed sight watching the moonlight casting a glint of silver on his dark locks. Smoothing her hand down, she touched the warmth of him, the moisture gathering on the skin of his neck before she hit the top of his shirt.

The man burned, burned for her.

“Lara,” he moaned. His hips pressed deeper into her, pinning her to the rough bark as both of his hands moved forward to gently cup her breasts.

She wore no bra underneath her simple silk dress. The tiny straps over her shoulders wouldn’t allow for any kind of proper bra. This fact, combined with the heat of the day, had made her go without, needing only a short-sleeved cotton jumper for the church. Yet never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought of him touching her breasts and how wonderful it felt as his fingers slid on the thin silk.

His palms covered her, lifting the weight, plumping the curves closer together. The warmth of his skin penetrated the silk, heating her flesh. He softly plucked and played with her nipples. The electric zip she experienced made her arch.

Asking for more.

His groan broke through the mist of her mind for a moment, but then he flicked one of her straps down her arm and bared one breast. Before she could gather a thought, his scorching, wet mouth was on her, sucking and licking. She lost control of her thoughts, her body. He played for a long time, far longer than a ruthless businessman should have time for. Finally, he slipped the other strap off and concentrated his formidable attention on her other breast.

Sexual lightning crackled through her bloodstream.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relish the feel of a man tugging on her nipple, touching and smoothing his hand on the roundness of her breast. In her imaginings over the years, never had she understood the depths of the pleasure a man, this man, could bring to her body. The momentary thought popped into her brain: she’d never experienced such bliss. Before she could analyze this amazing discovery further, though, he slid one hand across her hip, under her dress, and into the vee of her legs.

She lost focus. She only felt.

“So hot. So wet.” His deep voice slipped across the skin of one breast and tickled her nipple.

She couldn’t swallow the moan of pure pleasure. The man was an artist. He played and dallied, and took his time as if he were sipping a vintage wine or contemplating a Michelangelo masterpiece. She hadn’t expected this. None of this. She hadn’t…

His head abruptly reared up and his mouth took hers and she was pulled into the flow of passion, her thoughts scattering into the still Italian night. Her eyes dimmed as his demanding tongue touched her own. She only heard the beat of her heart and blood as it heated her skin. Her focus narrowed to the man standing between her legs, pushing his hard erection into her, and then easing off. Then moving on her again. Only the thin silk of her thong and the smooth wool of his pants separated them.

The sound of her thong ripping jerked her head up. “Dante.”

“Shhh,” he breathed against her skin, licking her, tasting her essence. “Let me take care of you.”

Sudden tears blurred her sight. In all her dreams of sex, all her long nights alone in bed over the years, she’d run through thousands of images. Of him. Dante naked and wanting, his body next to hers. Loving her and taking care of her needs.