by Tara Pammi
Feeling hot and agitated, she tugged at the hem of her sweater and pulled it up in one quick move.
Like her, Dante also shed his jacket with a flick of those powerful shoulders.
Trying to look away was like the earth trying to pull out from its orbit around the sun. The cabin shrunk around them, and her breaths became shallow. Even before takeoff, oxygen was in short supply.
Instead of his formal attire, which was second skin to him, today he wore a sky blue polo T-shirt that made his gray eyes pop.
If virility needed a picture in the dictionary, Dante would be perfect.
For virility see Dante Vittori.
Just the sight of his biceps and thick arms with a dusting of dark hair was enough to send her belly swooping. The blue denim clung to his tapering hips and powerful thighs. Ali sighed and pulled in a long breath. God, this was going to be a long flight. She couldn’t take this much of him—the proximity, the constant awareness, the constant tugging in her belly urging her to look at him, to breathe him in.
And she craved more.
It wasn’t just the physical attraction.
When she’d first moved in with her father after her mama’s death, Dante had made quite the impression on her.
He’d been serious, brooding, off the charts handsome, and the worst of all: so close to her father—something she’d desperately needed but hadn’t had. Her papa’s eyes had been so full of pride for his protégé’s achievements, his single-minded focus, his ambition.
At thirteen, she’d been hormonal, lost and he had been a hero, the golden son who had gotten everything she’d coveted. The one man who seemed more confident, more powerful, more handsome than any she’d known. She’d left London five years before because she’d been lost, grieving, sick of the imbalance in the dynamic between them.
Yet, it seemed nothing had changed.
Would he always be like this to her—this magnetic, confident embodiment of the perfect man? She looked up and found his gaze on her. Clearly disapproving. “What? Why are you giving me the stink eye?”
“The stink eye? What are we, six?”
“I could be six. You’re what...a hundred and thirty now?”
The soft material of his T-shirt stretched taut across his wide chest and hard abdomen, mocking her words. “I’m old because I don’t engage in childish behavior and language? Because I show up on time?”
“No, you’re old because you...” Her words veered off as he walked closer, the very air filled with his dark masculinity. “You were probably born old with no sense of humor and an exaggerated sense of your own importance.”
He raised a brow.
Heat rushed up her neck. “Okay, fine. I was two hours late, but I’m not really sorry. I told you I couldn’t make a seven a.m. flight. You went ahead anyway. We planned Kiki’s birthday party four months ago and it had to be this morning.”
“You couldn’t have had it last night?”
“She works nights. So it’s your own fault if you waited for two hours. I told you, Dante, this whole thing...isn’t going to be all by your rules. You’re going to have to treat me like an adult.”
“Bene. As long as you conduct yourself like one.”
“Fine.”
“Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I have some things I would like to discuss.”
Ali folded her arms and tilted her chin up. “Fine. But first you have to feed me. I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon.”
“No wonder you look like a bag of bones.”
“I’m sorry I’m not curvy enough to fit your standards.”
He sighed.
Ali scrunched her nose. “Hunger makes me cranky.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that an apology?”
“Of sorts.”
He nodded and like magic, the flight attendant arrived with a tray.
Ali dug into the bowl of creamy penne pasta with a delicate white wine sauce. The soft clink of the silver utensils filled the silence, which had an almost comfortable quality to it. It was only when he looked at her, as if he meant to see into her soul, as if she was endlessly fascinating, that she got flustered. Great, all she had to do to keep her sanity was avoid looking at him. “Okay, talk.”
* * *
Dante seated himself in the opposite seat from Alisha and stretched his legs the other way. He’d stared earlier, his thoughts going in an altogether wicked direction when she’d removed the sweater and it had made her nervous. Which in turn had made her flippant. How was it that it had taken him that long to figure out that that was Alisha’s default when she was unsure of herself?
“A team is airing out Matta Mansion as we speak. It’s quite a drive from my flat in central London but it should work. You’ll make it your home base for the near future and I can visit you there. There’ll be a certain amount of media coverage on this so Matta Mansion will provide the perfect cover. My PR team’s drafting a statement to announce our engagement.”
“I don’t want to live there.”
Dante gritted his teeth, determined not to lose his temper. “Alisha, you just promised that you wouldn’t fight me on every single thing.”
“And you said you wouldn’t railroad me. I can’t...” Distress filled her eyes and his retort died on his lips. “I won’t go back there. Not without Vikram and Papa. Not to an empty house...” She looked away, her profile lovely as she swallowed.
Dante sat back in his seat, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and soothe her. Cristo, living with Alisha would be like riding a never-ending roller coaster. One moment he wanted to throttle her, one moment kiss her senseless and the next hold her tight.
He wanted her where he could keep an eye on her. Especially because of the media storm she didn’t understand would hit them. “That only leaves my flat.”
The devilish imp was back in her eyes when she turned to him. “I never thought I’d see the ruthless Dante Vittori scared.”
Again, that overwhelming sense of relief poured through him. The vulnerability in her eyes sometimes made him feel like that adolescent youth again—powerless and all too aware of his own needs. And in its wake came the most overwhelming urge to hold her and kiss her until it was gone from her eyes.
Pure lust, he could handle. This...dangerous urge to play her hero—no!
“Scared?” he asked.
“The idea of me in your flat terrifies you to your hardened soul.”
He laughed and the sound of it was a shock to his own ears. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, but couldn’t quite arrest her smile either. “Fine, the flat it is. But—”
“I’ll respect the rules of your domain. I’ll control the urge to have orgies every night. I’ll be mindful of your pristine reputation and the shadow I could cast over it as your wife. How was that?”
He was still smiling. “That sounds like you drafted it.”
“All night,” she retorted, the irreverent minx. “Anything I missed?”
He shook his head, all the threats and conditions he meant to impose on her disappearing from his mind. She was a live wire, he didn’t forget that for one second. Nor could he think. Because of the manifesto she’d read him, his ordered and peaceful life would remain that. And yet, he couldn’t muster a sense of dread over it. He couldn’t bring the words to his lips to kill that wide smile. He couldn’t contain the little flare of excitement in his blood every time she leveled those eyes on him, every time she fought with him, every time she looked away but not before he saw the interest she couldn’t hide in her eyes.
This was a dangerous high he was chasing, and Dios mio, where was his sense of self-preservation? So when he said, “What about you?” his voice was harsh.
She raised a brow. “What about me?”
“Any demands or expectations?”
“Not r
eally. I’m...excited to put your money into the charity. I have some contacts I would like to network—”
“For what?”
“For my photography,” she said, her smile dimming. “I’m going to see if I can sell them in the market for a penny a piece.” Shift to sarcasm. It was like watching a panorama of emotions. “Oh, I also need a studio—a darkroom essentially.” Back to a practical survival instinct he couldn’t help but admire. “All in all, I’m looking forward to being back in London.”
“You develop your own prints?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“Thank you. Between the charity and the darkroom, you won’t see me. Your perfectly ordered life will remain just the same.”
Put like that, she sounded so sensible that Dante wanted to believe it. He not only had to believe it, he had to keep it like that. There was no feasible route his fascination with her could take.
No other outcome was possible between them. No other.
* * *
Ali had no idea if it was the unusually long-lasting peace on the flight or being back in London under the same roof, but the moment Dante showed her into the guest room, she made the connection she’d missed earlier.
What he’d said had been eating at her.
Richard had tried to blackmail Dante for those pics...great judgment call, Ali!
She finished her shower in a hurry, and pulled on the first pair of panties, shorts and T-shirt she could find in her bag. Hair wet and dripping down her back, she barefooted it to Dante’s door.
He opened on the first knock, his hands pulling his T-shirt from those jeans. The slab of abdominal muscles she spied before she jerked her gaze to his almost made her forget why she sought him out. Almost.
She stepped back as he closed the door behind him.
“Alisha? What is it?”
“You said ‘us’. You told Papa about the pictures Richard claimed he had, didn’t you?”
It had been exactly around that time that she’d been summoned into her father’s study and while her father had sat silently in the corner—his disappointment a noxious cloud in the air—Dante had informed her that she wouldn’t be going away as apprentice to a world-renowned photographer as planned. Or at least, the exorbitant fee she’d needed to pay wouldn’t be coming from her father’s bank account.
Vikram, as usual, had been absent, working in his lab, and her father had refused to talk to her that evening, even as she’d pleaded with him to rethink his decision. That was the last time she’d talked to her father.
Dread coursed through her that she was once again locking herself in that bubble with Dante, her mind and body constantly battling it out.
Dante stilled. “What?”
“That’s why he...cut me off. Refused to pay the fee for that apprenticeship. You told him and I lost a chance at the one thing I wanted to do most in the world. Being accepted into that program...it was the one thing that got me through so much. Through Mama’s death, through being thrust into living with you three strangers...and because of you, I lost the opportunity to learn, to see if I could follow my passion.
“Did you hate me so much, Dante? Yes, I made impulsive, rash decisions, but you know what the worst part of it was? Papa died thinking I was determined to shame him in front of the world.”
Tears filled her eyes. She swiped at them angrily. Regrets were useless. The past was done.
His fingers on her arm turned her, his grip a vise. Ali couldn’t look up, everything in her cringing that he saw her like this. The last thing she wanted was his pity.
“Alisha, look at me. Alisha!” His growl filled the space between them. “I didn’t tell Neel, okay? I just dealt with Richard. Vicky told your father.”
She blinked. “What? Why?”
“Vicky loved you and...he was worried for you. He felt guilty for neglecting you for so long, for being preoccupied with his lab. He convinced Neel that separating you from the heiress label would cut off all the hangers-on and leeches. Maybe ground you a little. Give you a chance to see the reality of your friends. I...”
“What, Dante?”
“I tried to persuade Neel not to do that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He flinched. Just a tremble of that upper lip, but it was there. “I told you, I’m not your enemy. You reminded me of someone I despised for so long. You were spoiled and immature and rebellious, but I didn’t hate you.
“I knew photography meant everything to you, how not...miserable or angry or rebellious you were when you walked around clicking away on that old camera. I tried to convince Neel that he could pay the fee and still cut you off from the rest of your trust fund. He wouldn’t listen. I think he felt you’d pushed him too far that time.”
Ali nodded, her chest so tight that it took all her wits to keep breathing. Dante had supported her. Dante had intervened on her behalf. “That’s funny, isn’t it? All the tantrums I threw for his attention, all the really bad decisions I made because I was so lost...and he punished me for the one thing I didn’t do by taking away the most important thing to me. I beat myself up every day that I didn’t take the chance to get to know him, that I ruined our relationship. But he didn’t even try to get to know me.”
“I think you reminded him too much of Shanti. He never got over the fact that she left him.”
“That’s not my fault. I was a child, and so was Vicky.”
Something dawned in those jet-black eyes. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling a long breath. “He was a good man, but not perfect.” Suddenly, his head jerked up, his gaze pinning Ali to the spot. “What do you mean he punished you for something you didn’t do?”
“I don’t know what Richard showed you but I never posed for any pictures naked. And even if I had, even if I had made bad choices, I didn’t deserve to be punished by Papa and Vicky and you for it. You three had each other. Who did I have?”
He jerked back, a whiteness around his mouth.
She’d shocked him—with the truth or with her tears, she had no idea. But for once, it didn’t feel good to shock Dante. How could she think anything but hurt and destruction could result from this stupid agreement?
Ali was almost out of his sight when she stilled.
I knew photography meant everything to you.
No, no, no.
He couldn’t have, could he?
She didn’t want to ask, she didn’t want to know. But the question would eat her up.
Dante reached for her, his fingers drawing circles over her wrist. “Alisha, what?”
Just weeks after that scene with her father, mere days after she’d moved out of the mansion once and for all, she’d received the camera. One of the costliest professional cameras on the market—almost forty thousand pounds even five years ago, it had arrived by a special courier.
With no message.
It was not the most expensive thing she’d received in her life, thanks to her father’s birthday gifts every year. But it had been the most thoughtful present anyone had bought her, the present that had brought her more joy, more peace than anything else.
She’d simply assumed at the time that it was Vicky’s gift. She’d even texted him thanks but had never received anything back. She’d attributed it to her brother’s usual neglect of any communications.
“My Nikon XFD45...”
He didn’t quite shy away his gaze from her but Dante released her instantly. “There’s nothing to be achieved by raking over the past.” He patted the pad of his thumb under her eyes, a quick, feathery stroke, something dark flashing in his eyes. “You’re tired. Go to bed.”
Ali pushed into his personal space, heart racing. “Dante, who bought that camera for me? Who sent it to me?” And when he opened his mouth to blurt out some nontruth, she covered his mouth with her palm. “Please,
Dante, the truth.”
He pushed away her hand from his mouth. His nostrils flared, emotion glinting in his eyes.
“I did. I saw how you cried that night. I argued with Neel to no avail. And when I went to your bedroom and found it empty, I knew you weren’t coming back. Days later, it wouldn’t leave me alone so I ordered the camera.”
Words of gratitude hovered on her lips. She’d always viewed him as the enemy, had hated him on principle, but this one gift...it didn’t negate all the barbed history they shared. And yet, suddenly, Ali felt like the ground had been stolen from under her.
“Why didn’t you—?”
“I felt guilty that evening. Powerless to right what I thought was a needlessly harsh action against you.” His mouth took on that forbidding slant she knew well. “Of course, you pushed and pushed and pushed me...yes. But after I realized you were...” It was as if he couldn’t put into words what he felt. “Buying that camera for you relieved my guilt. Don’t read too much into it, Alisha.”
For once, Ali didn’t balk at his dismissal. She was more than ready to leave behind the cutting awareness of being near him, of the seesaw of her own emotions.
But as she dried her hair and crawled into bed exhausted, her heart refused to believe the perfectly rational explanation Dante offered.
He’d asked Papa not to take away the photography program from her.
He’d checked on her, even if it had been out of guilt.
He’d bought her that camera, knowing how much it would mean to her.
Maybe he had cared about her a little. Maybe Dante wasn’t...
That sent a sharp spike of fear through her rambling mind, had her sitting up in the bed even as her eyes burned for sleep.
This whole idea of a platonic marriage between them, her very sanity, hinged on the fact that Dante was an unfeeling, ambitious man.
If that fell apart, what else was left to protect her heart from the intimacy of the next few years, from her foolish attraction, from her own endlessly naive heart?
