by Sarah Morgan
* * *
Aislin hovered by the front window of the cottage, peering out intermittently while she waited for Dante.
Nerves in the form of butterflies rampaged in her belly.
Her bags were packed and waiting by the front door. She’d spent most of the night fighting the urge to flee to the airport.
A hundred thousand euros was a substantial amount of money but a million was life-changing. Orla could buy a home, modify it to cater for all Finn’s needs and have change to spare at the end of it. She could take him on holiday. She could buy him a high-tech wheelchair. She could buy a car.
So Aislin had stayed in the cold cottage, hardly sleeping, her mind whirling like a dervish, trying to understand why her instinct was to run.
A million euros to attend a wedding! All her family’s problems solved in one weekend!
Restless, she paced the living area.
She’d been prepared to break into the cottage and stage a sit-in in defiance of a powerful billionaire; had been prepared to stay there for as long as it took for him to develop a conscience.
She had not expected it to develop so quickly or easily.
His agreement to give Orla half the value of the cottage and its land had proven his conscience. That he was insisting on a DNA test was not surprising and not something she could blame him for. Dante was no fool. No one who reached the heights in business he had got there by taking people at face value.
She had expected an arrogant monster and found, instead, an arrogant man who could be compelled to listen to reason.
So why was she so resistant to spending a few days with him when the reward for doing so was so great?
A loud rap on the front door made her jump and, when Dante strode through the front door, her heart jumped too, right into her throat.
She’d opened the shutters earlier and spring sunlight poured into the cottage. Dante seemed to glow with it.
Dressed in a navy shirt, snug black jeans and an obviously expensive straight leather jacket, his handsome features were more pronounced than they’d been the evening before, the texture of his dark hair thicker and smoother, the green eyes that found hers brighter.
But there was something unkempt about his appearance too. He looked like a man who had spent the night at the bottom of a bottle of rum rather than in a bed. The effect only made him sexier. A pulse set off deep inside her, warmth gathering low in the most intimate of places…
Her reason for resistance suddenly became obvious.
This wasn’t mere appreciation of a handsome, sexy man. She was attracted to him.
Aislin was attracted to Dante Moncada. Properly, heart-beatingly, swoon-makingly attracted.
‘You are still here,’ he stated as he closed the door.
‘Well spotted, Einstein.’
Okay, so she was attracted to him. That was nothing to panic about. It didn’t mean her brain cells had to become goo around him. She had overcome much worse than an unwelcome attraction to a gorgeous man before. If there was one thing Aislin had it was an abundance of self-control. How else could she have sat through all those awful meetings with the patronising social workers and other officials who’d all seemed determined to deny her the right to be Finn’s legal guardian, while Orla had recovered from her horrific injuries, and not have punched any of them?
The slightest spark emerged in the green of his bloodshot eyes. ‘Einstein would have killed for my IQ.’
Her lips twitched to break into a smile. ‘And your modesty, I’m sure.’
He grinned. ‘Am I to assume you’re going to accept my offer?’
‘A million euros to act as your arm candy for a few days? Yep, I can do that.’ She could deal with attraction. Deal with it by ignoring it and keeping her wits sharp. ‘But, before I accept your deal, I should point out that no one is going to believe we’re engaged. You’ve only just dumped your last girlfriend.’
He winked, sank onto the sofa and stretched his legs out. His legs were so long his feet slid under the coffee table. ‘Anyone who knows me knows I’m a fast mover.’
‘That’s nothing to be proud of,’ she said tartly.
‘Trust me, I know when to go slow.’
Heated colour spread like wildfire over her cheeks. ‘I won’t accept any funny business.’
She needed to make that very clear. Just because her body reacted so strongly to him did not mean she had any intention of allowing anything to happen between them. She would not be one of those over-caffeinated bobbing meerkats.
Dante could curse himself. He hadn’t meant to make innuendoes but the opportunity had presented itself in irresistible fashion. ‘You are speaking of sex?’
Her face now flamed so brightly it was quite possible it could explode.
‘You have nothing to fear. This arrangement is strictly business. The bride and groom both come from religious families and will put us in separate rooms for the sake of appearances.’
After a terrible night when his brain had refused to shut down, even after he’d thrown the best part of a bottle of bourbon down his neck to assist it, he’d come to the conclusion that this deal had to be platonic. In any other circumstance he would go all-out to seduce Aislin but seduction would add too many complications. He needed to keep his head focused on salvaging the business deal, and that was before he added the small detail of Aislin being the sister of his father’s secret love child.
If he didn’t believe she was the perfect woman to make Riccardo D’Amore believe him to be a changed man he would have called the whole thing off. But she was perfect. Not only was she not of their world but she had a working brain in her beautiful head and a firm commitment to family Riccardo would adore.
All Dante had to do was keep his hands off her, which he had a great feeling would be easier said than done.
Promises made in the twilight hours were much harder to keep in daylight when her scent coiled around his senses. In the daylight, Aislin was more than beautiful, her beauty enhanced now her hair was dry and its vibrant colour there for him to glory in, a deep russet that reminded him of fallen autumn leaves. It made him think of a fox, which he thought an apt word to describe her. She’d stolen into his cottage like a fox. An exquisite fox.
Today she’d dressed in black leggings, an oversized khaki jumper fraying on the left sleeve and scuffed black ankle boots. These were clothes designed for comfort, obviously old and worn, yet he found them as sexy as if she were wearing a tight cocktail dress with all her currently hidden cleavage on show.
She rubbed her hands over her arms, inadvertently pushing against those same breasts he’d just been imagining. ‘As long as we’re clear on things being platonic then that’s grand.’
‘Is there anything else you want to bring up? Because we need to get going.’
Those strange eyes were back on him again, penetrating like lasers. It was the strangest of feelings; unnerving yet weirdly erotic. ‘I want half the money now.’
‘No.’
‘I need a guarantee. A form of surety. I don’t want to spend a weekend pretending to like you only to have you then refuse to hand the money over.’
‘You don’t like me?’
‘How do I know if I like you? I don’t know you, certainly not well enough to trust you.’
Her lack of sycophancy was refreshing. She was direct, her mouth as unfiltered as her inherent sexiness. ‘Ten thousand.’
‘That’s peanuts.’
‘How much money do you have in your bank account?’
‘The dust of a bag of peanuts.’
He bit back a laugh at her phrasing and spread his hands in a ‘there you are’ gesture.
She fixed him with a stare that made him think she would make an excellent teacher. It was a look that would shut a classroom full of screaming kids up.
He shook his head and gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Va bene. I can be reasonable. Fifty thousand up front, in cash or transferred into a bank account of your choice, the remainder
on Sunday evening. Deal?’
Her exquisitely beautiful face took on the expression of someone sucking an extra-sour lemon. Then she jerked her head into a nod. ‘Yes. Deal.’
He rubbed his hands together and got to his feet. ‘Eccellente. Let’s get going.’
‘Transfer the money and then we can go.’
‘You don’t want it in cash?’
‘I’d prefer it transferred.’
He sighed and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Name of the account?’
‘Miss Orla O’Reilly.’
He looked up briefly with a frown. ‘You don’t want it in your own account?’
‘The money’s not for me. It’s for our sister and nephew. Orla’s skint and the money you’re going to give her once you’ve had the DNA test could take weeks to come through.’
‘You’re not going to keep any of the million for yourself?’
‘I’ll get her to buy me a pizza from it.’
Was she for real? ‘Are you looking for a sainthood?’
She threw her school teacher stare at him again.
He shrugged. If she wanted to let the entire million slip through her fingers, that was her loss. ‘The account details?’
She recited them to him.
He looked up from his phone again. ‘You know your sister’s bank details by heart?’
‘She was in a bad car accident three years ago that left her in a coma. I took care of all her finances and stuff while she was in hospital and recovering from her injuries.’
‘Is that why her son was born prematurely?’
A dimness filtered over the grey eyes. She nodded.
Why this information should make his finger hover over the sum he was about to transfer, he did not know. This time yesterday he hadn’t even known of Orla’s existence.
Had his father known she’d been injured?
Had his father known he had a grandchild?
A fresh barb sliced through him at the reminder of the secrets and lies his father had kept from him for twenty-seven years.
Dante stared at the beautiful redhead, knowing he had to keep his focus on the primary reason for keeping her in Sicily and paying her such a substantial amount of money. Aislin was the key to convincing Riccardo D’Amore that he was not the sum of his parents’ parts. Just because they shared a sister did not mean he could allow himself to be side-tracked. Orla’s accident was history…
But the after-effects lived on in her son. His nephew.
They were nothing to do with him, he told himself grimly. They were strangers to him and would remain that way. A shared bloodline did not make them family and, even if it did, Dante had had enough of family.
He’d loved his mother with all his boyish heart and she’d abandoned him. He’d been close to his grandparents but their constant sniping and bad-mouthing of each other, and their respective expectations that he would take sides, had been a drain. His extended family were just as bad. He’d adored his father. Salvatore had been a fantastic if unconventional father when Dante had been small, father and son always there for each other through all the ups and downs life had thrown at them; and now he’d learned that beneath that closeness had been the most monstrous of secrets.
His father had been a gambler and a playboy but Dante would have trusted him with his life.
Turned out his father had been the greatest liar of them all.
Why embrace a sister when every other member of his bloodline had lied, abandoned or emotionally abused him?
No more. He was better on his own.
He hit the confirmation button then went through the additional security needed to transfer such a large sum. Anti-money-laundering regulations were the bane of the honest businessman’s life. ‘Done.’
He held the phone for her to see. ‘The money will credit your sister’s account by the end of the working day.’
She peered at it with a furrowed brow. ‘You transferred two hundred thousand?’
He nodded tersely. ‘I’ve upheld my end of the deal. Now we can go.’
Copyright © 2019 by Michelle Smart
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THE SICILIAN’S BOUGHT CINDERELLA
by Michelle Smart,
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ISBN-13: 978-1-488-05251-4
THE SICILIAN’S SCANDALOUS SECRET
First published as THE FORBIDDEN FERRARA in 2012
This edition published in 2018
Copyright © 2012 by SARAH MORGAN
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