Giorganni's Proposal

by Jacqueline Baird

  Until she opened her mail on Friday evening. Curled up in the armchair, a glass of wine on the table in front of her, she read the letter again. It was a brief, cheerful note from her godfather, inviting her to stay with him at a villa on the Isle of Capri next weekend. He had already squared it with her boss, Cecil, and the air ticket was enclosed. She was to fly out the following Friday and stay until the Sunday. She was to bring her glad rags. He was getting married to 'the lady of the lamb noisettes,' he joked.

  Beth dropped the letter and the ticket on the table, and, picking up the wine glass, took a large swallow. She needed it. Replacing the glass on the table, she grimaced. So that was it. . . Her worries were over.

  Now she knew why Dex hadn't carried out his threat to ruin Mike. His sister had got her man. There was no need for Dex to pretend he wanted Beth. She was no danger any more. And obviously by now he must know Paul was her godfather.

  A long drawn-out sigh escaped her. She supposed she should be relieved, but instead she simply felt sad. Her first thought was not to go to the wedding because she'd see Dex. But she knew Paul would be deeply hurt if she did not attend. Then, as she sat there sipping her wine, mulling over the way Dex had used her, she got angry. She was going to the wedding. It would be worth it just to show Dexter Giordanni she could be as sophisticated and blasé as he was, and if she embarrassed Dex by her presence all the better. . .

  With a sense of growing excitement, Beth boarded the ferry boat that was taking her on the last part of her journey to Capri. The flight had been uneventful; a taxi driver with her name on a placard had met her at Naples Airport and delivered her to the ferry boat. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. The sun shone from a clear blue sky and the temperature was a balmy sixty degrees. She had never been to Italy before, never mind to Capri, and she was really looking forward to it.

  She stood at the prow of the boat, dressed in blue jeans, a green sweater and a jacket, her auburn hair blowing in the breeze. The island rose like a jewel from the clear blue sea. It was more rugged than she had imagined, but absolutely beautiful. Eagerly her eyes scanned the dockside as the ferry tied up in the small port, and, spying Paul's elegant figure standing on the jetty, she waved frantically.

  In minutes she was in his arms, and with the greetings over he led her to a blue Mercedes car. Her glance darted all over. There was a funicular railway that took passengers up the sharply rising cliff, and the road Paul took wound very steeply in a corkscrew up the hillside, the sea never far from view. She looked back down on the bustle of the port, and Paul pointed out where the famous Blue Grotto was. Finally managing to contain her excitement, she looked at Paul.

  'So, you're getting married. Are you sure?' she asked. She loved him, but she knew just how volatile the members of the Giordanni family could be. Her godfather was a lovely man, but very British.

  Paul glanced at her, his pale eyes serious. 'Yes, Beth. I have never been more sure of anything in my life.'

  'I'm happy for you,' she said sincerely, and she was. Then the car was sweeping around a sharp corner and into the concealed entrance of a narrow road that dipped steeply down again. Beth gasped. It felt as though they were driving into the sea.

  'Impressive, hmm?'

  'That is an understatement,' Beth whispered as the car swept through large iron gates on to a wide drive, to stop in front of a magnificent whitewashed villa that faced straight out to sea.

  Half an hour later, Beth stood beside a huge four-poster bed and looked around in awe. An elderly housekeeper had unpacked and hung up her few clothes, and left. The bedroom was exquisite, a symphony in white and gold, with just a touch of blue in the marble mosaic floor. She crossed to where another door opened off the room, and gasped at the sheer size and elegance of the en suite bathroom. Whoever owned this place certainly knew how to live. She was almost afraid to use the facilities, but she did. After quickly washing her face and hands, she kept her jeans on but changed her sweater for a white polo top. It was so much warmer here than in London; she could not believe it.

  Making her way back down the grandly curving staircase, she felt almost like Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind. Her lips twitched. Except for her jeans and shirt. Catching sight of Paul waiting for her in the huge reception hall, she flashed him a full-blown smile. 'This is some villa.'

  'Yes, it is nice,' he said in his understated way. 'But what can I get you, Beth? A drink? Something to eat?'

  'Can we go outside while it's still light? I'd love to see the gardens.'

  'I suppose so. Anna won't be here for a couple of hours yet; so we have time.' With an indulgent smile he took her hand in his and led her out of the door and across the wide drive to a band of immaculately manicured grass.

  'Oh, can we go down the steps?' Beth cried in delight, pulling on his hand. An ornate balustrade encircled the whole villa, intercepted by massive semi-circular steps that led down to a wide terrace, with a swimming pool to one side.

  'Sometimes I forget you're grown up,' Paul said, stopping for a moment and smiling down into her excited green eyes. 'You have the same enthusiasm for life as your father had.'

  Freeing her hand from his, she reached up and cupped his face, and kissed him lightly. 'Thank you.' She stepped back just as a car screeched to a halt in the drive.

  Beth glanced across, her eyes widening incredulously as she saw Dex leap out of the car, dressed in black. His face equally black with fury, he charged towards them.

  'You bastard, Morris,' he snarled, his lips drawn back against his teeth in savage, primitive rage. His fist shot out and thudded against Paul's face, sending him sprawling flat on his back on the grass.

  It had all happened so quickly Beth couldn't believe it. The air crackled with violent tension, and she stood frozen in shock.

  'And you. . .' Dex turned on Beth, murder in his eyes. 'You—you. . .' His English temporarily failed him and he let go in a torrent of Italian as he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her towards the open door of the car. 'You're out of here.' His breathing ragged, he bundled her into the car, slid into the driver's seat and gunned the engine.

  Beth grabbed the door handle, but it was locked. She glanced frantically out of the window, her horrified eyes catching sight of a dazed Paul trying to sit up. Then, in a death-defying turn, Dex spun the car around. Beth fell heavily against him, her hand grabbing his thigh. He jerked his leg away and shot her a vitriolic glance.

  She struggled to sit up and fell back against the door of the passenger seat, as far away from him as she could get. She was terrified. She had never seen such speed before in her life. By the time she caught her breath Dex had the car off the drive and racing up the perilously narrow road.

  'Slow down! You'll kill us!' she cried, her voice hoarse with fear.

  'If it keeps you away from him,' he grated through clenched teeth, 'I will.' Dex glanced at her, his expression murderous.

  'You're mad. Totally mad,' she cried as they hit what passed for the main road at what felt like the speed of light. The car skidded and Beth closed her eyes and prayed.

  'You can open your eyes,' he spat. 'I am not going to kill myself for a whore like you.'

  Beth felt the car slow down and she opened her eyes.

  She shot a fearful look at Dex's granite-like profile. A muscle jerked in his cheek and his mouth was a tight line of rage. She could sense the violence radiating from him, and she hardly dared breathe. She dropped her eyes to where his long fingers curved around the steering wheel, his knuckles white with the pressure of his grip.

  She didn't dare speak; she was too frightened he would drive them off the road. She tensed as a moment later he did drive off the road, swinging onto a cart track that led through a small copse of trees and stopping dead a few feet from the edge of a cliff. But it didn't make Beth feel any better.

  Dex turned in his seat and watched her for a long moment. 'Nothing to say?' he demanded harshly. 'No whimpering feminine excuse?'

  'Let me out of
this car,' she whispered.

  'The door is open.'

  Grasping the handle, Beth opened the door and tumbled out of the car onto the ground. She crawled on her hand and knees, her breath coming in great gasps until she was well away from the car and its crazy driver. Then she sat down, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her head on them.

  She was trembling with shock. She bit her lip to stop herself crying and thanked the Lord for the hard ground beneath her. For a moment in the car she had really feared for her life.

  'Tears won't wash away your sins, and they certainly have no effect on me.' Dex's harsh voice broke the silence, and reluctantly Beth lifted her head.

  He was standing in front of her, dressed all in black— black jeans and a black sweater—his legs slightly apart and his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He looked like some dark avenging angel.

  'I am not crying,' she managed to say, with a slight tremor in her voice. 'I am simply in shock. I have never been kidnapped by a madman before.' She was beginning to regain some self-control, and she was also beginning to get angry.

  'You call me mad? Dio, woman, how could you? Have you no pride? No self-respect?' Dex demanded, his voice crackling with fury.

  His words beat down on her like so many stones of wrath. She slid back and stood up, making sure she kept well away from him. She could feel the menace in him, and even as it frightened her it made her temper rise.

  'You trek halfway across Europe after a man who is getting married tomorrow—a man who does not love you and is old enough to be your father!' he shouted, stepping towards her.

  Fear made Beth step back, and she gasped, suddenly realising Dex didn't know the truth about her and Paul. 'He is my godfather,' she emphasised, and shivered as his hard face convulsed with rage.

  'Tell that to the marines,' he snarled. 'I know the Morrises of this world. They don't befriend innocent little virgins for nothing. And you thought I wasn't good enough for you. What a joke,' he drawled derisively.

  Beth's face turned red, and then white with anger. 'I don't give a damn what you think.' Her green eyes blazed in the paleness of her face. 'Paul is my godfather and he does love me—always has, from the day I was born.' She registered the shock in Dex's grey eyes and relished in it. 'And I trekked "halfway across Europe", as you so nicely put it, because Paul asked me to be at his wedding. Now, what is your excuse,' she demanded furiously, 'for knocking out a perfectly innocent man? You great bully!' She hurled the accusation at him, her green eyes, full of contempt, clashing with his.

  Dex spun around, stalked back to the car and slammed the passenger door shut as if he wanted to knock it off its hinges. Cristo! He swore long and furiously in a vicious spate of Italian. Then, as Beth watched, he squared his shoulders, tension in every line of his long body, and turned back to face her.

  His face a rigid mask, he stepped forward. 'If Morris is your godfather,' he grated in a chillingly quiet voice, 'then why did you not tell me?'

  The great Dexter Giordanni had finally made a mistake, Beth realised, her anger subsiding. Finally the moment of truth. Revenge was sweet and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

  'You never asked me.' She looked straight up into his dark face. 'In fact, if memory serves me right, we met Paul once in your casino and you never mentioned him again.' Get out of that one, you lying swine, she thought, but didn't say, and almost grinned at the host of conflicting emotions that warred in his steely grey eyes—not least confusion.

  'Nothing to say, Dex?' she prompted. The phrase 'hoist by his own petard' sprang to mind.

  Dex's head bent and he stared fixedly at the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched, fraught with simmering emotion. Then slowly Dex lifted his head again. He didn't look at her; his eyes avoided hers. His tanned face was a blank mask, but a muscle beating wildly in his cheek betrayed his agitation.

  'You're right. I didn't ask you about Morris. I didn't ask because I was violently jealous.' His gaze flicked to hers and Beth was almost fooled by the glint of naked anguish in his eyes, 'Today when I saw you kissing Morris I saw red. It was unforgivable of me to hit him, but you know how I feel about you. How much I want you. I am a jealous, possessive man. I can't help it where you're concerned.'

  He took another step towards her, and Beth moved back.

  'You're also a lying hound where I am concerned,' she said coldly. 'And have been from the moment we met. So save your play-acting for someone who might appreciate it.' She was disgusted. Even now Dex was not going to admit the truth, and she had had enough.

  He watched her, his grey eyes narrowing intently on her small face, then he said curtly, 'I am not acting. Why do you think that?'

  Beth looked past him to the edge of the cliff, the deep blue of the sea beyond, and on to the far horizon where the sun was sinking in a red blaze of glory. Her dream of love and happy-ever-after had sunk in very much the same way. Drowned in a red blaze of passion. She tilted her head back and looked up into Dex's face. And it was all his fault.

  'Because, Dex, I know everything. I know why you took me out in the first place. You asked me out to keep me away from Paul, the man your sister wanted.'

  'No. . .' he denied angrily, reaching out and grabbing her by the shoulders. 'It wasn't like that.'

  'Don't bother to deny it, Dex, I heard you say it.' His hands tightened on her flesh, but she didn't care. Beth wasn't frightened any more; she simply wanted the whole sorry mess over and done with.

  'When? Where?' he asked, his body rigid.

  'The day you came back from New York. The day I called at the Seymour.'

  'The day you jilted me,' he cut in, his dark brows drawn together in a frown, his grey eyes searching hers.

  'Yes. I didn't leave a note. I didn't visit a sick friend. But I did sit in the outer office at the club. The intercom was on.' She wasn't going to tell him she had switched it on. 'And I heard you discuss in some detail your ex- wife—someone you conveniently forgot to mention to me—your so-called fiancée.'

  His hands fell from her shoulders and he drew himself up to his full height. All the colour drained from his face, leaving him grey beneath his tan.

  'You were laughing with your friend. Bob, I think?' She arched one delicate brow enquiringly.

  'Bob.' He cursed under his breath, and Beth knew he was remembering.

  'Yes, you were having a drink with him. You had plenty of time—the girl would wait. You told him you were engaged, but not necessarily getting married, and you also told him why. The girl was going out with your sister's man, and you saw a way to put a stop to it. Fate gave you the opportunity in the guise of Brice Wine Merchants party. Need I go on? Or can you put the rest together yourself?' she taunted him.

  'I remember the conversation.' A dark red stain swept up his face. At least he had the grace to blush, Beth thought bitterly. 'And I know how it must have sounded, but—'

  'Don't bother explaining.' Beth stopped him, raising her hand. 'I'm not a fool. Your only reason for seeing me was your sister. You recognised me as the girl dining with Paul when your sister threw his dinner over him. You used me, and you were still trying to use me two weeks ago. You even tried to blackmail me.' She laughed, a harsh sound in the silence. 'I spent a week worrying about Mike—until I got the wedding invitation and realised your problem was solved.'

  He winced, but responded curtly, 'Not quite. No one told me about Morris. If you had been honest and told me the real reason for jilting me, the rest need never have happened.'

  Lifting her chin, Beth stared straight into his eyes. 'Oh, so now it's my fault?' She shook her head, her auburn hair flowing around her face. 'If you had let me finish speaking when we met Paul at the club, instead of dashing us away and kissing me senseless. . .' Beth didn't want to remember their lovemaking and stopped. What was the use of arguing with Dex?

  'You're incredible.' Beth shook her head sadly. 'You do exactly what you want, take exactly what you want, and never once questio
n how anyone else feels. You disgust me.'

  She had gone too far. Dex caught her wrist and twisted it around her back, bringing her flush against his hard body. 'Disgust you?' he said, with deadly coldness. 'It wasn't disgust but pure lust you felt in my arms in your bed. And I can prove it,' he grated harshly.

  Beth stared at him, her anger dying fast as his grey gaze roamed insolently over her. She saw the hunger in his eyes as his dark head lowered. She raised a hand to ward him off, but he simply hauled her tighter to him, her hand pressed to his chest. Wildly she shook her head. 'Don't!' she gasped.

  But Dex merely laughed. 'Why not? I have nothing to lose.' His other hand gently caught her long hair and wrapped it around his wrist. His mouth poised above hers, Dex watched her ruthlessly. 'You've made a fool of me and you're going to pay.'

  Beth shivered, her tongue slipping out to moisten sud- denly dry lips. He had her trapped. She moved her head back with a jerk as his mouth ground down on hers and he began kissing her with a savage, urgent passion. She tried to prevent her lips parting in response, her body from arching against his, but desire sharp as a knife flared up inside her, and helplessly she found herself responding.

  Her lips moved under his as she kissed him back. She was beyond thinking sensibly any more. His hand stroked down to curve over her bottom and pull her hard against his thighs. A moan escaped her and she trembled at the evidence of his masculine arousal pressed against her soft female mound. She heard his swift intake of breath as her hips moved involuntarily against him, and rejoiced in the knowledge of how she affected him.

  When he thrust her away from him she almost fell. A steadying hand on her shoulder kept her upright, but his touch was hard and impersonal.

  'We have to go back—I to apologise to your godfather and you to gloat.'

  She glanced up at his hard face and knew he was as disgusted with himself as she was.