by Annie West
But she didn’t mistake his stare for male admiration.
His regard was contemptuous, sharp as a blade. Why, she had no idea. But she had enough experience of disapproving men to recognise his animosity.
Perhaps his fiancée was late and he wasn’t used to waiting so he’d taken out his impatience on her.
Alissa tilted her chin and stepped through a doorway into the corridor she needed. She had a marriage to attend and no time for speculating over strangers.
* * *
‘He said what?’ Her voice rose in breathless disbelief. Alissa shook her head, wondering if the soaking had somehow affected her hearing.
The clerk shrugged and spread his hands. ‘That he couldn’t make the appointment.’
The appointment! Alissa stared, numb with shock, hearing the loud thrum of her pulse in the silence. This was hardly an appointment. This was a wedding. Jason’s wedding as well as hers. Was this a joke?
No, not a joke. Jason was as eager for this marriage as she. Well, as eager for the money they’d get when they inherited her grandfather’s Sicilian estate then sold it. He’d jumped at the idea of a convenient wedding with an alacrity that surprised her. His need for cash was greater than she’d first thought.
Surely this was a mistake. Jason must be running late, that was all.
‘What, exactly, did he say?’ she asked through stiff lips.
The clerk darted a speculative glance at her before reading the note in his hand. ‘Mr Donnelly rang thirty minutes ago and said he wouldn’t be able to come. He’d changed his mind.’
Another sharply curious glance accompanied the words. Yet Alissa was beyond feeling embarrassed that her bridegroom had done a runner. The news was too devastating for humiliation even to register. This was disaster on a cataclysmic scale.
She linked her fingers tight together, willing herself to be calm. Her heart thudded out of control as panic edged her thoughts. Her stomach descended into freefall.
She couldn’t afford to fail. The very idea knotted her stomach with dread.
What would she do if Jason really had jilted her?
Alissa had to marry. If within the next thirty-one days she wasn’t Mrs Someone-or-other, married as required by the terms of her grandfather’s will, she could kiss goodbye to the chance of getting Donna to the States for the treatment she needed.
Contesting the will would take too long and her solicitor had warned the outcome of such legal action wasn’t certain. As for getting a loan to cover the astronomical costs...the banks had disabused her of that possibility. There were no other options but to do the one thing she’d vowed she never would—comply with her despised grandfather’s last wishes in order to inherit part of his estate. The old so-and-so would be chortling in hell if he could see the fix she was in now.
She pinned a tight smile to her face and drew a slow, calming breath. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘No.’ The clerk couldn’t hide the inquisitive glimmer in his eyes. ‘That was all.’
‘I see. Thank you.’ But she didn’t see. This made no sense.
She turned away and drew out her cellphone. Punching in Jason’s number with an unsteady hand, she lifted it to her ear, only to hear the infuriating engaged signal. Had something terrible happened or was he avoiding her? It took a moment to realise he could have phoned her instead of the marriage registry. So yes, he was avoiding her.
Alissa put a hand to her brow, flummoxed. What was she going to do? Panic edged her whirling thoughts. She’d go to Jason’s, but she felt an unnerving certainty he wouldn’t be at his flat or anywhere else she looked.
‘Miss Scott?’ The clerk’s voice made her swing round eagerly. Had Jason turned up?
Hope died instantly. There was only the clerk and, with him, the tall stranger from the foyer.
Why was he here? She cast a swift glance at those narrowed eyes and looked away, feeling again that frisson of reaction to his blatant stare. The man made her supremely uncomfortable.
‘Yes?’ She stepped forward, concentrating on the clerk, not the stranger beside him.
‘This gentleman is here to see you.’
‘To see me?’ She forced herself to look up into that beautiful, arrogant face and ignore the tremor of consternation that ran through her.
‘If you are Miss Alissa Scott?’
She nodded. ‘I am.’
‘Affianced to Jason Donnelly?’
‘That’s right.’ Her mouth dried. He had the deliberate, enigmatic tone of a judge pronouncing sentence.
‘Granddaughter of Gianfranco Mangano?’
She nodded jerkily, her lips primming at the mention of her late, unlamented grandfather.
‘We need to talk. I have news for you.’
‘From Jason?’ Was that why he’d been loitering in the foyer? To explain Jason’s absence? Why hadn’t he said so?
‘Si.’ The single word was curt, his expression sombre, and Alissa felt a presentiment of trouble, deep trouble.
He gestured for her to accompany him, not waiting to see if she complied before striding away. Alissa scurried to keep up, her feet sliding in her damp shoes.
He’d reached the foyer, heading for the main door, when she caught him up.
‘Where are you going?’
He paused and turned his head, eyes narrowing on her. ‘My limousine is outside. We can talk privately there.’
She shook her head. She was going nowhere with a man she didn’t know. Especially not this man. Especially not into some anonymous vehicle. She was desperate, not a fool.
‘We can talk here.’ She angled her chin up.
‘You wish to discuss your private affairs here, in such a public place?’
She met his gaze steadily. Better to err on the side of caution. ‘You said you had news for me?’
* * *
Dario looked into that upturned oval face and felt it again—the stab of physical awareness. Despite everything, his hatred of the Mangano family, his contempt for this woman, his fury at the steps he’d been forced to take to secure what was his, there was no mistaking her impact on him. An intense jolt of desire carved a hole right through his belly. Its burning trail was hot as flame.
A similar, unexpected surge of need had held him still when she’d run into him five minutes ago. He’d been stunned by its intensity—far stronger even than his disgust.
This was the woman who’d rejected his offers, rejected him not once but twice now, not even deigning to meet him in person. That alone was an insult for which he required satisfaction. No woman had ever denied him what he wanted. More, she connived to thwart his plans to recoup what was his. She’d schemed behind his back, collaborating with Donnelly to prevent Dario winning back his birthright.
She wanted it all for herself. If she’d planned to marry for love he might have understood. But this was a greedy, calculating attempt to keep the old feud alive and stop him acquiring the one thing that meant everything to him. The castello in Sicily her grandfather had stolen from Dario’s family.
He breathed deep, suppressing a lifetime’s hatred.
This woman was everything he despised. Shallow, conniving, spoiled. She’d grown up with every advantage money could buy yet she’d squandered her opportunities, turning instead to drugs, drink and wild parties. Till even her grandfather would have nothing to do with her.
Dario should feel nothing but contempt for her. And yet...
Her pale, pure skin, her wide-open cornflower eyes, her plump bow of a mouth, the voluptuous curves on that tiny figure...even her air of barely suppressed energy, comprised a feminine package that was far too alluring.
It infuriated him. It was not supposed to happen. And things which were not supposed to happen had a way of disappearing silently out of his life: bought off or simply banished by his superior power and strength of will. Dario had worked hard for what he had. He had no patience with things or people, or feelings, that did not comply with his plans.
‘What
I have to say isn’t for public consumption.’
He punched down irritation at her contrary attitude in refusing to accompany him. What had he expected? Her previous actions, having her lawyer reject his more than generous offers out of hand, illustrated her selfish obstinacy.
He drew a breath, trying to block the rich scent of lilies and damp woman that played havoc with his concentration.
‘Come. Let us find a better place for this conversation.’ He’d be damned if he discussed matters of such importance in an echoing public foyer. She might have few scruples but he had more respect for himself than that.
He stalked across the vestibule and found an empty office. He held the door and waited for her to precede him.
His gaze strayed down over her compact, curvaceous figure as she entered, the sway of her pert bottom in the tight skirt. Even in a rain-stained suit, with saturated hair, her complexion milky with shock, she drew his unwilling gaze.
Despite those top-class legs, reason dictated she wasn’t his type. Pocket Venus redheads with attitude and tarnished reputations weren’t his style. Give him a brunette with a madonna smile and a docile nature any day.
Unfortunately the voice of reason stayed silent on this occasion.
‘What is this place?’ She stared at the desk before them. ‘Are we allowed in here?’
He shrugged and closed the door. ‘We are here. And we have privacy. That’s all that matters.’
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth as if to argue then clearly thought better of it.
Good. Things would proceed more easily when she learned to accede to his wishes. A shaft of anticipation warmed his belly at the thought.
‘Your bridegroom—’
‘What happened to Jason? Have you seen him?’ No mistaking the concern in her voice. He catalogued the fact for later consideration. Perhaps, after all, their wedding hadn’t been purely a convenient arrangement. Perhaps lust as well as greed had been a factor in her marriage plans.
He remembered Jason Donnelly’s weak, handsome face—good looks but no substance. Was he the sort of man that attracted her? The idea was strangely disquieting. He had no interest in this woman’s weaknesses, except insofar as he could exploit them to his advantage.
‘I saw him this afternoon.’
‘Is he all right? What happened?’
Dario felt a stirring of pleasure, remembering the ease with which this afternoon’s interview had followed the map he’d laid out for it.
‘Nothing happened. Your Mr Donnelly is perfectly well, though he is no longer your Mr Donnelly.’
Her brow puckered in a frown and Dario wondered if he’d let his satisfaction show. What did it matter if he had? There was nothing she could do about it. He held all the cards. No matter how much she protested, she’d find the only way forward was his way. After all the trouble she’d caused the knowledge pleased him.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He has decided he no longer wishes to marry you.’
‘But why? And why not tell me himself? Why send a stranger?’
‘He didn’t send me. I chose to come.’
Her eyes widened as she met his gaze. Then she sagged back against the desk, shaking her head.
‘Look, can’t you just tell me? What’s going on?’
‘Mr Donnelly had a better offer. An offer he found it impossible to refuse. As a result he changed his mind about marriage.’ Dario had made absolutely sure of that.
‘An offer of what? Not marriage!’
Dario paced further into the room to stand before her, his feet planted wide, his hands finding his pockets as he enjoyed this moment of triumph.
‘An offer of money, of course. That’s the language the two of you understand best.’ He watched her pupils dilate, darkening her eyes. Her jaw sagged to reveal even, white teeth and a glimpse of moist pink tongue.
Dario frowned. It was impossible that any woman should look sexy while gawping in disbelief, but somehow Alissa Mangano...no, Alissa Scott, managed it. That mouth was ripe, luscious, inviting. He felt a tingle of awareness, a tightening of muscles as his gaze zeroed in on the dainty curl of her tongue circling her lips.
He set his jaw. Lust for this woman was not on his agenda. His standards were higher than that.
‘Money to do what?’ She stood straight now, her momentary weakness sloughed. She stuck her hands on her hips, a picture of demanding femininity. Her neat chin jutted belligerently. ‘And who made him this offer?’
Dario permitted himself a small, satisfied smile. ‘I did. I offered him enough cash to ensure he gave up all thoughts of marrying you.’
It had been ludicrously easy. If Donnelly and this woman were lovers, there was no loyalty between them. Donnelly had jumped at the chance of cash in hand with no thought for the woman he’d jilt. It had been Dario who suggested he leave a message at the registry office.
Colour flagged her cheeks and her eyes sparked, giving her a vibrancy that had been missing before. A vibrancy that only enhanced her looks.
‘Why would you do that?’ She took a step closer as if to get a better look at him, staring straight into his eyes. Despite himself, Dario was impressed that she wasn’t daunted as so many people were in his presence.
But then she didn’t yet know who he was.
He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Because he was in the way.’ And Dario had no patience for obstacles in his path. ‘Because you will be marrying me instead.’
CHAPTER TWO
HE MEANT IT!
Unbelievably this stranger was in deadly earnest. Alissa shivered and curled her arms tight round herself. She stared up into that smirking, satisfied, gorgeous face and felt the bottom drop out of her world.
‘Who the devil are you?’ It emerged as a hoarse whisper, barely audible despite the stillness of the room.
For a heartbeat, then two, then three, there was silence.
‘I am Dario Parisi.’
The words echoed in her ears like a death knell. Why hadn’t she guessed before? The Italian accent, the outrageously handsome face, the arrogance, the air of discreet elegance only serious money could achieve. The hatred in his eyes.
But who’d believe he’d cross the globe to confront her in person? He’d been persistent. Now it seemed he was obsessed.
Alissa bit her unsteady lip. Looking into the intense burn of that stare was like looking into the scorching fires of hell. Dangerous, unforgiving and inescapable. She already knew this man was without mercy or finer feeling.
He had a reputation for ruthlessness and success the Press adored. In business he was without rival, letting nothing stand in his way when he wanted something. And in love...he had a reputation for being just as ruthless in acquiring and discarding gorgeous women.
‘I’m delighted you remember my name,’ he drawled, the sting of sarcasm making her wince. ‘I thought perhaps you’d put it from your mind.’
How could she when it had been imprinted on her consciousness every day? Her grandfather had been determined to marry her to Dario Parisi, alternately extolling his virtues and threatening her with retribution if she didn’t obey. He’d taken special delight in reading out reports in the Italian papers describing Parisi’s phenomenal success and his merciless tactics.
Her shivers grew to a shudder. A huge spider seemed to tap-dance down her backbone. She gritted her teeth and stood straighter, willing the trembling to recede.
It didn’t matter how powerful he was, or that years of threats had turned Dario Parisi into a name to fear. He was just a man. Wealthy, ruthless, determined, but he had no power over her.
‘You could have told me your name straight away. Or didn’t it suit your desire for melodrama?’ She refused to look away from that accusing glare. ‘Was I supposed to faint at the realisation I was in your presence?’
Alissa wouldn’t let him see how close she’d been to doing precisely that. Her heart pumped double time and her body was rigid from an overdose of adrenalin.
But she had to stand up to him. She’d learned that was the only way to deal with a bully.
He scowled and Alissa experienced a fillip of delight that she’d chipped his superior air.
‘But then,’ he said in an easy voice as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘it’s not surprising you remember the name of the man you were supposed to marry.’
‘We were never—’
‘Ah, but we were, Alissa.’ He spoke her name like a slow, lethal caress, his emphasis on the sibilants giving it a whole new, provocative sound. ‘It had been agreed.’ The heat left his eyes, replaced by chilly hauteur.
‘Not by me!’ She drew herself up to her full height, glaring unabashed into his dark stare. ‘Surely the bride has something to say in such circumstances.’
He shrugged those broad shoulders in a movement that was pure Italian male. She hated it.
‘Not necessarily,’ he murmured.
She stared.
Not necessarily.
That attitude summed him up. He was just like the old man: manipulative, domineering and chauvinistic. Yet he was only in his early thirties. What was it about Sicily that produced men like that, all ego and testosterone?
‘In this century women have as much say in who they marry as men. And I didn’t want to marry you.’
Shards of ice rayed out from his frozen glare.
‘You thought I was eager to wed you?’ His accent thickened, the only sign of emotion as he stood ramrod-straight. ‘You think I delighted in the prospect of marrying a Mangano? That I wanted a bride of that tainted blood? A spoiled, irresponsible troublemaker who...’ He reined in the thread of vitriolic accusation, his mouth flattening in a hard line of contempt.
‘You know why I countenanced the match. It had nothing to do with desire for such a wife as you.’
That put her in her place! Alissa felt at a complete disadvantage, bedraggled and shivery, bruised by the sheer force of his personality. She dragged in a breath and slid clammy palms down her damp skirt, searching for a poise she was far from feeling.
‘No, you wanted the Sicilian estate I’d bring as dowry. A crumbling castle and overgrown vineyards.’ It was unbelievable that he set such store in stones, mortar and soil. Enough to agree to an arranged marriage to a woman he’d never met. Enough to collaborate with Gianfranco Mangano, the man he abhorred.
