by Annie West
Despite his leashed anger, there was something almost...erotic about the proximity of his long, mobile mouth with its sensuously full lower lip. She felt each word in puffs of air that ignited explosions of sensation along her own mouth.
It was anger that parched her throat and made her swipe her lips with her tongue. It couldn’t be anything else, not when his every move, each piercing word, was a calculated insult.
His gaze flicked to her lips. The pressure of his hand increased. He pressed closer, thigh to her thigh.
‘I did no such thing.’ Her voice was breathless, shameful evidence of weakness. ‘I just arranged to marry.’
‘Arranged to marry.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s what you call it? You refuse me yet connive to wed another so you can deprive me of what is mine? Did you get a kick out of that, Alissa? You didn’t just want the money, you also wanted to hurt me.’ His voice thickened to a low, dangerous whisper that sent a chill of anxiety along her spine.
‘It wasn’t enough that you’ve lived a life of indulgent luxury at the expense of my family. That you had every opportunity our money could purchase.’ His searing gaze didn’t release hers. ‘You squandered those opportunities.’ His lips thinned into a disapproving line. ‘What have you made of yourself? You have a dead-end job, a well-developed taste for parties and a criminal record.’
His disdain triggered a rush of desperate energy. Alissa lifted her hands to his shoulders and shoved, desperate for space. But he didn’t budge. He was as immoveable as the island along which the car sped.
Impotent, she could only brace her arms, hoping to prevent him from closing the tiny gap between them.
‘You’re so sure of my guilt.’ Her voice was overloud in the cocooned silence of their private compartment. ‘Did it never occur to you I’m as much a victim in this as you?’
More so. For Dario Parisi had turned the situation to his own advantage with the sure, quick wit and daring of a natural predator. He was beyond her league in that and so many other ways. But she refused to be cowed.
‘A victim?’ His eyes roved over her, his stare so intense she felt it, like the slide of burning ice on skin.
Her lips tingled as if singed by fire when his gaze dropped to her mouth. For a heartbeat, for two, he stared. By the third pulse beat the tingle had become a throb. By the sixth her breathing had constricted, coming in short, hard pants that made her breasts rise and fall mere centimetres from the solid, imposing strength of his chest. By the ninth her lips felt tender, swollen, as if bruised by his ravaging look.
She tried and failed to forget the taste of his lips on hers. The blaze of heat that had engulfed her as he marked her with the brand of his possession. Though he didn’t care for her, he’d taken the time to remind her she was his wife. His chattel.
And, despite every instinct for self-preservation, part of her responded to that primitive claim!
Still he didn’t move. His sleek brows arrowed down in a frown of diabolical concentration. With his deep widow’s peak, glossy dark hair and spare, powerful features he was the epitome of danger, his elegance a façade to raw power and primal urges.
His gaze held her immobile, in thrall to this thing that sparked between them. It was something she didn’t want to name. Something that scared her more than threats or promises of reprisal.
He looked away and Alissa almost sobbed with relief.
Till he moved again. He cupped her face, his thumb on her mouth, pressing open her lips. Darts of fire shot out from his slow, deliberately erotic touch, straight to her engorged nipples and her belly.
Horrified, she stared into his darkening eyes.
She tasted his skin on her lips. A salty, musky tang. His thumb pressed lower, dragging her bottom lip down till he could invade her mouth, swiping her inner lip and tongue. That small invasion was shattering.
She read the glitter in his eyes, no longer cold and indifferent but febrile with an unholy pleasure. He knew exactly how devastating she found his caress.
His thumb traced the ridge of her teeth and her eyelids flickered, heavy with the weight of this new and alien force. She wanted to bite down on his flesh. Suckle it, draw it into her mouth, make his body heat and writhe like the twisting coils of sensation flaring inside her.
How had her anger morphed into this?
His lips drew back in a smile of stark masculine satisfaction. He closed in on her and she was helpless to break the spell of his touch and her own surging desire.
It was only as his head lowered, his chest brushing her over-sensitive breasts, that she regained her sanity.
With both hands she clamped hold of his sinewy wrist and pulled. The silky hair below his cuff tickled but she ignored it, just as she ignored the frantic messages of her brain. Messages of thwarted desire and soul-swamping need.
Once she’d thought Dario less of a threat than her abusive grandfather. She’d been wrong. Dario had only to look at her, touch her, and she turned into someone she didn’t know. Someone ravaged by disturbingly primal needs that Alissa Scott had never experienced.
‘We may be married but you don’t have the right to paw me,’ she gasped, thrusting his hand away and shoving at his chest. Beneath his open jacket she felt hard-packed muscle. Heat and power and pure male energy.
She shut her eyes and prayed this madness would cease.
‘You give me the right when you look at me like that.’ His uneven whisper was a rough growl. ‘If ever a woman invited a man—’
‘Enough!’ Her eyes snapped open. ‘Read my lips, Signor Parisi. I—do—not—want—you—near—me!’ She punctuated each word with a thrust of her hands, becoming more desperate as he remained stolidly unmoving. She was at his mercy, locked in this tiny space.
Her heart hammered a panicked beat that threatened to choke her. Claustrophobia, the old enemy, engulfed her, making her senses swim and her head spin. The world closed in, darkening her vision to a narrowing tunnel of fear.
‘Please,’ it was a hoarse whisper, ‘I...’
An instant later she was free. Cool air brushed her cheeks from an open window. Light banished the encroaching shadows. She slumped. Dario’s stare raked her. But as she gulped down sweet air even that didn’t matter.
She was safe. For now.
* * *
Dario scrutinised her intently, searching her pale features for signs of satisfaction or triumph. Her play on his sympathy had worked.
Was she so good an actress? He frowned, noting the pulse hammering in her slender throat. Her breathing was ragged, as if strained by fear.
Moments before she’d been caught in the same heady sizzle as he. With an expert knowledge honed over thirty-three years he’d recognised it. Despite her denials she’d been so hot and ready he could have had her on the back seat of the limo. Anticipation had thrummed through him.
At first he’d assumed it was a trick, seduction to soften him up for another attempt to wheedle cash from him.
Except she hadn’t initiated that erotic little interlude. He had.
Now she gave an excellent imitation of a woman overcome by fear. Could he have so misread her? Had she truly been unwilling? The idea gnawed at his belly. He would never force himself on a woman in that way.
Or perhaps she was chagrined to find her fake response to him was the real thing?
Dario had no false modesty about his effect on women.
Now he was stunned at the sliver of doubt puncturing his certainty. He’d closed in on her out of anger, wanting to punish her. He hadn’t forgiven her for making this difficult. She could so easily have agreed to his proposal years ago and all this would have been long settled.
Dario wasn’t used to being manipulated. He’d been forced to barter his name to acquire the castello, marrying a Mangano. Yet when he’d finally swallowed his pride this woman had thrown his offer in his face. She’d tried to make a fool of him by ensuring he didn’t get his inheritance. She’d even had the gall to ask for money up front before the
wedding. As if he’d finance her lifestyle!
Now his plan to punish her had backfired. She’d brought him to a fever pitch of arousal in moments.
He’d barely touched her. Hadn’t even kissed her. Yet the taste of her was imprinted on his palate. Their kiss yesterday had been a necessity then a punishment and then, to his astonishment, a pleasure.
One taste and he craved more.
Dario sank back, his mind whirling. Despite all he knew about Alissa Scott she’d got under his skin.
It was not to be tolerated!
The sight of familiar security gates eased the tension between his shoulder blades. Soon he’d be home. This illusory link between them would snap once he resumed his usual routine—
Dario’s eyes widened as the car swung up the approach to the house. His gaze fixed on a cluster of people around a small figure in black at the foot of the entrance staircase.
Che diavolo! This was just what he’d hoped to avoid.
* * *
The car purred to a halt. Alissa looked out the window and gasped. She’d thought the end of this journey would bring some respite. How wrong she’d been.
Her eyes goggled as she took in the scene before her, lit by the setting sun. A masterpiece of minimalist architecture greeted her. Massive, soaring, stark white but for slender columns of polished steel and vast expanses of smoky glass wall. This couldn’t be his house, surely?
Her gaze strayed from the huge bronze entrance doors, down the imposing steps to the group watching the car.
Alissa heard a burst of pungent Italian oaths that would have done her grandfather proud. Disconcerted, she slewed round to see Dario staring at his welcoming committee. The stern, lowered brow and the tight set of his jaw betrayed displeasure.
‘Stay here!’ he barked, then swung open the door and unfolded his length onto the driveway.
He stalked across the gravel and a resounding cheer echoed around him. He took the hands of a slight figure at the centre of the crowd. The woman was tiny but projected an air of authority. Alissa saw the woman’s grey head nod as she broke from his grip, her hands gesticulating.
Abruptly the scene changed. Dario bent to kiss the woman on both cheeks, there was another cheer, then he strode back, his long legs eating up the distance.
There was no mistaking the grim annoyance in those grey eyes as he opened the door and held out his hand. His mouth was pinched in a straight line and his nostrils flared as if he took deep breaths to calm himself.
Reluctantly Alissa put her hand in his, and then almost withdrew it as a jangle of nerves cascaded up her arm and through her body. Her gaze flew to his, aghast, and she saw the almost imperceptible tensing of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes that told her he felt it too—that instantaneous spark of connection.
‘Come. There’s someone waiting to meet you.’ He tucked her arm in his, covering her fingers. She felt blanketed by his heat, yet she shivered. ‘But take note.’ His voice was a low, silky threat. ‘Say as little as possible. You’ll smile and nod and I’ll do the talking. Understood?’
‘Why?’ Despite the exhaustion that made her sway on her feet, she had no intention of blindly kowtowing.
She caught his eye, hoping to look confident. Then she wished she hadn’t. His look could freeze blood at fifty paces.
‘Because if you don’t, if you utter one word of disagreement, I’ll make sure the next six months are the most miserable of your life. And that money you want from the estate? It might even be delayed.’
His voice was a lethal slash of sound. But worse was his expression. He wore a smile that from a distance must look charming. Up close it accentuated the feral anger in his eyes, the raw savagery of his tone. He looked like every nightmare her grandfather had ever conjured for her, evil intent cloaked by stunning good looks.
She could almost believe he’d like nothing better than an excuse to sink those strong white teeth into her tender flesh. Rapacious, fierce, deadly. That was Dario Parisi.
What had she got herself into?
‘I...’
‘Is that agreement? Speak up, woman.’
‘Then stop looming over me!’
His eyes widened. Alissa even surprised herself. She’d thought she was too tired to meet his belligerence head-on, yet it wasn’t in her nature to submit meekly to bullying. That was why she’d always been in trouble as a kid.
‘Why can’t you just ask me to cooperate?’ She was sick of threats. Was that how all Sicilian men operated?
‘Are you saying you would?’ Disbelief coloured his voice. He didn’t wait for her to respond. ‘You will do as I say.’ It was an order, not a question.
‘Since you ask so nicely.’ She pasted a sickly sweet smile on her face. Better than letting him see how his threat to withhold the money for Donna unnerved her.
‘Good. Follow my lead like a good Sicilian wife and things will be easier for you.’
Alissa opened her mouth to snap out a retort. If there was one thing she’d never be, it was a good Sicilian wife!
He forestalled her by draping his arm around her, drawing her against his warm, solid body. That sucked the breath from her lungs and the words from her mouth. She hoped he couldn’t feel her shiver. His ego was huge. Proof that she wasn’t immune to him would only fuel his conceit.
‘Come, wife, and meet your household.’ His voice dripped an icy contempt that belied his wide smile.
There was a chef, a housekeeper, gardeners, a secretary, security men, maids and more. Names and faces blurred as Dario introduced her and good wishes were pressed upon them. The smiles looked genuine, as if they liked him. He must pay a fortune in wages. That was the only explanation.
‘This is Signora Bruzzone.’ His tone softened but his grip tightened. ‘Caterina, this is my wife, Alissa.’
Alissa wondered if anyone else noticed him pause before the word ‘wife’. But the woman before her gave no such indication. She drew Alissa out of Dario’s grasp. His hands dropped reluctantly.
Gleaming dark eyes smiled up at Alissa as the older woman kissed her on both cheeks. She was grey-haired and dressed smartly in black. Her face was strong with character and traces of great beauty, her smile genuine.
Alissa, used to being on the small side of average, felt ungainly and ill-dressed beside her. The dark trousers, cream blouse and caramel jacket that had seemed perfect for travelling were rumpled now.
‘Alissa, welcome to your new home!’ Her English was accented but clear, her welcome genuine.
Alissa didn’t know how to respond, especially with Dario glowering at her. Tentatively she returned the older woman’s hug, uncomfortably aware of his scrutiny.
‘Thank you, Signora Bruzzone.’
‘You must call me Caterina. There’s no need for formality. I was Dario’s housekeeper for years and now I hope to be your friend.’ The older woman smiled. ‘You will be happy here. I know Dario will work hard to ensure it.’
Alissa struggled to repress a bubble of hysteria at the thought.
‘As you say, Caterina, it will be my business to look after her.’ His smooth tones slid along Alissa’s nerves as his hand skimmed her waist. She drew in a trembling breath then bit down hard on her bottom lip, fighting the instinctive need to shrug him off and flee.
Snapping dark eyes surveyed her face then Caterina spoke again, more sharply this time.
‘Dario! Look at the poor little one. She’s exhausted. You shouldn’t have subjected her to the long flight so soon after the wedding. Not everyone has your energy.’
The older woman smiled again. ‘I have told him he should have waited and brought you here to marry. Then it wouldn’t seem quite so strange to you.’ Her eyes flashed a rueful glance over Alissa’s shoulder. ‘But it is always the way with this one. He sees what he wants and he is impatient. He would never take no for an answer.’ She shook her head, but Alissa read fond approval in her eyes.
‘Come. Everything has been prepared. I’ve seen to it myself.
Welcome to your new home, my dear.’
Alissa opened her mouth to respond but the other woman gave an order to the staff, who separated, creating a pathway up the wide steps.
Without warning strong arms curved round Alissa’s back and legs. She was swung high, coming to rest against the hard heat of an impressive male chest.
‘What...?’
Her eyes clashed with dark grey ones under straight black brows. The intensity of Dario’s scrutiny cut off her question and her heart dived.
He stood unmoving, looking at her. She was insidiously aware of the feel of his powerful arms, of splayed hands pressed intimately against her. A hint of spicy scent made her nostrils quiver and somewhere deep inside a spark of something horribly like excitement fired her blood.
Dario’s expression changed slowly. Shock sizzled in her veins as a real smile curved his sculpted lips. The effect on that chiselled, handsome face stole her breath.
He strode forward and around them cheers broke out.
He was halfway up the sprawling staircase before Alissa found her voice. ‘I can walk. I’m not that tired.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ His words feathered her forehead. ‘They’d be disappointed if we broke with tradition.’
‘Tradition?’ Alissa told herself it was weariness that dulled her brain. That her slow thinking had nothing to do with the effect of Dario Parisi’s arms about her.
‘Of course.’ His teeth flashed a smile of genuine amusement, edged with something else she preferred not to identify. ‘Didn’t you know it’s Italian tradition for a groom to carry his bride over the threshold?’
‘You have to be kidding! You know this isn’t—’
His embrace tightened and he strode faster, his long legs eating up the distance to the massive front doors.
‘You and I know what our marriage is, but it does not suit me that anyone else should know.’ He paused and looked down into her eyes. ‘Welcome to my home, wife.’
Her breath hissed as he shouldered his way through the open door to the sound of raucous cheering from below.
‘Well! Now you’ve kept up tradition you can put me down.’ Her nerves were shredded. She needed space.
