Captive in the SpotlightBlackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife

by Annie West

  He shook his head and crossed a vast atrium towards a curving marble staircase.

  ‘Ah, but that’s not all. There’s more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ This time the smile he bestowed betrayed a raw heat that reminded her of a hungry predator. ‘Didn’t you hear Caterina? She has already made the preparations.’

  ‘Preparations?’ Alissa didn’t like the look in his eyes, or the jerky way her pulse galloped in response.

  ‘Of course. She has prepared our marriage bed.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALISSA’S HEAD SWAM as he strode through double doors and kicked them shut.

  The room was huge, luxurious and private. The whisper of his breathing and the frantic thrum of her pulse were the only sounds.

  A vast lake of smoky blue carpet spread like a reflection of the indigo sea beyond the enormous windows. The furnishings were few but impossibly expensive. The centrepiece was a bed: wide, low and far too large. It filled her vision and she couldn’t look away.

  Panic gripped her, fuelled by his menacing threats in the car, and more, the savage satisfaction she’d glimpsed in his eyes as he carried her up the stairs.

  This man despised her, he couldn’t possibly want...

  ‘I’d like to stand on my own feet now,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘There’s no need to perform for your audience any more.’

  ‘Ah, but you heard Caterina. You’re exhausted.’

  Alissa didn’t look at him. She felt too vulnerable, here in his embrace. His searing gaze was too disturbing.

  ‘Not that exhausted! Put me down. Now!’ She welcomed the surge of anger. It beat the insidious chill of fear and the edgy awareness hands down.

  Instead of answering he shifted his hold, drawing her closer, pacing slowly to the bed. Alissa’s heart beat in time with each step as tension coiled tighter.

  When he stopped the bed was an unending expanse below her. Blinding-white linen filled her vision, old linen, edged with ornate, handmade lace. The scent of lavender and sunshine emanated from it. Petals were strewn across the comforter. In the centre lay a plump, blush-pink rose.

  ‘As you wish.’ He lowered her.

  Alissa was torn between wanting to tear herself from his arms and trying to scrabble back into them rather than be placed like some virgin sacrifice on his marriage bed.

  The bedding cushioned her like an embrace. She held herself stiffly, sitting primly away from the luxuriously soft pillows.

  ‘You can’t mean for us to share this bed.’

  ‘Why not?’ His voice was a sultry murmur, his eyes glittering with a light she didn’t want to decipher. ‘We’re man and wife. It is customary. Are you afraid there isn’t room for two?’

  Despite her best intentions, Alissa’s gaze strayed over the bed. Its modern lines were designed for something less traditional than heirloom sheets. Satin perhaps, sinfully soft and caressing. She could imagine Dario sprawled here on black satin. Dario with a svelte, dark-haired beauty.

  Alissa shot off the mattress, horrified at how vividly she pictured him naked. Her knees trembled as she faced him. He looked as implacable as a carved deity.

  ‘Don’t even joke about it, Signor Parisi. You and I both know you have no interest in sharing this bed with me.’ She refused to dwell on the possibility that she was wrong. ‘I’m sick of your innuendoes and accusations. I’m tired after the trip and definitely not in the mood for your point-scoring games.’

  Alissa breathed deep, trying to calm her racing pulse. She’d been on a roller-coaster ride of anxiety too long. She needed to claw back some control.

  ‘Now,’ she said, squaring up to his unreadable gaze, determined not to let him sense her fear, ‘I’ve gone along with this charade and I haven’t disappointed your fan club out there. I’ve been more than reasonable, putting up with your he-man routine carrying me up here.’ She paused and dragged in another deep breath, wishing she could rid herself of the shivery awareness.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d show some courtesy and give me privacy. I don’t care how you explain it to your retinue but we will not be sharing this bed.’

  She spun round and marched to the far side of the room. With each step she expected the heavy weight of his hand to descend on her shoulder and halt her in her tracks.

  Her fingers were unsteady as she pushed open a door and found what she’d hoped for: a bathroom. Relief flooded her as she entered and clicked the door shut, snapping it locked behind her.

  For a moment she gazed at the palatial travertine and gleaming glass. Then she slumped against the door and let her shaky legs give way till she sat, huddled on the floor.

  Six months of marriage. How was she going to survive?

  Her situation got worse by the hour.

  * * *

  Dario stared at the door and willed his taut muscles to relax. His palms prickled at the memory of her curvaceous form in his embrace. Her rich, sweet fragrance lingered in his nostrils. More, his blood pooled and thickened low in his body.

  Damnation! He was aroused. Fully, painfully aroused. By Alissa Scott, his not-so-convenient wife.

  It had been the feel of her, warm and luscious and soft in his arms, that excited him. But even more, the sight of her standing up to him fearlessly when ninety-nine women out of a hundred would have meekly acquiesced.

  The blaze of hauteur in her eyes as she called his bluff had been nothing short of magnificent. The belligerent jut of her chin, like an Amazon queen who didn’t know the meaning of defeat. Her precise, cut-glass diction as she challenged him. The sizzle of defiance radiating off her. All had been superb. Glorious. Sexy as hell.

  Even her dark red hair, tumbling around her shoulders as her rigidly upswept style disintegrated, had enhanced her splendour. It added a sensuous promise to her defiance. A reminder that beneath the glacial indignation every inch was warm, red-blooded woman.

  The undercurrent of attraction had exploded into a tidal wave of wanting. He couldn’t fathom it. He’d become accustomed to capitulation, not defiance. But this one woman, daring to confront him as no one had in years...

  She’d been scintillatingly alive. Vibrant and real in a way few women were. She didn’t simper or mindlessly agree or deliberately issue sultry invitations.

  She hated him.

  And he’d never been so turned on in his life.

  The realisation was a shocking body blow.

  She wasn’t his type. She was everything he despised. She was his blood enemy. She was trouble with a capital T. She was nothing like the quiet, charming woman he planned to find and make his permanent wife.

  Yet he was across the room, his hand on the bathroom doorknob, without any memory of deciding to follow her.

  Horrified, he snatched back his hand and strode to the windows. The indigo waves, ceaselessly moving, reminded him of her. Of the way her brilliant gaze darkened as she faced him down.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and swung round, only to be confronted by the bed. Even now he saw her there, russet hair and pouting lips pure invitation against the pristine bedspread. Her full breasts rising and falling in her passion.

  He’d wanted to push her back against the covers, cup that delicious flesh in his hands, taste her again on his tongue. Find release inside her.

  But sex meant complications. He had enough experience of importunate ex-lovers to understand that. Sex with his wife...that would be a complication on a grand scale. Better to keep this strictly business.

  Suddenly the idea of spending half a year under the same roof as Alissa didn’t seem simple. Even in a separate room she’d be a distraction. Knowing she was here in his home would be a potent disturbance to his well-ordered life. His plan to make the next six months as difficult for her as possible was backfiring. He’d intended to enjoy her discomfort, enjoy making her pay just a little for the inconvenience she’d caused and the damage her family had done.

  She was supposed to be at his mercy.
Not the other way around.

  Dario tightened his fists. Perhaps it was enough to have the castello in his grasp. He needn’t sully himself with petty vengeance, despite the provocation.

  He’d master this unwanted desire and forge ahead as he’d always done. Only his total-focus determination had got him where he was today, out of a nondescript orphanage and into the rich lists. If he’d let himself be sidetracked he’d still be nothing, nobody, not the worthy inheritor of his family pride and prestige.

  He turned. His gaze flickered to the bathroom door but he headed for the landing. Alissa could wait. He had to straighten things out with Caterina. She was far more than his retired housekeeper. She was the one person who’d known him since those early days in the orphanage. She’d believed in him, giving up her job to keep house for him as his quest to rebuild the Parisi fortunes prospered.

  He hadn’t told her his plan to marry. His current housekeeper must have spilled the news so instead of arriving to see his new wife installed in an apartment of her own he’d been faced with Caterina’s joyful excitement. She’d even made up a marriage bed with linens inherited from her grandmother.

  He tunnelled a hand through his hair. Going through the farce of carrying his bride over the threshold had been easier than telling Caterina the truth.

  She’d been at him so long to find a ‘nice girl’ and settle down. He hadn’t had the heart to explain that this was all about business, property and a decades-old feud.

  Now he’d have to. He squared his shoulders and strode out of the room. He ignored the small voice that warned his life, his foolproof plan to get everything he wanted, had suddenly become dangerously complicated.

  * * *

  It was the middle of the night when Alissa woke on the sofa in Dario’s bedroom. She must have nodded off waiting for him to return. Jet lag and stress had exhausted her, yet she could scarcely believe she’d slept.

  A blanket covered her and she was dressed but for her shoes. She darted a look at the massive bed.

  It was empty. Her heartbeat notched up a pace when she saw it had been slept in. Where was he now? She sat up.

  That was when she noticed the deep murmur. Not the sound of the sea—the roll of incoming waves was slower and more distant. She stared into the silver-grey moonlight, realising it was Dario she heard, his voice husky, rich and deeply male. It tingled across her senses like the prickle of approaching lightning, making her skin contract.

  Alissa squirmed. She was too aware of the big, bothersome Sicilian. She tried to convince herself anxiety tensed her muscles but her restlessness had more to do with feminine awareness. It had been like that from the moment she met those clear-as-crystal eyes and felt a jolt like a fast-dropping elevator in the pit of her stomach.

  If she could concentrate on Dario Parisi as her enemy she could fight him. But as she finally spied him, almost naked on the balcony, her determination to do just that slipped from her mind.

  The moon revealed a sleek body of honed muscle, broad shoulders and long, taut limbs. Her breath stopped then escaped on a whoosh of desperation.

  How did she fight the devil when he had the body of an angel?

  He paced, talking into his phone. Each powerful stride revealed leashed energy and supreme fitness, as if he were an athlete impatient for his event. Even the shadow of dark boxer shorts low on his hips promoted the fantasy.

  She caught one word, ‘Maria’, as he turned near the open glass door. His girlfriend? Was that why he was impatient? He was stuck here with a wife he didn’t want when perhaps he’d rather be with Maria, working off some of that sizzling animal energy.

  Alissa swung her legs to the ground, shoving aside the blanket and leaning her elbows on her knees. Nausea hit her at the idea of Dario and another woman.

  It couldn’t be jealousy. That was absurd. She didn’t even like him. She wasn’t attracted to that...master manipulator. The man who’d shown no compunction and every sign of chilly contempt as he bent her to his will.

  ‘Ah, you’re awake. My apologies if I disturbed you.’

  He stood before her, legs planted wide and hands on hips in a stance that was purely male and appallingly attractive. The fact that he wore nothing but a pair of silky boxers and an enigmatic smile obviously didn’t concern him in the slightest.

  He was so supremely self-confident.

  Every cell of her body clamoured to alert. Not with fear but with something far more dangerous.

  Alissa jerked her gaze to his gleaming eyes, pretending she hadn’t just imprinted a stunning picture of raw male beauty onto the dazzled lenses of her eyes.

  She refused to be attracted to him. No matter what her body thought. Her mind was stronger.

  Surely it was stronger.

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Her voice, high and breathless, sounded like a stranger’s.

  ‘Why disturb you when you were comfortable?’ His tone had a satisfied, unsettling edge.

  ‘Don’t play games, Dario.’ She paused, astonished at the shot of pleasure that speared her at the sound of his name on her tongue. The enveloping darkness had altered the atmosphere between them. The very air felt charged. ‘I didn’t want to sleep here.’

  He lifted his shoulders and, despite herself, Alissa was enthralled by the ripple of muscle and sinew on his lean, hard body. Moonlight lovingly silvered each taut curve and plane.

  ‘As you fell asleep and refused to rouse, I assumed you weren’t serious.’

  ‘You tried to wake me?’ Her mouth dried at the thought of those long fingers touching her while she slept. A tickle of sensation feathered her waist, her hip, as if in response to the light brush of a hand.

  Was it possible he desired her? Had he wanted her awake to consummate their marriage? Anxiety and outrage flared. And a thrilling undercurrent she preferred to ignore.

  He stepped close and her fingers curled into the sofa’s fine leather. His gaze pierced her, as if he saw the weakness weighting her bones. She strove to look away, horrified at the drift of her thoughts. The tang of the sea on the breeze tickled her nostrils and the scent of warm skin mingled with it. She tugged the blanket over her knees, wishing for a more substantial barrier.

  ‘You seem very much at home in my bedroom.’ His voice was deeper than ever. A deliberate taunt. Alissa’s eyes flickered to the wide bed. Even in this light she could make out a scattering of rose petals.

  The marriage bed they were supposed to share.

  The thought was unnerving. A traitorous part of her wondered how it would be sharing that space with this man—fit, strong and no doubt practised in every sensual skill.

  Madness!

  Yet she recalled the dreamy look on her mother’s face years ago when she’d described meeting Alissa’s father. Like a bolt of lightning, she’d said. So strong she hadn’t hesitated to marry him weeks after they’d met.

  Instant attraction was appallingly dangerous. Her mother hadn’t known what sort of man he really was. That he’d dump her just after the birth of their second child.

  Alissa had more sense than to fall in love, especially with someone like Dario. But here in the warm night, where she felt the caress of his breath on her face, she wondered if women in her family had a predisposition to instant, all-consuming lust. To attraction that drove out logic.

  Had that happened to her mother? Had Alissa inherited a terrible weakness for the wrong man?

  No! It was a midnight fantasy, fuelled by anxiety. In the morning she’d feel nothing. She lifted her head and met the glitter of his eyes head-on.

  ‘Don’t get carried away by your ego, Signor Parisi. I was jet-lagged, that’s all.’ She busied herself, holding her breath while she folded the blanket. ‘You can show me to my room now.’

  He said nothing, just stood, arms akimbo, watching her. His eyes waited to trap her as she looked up. Once more she felt the shock of awareness shudder through her.

  ‘I’ll make a deal with you.’ His voice was low and even. No sign t
hat he felt anything except impatience. ‘If you can live quietly for six months with no embarrassing scenes, no attempts to score points in front of others, I’ll ensure you’re comfortable till we inherit and divorce. You’ll have the freedom of the estate and the local towns. I’ll even provide a driver for you.’

  Alissa stared, wishing the lights were on so she could fathom his expression.

  ‘Why should you do that?’

  He raised his shoulders and spread his hands palm upwards in a gesture that was pure Sicilian.

  ‘A truce is easier for both of us.’

  ‘What do you get out of it?’ He wasn’t obliged to provide anything but the roof over her head. After her grandfather’s mean ways and a taste of Dario’s dislike, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d charged her board.

  ‘Contrary to what you think, you’re not my top priority.’ His voice dipped into sarcasm. ‘I have major commercial projects underway, more important things on my mind than continually sparring with a Mangano.’

  ‘I’m not a—’

  ‘No, how could I have forgotten?’ The soft chill of his words stopped her. ‘You’re a Parisi now.’

  It was true. For the next six months she was no longer Alissa Scott. The realisation unnerved her. As if in acquiring his name she’d somehow mislaid something of herself. Something vital.

  ‘I’ll never be a Parisi,’ she said in a rush. ‘I’m a wife on paper only, not your possession.’

  Her fingers clenched. She’d had enough of men shoving her into moulds of their making, treating her as a chattel to be bartered and negotiated over, like a lifeless piece of property. His stare grazed her but she didn’t look away.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said at last. His husky voice rasped across her nerves. ‘You’ll never be a Parisi.’

  Odd how his dismissal jarred. As if she cared what he thought, cared whether he believed her good enough to grace his oh-so-special family tree.

  ‘But meanwhile you are my temporary wife. Why not accept my hospitality graciously? All I ask is that you behave with propriety.’

  ‘Propriety?’ Lava-hot anger coursed through her blood. She shot to her feet and paced away from him, needing an outlet for her simmering temper. ‘What? No wild parties, you mean? No drugs?’ She swung round to glare at him from the other end of the room. ‘Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll contaminate the illustrious Parisi name?’