Captive in the SpotlightBlackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife

by Annie West

  His arms tightened instinctively around her.

  Was it any wonder he shunned love in favour of the future he planned, with a carefully considered marriage to an appropriate woman? No more emotional relationships for him. No love. Not when soul-destroying loss was the cost. Not when happiness was so easily wrenched away by greedy waves.

  The sight of Alissa battling to stay afloat had brought back too many tragic memories. His heart squeezed as he realised he’d almost lost her too.

  Finally he found the strength to lift his head, dragging raw breaths into his labouring lungs.

  Dazed azure eyes stared up at him. Her lips were ruby-red and plump from his kisses. Hectic colour streaked her cheekbones, testament to the sudden passion between them.

  What sort of man was he, letting emotions drive him to such lengths? His fury resulted from their near-death experience. Was that the cause of this almost unstoppable desire too? And the fear that made his heart clatter against his ribs?

  He felt...he felt...too much.

  Shame washed through him. She was traumatised. He had no right to treat her like this.

  More, now that he knew her a little better he began to doubt his first assessment of her. What he’d discovered he admired. His instinct was to protect her.

  He swung her up in his arms, noticing with grim pleasure the way her hands automatically rose to link at the back of his neck.

  ‘Come on, Alissa. It’s time a doctor checked you out.’

  * * *

  Five days later Alissa stood beside her husband at a reception in a magnificent old palazzo and tried to understand the change between them. There’d been no mention of that passionate kiss, no reference to the rescue, yet since that day Dario’s attitude had altered. He didn’t avoid her as much. Nor had there been more barbed remarks. They lived a wary truce.

  Sometimes she looked into his eyes and glimpsed a flash of the incandescent fire that had almost consumed her that day in the boathouse. The fire that, to her shame, she couldn’t help but miss.

  Whatever Dario felt, he kept it to himself.

  So much about the man she’d married was inexplicable, from his obsession with regaining the old estate to his fiery passion and his sudden withdrawal. She longed to ask about his family, hoping he’d exaggerated about having none. But she hadn’t found the nerve to query him. Then there was the esteem in which he was held locally, his comfortable relationship with Anna and Maria—more like a kind uncle than a world-weary tycoon.

  He’d flummoxed her the day of her rescue. She’d seen his simmering fury and smelt his anger with the preternatural awareness of an animal hunted by a predator. She knew the signs of untrammelled anger since she’d lived most of her life with its violent consequences. But, despite his wrath, he hadn’t taken out his temper on her. Instead he’d given her the sweetest, most desperate kiss she’d ever known. One that left her wanting more.

  Now tonight, the goalposts had shifted again.

  Dario went out of his way to touch her, keeping her close as they circulated through the throng of dignitaries. His arm at her waist was possessive. The feather-light weight of his breath on her hair and cheek was a stealthy caress. His husky voice was intimate, binding her to him with invisible ties.

  The intimacy was for public show. Yet that didn’t prevent the warmth spreading and sizzling under her skin.

  Her face ached from plastering on a smile. Her body was stiff from trying to maintain a distance between them. It was a losing battle. That casual drape of his arm tightened whenever she prised herself away a fraction.

  She’d known he had a way with women and the looks that followed him round the room proved it. Yet it wasn’t the young and lovely who received the full blast of his attentive smiles. The smiling, elegant pair they’d just left were in their seventies at least.

  Dario was no longer the man she knew and distrusted. That unnerved her.

  ‘You said we had to be seen together,’ she whispered, ‘not that we’d be like conjoined twins the whole evening.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Alissa. No one will mistake us for siblings.’ His long fingers stroked the dark velvet at her waist and she sucked in a shocked breath. Such a tiny movement yet waves of pleasure radiated from his touch.

  ‘Now we’ve been seen and congratulated, perhaps we can leave?’ She stood rigid, locking her knees against the melting sensation that made her legs wobble as his hand idly circled.

  His arm dropped. Instantly she felt bereft.

  ‘No. I still have people to see.’ His expression was suddenly grim. Had she annoyed him? ‘If you would prefer not to accompany me...’

  ‘Yes.’ She sounded far too eager. ‘I’d prefer.’

  With a nod and a narrowing glance he turned and headed through the crowd. Alissa released her breath on a sigh. When she was with Dario she felt so unsettled. Even now she couldn’t tear her eyes from him. Yet it wasn’t distrust that kept her attention locked on him.

  It was something more primal. More personal.

  Her pulse revved as he turned and smiled at someone. His spare, sculpted good looks, his dark colouring might have been the inspiration for whoever invented the tuxedo. Surely no man had ever looked more elegant, more handsome, more dangerously powerful in such formal attire.

  ‘Your husband is very handsome, Signora Parisi.’

  Alissa blinked and looked up into the face of a gorgeous, elegant woman. Golden hair, stunning face. Eyes that were sharply assessing.

  ‘Thank you, Signorina...?’

  ‘Cipriani. Bianca Cipriani.’ She paused. ‘Your husband has a reputation for being ruthless. Many women would think twice before marrying such a man.’

  Alissa caught her breath. This woman was trouble, that was obvious. But how to escape her without making a scene?

  ‘All successful entrepreneurs are single-minded.’

  ‘But Dario is in a class alone when it comes to getting his own way, no matter the cost.’

  ‘What is it you want?’ Better to get this over quickly. She didn’t want a scene with a jealous ex-lover.

  ‘Just to give a friendly warning.’ The blonde’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you’re wise you won’t trust him with anything you value, like your heart or your life. He cares for nothing but his precious Parisi estate.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’ Despite her better judgement Alissa couldn’t quash the need to know.

  ‘Me?’ Bianca laughed. ‘Hardly. That’s the sort of woman your husband has always preferred.’ With a leaden sensation in her stomach Alissa followed her gesture.

  There was Dario, in intimate conversation with a gorgeous brunette. The woman looked like a model: tall, slim, with an air of fashionable languor and the serene face of a madonna. In her gown of silver gauze she was the perfect foil for Dario’s dark suit and lean good looks. He stood close, his body language proclaiming his interest.

  Bile rose in Alissa’s throat. She pressed a palm to her roiling stomach. The sight of Dario, fascinated by the dark-haired beauty, made her nauseous. Her breath shallowed, her hands grew clammy.

  These last weeks he’d sneaked under her defences, shattered her preconceived notions and made her doubt what she knew of him. More, he’d given her a taste of passion and foolishly she craved more. She was jealous of the brunette who so obviously intrigued him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Bianca’s words dragged her from her horrified stupor. ‘You’re very pale.’

  ‘I’m OK.’ Alissa turned her back on the perfect couple. She crushed stupid regret that she’d never be tall and glamorous, the sort of woman Dario found attractive.

  She should thank her lucky stars! An intimate relationship with him would be disastrous.

  ‘Why do you hate him?’

  The other woman straightened. ‘He killed my father.’

  ‘He what?’ She searched Bianca’s face but she looked utterly genuine. A chill slid through Alissa.

  ‘My father owned a company that once belonged to
the Parisis. Dario was obsessed with acquiring it and everything else in the old Parisi estate.’ Her gaze flickered to Alissa. ‘When my father refused his offers Dario used other means to acquire it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The hairs stood up on the back of Alissa’s neck.

  Bianca shrugged. ‘Your husband is powerful. Suddenly there were problems on site, loan extensions cancelled. Pressure mounted from all sides. What was once a thriving business was reassessed at a fraction of its value. My father had to sell but he got a pittance for it. He felt he’d failed us. That’s when he took his life.’

  * * *

  Dario’s skin prickled, senses alert as he felt her eyes on him. After weeks of repressed desire he recognised this heightened awareness instantly.

  Casually he turned. Their gazes connected and his heart accelerated. He took in her creamy skin, the swell of her breasts beneath the square neck of her black velvet dress. She wore no jewellery, but with her sapphire eyes and fiery hair she needed no adornment. Her dress clung to her curves but was puritanical in its simplicity. Perversely it made him more eager to remove it. Her legs in sheer stockings and high heels were incredibly sexy.

  It took a moment to notice the woman beside her. Bianca Cipriani. Was she dripping poison into Alissa’s ears? Dario was surprised to find he wished the two women hadn’t met. As if he cared for his wife’s good opinion.

  ‘Dario, are you listening?’ His companion pouted. Automatically he apologised, realising he’d barely listened to her chatter. Dario frowned. For months he’d considered her a contender for the position of permanent wife after Alissa left. She was sophisticated yet eager to accord with his wishes. She had breeding, beauty, brains. She wanted children. She was Sicilian. She was perfect for the role.

  And yet... His gaze strayed to Alissa, demurely dressed to kill. His temperature rose and his groin tightened. It annoyed him to find he was more interested in his unwanted wife. He excused himself and went to fetch her.

  She stood alone now. Her eyes were a blaze of colour, lips a plump, perfect invitation, at odds with her rigid posture. Tension stiffened his every muscle and sinew as he approached. Anticipation weighted his limbs, stirred his pulse to a heavy, needy throb.

  Tonight. He’d deal with this tonight, he decided as their eyes locked and fire scorched his blood. He’d spent weeks pretending abstinence could master this unwanted desire. The time for denial had passed.

  He’d do whatever it took to get her out of his system for good.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘SIGNORA PARISI. THERE was a long-distance call for you. A message to ring your sister.’

  Instantly the low-level anxiety Alissa had lived with for so long rocketed to the surface, morphing into fear. Donna had been fine last night, or so she’d said. Had something changed?

  ‘Thank you.’ She nodded to the housekeeper and hurried towards the stairs.

  ‘Alissa.’ Dario’s voice, low and resonant, made her pause. Even through her worry the sound of his husky, deep tone could stop her in her tracks.

  ‘Yes?’ She turned but didn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t need that challenge.

  ‘We need to talk. When you’ve made your call I’ll be in my study, waiting.’

  Startled, she looked straight at him but couldn’t read his impassive expression. He had the face of a poker player. Of a man who wheeled and dealed in multi-million-dollar enterprises. And yet...there was something about the way he held himself, like a predator waiting to pounce...

  A tremor rippled through her. No! She was being fanciful. Worry over Donna made her imagine things.

  ‘All right.’ She turned and headed for her room, praying with each step that bad news wasn’t waiting.

  * * *

  Dario poured himself a single malt, and then, in a move unusual for him, another.

  The potent alcohol did nothing to soothe his tension. He was wound too tight, his body burning up with a hunger so rampant he felt like a raw adolescent. Except this attraction was nothing like the spike of physical desire he’d experienced as a callow youth. This was more intense, more disturbing, an omnipresent awareness that hijacked his mind as well as torturing his body.

  It was enough to make him question his judgement. He wanted to believe she was all she seemed, feisty yet sweet, innocent even. Yet he had proof enough of her wild ways, her reckless carnal pleasures. She’d tried to steal his birthright, refusing his generous offers while conniving to wed another. She’d acted as his enemy.

  Frustration and anger hummed through him. These growing doubts weren’t like him.

  He’d had his fill of decadent socialites. Of shallowness and avarice. Yet his gut instinct urged him to believe in her. More, something about her tugged at emotions he’d almost forgotten. That made him vulnerable.

  He burned at the thought of her sharing her favours with other men. He couldn’t repress a surge of jealousy at the memory of her ex-lover, Jason Donnelly. Dario’s yearning made a mockery of his pride and his standards.

  He swallowed the last of his Scotch, barely noticing it burn his throat. He poured himself another, furious that with her alone his formidable control was nonexistent. Just the sound of her voice, a whisper of her scent on the air and his mind blanked. His hands shook as he poured the whisky. Savagely he swore. He would conquer this weakness.

  A breath of air feathered the back of his neck as the study door opened. It couldn’t be reaction to her presence. No woman had that sort of power over him.

  He turned. She stood inside the closed door, silhouetted by lamplight that caressed each dip and swell of her hourglass figure. His throat tightened as need, instantaneous and all-consuming, devoured him.

  God, how he wanted her!

  He’d expected her to flaunt her abundant charms. Instead she’d tortured him in a dress that covered her arms, her shoulders, her thighs. It should have been demure. But, in a devious twist of feminine power, that hint of cleavage and the way the fabric wrapped itself round her like a lover’s caress turned demure into sinfully sexy.

  ‘Dario, we need to talk.’ His jaw tightened. The sound of his name in that breathless voice made him hard.

  ‘Precisely what I had in mind. Drink?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She walked further into the room and he read determination blazing in her eyes. Her posture was rigidly perfect. His wife had something on her mind.

  Something in her set face tripped his internal alarm system. Something not quite right. Instantly he was alert.

  There was nothing warm about her expression. Dario felt his ardour cool as his mind clicked into gear. Part of him loathed the suspicion but it rose with devastating inevitability.

  Would this be the moment she showed her true colours? When she tried to persuade him to alter their agreement? Would she again try milking him for the wealth she’d grown accustomed to and now missed? From the moment she’d signed the prenuptial agreement along with the notice of intention to marry, he’d wondered.

  Something stirred deep in his belly. Disappointment?

  ‘I want to renegotiate our arrangement.’ Her look seemed direct, honest and just a hint wary.

  The stupid, fragile hope that he’d been wrong died instantly, leaving a queer hollowness in its place.

  ‘There’s nothing to renegotiate. When we inherit I’ll organise the divorce and your payment.’

  She stepped closer and he got the full impact of that wide-eyed look. For all his cynicism he melted a little under her soulful gaze. That stirred his resentment. He didn’t take kindly to being played. He’d long ago developed armour against the wiles of avaricious women.

  ‘Something important has come up.’ She drew a slow breath, a predictable feminine ploy but effective. His gaze slid down to her full breasts.

  ‘Really?’ He kept his tone noncommittal.

  ‘Yes.’ She paused, as if hesitant. ‘I need money now. The money from the sale of the castello. So I thought...’

  What? That he’d give it
to her? He owed her nothing. To the contrary, she’d grown up with the fortune and opportunities that should have been his. His fingers wrapped tighter round the glass as the old wrath took hold. He’d almost forgotten it these past weeks as he’d let her lull him into half believing he’d got her wrong.

  Had that touching scene on the beach with the girls been window-dressing? Part of an elaborate ploy to allay his suspicions? Women had gone to greater lengths before now to win his attention. Could he have been that gullible?

  No one made a fool of Dario Parisi.

  ‘We could sign an agreement, a contract. I’ll agree to sell you my share of the estate when we inherit and in return you give me my share of its value now.’

  Dario shouldn’t be surprised, yet the sour tang of disappointment filled his mouth.

  ‘That’s not possible.’ He downed his whisky. The blaze of heat rocketing down his throat couldn’t rival the flare of anger in his belly. Anger at himself for ever thinking he’d been wrong about her. Fury with her for not being what he’d hoped.

  ‘Of course it’s possible.’ She paced closer and her scent, like an invitation to paradise, filled his senses. ‘Your lawyers could draw up such a document.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt you’re right. But what good would it be when there’s no guarantee I’d ever own the estate?’

  ‘I don’t follow you.’ She tilted her head, the picture of innocent confusion.

  ‘It’s simple, moglie mia. Once you have my money, what’s to stop you leaving?’ For a moment an image of Alissa, shackled to his bed, wearing nothing but a beckoning smile, distracted him. Heat twisted in his gut. It would be one way of keeping his wife close. Pity he was supposed to be an enlightened twenty-first-century man.

  ‘You’d have our contract.’

  ‘Much good that would do when you desert me. I can’t claim the estate unless we live together for six months.’

  She spread her hands, palm up. ‘But that wouldn’t change. Don’t you see? I’d stay here. The only difference would be that I’d have my share a little early.’