by Annie West
But, searching her face, he discerned no excitement. She looked like a woman talking only business. No sign of passion. The realisation cut the ground from under him. Disappointment welled like blood from torn skin. Yet he wouldn’t refuse her offer.
‘Thank you, moglie mia,’ he said, summoning restraint. He had to go before he did something stupid, such as let her see how much he needed her. ‘I appreciate your reassurance. And now, forgive me but I have business to attend to.’
Unable to resist, he drew her hand to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on her palm. There was fierce satisfaction at the sound of her indrawn breath and the sight of her pulse racing at her wrist.
She was as vulnerable to this passion as he.
Yet gratitude had prompted her promise to share his bed. That shredded his pride.
Surely a flame that flared so bright must burn itself out soon. This was a temporary aberration. In time his reaction to her would dull. Then he could find a docile Sicilian wife to bear his children. To restore the Parisi family in fact as well as name—those goals had sustained him for so long.
That was what he wanted, the perfect life with no untidy emotions to trap the unwary.
Unless Alissa was already pregnant.
A thrill of possessive pleasure sideswiped him. Till he realised how slim was the chance she’d conceived.
He forced himself to drop her hand.
He ignored the whisper of conscience that warned he acted out of pride as much as need. That for the first time he desired a woman more than she desired him.
The notion was unsettling.
No, this was a matter of mutual passion. He would make amends for the wrongs he’d done her. He’d care for her as she deserved. And, he vowed, he’d give her more pleasure than she’d ever known until the time came to part.
* * *
Alissa stared at the closed door and her heart plummeted. When he’d kissed her hand with barely leashed passion, heat had risen again between them. Hope had risen too. Hope that he felt that spark of connection.
But when he’d raised his head and looked at her with eyes like winter he’d doused her hope. Was the magic she’d felt with him one-sided? Had he felt nothing more than physical release? The sort of release he’d had with countless women?
His expression when he’d thrust aside her gratitude had been forbidding. But he’d saved Donna’s life and last night he’d offered Alissa the comfort of his embrace, no strings attached. He’d listened, he’d held her close and she’d felt as if nothing could hurt her again. She’d never felt so cared-for in all her life.
Had he no idea how special that was? How incredible and fragile was that tender bud of trust she felt? Apparently not. He’d refused to acknowledge her thanks.
Perhaps her gamble was sheer folly. After all, what did she know of intimacy between a man and a woman? Only what she’d learned with Dario. Maybe what seemed extraordinary to her was nothing of the sort.
Yet her feelings were so strong they couldn’t be denied. She’d turned to him this morning wanting comfort and that sense of belonging she’d discovered in his arms. His tender response was everything she’d wished for.
She’d made up her mind to continue their bargain, hoping that by the end of their allotted time she’d discover what these raw new feelings meant. Perhaps even discover that Dario felt them too. Despite his ruthless streak, she knew there was another side to him. A tender, caring, compassionate side.
She remembered how he’d pulsed within her and how, as she realised they’d forgotten a condom, there’d been no panic. Just acceptance and a thrill of pleasure.
Had she taken leave of her senses? Wanting to stay with the domineering man who’d disrupted her life?
It was crazy. It was asking for disappointment. Yet Alissa could no more keep her distance from Dario than she could ignore him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS EARLY evening. The square of the tiny Sicilian village was packed when Dario gave in to the clamorous roar of the crowd and got to his feet.
Alissa watched him on his way to the gaily decorated dais where the mayor had already given a speech. Dario paused here and there at the tables to exchange greetings.
Her husband was the centre of attention. It wasn’t simply his superb looks, or the lithe grace of his ultra-fit body that held everyone’s gaze; an aura of power crackled around him like static electricity. Beaming faces, wrinkled and smooth, old and young, followed his progress.
Alissa’s Italian had improved in the months since their return from the States. She followed the mayor’s speech, littered with references to Dario’s vision in rejuvenating traditional local industries like olive oil and ceramics production in what had recently been a depressed area. How he’d endowed schools, backed cottage industries and offered work. To these people Dario was a hero. Nor was that new. Whenever she accompanied him to community events she was overwhelmed by the affection in which he was held.
Who was the real Dario Parisi? A civic hero? Absolutely. Plus he had the absolute devotion of his staff. They genuinely respected him.
He’d moved heaven and earth to save her sister and ensure she and David were financially comfortable. He’d been under no obligation to do that, but he had. Because he felt guilty for his actions? Perhaps that was why he grew stiff and formal whenever she attempted to thank him.
He loved children, shedding his formidable reserve whenever Maria and Anna were around, becoming tender, fun, the sort of man who made a woman dream of the future.
How did she reconcile his generosity with the coldly conniving man so obsessed with recovering his family estates? Who had, if the story was true, caused the death of a competitor? That man seemed no longer to exist. She saw few traces of him.
Alissa still didn’t understand what motivated him.
Sometimes she felt she was almost close enough to know him. When he made sweet love to her through the night, or just held her in his arms when her period started. He hadn’t known how desperately she’d craved his tenderness then. It was crazy, her disappointment when she had learned she wasn’t pregnant. She should have been thankful there’d be no baby from their marriage. Yet she’d felt bereft.
Even then he hadn’t chosen to sleep elsewhere. As if it wasn’t just sex he wanted. As if he too wanted more.
Did he feel that strong link between them?
Some days she was sure he did. Days when, to the amazement of his staff, he took a holiday from his all-consuming work and spent the day with her. They swam, explored local sights, or lay in bed and made love.
Yet whenever it seemed they were on the brink of an understanding, he withdrew. There was a barricade around him that no one breached. Except perhaps Caterina Bruzzone, the old woman who was as close to Dario as family.
Alissa’s gaze lingered on Dario, masculine perfection in a dark suit, holding the crowd in the palm of his hand.
The man who, she finally admitted, held her happiness in that broad palm too.
‘He is a fine man, Signora Parisi.’ A middle-aged stranger leaned close, nodding approvingly. ‘We are lucky in your husband’s patronage.’
Blindly she smiled and nodded, tears blurring her vision. She was too emotional these days. With the destruction of the defences she’d used to protect herself from her grandfather, and later, the man who’d bought her in marriage, she had no reserves left.
She watched Dario, stepping from the podium to rousing applause. Her heart swelled. With pride? Longing? Love?
She pressed her lips together to prevent a gasp. No, not love. Gratitude for saving Donna. And affection. After all, Dario had introduced her to wondrous physical passion. They said a woman kept a soft spot for her first lover.
She wasn’t so foolish as to fall for her husband. That would be disaster. He didn’t want love, would be horrified if his convenient wife became sentimentally attached.
‘It was a good day when he returned,’ the stranger continued. ‘We were doomed with
old Cipriani in charge.’
Yanked out of her thoughts, Alissa turned and stared.
‘Old Cipriani?’ Bianca’s father? The one driven to suicide. ‘What was wrong with him?’
The stranger shrugged. ‘Best not to speak ill of the dead.’ Then he turned to shake hands with Dario, who’d forged his way back through the throng.
‘Are you ready to go now, tesoro?’ The rare endearment took her by surprise. Dario leaned close, the warmth of his smile encompassing her.
‘The celebration’s not over.’ She struggled to control her racing pulse and look unruffled.
He shrugged, spreading his palms wide in that habitual gesture which once had so annoyed her. Now she enjoyed the wry curl of laughter on his gorgeous mouth. ‘The party will go into the night. We can stay if you wish.’ He bent nearer. ‘Or we could go home and celebrate privately.’
His voice was a husky burr that melted her insides. The knowing look in his eyes and the promise of pleasure sent heat flaring along her cheeks.
Alissa put her hand in his, enjoying the touch of his fingers, firm and familiar. ‘Let’s go home.’
A gleam darkened his eyes, then his face smoothed into the unreadable mask he wore so often. ‘I hoped you’d say that.’
Fifteen minutes later they sped along a winding road with spectacular views of the coast. The Lamborghini’s engine growled as Dario manoeuvred the car expertly round a bend.
With his jacket slung across the back seat, his sleeves rolled up and pleasure curving his lips, Dario looked sexier than ever. Almost carefree.
How rare that was. Usually he was busy, driven by business responsibilities and other cares he didn’t share with anyone. He was so self-contained.
‘What is it?’ He didn’t take his eyes from the road but he knew she watched him. Just as she could tell when he entered a room by the tingle of awareness at her nape.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
Dario swung the car round another curve and they swooped down to the coast. The Castello Parisi loomed on its promontory, a reminder that they’d soon be home.
Home for the next couple of months, Alissa reminded herself with a twist of regret. Not once had Dario hinted he wanted her to stay beyond their six months. Ruthlessly she squashed her hurt.
‘More than nothing. You’ve been watching me since we left. What’s on your mind?’
She hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. ‘Tell me about Signor Cipriani.’
Dario’s hands tightened on the wheel, his shoulders hunched so slightly she might have imagined it. The speedometer flicked to the right as they sped faster.
‘What do you want to know?’ he said finally as he swung the car off the road into a narrow lane running straight for the sea.
‘I’ve heard things. And I wondered—’
‘Whether it’s true he killed himself because of me?’ There was no inflection in his voice but the carefree aura had disappeared. Regret swamped her as she took in his white-knuckled grip and the taut angle of his chin.
Did she really want to know? Wasn’t it more comfortable not knowing?
‘No. I...’
‘Of course you do.’ His voice was flat as he pulled up. He switched off the ignition and the sound of waves invaded the still interior of the car. ‘Come. Let’s walk.’
It was only when they got out that Alissa realised they were on Dario’s private property towards the end of the beach nearest the castello.
He held her hand as they picked their way down the path to the beach. His grip was impersonal. Gone was the closeness they’d shared today. Had she imagined that?
She blinked back hot tears. She didn’t know where she was with him. She only knew she wasn’t ready to leave him.
When they reached the firm-packed sand he let go and stooped to remove his shoes. Silently she followed suit.
‘It’s true,’ he said in a sombre voice as they walked down the beach. ‘He died because of me.’
‘No!’ She grabbed his hand, curling her fingers round his. Instinctively she knew he wasn’t to blame. Her heart thudded in distress till finally he returned her grip.
Relief bubbled up. The fact that he’d accepted her touch and he held her tight made something soar inside. Warning bells jangled. She was in so deep. She cared for Dario too much.
‘How can you know it wasn’t my fault?’ His gaze held hers in the gathering darkness.
‘I just do.’
There was no sound but the shush of waves as he stared down at her. A breeze played in his hair, but Dario didn’t move a muscle. After endless minutes he turned and led the way further down the beach.
‘Guido Cipriani had something I wanted—a business started by my family. It was the last asset my parents kept before Mangano, your grandfather, ruined them.’
Dario picked up his pace till they strode. ‘He deliberately destroyed them. It took years of bribery and corruption, plus some unfortunate investments and a downturn in the markets. His hatred of us was blood-deep.’
‘I know.’ She remembered his gloating pleasure in triumphing over the Parisis.
Dario sent her a swift sideways look but kept walking.
‘I determined to get the company back. I’ve made it my life’s work to recoup all the assets the Parisis owned.’
Alissa shivered as the square battlements of the castello loomed ahead. In the fading light it had a threatening air. She’d bartered her freedom so Dario could obtain that medieval symbol of power and family pride.
‘You’re cold.’ He tugged her close. ‘We should go back. The temperature is dropping.’
‘No. I’m OK.’ She needed to understand this to understand Dario. ‘What did you do?’
‘I offered to buy but he wouldn’t sell. He’d put in decent managers who’d kept it profitable but eventually even they couldn’t keep it in the black.’
‘Why not, if it was profitable?’
‘Cipriani was a gambling addict. He wasn’t just siphoning off profits, he stole from the business to pay debts to people who...enforced payment.’
Alissa shivered, imagining who those people were. ‘What happened?’
Dario’s arm tightened and she leaned into his solid warmth. ‘When the time was right I offered again.’
‘Bianca said you offered less than its value.’
‘Much she’d know,’ he said under his breath. ‘All Bianca Cipriani knew was the business supported her luxury lifestyle. She’s typical of her set. Never had to sully her hands with honest toil. When the cash dried up she looked for someone to blame.’
Dario stared at the castello rising above them. ‘Cipriani had no choice. It was sell to me or let the authorities uncover his theft.’ Dario smoothed a hand back through his hair, a gesture she’d never seen him use. ‘He signed the deal then went and shot himself. He couldn’t face the loss of honour, no longer able to support his family.’
Dario’s profile was grim, flesh pulled taut over bone. The sight of his pain made her chest ache.
‘That wasn’t your fault.’
‘Wasn’t it? If I hadn’t badgered him to sell, if I hadn’t been there ready to jump in—’
‘Someone else would have.’ She touched his arm. ‘Did you lure him into his gambling debts?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Or use underhand tactics to ruin him?’
Dario drew himself up. ‘No! I’m a Parisi, not a...’
Not a Mangano, that was what he’d been going to say.
‘If you didn’t ruin him, how can you blame yourself?’ For Dario did blame himself, it was there in his grim face.
He shook his head. ‘I should have seen it coming and prevented it. His wife...’
Alissa heard the tightly controlled emotion in his voice and pressed closer. He wrapped his arms about her and she was surrounded by his spicy scent and heat. His heart pounded near her ear.
‘I don’t understand. If your funds just covered his debts, where does Bianca get
money? She doesn’t look short of cash.’
Dario’s hand palmed her hair. ‘Of course I topped up the sale price to ensure his wife was provided for. Her husband was dead. She had no one else. It seems she’s foolish enough to let Bianca squander it.’
‘Of course.’ Alissa stifled a shocked giggle. There was no ‘of course’ about it. Judging by the couture cut of Bianca’s outfit and her lavish jewellery, Dario’s idea of ‘topping up’ the sale price had been absurdly generous.
Was there anything more ridiculous, more utterly unfathomable, than this man’s code of honour? To blame himself for a death that wasn’t his fault, then make amends in the most generous way? He had such an inflated sense of responsibility.
Alissa stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips.
‘What’s that for?’ he growled as if taken by surprise.
She shook her head, not ready to examine her reaction. ‘Come and sit out of the wind.’ Alissa led the way to the sheltered rear of the beach. She had too much on her mind to go back yet.
After a moment he sat beside her, his legs stretched out on the sand, his arms propped behind him.
For a long time they were silent. Finally, encouraged by the gathering dusk and Dario’s earlier revelation, she asked the question that had been on her mind so long. This seemed her best chance to understand.
‘Dario, why is it so important you get back everything the Parisis owned?’
‘It’s my birthright, my obligation to my family,’ he shot back without pause. ‘What man wouldn’t wish to restore his family’s fortunes?’
‘Surely your wealth is more than your family ever owned.’ She knew he had controlling interests in ventures right across Europe and North America.
‘I promised to restore what was ours,’ he said in a tone that made her slip him a sideways glance. His profile was hard and sharp as volcanic glass. ‘I won’t stop till I’ve done it. It’s a matter of honour. Of duty. The rest is a bonus.’ He flicked his fingers as if the millions, or perhaps billions, he owned were a mere bagatelle.
