by Annie West
Absently she rubbed at her wrist, remembering Gianfranco’s reaction when she’d rejected the marriage he’d schemed to bring about.
‘You’re getting wet.’ The deep voice curled like smoke through her memories, drawing her back to the present.
She turned her head to find Dario walking beside her, holding an enormous umbrella over them both. Heat from his body transferred the few centimetres to hers: her arm, her shoulder, her hip and thigh. And further, spreading through her shock-numbed body. Latent energy sizzled off him in waves, sparking tingles of awareness.
What was this man? Some sort of power generator?
Her pulse quickened and so did her pace. She didn’t like the illusion of intimacy as he sheltered her from the rain. The world beyond the umbrella was an anonymous blur, cocooning them together as the soft rain became a downpour.
It didn’t seem to bother him, though the rain angled down so his legs must be getting wet. Had he chosen her left side to shelter her from a soaking? Surely not. This man was no protector.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured eventually, forcing the words through her tense lips, ‘for the umbrella.’
He looked at her then. She could no longer see the gleam of anger in his eyes or stark impatience. But his expression made her stomach muscles spasm tight, her breath falter. She read speculation and something that looked almost like possessiveness.
No! Abruptly she looked away. There was no expression in his eyes. Nothing at all.
‘Here. This is it.’ Alissa didn’t care if she sounded desperate to see the café. She plunged under its awning and pushed open the door, not waiting for him.
Dario shook the umbrella and followed her inside. She scurried in, spoke briefly to the waiter and took a seat with her back to the wall. The choice indicated Alissa Scott felt under threat. She had that much sense then.
Her jerky movements as she patted at her hair and fussed over her bag gave her away too. As did her furtive glances in his direction.
He dropped the umbrella inside the door, nodded at the waiter and strolled across the room, enjoying the way Alissa’s eyes widened at his approach.
Obviously she hadn’t bothered to discover what he looked like before today and his appearance was a surprise. The implied dismissal smarted. Yet though she tried to hide it, part of her response to him was feminine interest. Dario had been on the receiving end of female stares since adolescence. He could read those hot, guilty glances in a second.
One more piece of knowledge to use to his advantage. Who knew? Dealing with the recalcitrant Ms Scott might have unexpected bonuses.
He dragged out a chair and took a seat. His long legs tangled with hers till she shifted away.
What was he thinking? She was a cute little package, if one liked that sort of thing. But he was more discerning. Cheap goods weren’t to his taste.
The waiter was there as he settled in his seat.
‘Espresso,’ Dario murmured, not shifting his gaze from Alissa’s wide blue gaze. ‘And…?’
‘Hot chocolate.’
At his raised brows she muttered, ‘I don’t need a stimulant in my bloodstream.’
Why? Because she’d already taken something to see her through the day? No, she was sober enough. No sign of drug use. He’d scrutinised her carefully.
‘I just want to get warm.’
Despite the streaks of hectic colour on her cheeks she was pale. Stress? Shock? Annoyance at having her avaricious scheme ruined? He felt no sympathy at all.
Leaning back, he stretched his legs and shoved his hands in his pockets. She’d go nowhere till he was ready.
The silence grew thick. Dario was in no haste to break it. He knew how to use it to unnerve an adversary. What was the point in rushing? The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Let her sweat a little longer.
Yet she didn’t fidget. Her spine was straight and her gaze steady. Her attitude piqued his interest. She wasn’t easily intimidated. That surprised him. He’d expected her to have little stamina and no grit.
The waiter left their drinks and Dario watched Alissa cradle her mug. She closed her eyes and inhaled on a sigh of pleasure that spiked heat straight through his belly.
Porca miseria! That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with her. Just because he could imagine that Cupid’s-bow mouth pouting under his, sighing out a very different kind of pleasure as those slim, neat hands caressed his…
‘Are you going to tell me now, or are you enjoying trying to intimidate me?’ she asked in a low voice.
Those remarkable eyes, the colour of the sea on a clear day, fixed on his. Her mouth twisted in a tiny wry smile that belied her defensive posture. She was a fighter.
‘You know why I’m here.’
She lowered the mug, but kept her fingers wrapped round it as if needing its warmth.
‘The Sicilian estate.’
‘The Castello Parisi.’ He nodded, using its proper name and feeling the inevitable surge of pride.
‘You want it.’ Her voice was flat, giving nothing away. Her gaze dropped to her hot chocolate.
‘Can you doubt it?’
She shook her head once. ‘No. You badgered the old man for it long enough.’
‘Badgered!’ He leaned forward till she raised her face. Her eyes were enormous, but if she expected sympathy she had the wrong man. ‘To offer more than a fair price for what is rightfully mine? For what the unscrupulous old devil stole from my family? The home of my family for generations?’
The heat in his belly now had nothing to do with sexual awareness and everything to do with outraged pride and the desire for justice.
Until the castello was in his hands, once again the jewel in the crown of the now vast Parisi holdings, all his success was hollow. It was his home, his past, the family he no longer had. His identity, proof that he was worthy of his proud name. Dario had promised his father the day he died that he’d recover it. Nothing would make him break that oath.
‘I know the story,’ she said slowly. ‘Gianfranco bought it when your family fell on hard times, promising to sell it back when they recouped their losses.’
‘He bought it for a fraction of its worth.’ Hatred for the man who’d destroyed the Parisis sent adrenalin surging through his blood. ‘Did he also tell you it was his underhand dealings, his dishonesty that ruined us in the first place? That he’d set out to destroy the family he’d once called friends?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Do you have any idea how it stuck in my craw to negotiate with that man? The niceties of business were too good for him. In an earlier time I would just have taken it from him.’
‘By force?’ Alissa looked into those metal-grey eyes and wondered how she’d ever imagined warmth there. His gaze was glacier-cold, frozen with a hate that made her shiver.
She shuddered and pushed her chair back from the table as dread curdled her stomach.
‘I’m a law-abiding man,’ Dario Parisi drawled, but his expression told her how he would have enjoyed inflicting a very personal vengeance on her grandfather.
Two of a kind. That’s what they were. Just as she’d always suspected.
That was why Gianfranco had been so determined Alissa marry this hard-faced stranger. Partly for the satisfaction of seeing a Parisi marry his granddaughter. The feud had begun when a Parisi jilted Gianfranco’s sister and he’d carried a chip on his shoulder ever since. But mainly because ‘He’ll put up with none of your nonsense, girl. He’ll knock you into shape and keep you under control. A good, old-fashioned Sicilian husband with a hard hand’.
Her breath came in shallow gulps as she fought for calm. She was safe. Dario Parisi couldn’t harm her.
‘What’s that?’ She found her voice as he took a document from his suit pocket and spread it on the table.
‘You need to complete it so it can be lodged today.’ He reached back into his pocket and drew out a gold fountain pen, placing it neatly on the table beside the official-looking document.
; Foreboding slammed into her. She couldn’t sell him the estate, he knew that. So what was he asking her to sign?
Reluctantly she leaned forward and read the title.
Notice of Intention to Marry.
The breath whooshed from her lungs like air from a pierced balloon. She’d signed one when she and Jason had planned to wed. But this time the names were different.
Alissa Serena Scott and Dario Pasquale Tommaso Parisi.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU can’t be serious!’ Alissa stared, heart sinking. Yet instinctively she knew Dario was absolutely serious about marrying her. Correction: marrying the Parisi estate.
She slumped, her energy draining away. She’d come full circle. After years fighting the old man’s manipulative schemes, had she no choice now but to do as he’d always planned? Marry Dario Parisi and force his aristocratic family to accept a Mangano into the fold? Take as her husband a man every bit as dangerous as the old tartar who’d made her life hell?
‘Your display of feminine vulnerability is charming,’ murmured a deep, gravelly voice, ‘but it’s wasted. You could have made this easy. Instead you chose the hard way.’
Her head shot up. ‘You blame me for this mess?’
‘If the cap fits…’ He looked so at ease, sipping his espresso, his dark suit parted casually, like a model in a glossy lifestyle magazine. Except no paid model would ever wear that lethally calculating expression.
‘We could have married several years ago when I first agreed to the idea.’
Her grandfather’s idea. Dario had only agreed after Gianfranco rejected offer after offer to buy the Sicilian estate. He’d vowed the only way a Parisi would get his hands on it was to marry her.
Alissa had refused. And she’d paid for her disobedience. Absently she ran a finger over her wrist, a nervous gesture that stopped under Dario’s scrutiny.
‘I suppose your need for funds wasn’t so urgent then. Your grandfather was alive to indulge you.’
Alissa almost laughed aloud at the idea of being indulged by the old man. ‘Or perhaps I just objected to marrying you.’ She put her palms on the table. She’d had enough of his jibes and his self-assurance. She wished she could find some vulnerability in him. But his only response was a quirk of the lips as if her riposte amused him.
‘That doesn’t bother you?’ She lifted her chin.
‘Our marriage isn’t a meeting of minds. Or a consummation of romantic love. It’s business. Otherwise I would not contemplate marrying a woman like you.’
He spoke through a chilling half-smile and Alissa shivered. Ruthless. That was Dario Parisi. She felt a net draw inextricably tighter around her, leaving no way out.
She’d thought she knew all about ruthless men. But the way his relaxed demeanour cloaked bone-deep obsession gave a whole new perspective on the type. Foreboding sliced through her. He was relentless, biding his time patiently for years as he waited to acquire the property he wanted. And acquire her in the process.
He leaned close, the smile sliding off his face. ‘You should have accepted the offer I made after your grandfather died. Marriage, a quick divorce and a handsome settlement in return for your share of the estate.’
Except she’d wanted nothing to do with her grandfather’s property. She’d had no qualms giving up her chance for wealth, especially with such strings attached. When her lawyer told her of Dario’s second proposal after her grandfather’s death, she’d rejected it instantly.
‘I didn’t want the estate then,’ she murmured.
‘No, you thought you could challenge the will and inherit alone, without the inconvenience of sharing with me.’ Suspicion darkened his gaze. ‘Greed runs strong in your family.’
‘You should talk!’ She leaned towards him, recklessly disregarding the zap of electricity that sheared between them as their glares clashed. ‘You’ll do anything to get your hands on the castello.’
This close she saw the fine-grained texture of his skin, the shadow darkening his chin. She inhaled the scent of spicy male skin and citrus and her nostrils quivered.
Too close screamed a warning voice in her head as each sense came alive to his presence. Alarm bells jangled as her heartbeat revved and her skin prickled.
Before she could move large hands captured hers, imprisoning them on the table. Long fingers linked around her wrists. Heat radiated from his touch.
‘No doubt you also inherited a hatred of my family. You were determined to keep for yourself what’s mine.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I just didn’t want the money.’ Not until the news that Donna needed help.
The impact of his unblinking regard and his handsome, brooding face was devastating. She jerked her hands, trying to break free.
His encircling fingers didn’t loosen. To an onlooker they’d seem like lovers. He was so intense, his wide shoulders crowding her in, cutting her off from the room.
‘Don’t lie. You grew up with money and you’re feeling the pinch now you have to fend for yourself.’ He paused. ‘It must have been a shock to find Gianfranco had left most of his estate to charity.’ One sleek, dark brow rose speculatively. ‘You fell out with him.’
‘You could say that.’
He shook his head. ‘I know about your…habits. They don’t come cheap.’ His face hardened, grooves appearing beside his mouth. ‘Even though you seem to have cleaned up your act lately, your record with designer drugs shows you have expensive tastes.’
Alissa goggled. He knew about that? Nausea churned in her stomach at the memories he’d dredged up. Bile choked her. This man knew about her past and judged her with such matter-of-fact contempt. Yet still he wanted to marry her!
How badly he wanted that land.
Looking into his wintry, judgemental eyes, she wanted to blurt out that she’d never taken drugs in her life. That she’d been innocent.
She couldn’t. Only one other person knew the truth. The person she’d vowed to protect, even at the cost of her reputation. She’d gladly shouldered the blame and accepted the consequences. It was too late to change the record now. Besides, Dario Parisi was so biased he’d never believe her.
‘You had me investigated,’ she said flatly.
‘Of course.’ He slid a thumb along the side of her hand in a mockery of a caress. To her horror her skin drew tight and shivery. ‘Even to gain my birthright, I would not walk into marriage without knowing my bride.’
He lingered over the last word with a deliberation that set her teeth on edge. She felt trapped. Claustrophobia gnawed the edges of her consciousness. She fought it, refusing to let it drag her under. She tried to slip one hand free, but his hold was implacable.
‘Why wait till today to buy Jason off?’ She hurried into speech, unnerved by his waiting silence.
‘My staff contacted Mr Donnelly as soon as you sought permission to marry.’
‘You organised this weeks ago?’ Her eyes widened as she took in his satisfied expression.
‘As if I’d leave it to chance! While you expected to marry him I knew exactly what your plans were.’
‘And by having him jilt me today, you cut off my options.’ The air was expelled from her lungs. ‘I have to marry within a month to inherit.’ She breathed deep, ignoring the acid taste of fear on her tongue. ‘And in Australia we have to give a month’s notice before marriage. Which means—’
‘You just ran out of alternatives.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Unless you have another bridegroom tucked up your sleeve?’ He paused and stroked an insolent finger along her wrist. Her pulse jumped and she gritted her teeth, furious with him and with her traitorous body that didn’t know the enemy when he sat before her.
‘No one else willing to sign a document like this—’ he nodded at the paper beneath her hands ‘—before close of business today?’
His sarcasm made her blood boil. ‘You manipulative, arrogant, cocksure—’
‘Now, now, Alissa. Is that any way to talk to the one man who
can give you what you want?’ His gaze roved over her with a provocative thoroughness that was the final straw.
‘Take your hands off me. Now!’ She didn’t raise her voice but raw fury throbbed in each word.
His brows arched. His fingers loosened. She slid her hands into her lap and cradled them, trying to ignore the heat of his touch lingering on her skin. Trying to conquer her fear.
She wanted to shove her chair back and walk out, alone. Never see Dario Parisi’s gorgeous fallen-angel face or hear his mocking, sexy voice again.
The trouble was she lived in the real world, with responsibilities she couldn’t shirk. People she cared for. Cold iced her bones and she reached for her mug, seeking its residual warmth.
‘By the terms of the will I have to live with my husband for six months before we jointly inherit.’
He nodded. ‘We’ll divorce as soon as the land is ours. Then you sell your share of the property to me, for the current market price, of course.’ He sounded as if he discussed a routine financial transaction. Not marriage.
Alissa’s heart beat fast at the idea of living with Dario Parisi. Could she survive six months with this man who looked at her with such condemnation, but whose touch turned her inside out?
‘But it means living together.’
He watched her speculatively. ‘That bothers you? Living with me?’ If she weren’t so keyed up Alissa would be insulted by his surprise. As if trusting herself to the care of a stranger was no big deal. What did he think she was? A tart as well as a drug addict?
‘I knew Jason. I could trust him.’ That seemed stupid since he’d duped her, but she’d known they’d be platonic flatmates and no more.
‘Ah.’ The syllable stretched out, like her nerves. ‘You want assurance your abundant charms won’t incite me to seduce you.’ His gaze dipped to her jacket buttons and searing heat coiled in her stomach.
Alissa kept her mouth firmly shut against the protest that she’d never let a man like him seduce her.
‘You have my word as a Parisi. I would never force a woman. Besides—’ his lips curved in a half-smile that held no humour ‘—your type is not to my taste.’
