by Annie West
‘You’re out of your head!’ Shock and outrage glued Alissa to the spot. ‘You don’t even like me.’
Slowly he shook his head, his ice-bright eyes never leaving hers. ‘Don’t pretend to be so innocent, cara.’ He stroked her cheek in a caress that detonated explosions of exquisite sensation. ‘What’s between us has nothing to do with liking.’
He crowded closer and the air between them sizzled. ‘I don’t have to like you to bed you,’ he murmured, his voice dropping to a deep suede caress. ‘In fact, I’m beginning to think mutual dislike might add a little extra piquancy.’
‘You’re sick!’ she spat back. Yet it was all she could do not to lean closer, to narrow the tiny gap between them till their bodies touched. She turned her head to avoid his hand but he simply wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck. Tendrils of fire slid through her veins.
‘No, not sick. Just a man.’ His gaze dropped to her breasts that seemed to swell and tighten under that heavy-lidded look. ‘With a man’s desires.’
Bemused, she stared into the face that had haunted her dreams. A face so beautiful yet bereft of tenderness. Bereft of everything except unvarnished, unapologetic lust.
Alissa wrenched herself away and strode across the room. Her chest heaved and her legs shook as she forced herself to stop and stare out at the long sweep of the bay, striving for calm. The silver-grey moonlight was chill and stark, like Dario’s eyes as he spoke of bedding her.
Her stomach squeezed against the roil of emotions. Disbelief, fear, worry over her sister. And…anticipation.
No! She couldn’t want Dario. She wrapped her arms round herself, trying to think clearly. It didn’t matter that he’d somehow inveigled his way beneath her defences these last few weeks. Surely she had more self-respect.
‘Is this how you get your kicks, Signor Parisi? Playing games with innocent women?’ She swung round to face him. Even from half a room away, the intensity of his stare turned her knees to jelly.
‘Innocent? The woman who deliberately connived to stop me retrieving what’s rightfully mine?’ He crossed his arms over his chest in a movement that emphasised the latent power in his big frame. ‘The woman whose supposed innocence led her to parties where sex as well as money was traded for designer drugs?’
‘I never—’
‘Enough!’ For the first time Dario raised his voice in a roar that silenced her instinctive protest. It echoed the thunderous beat of her pulse. His eyes meshed with hers, holding her immobile. ‘One more denial,’ he continued, his voice a lethally quiet whisper, ‘and I withdraw the offer.’
‘But…’
At the sight of his narrowing eyes and raised brows, Alissa’s words petered out. He was utterly implacable. Her stomach dived and her throat closed in a spasm of horror. The dull, metallic taste of fear seared her tongue. The truth didn’t matter, not now.
Frantically her mind whirred, but she found no way out. ‘You really are as bad as they say, aren’t you?’ A shudder rippled down her spine as she faced him. ‘Cold, clinical, calculating. Completely without remorse.’
Only the knot between his brows hinted at his displeasure. ‘I see my fame precedes me. But your views on my character are of no importance.’
Alissa shook her head. Had she hoped even now he’d deny it? ‘You’re some piece of work, Dario Parisi. I thought I knew all there was to know about unscrupulous men, but you’re something else.’
Dario frowned as if finally her words had punctured his self-absorption.
Despair wrapped around Alissa’s heart. There was no uncertainty in his eyes. Just hunger.
It hurt to draw breath. She reached for the back of a nearby sofa, needing its support as the world crashed into splinters around her. Her hand was a stiff claw sinking into the plush upholstery.
She thought she’d known powerlessness and humiliation. The night her grandfather had knocked her off balance and down the staircase when she’d refused to marry Dario. The night she’d had her fingerprints taken by the police.
But this…
This was the ultimate insult. The ultimate power play.
Grimly Alissa pushed herself straight, angling her chin higher. She wouldn’t give Dario the satisfaction of seeing her pain. Instead she’d remember Donna’s voice on the phone tonight, her brave attempt to hide her worry and despair. That would keep her strong.
‘If I agreed…’ She curled her fingers into her palm till the nails scored her skin and she found the nerve to continue. ‘If I sleep with you, you’ll pay half my share of the inheritance straight away with no arguments?’
His smile was grim, as if her words both pleased and angered him. ‘You’ll do more than sleep with me. I want satisfaction. I want to come deep inside you.’ His voice dropped to a pitch that resonated in her very bones. ‘I’ll have you, whenever I want, however I want, until we divorce.’
A cold trickle of despair slid down her back as his words fell between them. And yet…in the pit of her belly a tiny swirl of something hot and urgent coiled into life at the idea of Dario, deep inside her.
Dumbfounded, Alissa stared, not seeing his harsh, gorgeous face, but instead the pair of them tangled on his bed. It shamed her that a small, wayward part of her found the idea exciting.
She was losing her grip. She’d never been with a man. Never found the courage or the desire to trust a man so intimately with her body, her private self. Yet here, now, his words attracted as well as repelled. She fought self-loathing as well as desperate anxiety.
‘No bondage. Nothing rough.’ She winced as the words erupted from her mouth. They sounded like capitulation.
‘I don’t get my kicks that way.’ He looked haughty.
‘Some men do.’ Her voice was uneven but firm.
‘You have my word as a Parisi; there will be nothing like that. There are plenty of other ways we can find pleasure together.’
Alissa almost laughed at his certainty. His belief she’d find pleasure with him. She ignored the tiny, traitorous pulse beating at the juncture of her thighs.
‘And if I…agree, you’ll give me the money tomorrow?’ She couldn’t believe she was saying this.
‘I promise.’ He inclined his head.
It would almost be a pleasure to teach him one woman at least wouldn’t succumb to his magic touch. She swung round to face the window. By the time she saw the coast by daylight she’d have given herself to Dario.
Panic and disbelief petrified her. Her jaw ached and she realised she’d clenched her teeth so hard her head began to pound.
Could she do it? Her hands twisted as she groped for an alternative. Anything to avoid Dario’s cold-blooded proposition. But she’d been over her options so many times. There was no alternative.
Donna needed treatment sooner than they’d expected. This was the only way to get it. Her options had narrowed to this. Letting him…
Her shoulders slumped as she realised there was no other way. She couldn’t even refuse on the grounds that he wouldn’t keep his promise. Everything she’d learned about Dario indicated that, though he was merciless, he had enough pride never to break his promise.
Which left her no escape. No alternative but to give herself to him.
CHAPTER NINE
DARIO stood, rigid with anticipation, watching her.
What had got into him? Promising money for sex? He’d never stooped so low in his life.
Something had snapped as he listened to her try to gull him out of his money, appealing to his sympathy. He’d expected something of the sort, but when it came to the crunch, nothing had prepared him for the tidal wave of wrath and disappointment that washed over him when she lived down to his expectations. That she should use her own family as an excuse to get money! That, above all, rankled.
His self-control had shattered under the lethal combination of fury and frustrated desire.
He grimaced at the thought of his lawyers drawing up the contract. Yet not even burgeoning shame at his tactics do
used the flare of expectancy as he waited for her answer. The keen blade of desire that ripped through his soul, his conscience, his belief in himself as an honourable man.
His first assessment of her had been right. Strange he felt no vindication at the knowledge. In this one thing he’d rather have been wrong.
His hands bunched in his pockets as she stood staring at the moonlit bay. Suspense gripped him in a vice.
Despite her protests, he’d read her responses. Her gaze followed him when she thought he wasn’t looking, her lips parted a fraction in unwitting invitation when he got close. This would be a mutual pleasure.
As long as she agreed. He scowled as still she kept her back turned. Anxiety juddered through his muscles. This show of reluctance wasn’t amusing.
She turned and he held his breath, trying to read her face. Her eyes avoided his. Not a promising start. Dario was stunned to discover he was nervous.
‘All right.’ Her voice was tight. ‘I’ll do it.’
Instantly his face relaxed, as if her words eased his tension. That was impossible—it would imply he’d worried she wouldn’t agree. Yet this was a game to him, an exercise in domination. He didn’t care for her. The knowledge chilled her to the marrow. She’d never be warm again.
‘Good.’ His lips curled into a slow, sultry smile that, despite everything, made her insides turn over and her heart patter. Was she going mad to react so?
‘Come here, cara.’ His voice was a stroke of velvet, barely concealing an immutable will.
‘Now?’ She couldn’t prevent the catch in her voice as fear overcame desperate bravado. Her fingers clutched frantically at the back of the sofa.
‘Now.’ He held out one hand.
Looking into the steely depths of his stare, Alissa read an intent that panicked her.
‘Not here!’
‘Here. Now.’ He gestured imperiously, commanding her presence.
He couldn’t be serious! She flicked a horrified glance at the door. ‘Anyone could come in.’
‘My staff have retired for the night. Besides, no one enters this room without my express permission.’ He paused and Alissa swallowed as she read the predatory hunger in his face. She’d never felt so small, so vulnerable.
‘Unless you wish to back out of our arrangement.’ His face tightened, making him look more austerely remote than ever. And more compelling.
He meant it. Absolutely, unequivocally.
That was all it took for cold, hard fury to fill her.
Damn Dario Parisi and his unholy bargain, his superior air and his demands for satisfaction. She’d give him satisfaction all right. Somehow, despite her inexperience she’d manage and in the process she’d show him how much she despised him. Then when she had his money, when Donna was on her way to the US, she’d…
‘Alissa.’ It was a breath of air, a whisper of sensuous promise. A command.
Gleaming eyes held hers and awareness pulsed between them. She ignored it, delving into the well of indignation that lent her strength to stalk across the room.
Dario barely had time to register satisfaction at her capitulation. Suddenly there she was, soft curves pressing close, her evocative lily scent drugging his senses. Thought atrophied as his libido roared into top gear and every drop of blood rushed south.
She snagged his silk bow-tie in one hand, tugged it undone then ripped it off. The action sucked his breath from his lungs in startled delight. His body tightened predictably as her hands moved to his shirt.
Buttons followed. She was like a dynamo, a whirlwind. He read savage intensity in her small, set face. Not once did she raise her eyes to his. Yet the feel of her neat hands yanking his jacket from his shoulders, reefing his shirt free, aroused him more than he’d thought possible. Only a supreme effort of will held him still, letting her have her way instead of reciprocating. Soon…
She ripped his shirt open and pushed it from his shoulders. Her hands, warm and erotically supple, paused. Her palms slid down, following the swell of muscles. There was a sharp intake of breath and she snatched her hands away as if singed.
It didn’t surprise him. He was burning up. Never had he stood passive as a lover stripped him ruthlessly, almost desperately. It was profoundly arousing. His desire was a voracious hunger, an explosive force.
Dario reached out, unable to wait to claim her. It didn’t matter what she’d done or why she’d agreed. All that mattered was that she was his. This was more than revenge, more even than desire. This was raw and elemental.
The velvet at her waist was exquisitely soft, but not as soft as her skin. He clamped his hands round her tiny form and dragged her up till she was plastered against his bare chest. She felt like the promise of paradise.
She’d feel better naked.
He smiled as he bent to claim her mouth. That lush, siren’s mouth he’d dreamt of so often.
‘No!’ She wrenched her face from his hold.
She was refusing him! In that instant he felt he’d implode, so all-consuming was his craving.
Then she planted an open-mouthed kiss on his collar-bone and he quaked. Her hands slid down his chest, scraping his nipples and dragging out a groan of longing. Fire shot to his belly. He was so hard, just at the touch of her lips and hands on his bare flesh. He teetered on the verge of losing control.
He fumbled to drag up the skirt of her dress. Velvet bunched in his fingers then slipped as her hands went to his trousers. Lightning shot through him. At the touch of her fingers on his belt his belly contracted. His lungs were on fire, each breath scouring his chest.
He’d expected their union to be spectacular but he hadn’t been ready for this cataclysm of sensation. It was exquisite torture as she slipped his belt undone, her fingers provocatively hesitant as she reached for the fastening of his trousers.
Her face was obscured as she kept her head down, watching her hands at work. Finally the fabric fell and he sucked in a thankful breath. He lifted his hands to tug her hair undone but she was too fast. Before he could touch her she was kneeling, undoing his shoelaces.
Potent, erotic images filled his brain as he watched her slide off his shoes, socks, trousers. Images of her pleasuring him with her luscious mouth, her delicate, nimble fingers. He choked back a growl of need, feeling his body race into overdrive.
She’d bewitched him. That was the only explanation. The longer she knelt, head bowed, the harder it was to wrest his mind to any sort of cogent thought. When he had mastery of himself again he’d resent the power she wielded over him. For now he intended to enjoy it.
He grasped her shoulders and pulled her up. His eyes closed as he cupped her neat, rounded bottom and pulled her close. His pelvic thrust against her feminine softness was urgent, instinctive. Bliss.
‘Let your hair down.’ It was a hoarse plea that emerged as a growled command. He couldn’t manage it. It was all he could do to hold himself still. He wanted this to last more than the twenty seconds it would take to rip her underwear off and thrust inside her.
The drumming beat of his need was the only sound as she reached up and dragged out hairpins. Seconds later her hair, long tresses of fire, coiled around her shoulders and further, to rest like a silken invitation across her breasts. How would it look against her pale bare skin? He had to find out.
Drawing on every scintilla of strength he’d once taken for granted, he stepped back half a pace. He shuddered at the loss of body contact. But soon…
He reached for her zip, reefed it down in one desperate jerk, then gathered her skirts in his fists and lifted the dress over her head. His breath ceased as velvet spilled to the floor. He lowered his hands, drinking her in.
She was perfect. Skin like moonlight. So pale and luminous he was almost scared to touch her with his big hands. Her breasts were high and full, her waist a bare hand span, her hips a swell of invitation. Her hair fell in glorious waves around her breasts.
She looked like a mermaid, a Venus, an angel.
Women came to hi
m in silks and diaphanous laces. In sexy bustiers and suspender belts. Alissa wore unadorned cotton. In a deep indigo, it was the perfect foil for her milky skin. And on her legs, lace-topped stay-up stockings. The sight of silky white thighs above sexy dark hosiery was so erotic. She had spectacular legs. She was spectacular everywhere. Satisfaction thrummed in his blood.
‘Look at me, Alissa.’ Slowly she raised her head. Her lips were firm, rosy curves. Her chin tilted regally, baring her slender neck. Her eyes blazed azure fire.
It took a lust-hazed moment to realise it wasn’t the burn of desire. That the angle of her jaw was a challenge, not an invitation. That her lips were primmed, not pouting.
Disbelief tugged at his consciousness. Something like guilt burned acid in his gut. No, not guilt, he assured himself quickly. Alissa was here by choice. She wanted what he had to offer. He wasn’t taking advantage of her.
And yet…
And yet everything revolted at the idea of her deigning to pleasure him. This connection between them was mutual. From the first he’d known it. Even now, despite her air of icy self-possession, she couldn’t conceal the rapid pulse at the base of her throat, nor her uneven breathing. She felt it too, though she tried to hide it.
And she was going to admit it.
‘On the sofa.’ The words were a rough order. It was a blow to his ego that he’d stood, a shaking, desperate man, putty in her hands, while she’d kept her mental distance.
He stooped to retrieve a condom from his wallet then took off his boxer shorts. The slide of fabric over his groin exacerbated his anger and his determination. He was so aroused one touch from her would send him over the edge.
He turned and stalked to where she sat primly, knees together, hair a glowing curtain concealing her breasts. That was even more exciting than if she’d been spread naked before him.
Dario pulsed with need and saw her eyes widen as she took in the sight of him, completely bare and hungry for her. Did he imagine it or did she shrink back? No matter. Soon she wouldn’t shy from his touch, she’d beg for it.
