by Olivia Gates
She searched his face. There was no trace of the distrust and condemnation that had destroyed her the day he’d walked away.
Something inside her broke down in relieved sobs.
She bit her lip on the surge of moronic elation. “He used to be Dad’s golf instructor before my dad’s condition worsened, and before Gerald made his fortune. I earned myself a soft spot in his heart by running my own heart out retrieving balls for him.”
He closed his eyes, tipped his head and smiled, as if he were watching something funny and endearing across his lids. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with something far more dangerous than passion, suspicion or anger. Tenderness.
“You must have been younger than five. I can just imagine you, strong limbs and boundless energy, streaking after errant balls, in pursuit of approval and smiles.”
That was how it had been exactly. Gerald had given her a glimpse of what paternal indulgence could be like, when her father hadn’t been able to provide it. And somehow Durante had looked back in time and knew. She wanted him to know the rest.
“While I’m debunking the myths about my being a gold-digging man-eater, I want you to know where they came from.”
His wave was dismissing, adamant. “I don’t need explanations.”
“I need to tell you. The details, anyway. I already told you the basics…about my ex. I’ve never told anybody the truth. In fact, that secrecy is the reason behind my negative reputation. You see, I didn’t bring up my hospital stay and the charges I pressed during divorce proceedings. My lawyers insisted that if I exposed him, he’d be harmed, but I’d gain nothing but more lawsuits and having him in my life endlessly. They got me a huge settlement in return for silence. It wasn’t enough punishment for what he did to me, but I figured I was cutting that monster in half. But then, he took advantage of my silence to defame me. He gets more vicious as time goes by, knowing that if I speak up now, I’ll be known as the bitch who’s slandering the poor ex she robbed of half his fortune. That final day in court, he swore he’d make my life hell. And he sure is trying his worst. I guess the few men I rejected afterward make a good chorus for his venom.”
His look had darkened as she spoke, was almost black now.
She groaned. “What are you thinking?”
Something chilling slithered in the depths of his eyes. His lips spread in a frightening parody of a smile. He looked like some malevolent deity. She already knew he was formidable, but she could now see how deadly he could be.
“I’m thinking it’s time Edward Jamieson lost the other half of his fortune. And for the truth about him to become public. A man like him would be a serial abuser. There are bound to be other women he’s hurt and paid off into silence. I’m also thinking it’s time for his first wife’s death to be fully investigated.”
She gaped at him. “Remind me never to become your enemy.”
His switch from ferocity to fondness was dizzying. “Not only is there no danger of that, but I’m only an effective enemy to those who’ve been their own worst enemies. All I need to do to crush him is expose the crimes he committed.”
“So that’s how you decimate your rivals, huh? Through their own wrongdoing?”
“And by doing nothing wrong myself, so no one can retaliate. Except with allegations such as what you came armed with today.”
She chewed her lip. “I would have told you to leave him alone, that he and his lies don’t matter, if you hadn’t reminded me that he could be abusing other women—women who may not be able to defend themselves like I did. So, as long as the investigations are honest, by all means, crush away.”
He crooked her a whimsical smile. “As long as? You think there’s a chance I’d fabricate evidence? Frame him?”
“No! I know from your history—and from personal experience—that you retaliate with disproportionate force when crossed, but I’ve come to believe that you do so when you think you’re justified, not out of malice. I believe you’re unforgiving, but not unscrupulous. You’re an avenger—you might act before you get your facts straight, but you’re never a villain.”
He sat forward, placed both elbows on the quartz table, cupped his face in his palms, his eyes heavy with exhilaration and indulgence. “That’s quite a testimony. I think.” He winked at her. “If I ever run for public office anywhere, my slogan will be An avenger, never a villain.”
She was struggling to convince her heart to restart when he drawled, “So…sell me on your proposal.”
Thankful for the detour away from personal landmines, she breathed deep, struggled to access the pitch she’d prepared.
“Okay.” She sat forward. “The book I envision is not like any you’ve received offers to write. I’m not after the sensational angles in your life, real or fabricated. In fact, I don’t want you to expose anything about your personal life beyond your health, exercise and relaxation habits. You know, anything that kept you functioning to capacity for the past twenty years, soaring from one pinnacle to the next. I want you to explore your drive, your discipline. I want this to be the work-ethic motivation book of all time, a book any young person would read and be inspired to jump up and tackle the world.”
His eyes had grown serious as she talked. He suddenly huffed. “It’s ironic to hear you saying ‘soaring’ when those closest to me are insisting I’m perilously close to crashing and burning.”
Her heart skipped another beat. “What’s your opinion?”
“I think they’re on to something. At least, they were.”
The meaning simmering in his eyes quivered in her heart. She almost shouted for him to stop. Keep it strictly sexual. She might know how to handle it if he did. But he didn’t, and she couldn’t hope he meant what she hoped he meant. Therein lay certain annihilation.
But there was something far stronger than fear for her fate. Concern for him. “Do you have any complaints, any symptoms?”
He started to dismiss her question, then changed his mind, leveled his eyes on her. “The main symptom is that I ‘retaliate with disproportionate force when crossed.’ I never had a temper and it’s maddening that I seem to have developed one.”
“So what’s loosening your screws?”
“Public opinion says I’ve been chronically fatigued and sleep deprived for years. All I know is that I’m working more and more and sleeping less and less. When I do sleep, I don’t remember any of my dreams, to the point that I think I don’t dream.”
“Do you need to work that hard?”
“That’s what my friends keep asking.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You have friends?”
His laugh boomed. “Wonders will never cease, will they? I, for one, sometimes wonder how I do. There are two in particular I want you to meet, my cousin and his bride. I think you’ll really get along with Jade. She hones her tongue at the same rapier maker that you do.” She made a face at him and he laughed again. “No, I don’t have to work a fraction as hard to ‘maintain my power.’ But I’ve become unable to slow down, like a train without brakes. It’s become self-perpetuating, sort of an addiction. I guess I am too much like my father. He slowed down when he was in his fifties. And he still streaked past everyone else.”
It shook her. Again. The enormity of feeling that radiated from him when he mentioned his father. The first time there’d been so much anger it had thrown her. This time there was no doubt. He loved him.
It was probably the magnitude of his love that caused his feelings of betrayal to be so vast, made what he believed to be the breach of his trust so irredeemable.
She wanted to protest that he had it all wrong, as he had with her, that he didn’t have to live with disillusionment eating away at him, that he had to give his father the benefit of the doubt, even if the king couldn’t provide evidence to exonerate himself.
But she couldn’t. She’d given King Benedetto her word. And if she started that argument, Durante would notice she wasn’t just drawing parallels between his treatment of her and his father, would s
ee her emotional investment in his father’s cause. He’d ask. And if he asked, she’d tell him. And she couldn’t.
But maybe there was some way around this, other than breaking her word. Durante was starting to talk, as she was convinced he hadn’t before. Maybe he’d purge his angst, give his father a chance, like he was willing to give one to the man who’d stabbed him. Maybe things would go where the king hoped.
Not that it made her situation any better. When she’d given her word, she’d thought there’d be nothing but business contact with Durante, that she’d be the voice of reason before she exited his life at the conclusion of the deal. Now everything had changed and she felt as if she was lying to him when she—
“Any number of millions for your thoughts.”
Durante’s deep purr short-circuited her turmoil. She breathed a nervous laugh. “You always toss around carte blanche like that?”
He sipped his drink, his gaze caressing her over his mug’s rim. “Never even in jest. Only for you. So where did you go?”
She reached for her mug, gulped the rich sweetness as if it would fortify her. “I was musing if your case is genetic.”
He took another sip, looking thoughtful. “Maybe. Probably. Still think I’d make a good example for the youths of the world?”
“I think this glitch in your system…humanizes you, makes your experience more accessible, can make young people aspire to walk in your footsteps while learning how to recognize bad habits before they take hold of their lives.”
He gave her a bedeviling smile. “As they did of mine?”
She groaned. “Believe it or not, I used to be a very suave negotiator. But don’t hold my big mouth against the project, okay? I do believe your story can change lives, and although I know there is no advance that wouldn’t make you yawn, if this is a bestseller—and I can’t imagine it won’t be—Le Roi will only keep what would float us and the rest goes to charity. All returns will be distributed for free wherever you choose.”
He frowned. “You company is in trouble?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I ran a personal background check on you. If I’d decided to talk business, I would have run the business check.”
So that was why he hadn’t brought up her company’s Castaldinian connections. He didn’t know of them. She might not be able to tell him of her connection with his father, but she had to inform him of those, before he ran that check.
He ran a tender finger down her cheek. “Tell me.”
And she told him. Everything. Everything she could.
He’d stilled when she’d mentioned Castaldini, his expression going opaque. When she fell silent, he lowered his eyes, lost in thought. Then he finally looked back at her. His eyes were glittering with wonder.
“So this is why you were interested in me originally.”
She gave a difficult nod. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. And she was not at liberty to share the rest.
“This is fate, for you to be connected to my homeland, to seek me out, to let me find you through this connection.” He rose, came around, pulled her to her feet, his hands filled with such gentleness. Thoughts scattered on his kitchen’s porcelain floor as he put a loose arm low around her waist. “But don’t worry, about anything. Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”
She blinked up at him in confusion as he walked her back through his hangar-sized penthouse. “What do you mean?”
They passed through a twenty-foot-wide arch into a sitting room with one wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the most spectacular view of Manhattan and the ocean that she’d ever seen.
“Just what I said.” He took her to the wall window, his smile the essence of reassurance. She looked down the eighty-floor sheer drop and pressed back into him. He tugged her a couple of steps back where she could get the full impact of the view without activating any twinges of acrophobia. “Everything will work out.”
And that was clearly all she’d get from him on the subject.
She stood there, unable to fracture the moment, break the meld, her body a battleground of desire and dread. Then he whispered against her temple, “I never wrote anything, let alone a book. I was the worst essay writer in my class, in any language. My essays, to borrow an Americanism, sucked. A few dry-as-tinder lines with a sledgehammer of a conclusion along the lines of ‘Own your mistakes or you’re screwed.’”
She pushed away at last, put much-needed air between them, raised an eyebrow. “As you always do?”
He took her ridicule with a grin. “I try. I’m trying now.”
She gave him a considering look. “Hmm. It’s clear you owned far more mistakes than not. In your professional life. That’s why that isn’t screwed.” He grimaced at her allusion that his personal one was. “Anyway, that sledgehammer would be perfect for the heading of a chapter. That’s the kind of succinct conclusion I want you to fill the book with. Coming from you, the epitome of phenomenal success, you have the platform and the credibility to make self-help gurus of the known universe look like they’re spouting unsupported nonsense.”
“I might have the platform and the credibility, but I also have a handicap to negate them both. I write like you sing.”
She burst out giggling. “Trust me, you can’t be that bad.”
He grinned back at her, riddling her sight with blind spots. “See, another handicap. No subtlety. I was trying and failing to hint that I’ll need help.” He pulled her to him, his hands filled with careful power as he contained her. “Lots and lots of it.”
She moaned. “Durante…”
He lowered his head. “Sì, Gabriella. Say my name like that.”
She averted her face before his lips connected with hers. It was like leaping over one volcano to plunge into another. His lips scorched down her face instead, her neck, his whispers of her name an invocation, a supplication, tampering with all electrical activity powering her. Her brain waves blipped, her heart rhythm plunged into arrhythmia.
She gasped, pushed at him. He let her go at once, his gaze heavy with desire and regret. “Still punishing me?”
“I don’t indulge in pointless posturing. Life’s too short.”
“Exactly. And this, along with the past ten days, is time we won’t get back.”
“Philosophy is great, when one can afford it. I can’t. Life is also too short to spend any of it feeling as miserable as I did during those ten days.”
He reached for her again. “And you won’t. I promise.”
She scrambled away as if from the ledge of this skyscraper. “I-I came up here for two reasons, Durante. Because I believed you were interested in my offer. And because I couldn’t take one more would-be paparazzi covering our little sideshow.”
He grunted. “Forget them. They don’t matter.”
“Really? Strange. You condemned me based on ‘facts’ people like them perpetuated.”
“Ero uno sciocco, I was a fool. A moron.”
“And a senseless jerk. Oh, wait, am I allowed to say ‘jerk’ to Your Highness? No? Bummer. I’ll say it anyway.”
“You’re allowed to say anything to My Highness as long as you deem to talk to me at all. But senseless jerk that I am, I came to my senses. Don’t I get points toward a second chance for that?”
“You would have, if you had come to your senses. Which you didn’t. I slapped some sense into you. You were wallowing in your senselessness and decided to seek me in spite of what you believed, not because you no longer believed it. You thought I was a succubus but were risking being drained of life to satisfy your curiosity and lust. Or was danger what fueled your desire, sort of like the rush of sticking your hand in a snake pit?”
“I was doing it in spite of the danger I thought you represented, not because of it. I don’t get my kicks that way.”
“You get them by thinking the worst of people. By never giving them the chance to defend themselves, condemning them and carrying out the sentence. And if one of your victims i
s your own father, I guess I was in great company.”
“Maledizione, Gabrielle…sì, bene? It’s true, only those who matter can make me react emotionally. I’ve only ever had those crippling feelings in relation to two people in my life. My mother and my father. Now you.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel special? I got the full, mutilating effect of your anger because of how much I mattered?”
“Hard to believe but…sì.”
“What’s freaking impossible to believe is you. I live with a lot of casual cruelty, but now I know how it can hurt when someone who matters doles it out. I have no support system and the only one who’ll defend me is me. The only way I know how to do that is to stay away from you. So if you’re not interested in my offer if it doesn’t come attached with me in your bed, say so and let me go.”
“You said you understood why I reacted the way I did. If you do, then you realize it will never happen again.”
“All I know is that you judged me based on unsubstantiated evidence. The evidence against you was as damning, yet I believed my own senses, my own mind, my own experience of you.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, linked them at the back of his head in a gesture of a man at a total loss. He closed his eyes, rumbling the unmistakable fury of self-abuse. Then he opened them, all previous lightness and cajoling gone.
“I’ve broken your trust in my basic fairness, in my ability to always treat you with consideration and respect.”
Every muscle in her face trembled. He’d put her biggest fear in words. She nodded. A tear splashed on her lip.
He winced as if the tear had hit his flesh, burned it. “I would offer amends, anything at all, but it seems I hurt you too much and it won’t matter what I do, not now.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I was interested to hear your offer. And you’ve convinced me. I agree to the basic concept, but we’ll work out the specifics. Send me the draft of the contract at your convenience. I’ll inform you of any amendments at the earliest.”
When he said no more, she stuck her hands at her waist. “So what are you saying? ‘You don’t want my amends so I won’t bother to make them’? And then what? ‘Would have been fun knowing you’?”
