Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians

by Caro LaFever

  He swam closer, matching her stroke for stroke. Felt her next to him. Felt the rush of the challenge, the test of gaining her attention. Lara picked up her pace, yet her frosty dismissal was no match for his formidable determination.

  She would learn this eventually.

  He would have his way.

  Hitting the end of the pool, she stopped. He grabbed the edge of the tile and watched her as she gulped deep breaths into her lungs. The lapping of the water settled, the air hung around them redolent of sea and sun.

  Her gaze was all gold ire. “What are you doing?”

  “Swimming. With you.”

  She took another deep breath, her glare never wavering.

  “Do you remember how we would swim together as children?”

  Rejecting his words, she turned her back to him and started a slow crawl through the water.

  One stroke and he was beside her. “Do you remember how I taught you to swim in this pool?”

  With a quick jerk, she stopped. “What are you trying to prove?”

  His feet touched the floor of the pool, but she had to move her hands beside her to keep afloat. Taking advantage of this, he moved closer. Rivulets of water slid down her cheeks to her mouth. The urge to kiss, to take, was fierce, but he locked it down with dogged resolve. “I’m trying to remind you of what we once had. Our time together was not all bitter. There are many memories that are good.”

  Twisting away, she made for the other end. He was not done with her, though, not ready to let her go. Moving fast, he came right behind her, his hands beside hers on the side of the pool.

  “I’m getting out,” she blurted.

  “Not until we finish our conversation.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I told you I have no interest in childhood memories.”

  “Nevertheless, we will discuss this particular memory you brought up. Then put it behind us.”

  She yanked around to stare at him, her glare heated. “I put it behind me long ago. The memory doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “So…I have to listen to you.”

  He cocked his head, thought for a moment. “Si.”

  Dante swore he could hear her grinding her teeth. A burst of satisfaction coursed through him. Any intense reaction from her told him what he needed to know. He got to her. He would use this, use this to win her.

  The slap of her hand on his shoulder yanked his attention back to her. “Move.”

  Leaning in, he stared into her glaring eyes. “No.”

  The silence thickened between them. The lapping of the water, the soft roar of the ocean, the sound of their breathing—everything faded as he got pulled into the honey heat of her gaze, the petal softness of her lips, the smooth glow of her skin.

  The beat of his blood pounded. In his heart. In his cock.

  “All right.” Her harsh words cut through the haze of his sexual desire. “Have your say and then I’m leaving.”

  Easing away from her, putting inches between himself and temptation, he struggled to put together the explanation he’d practiced so carefully. Exasperation stirred inside at his lack of concentration. This was important and he should not have allowed himself to become so tongue-tied with lust his brain could not operate at full capacity.

  “So?” Her voice was laced with disdain. “Speak.”

  Exasperation turned to anger. No one in his life would dare talk to him with such disrespect. “Do not talk to me like that.”

  “I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do.”

  Frowning, he folded his arms in front of him in order to keep from the temptation to shake her. Or grab and kiss her quiet. Still, he would not allow this to descend into another spat. That would not further his goals. He took in a deep breath and forced his brain to function. “We are going to discuss the night of your seventeenth birthday.”

  “We?” She copied him and folded her arms also. “I believe I was going to listen to your monologue about it.”

  “That night, I did and said what I had to for both of our sakes.”

  Her eyes snapped with immediate fury. “I’m supposed to be grateful you called me a puttana?”

  Had he called her such a thing? Dante searched his memory. Maybe he had, though it had been done in desperation to keep her away. Which he was not going to share with her. But surely she could be made to understand his position. “I was trying to stop you from throwing yourself at men.”

  “You thought I’d been trying to kiss other men besides you?” Her mouth dropped open and a flash of hurt crossed her face.

  “Per amor di Dio,” he swore under his breath. “No. No, Lara.”

  “Then what?”

  He looked out over his garden as he remembered. “Try and put yourself in my shoes for a moment.”

  Silence greeted him, yet he forced himself to continue. To show her at least a taste of the agony he’d experienced that long ago night. “I was twenty-four. You were seventeen.”

  “I know that.”

  “Think of what your father would have said to me if I’d taken you up on your offer.”

  He heard her swift intake of breath. “I only offered a kiss.”

  Turning, he glowered at her. “I would not have been satisfied with a kiss.”

  Her gold eyes widened. “You can’t mean—”

  “I mean exactly that.” His hands landed on the tile beside her shoulders, as he stared at her, willing her to understand. “I had to push you away. Before it was too late.”

  Lara’s stare never wavered from his.

  “I had to say those brutal words so you would leave,” he said. “So you would go.”

  “You wanted me.” She stated each word as if it were foreign to her tongue.

  Constantly, bella, forever. Instead of blurting out his deepest secret, he forced a harsh bark of laughter. “Certamente.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I want you now.” His ragged words hung in the air between them.

  All at once, her mouth compressed, her face turned cold. “Too late.”

  Shock coursed through him at her sudden change. What had happened? He thought he’d made a breakthrough, thought he’d reached her, yet she was still shutting him out. “Lara?”

  Two determined hands pushed once more at his shoulders. “I said, you’re twelve years too late.”

  “Liar.” His temper flared, the temper he never let loose anymore. Patience and plotting and purpose all fell away into the cold water surrounding him, leaving only hot, hard frustration coursing through his body. His voice became harsh against his will. “We both feel it. This bond. And now there is nothing standing in our way.”

  “Yes, there is.” Her honey eyes went dark gold with determination. “I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

  A twisting fear took his breath. No, no, he wanted to howl.

  She glanced down as if she’d seen something in his expression she couldn’t face. The action drove him crazy. Had she seen something he was not willing to reveal? The urge to retreat thrummed through him, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away. “Tell me you didn’t want me several nights ago.”

  She met his look, her gaze now cool. “I believe I was clear about not wanting your kiss.”

  “You responded.”

  “No.”

  Had he mistaken everything? Dreamed something that wasn’t true into reality? His throat filled with raw disbelief, an icy coating of horror.

  He took a step back.

  Lara’s eyes narrowed. Then she shrugged.

  Shrugged.

  With a last dismissive look, she turned and slid under the water, swimming to the far side of the pool. He wanted to follow her, but checked the instinct. His emotions were too close to the surface for his comfort.

  She’d destroyed him with one simple word. One simple action.

  Best to let her go. Give himself some time to regroup. Figure out anot
her way.

  She glanced at him as she reached the end of the pool, her expression filled with derision. “What? Not chasing after me now?”

  “No.” Male pride roared at him to go after her, buy her silence with his kisses. His hands clenched at his sides. He forced himself to stay where he was. “Stopping this conversation. For now.”

  “Forever.” She turned and lifted herself out of the water in one fluid move.

  His gut churned with confusion and a crushing sense of fear that his entire adult life had been wasted dreaming of this woman. This woman who appeared to want nothing from him at all. He stood, silent, as she walked over to the lounge chair. Picking up the towel, she glanced at him before wiping her face.

  A sharp strike of hope crackled through him in an instant. Because there’d been something, some flash of emotion in her eyes, some flicker of response in the way her mouth curved that told him what he needed to know.

  She was lying. Lying about what he did to her.

  His heart pounded with renewed resolve.

  “I know you feel this connection between us,” he said, his voice quiet, yet he knew she heard him. “I know you responded two nights ago to my kiss. I felt it.”

  She slid her pool dress over her head and picked up her book. “You’re mistaken.”

  “I do not make mistakes.”

  “Oh, Dante.” A wry laugh twisted her mouth, as she turned to walk to her car. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Lara.” Her name stopped her, but she didn’t turn to face him again. “Some things you cannot run away from.”

  The sunlight glistened on her hair as she disappeared around the corner of the pool house.

  Chapter 5

  A wash of cool air hit her as she stepped into the ancient stone church. The strains of Vivaldi filled the foyer with the sweet singing of violins. The low murmur of the hundreds of guests filling the sanctuary proved the power of the Casartellis.

  No one would dare miss Carlotta’s wedding.

  Except Hugo Derrick.

  Lara exhaled a puff of remaining annoyance. Of all the days her father could choose, why today? He’d gone to Florence to see her brother, leaving her to handle the apologies and explanations.

  “Signorina.” A fresh-faced, eager usher appeared at her side.

  Forcing a smile, she handed her invitation over.

  He offered her his tuxedoed arm and ushered her into the deep well of the sanctuary. High arches circled the room, white stone interspersed with medieval statues of saints. Large bright canvases of swirling motion added color and texture to the church. As a child, she’d often attended mass here with the Casartellis. The fond memories flooded her mind as she walked slowly down the aisle between the heavily carved wooden benches. Benches filled to capacity. The men dressed in sleek Armani or Didonna, the women in the sultry silk of Versace or Moschino. Gucci bags and Ferragamo shoes competed for attention with splashy jewelry and beautiful smiles. Anyone looking at this crowd would know the power and prestige of the family who commanded their attendance.

  The usher kept walking. Lara nodded at neighbors she’d become reacquainted with and new friends the Casartelli sisters had introduced her to. Her heart had warmed at how speedily and thoroughly she’d been absorbed back into the circle in which she’d grown up. Their acceptance had made the adjustment of leaving England much easier.

  The usher kept walking. Past the neighbors. Past the throngs of friends. Past the elite of Florence and Rome.

  Right up to the front of the church. Right up to the family.

  There must be some mistake.

  “Signore.” She frowned.

  He smiled and waved her in. Into the second pew from the altar.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Lara.” Daniella Casartelli Rossini, her closest friend as a child, and now quickly becoming her closest friend once more, beckoned. “Come on. Sit.”

  “But…”

  The usher walked away.

  Feeling like she was the focus of all eyes, she stepped into the pew and sat down. “I can’t sit here.”

  “Why not?” Daniella bounced a laughing toddler on her knee. Her husband, sitting beside her, smiled from above another baby’s head. Dani was younger by three years, yet her marriage and the subsequent birth of her twins had added a layer of contentment and maturity to her features that Lara envied.

  “I’m not family.”

  “Close enough.” Her friend grinned.

  The crash of the organ replaced the trilling of the violins. She watched as, with great ceremony, Giana Casartelli was ushered into the pew right in front of her.

  “I’ve got to go and find a seat in the back.”

  Dani’s hand latched onto her arm. “Too late.”

  With resignation, she glanced around to see a string of bridesmaids walking down the aisle. Behind them, the bride stood in the entryway. Carlotta looked beautiful, yet it was the tall man standing beside her who garnered Lara’s reluctant attention.

  The stark black of his tuxedo contrasted with the blinding white of his shirt and tie. The suit fit him, in more than one way. The cut emphasized the broad hardness of his shoulders, the trim edge of his hips. The absence of color in his clothes highlighted the rich olive of his skin and the glossy strands of his hair. The contrast was like him: all black and white, all cold and hot.

  “He wanted you to sit here,” Daniella whispered in her ear.

  Instant irritation bubbled through her veins. She’d forced him out of her memory, out of her conscience, with grim determination over the past five days. Throwing herself into the school and work until she was exhausted meant her days were filled. Her nights were filled too. With weary sleep. No time to think of him in the day, no dreaded dreams of him at night.

  Or rather, nightmares.

  The bridal processional boomed and the couple began the long trip down to the altar. If there had been any way to escape, she would have run for the door, yet there was nowhere to go. His family crowded the pew on her left. The aisle to her right was strewn with bridesmaids, a bride…

  And him.

  The damned man had manipulated her once again. Forced her into a situation she couldn’t get out of. Not without making a fuss and causing a stir.

  Which would only call more attention to her dilemma.

  The crowd stood. The Casartelli clan surrounded her like a smothering blanket. Giana wiped her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, Dani’s babies babbled, all the sisters smiled as their youngest sister and oldest brother passed.

  Lara wondered if they’d mind if she tripped him on his stroll.

  The man was as controlling, as conniving, as cunning as she’d thought. She’d made it absolutely clear she wanted nothing to do with him. More than once. She’d been pleased to hear nothing else from him for the rest of the week. See nothing of him.

  She hadn’t thought about him at all. Not at all.

  Maybe a dozen times.

  His words of five days ago kept ringing in her ear. He’d wanted her twelve years ago—a revelation that had stunned her. Turned her memories of the night of her seventeenth birthday upside down. In vain, she’d tried to dismiss them, label them as a lie, another of his manipulations.

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t remember his face, the taut line of his jaw, the intense blaze of his eyes, and reject his words as lies. He’d been telling the truth. She knew it in her heart.

  He’d wanted her that night.

  His cold rejection and cruel taunts had been a shield.

  A mask.

  I want you now.

  She remembered the gruffness of his voice as he said the words. This cool, contained icicle of a man burned for her, wanted her with unwavering passion. What made it worse was this knowledge fed her growing desires, desires she’d shut down long ago. The thought of sitting beside him, close to him for the next half hour, all through an emotional, symbolic ceremony, twisted the answering burn of lust inside her into a solid knot.


  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Dani squeezed her hand and smiled. “This feels exactly right.”

  This wasn’t right. This burn. This twist. This knot.

  Giana Casartelli turned around at her daughter’s words and beamed. “Si. Si. It is right you are here with us. This is where you belong.”

  She didn’t belong beside him. She didn’t.

  The revelation of his want for her had been a shock and she had to admit during the last few days, it had also soothed some of her pain. He’d wanted her twelve years ago as much as she’d wanted him. But he had far more to answer for than one confrontation and a few nasty words. He’d done much worse than that. If he thought his confession of still wanting her would be enough to win her forgiveness for everything, he was in for a surprise.

  Dante handed his youngest sister over with a kiss and turned. His black eyes were, as usual, blank, his face austere. Yet her breathing notched up when she met his gaze because there was latent heat there, a smoldering burn that matched what she experienced inside herself.

  His face gave nothing away, however. Cool and autocratic. A mask?

  Lara cursed under her breath. She would not allow him to make her burn and twist and tie herself into a knot, questioning her conclusions. Imagining there was anything behind that mask other than arrogance was a fruitless waste of time.

  She needed to focus on what was genuinely important.

  Dante Casartelli’s motives for what he did twelve years ago were not important. Whether or not he wore some kind of mask was not important. The fact he ignited her libido was also not important.

  What was important right now was the fact he’d decided to involve his family.

  She knew the Casartelli women. Their keen gazes and talking tongues would be gossiping and thinking and plotting. Which would fit nicely into his machinations. She wouldn’t have to deal with only him going forward. Oh, no, she would be deflecting and avoiding a slew of Casartellis.

  There is nothing going on between your brother and me.

  Maybe she should have it tattooed on her forehead.

  He strode to the pew and stepped beside her.

  “Manipulative jerk,” she muttered.

  One dark brow lifted, but his face stayed completely neutral.