by Tessa Radley
Her lip stung. Abruptly she touched the spot where she’d bitten too hard.
“It’s too late,” she said, knowing it was true and wishing the knowledge didn’t hurt so much. Far better to put a stop to this now, before she lost her head. Hadn’t she decided to forfeit the whole marriage dream? To pursue her studies instead of guys like most of the girls at university?
“Marriage isn’t necessary,” she added, her voice cool and remote. She swallowed. There would be no kissing Rico, no learning whether he tasted as dark and forbidden as he looked.
“Okay, so what about a pretend marriage?”
“A pretend marriage?” She heard the incredulity in her tone, and felt a moment’s relief at his persistence.
“Why not?” Rico moved closer. “A very public pretend marriage. Think about it. The story will hit the papers. He’ll be intimidated and go away once he realises you’ve got a man, that you’re no longer available. Or it will drive him crazy, make him do something reckless. Then I’ll get him.” From the gleam in his eyes Danielle saw Rico relished the thought. “Either way you win…you’ll be safe again.”
It made a weird kind of sense. But still she hesitated, searching for a logical reason why it wouldn’t work. “My father wouldn’t allow it…even if it was only a hoax. My wishes don’t count for anything. Nothing matters to him except money…and control.”
“Your father doesn’t want you dead.”
He’ll never let me go, she wanted to retort. Yet she held back. Because Rico was offering her a way out. All she needed to do was say yes.
Staring into those dark chocolate eyes, she didn’t blink, dared not let her gaze move over him, in case he saw the yearning in her eyes. Because he was offering all her dreams and fantasies in one package. A chance to be free of her father’s domination…and perhaps…perhaps even…
Her heart started to pound. Oh, God, she didn’t dare think about that.
“A pretend marriage. God knows what my father is going to say.” Nerves balled in her stomach at the thought of telling her father.
“So don’t tell him. It’s your life. Tell him it’s real. He won’t have a choice,” Rico snarled.
“I can’t do that. I find it difficult to stand up to him.” It sounded so feeble. “I won’t lie to him.”
“So do something about reclaiming your life. Change your job, get a flat. You don’t have to live under his thumb.”
She stared at Rico.
He might as well have said, Get a life. How could she explain that she’d tried to move out before, to escape the oppressive control her father held over everything around her? Only to be thwarted every time. And then there’d been the rewards for staying, the promotions at work—even the appointment to charitable trusts that her father controlled, to positions her mother had once occupied. The subtle pressure, the endless guilt, had ensured that leaving became impossible.
But Rico was talking again. “Your father won’t argue. By agreeing to this sham marriage, he gets to whitewash the wrong he did me. A lot of people think me guilty of a crime I never committed.” Danielle coloured and looked away, guilt gnawing at her. “He’s astute enough to understand that—and it will cost him much less than the face he’ll lose if I proceed with legal action against Kimberly.”
Would he ever forgive her for doubting him? “I’m so sorry, Rico.” Sorry I didn’t believe in you more, sorry I didn’t doubt Kim. She hadn’t thought about what Rico might get out of their pretend marriage—the chance to be seen at her side, to clear his name irrefutably. He wasn’t suggesting a pretend marriage only to keep her safe. It would be to his advantage as well. The knowledge made her feel easier.
Her hand brushed his before she was aware of reaching out. “Believe me, I hate the thought of people thinking you were guilty of something you didn’t do.”
His hand fisted under hers, then slowly his fingers uncurled and he turned his hand over so that their palms met. Something jerked inside her. Then his fingers linked through hers, and a rush of emotion swept her. A memory rose of a time she’d clung to his hand, when the hold of his fingers around hers was all that stopped her sinking into a vortex of anguish.
Now Rico needed her. To clear his reputation. He’d lost so much; she’d be forfeiting so little. How could she refuse?
His fingers squeezed hers, and she looked up. “Don’t worry about your father. Marrying me makes perfect sense. Pascal and I will convince your father.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a smile, deeply relieved that he’d offered to deal with Robert Sinclair, while a little voice sing-songed Scaredy-cat. “You’re my hero.”
At her words his eyes burned, black and dark, and a quiver of heat shook her. Oh, God, they weren’t even married yet, and she couldn’t control her response to him. Did he intend…?
“We won’t have to share my suite, will we?” she blurted out.
The flame in his eyes went out, leaving his expression inscrutable, his eyes dark slits that showed no colour, no emotion, and his hand slid out from under hers. But high on his cheekbone a muscle moved. “We’ll be sharing more than a suite, we’ll be sharing this bedroom, I want to be there when he tries to get in again.”
“When?” Unease quaked through her at his certainty. Danielle glanced around her bedroom. The suite of rooms that had been hers since her thirteenth birthday had always seemed spacious and far from cosy. But suddenly the space had shrunk. She folded her arms and hugged herself tightly. The thought of Rico in her bedroom all night was deeply disturbing. “Don’t you mean if?”
“Definitely when. I don’t think he’ll give up easily. And it must look like we share a room. We don’t know what access he has to information about you.”
“You mean someone is feeding him snippets on what I do, where I go?” Danielle felt violated.
“You can’t discount it. How else did he get into your bedroom?”
Suddenly Danielle no longer felt safe. A desperate need to get out of the familiar walls that were closing in on her overwhelmed her. The red-stained bed made her want to get out of here and never come back.
“I’m never going to sleep in that bed again,” she resolved, glaring at it.
“Get rid of it. Buy another,” Rico said.
He was right. It was that simple. She started to relax and uncrossed her arms. “I think I will. What will happen to Annabelle?”
“The police will probably take her.”
Danielle closed her eyes against the image of the smashed face and broken body. For so long the doll been her closest memory of Mum. Poor Annabelle.
She eyed Rico. “I don’t want to stay here…not after this.” She gestured to the bed. “I couldn’t sleep in this room again…not even on a new bed.”
“What about moving to Kimberly’s suite?” he asked, sounding cautious.
“No.” She drew a deep breath. “If I do this—pretend to marry you—I want something out of it, too.”
“Like what?” Rico asked, his eyes suddenly sharp.
“Freedom,” she said succinctly. “You’re the one who calls me princess. I need to escape the ivory tower, live somewhere else. Somewhere where I’m not under my father’s control.”
Suddenly Rico didn’t look at all happy. “You’re safer here. The security is top class.”
“It doesn’t look like it, does it?” She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. “Those are my terms, move out or no pretend marriage. Take them or leave them.”
He gave a disbelieving snort. “Princess, you’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”
“I know, but I’m giving it my best shot.”
A harsh sigh escaped him. “Okay. You can come stay in the apartment I’ve temporarily rented. The security isn’t bad, and I’ll talk to the landlord about adding a little extra.”
“No! I’m not moving out of here into another man’s domain. That’s too much like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. I want somewhere that will be mine. All mine,” she emphasise
d, the vision becoming more concrete with every word. A home. Her home. Somewhere she could place her stamp on, no interior decorators, just her. “This way, when this charade is over, I’ll have my independence at least.” It would almost be worth being stalked and living with Rico as pretend man and wife—despite her misgivings—for that freedom.
Taking advantage of the fact that he was listening and hadn’t discounted her comments, she pointed out, “You can secure the place I find. At least you won’t have to worry about breaches of security by staff or about any knowledge this madman has. He’ll have to start his reconnaissance afresh.”
Rico held her gaze for a long, tense moment. She could hardly believe her relief when he finally nodded. “Done.”
Four
T he following Saturday Danielle stared at the convincing-looking priest at the altar and felt nothing but disbelief…and a curious numbness.
The actor Rico had produced looked like an authentic Catholic priest. Even the ceremony had felt real from the moment the fine veil had been peeled back from her face and she’d looked into Rico’s hooded eyes.
The masses of scented white flowers, the heart-rending vows Rico had repeated in a deep voice as he’d stood shoulder to shoulder beside her in a pale-grey suit looking utterly devastating, did little to reinforce that this wedding was nothing more than an ornate performance. Even the slim-fitting pearly sheath she wore, the bouquet of tiny white roses she carried were what Danielle would have chosen for the wedding of her dreams. The wedding that she’d convinced herself could never happen. After all, what man would want her, after she told him—
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest’s—no, actor’s—voice interrupted.
Danielle stiffened as panic swept her. Hadn’t Rico instructed the guy to remove this bit from the ceremony? She didn’t want to kiss him. Not in front of two hundred people who’d been hurriedly invited to give credence to her bogus wedding—not that the guests knew that, of course.
Rico’s head angled towards hers. Danielle considered shutting her eyes before deciding she needed all her senses on wide alert.
The touch of his lips was gentle, resting for an infinitesimal second against hers. For a fleeting moment she thought that the welcome numbness enshrouding her would negate his impact. But something imperceptible changed, her mouth softened, his breath caught…and her heart started to pound. Her eyelashes fluttered down as a tingling heat stirred deep within her.
Then the moment was gone, and Rico was stepping back. She sighed and her shoulders sagged. With relief that the kiss ended so quickly? Or longing that he hadn’t kissed her with the passion she suspected him capable of?
“Almost over,” he murmured. “Then you can relax.”
Relax? She suppressed a nervous giggle. When in a couple of hours she and Rico would be closeted in the bridal suite and tomorrow they’d move into the cosy town house she’d bought four days ago? For the first time she was having second thoughts about the wisdom of living alone with him. At least in her father’s house they would’ve been constantly surrounded by people.
A quick, sideways glance revealed his harsh profile, his raven-dark hair spilling onto his forehead, his jutting nose and his generous lips.
Shivers of excitement mixed with apprehension danced over her bare shoulders, then raced down her spine at the thought of those lips brushing her skin. Her hand involuntarily tightened on his arm. He turned his head, his eyes wary.
She swallowed and gave him a weak smile, hoping he didn’t detect the frisson that pierced her as their eyes met. After a moment he smiled back but without a hint of the raw sensuality she craved.
She could breathe again. Rico had absolutely no idea how much he got to her.
Had always gotten to her. Words from the service washed over her and shame curled through her. After her mother’s death she’d been so desperately in need of comfort that she’d imagined herself in love with the man whose hand she’d clung to through a terrible time. She’d believed that the shared experience and pain would bind them together. Forever.
But it hadn’t been love. She’d been infatuated with a married man who’d proved his lack of interest when she’d thrown herself at him by his brutal and unequivocal refusal of her blatant offer. Rico hadn’t been interested back then, and he certainly wouldn’t be interested now. Not with all that the Sinclairs had put him through.
Then he was tugging her along with him in the wake of the academy-award-deserving priest to an adjacent chamber to sign a fake register, and to smile for the cameraman her father had arranged.
As they began the long walk back down the aisle, the sound of organ music swelled through the church and Danielle’s heart clenched. The smiling faces in the pews blended into a haze and for an instant she wished hopelessly that all this was real, not some expensive sham she’d entered to catch a killer, but a real marriage.
The wish shattered as she and Rico stepped out of the church into the fresh air. Danielle blinked then flinched as the bright summer sunshine and the noise of the baying reporters hit her simultaneously. Rico ushered her rapidly along, his arm hard around her shoulders, while the press surged forward against barriers heavily patrolled by Sinco Security employees.
She could feel the tension winding Rico’s body tight as he pulled her close against him, screening her with his larger body, providing protection from whatever threat lay out in the crowd. The gesture caused a burst of warmth and affection to flood her.
A black Bentley pulled up, and Rico opened the door. At least now she knew what it felt like to be a bride. He’d been everything a woman could hope for—and more. He’d played the adoring bridegroom without fault, like a pro. Of course, he was hardly an amateur. He’d stood before an altar before. Except, his first marriage had been based on love. It certainly hadn’t been an elaborate ploy designed to lure a madman into the open.
Deftly Rico manoeuvred her into the waiting car, driven by a Sinco driver she recognised through the separating glass as Bob Harvey, a man her father had sent on several offensive driving courses. She’d never cared much for the man, disliking the way his eyes roved over her and his overfamiliar manner. But today he sat staring firmly ahead, clearly unwilling to tangle with Rico.
Once the car was moving, Rico’s intent gaze met hers. “You made a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you.” Danielle felt like a Christmas tree that had been lit up, bright and sparkling. Lips curving, she let her eyes skim his elegantly clad body. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “The wedding day belongs to the bride.”
“This is hardly a real wedding,” she felt compelled to remind him.
Immediately Rico shot a warning glance in the driver’s direction.
Danielle sighed. Of course, they were on show! Not that the driver could hear through the glass. She glanced out the window, then, driven by a devilish impulse, she moved closer to him, snuggling against his chest.
He stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to look realistically newly married.” She pointed out the window. “For them.”
Rico swore as a motorcycle came abreast, the pillion rider brandishing a camera. “Give us a kiss,” the cameraman yelled.
Rico grabbed his cell phone and rapped out a sharp order to some unfortunate on the other end. Instantly a car moved up and edged the bike away.
“I was just about to oblige them,” Danielle said impishly.
Rico threw her a black look, his brows meeting in a dark line.
“Oh, we’re here,” she said with relief as the car swept through the impressive arched entrance to the San Lorenzo Hotel.
As hard as he tried to pretend that Danielle wasn’t having any effect on his equilibrium, Rico knew he lied. And he never lied. Especially not to himself.
So he forced himself to face up to the fact that Danielle Sinclair was crawling under his skin. That he’d wanted to kiss her properly, his mouth hot and har
d on hers, in the church today. That the brief brush of his lips against hers had been totally unsatisfactory. That he liked having her tucked beneath his arm as they’d circulated earlier. Now he watched broodingly as she moved from table to table, speaking to couples, a warm smile for an elderly woman, a hug for a friend in a wheelchair.
The cake had been cut and the bouquet thrown. It was time for them to leave.
Time to put his plan into action.
Over the past few days, every time he’d met Danielle’s clear grey-green eyes, a curious reluctance about what he intended to do had shifted inside him. But then he steeled himself, his lips firming into a brutally hard line.
Lucia. He waited for the familiar stab of emptiness to fill him—the numb loneliness had become oddly comforting and held none of the turbulent confusion that Danielle aroused.
But the darkness eluded him as he searched in vain for Lucia’s wraithlike memory. Hell, if Lucia was not enough, the memory of his father’s pale face in the critical care section of St. Joseph’s hospital in Milan should be sufficient to stiffen his resolve. After he’d heard from his lawyer about Kim’s surprising change of heart, he’d flown out from the Middle East and the latest kidnap crisis he’d been involved in barely making it to his father’s side in time after an unexpected stroke. All he had to do now was fulfil his father’s wishes. Wishes that dovetailed very nicely—
A heavy hand clapped his shoulder. “Everything okay?” Ken Pascal asked.
Rico shook himself free of his demons and nodded, and Pascal moved away. Like his own gaze, the Sinco security chief’s eyes swept the room out of force of habit—despite the presence of the army of plainclothes security in the room.
Nothing would happen to Danielle.
Almost against his will, Rico sought her out.
She stood, slender and poised. A fitted sheath in the not-quite-white-but-ivory that modern brides favoured fell in soft, silky folds to her feet. His mouth flattened. The convention was a lie. After all, what woman today could truthfully wear a white gown? Instead they pretended, insisting that ivory wasn’t white. It was a lie. A ridiculous lie. Besides, no man expected a virgin bride in today’s society.
