The Italian's Ruthless Marriage Command (HQR Presents)

by Helen Bianchin

Occasionally his hand shifted lightly up her spine, rested there, only to ease across her ribs to a position just beneath the curve of her breast.

  A slight upward move of his fingers and they’d touch the sensitive swell, and the breath hitched in her throat at the thought he might dare to take the liberty…accidently on purpose.

  Why was it that he had only to touch her, and her entire body reacted as if to an electric charge?

  Did he know?

  Dear heaven, she hoped not. The mere thought caused her muscles to tense, and she felt his gaze fasten momentarily on her features…which she refused to meet.

  There was relief when he moved his arm. Short-lived, as he took hold of her hand, threaded his fingers through her own, and began stroking his thumb-pad over the fast-beating pulse at her wrist.

  The temptation to wrench her hand away was uppermost, and his fingers tightened, almost as if he sensed the possibility.

  Dante leant his head close and murmured, ‘Just a little longer, then we can escape.’

  Taylor turned towards him and offered a stunning smile. ‘Hallelujah.’

  ‘Careful, cara. You’re almost verging on overkill.’

  ‘Really? I consider my actions quite circumspect by comparison.’

  His faint, husky laugh almost undid her, and she fixed him with a vengeful glare. ‘You’ll keep.’

  Such a sweet mouth, he mused, and so totally at variance with the words issuing from it.

  He had a strong urge to watch the green flecks in her hazel eyes turn to emerald fire, and he lowered his head and sought her lips with his own, sensed her shock, savoured briefly, then went in deep.

  Seconds, several of them, seemed an eternity as she felt her body melt beneath his skilled touch. The blood sang in her veins, bringing her to vibrant, pulsing life, and she lost all sense of time and place.

  Possession, she registered on some dim, distant level. Almost as if he was staking a claim.

  Intense, riveting, and she instinctively reached for his shoulders and held on. The room and the people occupying it no longer existed as a deep, curling sensation settled deep in her body, radiating with an intensity that shook her slim frame and rendered her helpless.

  When he lifted his head she could only look at him, her eyes dark, huge, enmeshed in an emotion so complex she dared not attempt to define it.

  ‘That was unforgivable,’ Taylor managed shakily.

  ‘The fact I chose to kiss you?’

  A kiss…that was just a kiss? She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged, and she closed it again, distraught to have temporarily lost the power of speech.

  ‘Yes.’

  His expression was unreadable, his eyes so dark they appeared almost black, and she was held captured, almost mesmerised by his sensual power…and its effect.

  ‘I think we should leave.’

  Ice and heat…she was fighting both, and slowly losing the battle. For two years she’d encased her emotions in ice in the need to feel safe. She had her family, a loving sister and nephew, and a career she loved. She told herself her life was complete.

  Yet in the space of a heartbeat, all that had changed.

  Now she was here, in Tuscany, flung together with a man who seemed intent on turning life, as she knew it, upside down.

  The fact he could rocked her very being.

  It made her want to run as far and as fast as her legs would carry her…yet, conversely, there was a part of her that whispered for her to stay. To take what he offered and enjoy the ride.

  Yet caution warned of the consequences…when, not if, the ride ceased. As it must, eventually. What then?

  And there was Ben. Her commitment to raise him to adulthood…assuming the role of the mother he’d so recently lost.

  How could she face a life with Dante in it…but at odds and distant with her? Polite calls from his current personal assistant arranging suitable dates for transferring Ben from her care to his. The occasional verbal contact which would tear her apart…

  ‘Dante, Taylor—buona notte.’

  She heard the voices, saw friendly faces, and smiled as Dante threaded his way through the guests towards the door, conscious of the covert looks, the politely veiled interest, and guessed what they were thinking…get a room.

  And she silently damned herself for appearing quiescent beneath his kiss…when in truth he’d taken total command of her senses.

  Their car waited outside the entrance, yet Taylor couldn’t recall Dante summoning the driver, and she slid into the rear seat, fastened her seat belt, then remained silent during their return to the villa.

  The words she wanted to rail at him could wait until they were alone, although the temptation to let fly almost undid her.

  The fact he knew didn’t help.

  To say she was seething by the time the car slid to a halt adjacent the front entrance to Graziella’s apartment building was an understatement.

  ‘You are,’ Taylor began with quiet vehemence the moment Dante closed the front door behind them, ‘the most insufferable man I’ve ever known.’ She whirled round to face him as he set the alarm. ‘How dare you?’

  The light sconces on the walls provided the only illumination, and she watched as he slid a hand into his trouser pocket.

  Damn him…how could he appear so relaxed, so…unaffected! Almost amused.

  ‘All this fine fury because I kissed you?’

  She didn’t think, she simply acted, and her hand swung high in a swift arc…caught in a vice-like grip before it could connect with the left side of his face.

  ‘Don’t.’

  One word, spoken with such dangerous silkiness. The sound shimmered down her body and momentarily robbed her of breath.

  ‘I hate you.’ Her voice came out as a fierce, husky sound, and angry tears glittered in her eyes.

  ‘Almost as much as you hate yourself.’

  Taylor wrenched her hand free, the words she wanted to say remaining a silent scream in her mind.

  She was unprepared for the hands that cupped her face, or the soft trail of his thumb as it traversed her lower lip, and she stood helpless as he lowered his head to brush her lips lightly with his own.

  A single tear escaped one eye and rolled slowly down her cheek, and she let her eyelids close in an attempt to still the shimmering moisture threatening to spill.

  She felt him dispel it with his thumb, then he gently released her.

  ‘Go to bed, Taylor,’ Dante bade quietly. ‘And sleep, if you can.’

  He stood as she moved away, watching until she disappeared out of sight, his expression vaguely harsh in the dimmed lighting.

  She stirred his blood in a manner no other woman had been able to achieve, and he ached with a desire so fierce it was only his superb control that held him back from following her.

  Instead, he crossed into the kitchen, made strong coffee and carried a cup into the library. Italy might be closed down for the night, but several international markets were not. He’d check figures and graphs on his laptop…and attempt to lose sight of the tear-stained face of the woman he wanted to take to his bed.

  It crept into her mind with insidious stealth. Dark images in the depth of night, and she moved restlessly in an unconscious need to dispel the soft whispers of sound, silently begging them to cease.

  Instead they persisted, teasing, taunting with what was to come.

  Night, black as the devil’s heart, deep as his debauched soul, ensured she saw nothing.

  Only felt, instinctively, on some subconscious level, that something wasn’t quite as it should be as she unlocked the front door of the house she shared with a friend.

  She reached for the switch, registered the faint click, and light flooded the room.

  Then she heard it, an indistinct rustling, coming from a room near by.

  Go, leave, now.

  She turned…and a hard shove sent her sprawling to the floor.

  A knee jammed into the middle of her back and she cried out, using he
r legs in a backward kick, connecting with solid bone and muscle. Followed by a harsh male oath, then the pressure on her back ceased as the intruder rose to his feet, and hard fingers dug into her arms, flipping her onto her side.

  ‘Bitch.’

  A boot bit viciously into her backside, and she swiftly rolled her body in a move that took her assailant by surprise.

  Except he had the advantage of standing upright, and even as she scrambled to one side she knew she couldn’t escape in time to save herself.

  She screamed as he dragged her to her feet, and he backhanded her with such force she almost blacked out. Then he repeated the action, and she felt the warm trickle of blood ooze from her mouth.

  This wasn’t happening. Not to her. She, an exponent of self-defence, knew moves that could bring a man to his knees.

  Except he was too quick, too strong…and this was real, not calculated practice on the tatami in a dojo. Here there was furniture, walls, restricted space.

  She felt hands grabbing at her clothes, the tightness as he caught hold of her blouse and wrenched the front opening wide in a movement that sent buttons pinging onto the polished wood floor.

  Then he reached for the snap fastening on her jeans…and she began fighting with cold, measured intent, abandoning fear for the need to survive. Creating the mindset drilled repetitively by her instructor.

  It became her assailant’s turn to groan with pain, to fling hoarse epithets and the threat to rape…when he got hold of her.

  And he did, twisting to grasp her ankle, pulling her off-balance…and hands closed over her shoulders, a voice called her by name…

  Somewhere deep in her subconscious she registered something was different, and she stilled, mentally struggling to free herself from the nightmare.

  The images faded, dissipating as she reached wakefulness…assimilating the room, the bed and the man seated on its edge.

  Dante. His features vaguely harsh in the light pooling from the lamp atop the bedside pedestal. Eyes, incredibly dark, viewed her with concern…and Taylor closed her own in a gesture of defensive remorse, then slowly opened them.

  ‘I woke you. I’m sorry.’

  For a seemingly long moment he didn’t say a word, merely lifted a hand to brush gentle fingers down her cheek and cup her face.

  Taylor was unable to look away, and she caught her lower lip with the edge of her teeth in an unconscious gesture, oblivious to the faint stab of pain, until she felt the touch of his thumb press a soft indent, successfully causing her lips to part.

  ‘What bothers you so badly it gives you nightmares?’

  She didn’t want him so close. The hastily pulled-on jeans, the black cotton T-shirt, slightly rumpled hair…the clean, fresh smell of soap mingling with the faint musk of man.

  It made her long for comfort, to feel those strong arms pull her in so her cheek rested against the beat of his heart…solid, reassuring, caring.

  All she had to do was place her hands on his shoulders and lean in…and she almost did, except such a move would be the antithesis of common sense.

  ‘Taylor?’

  Oh, God, what could she say? And why should she even try to explain? She met his gaze, and managed to hold it. ‘Please. I’m fine.’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ He paused fractionally, then pursued quietly, ‘You acted as if you were fighting for your life.’

  Believe me, I was…Words she didn’t, couldn’t say.

  ‘So,’ Dante persisted gently, ‘shall we start over?’

  Her eyes momentarily clouded with pain. ‘What if I say it’s none of your business?’

  ‘You’d be wrong.’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice sounded tortured, even to her own ears. ‘You’re Ben’s protector. Not mine.’

  ‘It’s a package deal.’

  Taylor looked at him, and glimpsed the steely purpose beneath the silky tones. ‘I’d like you to leave,’ she managed with extreme care.

  He dimmed the bedside lamp. ‘I will, as soon as you fall asleep.’

  Scandalised confusion lit her features as he moved a few feet and sank down on a nearby plush sofa. ‘You can’t stay there.’

  ‘You’d prefer I share the bed?’

  In one heated movement she bunched a pillow, hurled it at him with a very unladylike oath…and was thoroughly incensed by his husky chuckle as he caught the pillow and tossed it back to her.

  ‘You,’ Taylor said vengefully, ‘are the most impossible man I’ve ever met. Go! Please.’

  It was the please that got to him, together with the suddenly stark look that rendered her hazel eyes green.

  He had a need to gather her in against him, assure her with touch and words that he’d permit no one to hurt her again.

  Instead, he rose to his feet, inclined his head, crossed the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

  She expected to remain awake, her mind filled in equal parts with the lingering wisps of a nightmare…and Dante’s unexpected presence.

  Unwanted, she assured as she punched her pillow, then tossed it over and rendered another punch before resting her head down.

  Except his image taunted her. His closeness, the clean male smell…her unqualified urge to nestle in against him and accept his touch.

  Crazy. A brief moment of insanity on her part.

  So sleep, why don’t you? a tiny imp prompted.

  And she did, slipping dreamlessly into somnolence from which she woke feeling surprisingly refreshed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘TAYLOR. Wake up.’

  The childish voice penetrated her subconscious, and she rolled over in bed, opened her eyes and saw Ben standing close to the bed.

  ‘I’m still sleeping.’

  A childish giggle was followed by a wide smile. ‘No, you’re not. Your eyes are open.’

  She attempted a mock-stern expression. ‘And what, young man, are you doing waking me up at the crack of dawn?’

  Dark eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘It’s eight o’clock, and Dante and Nonna are having breakfast.’

  Oh, my…that late. Hardly surprising when it had been late before she had slept last night. Correction, the early hours of this morning.

  ‘Your photo is in the paper.’

  That brought her into a sitting position. ‘It is?’

  ‘Dante, too. Nonna showed me.’

  Last night’s event had involved some of the city’s glitterati. The name d’Alessandri was revered, and Dante’s presence at any major social event more or less guaranteed his appearance on the social pages.

  ‘You were kissing Dante.’

  Except Ben was wrong…it had been Dante who had initiated the kiss. She who’d lost herself in his touch. Even now her stomach fluttered at the memory and sensation arrowed deep inside.

  ‘Dante said we’re going to his vineyard today.’ Ben’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. ‘There’s cats and dogs, and lots of grapes,’ he relayed with importance.

  ‘If you wait a few minutes, I’ll get dressed, then we’ll go join the others.’

  ‘OK.’

  The simplicity of childhood, Taylor mused as she moved into the en suite.

  If she was honest, she had to admit this visit to Florence was proving successful for Ben. A change in territory, new places to explore, and most importantly an opportunity for him to bond with Dante and Graziella. To learn he was part of another culture, and accept that, although his life had undergone a change…everything would be all right.

  Except…last night. The media, the socialite Angelina whoever offering congratulations…and, not the least of which, Dante’s kiss.

  Although kiss didn’t come close to covering the frankly sensual, flagrant assault on her senses.

  Even now her mouth tingled with the remembered passion of his touch.

  One thing was uppermost…they needed to talk, and soon. Any nonsense about marriage had to cease and a retraction printed in the media.

  She co
uld accept combined custody, even sharing the same residence long-term. But marriage?

  Was that what had precipitated the nightmare?

  And suddenly it was there…all of it, resurfacing to race through her mind in kaleidoscopic detail.

  Oh, dear heaven, she whispered inwardly as she caught her mirrored image. The eyes so dark, appearing large, their expression stark in a face pale as the colour leached from her cheeks.

  Pull yourself together, a silent voice bade. Face the fear, and conquer it.

  Easily said…not so easy to do. Except she had the benefit of practice. Relax, concentrate, focus.

  Learned psychological techniques which helped her retain a sense of time and place, ensuring she completed her early-morning routine before tugging on jeans, a top, then she slid her feet into soft flat shoes and re-entered the bedroom to find Ben patiently waiting.

  Dante rose to his feet as they entered the dining room, a lazy smile widening his mouth.

  Taylor met his dark gaze, caught the way it lingered a little long on her mouth, and endeavoured to still the faint colour warming her cheeks. She matched Graziella’s smile and offered, ‘Good morning.’

  Graziella reached for the coffee-pot and poured aromatic dark liquid into a cup. ‘Come sit down, my dear.’

  She indicated dishes under cover laid out on the chiffonier. ‘Do help yourself when you’re ready.’

  Dante’s presence had an electrifying effect, accelerating her pulse-beat and creating a heightened state of sensuality.

  Dammit, she could almost feel the pressure of his mouth on her own, the dangerous, elemental power of his touch…and her reaction. There was a tendency to run the tip of her tongue along her lower lip in a bid to still the faint quiver hovering there.

  Except to do so would merely prove she was far from immune…and she was damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.

  Taylor settled for coffee and a croissant. Anything more would play havoc with her digestion.

  ‘I thought we’d take a break from the city for a while,’ Dante indicated with an easy smile, ‘and spend time at the Montepulciano vineyard.’

  ‘Pleasant countryside just under two hundred kilometres to the south east,’ Graziella added. ‘The vineyard produces Vino Nobile, considered to be among Italy’s best.’ She spared her son a slight smile. ‘It is Dante’s—’ a faint frown creased her forehead ‘—how do you say? Escape.’