The Italian's Ruthless Marriage Command (HQR Presents)

by Helen Bianchin

‘You’ve been very generous.’

  The corners of his mouth quirked a little and his eyes acquired a musing gleam. ‘Better.’ He lifted a hand and brushed gentle fingers down her cheek. ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night. There’s a charming trattoria in town which serves wonderful food. You’ll enjoy it.’

  Her pulse kicked in to a faster beat, in betrayal, and she stood perfectly still. ‘I should write. I have a—’

  ‘Deadline,’ he completed the sentence. ‘You can work tomorrow. Ben will spend the morning with me.’

  ‘It’s important.’ And silently damned herself for the need to justify the need.

  ‘Your career? Did I infer it wasn’t?’

  She was conscious of a slight shift, an acceleration of the electric tension between them, and she took a step away from him.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I should check my emails and put in a few hours of work now.’

  ‘By all means. There’s an internet connection in the library you can use. Collect your laptop and I’ll ensure you’re set up correctly.’

  It didn’t take long, and there was a sense of awe at the size of the spacious room with its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, two comfortable leather recliner chairs and an impressive antique desk.

  ‘Thank you.’ She spread her hands as she indicated the room. ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘Close everything when you’re done. The hallways throughout the villa are on a timer and dim down to half-power at midnight.’ He cupped her face, leant in and took her mouth with his own in a kiss that seared her soul.

  Then he released her, his mouth curving a little at her stunned expression. ‘Sleep well.’

  Then he turned and walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE following evening Dante eased the luxury four-wheel-drive towards the end of the lane linking it to the arterial road which led into the town.

  ‘Graziella is capable of settling Ben to bed.’

  Taylor glanced away from the passing scenery, the patchwork of the various fields with their rows of vineyards and the cypress bordering the road. The sky was opalescent with changing colour as the sun sank low towards the horizon. Evenings remained light much longer here during summer than they did in the southern hemisphere, and she enjoyed the slow fading of the night sky.

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘Yet you’re unable to relax.’

  Because you disturb me. Aloud, she admitted, ‘You’re not an easy person to be around.’

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  It bothered her like hell. ‘I have no intention of stroking your ego.’

  ‘Your honesty is admirable.’

  He was teasing her, and if she felt more at ease with him she’d have offered a laughing response. Instead, she offered wryly, ‘Count on it.’

  He spared her a musing glance. ‘The trattoria is owned by friends of mine, and situated in a small village not far from here.’

  Dante parked on the village outskirts, locked the vehicle, then he caught hold of her hand and loosely threaded his fingers through her own.

  She was tempted to pull free, and his clasp tightened fractionally, almost as if he guessed her intention.

  It was like going back in time, Taylor mused as they trod the uneven paving, the buildings old and mellowed gold in the evening light.

  There were a few people gathered at outdoor tables, talking in voluble Italian. Men, young and old, drinking espresso coffee, dark red wine, some smoking. Not many women, and those few present looked like tourists or visitors absorbing the ambience.

  The air was redolent with spices, food and a hint of garlic in the cooking.

  As they walked, a male voice called out a greeting, and Dante answered in his own language, pausing to exchange a few words and effect an introduction.

  Taylor was aware of the thinly disguised speculation apparent, the momentary gleam of appreciation in the man’s eyes…and wondered at the sophistication beneath the urbane veneer.

  ‘A business associate?’ she enquired as they continued walking, and received Dante’s acknowledgment in response.

  ‘And childhood friend. Carlo owns a vineyard a few kilometres from mine.’

  Dante led her towards a charming restaurant and bar, with outdoor tables for those who preferred to eat and drink in the open.

  ‘The food is exquisite,’ he informed as they moved inside. ‘Mariangela is noted for her gnocchi. You must try a sample.’

  ‘Dio madonna,’ a male voice boomed. ‘Mariangela, come quickly.’ What followed was lost in the flood of voluble Italian as a barrel of a man rushed forward to clasp Dante in a bear-like hug. Then a woman appeared from the kitchen, took one look at Dante, cried out and all but ran to greet him.

  Dante laughed, lifted her high and swung her full circle before setting her down and effecting an introduction.

  ‘So, you bring your woman to see us, eh?’ Mariangela teased. ‘What takes you so long?’ She leant forward, caught hold of Taylor’s shoulders and brushed first one cheek, then the other, European-style. ‘Taylor. It’s a beautiful name.’ She stood back a pace and gestured towards a table. ‘Come, sit down. Bruno will fetch the vino, and bring some bruschetta. When you ready, you order. After we talk, sì?’

  What followed became a tableau of northern-Italian village life, Taylor perceived as she became caught up in the rich ambience…the voices, loud at times and punctuated with laughter; the aroma of fine, home-style cooked food with its many spices; the wine.

  And the food…gnocchi, such as Taylor had never tasted before, even in the finest restaurant in Sydney. A delicate veal parmigiana so tender it could be cut with a fork, accompanied by a salad with exquisite dressing, followed by a superb lemon sorbet.

  ‘I don’t think I shall ever eat again,’ Taylor revealed as she declined coffee in favour of tea. ‘It’s wonderful here. Thank you,’ she added in genuine appreciation and felt her pulse quicken in reaction to Dante’s warm smile.

  ‘My pleasure. However, the evening isn’t over yet.’

  ‘You mean, there’s more?’

  ‘Bruno and Mariangela’s two sons will emerge from the kitchen with their guitars and sing.’

  ‘Really?’

  Almost on cue, male voices could be heard in harmony from the kitchen, then two fine-looking young men in their late twenties emerged to a burst of applause.

  Traditional songs, one after the other, interspersed with some teasing comedic humour, which brought laughter, and they were good…very good.

  Taylor found herself alternately smiling and laughing, and almost wishing she were sufficiently conversant with the Italian language to sing along with the patrons.

  ‘You won’t mind if I join you?’

  She turned slightly to see Carlo had approached their table, and Dante gestured he pull up a spare chair.

  ‘Let me order another bottle of wine.’

  ‘I think not, my friend,’ Dante declined. ‘I must drive, and so, too, must you.’

  ‘A fernet branca, perhaps?’

  ‘Coffee,’ Dante insisted quietly.

  Carlo leant back in his chair and regarded Taylor carefully. ‘So, this woman must be special. It is the first one you bring to sample Mariangela’s food.’

  ‘We share custody of Leon’s son.’

  Bruno delivered coffee, and three snifters of spirits, enquired if everything was to their satisfaction, then retreated with a smile at their fulsome praise.

  Carlo tipped a snifter of spirits into his espresso coffee. ‘A sad loss.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And, Taylor,’ Carlo offered in a teasing drawl as he indicated Dante. ‘You like this man?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  Soft laughter accompanied his gleaming gaze. ‘Honesty. How refreshingly different.’

  ‘Different from?’ Taylor posed, and Carlo’s eyes gleamed with humour.

  ‘The women who usually grace Dante’
s arm.’

  Wry humour lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘There are, of course, so many.’

  ‘Sycophants, all of them.’ It was a cynical concurrence, but accompanied with underlying humour.

  ‘Spoken from experience, I gather?’

  His laughter sounded genuine. ‘We should become better acquainted. Have dinner with me tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Carlo.’ One word spoken in sibilant caution by Dante was sufficient to bring speculative recognition in response. ‘Taylor is with me.’ The words were quietly issued, but held unmistakable ownership.

  Taylor shot Dante a look which promised retribution, given the first possible moment, only to meet his deliberately bland features. Although his eyes were dark, unrepentant…fathomless.

  He resonated power in its utmost form. Highly potent, relentless. A man slow to anger…but lethal in its execution.

  Yet she held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated, and the air between them sizzled with electric tension, diminishing everything around them into a state of non-existence.

  ‘So,’ Carlo intoned quietly. ‘The marriage rumour is true.’

  Dante’s eyes remained locked with her own. ‘It is a consideration.’ He waited a beat. ‘But not yet official, comprendere?’

  Taylor felt incapable of movement, unaware of the deep thudding of her pulse at the base of her throat or the dark green flecks surging to prominence in her eyes.

  Dante evidenced both, and lifted his hand for the bill, settled it, then stood. ‘If you’ll excuse us?’

  ‘Of course.’ Carlo’s response was cool, courteous as he rose from the table. ‘It’s becoming late.’

  It was impossible to leave easily, for both Bruno and Mariangela descended, whereupon a flood of voluble Italian ensued, followed by the customary ‘goodnight’.

  ‘How dare you?’ Taylor demanded in a low voice as they trod the paved path towards Dante’s four-wheel-drive.

  ‘To what, precisely, do you refer?’

  She paused and turned to face him. ‘Acting like a proprietorial ass.’

  She could tell little from his expression in the darkness. ‘I don’t recall ever being referred to in quite that manner…’

  ‘There’s always a first time!’

  ‘Cara—’

  ‘I’m not your dear anything.’

  ‘Do you particularly want to fight?’

  She lifted her head, anger emanating from her body in waves. ‘From the beginning, you’ve set the pace, enforcing what happens, when and where.’ Her eyes blazed searing heat. She was so wound up, it was affecting her breathing. ‘Worse, you’re stalling on issuing a retraction to that ridiculous media inference to marriage.’

  ‘To which you object.’

  Taylor looked at him in stark disbelief. ‘How can you even contemplate such a thing?’

  ‘Easily.’

  Her lips parted to rail at him, and didn’t succeed in uttering a further word, for the simple reason Dante slid one hand to anchor her nape and used an arm to pull her in as his mouth covered hers in a deep, almost dark kiss that took her anger and tamed it into willing submission.

  There was nothing else but him, and his power to make her feel as if the earth had suddenly tilted on its axis, and she simply wound her arms around his neck…and held on. Lost in passion so intense it was almost a conflagration.

  His hand slid down her back, cupped her bottom and held her fast against the hard length of his arousal.

  The hand that captured her nape slid to her ribcage, then moved to her breast, shaping the rounded contour with the palm of his hand…and she wasn’t aware of the faint, guttural sound that became trapped in her throat, or the way she met the thrust of his tongue, the faint edge of his teeth against the swollen softness of her lower lip.

  Slowly he eased the pressure, soothing with tactile gentleness as his hands skimmed her back, caging her so she rested boneless against the strength of his body.

  For what seemed an age she attempted to gather together her shattered emotions, her hands unsteady as she withdrew them slowly from his neck, and she was conscious of her breath hitching irregularly as she sought to pull away from him.

  His hold was light as he rested his forehead against her own, and his breath was warm against her face.

  ‘Are you so sure marriage between us won’t work?’ Dante queried quietly.

  Sure? She was no longer sure of anything! Least of which the man who had all but branded her his own.

  ‘It’s an insane suggestion,’ Taylor managed shakily. She lifted a hand and ran trembling fingers through the length of her hair.

  He reached for her hand, felt the thudding pulse at her wrist and soothed the rapid beat with his thumb. ‘You doubt I’d be an attentive husband?’

  Oh, God. The mere thought of him as a lover sent her imagination soaring off the Richter scale!

  For heaven’s sake, get a grip.

  ‘Why pursue the hypothetical?’ she managed heatedly. ‘There isn’t going to be a marriage!’

  ‘Not even for Ben’s sake?’

  Taylor closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘That’s coercion.’

  ‘I prefer…persuasion.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want a woman to bear my name, have children with me, share a lifetime.’

  The thought tore her apart.

  Marriage would formalise their commitment to Ben…but how was it possible to contemplate marriage without love, Taylor agonised silently, wanting the impossible, but too afraid to reach for it?

  ‘And it may as well be me?’

  ‘Why not you?’

  ‘Because I won’t be part of a convenient solution!’

  The stars were out in an indigo sky, and there was sufficient illumination to witness his hard-boned facial features, if not to determine his precise expression.

  ‘I don’t believe convenient or solution were mentioned.’

  It was too much. He was too much.

  ‘I’d like to go home,’ she managed evenly…difficult, when she felt as if her life was spinning out of control.

  Except home wasn’t an option. She didn’t even have a home, she reflected wretchedly…aware her apartment didn’t really count any more.

  A muted beep sounded as Dante used the remote control to unlock the four-wheel-drive, and she reached for the door clasp an instant before he did, then she pulled open the door and slid into the front seat.

  Seconds later he moved behind the wheel, ignited the engine, turned the vehicle and sent it in the direction of the villa.

  He didn’t attempt to offer anything by way of conversation, and neither did she during the drive.

  Consequently it was a relief when they arrived at the vineyard and Dante garaged the four-wheel-drive.

  ‘Thank you for a pleasant evening,’ Taylor said in a stiff voice as she moved towards the internal door leading indirectly to the main living quarters.

  He fell into step at her side. ‘So polite,’ he taunted quietly, resting a hand at the back of her waist and keeping it there until they reached the main lobby.

  She would have ascended the staircase without a further word, except firm hands took hold of her shoulders and turned her towards him.

  For a moment she resembled a startled doe, all eyes and on the defensive.

  Dante lowered his head, touched his lips to the tip of her nose and sought the edge of her mouth in a fleeting kiss before releasing her.

  Taylor stood still, unable to move for a few long seconds, then she turned and almost ran up the stairs without a backward glance.

  It was a relief to enter her suite, and she carefully closed the door, conscious of her rapid breathing…something she consciously stilled before discarding her clothes and pulling on nightwear. Seconds later she crossed into the en suite, removed her make-up and completed her nightly routine before slipping into Ben’s room to check on him.

  The small figure didn’t stir, and she stood looking at his features, peac
eful in sleep, before retreating to her room, aware any form of rest would be impossible, given her conflicting state of mind.

  If only…

  Taylor closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again.

  There was no point in listing the if onlys, for it served no purpose.

  The only constant was the situation in which she found herself…the reality of being charged with Ben’s care and sharing that care with a very disturbing man who wanted more than she was prepared to give.

  Worse, he had an agenda…a very clear-cut strategy that neatly tied up several loose ends, providing stability and permanence, legally and emotionally, for the future heir of the d’Alessandri corporation.

  Worse, Dante seemed bent on proving a legal union between them wouldn’t prove a hardship, both in and out of the marriage bed.

  An opportunity most women would jubilantly seize with both hands…for what Dante’s wealth would provide, the residences in various countries, gifts, social status. Plus the bonus of a skilled and generous lover in their bed.

  Many women married for less.

  So why not her?

  Marriage as commitment. But not necessarily coupled with love, Taylor agonised silently.

  Except not everyone got everything they wanted in life.

  What Dante offered…was it enough to sacrifice her independence?

  To take a chance and be content as Dante’s wife? Cement Ben’s future, and add a child or two of their own?

  At the end of the day it all came down to trust.

  ‘Buon giorno, Taylor. Ben, how are you?’ Lena greeted as they entered the kitchen together. ‘It is a beautiful morning, and your Nonna is having coffee on the terrace. You go there, too, and I will bring breakfast soon.’

  There was warmth in the sun, with the promise of heat as the morning grew, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was enticing.

  Graziella held out her arms as she sighted them, and Taylor smiled as Ben almost ran to be enfolded close, then Graziella lifted her head and gestured towards a nearby chair.

  ‘Come. Sit with me. It is a beautiful view, is it not?’

  ‘Stunning,’ Taylor agreed as she took a seat. And it was all of that, with a clear blue sky as far as the eye could see, gently rolling land, green fields, shrubbery, the uniformity of row upon row of vines, and in the distance the tall, slender stands of cypress.