The Italian's Ruthless Marriage Command (HQR Presents)

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Yes,’ she managed.

  The thought of the physical and emotional trauma she must have suffered almost undid him. ‘Why didn’t I hear about it?’

  She held his gaze, and she didn’t look away. ‘Leon was overseas,’ she said quietly. ‘And I swore Casey to secrecy.’ She held his gaze, and pre-empted the question she was certain he’d ask. ‘And the answer is no. I wasn’t raped.’

  But close enough, Dante deduced, to leave emotional scars and a distrust of allowing a man to get too close.

  He eased his body upright and closed the distance between them. Then he captured her chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted it so she had to look at him.

  ‘You misjudge me if you think it makes any difference.’ He soothed a path over her lower lip with his thumb.

  Taylor wasn’t capable of saying a word, nor was she conscious of the way her mouth trembled beneath his touch.

  ‘I need some time,’ she managed at last, and her eyes widened as he shook his head.

  ‘Time isn’t going to change anything,’ Dante offered quietly, and caught the faint shadow of concern deepen the green flecks in her eyes.

  ‘But why here?’

  ‘Graziella. We owe it to her, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Dante—’

  ‘Cara, the only word I’ll accept is yes.’ He grazed her lips with his own. ‘Say it.’

  She did, with a degree of helpless fatalism.

  There was nothing simple about a private wedding ceremony, Taylor soon learned, as Dante put the wheels in motion to expedite the completion and filing of the necessary paperwork required to gain their marriage licence.

  Telling Ben resulted in an excited and positive response, which did much to ease Taylor’s mind.

  While Dante dealt quietly, but firmly, with Graziella, who insisted the wedding be held in a favoured church in Florence…and who conceded a private civil ceremony held at the vineyard was more appropriate given the recent tragic loss of two beloved family members.

  The few guests would be limited to immediate family and the staff who worked at the vineyard, and Bruno and Mariangela would undertake the catering.

  There was, however, a day spent in Florence with Graziella, searching for the perfect outfit Taylor should wear on the day.

  Ivory silk, cunningly cut to skim her slender curves before falling gracefully to her ankles, a lovely scooped neckline and sleeveless, it came with a delicate ivory lace bolero with slim-fitting full-length sleeves.

  Perfect, Taylor declared, adding ivory satin stiletto pumps to complete the outfit…and, to appease Graziella, a gorgeous, understated headpiece with a fingertip veil edged in matching ivory lace.

  ‘You will wear my pearls,’ Graziella stated. ‘They’ll add the final touch.’

  A visit to the hallowed sanctum of a prominent jeweller featured on their to-do list, who, on advance instructions from Dante, carefully examined Taylor’s hand, then he measured her ring finger and made several notations before assuring the rings, plural, would be despatched to Signor d’Alessandri in person.

  Dante, who, after depositing Graziella and Taylor in one of the most fashionable areas in the city, took Ben to visit a museum, then met with them at a prearranged restaurant for dinner.

  He arrived first with Ben, and moved forward to greet them as they entered the foyer, brushing his lips to Taylor’s cheek, then Graziella’s, and viewed the many designer-emblazoned packages of varying sizes which both women carried in both hands.

  He consigned the packages into the maître d’s care, who in turn summoned a waiter to take them to their table.

  ‘You’ve had a successful day?’

  ‘Sì,’ Graziella agreed with enthusiasm. ‘Although you will need to tell Taylor, as a d’Alessandri she must allow her husband to pay for her clothes, and anything else she chooses to purchase.’

  Dante offered Taylor a quizzical look, which she returned in kind.

  ‘I have my own money.’ It was a quiet, but firm averral, and one which she intended to enforce, despite Dante handing her a card attached to his own account and instructing her to use it.

  The wine steward presented a bottle of champagne, skilfully released the cork, then ceremoniously filled their flutes, and poured lemonade for Ben.

  Menus were presented, their orders placed, and the food was divine. The conversation didn’t lag, although it became apparent as the evening progressed that Graziella was beginning to visibly tire.

  It was almost eleven when they delivered Graziella to her apartment, taking coffee she insisted on serving them before leaving for the drive back to the vineyard.

  Dante slid a CD into the console player as they headed south from the city, and Taylor leant back against the head-rest, closed her eyes and let the music soothe her senses. Ben sat slumped in sleep in his booster seat.

  In less than forty-eight hours she’d become Taylor d’Alessandri, Dante’s wife. Within a week of the marriage, together with Ben, they’d return to Sydney and life would revert to normal.

  A faint sigh whispered from her lips as she conjugated normal.

  She must have dozed, for she became conscious the four-wheel-drive was stationary outside the main entrance to the villa and Dante was no longer at the wheel. When she checked the back seat, Ben was no longer there.

  Taylor released the door ready to alight as he emerged from the lobby, and he took in her shoeless feet and swept her into his arms.

  ‘Hey, I can walk,’ she protested as he carried her indoors and set the alarm as he locked up. Her collection of shopping bags was located atop a long credenza, and she smiled with remembered pleasure as Dante moved to the stairs and began to ascend them.

  ‘Put me down.’

  ‘Soon.’

  The solid beat of his heart against her ribs ratcheted up her breathing, and the faint aroma of his cologne teased her senses, bringing them into pulsating life.

  She had the sudden urge to press her lips to the curve of his neck, nip a little, then soothe the mark with her tongue.

  Except if she did it would be tantamount to an invitation, and she swayed a little as he set her down onto her feet outside the door to Ben’s room.

  A quick look at the childish form curled beneath the bedclothes was sufficient to see all was well, and she preceded Dante into the hallway to hover outside her suite.

  She opened her mouth to wish him ‘goodnight’, only to have the word locked in her throat as he gathered her in and took possession of her mouth in a kiss that rocked her soul.

  There was an awareness of being caught up in a whirlpool, and she held on, giving herself over to the spellbinding sensuality of his touch.

  Then he eased back, gentling the pressure of his mouth, until it became a light brush of lips on her own.

  At last he lifted his head, and his eyes were dark, so dark they were almost black.

  ‘Invite me in, or tell me to leave.’

  She wanted him to ease the ache vibrating deep inside, and she’d have given anything to open the door and pull him inside. To slip the buttons free on his shirt, unbuckle the belt at his waist and dispense with her own clothing in the need to feel the heat, the passion of fulfilment only he could give her.

  Her eyes seared his, dark and incredibly poignant. She felt her lips tremble, yet no words emerged past the sudden lump that had risen in her throat.

  For a moment something flared in the depths of his eyes, then it was gone, and he gently eased her to arm’s length, leant in and brushed his mouth to her forehead.

  Then he turned and traversed the wide hallway to his suite on the opposite side of the villa.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE day of the wedding began much as the days before it, with breakfast eaten out on the terrace with Ben and Graziella, whom Dante had collected from Florence the previous evening.

  A stunning gazebo stood on the manicured lawn adjacent the villa itself, and a florist was due any time soon with suitable floral decorations.
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  It had become impossible to prevent Graziella putting a romantic spin on the day. Especially when Dante’s mother had to know the marriage wasn’t a love match.

  At least, not in the accepted sense, Taylor reflected as she sought to still the nerves fluttering inside her stomach.

  The ceremony was timed for six, followed by drinks, dinner, after which the newly married couple would spend the weekend in a luxury hotel in Florence, while Graziella remained at the villa to care for Ben.

  As the day progressed, so did the volume of activity both indoors and outdoors, as carpet was unrolled to form a path to the flower-festooned gazebo. Chairs were set out on the grass, and redolent aromas drifted from the vicinity of the kitchen as Mariangela and Bruno prepared food, while staff set up the terrace for the reception.

  Fortunately the events leading up to the ceremony itself left Taylor little time to think…and when she did, she forced herself to rationalise marrying Dante was a sensible option.

  However, no amount of logic helped soothe the nervous tension escalating throughout her body.

  By the time she retreated to her suite to prepare for the ceremony, she was a mess. A shower helped, and she stood beneath the hot-water spray much longer than necessary before emerging to towel herself dry, then begin to dress.

  Twice she needed to wipe her mouth clean of lipstick and begin again, and, although the dress slipped on without a hitch, her fingers shook so much she had to reposition and pin her headpiece more than once.

  Then Ben was there, ready to escort her downstairs, and she cast him a warm smile.

  ‘You look like a princess.’

  His compliment held a degree of awe, and she hugged him close. ‘And you must be the handsome prince.’ She tucked his hand in hers.

  ‘Dante gave me the rings,’ Ben revealed solemnly. ‘They’re in my pocket.’

  ‘In that case, we should get on with the wedding.’

  Together they descended the staircase to the foyer, where Graziella waited for them.

  ‘You’re quite breathtakingly lovely, my dear,’ Graziella complimented graciously, and, leaning forward, she clasped Taylor’s hands. ‘I know you’ll be very happy.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Did Graziella have any idea how much it cost to conquer her nerves and walk the carpeted path to where Dante stood at the flower-festooned gazebo?

  To smile and pretend?

  She was barely conscious of the soft background music emitting from hidden speakers as Graziella and Ben flanked her, setting a slow pace.

  There were guests seated on either side of the carpet, but she saw only the stunningly attractive man who turned to watch her progress.

  On some level she recognised the strength apparent beneath the elegance, the aura of power evident in his hard-boned facial features.

  His generous mouth curved into a warm smile as she drew close, and her own parted a little as he took hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  ‘Grazie.’

  She couldn’t stop the way her mouth trembled as he lightly brushed his thumb across the throbbing veins at her wrist.

  He didn’t release her hand, merely threaded his fingers through her own as they turned towards the celebrant.

  It was a simple ceremony, with vows offered and acceded to, the exchange of rings, followed by the announcement Dante and Taylor were now man and wife.

  He surprised her by lifting her left hand and pressing his lips to her wedding ring, then amid voiced ‘congratulations’ he drew her close and kissed her.

  A little too thoroughly for her comfort, and colour pinked her cheeks as he released his hold.

  Together they walked the carpet, pausing to accept good wishes, then the guests followed them onto the terrace, where champagne flowed and good wishes were offered in abundance.

  Taylor smiled as Dante hoisted Ben onto his shoulders, and held him there for a while before letting him slide down to play with some of the children present, young sons and daughters of staff who worked the vineyard.

  There was a sense of unreality as she glanced at the wide diamond-encrusted band circling the appropriate finger of her left hand. It was, without doubt, magnificent.

  Dante never moved far from her side, while Graziella moved graciously among the guests and kept an eye on the children.

  Then it was time to be seated, as Mariangela and Bruno served the food…gnocchi in a delicate cream and mushroom sauce, followed by chicken portions roasted in white wine with rosemary, accompanied by a variety of sautéed vegetables. There was a tangy lemon sorbet, a superb tiramisu…and a beautifully decorated wedding cake.

  Champagne and wine flowed, and afterwards the tables were cleared to one side, CDs were played on an electronic system and there was dancing.

  The overhead lights dimmed a little, and Taylor was conscious of the sensual thrall as Dante drew her close in against him.

  All too soon it was time to bid their guests ‘goodnight’ and settle a weary Ben into bed with a kiss and the ritual ‘love you, sleep tight’.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Taylor said quietly as Dante opened the door to her suite and followed her in.

  Her bag was packed, awaiting only the inclusion of a few last-minute items, and the clothes she’d selected to wear to the hotel rested on a hanger within easy reach.

  ‘Do you need any help?’

  ‘I can manage,’ she assured quickly on a slightly strangled note as she retrieved the hanger and moved into the en suite.

  The headdress came first, followed by the lace bolero, Graziella’s pearls, then she released the zip fastener and slipped out of her wedding dress.

  Within minutes she donned the classic-styled evening trouser suit in deep emerald-green, slid her feet into elegant stilettos, retouched her lipstick, then she emerged into the bedroom and slipped the final few things into her bag.

  ‘Ready?’

  Taylor flicked him a nervous glance, and forced herself to smile. ‘Yes.’ Blinked, as he cupped her cheek for a brief instant before he collected her bag and indicated she precede him from the suite.

  The drive into the city seemed alternately long, yet too short…a contradiction in terms, if ever there was one, and her nervous tension increased measurably as Dante slid the four-wheel-drive into the forecourt of their hotel.

  Situated in a quiet enclave, it held Florentine charm with a Tuscan-style loggia, and even at this late hour they were greeted by the concierge, their bags retrieved and the four-wheel-drive dispensed for valet parking.

  Check-in was a mere formality, and they were directed to a beautifully presented luxury suite, softly lit in welcome.

  Then the door slid shut with a refined click…and they were alone.

  She was conscious of Dante’s appraisal as he shrugged off his jacket, then he removed his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

  ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?’

  Sure, and comfortable was a state she’d achieve any time soon?

  Did she know she resembled a startled doe caught in a vehicle’s headlights, momentarily powerless to move?

  Dante held her gaze, and glimpsed the sudden stillness in her stance, the slight, almost imperceptible lift of her chin as she watched him cross to her side. Sensed the slight hitch in her breathing as he reached for the pins holding her hair in its smooth twist, dealt with them all, then threaded his fingers through the silky length and tucked a wayward swathe behind her ear.

  ‘Why don’t you change, put on a robe, and we’ll relax for a while?’

  It was after midnight, and all she wanted to do was shed her clothes, crawl beneath the bedcovers…and sleep. However, there was only one bed…granted, it was king-sized, but the thought of sharing it with him sent her into a state of emotional chaos.

  So…suck it up, a tiny voice taunted. You agreed to this marriage and all it involves. Tonight…tomorrow. Hell, next week…what’s the difference?

  Maybe a hot shower might help soothe her nerves a
little, and she crossed to her bag, removed a sleep T-shirt and cotton sleep trousers, collected toiletries and moved into the en suite.

  Bliss, absolute bliss, Taylor conceded as she stepped beneath the spray of water. Hot, she needed it hot, and she adjusted the dial and let the water cascade down her back.

  Rose-scented soap emitted a delicate perfume, and she closed her eyes as she smoothed it over her shoulders, then moved to her nape.

  A slight sound close by had her eyes flying open, only to widen with shocked surprise as Dante stepped into the shower cubicle.

  ‘You can’t—’ Her voice faltered as he calmly took the soap from her hand and stepped behind her. Seconds later soap skimmed her shoulders and moved steadily down her back. Do this, she finished silently.

  Except it appeared he had every intention of remaining, and she arched forward as he shaped her bottom, lingered there, then he gently turned her round to face him.

  She was tall, even in bare feet, but he stood a head above her, and she tilted her chin a little to meet his faintly hooded gaze. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Was that her voice? It sounded impossibly husky, even faintly choking.

  ‘Bathing you.’

  ‘I’m quite capable,’ she protested, and sought to take the soap from him, only to fail miserably.

  ‘I’m not done yet.’

  ‘Please—’ The plea emerged as a strangled gasp as he stroked soap over one breast, shaped it…then rendered a similar treatment to its twin, before moving to her waist, her stomach.

  ‘Stop right there,’ she managed as he reached the soft hair curling at the apex of her thighs, and she gave a compulsive jerk as he moved low, palming the soap as he sought the sensitive clitoris with unerring accuracy.

  Taylor bucked as sensation arrowed from deep within, radiating through her body, and an unbidden cry emerged from her lips as he intensified his touch.

  Anything further she might have uttered was lost as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss that tore the breath from her throat and sensation spiralled beyond her control in a shattering climax so intense her body shook with it.