Wife By Force(2)

"Back for good?" he murmured.

"I've been here for more than three months. This isn't a holiday." She   needed some space. She wasn't running away, she only needed to find her   composure. Setting the empty champagne glass on the terrace ledge, she   moved past him, stepping down the marble steps onto the gravel of the   garden path.

Cravenly, she hoped and prayed he would stay behind.

He didn't.

The crunch of his shoes on the gravel told her he was following.

Walking with a measured pace, she tried to impose a tight ball of   discipline on herself. But her brain buzzed with scattered thoughts and   her emotions bubbled in her heart with a frantic beat. Stopping at the   fountain, she dipped her hand in, hoping it would cool her down.         

     



 

"Your father is happy you are back."

He wanted to make small talk. Chat. Overlook all the harsh words lying   between them. Bitter antagonism flashed through her, pulsing. "I know,"   she managed through gritted teeth.

"He missed you during these years."

Her head came up. "Do I detect criticism in your tone?"

"I merely made an observation."

"Keep your observations to yourself." The snap of her words spat into the night.

"Ah." The burn of his dark stare singed her face. Watching her.   Analyzing. Stupidly, she'd let him see into her, note her resentment.

But only for a moment.

"I didn't mean to be so sharp." That was the best she could do as far as   an apology. He didn't deserve more. She forced herself to give him a   steely smile.

The moonlight slanted over his face, highlighting the strong jut of his   nose, the stark line of his jaw. He was not a pretty man. He hadn't  been  a pretty child either. At the time, she hadn't cared. What were  mere  looks to a child's pure heart? Yet that fateful night many years  ago,  she'd seen something cruel and brutal, and the impact had never  left  her. His manner tonight reinforced what she'd realized in that  last  confrontation between them.

He was cold to the core.

What did it really matter, though? He was not a part of her new life and   never would be. He'd made that decision for both of them and she   heartily agreed with it. Now. "I'm a bit tired. It meant nothing."

"Nothing? I would say it's at least interesting." He put his hands in   his pockets and her gaze tracked the movement, noting how the linen of   his pants stretched across narrow hips and strong thighs.

"Not interesting at all." She moved around the fountain.

He followed. "I detected a bit of irritation in your voice."

"Not true-"

"Maybe even a bit of dislike."

Lara managed a laugh. "I don't know you. How could I dislike you?"

"We grew up together."

"That was a long time ago." Memories flooded her heart in a poignant wash. "I've been gone for twelve years."

"True." He stopped, inches from her side. "This is why I find it interesting you are irritated. I would say even angry. At me."

His distinctive smell reached her for a second time, spice mixed with man.

He was too near, too close.

Legs trembling, she sat on the fountain ledge. This couldn't be. She   couldn't let this man, of all men, cause a physical reaction in her. As   the years had passed, she became accustomed to being immune to men.   Immune from desire or need or want.

Her dead husband had made sure of that, hadn't he?

Brushing the thought aside, she stared at her clenched hands. Why was   this old attraction for this stranger from her past still alive? This   was awful, horrible. Not only did it worry her, yes, it made her angry.   "I'm not angry. With you or anyone."

The night shadows played around them. The trees whispered above, the   fountain sparkled and spat, a roosting pigeon warbled. Why didn't he go   away? The man appeared completely content to let the silence continue.   He stood, a tall silhouette upon the night sky, his arms now crossed on   his chest.

"Carlotta appears happy." Maybe mindless chatter was her best defense against everything he stirred inside her.

"My sister will be happy with Sandro. She listened to my advice."

"What?" she bristled. "You chose your sister's husband? And she agreed?"

A dark brow arched. "That's not quite what I said."

"But close."

"I knew Sandro through business. I liked what I saw and checked him out-"

"You had him investigated?" Disbelief filled her voice.

"Si." He gave her a calm look. "We are talking about my sister's happiness."

"And once he checked out, you put them together."

"I introduced them. That is all."

"Let me guess." Lara heard the edge in her words, yet couldn't help it   as they splattered from her mouth. "You chose every one of your sisters'   husbands."

"I met them through business, true, but-"

"Let me guess one more time." Antagonism burned in her throat. "They are all very successful in business or have family wealth."

"Naturalmente." He slid his hands into his pockets again.

"Is that one of your rules?" she shot back. "You would only allow your   sisters to marry successful and rich men? Only allow them to marry the   right sort of man?"         

     



 

"Right sort of man?" His words came out slowly as if he couldn't understand them. "Rules?"

"Or perhaps I should say commandments."

"I do not follow-"

"God forbid if one of them fell in love with a simple teacher." The   harshness of her accusation cut through the soft night air. "With no   aristocratic heritage of a thousand years."

"As you did?" His tone iced with sudden derision.

"It wasn't your business then, and it isn't now." The old familiar rage   filled her; still she managed to push away the memory of his scathing   words before she reached up and hit him. The message he'd left for her   to find when she got back from her honeymoon had never been forgotten,   and it still made her blood roar. She'd been so close to admitting her   mistake, but that one message had changed her mind. "We aren't talking   about my decisions, though. We're talking about your sisters."

His hands fisted in his pockets. "My duty is to make sure my sisters are   well taken care of. It is important they marry men of honor and   integrity who can provide for them."

"Honor and integrity only reside in men with money?" she scoffed.

"That is not what-"

"Your sisters aren't capable of providing for themselves?"

"They will be busy with the children." He looked at her as if he were talking to an imbecile.

The sudden ache in her heart at the word children competed with the fury   his words caused her. She'd yearned for years, knowing there was no   hope for children. She clamped down on the old pain and instead focused   on the clear condescension in his voice. No one, certainly not this  man,  would ever again be allowed to talk to her like she was stupid.  Her  emotions spilled over into her mouth and she lost control of her  tongue  completely. "In your world everyone is placed in the box you've  created  for them and you expect them to do as you say."

He stilled. "You appear to have made many conclusions about me. In such a   short time, and especially since, as you say, we no longer know each   other."

"Conclusions are easy. When they stare you right in the face."

"And your conclusion about me … is?"

"You've turned into an arrogant ass."

The cool air seemed to heat between them. She felt him, felt his   coolness turn to fire. The words had spat from her before she could stop   them. A nearly uncontrollable compulsion ran through her to take a   stick and poke him until he turned into a human. Into the boy she   remembered. Which was crazy. That boy had been a figment of her   imagination. She could poke for a lifetime and find only ice.

"A fascinating conclusion." His voice held no emotion, only a dry edge. "How quickly you have sized me up."

She was stupid to bait this man. If she kept going at him, it might   appear she still cared. Better to offer another olive branch and make a   wise retreat before she let any more of her inner turmoil spill out for   his inspection. "That was uncalled for."

"Yet it is good to know where I stand."

A grim silence settled between them.

She made a move to rise, to escape, but he had moved too close. For some   reason, she couldn't take the chance of actually touching him. Not  even  a whisper of a touch.

She wiggled back onto the hard stone.

The silence continued. The man made no attempt to cut into it with light chatter or pleasant commentary.