Wife By Force(29)

She allowed herself a glance across the cabin.

Her stomach fluttered, then fell somewhere around her feet.

Her new husband still stared at his laptop as if his next decision would   save the world or perhaps the universe. For hours, he'd read and typed   and read. And ignored her. On their honeymoon.

Exactly like Gerry.

He might lust for her, yet just like Gerry, to him she essentially was a mere tool.

An ugly wash of pain slapped her inside. This was so familiar. So   horrible. How could she possibly think she had any chance of seducing   this man into missing the potent fact she didn't know what she was doing   sexually? How could she even think of approaching this man when he   plainly saw her as nothing more than a womb he'd use to implant his   seed?

Anger bloomed inside her tinged with an ache of hurt.

Dammit. She would not let him hurt her. Never again.

"I suppose I will have to search for the nearest bookstore when we   arrive in Barbados." Her tone was dry and cool. She was proud of   herself-not a hint of the burning bitterness churning inside her slipped   through.

Dante's fingers stilled on the laptop as he turned and stared at her.

What was it about him that drew her attention? He could not even be   classified as good-looking. His nose was too prominent and his brow too   dark and heavy over his eyes. His appearance was all command, all   masculinity. No touch of softness or gentleness edged his hard jaw or   broad forehead. Only the slash of his mouth gave a hint of the volcano   of passion she'd glimpsed so briefly in his gaze hours ago and   experienced so shockingly weeks ago. His mouth's current tightness   eclipsed any thought of kissing or touching.

"Why do you need a bookstore?" His tone was composed showing he clearly couldn't care less what she did.

"I'll have to entertain myself for the majority of our honeymoon."

One dark brow arched as he leaned back into the leather chair. "You have come to this conclusion for what reason?"

"I understand the way you think."

"Ah," he murmured. "You do?"

"Yes." She smoothed her hand down the pink cashmere, wiping away the   slight film of sweat on her palms. "Marriage was only one of the many   items on your to-do list today. You've accomplished the goal and now you   are focused on other goals. More important goals."

"Goals more important than marriage?" He pushed the laptop away and gazed at her with intensity.

"In your mind, business goals will always be what are most important."   She stared at him, a smile pinned on her face. "I'm completely aware I   am merely an acquisition, a cog in the wheel of your life."

"An acquisition. A cog." His jaw tightened. "And you willingly accept this?"         

     



 

"Yes, I want as little of your attention as possible."

"That was not my impression when we were in the garden together mere weeks ago."

She would not blush. "You're mistaken."

His hand flexed and then relaxed against the leather. "I am sorry I will   have to disrupt your plans to spend this honeymoon catching up on your   reading, bella. However, I will need to have your full attention for  the  next couple of weeks."

A shot of pure lust pulsed through her body. Fear clanged through her   straight after. She shifted her legs and kept her expression blank. "I   can't think why. You'll probably be way too busy with your business."

"True, my business is vitally important to me. It feeds my family,   maintains my estates. It also gives me the opportunity to help friends   when needed," he said, his tone ironic.

She hissed out a shot of hot breath and glared at him. "I don't need a   reminder of how I ended up here and who holds complete power in this   relationship."

"Complete power. Interesting." His hand clenched. Then released. "If I   have not given you the attention you desire during these last couple of   hours, it is for a reason. I was trying to ensure that when we arrive  in  Barbados, I will be free from business concerns for the foreseeable   future."

"You don't need to worry about me. I don't want anything from you."

"Except my money."

"Yes. Only that." A sudden rush of tears surprised her and her entire   focus became the will to push them back. He would not see her cry.

She glanced away.

Silence hung between them.

Finally, he sighed across the aisle. "Lara, I propose a ceasefire."

She couldn't speak, not yet. The tears clogged in her throat.

"I know this marriage did not start the way you would have wished."

A choked laugh escaped her.

"I suggest we set that aside, though, and enjoy these two weeks." He   paused as if unsure of what to say. Which was impossible. This was Dante   Casartelli after all.

His voice was husky around the edges when he spoke again. "We need to start building a better relationship."

Another pause, this one longer, heavier.

"I'll think about it." Standing abruptly, she didn't meet his stare, but   sensed it on her face. Thankfully, none of the tears swimming in her   eyes had managed to drip down her cheeks. "I need to use the bathroom."

"As I said before," he gestured to the rear of the plane, "there is a bedroom and bath through the door."

"I know." She turned and hurried toward the one area of the plane she   hadn't wanted to see or be in or contemplate going near. Still, she had   to find somewhere, away from him, to find some equilibrium.

She opened the steel-lined door and stepped in.

The bedroom was as elaborate as the rest of the interior. The bed was   covered with a crimson velvet coverlet embroidered with a gold lattice   design. Cream pillows in various sizes and styles were piled at the   head. Scrolled mahogany side tables and an armoire filled the spacious   room. She found it impossible to believe she was flying thirty thousand   feet above the sea. This felt more like she was ensconced in a royal   palace.

With the king outside the bedroom more interested in his work than in her.

For the first hour on the plane, she'd been on pins and needles,   thinking perhaps he'd want to go straight to bed. She'd been a scared   little rabbit, huddling in her chair, refusing his offer to go get   comfortable in the back, to lie down.

He'd given her one cursory glance when she'd said no and then dived into his work.

For a few hours, she'd dozed in her seat, dozed with the knowledge   drumming in her-he couldn't be bothered with using his honeymoon time   and his private plane to take his wife to bed.

Another sliver of pain lanced through her.

She bolted to the bathroom. Once more, complete elegance. Gold fittings   and swirling cream marble. The shower could easily fit two.

If the king was willing.

"Stop it."

I will need to have your full attention for the next couple of weeks.

A shiver of panicked anticipation ran down her spine.

She looked up and stared at herself in the gigantic, circular mirror.   Her face was slightly flushed, her eyes free of tears, at last. But she   was an absolute basket case of clashing emotions. She hated the  feeling.  This reminded her of the awful days with Gerry, when his  obsessive need  to control, his bruising condescension, his driving  compulsion to  confine her, had achingly swallowed and destroyed every  piece of her  confidence.

Now her new husband created the same crazy emotional war inside of her.   Different emotions, yet the same ugly pull and tug of conflicting   desires.         

     



 

She didn't want these highs and lows. She didn't want to want Dante.

Damn him.

Zipping her purse open, she withdrew the small plastic case. After   signing the marriage contract, she'd been so angry, so filled with the   wish for some command over this ridiculous situation, she'd made an   immediate appointment with her doctor. She'd made no promises to give   him a child. Surprisingly, there'd been no stipulations in the agreement   regarding her producing an heir and a spare. Or for that matter, a   dozen bambinos for his kingship.

She wasn't breaking the contract and she wasn't breaking her word.

But the spirit of the contract? No. She would feel absolutely no guilt.   Her new husband would receive no compassion or forgiveness from her. He   was using her. Fine, she would use him. Her family was safe, her  school  had plenty of resources. In return, he would have use of her  body. For a  time.

And you'll have use of his.

Her hand tightened, the plastic edge of the case cutting into her skin.

If she played this right, if she held onto her confidence and pretended   she knew what she was doing-well, perhaps in this one area of their   relationship, she could find some pleasure. Because she had to admit,   she wanted Dante inside her. She wanted to know what it was like to make   love to this man more than any other. In some twisted, ugly way, it   seemed right he would be the one who finally took her virginity.