Wife By Force(3)

In desperation, she struggled to find a neutral subject. "I can't   believe all five of your sisters are married, or almost. It seems like   only a few years ago we were just kids."

"You married too." His voice matched his body language. Cool and composed. "Even after my advice against it."

"Was that advice?" Every thought of keeping things neutral fled. "I took it as a threat."

"Either way, you ignored it."

His reaction astounded her. Although he was putting on a good front, his   words were filled with fury. His tone was crisp, yet she heard it, the   burn beneath the words. All these years and he was still angry she   hadn't immediately fallen in line with his instructions. He had the gall   to be mad after a decade of silence between them because she hadn't  run  home to Italy when he demanded it. "Unlike the rest of your world, I   don't have to follow your commands."

"You've developed a sharp tongue."

"Which isn't to your liking, is it?"

"Sarcasm. Delightful."

His rejoinder ripped at the last remnant of her determination to stay distant. "Clearly, we don't like each other."         

     



 

"Another conclusion. You make them so quickly, I am impressed."

"You do sarcasm well yourself," she countered.

His black stare pinned her to the stone seat. "Tell me about your husband."

His change of subject shook her. Gerry was the last thing she wanted to   talk about. Especially with him. "What is this? Why should you care?"

"I care." The two words slipped from his mouth, dark and almost desperate.

A shiver of something, something astonishing or horrifying slid down her spine. Desperate? This man didn't do desperate.

He stepped back. Cleared his throat. "I am merely trying to have a conversation."

His voice had returned to calm, cool. Not an iota of anything that   spelled out emotion or feeling or caring. Her shiver stopped, turning   into a block of ice at the bottom of her gut. Obviously, she'd read his   tone all wrong. This man's idea of caring for people was ordering them   around. She, better than anyone, knew that.

However, he had given her one thing she wanted. He'd given her enough space to leave without touching him in any way.

"I'm not interested in conversation with you." With an abrupt jerk, she came to her feet.

"There it is again." His stare was sharp, assessing. "The anger. At me."

She couldn't take any more. She would admit this only to herself. He was   too much for her. Bloody hell, she didn't have to take anything from   this man. Ever again. "I'm going to return to the party."

"Un momento." His hand encircled her elbow and brought her to a halt right beside him.

Staring down at the broad male hand, a shot of pure heat zipped through her bloodstream, making her mouth turn dry. "Let me go."

"Not until I experience something I have been contemplating for quite some time."

Resentment surged at his high-handedness. The emotion gave her enough   courage to meet his calculating gaze. "I'm not interested in   experiencing anything with you."

"I am afraid we will have to disagree then." With a twist, she found herself in his embrace.

His overwhelming presence hit her with stark clarity. The warmth of his   body enwrapped her. The strength of his arms stilled her involuntary   struggle. "Are you crazy?"

"I might well be," he said.

And his mouth came down on hers.

This kiss was nothing like before. Nothing like her fevered memories.   Before, she'd searched desperately for a reaction from him, for some   slight response that would tell her he felt what she felt. But there'd   been nothing.

Now? Now was completely different.

His kiss didn't match what she knew him to be. Instead of controlled and   cool and in command, it was passionate and hot and-desperate.

The kiss splintered every one of her perceptions of him.

His arms tightened around her. A thick wall of heated muscle and searing   passion burned along her body. One hand grasped her hip, dispensing   with any finesse or kindness. No, this was a total taking, her hips   pressed so closely to him the imprint of his belt buckle pinched the   softness of her belly. And below …

She wrenched herself from him to take a gasping breath. "I want you to-"

His lips moved back over hers, taking advantage of her words to slip his   tongue deep into her mouth. He tasted of the intoxicating champagne   served at the party and something unique to him-some spice of wildness   mixed with pent-up frustration. Beyond this, a calling, not to her brain   but to her blood.

The kiss, the call, her response was too overwhelming to take in.

She let him sip and taste until her mind went misty and her body sagged   in his arms. She'd lived with this dream for so long, aching in her   memory. This kiss, his kiss pulled all the old strings of her heart   she'd been sure she cut long ago. So she did something very stupid.

She took one willing sip, one tiny nip of his mouth.

His big body stiffened in reaction. He raised his head to stare at her.   The black of his eyes blazed with a blinding light of...victory.

Victory.

She gulped. Gulped in a deep, deep breath of complete horror. With it   came some sense, some realization of how foolish she was being. "Wait."

He ignored her, dipping his head to reach for her mouth once more.

Which was exactly what she needed. Animosity immediately vibrated inside   her. Never being listened to, never being respected. Merely a chattel,   an object to be won and used. She pushed hard against his chest with   both hands, trying to disregard the lure of the heat spilling from him.   "Stop."

The inflection of her one word must have alerted him. He lifted his   head, a grimace on his face. Clearly, victory had turned into his   defeat. "Lara."         

     



 

Pushing out of his arms, she took a step away. "No more."

His hands fisted by his sides as if he were ready to grab her.

She took another step away.

The edge of his mouth quirked. "Do not worry, bella. I have control over myself. I will not pounce. For now."

The old nickname twisted inside her. "Don't call me bella. And don't pounce."

"Something you must remember about me-"

"I don't want to remember anything-"

"I do not follow directions well if I don't agree with them." The quirk   appeared once more on his mouth. "Actually, I don't follow them at  all."

"Listen to me, Dante Casartelli." She glared at him from several safe   feet back. "I want nothing to do with you. I'm not interested in you.   Leave me alone."

Meeting her glare with a bland look, he stood silent.

"Did you hear me?"

"Si," he murmured. "I heard you."

"Good." She turned and walked away without looking back.





Chapter 2





Dante's hand was steady as he poured the Hennessy cognac into a crystal glass.

Remarkable, since the blood in his veins beat hot against his skin and his body sizzled with leftover lust. Even hours later.

The color of the liquor brought back the memory of her eyes. Honey gold,   they dominated her face. The moment when she'd looked straight at him,   mere hours ago, would last in his mind for a long time. He'd   anticipated, realized there would be some impact when he saw her. Still,   the jolt had been harder and stronger than his expectations.

Lara had grown into her coltish legs, big eyes, pointed chin. Grown into   the woman he'd known she would be. Lush, lovely and sexy. The photos   and videos he'd been sent over the years by his security team had not   done her justice. Convincing her father to send her to England had been   easy once he'd promised his security would follow her. Little had he   understood how tied he'd become to the constant stream of images passing   across his computer.

Yet none of those pictures had captured the reality of Lara Derrick in the flesh.

The lust churned in his blood.

He sipped the cognac and calmly clamped down on his libido. It would not   do to let himself off his long-held leash. He'd waited this long; he   could wait a bit longer. The important thing was she was home at last   where she belonged. He'd forced himself to keep away these last few   months. Forced himself to give her some time before making his move and   causing any disruption in her decision to return.

He'd been correct to do so. Apparently, she'd settled in and planned to stay.

This isn't a holiday.

Which was all to the good. His maneuvering, his work behind the scenes   during the last months-it had placed her right where he wanted her.

Home.

Where she'd always belonged even though she'd denied it, and him, ten   years ago. However, he was known for his patience now, patience he'd   learned one hard step at a time. Impetuous actions led only to   disastrous results. The years had taught him well and he never allowed   himself to slip. Now he was legendary for quite the opposite of what   he'd once been.