Wife By Force(5)

But no. This was not the time to share with anyone his desires. He'd   learned, painfully, not to share much of anything about himself. It was   not time to share anything. With anyone. Not even Lara.

"Dante." His mother broke through his thoughts, her tone sharp and shrill. "I demand you listen to me."

"Demand?" His quiet word slipped into the air.

Her tone shifted. "Request, then."

He turned to stare at her.

His mother stared back at him with grim determination. "You are thirty-six."

"I don't know where you are going with this." Actually, he knew   precisely where she was going; he just had no interest in following. Yet   he knew enough about his mamma's ways to know he needed another  cognac.  Walking to the liquor stand, he picked out another crystal  glass.  "Would you like a nightcap?"

"No." An obstinate look crossed her face. "I want to talk about this with you."

"This being what?"

"You must feel relief that all your sisters are secure and happy."

"Certamente."

"This responsibility has been a huge burden for you. I know this."

"Mamma-"

"It has been eleven years since your papa died. You have carried these   obligations for all these years. The raising of your siblings. Running   the family company. You've done an admirable job." Giana's eyes filled   with tears again. "I'm very proud of you."

"I merely did what needed to be done." Irritated, he stifled the need to   walk out of the room. He hated this, this endless recitation of his   supposed good deeds. As if he'd had any choice when his father lay   dying. As if he'd ever once contemplated denying his father's last   request to take care of his siblings, to take care of his mother, to   take care of the family business.

His mother's gaze turned from tears to a snapping sparkle. "You constantly do this."

"What?"

"Try and dismiss what you've sacrificed."         

     



 

He sipped his drink and kept his face blank. "Mamma, let us talk about-"

"We are talking about exactly what I want to talk about."

He paced to the fireplace and planted himself.

"Dante."

"Si."

A heavy female sigh came from the chair. "I can see you are not in the mood to listen to me. Not yet."

"I listen to you, Mamma."

"You listen, but you don't understand."

What could a man say to this meaningless assertion? Nothing.

"You have that look on your face again. Stubborn boy."

He was not a boy. He hadn't been for many years. This was not something   he could give her, the wild emotional boy she'd loved years ago. That   boy wasn't in him any longer. "You are tired, Mamma. It is time for you   to go to bed."

"Don't dismiss my concern for you." Giana's eyes flashed.

"Your concern is misplaced. As I have told you many times before." His   tone was harsh, too harsh, he noted with exasperation. At himself. He   rarely lost even an edge of his temper, yet it had been a long day. A   day filled with lust and want and emotions he'd found hard to push back   on. But his mother also irritated him. She had not chosen her timing   well.

"How you talk to me," she said with annoyance.

"Mamma." He restrained his growing exasperation with an effort he found   surprising. However, he needed to focus on what was best for the   situation at hand. It would not do to have his mother upset at this   important time. "Let us focus on Carlotta and her wedding."

"You constantly try and divert my attention away from you."

"Without much success." The dryness of his voice barely concealed his frustration.

"Dante-"

"No, Mamma." His temper continued to fray. "I won't have it anymore.   There is nothing to discuss. I will continue to do what I have always   done."

"Work too hard. Worry too much. Take on too much responsibility."

He made a disparaging sound deep in his throat. "I work because I want   to. And I do not worry. I fix things that need to be fixed. That is   all."

"That is not all." His mother's gaze fastened on his. "It is time to   change, time to think about yourself. You've done your duty, now I want   you-"

"Enough." She would see his goal's fruition soon. Her needless anxiety   about his supposed unhappiness would dissipate once he settled down with   Lara. That would have to satisfy her because he was incapable of  giving  her what she truly wanted: A man who lived life free from duty  and  obligation, a man who let his emotions rule his actions.  Impossible. The  role he held was too ingrained to ever break free. He  wanted no more of  this conversation. "I am serious. Enough."

She stiffened at his tone, then lifted her chin. Her nose was a fraction   of the size of his, yet she used it to great effect. "I believe I will   retire for the evening."

He took a deep, frustrated breath. "Buona notte."

She marched out of the room with a flourish of offended dignity.   Undoubtedly, he would have to soothe some ruffled feathers tomorrow if   he wanted this wedding week to go smoothly. Still, she'd received his   message, loud and clear, and he had no doubt he'd be able to curb her   lingering displeasure. After all, he'd been doing it since his father   died.

Pacing to the window, he looked out once more at the shadowed garden. Where he had kissed her. Really kissed her.

Lara.

Lara.

His hand shook and then tightened around the glass. Ah, yes. Lara.

Even with her anger at him, she'd responded.

His mother was right in one respect, whether he'd told her or not. Now   was the time when, for once, he would think of himself. This one time he   would allow himself to satisfy his deepest desire. He wouldn't be  alone  in this need, though, would he?

The bond was still there between them.

She knew. Deep within herself. Just as he did. Just as he always had.

She was his.





Chapter 3





The hot Italian sun beat on her as Lara leaned into her car and pulled   out the woven basket holding her towel and a book. The call from the   Casartelli housekeeper had been a perfect antidote to a frustrating day.   After fighting a slew of contractors and arguing with the city   inspector over the construction at her school, she couldn't wait.   Couldn't wait for a long soothing swim, some hot gossip from the   sisters, and hopefully, a nice cold drink.

Slamming her car door, she strode past the imposing marble staircase and   around the side of the villa into the verdant gardens surrounding it.   The vibrant purple pansies and crimson roses highlighted the sunlit   green of the grass and the greys of the olive leaves. It was only a   short hike down one of the many paths to the pool. Walking around the   side of the white-washed cabana, she stopped cold.         

     



 

No gaggle of women cooed a welcome.

Everything was quite quiet. Except for the rhythmic splash of water.

From the man in the pool.

For one stolen moment, she let herself look. Look at the wet, gleaming   muscles as they bunched and moved under his skin. Look at the long,   strong arms as they arched over his head.

His powerful body cut through the water, all elegance and masculinity.

Whatever his faults, Dante Casartelli was a man who demanded attention.   She had to admit, if only to herself, he demanded her womanly  attention.  Her body told the story. Beneath her bikini top, her nipples  tingled.  Between her legs, lust burned.

Her anger burned even hotter, however. The anger she'd held onto for   these last two days whenever she remembered. Remembered the kiss.   Remembered his mouth and his lips and his heat. Remembered how she'd   said no and he hadn't listened.

Typical of Dante Casartelli not to pay any attention to what she wanted.

Typical of men in general.

She'd learned that well with Gerry, too.

She hated this man. Even more than her dead husband. Because even though   she'd said no with her mouth, she'd said yes as well. She hated that   somehow this man, this man she hated, awakened a desire deep inside her   she'd never felt for any other man.

But she was a woman with a brain, not only a body.

After a long sleepless night, she'd forgiven herself. Her slip had only   lasted a moment and wouldn't be repeated. She only needed to stay far   away from the man she hated and the attraction she rejected.

Yet here she was.

Right back in his vicinity. Right back into lust.

There must have been some mix-up with the invitation. Maybe she was   supposed to be here tomorrow. Come to think of it, what was he doing   here in the middle of the day? The man worked constantly, or so his   sisters said. He should be at his headquarters in Florence, telling   people what to do.