She wanted to have faith. She wanted to stay.
God, how she wanted to stay.
He’d thrown off his jacket when he’d returned to the penthouse, lost his tie and loosened the top buttons of his shirt. He looked like what he was. The infinitely dangerous, ruthless and clever CEO of Corretti Media. A man of great wealth and even greater reach. The man who’d taken her body, her painful history, her heart and even her soul. And would take much more than that, she had no doubt. If she let him. If she stayed.
But he didn’t love her. She didn’t kid herself that he ever would. He spoke only of want.
This was sex. Need. A shockingly intense connection mixed with explosive chemistry. Clear all of that away and Elena was as on her own as the day she’d realized even her parents’ home wasn’t safe for her, and had gone on the run. The past forty days had been nothing but consuming lust, blinding fireworks, and all of it a distraction from that ugly little truth.
He looked up then, his dark green eyes searing and too incisive.
“They’ve been posted,” he said without inflection. That was it, then. The paparazzi pictures were online. The clock had started ticking. She had to assume Niccolo was on his way even now. Which meant she was standing here on borrowed time.
“I have to go,” she said, quick and fierce, before she could talk herself out of it. Before he could. “I have to leave immediately.”
“And may I ask where you plan to go?” That cool CEO’s voice. It felt like nails against her skin. “Do you have a plan or are you simply … running away? Again?”
“It doesn’t matter where I go,” she said, trying so hard to keep all of her feelings out of this. They could only hurt her—and so could Niccolo. It was better to think of him, and run. “So long as it’s far from here.”
Alessandro tossed his tablet to one side. He gazed at her for a long while, as if he’d never seen her before. As if he saw too much.
Elena repressed an involuntary shiver, and found she couldn’t breathe.
“I think you should marry me,” he said.
CHAPTER NINE
HER HEART STOPPED in her chest.
Elena stared at him. She couldn’t move. She certainly couldn’t speak.
Alessandro shrugged, as if what he’d said was as casual as an invitation to coffee, though his dark green eyes were shrewd. They didn’t leave her face.
“It’s the only way to beat Niccolo at his own game,” he said. So matter-of-fact. So calm, so controlled. As if this was nothing but one more contract that required his signature, and not one he needed to read all that closely. “Running from him hasn’t worked. How else can this end?”
“It will end when my father dies,” she said, though her tongue felt as numb as the rest of her. She was dimly surprised it worked at all. “I’m the executor of the trust. Obviously, he won’t be able to manipulate me the way he’s manipulated my father.”
“He told you he would put you in a wheelchair if necessary,” Alessandro reminded her with an edge in his voice and too much dark in his eyes. “He’s not going to stop. In fact, he’s likely to club you over the head and marry you while you’re in a coma.”
Elena couldn’t think. The room had started revolving around her, whirling in lopsided, drunken circles. She was afraid she might fall over. She ignored the kick of hard, fierce joy inside her, because this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. And if it was? Then it was simply one more game. It wasn’t something she should be joyful about.
But it only kicked harder.
“I don’t think the solution is to marry you instead,” she managed to say.
“Yes, of course,” he said then with definite edge that time. “Because you are opposed to marrying for practical reasons, if memory serves. Or is it that you’d prefer to be dragged to the altar by your hair, to the delightful wedding music of Niccolo’s abusive threats?”
“This isn’t practical” was all she could think of to say.
“He won’t touch you if you’re my wife,” Alessandro replied, steel and fire in his gaze. “The impetus to do so would disappear the moment we said our vows. If you’re married, the land is no longer in any dispute. It becomes mine, and your problem is solved.”
“On our wedding day,” Elena heard herself say from somewhere far away. She couldn’t make sense of the words. Or anything else.
His dark eyes gleamed. Something male and primitive moved over his face, then was gone. Hidden, something inside of her whispered, but what could he have to hide? He shrugged again, then reached beside him for the tablet, dismissing her.