Innocent in the Italian's Possession(30)

Now he was someone she didn't know.

"You can't expect for us to conduct an affair with a child in the house," she said.

"Of course not. We'll be married."

Married? Just like that he'd decided they should marry?

"Please start from the beginning and tell me what the hell is going on,"  she said, desperate to know how the man who had made such passionate  love with her had come to such a cold, unemotional decision in the light  of day.

He gave her a negligent shrug and got to his feet with masculine grace,  his expression devoid of anger or passion. "Forgive me for not  explaining better. I've decided we will marry, by the week's end if it  can be arranged. As we speak, my attorney is finalizing the wording on a  prenuptial agreement that he'll fax over for you to sign."

Her mouth had dropped open, and for the life of her she couldn't seem to  close it. Of all the scenarios she'd imagined regarding a marriage  proposal, she'd never dreamed she'd be offered this cold business  arrangement.

And that's exactly what this was! A business arrangement.

There was no tenderness. No concern for her feelings. No mention of love. Because his heart wasn't in this.

Like everything Stefano Marinetti did, this was business. This had been thought out to serve his purposes. Not theirs.                       
       
           



       

"You can't seriously think that I'll agree to this business arrangement," she said.

He looked up at her then and his brow snapped into a dark frown of  annoyance. "Why not? You have said this is what Rachel needs. It's not  like you don't love me."

The assured arrogance in that remark got her blood boiling and not in a  good way. "What of you? What are your feelings toward me?"

He gave an impatient shrug. "I enjoy you more than I've ever enjoyed another woman."

Enjoyed. Not loved. Not the words she'd longed to hear. Not even a  profession of affection like he'd shown when he'd asked her to be his  mistress.

Mio Dio! Had his sister-in-law's deceit and his brother's betrayal  scarred him for life? Or had she been so blinded by her own desire and  love for this man that she failed to see that he was incapable of such  feelings?

She didn't know, but she couldn't accept this fate. Not even for Rachel.  She'd given enough. And wasn't it Stefano who'd just upbraided her for  letting her family use her?

A fax machine hummed to life and began spitting out pages. The  prenuptial agreement, she assumed, as he snatched the papers from the  tray and gave them an exacting read.

He grunted his approval, fanned the pages on his desk and laid a pen  atop them. "You'll note that I've given you a generous settlement  up-front. Just sign it so we can move on to the next step."

"And that would be?" she asked, making no move to even glance at the marriage contract.

"Obtaining the marriage license. If I can move quickly enough, we can hold the wedding in two weeks when I return."

"Stop!" she said, hating the panic that made her voice tremble. "Just stop and look at me."

He rocked back in his chair and stared at her with undisguised impatience. "Okay, I am looking at you."

But was he seeing her? Did he have any idea that he was ripping her heart out with this unemotional proposal?

"Do you honestly think I'll agree to this?" she asked.

"In my circle marriages are still often tied to business." His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "You object to the contract?"

She tossed both hands in the air. "I object to the fact you are showing  absolutely no emotion to what should be the most wonderful day of our  lives."

"Ah, you want, as they say, hearts and flowers and professions of the heart."

"Only if you mean it," she said. "I want to know what is in your heart,  Stefano. I want you to ask me to marry you, not tell me that is what  we're to do."

"What difference does that make?" he asked.

It was a good question. A week ago she would've accepted this as her due. But not anymore.

She wanted to be romanced. Loved. She couldn't imagine marrying a man who didn't feel the same toward her.

"The difference is me saying yes to your outrageous proposal, or holding out for true love and walking out the door."

His mouth stretched into a flat, disagreeable line. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact," she said. "I deserve more than this. You are suddenly playing a tyrant here and I've no idea why."

A muscle worked frantically along his lean jaw, but it was the only sign  that her impassioned words registered with him. Mio Dio, did what  they'd shared mean nothing to him?

"I had hoped to finalize these arrangements before I flew to London today," he said, surprising her with that news as well.

That angered her all over again that he'd expected her to be ready at a  moment's notice. "Why didn't you tell me we were going to England?"

"I am going, not you." He pushed to his feet and rounded the desk. "I  chose you as my wife, bella. Your job will be to provide this good home  environment for my sister, as well as for any children we'll have."

His words were frozen daggers piercing her heart. He'd not mentioned a  loving marriage. He hadn't given the slightest indication she'd be  anything more than the mother to his children and companion to his  sister.

That was because this wasn't a marriage. It was a business deal.

Yet she wanted to be his wife. She wanted to be the mother to his children. She wanted to love him till the day she died.

But not like this. Not a one-sided affair where she'd soon be forgotten. Where he'd take a mistress to dote on. Love.

"What made you think I'd agree to this? That I'd be content to let you  decide on everything regarding our future?" she asked, choking back  tears for she wasn't about to cry in front of him.                       
       
           



       

"It is what you want," he said. "It is all I have to give. You know that, bella. I'll never hurt you."

"You're hurting me now with this."

"The marriage will be real."

"Will it?" she asked. "Do you love me?"

Silence exploded in the room, rocking her to her very soul. She felt the  frisson streak through her, marbling her like an eggshell that could  shatter at any second.

"I care for you more than I've ever cared for another woman."

But that wasn't love.

She couldn't fault him for his honesty now. He'd never professed to love her.

What they'd shared was perfectly fine for lovers. But not for a marriage. Not her marriage.

A bell chimed to signal they had reached the port. This was the end. She  saw it in the hard sheen of his eyes and the stiffening of his body.  She heard it in the frantic hammering of her heart.

What she had to do now was going to hurt more than words could say, but  she refused to be used so coldly. "No! I can't do this. I can't be the  convenient wife."

She turned and walked across the salon, her legs trembling so badly she  feared she'd fall. Only pride and the urge to run and never look back  kept her upright.

"What about Rachel?" he asked.

She faltered at that, for she'd promised Cesare she'd care for her. But how could she stay under these circumstances?

"Cesare hired a nanny to see to her needs. I'm sure she'll be able to  remain in your employ." If not, his money would easily secure another.

"If you walk out now, it is over between us," he said. "Do you understand me?"

Oh, she understood him all right. She understood that he'd just broken her heart in two.

She hurried up the stairs and waited for the men to ready a dinghy to  row her to shore. Waited for Stefano to appear and stop her, to take her  in his arms and tell her he loved her, that he wanted to marry her,  that he couldn't live his life without her.

But he didn't show his face as she was helped into the dinghy. She  didn't see him at all as the small craft took to sea and she was rowed  toward the jetty.

But she heard the whir of his helicopter as it lifted off the pad. The  blades created a washboard of waves that sent the dinghy bobbing and her  insides quaking.

In moments he was gone, leaving her life with the same drama as he'd stormed into it.

With one exception.

This time he was taking her heart with him.



"You're an ass, you know," Jean Paul said before he swilled down his  fourth martini, not that Stefano was counting his friend's or his own  alcohol consumption! "She is a desirable woman. I am tempted to return  to her quaint inn in Manarolo if only to seduce her."

"Be my guest," Stefano said, but the shattering of the stemmed glass in his hand ruined his cavalier response.

Jean Paul merely smiled and shifted his lazy pose on the upper deck  chaise. He had declared that he and Stefano needed a few days away from  the hectic pace and the launch of his new superyacht seemed the perfect  excuse to get away.