"I do," she murmured beside him.
Somehow, in some way, he would make this right.
He took a deep breath. "I do."
Inside him, he wrenched himself back into control. Think, man, think. This union could work, would work. He merely had to convince her of how much potential lay between them. After a while, her anger would fade. The sexual connection between them would help heal the wounds. He merely had to suppress his wild emotions. No baiting. No fighting. Instead, there would be mutual respect and regard. Eventually, she would see this marriage working and would come around to his way of thinking.
Wouldn't she?
"You may kiss your bride." Father Gibaldi smiled at him with warmth.
He turned and faced her. Again, the deep pools of her eyes told him nothing of her feelings. He lifted the veil, uncovering her face. Her beautiful, serene face, with the cream of her skin like velvet, the clean blade of her nose perfectly setting off her high cheekbones.
Her mouth was free of lipstick, pale pink. The lushness of the lower lip complemented the slight bow of her upper one.
Respect her. Honor her. Protect her.
He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her. It was a promise, a pledge.
He would make this right.
* * *
Married.
Signora Casartelli.
Lara glanced at her hand lying on her lap. The cool dampness of her white palms contrasted with the subtle heat of her thighs and the softness of the bright pink cashmere of her dress.
The five-carat diamond flashed in the sun, a cold, brilliant burden.
The hum of the plane engine was the only sound echoing in the cabin.
A private plane. A huge, luxurious, private plane.
Owned by her husband.
She took another look around. Plush cream leather covered the sofas and chairs. Pillows of crimson and touches of mahogany gave a counterpoint to the light luxuriance of the interior. They were several hours out of Aeroporto di Firenze, on the way to their lavish honeymoon in Barbados. Daniella had told her of the hotel and the villas spread along the beach. The fancy restaurants, the plush beds, the swimming pools. All of it owned and managed by one of Dante's subsidiary companies.
How could she be surprised?
But a startling realization had washed through her as they left the wedding reception. She and Dante had been surrounded by bodyguards, the pop pop pop of the paparazzi cameras exploding around them. Granted, the ceremony was news, she'd known that, yet what had stunned her was the impression these men were not hired guns for an event. They worked for her new husband; it was clear in their interaction with him. Like a king, he had to be protected at all times.
Dante Casartelli had a full-time staff of more than housekeepers and gardeners.
He had a full-time staff of bodyguards.
Her hand fisted in her lap.
She wouldn't put up with it. She wouldn't. For almost a decade, she'd been watched and guarded and controlled by Gerry. One of the best things about these last eighteen months was her freedom. Freedom to go where she wanted, when she wanted, for whatever reason she wanted.
The bodyguards could guard their boss, that was fine with her. She would have nothing to do with them in the future, though. Her new husband would probably disagree, but too bad. Accepting surveillance hadn't been a clause in their vile contract so he couldn't impose something she hadn't agreed to.
Still, she had agreed to one clause. A clause that loomed in her thoughts once more as she pushed aside the thought of unwanted bodyguards.
The deep yawning silence in the plane's cabin, a silence that continued hour after hour as they flew towards their honeymoon night, made the contract clause she kept thinking about appear ludicrous. The man across from her clearly could not care less.
No loving words. No promises of a night filled with passion.
Only cold silence.
Exactly like her previous union .
Drawing in a deep breath, she swung her head around and pinned a determined stare on the fluffy clouds dancing along the wings of the airplane.
Perhaps this was good. This was what she should want.
Dante Casartelli might be exactly like Gerry and never make a sexual move toward her during their marriage. Maybe, just maybe, her secret would be safe.
Clause #3. Lara Derrick Casartelli will willingly engage in marital relations with her husband on a daily basis.
Her throat locked up.
Because she knew she was fooling herself. And the clause, the bloody damn clause in their monstrous agreement, was only one reason.
It had only taken one look.
Mere hours ago.
One look from his black eyes.
Dante was nothing like Gerry in one way. Even she, in her inexperience, knew enough to realize that. True, he had an icicle for a heart-exactly like her dead husband. Yes, he had no honor or integrity-completely like good old Gerry. Yet in one specific area, he was nothing like her unlamented dead husband.
He lusted for her.
She'd had her doubts during the last month. However, with one look, a moment she'd almost missed, with one look during their wedding dance, she'd seen what he intended for tonight.
Black scorching heat. For one brief second. Then his long dark eyelashes hid him from her again and she'd been too shocked to sort it out as he swung her around in the waltz. She'd been too frazzled. Too frazzled by her family and his. Too overwhelmed by the piles of gifts proclaiming Dante's important and wealthy friends. Too stunned by the paparazzi attention as they left the reception to contemplate what that look meant.
Too, too, too...until now.
He wanted her. That one look had brought back the memories of his kisses and his touches.
A blast of unwilling, unwanted passion blazed through her blood as the memories scorched her brain with images and feelings and heat.
She wanted him, too.
She wanted him, too.
Sucking in her stomach, she allowed the treacherous thought to leech into her heart.
She wanted him to kiss her with his desperate, driving passion. She wanted him to lick her breasts and touch her until she lost herself in pleasure. More than anything, she wanted him inside her. Even though she knew nothing about handling a man like her new husband. A man who wanted her as a woman. A man filled with lust.
She still wanted him.
Lara stared through the airplane's small window at the billowing clouds. The empty silence continued behind her.
There'd been another look as well. One more she hadn't had time to assimilate as he'd led her down the aisle and into the Italian sun. A look she hadn't had time to think about as the pictures were taken, and she was hugged and kissed by his sisters, and the limos had made their stately march to the Casartelli villa.
He'd looked at her. Right before he kissed her at the altar.
Pleading. His black eyes had pleaded.
Promising. His dark eyes had promised.
Pleading? Promising?
Dante Casartelli?
She puffed out a breath, a short burst of disbelief. The sound only seemed to amplify the silence.
"Would you enjoy a cocktail, Signora Casartelli?"
Swinging around, she met the gaze of the smiling attendant. She could get drunk. Maybe getting drunk would make her lose her inhibitions and she'd be able to fool him into thinking-
"No, thank you."
She wasn't going to wimp out. Not like before in her previous marriage. She wasn't going to retreat or pacify or submit as she had with Gerry. She'd face Dante's pity when it came and deal with it. She wouldn't offer excuses or explanations.
"Let me know if you need anything else." The attendant nodded and moved to the end of the plane.
Lara barely noticed her leaving with all the thoughts tumbling around in her head.
Wait a second. There was more she could do. More than acting stoic and taking whatever her new husband dished out. She could take control of this sex thing. If she was aggressive perhaps he'd never even realize her secret.
She was a virgin.
But she hadn't been living in a cave over the last eighteen months. She'd watched her share of movies and TV shows; ones that had been banned when Gerry was alive, yet had come along with her freedom after his death. She'd listened to Dante's sisters giggle about their husbands. She'd read a ton of previously forbidden material the last few months: women's magazines, romances, erotica.
Her tongue cleaved to her mouth.
Could she do it? Could she pull it off? Could she make her new husband believe she knew what she was doing in bed?
The plane arced in the sky, veering left, dipping beneath the clouds.
In another couple of hours, she'd be in a private bedroom with her new husband. A man her heart hated, but her body wanted. Did she have enough guts to take what she wanted?