A sound of male frustration rasped in his throat. "That is not what I meant. I meant he was twenty years your senior and had a responsibility. He took advantage of you."
Gerry had. She would never confess that fact to this man, though. Honestly, when she boiled down to the bottom line, it was Dante who had placed her in the position where she'd fallen for Gerry's lies. A fact she needed to hold onto for dear life.
She swallowed the tears.
"Say something," he ordered.
Swallowing once more, she kept her eyes closed.
"This is rather a childish response," he snarled. "Stop ignoring me."
There it was again. The humiliating putdown. A child. He thought of her as a child. Precisely like Gerry, he thought of her as a stupid, silly child. Anger rushed through her, swamping the last of her stupid, silly tears. This man didn't deserve her tears. This man had no idea what she'd gone through and overcome. No matter how much he'd kept track of her.
She turned to glare at him. "I don't have to do anything you tell me to do. Ever again. That is not childish. It's a fact."
Swinging his legs over the side of his chair, he exuded masculine indignation. "When did you ever do what I told you to do? I have very clear memories of continually rescuing you from one childhood scrape or another when you did exactly the opposite of what I said."
A dark red fury burst inside her. "Let me remind you of one particular night twelve years ago. I did exactly what you told me to do then, didn't I?"
The muscles in his shoulders stiffened. "Si. Let us talk about that night."
He wanted to talk about it? Disbelief ricocheted deep inside her and she scrambled for emotional cover. "I'm surprised you don't need me to refresh your memory."
"I need no reminders," he said, the words stark. "I live with the memory every day."
A choked, pained laugh escaped her. "Now it's my turn to tell you I don't believe you."
"It is true." He stared at her, his face grim. "We will talk about this."
"No, we won't. I have no interest in going down memory lane with you." The pain was too great, the memories too overwhelming to deal with. Whipping her sunglasses off, she stood. "I'm going swimming instead."
Chapter 4
He'd nearly lost his temper.
Dannazione.
He never lost his temper anymore.
Dante took in a deep breath, leashing in the bubbling frustration and annoyance. The attempt was superseded and submerged, however, by a more powerful reaction as she walked toward the pool. The emotions running through him turned instantly to lust as his gaze roamed down her body. The graceful line of her shoulders and spine smoothed into a trim waist. The creamy bare skin continued down over flared hips. Her derriere was a firm, heart-shaped temptation as it moved back and forth. Long legs ended with perfect pink-tipped toes.
The woman strutted like a queen.
His hands itched to grab. But like an unworthy subject, he couldn't take what wasn't his and clearly wasn't on offer.
Yet.
Closing his eyes, he focused. Focused on his goal. Before she arrived in Italy, he'd assumed it would be fairly easy to convince her they were meant to be together. After their meeting two nights ago though, it was clear he needed to step back and prepare more carefully.
He'd thought about it all last night and the night before.
Sleep had never been much of a requirement for him, and he often used the midnight hours to take stock, think things through, and formulate a path forward. Just as he did in his business dealings, he did it with family issues. So it was natural for him to do the same with this current challenge.
Lara.
The splash of water told him it was safe to open his eyes. She cut a clean, fluid line in the water, her strokes sure and poised. As children, they'd spent hours here. He'd been the one to teach her not to be afraid of the water. He'd been the one who taught her the exact stroke she used right now.
For a moment, grief welled inside. A sense of aching loss. If they'd been children, she would have greeted him with a joyful grin, flown into his arms, chatted excitedly about what stroke he was going to teach her today. Still, they weren't children anymore, and Dio, he did not actually want to go back to a time when he had to keep their relationship platonic. Instead, he would move forward and continue to teach her. Teach her to smile once more. Teach her to fly into his arms once again.
Teach her how to forget her damned dead husband.
White-hot jealousy billowed inside him with astonishing speed. The sun's rays instantly turned blistering and sweat broke out over his entire body.
Calm down, Dante.
His father's stern voice echoed in his head. He closed his eyes again, forcing his focus back to what was important. Her first marriage was not important. He'd been foolish to bring it up; he'd only irritated her and irritated himself. The impulse to shake Lara until she confessed she no longer loved and mourned a dead man … the driving need to push the man out of her memories … the raging frustration he'd felt for days, months, years … all of it had churned inside him until it loosened his tongue and he'd made a mistake.
Going forward he would not mention it anymore. He would follow the path he'd decided on over the last few days. Losing his control-either his temper or his lust-was not acceptable. He could not let her goad him. That would be counterproductive.
His intentions were detailed, decisive, and, like every one of his goals, when fully implemented, would be successful.
First he needed to address what had happened that long ago night. Explain to her why he had pushed her away and spoken so bluntly. Once this incident was put behind them, he would remind her of this bond they had. The memories, the joy in each other's company, the powerful emotions they shared years ago.
Another powerful link lay between them. One that no longer had to be denied, one he could use to convince her of what was inevitable between them. He was not the only one who felt the intense link of mutual awareness, he was positive of that. The way she'd looked at his body mere minutes ago told him all he needed to know. The sexual heat and draw could not be denied. The connection simmered between them, every moment they were in each other's presence.
She could not ignore these ties binding them together. Not for long.
This was meant to be.
They would become lovers.
His skin prickled with another kind of heat. Thick hot blood ran through his veins. Lust threatened to overpower his reason.
He sucked in a deep breath of salted ocean air. The tang of the breeze quieted him as it often had when he'd been a kid walking along the beach at the edge of his family's property.
The goal. Think of your goal. Don't allow yourself to lose your concentration.
He sucked in another breath.
Soothing her anger was only the first step. Reminding her of the bond only the second. Using the sexual heat between them merely a stepping stone. Once he'd accomplished all this, he would still move forward with patience. He was not interested in a quick tumble. Which meant he needed to keep himself on a tight, firm rein until he'd reached his ultimate goal: Lara as his wife and mother of his children. The mate he'd chosen and loved from the very moment he'd held her in his boyish arms.
Opening his eyes, he stared at her. Her mahogany hair had turned black in the water. Her skin still held the milky white of her years in England, with only a light glow of a tan on her shoulders. She kept her focus fastened on the surrounding gardens.
Ignoring him, but not for long.
One step at a time. He would not allow her to run, walk, or swim away until she understood what had truly happened twelve years ago. Until she acknowledged what he'd done was the right thing. The only thing he could have done.
He stood and walked to the pool. She was on the far side, making her way to the other end. With a swift plunge, he entered the water. Long strokes through the refreshing coolness swept away the sweat, the jealousy, the lingering lust.
She passed him, going the other way. Paying no attention to him.
Gritting his teeth, he drove himself to the end and then turned. She moved away from him with quick, sure strokes. He'd always been the faster swimmer, however. Pushing himself, he quickly reached her side.
She gave him a fleeting glance as her arm arched over her head. Big gold eyes, lashes wet with water drops. Then she ducked her head underwater and surged past him.
He swam closer, matching her stroke for stroke. Felt her next to him. Felt the rush of the challenge, the test of gaining her attention. Lara picked up her pace, yet her frosty dismissal was no match for his formidable determination.