Читать книгу Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife - Annie West - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU can’t be serious!’ Alissa stared, heart sinking. Yet instinctively she knew Dario was absolutely serious about marrying her. Correction: marrying the Parisi estate.

She slumped, her energy draining away. She’d come full circle. After years fighting the old man’s manipulative schemes, had she no choice now but to do as he’d always planned? Marry Dario Parisi and force his aristocratic family to accept a Mangano into the fold? Take as her husband a man every bit as dangerous as the old tartar who’d made her life hell?

‘Your display of feminine vulnerability is charming,’ murmured a deep, gravelly voice, ‘but it’s wasted. You could have made this easy. Instead you chose the hard way.’

Her head shot up. ‘You blame me for this mess?’

‘If the cap fits…’ He looked so at ease, sipping his espresso, his dark suit parted casually, like a model in a glossy lifestyle magazine. Except no paid model would ever wear that lethally calculating expression.

‘We could have married several years ago when I first agreed to the idea.’

Her grandfather’s idea. Dario had only agreed after Gianfranco rejected offer after offer to buy the Sicilian estate. He’d vowed the only way a Parisi would get his hands on it was to marry her.

Alissa had refused. And she’d paid for her disobedience. Absently she ran a finger over her wrist, a nervous gesture that stopped under Dario’s scrutiny.

‘I suppose your need for funds wasn’t so urgent then. Your grandfather was alive to indulge you.’

Alissa almost laughed aloud at the idea of being indulged by the old man. ‘Or perhaps I just objected to marrying you.’ She put her palms on the table. She’d had enough of his jibes and his self-assurance. She wished she could find some vulnerability in him. But his only response was a quirk of the lips as if her riposte amused him.

‘That doesn’t bother you?’ She lifted her chin.

‘Our marriage isn’t a meeting of minds. Or a consummation of romantic love. It’s business. Otherwise I would not contemplate marrying a woman like you.’

He spoke through a chilling half-smile and Alissa shivered. Ruthless. That was Dario Parisi. She felt a net draw inextricably tighter around her, leaving no way out.

She’d thought she knew all about ruthless men. But the way his relaxed demeanour cloaked bone-deep obsession gave a whole new perspective on the type. Foreboding sliced through her. He was relentless, biding his time patiently for years as he waited to acquire the property he wanted. And acquire her in the process.

He leaned close, the smile sliding off his face. ‘You should have accepted the offer I made after your grandfather died. Marriage, a quick divorce and a handsome settlement in return for your share of the estate.’

Except she’d wanted nothing to do with her grandfather’s property. She’d had no qualms giving up her chance for wealth, especially with such strings attached. When her lawyer told her of Dario’s second proposal after her grandfather’s death, she’d rejected it instantly.

‘I didn’t want the estate then,’ she murmured.

‘No, you thought you could challenge the will and inherit alone, without the inconvenience of sharing with me.’ Suspicion darkened his gaze. ‘Greed runs strong in your family.’

‘You should talk!’ She leaned towards him, recklessly disregarding the zap of electricity that sheared between them as their glares clashed. ‘You’ll do anything to get your hands on the castello.’

This close she saw the fine-grained texture of his skin, the shadow darkening his chin. She inhaled the scent of spicy male skin and citrus and her nostrils quivered.

Too close screamed a warning voice in her head as each sense came alive to his presence. Alarm bells jangled as her heartbeat revved and her skin prickled.

Before she could move large hands captured hers, imprisoning them on the table. Long fingers linked around her wrists. Heat radiated from his touch.

‘No doubt you also inherited a hatred of my family. You were determined to keep for yourself what’s mine.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I just didn’t want the money.’ Not until the news that Donna needed help.

The impact of his unblinking regard and his handsome, brooding face was devastating. She jerked her hands, trying to break free.

His encircling fingers didn’t loosen. To an onlooker they’d seem like lovers. He was so intense, his wide shoulders crowding her in, cutting her off from the room.

‘Don’t lie. You grew up with money and you’re feeling the pinch now you have to fend for yourself.’ He paused. ‘It must have been a shock to find Gianfranco had left most of his estate to charity.’ One sleek, dark brow rose speculatively. ‘You fell out with him.’

‘You could say that.’

He shook his head. ‘I know about your…habits. They don’t come cheap.’ His face hardened, grooves appearing beside his mouth. ‘Even though you seem to have cleaned up your act lately, your record with designer drugs shows you have expensive tastes.’

Alissa goggled. He knew about that? Nausea churned in her stomach at the memories he’d dredged up. Bile choked her. This man knew about her past and judged her with such matter-of-fact contempt. Yet still he wanted to marry her!

How badly he wanted that land.

Looking into his wintry, judgemental eyes, she wanted to blurt out that she’d never taken drugs in her life. That she’d been innocent.

She couldn’t. Only one other person knew the truth. The person she’d vowed to protect, even at the cost of her reputation. She’d gladly shouldered the blame and accepted the consequences. It was too late to change the record now. Besides, Dario Parisi was so biased he’d never believe her.

‘You had me investigated,’ she said flatly.

‘Of course.’ He slid a thumb along the side of her hand in a mockery of a caress. To her horror her skin drew tight and shivery. ‘Even to gain my birthright, I would not walk into marriage without knowing my bride.’

He lingered over the last word with a deliberation that set her teeth on edge. She felt trapped. Claustrophobia gnawed the edges of her consciousness. She fought it, refusing to let it drag her under. She tried to slip one hand free, but his hold was implacable.

‘Why wait till today to buy Jason off?’ She hurried into speech, unnerved by his waiting silence.

‘My staff contacted Mr Donnelly as soon as you sought permission to marry.’

‘You organised this weeks ago?’ Her eyes widened as she took in his satisfied expression.

‘As if I’d leave it to chance! While you expected to marry him I knew exactly what your plans were.’

‘And by having him jilt me today, you cut off my options.’ The air was expelled from her lungs. ‘I have to marry within a month to inherit.’ She breathed deep, ignoring the acid taste of fear on her tongue. ‘And in Australia we have to give a month’s notice before marriage. Which means—’

‘You just ran out of alternatives.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Unless you have another bridegroom tucked up your sleeve?’ He paused and stroked an insolent finger along her wrist. Her pulse jumped and she gritted her teeth, furious with him and with her traitorous body that didn’t know the enemy when he sat before her.

‘No one else willing to sign a document like this—’ he nodded at the paper beneath her hands ‘—before close of business today?’

His sarcasm made her blood boil. ‘You manipulative, arrogant, cocksure—’

‘Now, now, Alissa. Is that any way to talk to the one man who can give you what you want?’ His gaze roved over her with a provocative thoroughness that was the final straw.

‘Take your hands off me. Now!’ She didn’t raise her voice but raw fury throbbed in each word.

His brows arched. His fingers loosened. She slid her hands into her lap and cradled them, trying to ignore the heat of his touch lingering on her skin. Trying to conquer her fear.

She wanted to shove her chair back and walk out, alone. Never see Dario Parisi’s gorgeous fallen-angel face or hear his mocking, sexy voice again.

The trouble was she lived in the real world, with responsibilities she couldn’t shirk. People she cared for. Cold iced her bones and she reached for her mug, seeking its residual warmth.

‘By the terms of the will I have to live with my husband for six months before we jointly inherit.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll divorce as soon as the land is ours. Then you sell your share of the property to me, for the current market price, of course.’ He sounded as if he discussed a routine financial transaction. Not marriage.

Alissa’s heart beat fast at the idea of living with Dario Parisi. Could she survive six months with this man who looked at her with such condemnation, but whose touch turned her inside out?

‘But it means living together.’

He watched her speculatively. ‘That bothers you? Living with me?’ If she weren’t so keyed up Alissa would be insulted by his surprise. As if trusting herself to the care of a stranger was no big deal. What did he think she was? A tart as well as a drug addict?

‘I knew Jason. I could trust him.’ That seemed stupid since he’d duped her, but she’d known they’d be platonic flatmates and no more.

‘Ah.’ The syllable stretched out, like her nerves. ‘You want assurance your abundant charms won’t incite me to seduce you.’ His gaze dipped to her jacket buttons and searing heat coiled in her stomach.

Alissa kept her mouth firmly shut against the protest that she’d never let a man like him seduce her.

‘You have my word as a Parisi. I would never force a woman. Besides—’ his lips curved in a half-smile that held no humour ‘—your type is not to my taste.’

Her type. Her type!

‘I understand completely.’ Alissa pasted on a saccharine smile, despite the protest of muscles taut with horror. ‘I can’t think of a man less appealing than you.’

It was minuscule compensation to see him taken aback by her statement. But, boy, it felt good.

Just as well he couldn’t know she lied. Dario Parisi didn’t appeal. But maybe with a personality transplant…that strong, lean body, the mobile, sensuous mouth and well-shaped hands…he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Fate didn’t play fair.

‘Excellent,’ Dario murmured, thrusting aside annoyance at her insult. ‘Then there will be no complications.’

He’d get what he wanted and dump Alissa Scott like lightning. Tying himself to a woman tainted not just by her Mangano blood but also by self-indulgence, avarice and low personal standards appalled him.

After the castello was safe he’d find the perfect wife. That Signora Parisi would be elegant, refined, sweet-tempered. Not a sharp-tongued virago who challenged with every stare, sidetracked his thoughts and stirred his hormones at inconvenient times.

They’d raise a houseful of bambini. He’d possess everything he’d dreamt of in the days when he had nothing but pride and determination. He remembered how it felt to be hungry and alone. Never again.

He’d have it all. Respect, wealth, power, the birthright he’d been denied. And a family of his own, flesh of his flesh.

Yet Alissa’s jibe rankled. His looks and vast wealth made him irresistible to most women. She was no different. He’d seen the flare of awareness in her wide blue eyes.

Despite his strict code of honour that tempered the drive to succeed, he’d been accused of many things as he forged his way to the top of the corporate heap. Usually by unsuccessful competitors or journalists whose stock-in-trade was exaggeration. Why did her insult needle him like a splinter embedded deep?

‘We know where we stand. Si? There will be no misunderstandings.’

The last thing he wanted was for her to try her feminine wiles on him. He had no patience with importunate women, even if they radiated sexual allure like this one. There was dynamite in the sway of her hips, her lush mouth and in the feminine curves her cheap suit couldn’t hide.

Yet her huge, shadowed eyes looked vulnerable.

Nonsense. She was a calculating little piece. She’d deliberately stymied his chances to regain the estate, once when her grandfather proposed a merger and again after his death. She’d gone to great lengths to thwart Dario and keep the estate to herself and her weak-chinned boyfriend.

He had to remember Alissa Scott was his enemy.

No misunderstandings. Could she trust his word?

He despised her, so he couldn’t want her. Could he? What about the sizzle of masculine speculation in his eyes? To her relatively inexperienced eye that looked like the stare of a man who was all too interested.

Was it possible his archaic ideas about family vendettas meant he wanted retribution? The personal satisfaction of seducing a woman he saw as his enemy?

No! Her imagination was out of control.

Alissa squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could open them to discover this was a dream.

‘Alissa?’

No one else said her name like that. A rumbling purr that made it sound interesting…seductive. That made her nape prickle and her breasts tighten.

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. Dario Parisi watched her with the attention a scientist gave a newly discovered species, missing nothing.

‘A business arrangement.’ She forced the words out.

He nodded.

‘I suppose you’ve thought about where we’d live?’

‘Naturally you’ll come to Sicily. My home is there.’

‘Naturally.’ She doubted he noticed her sarcasm. It wouldn’t occur to him that she had reasons to stay in Australia. A job, a home, a sister she loved and feared for. ‘I’d have to give up my job.’

Grey eyes held hers. ‘In six months you’ll have enough money not to need a job.’

What would he say if she told him she loved her work? Enjoyed helping people plan their holidays? Had a flair for dealing with even the most hard-to-please clients?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except saving Donna. Even if it meant spending six months under the same roof as a condescending, manipulative Sicilian male.

Been there. Done that. Survived.

She looked at the paper between them. The details had been completed, even hers. He was frighteningly thorough.

Could she really be planning to agree? Shock held her rigid as she absorbed the enormity of what she risked. She was caught fast, she had no choice. But surely Dario was vulnerable too. His obsession with regaining the estate must give her leverage in this unholy bargain.

‘If I agree—’ she met his stare without blinking ‘—I want an advance. A third of the castello’s value on the day we marry.’ Her heart thundered. The money meant nothing to him. He had plenty. To her it meant immediate treatment for Donna. The specialists said she had time, could wait, but this way there’d be no delay.

‘Well?’ Alissa lifted her chin, her palms growing damp. ‘Your bankers could arrange it easily.’

‘No doubt they could.’ He left the sentence hang till her nerves shredded to tatters. ‘You’ve inherited your grandfather’s instinct for screwing cash out of people.’ The deadly chill in his tone thrust her back in her chair.

His glare now was pure threat. Pure hatred. Each clipped word a shard of ice on her unprotected skin.

‘Very clever, Alissa. You know I want the castello. I’ll even marry you to get it.’ His emphasis on the word made her feel like something that had scuttled from under a rock. ‘But there I draw the line. I won’t be manipulated any further by your family. Every man has his limit and I’ve reached mine. You Manganos have pushed me as far as I’m willing to go.’ He leaned across and held her captive with a coruscating look.

‘If you want any more you can whistle for it. I might be constrained by the terms of the will, but so are you, fidanzatina mia.’ His lips curled in a smile that chilled her blood. ‘This is the only deal on the table. If you want more, find some other man.’

Alissa shuddered. A lifetime’s memories of fear and vulnerability flooded back as she met his merciless gaze. He had the upper hand because he was powerful and rich. Even if he had to wait for years and expend a fortune, he’d find a way to get the estate in the end.

She had no other options.

‘It’s an hour before the registry closes.’ He glanced at his discreet gold watch. ‘Then you miss the deadline.’

Alissa smoothed trembling hands over her skirt. She straightened her spine and reached for the pen, ignoring the voice inside that shrieked dire warnings.

This felt wrong. But it was the only way to make things right.

‘Where do I sign?’

Dario paced the foyer, resisting the urge to check the time. She was on her way; he’d just had an update on her movements.

He strode to the entrance, fists deep in his pockets. He’d never been so keyed up before a deal. Regaining his family home meant more than buying or selling companies. This wasn’t about mere cash, but about family, his very identity. This quest had been his sole purpose for as long as he could remember.

It went against the grain marrying a woman shallow enough to sell herself to acquire a fortune she could fritter away. But no sacrifice was too great.

His gaze fixed on a passing teenager, all fly-away hair and bare legs. Instantly the memory he’d repressed so often filled his mind. Alissa the first time he’d seen her. A few years ago, when he’d grown impatient of long-distance negotiations and visited Gianfranco Mangano. The old weasel had insisted only marriage would secure the Parisi estate.

Dario had sat in his car after the fruitless meeting, trying to find the bait to make Mangano sell. That was when he’d seen her, sneaking into the house in the dark.

He recalled the sultry length of her legs as she climbed out of the low car in her miniskirt. The throaty laugh of a woman sharing a joke with her lover. Her long hair flicked provocatively over one shoulder, a glimpse of pert breasts and a profile that stopped his breath.

His body had responded with a primal throb of hunger neither pride nor logic could prevent. The old man had let slip a thing or two about his granddaughter and her wild ways. He’d wanted her safely married and off his hands.

From that one glimpse Dario knew she wasn’t the sort to have marriage on her mind. A judgement confirmed when he heard of her later drug conviction.

Yet he’d never been able to rid himself of that image of carefree, sensual beauty. Even now something about Alissa Scott made his hormones stand up and salivate. It was a reaction he wasn’t proud of.

A blur of movement caught his eye and he turned.

Porca miseria! She couldn’t be serious.

His lips thinned as she approached, his temper rising to boiling point. Had she no self-respect? She made a mockery of them both.

His gaze swept over his wife-to-be, climbing the steps towards him. Heads turned to watch. She wore satin and lace, a long white dress with a froth of skirts and a dragging train. A fussy veil obscured her face, no doubt hiding a triumphant smirk at his expense.

‘I don’t remember specifying fancy dress.’ His provocative drawl slid across her flesh like ice. Alissa clenched her jaw and continued up the stairs, ignoring him.

She felt sick to her stomach about the wedding. The last thing she needed was sarcasm.

For two pins she’d…what? Run away?

She didn’t have that luxury. The knowledge weighed her down, like shackles on a condemned prisoner. She drew a sustaining breath then wished she hadn’t as the bodice, a size too small, constricted her lungs.

‘Hello, Dario. As charming as ever, I see.’

He was too big, too daunting, too…unsettling. Tension squirmed in her stomach and her pulse tripped as she caught the scent of lemon and warm male flesh.

Her body conspired against her, responding to his overt masculinity with an excitement that appalled her. She lifted her skirts and hurried up the last of the stairs.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ He stepped in front of her so she had no alternative but to meet his steely gaze. Glacial ice couldn’t be colder than the look he gave her.

‘This?’ She tilted her chin.

‘The masquerade costume.’ He spoke through barely parted lips and she had the satisfaction of knowing that no matter how terrible she felt wearing Donna’s precious bridal dress, her bridegroom hated it more. Good. Let that be some small compensation for the distress he’d caused.

‘Haven’t you seen a bride before?’ she taunted.

‘But you’re not a bride in the usual sense.’

For that she was thankful. The idea of a real marriage, of intimacy with Dario, was too devastating.

‘What do you care?’ She moved sideways but he blocked her, filling her vision, dominating her senses.

‘Why do you insist on this charade?’ he snarled.

Alissa slipped a hand under the veil and rubbed her temple where a tension headache throbbed.

‘As I’m moving to Italy I had to explain to people I was getting married. There was no need when I’d planned to stay in Melbourne.’ He said nothing, just stood, waiting. ‘My sister is sentimental. She married recently. She believes in romantic love with all the trimmings.’

‘So you lied about this marriage? To your sister?’ There was condemnation in the deep timbre of his voice.

Alissa shrugged. ‘It was easier to let her believe I’d been swept off my feet. When we divorce it will seem a case of marry in haste and repent at leisure.’ She wouldn’t add to Donna’s worries by revealing the true reason for the wedding. She’d be racked with guilt, knowing Alissa had married for her sake, and Dario Parisi of all men.

‘That doesn’t explain the costume.’

‘Donna wanted to be here but I persuaded her not to.’ Even her loving sister had seen it made more sense to save to see a specialist in the USA than cross the country for a wedding. ‘She asked me to wear her dress. You know, something borrowed…’ Her words petered out under his critical stare. ‘I promised her I’d wear it. OK?’

‘And you keep your promises?’

Did he have to sound so sceptical? It was a good thing she didn’t care about his opinion. This was just a business deal. A charade to satisfy the terms of a will.

Yet, wearing her borrowed finery, dwarfed by his ultra-masculine presence, Alissa felt a thread of something unexpected weave through her. A tremor of awareness. Dario was still the sexiest man she’d laid eyes on.

Pity he was an arrogant jerk.

‘If you’ve finished finding fault, can we go in? We don’t want to miss our appointment.’

Silently he took her arm and escorted her inside, a parody of the solicitous lover.

After that everything was a blur. Nothing seemed real, not the weight of the dress, or the way her hand fitted snugly in his. When he produced a ring, a glittering proclamation of wealth and status, she wasn’t even surprised that it fitted perfectly.

Only as the celebrant said, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ did the comfortable illusion of unreality splinter.

Dario turned her round, his hands heavily proprietorial at her waist, and heat radiated through her. She read triumph in his eyes. Satisfaction.

That was when it hit her full force. She’d just married a man who could make her life hell.

Panic clawed at Alissa. She fought for oxygen, her breathing hampered by the too-tight bodice. Blood rushed so loud in her ears she heard nothing else.

Deft hands drew the veil up. Without its protection his scrutiny was razor sharp, his smile knowing. It was the satisfied look of a rapacious marauder, not a dispassionate businessman. And it confirmed what she’d feared.

This was personal.

Before she could protest his lips covered her mouth.

Instinctively she lifted her hands and pushed with all her might against the hard-muscled wall of his chest. It was warm, weighty, alive with the throb of his heart and as immovable as the building in which they stood.

His hands at her waist were deceptively loose. When she backed away they tightened possessively, holding her still. No mistaking that encircling grip for anything more tender than an imprisoning grasp.

His mouth touched hers. More than touched, it caressed, blazing a trail of molten heat across her lips. His kiss was slow, deliberate and provocative. Masterful. His lips were soft but insistent. Surprisingly seductive. He tasted of rich, honeyed darkness, of mystery. The musky male scent of heat and spice clouded her bemused brain.

Alissa’s eyes widened as she registered pleasure at his skilful caress. A tiny spark of feminine appreciation. A rippling tide of awareness that heated her blood.

Ruthlessly she crushed it, ignoring too the sizzle of unexpected pleasure as his hands all but spanned her waist, making her feel dainty, feminine and delicate.

Desperately she focused on pushing him away. Yet her efforts had no effect. He swamped her senses till she was aware of nothing but his hot, heady presence and the current of desire threatening to drag her under. A slow-turning twist of unfamiliar tension coiled deep inside her.

Eventually he lifted his head and she stared, dumbfounded, at the man who was her husband. She hadn’t expected him to kiss her. More, she couldn’t believe his kiss had been so…disturbing. How could she have responded to a man she didn’t want?

Dark grey eyes surveyed her as thoroughly as she scrutinised him. His gaze was unrevealing but for a shadow of expression that flickered for an instant.

A firm hand grasped her sagging jaw. ‘Time enough to stare later, moglie mia.’ His whisper was sardonic.

Moglie mia. My wife. Alissa’s heart plunged in free fall as she absorbed the horrifying finality of those words. There was no going back.

He steered her to a desk so she could sign the marriage certificate. Absurdly she was grateful for his support. Her legs felt like cotton wool, her mind was muzzy with shock.

Why had he kissed her?

Because he can. It’s a power thing.

Yet, watching his tight-lipped profile as he signed his name in a slashing script, Alissa could no longer read satisfaction on his face. He looked grimmer than ever.

Perhaps he didn’t like kissing her. She tried to take comfort in the thought. But her brain was stuck in shocked awareness of how devastating his kiss had been.

It must never happen again.

Dario watched the witnesses sign the vital paper that finally secured his ownership of the family estate.

That bound him to Alissa Scott. Alissa Parisi now.

His wife. Distaste filled him. She sat motionless, bedecked in showy white satin and a froth of gauzy veil. Who did she think she fooled with that virginal outfit? She was no innocent.

Was the gown an obscure joke or had she been serious about dressing to please her sister? The notion didn’t sit well with what he knew of this woman.

Grasping, immoral, unrepentant. She’d tried so hard to deny him ownership of his home. She must have imbibed the Mangano hatred of Parisi blood with her mother’s milk.

Yet he’d made her his wife.

The Parisi name shouldn’t be sullied in such a way.

He ignored the turbulent heat that fired his bloodstream whenever their gazes met. The way his eyes strayed to her face. Her neat nose, bluer-than-blue eyes, her perfect mouth, the fragility of her slender neck.

He was merely taking her measure. It was anger he felt, not desire. He remembered the feel of her flagrantly enticing body, his hands encircling her tiny waist. The taste of her, rich and sweet. The tattoo of need that throbbed in his blood as he inhaled her skin’s perfume. The pulse of need he couldn’t suppress.

Triumph had tempted him to respond to the lure of her petal-soft lips. They’d fascinated him from the first. Now he knew they were lush, delicious, dangerously enticing.

The kiss had been an error.

It must never happen again.