Читать книгу Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 8

TIME seemed to stop.

Alessia was too stunned to react.

A stranger’s powerful arms around her. His mouth on hers. The heat of his body, the leanly muscled male strength of it…

Then she gasped. Fury and indignation transformed her into a virago. She twisted her head, slammed her hands against his chest, knotted those hands into fists when he failed to let her go.

A mistake, all of it.

His hand slid up into her hair so that there was no way to turn away from his kiss. One big palm slid down her spine, stopped at its base and brought her tight against him.

Was he insane?

He was kissing her as if he had the right to do it. To take whatever he wanted because of who and what he was, and to hell with propriety or their surroundings or the fact that they’d met only minutes ago and already despised each other.

Her hands flattened against his chest again. She pushed at that wall of hard muscle and when that had no effect, she tried to squirm free.

Another mistake, worse than the first one.

Instantly, she felt the thrust of his aroused flesh against her belly.

Her heart thudded.

She began to tremble, and his lips moved on hers, the angle of the kiss changing so that she had to tilt her head back. Was that why she suddenly felt dizzy and the ground took a delicate tilt beneath her feet?

She heard a sound. Was it she who’d made it, an almost imperceptible whimper overlaid by Nicolo Orsini’s raw, ragged groan?

Her hands moved. Slid to his shoulders. Into his hair. Her lips began to part…

And then it was over.

He clasped her arms with such force that her eyes flew open, and as they did, he set her away from him.

She stared at him. His face was all harsh planes and angles; his eyes were slits of obsidian beneath thick, black lashes. Faint stripes of color ran beneath his high cheekbones as a muscle ticked in his jaw.

Alessia wanted to slap his face. More than that, she wanted to run.

But she wouldn’t. She knew better than to show fear to a predatory animal. It was a lesson she’d learned when she was twelve, hiking the golden Tuscan hills alone late one afternoon and suddenly coming face-to-face with an enormous wild boar. Its long, razor-sharp tusks could easily have torn her open.

Despite her terror, she’d stood her ground. After what had seemed an eternity, the creature had snorted, stepped back and faded into the brush.

Now, as then, she forced herself to stand still. Not only wild animals but men, too, measured power in the fear they could engender.

That was why Nicolo Orsini had kissed her, and why she would not run from him. Instead, she drew a steadying breath and then slowly, deliberately, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

“If that was meant to impress me,” she said in a steady voice, “it failed in its purpose.”

The slightest smile curved his mouth.

“Did it,” he said.

His tone made it clear the words were not a question. Alessia decided to ignore the implications.

“And I warn you, signore, if you do anything like that again—”

“Spare me the threats. You’re in no position to make any.”

Dio, the man was hateful! Alessia’s chin lifted. “Sei un barbaro!”

“I’m a barbarian, huh?” He grinned. “Come on, sugar. Don’t hold back. Say what you’re thinking.” His phony smile vanished. “What I am is the man who holds the purse strings. Remember that and we’ll get along just fine.”

Alessia stared at the hateful American and the last of her composure slipped away.

“We will not get along at all, signore. There has been a change in plans. The Antoninni Vineyard is not available for investment. You have made a long trip for nothing.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. The principessa stood tall, shoulders back, head lifted in an attitude of defiance. She despised him, which was fine. He didn’t think any better of her. All that was clear and up-front. The only question was, why had he kissed her?

To put her in her place?

A lie.

He didn’t deal with women that way. He had faults, sure, but using sex as a weapon wasn’t one of them. And he was not a man who’d ever take anything a woman wasn’t eager to give.

Aside from all that, if putting her in her place had been what he’d intended, it had backfired. She wasn’t shaken by what had happened; she was as cold and disapproving as ever. He must have imagined that something had changed in the last seconds of that kiss. That her mouth had softened. That her body had yielded to his. That she had parted her lips for him, that she had moaned…

Or had the moan been his?

“Do you understand me, Signore Orsini? Go home. Go back to your people. You have no further business here.”

Nick looked at her. The message was clear. He was not only a barbarian, but he was also a Sicilian thug. An Orsini. And that was more than sufficient for a woman like her.

“We shall, of course, reimburse you for any expenses you’ve incurred.”

The imperial we. The princess, addressing one of her subjects. Nick smiled, folded his arms and leaned back against the side of the Ferrari. It was a smile that those who’d faced him in boardroom battles or desert combat would have known enough to fear.

Hell, he thought coldly, why not live down to her expectations?

“Such a generous offer,” he said softly.

“Yes. It is.” She shot a look at the Ferrari’s bumper. “I see some simple damage. Send us the bill.”

“Shall I send it at the same time I send you a list of…how did you put it? The expenses I’ve incurred?”

“As you prefer. And now, signore…”

“And now, you assume, arrivederci.”

“Assume?” she said, her tone one of elegant disdain.

But she didn’t look elegant. Nick’s gaze made a slow circuit again, from the shoes that seemed to make her wobble to the wrinkled silk suit to the drawn-back hair. Wispy strands the color of winter sunlight fell around her oval face.

There was a bedraggled look about her.

And maybe bedraggled was the right word.

She looked as if she’d just tumbled out of a man’s bed. His bed, he thought, and felt the immediate response of his body to the image of what it would be like to strip the arrogant princess of her clothes and do whatever it took to turn all that frosty hauteur to hot passion.

He did a mental double take. Why would he even think of something like that? Alessia Antoninni was beautiful in the way statues were beautiful. There was nothing soft or warm or welcoming about her. She wasn’t a challenge, she was a turnoff. That he’d even imagined bedding her—hell, that he’d actually kissed her—made him furious.

Dammit, he thought, and he took his anger and put it where it rightly belonged.

“You were right,” he said brusquely, “my trip was lengthy. Eight hours flying to Rome from New York, then a three-hour delay at the airport added up to lots of time to kill.”

“And you expect compensation for that time immediately.”

She said it as if it were a given. Nick watched as she opened her purse, rummaged through it and finally extracted a checkbook. “If you can provide me with a figure—”

She gasped as his hand closed around her wrist. His fingers were biting into her flesh. He was probably going to mark that tender, upper-class skin. Not only didn’t he give a damn, but he was also grimly pleased to do it.

“Are you always so sure of yourself, princess? Or is it only with me?”

Her eyes flashed.

“Let go of me, Mr. Orsini.”

Nick smiled tightly. “What happened to signore? Don’t I even rate that much now that I’m about to call your bluff?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you don’t unhand me—”

“Another threat, principessa?” His smile twisted. “Maybe you need to listen before you make threats.”

“Listen to what?” She looked as if she wanted to kill him. Fine, he thought grimly. The more certain she was of herself, the more he’d enjoy the sight of her taking a metaphoric tumble right on her icy ass. His grasp on her tightened until they were a breath apart. “I repeat, I had lots of time on my hands. I spent it going through the material your father sent about your precious vineyard. It was detailed. Very detailed…but there was lots missing.”

“I have no knowledge of what material you saw and it is of no interest to me. You are—”

“Dismissed? A while ago, I was excused. Now I’m dismissed.” Nick’s smile was as frigid as his tone. “Antoninni Vineyards is on the verge of ruin.”

“That is not your concern.”

“Four years of bad weather damaged the grapes. Your old man chose new plantings that turned out to be a mistake. He made lousy marketing decisions. I don’t know a damned thing about viniculture—”

“How nice to hear you admit it.”

“But I do know about investments. I added up some figures, added them up again and figured out, real fast, that what your father neglected to list in that report is at least as meaningful as what he did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but Nick could hear the lie in the words.

“I think you do. Papa Prince took more cash out of those vineyards than he put in. Where did it go, sugar? The horses? The casinos? Women?”

Alessia yanked furiously on her imprisoned hand. “This conversation is over!”

“Without money—and we both know it’s going to require more than the five million euros Daddy requested—without it, your family’s business will be a thing of the past.”

“You are a fine one to talk about family businesses,” she said, her face filling with color.

It was a nicely placed jibe. Dead wrong, but she had no way of knowing that and Nick had no interest in pointing it out. She thought he was a famiglia heavy? Let her think it. Hell, he wanted her to think it. There was a sweet pleasure in a woman like this believing she was on the receiving end of help from the man she believed him to be.

“The bottom line,” he said, “is that you need my money. I’d bet my last dollar your father will be more than happy to remind you of that.”

“I need nothing from a man such as you!”

“Five hundred years of royal living, gone in the blink of an eye?”

“Do you think that matters to me?”

“I think it matters enough so that you were willing to show up today to greet a commoner.”

“You’re wrong, Mr. Orsini. I only, as you put it, showed up today because—because—”

She blinked. Nick could almost see her processing what was happening. She’d been sent to greet him. She was the prince’s reception committee. She was an Antoninni, unaccustomed to dealing with the peasants, but she didn’t have the power to get rid of him.

No wonder she was staring at him as if she’d just remembered something she’d all but forgotten.

He was sure he knew what that “something” was.

The princess had been flexing muscle she didn’t have. She had no power. To all intents, she might as well have been a chauffeur, sent to meet the plane of the visiting banker.

“What’s the problem?” Nick smiled thinly. “Thinking twice about telling me to leave?” When she didn’t answer, he took his cell phone from his pocket and offered it to her. “Here. Call Daddy. See what he says about sending me home.”

Alessia looked at the sleek bit of plastic as if it might bite her. Then she looked at the man holding it toward her.

Bastardo insolente!

He knew damned well she wasn’t about to make that call. He just didn’t know why.

Mama, she thought, Mama, how could I have forgotten you?

For a few moments, anger at this horrible man had blinded her to reality. Now, it was back. She’d made a bargain with the devil. If she wanted her mother to remain in the sanatorio, she could not get rid of Nicolo Orsini. She had to deal with him, no matter what.

He was vile.

His macho arrogance. His brutal occupation, if you could call being a hoodlum an occupation. And that kiss, the assumption that he was irresistible, that the male domination of his world extended to hers…

Vile was not a strong enough word.

It didn’t matter.

She was stuck with him. He was her problem, and she knew how to handle that. Problems were her specialty. Let her father think that the public relations business was nothing but an excuse for protecting people with too much money and ego. Perhaps that was a reflection of what he knew of Rome and Romans.

That was not her world.

Alessia had put endless days, weeks and months into learning how to deal with the people her firm represented.

Having a royal title helped, though she loathed the idea that titles should exist at all in today’s complex world. The rest? Damned hard work.

Preventing clients from making asses of themselves was part of what she did. Cleaning up after they’d done so anyway was another part, as was making sure they did what they were supposed to do without veering from an accepted plan.

Some clients were pleasant, talented people. Some were not. And still some, admittedly a small percentage, thought that money and power and, often, good looks made them gods.

There was no question as to which category Nicolo Orsini belonged, nor was there any question that she could handle him. The truth was, given the circumstances, she had no choice.

“A problem, princess? Have you forgotten Daddy’s phone number?”

She blinked, looked up at him. Barbarian though he was, gangster that he was, Nicolo Orsini was also—there was no other word for it—magnificent. The epitome of masculinity. Alessia met a lot of very good-looking men in her work. Actors, industrialists, men whose money bought them the clothes, the cars that could turn a nice-looking man into a good-looking one.

The American’s clothes were obviously expensive, his haircut as well. But he was also—could you call a man gorgeous? Because that was what he was. Gorgeous, and it was not what he wore or how he was groomed.

It was him.

The thick, espresso-brown hair. The eyes the color of night, the strong, straight nose set above a firm mouth and chiseled jaw. Even that little depression between nose and mouth, what was it called? A philtrum. That was it. How could something with such a foolish name be sexy?

The truth was, all of him was sexy. The long, leanly muscled body. The hard face. The sculpted lips. Perfect in design, in texture. She knew that. Knew the warmth of that mouth,

the feel of it against hers. If she’d parted her own lips a little when he’d kissed her, she’d even know his taste…

“Take a good look, princess. Let me know if you like what you see.”

Alessia’s gaze flew to his. His tone was as insulting as the heat in his eyes.

She felt her face redden.

That she could find him physically attractive was shocking. She didn’t understand it. A man’s looks meant nothing; she had never been taken in by such superficial things. No matter. Living with her father, dealing with his careless verbal and emotional cruelty, had taught her the benefits of a quick recovery.

“I was thinking,” she said coolly, “that you do not look like a savage, Signore Orsini, but that only proves that looks can be deceiving.”

He hesitated. Then, he shrugged.

“Your father is what he is, as is mine, principessa. As for me—I am precisely what you see.”

Alessia’s eyebrows rose. It was, at first, a disconcerting answer. Then she realized he was simply saying that she was right. He was the son of a don, a man from his father’s world, venerated in some dark corners of old Sicily but despised by decent Italians everywhere.

And yes, she would have to deal with him.

So. A tour of the vineyard tomorrow. The formal dinner tomorrow night. He’d be gone the following day, out of her life, forever.

She could manage that.

As for what her father had intended, that she act as Orsini’s driver, that he stay at the villa…Out of the question. He’d made it easy. He’d already told her he preferred to be on his own. The Ferrari, which would be a rental, was proof of it. Good. Excellent. As for his being a guest at the villa—she would suggest a hotel, if he hadn’t already arranged for one, and pick him up there in the morning.

Easier and easier, she thought, but before she could say anything, Orsini punched a button on his cell phone and began speaking in English. There was no mistaking the conversation. He was talking with the agency from which he’d rented the Ferrari, telling a clerk in brisk tones of command that they could pick up the car here, at the curb. There was some minor damage; they could contact his insurance company. No, the car was fine except for that. It was simply that he would not need a car, after all.

“But of course you’ll need it,” Alessia blurted. “To drive to your hotel. You did make hotel reservations, didn’t you?”

He smiled tightly. Eyes still locked to hers, he hit another button on his phone. She listened as he canceled a reservation at the Grand. Then he flipped the phone closed.

“Your father intended that I stay at your villa and that you be my tour guide. Isn’t that right, princess?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“It’s what you are, isn’t it? The princess who commands the peasants?”

Alessia thought of responding, then thought better of it. Instead, she jerked her head toward her Mercedes, still just behind the Ferrari.

“Get in,” she said brusquely.

“Such a warm and hospitable invitation.”

She strode around the car, got behind the wheel, sat stiffly as he folded his long legs under the dashboard. Then she slammed the car into gear, backed up just enough to avoid hitting the Ferrari again and pulled into traffic.

“Two days,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Sorry?”

Dio, she hated him! The pleasant tone, the polite manner that was about as real as…as fairies at the bottom of the garden. Ahead, a green light turned red. She slowed the Mercedes, pulled to the light and stopped.

“I said, I can give you two days. That’s more than enough time for you to tour the vineyard, see the wine-making operation and meet with my father’s managerial staff.”

Nick found the control next to his seat, pushed it and eased the seat farther back. Two days had been exactly the amount of time he’d intended to be in Tuscany…but things had changed.

“Really,” he drawled. “Two days, hmm?”

“Two days,” Alessia repeated briskly. “As I said, that’s more than sufficient time to—”

“Two weeks,” he said. “I’ll need that much time to make a decision. And, of course, I’ll expect you to be available to me 24/7.”

She looked at him. The look of disbelief on her face made him want to laugh, especially considering that he’d just changed all the plans he’d so carefully made but, dammit, the woman needed to be taught a lesson in humility.

“Are you pazzo? There is no way in hell I am going to endure two weeks of—”

Nick leaned over. Put his mouth on hers. Kissed her, and when she tried to jerk away, he curved his hand around her jaw and went on kissing her until she made a little sound and when she did, he parted her lips with his, bit lightly into the exquisite softness of her bottom lip…