Sicilian's Bride for a Price

by Tara Pammi

  Two short weeks into his relationship with Ali, their true beginning, and it seemed like it had been two lifetimes. The first couple of days, he’d braced himself for some...flash of reality maybe, something to make him pay for the out-of-body experience he’d had with her that first night.

  He kept expecting her to demand something, anything, in return for the declaration she’d made so boldly, so brazenly, so unflinchingly.

  After all, he had countless memories of his mother declaring her love for his father, and then demanding a gift. A more expensive car, a diamond bracelet, a better flat...as if her love was a transaction. As if no word or deed was ever enough.

  And his father, falling deeper and deeper, had never realized that whatever he did would never be enough for her.

  A knot formed in his stomach every time Ali kissed him, or laughed at him, or just plain looked at him. An expectant bracing to see what she would ask of him. Of what she’d demand that he couldn’t give in the name of love.

  It would be an awkward conversation, a hurtful one, but he’d been prepared to have it. She also seemed to have no expectation of hearing him return her declaration.

  Because he couldn’t love her. There was no force on earth that could propel him to open himself up to that kind of vulnerability, that kind of weakness, no way he would give her that power over him.

  But she asked nothing of him, except his body. She was insatiable, just as much as he was and every night she came to him with that same naked desire in her eyes. She explored his body as if he was a sumptuous buffet she intended to gorge on, with her mouth, tongue, fingers.

  She demanded her pleasure from him and took such effervescent delight in his pleasure, in seeking and discovering new ways to break his control, to bring him to his knees.

  She asked nothing of him except his laughter, his company, his opinions. She didn’t seem to have a plan beyond giving herself to him and simply expecting him to enjoy being with her. It was as if she’d reached through the fortress he’d built around his emotions and he found himself opening up.

  This wasn’t a transaction to her. Her love, or even her admission of it didn’t demand a price.

  She just gave. It just was.

  I love you, Dante.

  He couldn’t tell himself it was from the sexual high she was floating on for he had never seen such clarity in her eyes. Such courage.

  It had been like looking at the sun. He’d never thought giving could be as powerful as taking. And yet Ali managed to do just that, with him.

  No, she had gazed into his eyes, both vulnerability and boldness in the tilt of her chin, her body thrusting up toward him, matching his hunger with hers, milking his shaft with her heat, her mouth against his chest, his heart thundering away under her touch, aching endlessly, craving more and more. She whispered those words like a benediction. Like a promise.

  Just the memory of her was enough to send blood pooling in his groin, for that thrum to fill his blood. The sheet tented in front of him and he reached out a hand for her.

  Cold, empty sheets greeted his hand. He frowned just as he heard the continuous click-click of a high-speed camera. With a curse, he sat up in the bed.

  Dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt that stuck to her breasts and pink panties with cute bows on the sides, she was switching on the overhead lights. Dante blinked as bright light pierced his eyes. “Turn off the lights, cara mia. And come to bed.”

  She didn’t answer. The sound of the shots she took pinged over his skin.

  “Sit up for me, won’t you, Dante? Please.”

  He sat up, almost unconsciously, the command in her voice driving his movements. She sounded nothing like the Ali he knew. “Push your hand through your hair.”

  Again, he found himself doing it before muttering, “I’m no model, Ali.”

  She dug her teeth into her lower lip, a frown on her face. “You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever photographed and believe me, I’ve shot attractive men before.”

  “Naked?” he asked, possessiveness and something much baser filling his chest.

  “Si, naked. Raise your arm, por favor, caro mio. I want the birthmark under your bicep in the shot. It’s the only imperfection I’ve found so far in your body.”

  He smiled, the cajoling tone of her washing away anything else, the heat of the memory when she’d traced that and the small mole on his right thigh with her tongue filling his veins. “Make me a deal I can’t refuse.”

  Warmth flushed her cheeks as she lowered the camera for the first time since he’d woken up. A wicked smile curved her lips. “I’ll go down on you.”

  His erection twitched under the sheets and she licked her lips. He groaned.

  “Altro,” he said, knowing there was nothing in the world he would refuse her.

  “You always ask for more,” she pouted. “I’ll let you go down on me.”

  As bold as she’d been the first night, it seemed there were depths to Alisha he would never learn. Hiding her face in his chest, she’d confided one night that her experiences had been few and not really of the adventurous type.

  He let his gaze run down her belly to the V of her thighs, the pink silk barely covering her mound. His mouth watered at the very prospect of latching his lips over her sex, of thrusting his tongue into her tightness while she screamed his name. Of holding her down while she writhed under his mouth.

  She clutched her thighs close as if she could hear his thoughts and he laughed. “Altro.”

  “I will let you see my work,” she said softly. “But you have to promise me that you won’t...that you will not... It’s my heart and soul, Dante.”

  Warmth unlike anything he’d ever known spread through his chest. “It would be my honor to see your work. And my privilege to pose for you,” he added and saw her smile widen, reach her eyes, and just like that, another layer of ice around his heart seemed to thaw.

  That tension faded from his body. They would have the marriage he wanted. They would have everything together without the emotional transaction of love coloring every exchange.

  “Okay, now, raise both your hands for me, please,” she commanded and he happily played along.

  * * *

  A week later, Ali waved at Izzy as she passed her desk and without knocking, pushed open the door to Dante’s office on the top floor of Matta Towers.

  Standing against the far wall, with his back to her, he didn’t hear her arrival. Ali took the time to study him, her heart pounding away. She’d never visited Matta Towers, even when her papa had been alive, on principle.

  Vikram had invited her, several times. She even remembered Dante inviting her once, going as far as saying that Neel would be happy to see her there. She, intent on cutting off her nose to spite her face, had refused. Because she’d been waiting for her papa to invite her.

  Now, she would wait forever.

  And she didn’t want to let him make the same mistake.

  His suite was vast with a stunning view of the London skyline, a dark mahogany desk, as imposing as the man himself, taking center stage. Creamy leather sofas sat in the small sitting area to the left, and to her right was another door through which she knew was his personal suite. Where he had probably been sleeping for the last three nights, because he certainly hadn’t come home.

  When she had called his cell phone and asked after the first night, he’d informed her, almost politely it had seemed, that the Japanese merger was taking all his time. Having heard of the passive-aggressive communication misfire her scheming uncle had taken part in, almost bringing the deal to a halt, she knew that he was telling her the truth. Not that she thought Dante would lie to her. If he was bored with her, or if that initial frenzy of desire they had both been drowning in receded, he would tell her.

  She had a feeling it was to do with the frequent bouts of his mother’s crying in the evenings, in
the confrontations she seemed determined to have, regardless of the fact that it embarrassed Ali and infuriated Dante. Thank goodness Francesca had left after the first few days.

  But the wretchedness in Sylvia’s eyes tore at Ali and she couldn’t just watch anymore.

  “Dante?” she whispered, bracing herself for that consuming gaze.

  He turned and just like that, pure longing filled her. He looked sharp and arrogant as usual, but there were dark shadows under his slate-gray eyes. Warmth flicked into life in his tired eyes and her heart ached.

  She thought he might ask her to come to him. Or he would come to her, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. After all, it had been three days since he’d touched her or kissed her or even held her. She missed him like there was an ache in her chest.

  But he did no such thing. The warmth of that smile dimmed as he pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and leaned back against that wall.

  In that moment, Ali realized something. He never touched her outside the context of sex. As insatiable as his passion was when he wanted her, he wasn’t the demonstrative kind in public. But his stance clearly said that she was interrupting. He confirmed it when he said, “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming all the way over? I would’ve told you I was busy.”

  She swallowed, refusing to take his words as the complete dismissal they were. He wasn’t going to get out of it that easily. This wasn’t even about her, she reminded herself. It was about him.

  And his mother and his past.

  Brazening it out with a wide smile, she covered the distance between them. Before he could push her away, she went on tiptoes and kissed his mouth softly. Slowly. Pouring all the love in her heart into the kiss. For all the hardness of his body, she was amazed how soft his lips were, and for all his dismissive words, how he let her do what she wanted.

  She traced the sharp angles of his face with her mouth—the blade of his nose, the high planes of his cheekbones, the hollows of his cheeks, his tight brow. Sinking her fingers into his crisp hair, she tugged and pulled. He came to her, willingly, giving in. She traced her way down to his neck, licked his pulse, pressed her tongue into the hollow of his neck. The familiar taste of skin, the scent of him calmed the furor in her blood. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that was the proper way to greet your wife after not seeing her for three days?”

  After what seemed an eternity, the stiffness left his shoulders. A familiar shudder went through him. He pushed off from the wall with a soft growl, his hands sinking into her hair. “No, this is how I would greet my wife,” he said, and bit hard into her lower lip. When she gasped at the pain-pleasure, he licked the hurt away. He took over the kiss with utter possession that sent currents arrowing toward her sex.

  Wet, warm and wanton, she clung to him for breath, clinging to him for everything he could give. Hands around his shoulders, Ali rubbed herself against him mindlessly, desperate for more. His hands were at her buttocks again, his mouth at her neck. “I’ll ask Izzy to postpone the meeting for another half hour. I need to be inside you, now.”

  She had no idea how she found the strength to say no; to pull away when all she wanted was to feel him inside her, to feel the closeness he allowed only during sex, to feel as if everything in her world was right again. “No, Dante, I didn’t come here to have sex.”

  He released her so fast that she’d have fallen back if not for his swift reflex. His chest rose and fell, his mouth narrowed. Eyes glittering, he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. As if he wanted to wipe her taste away. “Then what was the point of the kiss, cara mia? To prove that you can fell me to my knees in a matter of a few minutes?”

  She flinched at the soft cruelty of his words.

  “I wasn’t aware that we’re supposed to keep track of who breaks whom. I never... I kissed you because I missed you. And that turned into something else, because it always does when we kiss. Or have you been sleepwalking through the last few weeks?”

  Color washed over his cheeks. “I...I don’t have time for this. Go home, Alisha.”

  He never called her Alisha like that anymore, the very word dripping with contempt and exaggerated patience. As if she was being purposely troublesome.

  Which in itself was a clear sign that he wasn’t all right. A month ago, she was sure he wouldn’t have lost his temper like that with her. But neither was she going to think of his nasty words as some sort of progress between them.

  She folded her hands, the hurt cycling to anger. “But you have time to have a quickie with me against the wall? And after? You’ll make me clean myself up in the bathroom and send me home with a pat and some cash?”

  The curse that fell from his mouth sounded downright filthy. He bent toward her, fingers coiling in her hair, his breath coating her face. “Don’t cheapen it. It’s never like that between us.”

  “You’re the one cheapening it.”

  “Ali...” He sounded distressed, at the end of his rope. “Please leave. I... I’m not in a place where I can handle this in the right way. I don’t want to hurt you, cara mia.”

  “Then don’t hurt me. Don’t dismiss me as if I’m a nuisance. The whole reason I risked the rush-hour traffic is to see you. You’re upset about something. I get it. But being nasty to me is unfair. Maybe you’re not used to relationships with give-and-take. But you don’t get to order me around like I’m some disposable member of staff.

  “You don’t get to make me do all the emotional work, always. And just because I love you doesn’t mean I’ll let you walk all over me.”

  The effect of her ultimatum was ruined when tears filled her eyes. Pushing away from him, she angrily swiped at her cheeks. God, did he have any idea that he could destroy her with one harsh word?

  She had almost reached the door when she heard him say, “Don’t leave, Ali. Don’t let me chase you away.”

  Hand on the knob, Ali stilled. Loving him did make her vulnerable, but not weak. She felt him at her back and the entirety of her being wanted to lean into his waiting arms, to take the only comfort he offered in his touch, to lose herself in the fire between them. “Don’t. Touch me.”

  The sharp inhale of his breath, the stillness, conveyed his shock.

  “Mia dispiace, Ali. It seems I’m always saying sorry to you. Turn around and look at me. Please.”

  She turned but couldn’t manage to look at him. Instead, she made her way to the sitting area, took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator and gulped the cold water down. She found him sitting at the two-seater and chose a sofa opposite him. His mouth narrowed but he didn’t say anything.

  “Do you accept my apology?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I came because she’s leaving, Dante, your mother’s leaving in a few hours.”

  Any tenderness that had returned to his expression faded. His face became that stony mask again. “I know.”

  “I feel sorry for her. She seems so desperate to make a connection with you. I’d give anything to see Papa again, to tell him how sorry I am, to tell him that all I ever wanted was to love him, and to have his love in return. Can’t you forgive her for whatever she’s done? For yourself, at least? It’s clear it hurts you to see her.”

  He didn’t say anything for so long that Ali braced herself for another cutting remark. His gaze grew distant, tight lines fanning out from his face. “Nessuno.” The refusal rang around the silence like a pistol shot. “I don’t think it’s even a matter of forgiving her because I don’t feel anything for her. Even before my father was incarcerated for his crime, she cut all ties with him. Took her maiden name again. Within months, she had married her second husband. She urged me to change my last name too.”

  The utter lack of emotion in his eyes terrified Ali. It seemed that he really wasn’t acting from a place of anger but nothingness.

  Forgetti
ng all her vows to herself, she went on her knees in front of him and took his hands in hers. He was cold, as if the past hadn’t quite left him. “It makes her weak, yes, but not a monster, Dante.”

  “But he did it all for her. He was so in love with her, he so desperately wanted to please her that he cooked the books, embezzled from hundreds of innocents.”

  Ali fell back onto her haunches. “What?”

  “She’s from a wealthy Sicilian family with old ties to Mafia. He was a humble accountant. My mother...on the outside, she’s a delicate flower but on the inside, she’s spoiled, privileged. She is insidious with her demands, with what she thinks is her due. She was in a rebellious phase when she met him and he fell hard for her.

  “Soon, I came and then reality descended on her. There were no cars, no villas, no jewelry, nothing exciting about being a mother at twenty-two. She grew up like royalty. Her discontent was like cancer and he...for her, he was determined to do anything. Which he did. Our wealth grew exponentially over a few years. Cars, mansions, a jet-setting lifestyle, he lay everything at her feet, her utter slave.

  “I’m not justifying the number of innocent lives he ruined but dios mio, even at the end, he didn’t regret it.”

  “You can’t blame her for what he did. They were both weak.” Fury filled her for between them they had distorted his view of love. And for that, she didn’t want to forgive either of them.

  He looked down at Ali, frowning. “You’re right. It was his lack of a moral compass. But every time I see her, I can’t forget that after everything, she didn’t even have compassion for him, much less love. He rotted in that jail cell and when she refused to even visit him... When he heard that she’d married again, he hanged himself.”

  He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, and Ali’s heart ached for him.

  “When I see her, I remember his face. He was such a fool in love. To this day, I can’t understand how a sensible man could lose himself like that. His love for her was his biggest weakness. It led to the destruction of countless others and himself. It’s poison...” he said in a voice that was so full of bitterness that Ali thought she might choke on it.