“How long have you known this?” she asked.
“Eight years.”
The words were shot out without feeling, his gaze boring into hers now. Hard. Cold. Defiant.
But she heard the underlying pain in his voice as well. Caught the tiny tick of hurt that snapped like a sail along his taut bronzed cheek.
Her heart gave an odd thud and her hand shifted, a blink away from reaching out to him. She caught herself with a trembling clasp of her own hands.
How wrongly would he take it if she offered compassion? Considering their past, she doubted he would take it well. Yet hadn’t they moved beyond the past pain? Weren’t they old enough and wise enough to understand nothing untoward was meant by it? Now wasn’t the time to dissect it to find out.
“I see,” she said, nerves stretched so tight they hummed.
“Do you?” he asked. “Because I don’t understand how my mama who claimed to have loved my papa could be unfaithful to him. I do not understand why nobody saw fit to tell me the truth until after my parents’ deaths.”
Hearing the anger in his voice, that telling drawl when he told her this, made her insides cramp in an oh-too-familiar pang of understanding. No wonder he had no faith in love. He would never open himself to an emotion he believed caused only pain. And wasn’t she just as guilty of holding back from him? He was right. That was in the past. There was nothing she could say when Marco had never believed her anyway.
“You would likely be surprised by how many families hold dark secrets,” she said, cheeks burning and stomach knotting at the troubled memories of her own childhood.
He snorted. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”
How sad that he had become more jaded. But then, so had she. Wasn’t she afraid to trust? To surrender her heart and soul?
She shifted on the chair while her mind shoved away from that train of thought. “I gather your sister knew of her paternity before you did.”
“By a month or so.” He drove his fingers through his hair, sending the thick waves in disarray.
She caught a breath as an old memory ribboned through her of doing the same to his wealth of dark hair. Of holding him close to her on a sun-kissed beach, laughing with him, kissing him in a slow, deep burn until the world blurred to only them.
Ten years ago she’d been a hopeless dreamer, desperately wanting a hero. Her innocence had convinced her that when she looked deeply into his warm brown eyes she believed her world was complete with him in it.
She shook off those idyllic yesterdays like a cool rain on chilled skin and chanced a glance at him, hoping he wasn’t looking at her in some sort of horror. But he stared off, brow furrowed, clearly troubled by something else.
“Did you know her?” she asked, grasping the thread of their conversation by its tail.
“No. We were strangers coming from vastly different backgrounds which complicated matters more. Since the start Bella has resented that I was named her guardian until she reached twenty-five,” he said, clearly not of the same mind.
Delanie felt a commiserating pang with his sister, knowing how badly she’d ached to break free of her domineering father, hating that she’d waited and waited for her own dawn of independence. “How old is she now?”
“Twenty,” he said, sliding her a knowing look.
The same age she had been when she’d met Marco. Willful. Emotional. And tangled in a wretched triangle with her parents, dreaming of freedom yet unwilling to put her frail mother at risk to grab what she wanted.
“Tell me more about Bella,” she blurted out.
He shrugged, this time the movement less tense. “As I said she’s young. Spoilt. Resentful.”
“Of you?” Delanie guessed.
He laughed, but she caught the pained treble, the hint of worry that had her wanting to leave her seat and go to him. Hug him, comfort him. Sanity prevailed and she didn’t, but it wasn’t easy knowing his elite world wasn’t perfect. And hadn’t she hoped that would be the case? She was suddenly glad for the subdued light on board that hid the heat scorching her cheeks.
“Bella resents me, resents the world,” he said, dark eyes on her again. “She needs a strong hand.”
Of course he would think that! But hearing him admit he was controlling his sister proved her fears long ago were right. Or did they? Was she still using that as an excuse to hold back from giving her all again? From trusting?
She stared at the floor, admitting she’d lost herself in his arms that first time. Basking in the afterglow of love was new. Terrifying.
Still she’d loved Marco. She’d hoped that she was simply mistaken. But the second time they made love was more consuming, more earthshattering to her heart. Her soul.
My dear, I love your father, and he loves me in his own way, her mother had told her as she recuperated from a volatile night spent suffering her father’s anger.
Delanie never forgot that night. Never forgot that love could hurt. That love could strip a woman of her independence. Perhaps even her sanity.
No love was worth that, Delanie had decided.
That realization had kept her from committing fully to Marco again. And wasn’t she right in thinking that in time he would have slipped further into the role of dominator, perhaps even going to the depths her father had sunk to? That she would relive the hell her mother had had throughout their marriage?
Single was safer. Single was being free. So why was her body craving his possession again? Why was she so weak around Marco Vincienta?
“I seriously doubt your sister needs a man dominating her,” she said and was instantly pinned in place with his fierce scowl.
Her heart raced but she hiked her chin up, determined not to tremble over the past that still bound her, refusing to cringe at Marco’s command as she’d seen her mother do with her father countless times. Or worse, whimper when he physically abused her.
“You are an expert on these matters because?”
Delanie didn’t understand why on earth she had thought that the intervening years might have finally made him believe her. Still, he’d asked so she would answer.
“My father was quick to rule with an iron hand or fist depending on his whim.” He’d used it liberally on her mother to gain Delanie’s compliance.
A ripe curse exploded from him. “I told you never to compare me to David Tate!”
“Then stop acting like him.”
He frowned, brows drawn in a deep forbidding V over the classic slope of his nose. Time hung suspended between them, her heart supplying each tick of the seconds that raced past.
His fingers bunched into fists at his sides and her stomach flipped over. Ease up a bit. Marco won’t hurt you. At least not that way. She knew it in her heart, her soul.
“Are you saying Tate hit you?” he asked, his dark gaze probing hers.
For an instant she almost thought he cared that she might have suffered physical abuse, though for her the emotional barbs scared her just as much. But she’d heard her father apologize for his deplorable behavior for too many years, and watched him break his promises.
“No, he never hit me,” she said. “As I already told you, Father reserved his punishment for my mother.”
“A lot can change in ten years.”
That was an understatement considering she’d found herself trapped in an untenable situation. Since he hadn’t believed her then, why show concern now?
She huffed out a breath, his curiosity annoying. Insulting even. It no longer mattered to her what he thought. She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation.
His gaze narrowed, hardened. “Answer me.”
Again with the demands. But avoiding the issue was more troubling that it was worth. Nothing could be gained by ignoring him.
“A lot can remain exactly the same as well,” she said. “But to satisfy your curiosity, I stayed to ensure that my mother wasn’t abused. It was the only promise that my father never broke to me.”
Marco clenched his teeth agains
t her bare-faced lie. He knew she was lying. Had known ten years ago. But if she was so insistent on pursuing her lies, then he would see how far she would go with them.
“What kept you there after her death?”
“You still don’t get it, do you? My father did to me what he did to you. He gained control of my business and the only way I could get it back was to abide by his agreement. I was two months away from getting my company back from him when you launched your takeover.”
She glared at the rich, powerful man who held all the cards and tried to forget there had been a time when she’d loved him with each breath she took. When she’d wanted to believe his every word. Wanted to trust him fully. A time when she wrestled between fear and desire.
“Now I’m doing your bidding to gain title to what is mine,” she said.
His gaze remained remote. “You’ll be amply compensated.”
“I’ll hold you to the letter of the contract,” she said.
He smiled, the gesture brief and calculating. “As will I, Miss Tate. Which is why we will stop at the villa first so you can meet Bella and complete your survey.”
Without another word he rose and walked to the rear of the plan, the soft snick of a door the only indication this inquisition was over. That he’d finally left her alone.
She crumbled in the chair and rubbed her forehead, emotionally spent. Despite his resentment of her, or perhaps because of it, he’d given her a golden opportunity to reclaim Elite Affair.
He was following her contract so far, so she couldn’t very well complain on that quarter either. Still she wasn’t about to let down her guard around him.
This was business. Nothing more. For that reason alone she had to keep her guard up. Had to see this event through to the end. Had to watch that he didn’t double-cross her—that once the job was completed, Elite Affair reverted solely to her one hundred percent.
Only then would she be able to start over. To make a life for herself. To be independent for once in her life.
All she had to do was get through the next two weeks.
Moments after the plane smoothly landed at the San Francesco d’Assisi airport on the less hilly outskirts of Perugia, Marco escorted Delanie to a waiting sedan and they were off. He rarely used a driver unless he was entertaining a fellow businessman, preferring to handle the wheel himself down the autostrada as well as on the roads that bypassed walled towns and sliced through the patchwork of medieval fields of produce.
But the combination of too little sleep and the emotional upheaval of being near Delanie again curtailed that urge. He tapped a fist on his thigh, still vexed by the latter.
He should not find her attractive. He sure as hell shouldn’t begin to believe her lies about her troubled childhood, not when he’d learned the truth. If David Tate had been the beast Delanie swore him to be, her mother would have broken free when she’d had the chance.
He needed his thoughts on the present. His relationship with Delanie was just business, pure and simple. That fact alone called for space between them. Though once they were in the backseat of the car she took that to the extreme and scrunched against the door as if waiting for the chance to jump free.
“I repeat, I am not going to pounce on you,” he said.
Her gaze swung to him, a bit wild and overly wide. “I know it’s just … You’re so intense. So angry still.”
He scowled, disliking that he was letting his emotions reign. She was so nervous he literally felt every quick breath she sucked in until his own equilibrium was spinning.
“My apologies then,” he said. “It has been a very long day without sleep.”
“For both of us.” She heaved a sigh and directed her attention beyond the auto again. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Il cuore verde d’Italia. The green heart of Italy.” He loved it. Respected it. Nurtured the land to the best of his ability and it rewarded him with kingly yields.
“You’ve always lived here?”
“For some time now,” he said, not inclined to share more of the details of his life with her.
There was no point in it.
She faced him, her perfectly shaped head lifted, pale brows pulled over the proud tilt of her nose. “Your vineyards. Are they near here?”
“The vineyards I inherited or the land your father destroyed?” he asked when he knew damned good and well that the latter was what she meant.
Two swaths of red streaked across her cheekbones. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”
“It is not something one forgets.”
“Or forgives,” she said, frowning. “I’m so sorry Father did that—”
“Save it,” he snapped. “I’m in no mood to hear your apology or excuses.”
She shut her mouth, hurt he had jumped to conclusions when what she’d been about to say was “to us.” Yes, it was horrific that her father had spitefully ruined the business that had been in Marco’s family for generations. That he’d added another emotional scar to the ones Marco already suffered.
But the greatest tragedy of all was that Marco saw her as the enemy too, that he had refused to believe her then, that he couldn’t find it in him to trust her now.
You don’t trust him anymore either.
How funny he’d accused her of lying, of betraying him, when he too had broken his promise. He’d shattered her trust in him.
She heaved a sigh, sick at heart that nothing had changed. They were still two wounded souls, hurting each other because that was easier.
“I’m curious about the vineyard my father destroyed,” she said, making herself clear.
He stared straight ahead, annoyed she was continuing her questions, vexed that the ripple of pain reflected in her clear blue eyes got to him, made him believe her innocence if only for a moment.
All an act. It had to be. And if he was wrong? If she was truly ignorant of her father’s schemes? If she’d been blackmailed to comply with Tate’s dictates?
What did it matter now? Too much had happened between them. He was more jaded than ever before and she was as well or she wouldn’t be this cautious, this remote.
“Fine,” she huffed out, crossing her arms and staring militantly out the window. “Forget I asked.”
He caught himself smiling at her show of temper, admiring that steel that ran down her spine. A gentleman would comply with her request. But he was no gentleman.
“It is roughly twenty kilometers south of the villa. Half an hour by car.” He stared at her profile, willing her to face him. “Less if I’m driving.”
She continued her vigil out the window but he thought some of the tension eased from her narrow shoulders, that the slightest hint of a smile teased her soft lips. “How long before we reach the villa?”
“It should not take more than twenty minutes,” he said, answering as calmly as she’d asked, keeping his tone low, intimate, as she’d done.
It didn’t require a response and she didn’t offer one. That was for the best. More than ever he needed to get back to the reason she was here.
Theirs was simply a working relationship. Anything beyond that was too great a risk.
Yet instead of relaxing, his heart accelerated even more during the drive to the Cabriotini villa. The easy explanation was his own unease at returning here, far easier than admitting his thoughts were on Delanie.
The simple truth was this mansion wasn’t home to him and never would be. The moment he was away from it, he put the man who’d lived and wasted his life and fortune here completely out of his thoughts.
If he could just do the same regarding the enticing woman beside him. She’d plagued his sleep too often over the years. He’d convinced himself he’d hated her.
A damned lie.
He distrusted her but he didn’t hate her. He wanted her with the same fire that had burned in him ten years ago.
The conundrum for him was how to put that fire out?
His gaze flicked to hers and his body stirred more tha
n it had in ages. What the hell was it about this woman? Dare he hope he could get her out of his system? That he could move on?
Overindulgence. Too much of a good thing could sour a man. Perhaps that was what was needed now.
CHAPTER FOUR
DELANIE had caught glimpses of elegant mansions nestled among the hills throughout the drive and had expected Cabriotini Villa to be along the same order. But the moment the auto pulled into an iron-gated drive that swung open automatically, she knew this estate was far grander than any she’d seen so far. Perhaps more so than any she’d visited in England.
For one thing, the villa claimed a commanding view of the valley, perched on a knoll overlooking perfectly aligned fields of grapevines laden with plump purple and blush fruits. On the surrounding fields, groves of olives lined up in precise rows, their leaves shimmering silver in the sun, their black and deep green fruit glistening like jewels.
“Welcome to Cabriotini,” Marco said as the driver sped up a long drive flanked by poplars standing like sentinels.
The sun popping through their dense tops created a dappled effect, as if they were waving Marco home. Only instead of a smile he wore a pensive expression as if he dreaded coming here.
“You don’t care for your ancestral home, do you?” she asked at last.
“I am only here temporarily—this isn’t my home. It’s the estate bequeathed to me and Bella by the man who sired us, and it’s where we’ve lived since discovering our paternity.”
She blinked, stunned by his vehement tone. “That’s a rather impersonal way to refer to your father and your sister.”
He cut her a look that made her shiver. “Antonio Cabriotini wasn’t my father. His seed gave me life. I never spoke with the man. Never met him though I saw him once from a distance long before I was told I had any connection to him.”
An uneasy silence rippled between then. “He must have known who you were.”
He shrugged. “I doubt it. Cabriotini didn’t attempt to look for his bastards until he was dying. That’s when he decided to find an heir.”
She offered a thin smile. “He wanted you then.”
Marco laughed, the bitter sound mirroring his dislike of his paternity. “Don’t paint this into something homey. He detested the thought of leaving his wealth to a distant cousin in Majorca. So he hired investigators to discover if he’d sired any bastards in Italy.” He gave a gruff snort. “Cabriotini’s attorney hit the jackpot, finding my young sister and then me some months after the investigation was launched.”
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