Blackmailed Bride, Inexperienced Wife

by Annie West

  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.