by Tricia Jones
The last words were lost on a cry as her heart knotted with pain.
He started to move around the desk toward her, then stopped. She saw him swallow.
“You seem to be laboring under a misunderstanding,” he said in a hard, clipped tone. “I am merely suggesting a monetary settlement for you to pay off Matteo’s debtors in full. I assume you will want to take care of this yourself, without my involvement, and that you would want to do so before the legalities.”
A chill stole down her spine. “Legalities?”
He remained silent, watching as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. Then his mouth twisted into a derisive smile. “Did you really think I would keep my daughter here without her mother? Did you think I would make her choose between us?”
Faye could barely think at all. “I don’t know what—”
“Thankfully, my principles and values are different from yours. I believe a child needs both parents.”
“Well, so do I.” She knew how hypocritical it sounded, but she couldn’t seem to grasp anything. Was he saying that they would have joint custody? That Melita would perhaps visit him for say, Christmas and holidays?
“Then it is settled,” he said, as he strode past her toward the door. “As you were legally separated for over three years, it will be perfectly acceptable for the marriage to take place at once. I will arrange it.”
Faye managed a tentative grip on reality as Enrico reached the door. “Now just a minute,” she protested, grabbing his arm and digging her fingers into hard, implacable muscle. “I have no intention of marrying you.”
He looked down at her hand, then slowly back at her. His hard gaze didn’t flicker. “Very well. I will arrange for my lawyers to draw up a contract ensuring my daughter spends equal time with each of her parents. Shall we say, six months with me here in Tuscany and the remainder—”
“No!” Faye shook his arm. “I will absolutely not agree to that.”
He leaned down, gripped her chin and yanked her face up to his. “I want time with my child,” he warned with predatory ease. “You have robbed me of seven years of her life. You will not rob me of another minute.”
He bared his teeth. “Know this, Faye. I have not begun to deal with what you have stolen from me. But I warn you, do not push me on something I will fight tooth and nail for. You will have little chance of winning, believe me.”
Her whole body trembled, her voice a strangled whisper. “I was right. You want payback.”
“Indeed I do.” He jerked her chin higher, until her mouth was a fraction from his. His chest brushed lightly against her breasts, and she cursed herself for the sharp bolt of awareness that tripped through her system.
“Fight me,” he dared, with a mocking smile. “You will find me a formidable enemy.”
She had no doubt of that. Just as she had no doubt he was beyond reasoning with.
But how could she agree to this marriage? Knowing he only wanted his daughter, not her. How could she live each day enduring his contempt? Watching him learning to hate her a little more for what she had done to him.
And what of her reasons? If she married him it would be to keep her child close, to let Melita get to know her father. And, heaven help her, it was because she wanted him so badly she’d suffer just about anything to get him. Even enter into a sham of a marriage.
It wasn’t as if she were a stranger to the concept. She’d already had one marriage of convenience and look how that had turned out. Yet her marriage to Teo had at least been based on a mutual love of sorts. This one would be based on contempt on Enrico’s part and misery on hers. She would spend her life loving, wanting and needing a man who desired only to punish her. How could she want him when he was being this merciless? What did that say about the sort of woman she was?
She couldn’t chance losing her daughter. Being apart from Melita for even a day was hard enough. She couldn’t bear six months…
“Well?” Enrico’s mouth had set in a hard line. “What is it to be?”
Give me time to think, she wanted to say. Let me absorb everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. He wouldn’t give her that, he’d demand her answer now, and despite all the questions spinning around in her frenzied mind, only one question seemed vitally important it pushed all the others aside.
“How…?” she began, and had to clear her throat. “How would it work exactly?”
Straight eyebrows curved upwards. “How does any marriage work?” Then his mouth quirked dangerously. “Ours will be of the traditional variety.”
Faye’s whole body shimmered with anticipation, even as she chastised herself for feeling this way about someone so unbelievably treacherous.
His chest pushed against her breasts, crushing her against the closed door. “But just so there is no misunderstanding on your part,” he said, reaching for her hips to yank them up against him, “perhaps I should give you an indication of exactly what I expect from our marriage.”
Faye barely had time to think how wonderful he smelled, all masculine heat and citrus cool, when his mouth came down hard on hers and crushed away further thought. His kiss annihilated her, stripped away every ounce of resistance and every lingering doubt that urged her to push him away.
She wanted him. Wanted him with a feverishness that stole her breath away, literally. He took what he wanted, making sure he left her weak and trembling against him before pulling away.
“Does that answer your question?” Before she could formulate a cohesive reply he kissed her again, with that same punishing ferocity. When he pulled away they were both breathing heavily. “I expect you in my bed, Faye. Be in no doubt of that.”
How could she? After being kissed like he intended to devour her any chance he got.
The thought of it was shockingly thrilling.
“Now, I will have your answer.”
“What?” She didn’t realize there’d been a question. Besides which her mind, currently filled with images of sharing a bed with this man, was currently incapable of thinking anything rational. “I…I wasn’t sure I had a choice.”
“You always have a choice. Just be certain you are aware of the consequences. Should you accept marriage to me there will be no bargains made, no compromises in any area.” The erotic glint in his eyes ensured no misunderstanding as to what particular area he was referring to. “Should you decline, be certain I will obtain full, or at the very least equal, rights to custody of my child.”
His child, the subject of such bitter words between her parents, was racing up the stairs calling for them both with hungry anticipation of the promised trip to the seaside.
Enrico reached for the door, but kept his hard gaze on Faye. “Well?”
She was heading for heartbreak, because as much as she loved him he would never love her. But there was no way out, not if she wanted to be with her daughter. “If it’s a case of marrying you or being separated from my child even for a day, there’s no decision to make.” She made sure to hold his gaze, lifting her chin for a shot of confidence. “So, yes, I’ll marry you.”
Not that she didn’t question her decision over and over during the four weeks leading up to their wedding.
Enrico was distant, cool, aloofly polite with Faye, while a complete and utter pushover with his daughter. Melita wangled just about anything she wanted from Enrico, who in turn lavished attention on his daughter. Faye could almost see the rose-colored hue in his eyes.
On more than one occasion she had quietly chastised him, warning that it was not in their daughter’s best interests to be spoiled and that she shouldn’t be allowed to get away with some of the things he allowed her to get away with. In return Faye received an icy stare that indicated he couldn’t give a damn what she thought, often accompanied by a curt and severe reminder he was making up for the seven years in which she had denied him the privilege.
Now, as Faye unpacked her things in the lavishly prepared bridal suite at the sumptuous Casa Annot, she shivere
d. Not from the air conditioning, or the breathtaking view of the Cote d’Azur from the terrace. No. What sent a frisson of reaction through her was the thought that in a few moments Enrico would return from a brief meeting with the hotel’s owner, one of his friends from university days.
On arrival at the hotel he had breezily announced his arrangement to have a drink with his old friend, allowing her time to rest following their earlier marriage ceremony in Lucca’s civic hall and the helicopter flight along the coast to their hotel. Faye knew she had no right to feel hurt by it. In spite of what Rico had warned, this promised to be no traditional marriage, where the bride and groom could barely keep their hands off each other. This was yet another marriage of convenience. Nothing more, nothing less. She would do well to remember it.
Anyway, perhaps he’d been right, Faye thought, pulling out a satin padded hanger from the enormous wardrobe to hang one of her sundresses. She did welcome the time to herself. If only to get her thoughts together.
The ceremony had passed in a blur. She barely remembered saying her vows. Although hearing Enrico’s clipped tones as he’d said his made her heart dip to her knees. She remembered the well-wishes of Carla and Giovanni who had acted as witnesses. The happiness glowing from her child’s face as she swept her arms around her parents and told them she was the happiest girl in the whole world, promising to behave herself for Carla while they spent a few days on honeymoon. And what did a “honeymoon” mean, anyway? Enrico had carefully explained it meant that Mummy and Daddy got some time to talk about things they were going to do now that they were married.
Did that mean they would sleep in the same bed, like her friend Millie’s parents did back in London? And if it did, could she still come into bed with them when it thundered, like she always did with Mummy?
Faye smiled, remembering her daughter’s barrage of questions, then sank down onto the bed. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day she fought back the urge to weep. This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, and yet it felt the most wretched. She glanced over to the door. Her husband was out there now, propped against some bar sharing a drink and a few memories with an old friend, while his bride sat alone on their bed willing him to come back and tell her he cared for her and wanted their marriage to work.
Fat chance of that, Faye thought miserably, as she got to her feet and finished sorting her underwear into one of the drawers. Business contracts made no stipulation that either party had to care. She ran her fingers over the scraps of silk and lace she’d bought on impulse. Treating herself to sexy, frilly underwear in the hope that Enrico might weaken at the sight of her in it. How futile was that?
Was there anything more pitiful than a woman trying to attract a man who had shown her nothing but disdain, while simultaneously making clear his intention that she make good her promise to fulfill her wifely duties? For him any lovemaking—no, make that sex, for what he had in mind could never be termed lovemaking—any sex would be payback, the settling of a score. Harsh punishment for her treachery these past years.
What they shared wouldn’t be tender or caring. He’d take her in the same way he’d taken everything else. He’d be harsh and demanding, concerned not for her pleasure, but only for his. Once she had thought him tough but never cruel. How times had changed.
All she had ever wanted was for everyone to be happy. To have what they wanted most. She hadn’t wanted to burden Enrico with a wife he didn’t want, didn’t love. Well, it might have taken a few years longer to manage, but wasn’t that exactly what she had done now? Trapped him into a marriage he didn’t want?
She had absolutely no doubt of his love for his daughter, but it was obvious he wasn’t planning on adding to the family. The small box she’d seen him slip into his bedside drawer was evidence of that.
A knock at the door cut short her desolate musing. Faye hurried toward it, realizing as she was halfway across the room that Enrico would hardly knock. He’d just march right in. A waiter, dressed in a cool white uniform, gave her an enormous smile and a discreet apology for having disturbed her, but Monsieur Lavini had requested champagne be delivered to his suite.
Faye watched as the waiter placed the silver ice bucket and crystal flutes on the cabinet beside the doors to the terrace, then gave him a shaky smile and a mumbled thank you as he left. She turned to stare at the ice bucket. Champagne? What was that for? They hardly had anything to celebrate. She moved across the room and turned the bottle gently on its carpet of ice, smiling wryly as she read the label. Only the best for Enrico Lavini.
Maybe she should have a quick sample before he returned. A bit of Dutch courage. She certainly needed it. All that musing about how roughly he would treat her in bed had her nerves humming.
She jumped guiltily as the door opened and Enrico strode in. He looked at Faye and then at the champagne, his mouth curving in a mocking smile “Thinking of starting without me, cara? You must be more nervous than I believed.” He came over to the cabinet. “Did you hope a few glasses of this would dull your senses, help you get through the coming ordeal?”
“No,” she lied, watching as he lifted the bottle and began to pour. “I was just interested to see if it was one of your labels.”
“It is,” he said, as if the very idea of it being anyone else’s was ridiculous. “Now I believe a toast is in order.” He passed her champagne. “To the future,” he said, with a tap of his flute against hers. “To our daughter.”
At least she could drink wholeheartedly to the latter, even if the future filled her with dreaded anticipation. “To our daughter,” she repeated, smiling briefly before sipping champagne.
Enrico kept his eyes on hers. “I have arranged for an evening sail. We will have dinner on board.”
“A sail?” Had she heard him right? Surely he didn’t mean that evening. As if it were just any old evening and not their wedding night?
“Indeed. We will sail toward Monte Carlo. Perhaps you might enjoy a stop-over at the casino.”
She must have heard him wrong. “Casino?”
He nodded. “I suggest you get ready.” A superior smile slashed his face as he surveyed her with enviable cool. “We do not want to keep our guests waiting.”
“Guests?” This time she really must have heard him wrong. “Tonight?”
“Indeed.” He leaned back against the cabinet, arms folded, with the champagne flute nestling in the crook of his left elbow. “I am buying a new yacht, and the owners of the one that interests me have invited us to dine with them. No better way to test sail a vessel than to enjoy a good meal aboard her, would you not say?”
Enrico sipped his wine, watching Faye’s eyes widen and her face pale. He may have missed his calling, he considered, as he tried to quieten his overwrought system. Perhaps he deserved an acting award for the performance he was putting on. But the truth was he felt damned awkward about this whole marriage thing. Haunted by the way Faye had looked at him when he’d first suggested it. Stunned, pained…and was there even a glimmer of disgust?
Well, he wasn’t exactly proud of himself. But Dio she had played him for a fool all these years, she and his brother had laughed behind his back. They’d spent years—years—deceiving him. Now it was time to even the score.
He took another sip of champagne, watching her fuss with the tiny pearl buttons of her jacket. She hadn’t changed out of the little blue suit she’d chosen for the ceremony, nor did she seem any calmer, any more relaxed. Good, he thought, as venom coursed through his veins. That was exactly how he wanted her. She’d deceived him, kept his beautiful daughter from him, lied, cheated and…fallen in love with his brother.
Shame pumped through him. Heaven help him, that was the crux of his fury, his wrath. Not that she’d lied about Melita’s paternity, nor that she’d cheated him out of the first years of his daughter’s life. What ripped through him, clawed at him, was that she’d chosen his brother. He’d banked it down all these years, told himself he no longer cared. But now he k
new they had a child together it had somehow brought everything to a fierce and terrifying climax.
“What a wonderful idea.” Faye’s overly-pleasant tone cut through his heated reverie. “And how clever of you to combine two business ventures.” She snapped up her vanity case from the chaise at the end of the giant bed. “How exciting, dinner on a yacht and then on to Monte Carlo. I’ve never been to Monaco. Is it as glamorous as they say?”
She imagined the heavy clink she heard as she closed the bathroom door was the sound of Enrico slamming down his glass. Wickedly satisfied, Faye spun the taps. One up to me, she thought, and tapped an imaginary line in the air. See how he liked that.
Bastard.
It was obvious what he was doing. Keeping her off balance, making her squirm. He knew she was nervous, unsettled by everything. It was all part of his little game. Payback, whatever he wanted to call it. Another attempt to humiliate her. To keep her ground down.
Well, two could play at that game. How about a nice spot of rejection at the end of the evening? See how he’d like that. He’d warned her he’d not tolerate any compromises or bargaining in the bedroom department, but he’d never actually forbidden delay tactics.
She forced herself not to yank at the buttons of her jacket as they stubbornly refused to open. Instead she took a deep breath, told herself to calm down. The man wasn’t worth the white heat that had her fingers shaking with fury
How dare he treat her this way?
Anger replaced the nerves and tension. Now she had her own agenda. By the end of the evening she’d have him so hot for her he’d be unable to think straight. And then, then, she would pull out one of the stock advantages in a woman’s arsenal. By the time she’d finished he’d be the one begging, pleading.
And she’d take great pleasure in telling him where he could go.
Chapter Nine