by Caro LaFever
“I have worked hard these past few years. It was necessary.”
“Necessary to become a billionaire?”
His voice chilled. “I worked hard until I was assured the family company was stable. The money merely followed.”
“Whatever you say, Dante.”
“I like it when you say that.”
His tease goaded her. Unwilling excitement bubbled in her blood. “That was sarcasm.”
“Which we’ve already agreed is one of your new skills.”
“A skill we’ve also agreed you don’t appreciate.” She flipped another page of her book. “So let’s make another agreement. Let’s agree we can’t have a civil conversation and we should stay away from each other.”
She waited almost breathlessly for his response. When it didn’t come, the disappointment that followed shocked her. Why, she was…she was…enjoying this! Enjoying the sparring, the provoking.
She’d learned to hate any sparring or teasing or provoking. She’d learned to be quiet because it was easier. She’d learned to keep her mouth shut. Yet, suddenly, with this man, her old mouthy ways strode from the past into the present. Along with excitement at crossing words, challenging another.
With him.
With Dante Casartelli.
Gritting her teeth, she lectured herself. This wasn’t about him. This was about her. She was strong and self-sufficient now—this was only a manifestation of that. Nothing more.
Don’t be an idiot and think it had anything to do with this man. Remember how you planned to treat him.
With disdain. Dismissing his words. Keeping her distance.
A fairly easy task, she’d figured as she prepared for her trip to Italy. After all, he’d made it clear years ago he wanted nothing more to do with her.
Her brain stopped at the thought.
Wait a minute. What was going on here? She’d dismissed what happened two nights ago as some odd sort of curiosity on his part. But here she was, alone with him, at his design. From what his sisters had told her over the last few months, Dante never did anything without cool calculation.
A ruthless businessman.
A formidable older brother.
A stern keeper of the family reputation.
The first time she heard this, she’d gone home and cried. Stupidly cried for the boy she’d loved so deeply as a child. A fun and spontaneous boy who laughed and teased. She’d cried her last tears over the memory of the boy she’d still held onto even after his betrayal.
That had been when she’d first gotten back to Italy, though. For three months now she’d heard story after story about this man’s nature. Months she’d used to dig out and destroy the old memories once and for all.
What was his game? Why did this calculating creature arrange this meeting?
Lara turned to glare at him with suspicion. “What is going on—”
“I work hard.” His voice was calm, contained. “However, I am not a workaholic.”
His response riled her. He dismissed her jab, cut across her question, returned to the previous topic. While she was all roiling emotions, he was his usual distant self.
She risked another glance at him, wanting to see if she could glean any sense of what he was thinking and feeling.
His eyes were still closed, lashes stark on his olive skin. He gave her nothing.
“I don’t care what you do,” she told him. Told herself.
His eyes snapped open and her pride wouldn’t allow her to look away. They appeared black as night, though she knew from staring into them as a child they were filled with sparkling brown highlights and golden gleams. A person had to pay close attention to catch the flashes of radiance and warmth, yet they were there.
Or they had been once, long ago.
The air thickened between them, and she found herself holding her breath.
“I don’t believe you,” he said softly.
The knots inside tore at her control. Fear, lust, anger churned in her gut. Why was he pushing her to feel? Feel the old, unwanted bond between them. Feel the awakening of her sexuality.
She stared at her book, willing herself to stop thinking and feeling.
“So, tell me about your marriage.”
“You seem to have an obsession about my marriage,” she shot back, struggling to collect herself and push him away.
“All right,” he grumbled. “Tell me about your school instead.”
“What do you know about my school?” Swinging her head around again, she met his keen gaze. Like a mother hen, she felt protective and territorial about her school. For some reason, the fact he knew about it frightened her. She didn’t want him lurking around even the perimeter of her dream. The school was hers, only hers.
“My sisters chatter. I listen.”
“This school has nothing to do with you.”
“It could be.” His look was direct. “I hear you need funds. I have acquaintances—”
“No.”
Her blunt word hovered between them.
“As you wish.”
She couldn’t have possibly penetrated that thick hide of his and actually hurt him. Still, she knew she had. The way he said the words, dry as dust with a touch of pain. The way he pulled back, lying down on the cushion with another hushed sigh.
She refocused on her book and flipped another page, trying to ignore the good manners that had been drilled into her as a child.
The attempt was fruitless.
“The school is for children with learning disabilities.” This was the only olive branch he was going to get.
“Ah.”
“What does that mean?” Immediate defensiveness flashed through her.
“It means, I am listening.”
Another memory raced through her mind. Of his serious face staring at her as she prattled. Of his black gaze never wavering from her as she confided her deepest dreams, her scariest fears. The boy had always listened to her. Even as he grew into manhood and spent days and weeks away at school and at work with his father. Even then, he’d made time for her. Still grinned when he’d seen her, still teased, still listened.
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the book. No. He was not that boy or that young man now. Maybe, probably, he’d never been what she’d imagined. She shouldn’t be fooled by old memories into offering him any leeway.
“Why learning disabilities?”
He wasn’t worthy of her confidences anymore. He never had been. She wouldn’t let him inside her ever again only to destroy her for the second time in her life.
She managed a nonchalant shrug. “Because.”
His hand fisted one more time. “Now it’s my turn to ask the question,” he growled. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means none of your business.”
“Ah.”
Damn him. That was all he was going to say? Damn him even further because she felt it as he drew back, felt him retreat into himself.
This is what you should want from Dante Casartelli. Distance.
Turning the page, she stared at the first paragraph. The sun slanted against her sunglasses, dipping lower in the sky. Soon she would be able to leave, her pride intact, emotions safe. Unexpected and unwanted tears clogged her throat.
“You married so quickly. It was a surprise.” His dark tone cut through her emotional turmoil.
“A surprise?” Why did he keep circling around to something that surely meant next to nothing to him? Distress and irritation welled inside her. “Why would you be surprised?”
“You were only eighteen.”
“Old enough to marry.”
He snorted. “You were a child.”
“How would you know that?” She slammed her book closed, distress flashing into anger at the oh-so-familiar slur. “We hadn’t spoken or seen each other in almost two years.”
“I kept track.” Black eyelashes fell, masking his gaze.
“Sure you did.”
“I am growing tired of this sarcasm o
f yours.”
“Too bad.” Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes once more, trying to quell the roiling emotions in her heart.
He kept track of her? How? His sisters had occasionally written her an email. Her father had once or twice told her Dante had inquired about her. Still, she’d never heard from him or seen him during the years of her marriage. If he’d kept track of her, he’d have known why she was sarcastic. He would have known why she’d become this way. He would have known...
But that wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want him to know her. Know her history and her pain and her scars. She wanted nothing from him. “You know nothing about me. You never did.”
A taut silence fell. She heard his breathing, harsh, uncontrolled.
Angry. Truly angry.
The cold icicle had unexpectedly turned into a fire-breathing man. Towards her. Well, she’d asked for it, hadn’t she? She hadn’t been able to stop herself from poking and prodding him until she got a reaction.
The tang of tears burned deep in her throat.
“I knew enough to know you weren’t ready for marriage.” His voice rippled with vehemence. “Dio, he was your instructor.”
The emotion in his voice shook her. Yet what shocked her most was his words. She thought he’d been mad at her, at her sarcasm and rejection. Instead, he was mad at Gerry? Shock mixed with the bittersweet memory of how he had once protected her all the time. Tears threatened to push past her eyelids. “Yes, that’s right,” she sputtered. “Just a teacher. Not a rich man.”
A sound of male frustration rasped in his throat. “That is not what I meant. I meant he was twenty years your senior and had a responsibility. He took advantage of you.”
Gerry had. She would never confess that fact to this man, though. Honestly, when she boiled down to the bottom line, it was Dante who had placed her in the position where she’d fallen for Gerry’s lies. A fact she needed to hold onto for dear life.
She swallowed the tears.
“Say something,” he ordered.
Swallowing once more, she kept her eyes closed.
“This is rather a childish response,” he snarled. “Stop ignoring me.”
There it was again. The humiliating putdown. A child. He thought of her as a child. Precisely like Gerry, he thought of her as a stupid, silly child. Anger rushed through her, swamping the last of her stupid, silly tears. This man didn’t deserve her tears. This man had no idea what she’d gone through and overcome. No matter how much he’d kept track of her.
She turned to glare at him. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do. Ever again. That is not childish. It’s a fact.”
Swinging his legs over the side of his chair, he exuded masculine indignation. “When did you ever do what I told you to do? I have very clear memories of continually rescuing you from one childhood scrape or another when you did exactly the opposite of what I said.”
A dark red fury burst inside her. “Let me remind you of one particular night twelve years ago. I did exactly what you told me to do then, didn’t I?”
The muscles in his shoulders stiffened. “Si. Let us talk about that night.”
He wanted to talk about it? Disbelief ricocheted deep inside her and she scrambled for emotional cover. “I’m surprised you don’t need me to refresh your memory.”
“I need no reminders,” he said, the words stark. “I live with the memory every day.”
A choked, pained laugh escaped her. “Now it’s my turn to tell you I don’t believe you.”
“It is true.” He stared at her, his face grim. “We will talk about this.”
“No, we won’t. I have no interest in going down memory lane with you.” The pain was too great, the memories too overwhelming to deal with. Whipping her sunglasses off, she stood. “I’m going swimming instead.”
Chapter 4
He’d nearly lost his temper.
Dannazione.
He never lost his temper anymore.
Dante took in a deep breath, leashing in the bubbling frustration and annoyance. The attempt was superseded and submerged, however, by a more powerful reaction as she walked toward the pool. The emotions running through him turned instantly to lust as his gaze roamed down her body. The graceful line of her shoulders and spine smoothed into a trim waist. The creamy bare skin continued down over flared hips. Her derriere was a firm, heart-shaped temptation as it moved back and forth. Long legs ended with perfect pink-tipped toes.
The woman strutted like a queen.
His hands itched to grab. But like an unworthy subject, he couldn’t take what wasn’t his and clearly wasn’t on offer.
Yet.
Closing his eyes, he focused. Focused on his goal. Before she arrived in Italy, he’d assumed it would be fairly easy to convince her they were meant to be together. After their meeting two nights ago though, it was clear he needed to step back and prepare more carefully.
He’d thought about it all last night and the night before.
Sleep had never been much of a requirement for him, and he often used the midnight hours to take stock, think things through, and formulate a path forward. Just as he did in his business dealings, he did it with family issues. So it was natural for him to do the same with this current challenge.
Lara.
The splash of water told him it was safe to open his eyes. She cut a clean, fluid line in the water, her strokes sure and poised. As children, they’d spent hours here. He’d been the one to teach her not to be afraid of the water. He’d been the one who taught her the exact stroke she used right now.
For a moment, grief welled inside. A sense of aching loss. If they’d been children, she would have greeted him with a joyful grin, flown into his arms, chatted excitedly about what stroke he was going to teach her today. Still, they weren’t children anymore, and Dio, he did not actually want to go back to a time when he had to keep their relationship platonic. Instead, he would move forward and continue to teach her. Teach her to smile once more. Teach her to fly into his arms once again.
Teach her how to forget her damned dead husband.
White-hot jealousy billowed inside him with astonishing speed. The sun’s rays instantly turned blistering and sweat broke out over his entire body.
Calm down, Dante.
His father’s stern voice echoed in his head. He closed his eyes again, forcing his focus back to what was important. Her first marriage was not important. He’d been foolish to bring it up; he’d only irritated her and irritated himself. The impulse to shake Lara until she confessed she no longer loved and mourned a dead man…the driving need to push the man out of her memories…the raging frustration he’d felt for days, months, years…all of it had churned inside him until it loosened his tongue and he’d made a mistake.
Going forward he would not mention it anymore. He would follow the path he’d decided on over the last few days. Losing his control—either his temper or his lust—was not acceptable. He could not let her goad him. That would be counterproductive.
His intentions were detailed, decisive, and, like every one of his goals, when fully implemented, would be successful.
First he needed to address what had happened that long ago night. Explain to her why he had pushed her away and spoken so bluntly. Once this incident was put behind them, he would remind her of this bond they had. The memories, the joy in each other’s company, the powerful emotions they shared years ago.
Another powerful link lay between them. One that no longer had to be denied, one he could use to convince her of what was inevitable between them. He was not the only one who felt the intense link of mutual awareness, he was positive of that. The way she’d looked at his body mere minutes ago told him all he needed to know. The sexual heat and draw could not be denied. The connection simmered between them, every moment they were in each other’s presence.
She could not ignore these ties binding them together. Not for long.
This was meant to be.
They wou
ld become lovers.
His skin prickled with another kind of heat. Thick hot blood ran through his veins. Lust threatened to overpower his reason.
He sucked in a deep breath of salted ocean air. The tang of the breeze quieted him as it often had when he’d been a kid walking along the beach at the edge of his family’s property.
The goal. Think of your goal. Don’t allow yourself to lose your concentration.
He sucked in another breath.
Soothing her anger was only the first step. Reminding her of the bond only the second. Using the sexual heat between them merely a stepping stone. Once he’d accomplished all this, he would still move forward with patience. He was not interested in a quick tumble. Which meant he needed to keep himself on a tight, firm rein until he’d reached his ultimate goal: Lara as his wife and mother of his children. The mate he’d chosen and loved from the very moment he’d held her in his boyish arms.
Opening his eyes, he stared at her. Her mahogany hair had turned black in the water. Her skin still held the milky white of her years in England, with only a light glow of a tan on her shoulders. She kept her focus fastened on the surrounding gardens.
Ignoring him, but not for long.
One step at a time. He would not allow her to run, walk, or swim away until she understood what had truly happened twelve years ago. Until she acknowledged what he’d done was the right thing. The only thing he could have done.
He stood and walked to the pool. She was on the far side, making her way to the other end. With a swift plunge, he entered the water. Long strokes through the refreshing coolness swept away the sweat, the jealousy, the lingering lust.
She passed him, going the other way. Paying no attention to him.
Gritting his teeth, he drove himself to the end and then turned. She moved away from him with quick, sure strokes. He’d always been the faster swimmer, however. Pushing himself, he quickly reached her side.
She gave him a fleeting glance as her arm arched over her head. Big gold eyes, lashes wet with water drops. Then she ducked her head underwater and surged past him.