by Caro LaFever
The church was packed. His business associates. Far-flung family members. The neighbors that lived around them. All here to witness the union of one of the most eligible men in Europe to a beautiful, graceful woman many had known since her childhood.
Madonna in cielo.
He hadn’t felt this trapped and foolish since his father’s death. Never had he screwed something up so badly as this. His mother was going to be heartbroken. His sisters were going to hate him. His brother was going to laugh at him. The extended family was going to question his character. The neighbors were going to gossip for months. His business associates were going to wonder about his honor and integrity.
Yet if he stopped this now, perhaps Lara would someday forgive him.
He cleared his throat. “Tomas, I must—”
“Here she is.” His brother peered down the long row of pews to the entrance. “See? I told you there was nothing to worry about. After all, what woman would walk away from your money?”
Dante winced as a shaft of pain sliced through him like a clean, swift kill.
“Hey!” Tomas grabbed his shoulder. “I’m kidding. She isn’t that way. You know her.”
“Si,” he managed.
He finally looked at her. The sunlight shining through the massive stained-glass windows highlighted her form, splintering a golden halo around her. Her father stood next to her in the arched stone entryway. Dani glided down the aisle, the only bridesmaid Lara wanted.
She moved towards him. Towards this marriage.
Dante sucked in a breath and held it. As she paced away from the entrance, her face and form became clear. The veil muted her features: the solemn turn of her wide mouth, the flash of honey eyes as she glanced at her father, the clean edge of her jaw. All softened and gilded with creamy lace. Her wedding gown was cut to show her figure, all willowy beauty and lovely curves. Lace curled around the edges of the dress and he saw the peep of her cream pumps as she slowly moved towards him. Towards this marriage.
He couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t let her go.
He knew it was wrong. This was not the way to start a marriage. There were too many misunderstandings, too many problems. Still, every one of their issues faded, completely, as she walked toward him in total beauty and grace.
He had to have her.
Hugo Derrick’s brows rose as they arrived at his side. What did the man want of him? He couldn’t smile. What was there to smile about? He was going to marry a woman who hated him because he had to. No control. No calm decision. No, the feelings pumping through him were entirely chaotic, entirely crazy. The craving, the wanting, the desire were in complete dominance. He hated this feeling, had learned to repress this madness for so long. But now, now, it was all there once more.
He must have her.
Dante managed a slight nod at Hugo and it seemed to satisfy the man. He kissed his daughter’s forehead and handed her over, stepping away to sit in the nearest pew, beside her brother.
She stared at him through the lace. Deep, dark golden pools of mystery. Her mouth tightened. What was she thinking? Dio, he didn’t want to know. Her thoughts would probably push him across the edge of his control into complete and utter insanity. He imagined himself throwing her over his shoulder, marching down the aisle as she screamed her hate at him.
Not caring. Only wanting.
Her hand was cold in the warmth of his. Looking at her long, lovely fingers, he silently begged her forgiveness for what he was going to force her to do. There was no help for it; there was no way he could not do this.
He must have her.
Father Gibaldi coughed and she turned toward the priest with a gentle smile.
And it began.
The words meant nothing. The cry of a baby, the hushed scolding of a niece, nothing penetrated his world of chaos and craving and wanting. He rode wave after wave of emotion, tossed from crest to crest without any direction or focus.
He had to have her as his wife.
This was wrong.
He must have her in his bed.
You are forcing her.
He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.
Not good enough.
He was a man who could fix anything, make anything happen.
You cannot fix a marriage that should never have been.
The wild swells inside him drew him back to his boyhood, where his emotions always ruled him. He’d reveled in the highs and lows, they were part of him, part of his soul. His father had been right, however; the wild, emotional boy he had been could never have ruled the financial empire and the family successfully. He’d been forced to change and over the years had begun to see himself as a composed, imperturbable man. But now, the façade washed away as he stood at the altar, marrying a woman who couldn’t stand him because he couldn’t stand the thought of not having her.
“I do,” she murmured beside him.
Somehow, in some way, he would make this right.
He took a deep breath. “I do.”
Inside him, he wrenched himself back into control. Think, man, think. This union could work, would work. He merely had to convince her of how much potential lay between them. After a while, her anger would fade. The sexual connection between them would help heal the wounds. He merely had to suppress his wild emotions. No baiting. No fighting. Instead, there would be mutual respect and regard. Eventually, she would see this marriage working and would come around to his way of thinking.
Wouldn’t she?
“You may kiss your bride.” Father Gibaldi smiled at him with warmth.
He turned and faced her. Again, the deep pools of her eyes told him nothing of her feelings. He lifted the veil, uncovering her face. Her beautiful, serene face, with the cream of her skin like velvet, the clean blade of her nose perfectly setting off her high cheekbones.
Her mouth was free of lipstick, pale pink. The lushness of the lower lip complemented the slight bow of her upper one.
Respect her. Honor her. Protect her.
He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her. It was a promise, a pledge.
He would make this right.
* * *
Married.
Signora Casartelli.
Lara glanced at her hand lying on her lap. The cool dampness of her white palms contrasted with the subtle heat of her thighs and the softness of the bright pink cashmere of her dress.
The five-carat diamond flashed in the sun, a cold, brilliant burden.
The hum of the plane engine was the only sound echoing in the cabin.
A private plane. A huge, luxurious, private plane.
Owned by her husband.
She took another look around. Plush cream leather covered the sofas and chairs. Pillows of crimson and touches of mahogany gave a counterpoint to the light luxuriance of the interior. They were several hours out of Aeroporto di Firenze, on the way to their lavish honeymoon in Barbados. Daniella had told her of the hotel and the villas spread along the beach. The fancy restaurants, the plush beds, the swimming pools. All of it owned and managed by one of Dante’s subsidiary companies.
How could she be surprised?
But a startling realization had washed through her as they left the wedding reception. She and Dante had been surrounded by bodyguards, the pop pop pop of the paparazzi cameras exploding around them. Granted, the ceremony was news, she’d known that, yet what had stunned her was the impression these men were not hired guns for an event. They worked for her new husband; it was clear in their interaction with him. Like a king, he had to be protected at all times.
Dante Casartelli had a full-time staff of more than housekeepers and gardeners.
He had a full-time staff of bodyguards.
Her hand fisted in her lap.
She wouldn’t put up with it. She wouldn’t. For almost a decade, she’d been watched and guarded and controlled by Gerry. One of the best things about these last eighteen months was her freedom. Freedom to go where she wanted,
when she wanted, for whatever reason she wanted.
The bodyguards could guard their boss, that was fine with her. She would have nothing to do with them in the future, though. Her new husband would probably disagree, but too bad. Accepting surveillance hadn’t been a clause in their vile contract so he couldn’t impose something she hadn’t agreed to.
Still, she had agreed to one clause. A clause that loomed in her thoughts once more as she pushed aside the thought of unwanted bodyguards.
The deep yawning silence in the plane’s cabin, a silence that continued hour after hour as they flew towards their honeymoon night, made the contract clause she kept thinking about appear ludicrous. The man across from her clearly could not care less.
No loving words. No promises of a night filled with passion.
Only cold silence.
Exactly like her previous union.
Drawing in a deep breath, she swung her head around and pinned a determined stare on the fluffy clouds dancing along the wings of the airplane.
Perhaps this was good. This was what she should want.
Dante Casartelli might be exactly like Gerry and never make a sexual move toward her during their marriage. Maybe, just maybe, her secret would be safe.
Clause #3. Lara Derrick Casartelli will willingly engage in marital relations with her husband on a daily basis.
Her throat locked up.
Because she knew she was fooling herself. And the clause, the bloody damn clause in their monstrous agreement, was only one reason.
It had only taken one look.
Mere hours ago.
One look from his black eyes.
Dante was nothing like Gerry in one way. Even she, in her inexperience, knew enough to realize that. True, he had an icicle for a heart—exactly like her dead husband. Yes, he had no honor or integrity—completely like good old Gerry. Yet in one specific area, he was nothing like her unlamented dead husband.
He lusted for her.
She’d had her doubts during the last month. However, with one look, a moment she’d almost missed, with one look during their wedding dance, she’d seen what he intended for tonight.
Black scorching heat. For one brief second. Then his long dark eyelashes hid him from her again and she’d been too shocked to sort it out as he swung her around in the waltz. She’d been too frazzled. Too frazzled by her family and his. Too overwhelmed by the piles of gifts proclaiming Dante’s important and wealthy friends. Too stunned by the paparazzi attention as they left the reception to contemplate what that look meant.
Too, too, too...until now.
He wanted her. That one look had brought back the memories of his kisses and his touches.
A blast of unwilling, unwanted passion blazed through her blood as the memories scorched her brain with images and feelings and heat.
She wanted him, too.
She wanted him, too.
Sucking in her stomach, she allowed the treacherous thought to leech into her heart.
She wanted him to kiss her with his desperate, driving passion. She wanted him to lick her breasts and touch her until she lost herself in pleasure. More than anything, she wanted him inside her. Even though she knew nothing about handling a man like her new husband. A man who wanted her as a woman. A man filled with lust.
She still wanted him.
Lara stared through the airplane’s small window at the billowing clouds. The empty silence continued behind her.
There’d been another look as well. One more she hadn’t had time to assimilate as he’d led her down the aisle and into the Italian sun. A look she hadn’t had time to think about as the pictures were taken, and she was hugged and kissed by his sisters, and the limos had made their stately march to the Casartelli villa.
He’d looked at her. Right before he kissed her at the altar.
Pleading. His black eyes had pleaded.
Promising. His dark eyes had promised.
Pleading? Promising?
Dante Casartelli?
She puffed out a breath, a short burst of disbelief. The sound only seemed to amplify the silence.
“Would you enjoy a cocktail, Signora Casartelli?”
Swinging around, she met the gaze of the smiling attendant. She could get drunk. Maybe getting drunk would make her lose her inhibitions and she’d be able to fool him into thinking—
“No, thank you.”
She wasn’t going to wimp out. Not like before in her previous marriage. She wasn’t going to retreat or pacify or submit as she had with Gerry. She’d face Dante’s pity when it came and deal with it. She wouldn’t offer excuses or explanations.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” The attendant nodded and moved to the end of the plane.
Lara barely noticed her leaving with all the thoughts tumbling around in her head.
Wait a second. There was more she could do. More than acting stoic and taking whatever her new husband dished out. She could take control of this sex thing. If she was aggressive perhaps he’d never even realize her secret.
She was a virgin.
But she hadn’t been living in a cave over the last eighteen months. She’d watched her share of movies and TV shows; ones that had been banned when Gerry was alive, yet had come along with her freedom after his death. She’d listened to Dante’s sisters giggle about their husbands. She’d read a ton of previously forbidden material the last few months: women’s magazines, romances, erotica.
Her tongue cleaved to her mouth.
Could she do it? Could she pull it off? Could she make her new husband believe she knew what she was doing in bed?
The plane arced in the sky, veering left, dipping beneath the clouds.
In another couple of hours, she’d be in a private bedroom with her new husband. A man her heart hated, but her body wanted. Did she have enough guts to take what she wanted?
She allowed herself a glance across the cabin.
Her stomach fluttered, then fell somewhere around her feet.
Her new husband still stared at his laptop as if his next decision would save the world or perhaps the universe. For hours, he’d read and typed and read. And ignored her. On their honeymoon.
Exactly like Gerry.
He might lust for her, yet just like Gerry, to him she essentially was a mere tool.
An ugly wash of pain slapped her inside. This was so familiar. So horrible. How could she possibly think she had any chance of seducing this man into missing the potent fact she didn’t know what she was doing sexually? How could she even think of approaching this man when he plainly saw her as nothing more than a womb he’d use to implant his seed?
Anger bloomed inside her tinged with an ache of hurt.
Dammit. She would not let him hurt her. Never again.
“I suppose I will have to search for the nearest bookstore when we arrive in Barbados.” Her tone was dry and cool. She was proud of herself—not a hint of the burning bitterness churning inside her slipped through.
Dante’s fingers stilled on the laptop as he turned and stared at her.
What was it about him that drew her attention? He could not even be classified as good-looking. His nose was too prominent and his brow too dark and heavy over his eyes. His appearance was all command, all masculinity. No touch of softness or gentleness edged his hard jaw or broad forehead. Only the slash of his mouth gave a hint of the volcano of passion she’d glimpsed so briefly in his gaze hours ago and experienced so shockingly weeks ago. His mouth’s current tightness eclipsed any thought of kissing or touching.
“Why do you need a bookstore?” His tone was composed showing he clearly couldn’t care less what she did.
“I’ll have to entertain myself for the majority of our honeymoon.”
One dark brow arched as he leaned back into the leather chair. “You have come to this conclusion for what reason?”
“I understand the way you think.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “You do?”
“Yes.” She sm
oothed her hand down the pink cashmere, wiping away the slight film of sweat on her palms. “Marriage was only one of the many items on your to-do list today. You’ve accomplished the goal and now you are focused on other goals. More important goals.”
“Goals more important than marriage?” He pushed the laptop away and gazed at her with intensity.
“In your mind, business goals will always be what are most important.” She stared at him, a smile pinned on her face. “I’m completely aware I am merely an acquisition, a cog in the wheel of your life.”
“An acquisition. A cog.” His jaw tightened. “And you willingly accept this?”
“Yes, I want as little of your attention as possible.”
“That was not my impression when we were in the garden together mere weeks ago.”
She would not blush. “You’re mistaken.”
His hand flexed and then relaxed against the leather. “I am sorry I will have to disrupt your plans to spend this honeymoon catching up on your reading, bella. However, I will need to have your full attention for the next couple of weeks.”
A shot of pure lust pulsed through her body. Fear clanged through her straight after. She shifted her legs and kept her expression blank. “I can’t think why. You’ll probably be way too busy with your business.”
“True, my business is vitally important to me. It feeds my family, maintains my estates. It also gives me the opportunity to help friends when needed,” he said, his tone ironic.
She hissed out a shot of hot breath and glared at him. “I don’t need a reminder of how I ended up here and who holds complete power in this relationship.”
“Complete power. Interesting.” His hand clenched. Then released. “If I have not given you the attention you desire during these last couple of hours, it is for a reason. I was trying to ensure that when we arrive in Barbados, I will be free from business concerns for the foreseeable future.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Except my money.”