Rich Man's Revenge

by Tessa Radley

  “You think you’ll frighten him off?”

  “Well, your father and Pascal certainly think I’m frightening.”

  Danielle assessed the grim smile that slashed his face, the tall hard body, and wasn’t surprised that he’d put the fear of death into grown men.

  He frightened her, too.

  D’Alessio was dangerous. Far more dangerous than some screwball sending her hate mail. And her father and Ken were entrusting him with keeping an eye on her.

  She sighed. “Okay. You can stay. Not that I ever had much choice.”

  The tension in his shoulders gave a little. “I’ll be taking you home. And starting tomorrow I’ll be picking you up from your father’s home each morning.”

  Danielle bit down on the unfamiliar urge to curse a blue streak. But her aching heart wouldn’t let her forget the odd note in his voice when he’d insisted that he needed this position at Sinco.

  The rest of the week proved to be uneventful. Danielle was irked at how seamlessly Rico fitted into her daily routine, how easily he adapted to the hum and bustle at Sinco’s headquarters. She had far more trouble adjusting to his presence next door while she tried to work. To be honest, she’d gotten little done. Every time he spoke, the hint of accent that belonged only to Rico seeped into her office breaking her concentration.

  On Friday morning she clenched her hands around the steering wheel and decided she couldn’t afford to let Rico scramble her brains; her work was too important to her. Danielle slowed as the traffic light ahead turned red. Stopping, she yanked the hand brake up hard, then turned her head to glance at the man beside her. “Ready for another hard day at the office?”

  She’d been astonished when he’d arrived at her father’s home on Tuesday morning and hadn’t automatically commandeered the keys to her zippy BMW convertible the way her father did when he drove anywhere with her; her overcautious handling of the sports car drove him wild, even though everyone knew her caution around vehicles came from painful experience.

  Rico’s only comment—after critically surveying the sparkling white vehicle with its folded-down roof—had been that from now on the top stayed up.

  As they waited for the lights to change, he smiled at her, his teeth white and even. “You certainly put in the hours. What are you trying to do? Win the Employee of the Year Award?”

  There was no such honour at Sinco. But it wasn’t a bad idea. In her capacity as human relations team leader she could implement it. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Startled, she looked at him. “You don’t think I’d get it?”

  “No.”

  Chagrin filled her at his certainty. “I happen to work damn hard! I graduated top of my class at business school, and I’ve been fast-tracked on the Sinco management program. And I assure you it’s not because I’m the boss’s daughter.”

  “I believe you. Nothing to do with your abilities—but you won’t get it.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “Because you’re not a man.” His eyes were shaded by the annoyingly dark lenses that hid his expression.

  Very sexy. Very Italian. She wrenched her attention back to the road…and to the topic they’d been discussing before his sexiness had distracted her.

  “You think my father’s a chauvinist?”

  “Of course he is!”

  Unfortunately Rico was right. Her father had little time for women in the workplace—or on the board. “And you’re not?” She sneaked another sideways look, which he intercepted.

  “I like women.” He smiled, a slow smile that made her heart tremble.

  Danielle drew a shuddering breath. She couldn’t allow the sinful attraction Rico had always held to mess with her brains. “I’m sure you do!”

  “The lights have changed.” His tone was gentle.

  “Thanks for the reminder,” she said tartly, and let out the clutch. Too fast. The car jerked and stalled. She didn’t dare look at him, or at the long line of cars in the rearview mirror. Instead she bit back a curse and restarted the car, then pulled smartly into the stream of traffic heading for the city.

  Once settled in her office, Danielle opened her e-mail program and started to go through the unread messages, pausing as she came to a message from an unknown e-mail address. It didn’t look like spam or a virus. “Urgent memorandum,” the subject line read. She glanced at the body where the text usually was. Nothing. Frowning, she opened a drawer and reached for a disk. Quickly she saved the attachment to the disk and ran it through the virus software. It was clean.

  She clicked…and screamed.

  Focused on the awful image on the screen, Danielle barely heard the running footsteps. Instead she stared at the face atop the body mutilated beyond reason. Her face. Shudders of horror and shock quaked through her. Distantly she heard Martin Dunstan say, “What happened?” as he came toward her.

  The next instant Rico erupted into the room. “Get down, Danielle. On the floor. Now.” She obeyed, sliding under the desk and covering her eyes with her hands in an attempt to block out the images.

  “You,” she heard Rico’s voice, hard as gunmetal, “Get against the wall.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue. Just do it.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “No, mate, you don’t understand. Against the wall. Now.”

  “Jesus, that’s a knife.” Martin’s frantic words caused Danielle to raise her head.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Now face the wall and put your hands up above you.”

  Danielle slithered out of the space beneath her desk. Her eyes widened at the sight of Rico leaning over Martin. From the stiffness of Martin’s back she could sense his terror as Rico patted him down. In the doorway Cynthia was shifting indecisively from foot to foot, a hand over her mouth. Danielle stepped away from the desk. “Rico, Martin’s no threat.”

  Rico grunted, finished checking him over—she assumed for weapons—and stepped back. “This is Dunstan?”

  Danielle bit her lip. “Er, yes…that’s Martin Dunstan, my boss.”

  Rico frowned at him. “You look different from your security photo. Where’s the beard? And aren’t you supposed to be in Sydney?”

  “I shaved it off.” Martin rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “I caught an earlier flight. My wife is due to have our baby any day. I’m sorry.”

  Rico swivelled to face her. “You screamed.” His eyes were colder and darker than she’d ever seen them. Like black ice.

  Danielle shivered.

  “Why?” Already he was prowling around her office, eyes snapping, Martin forgotten.

  She didn’t need to answer.

  Two paces took him to her computer. He stared at the graphics without flinching, his big body motionless. Then he reached for her phone. Danielle tried to feel irritated at the way he’d taken over, but she couldn’t summon the energy. For once it was a relief to have someone to lean on. She looked at his broad shoulders, thought about resting her head against his solid chest, and sighed.

  He had her in a flat-out spin.

  Three

  S everal hours later, after the police had been and gone, Rico insisted on taking Danielle home. Despite her objections that she had work to do, her relief was clearly visible.

  Rico couldn’t understand his compulsion to stay close to her side during the barrage of questions from the police, and even less comprehensible was the tangle of emotions he’d experienced: fear, rage and a curious need to shield Danielle from the world. Morgan and Carlos would laugh themselves silly to see him now. No resemblance to an automaton remained.

  And it terrified him that he was starting to feel again, that the attack on Danielle Sinclair had become personal.

  He’d shooed away the curious onlookers who kept visiting the sixth floor. While both Ken Pascal and David Matthews had turned up, Robert Sinclair was conspicuous by his absence. The information that Sinclair was too busy finalising security arrangements for some top-brass
delegation from the United States to come offer his daughter support caused Rico to seethe. And despite Pascal’s constant calls to update his boss, Sinclair still hadn’t spoken to his daughter.

  The hurt and bewilderment in Danielle’s eyes enraged Rico. At least he’d been there for her, he thought as he ushered her into the elevator. Robert Sinclair didn’t deserve a daughter like Danielle.

  “Now you understand why you should treat this guy seriously,” Rico growled ten minutes later as Danielle whipped the BMW along Tamaki Drive, a different route from the one they’d taken to the city this morning—by Rico’s insistence.

  The tide was in, and the midday sun had transformed the sea in Hobson Bay into sparkling bright-blue diamonds. There wasn’t a cloud to mar the azure sky. Normally Danielle would’ve pulled over and wound the roof down, but given her fright earlier, she suspected it would be a while before she felt secure enough to ride in an open car.

  And that enraged her.

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “So you were right. But I still don’t need you on my back 24/7.”

  “Princess—” the word stroked her senses, and she forgot how much she hated it when he called her that “—you should be so lucky.”

  She flushed at the subtle, sexy tone, and pressed her foot down on the accelerator, the unaccustomed need for speed surprising her.

  “Hey, slow down!”

  She threw him a challenging glance. “Scared?” she taunted, determined to flee the sensual images that terrified the wits out of her. Almost as much as she feared having a madman watching her. But no one was going to drive her into some dark hole where fear ruled her. On second thought, she’d rather play the dangerous game of challenging Rico’s machismo. “I was surprised a man as tough as you let me drive my own car,” she cooed, and batted her eyelashes outrageously as she stopped behind a line of congested traffic.

  She heard him snort. “The only reason I didn’t drive was because this way it left my hands free to find my weapon.”

  She shot him a provocative glance. “You keep your hands on your weapon all the time?”

  He stared straight ahead, not responding, but Danielle swore the flush along his cheekbones hadn’t been there before.

  “And there I thought you respected my right to drive my own car.” She clicked her tongue. “Does being driven by a woman frighten you?”

  He shrugged. “What Italian man would pass up the opportunity to be driven around in a sports car by a beautiful blonde?”

  She glared at him, but inside her heart sang. Rico thought she was beautiful. Suddenly the day brightened and the sky turned bluer.

  But she had to set him straight. “I’m hardly blonde, more like mouse.”

  He sputtered. “Princess, if you’re a mouse, then the cats better watch out.”

  For the first time in three hours the dark void that trapped her started to recede, and, unable to help herself, Danielle broke into laughter.

  When they returned to the white mansion on Paritai Drive she headed for her suite of rooms, Rico hard on her heels. Danielle wanted nothing more than to change out of her business suit and sink into a bath full of bubbles to cleanse away her earlier fright. But with Rico breathing down her neck, intent on not letting her out of his sight, the bath was fast becoming a dream.

  Unless she could shake him off.

  She took a deep breath, opened the door to her rooms and said, “Stop right there.”

  He barely slowed. “I want to check that everything is secure,” he said, brushing past her and causing her pulse to go haywire.

  She caught his hard arm. She wasn’t going to allow another man to browbeat her. “I’ve lived here all my life. Believe me, it’ll be fine.”

  “Humour me, Princess. Okay?”

  His lips kinked into a smile that immediately caused her pulse rate to pick up. She swallowed at the unexpected warmth in his eyes. Heck, she’d withstood his intimidation, but she had no defence against his charm.

  “Wait here.”

  Danielle started to argue, but one look at his rocklike jaw dissuaded her.

  He was back in seconds, his brows drawn into an uncompromising line. “Out!”

  “What—”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to go in there.”

  She pushed past him, but even in her hurry to force her way past, every nerve cell that made contact with the tensile strength of his body went on red alert. Ignoring the heat that flared through her, she burst into her sitting room. Rico grabbed her shoulders from behind, and another shaft of hot awareness pierced her.

  “Danielle, you don’t want to do this.”

  She wrenched away, but his hands tightened on her shoulders. “It’s my life,” she snapped. “I have a right to see what you’re trying to hide from me. I’m an adult, Rico. And I’m tired of all the decisions being made for me like I’m some doll.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I’ve told you before I don’t believe in treating you like a child, but I didn’t think you needed this. Not on top of everything that has happened today. Are you sure you’re up to another shock?”

  Her throat tightened. Anxiety mixed with something close to determination, and she nodded. “I’m sure.”

  He released her shoulders and gave her a gentle push. “In the bedroom. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She rushed toward her bedroom and came to a standstill at the threshold. Chilled, she stared at the previously white bedcover. Smears of red—blood? she wondered frantically—had been viciously and arbitrarily splattered across the white-on-white embroidered cover. The overpowering scent of bruised freesias hung like a pall over the room. In the centre of the double bed, amidst broken flowers torn from the bouquet she’d caught—was it only five days ago?—lay Annabelle, maimed, her face crushed.

  Blindly, she ran to the bed, set on picking Annabelle up, cradling her, trying to make the hurt better like she had for years after her mother had given her the precious doll.

  “Leave it!”

  She jerked to a standstill at Rico’s harsh voice.

  “The police will need to see the room untouched.” His tone softened as he stopped in front of her. His hands closed around her upper arms and Danielle stifled a dry sob.

  Her bedroom was a crime scene.

  “You need better protection. This guy is showing he can get to you. I don’t like it.”

  Danielle blinked. “What can I do?” she asked, intensely aware of the press of his fingers against her arms. “I don’t want a bodyguard. I can’t live like that.”

  Rico hesitated, his eyes half-closed. Another shiver shook her at the dark glitter of cool calculation. Then it vanished and he became Rico again.

  “You could marry me.”

  Stunned, she gazed up at him. “Marry you? You have to be joking! Why?”

  “No joke. I’d be with you all the time, you’ll never be alone at his mercy.”

  Instead she’d be at Rico’s mercy! But in lieu of dread, the thought sent a secret thrill shooting through her—as heady as her first glass of champagne. She gazed through lowered lashes at the firm, full mouth that had been the focus of countless daydreams when she’d been seventeen. That mouth and his husky voice had aroused desires that she hadn’t known how to go about fulfilling—desires that had embarrassed her. But she’d had no one to ask about the hot and cold shivers Rico had caused within her, the restlessness he’d stirred. And the only person she could’ve asked had been dead.

  And now her teen idol was proposing marriage to her. Her world tilted on its axis. Roughly she shook loose of his hold. Rico let her go. She took a step back and contrarily wished he hadn’t released her.

  Mum, what do I do?

  Her mother couldn’t help her, no more than she could’ve years ago after all the pent-up longing had boiled into that fiasco when she’d thrown herself at Rico.

  Just the memory made her blanch. Rico and her father had planned to spend a weekend brainstorming future plans for Sinco Security. On the Frida
y night they’d been closeted in her father’s study and she’d spent the evening pacing to and fro listening to the deep cadence of Rico’s voice as they’d worked late into the night. Boy, she’d had it bad.

  The meeting had eventually broken up well after midnight. Danielle’s heart had been knocking at her throat when she’d rapped on the door of the guest bedroom Rico had been given. He’d opened the door, lost his smile when he saw that she wore only a sheer robe with satin insets, her feet bare. Frowning, he’d demanded to know what she wanted.

  She’d rushed past him and, forgetting the words she’d prepared—romantic words, words of utter adoration—she’d dropped the robe and looked at him with her heart in her eyes, naked but for a pair of skimpy lace panties.

  There’d been no loverlike response. Rico had been furious. Yelling that she was little more than a child and he was a man with a wife, he’d ordered her to get out. She’d wanted to die of shame. To find a place where she could hide her head for a hundred years, and never meet his eyes again.

  But she’d forced herself to face him, to meet his remote gaze, no longer filled with sympathy and gentle humour…to grab the robe and run from the room. The next day he’d been different—withdrawn, his eyes remote.

  And now he was asking her to marry him.

  “Marry me, I’ll make everything right, you’ll see.” His voice was hard with certainty. She looked into his glittering eyes and her heart shifted in her chest.

  Could he make everything right? Desperately her eyes searched his. No longer the same eyes she remembered. But he’d offered her a chance. She could marry him, get to know the man he was now. Discover whether his relentless gaze hid the gentleness he’d once shown her.

  She bit her lip. She wanted much more than tenderness…she wanted to know what it felt like to have Rico touch her…kiss her. Danielle glanced furtively at his lips, now drawn into a hard line, and imagined them pressed against her own. Heck, she’d used fantasise about that all the time. But she’d been a teenager, with a teenager’s dazed romanticism, she suspected the kind of adult kiss she craved would be a world apart from her naive contemplation.