by Tessa Radley
A chill of foreboding crept down her arms. She rocked back into the corner of the couch and hugged her knees to her chest.
When he shrugged carelessly, more tension wound through her, not helped by the words that followed. “But seeing that you won’t oblige—I have no choice but to seek out Kim.”
“What are you going to do to Kim?” Danielle’s fingernails bit into her palms under the folds of her dress.
“Put an end to her marriage.”
Over her dead body! Not after all the years that she’d spent watchdogging her sister, not when she’d finally seen Kim safely married.
“I spent the past four years making enough money to last me a lifetime. And on my wife’s death I inherited a fortune I never wanted. I never touched a cent of Lucia’s money while she was alive, I wanted us to make our own way—without her family’s help.” Eyes blacker than night cut into her, no hint of softness in the bottomless pits. “But now she’s gone and I’ll use every cent of her legacy to break Kimberly’s marriage to Lester.”
Armed with a fortune to burn and his explosive need for revenge…he’d be lethal.
“Believe me, Kim won’t withstand the methods I intend to use. She’s already eaten by guilt.” He paused a moment, cocking his head. “How long do you think she’ll hold out? I give her six months at the most.”
Damn him. He was too hard, too ruthless. His drive for revenge at all costs wouldn’t only destroy her sister’s marriage, it would destroy Kim, too. She had to dissuade him. “How can you even contemplate going through with this?”
“She destroyed my marriage, my life, without a qualm. I was driven out of your father’s business, out of the country on a lie. I couldn’t stop my wife from miscarrying. I couldn’t save her from the dark demons that your father unleashed—she died! You tell me why I should hesitate for a second.”
His eyes flashed with anger…and something else…despair, she realised, feeling sicker by the minute. “What if you burn in hell, doesn’t that scare you?”
“Hell?” He laughed, a harsh sound with absolutely no humour. “I’m already there.”
She stared into his implacable eyes and knew he was past reason, driven by a depth of rage that exceeded anything she’d ever experienced. So she decided to switch tactics. “What happens once the child is born?” Danielle knew it was foolhardy to involve herself in the fate of his unborn child.
“A divorce. An agreement with the mother forsaking all rights to the child.”
Oh, Kim! She couldn’t let that happen to Kim. Briefly she considered confiding in Bradley. Not only was Rico after his position on the Sinco board, he wanted Kim, too. Bradley loved Kim; he’d be outraged. It would all end in tragedy. A tragedy her family had initiated.
Rico wanted a child to mend the wrongs done to him in the past—and given his hard resolve, Danielle doubted he’d abandon his mission. Yet despite his bitterness, Danielle had no difficulty picturing Rico as a father; he’d be kind, caring, and he’d love the baby with all his heart.
Pity wrenched her heart at the choice he’d already made. The baby would have no mother. How could he commit a child to such a life?
“But, of course, all that could be circumvented if you marry me legally. Tomorrow.” He interrupted her thoughts and bent closer.
Instantly her traitorous body responded to his softer-than-silk voice. Deceptively soft, Danielle thought bitterly. His breath brushed across her lips and goose bumps flooded her skin. She shuddered, resenting the thrall he held her in. Damn, damn him. He’d manipulated them all. Her father, David, Ken…and herself.
And damn her wretched body for wanting him.
She paused, tipping her head sideways. But…if she really did marry him, let him make love to her…then…Her heart jerked. The solution struck her. So simple. She could still outmanoeuvre him. Dare she do it?
The opportunity to discover what it was like to make love to a man, and not just any man, a man she’d hungered for years ago, had been handed to her on a plate. Rico wanted a temporary wife. If she waited all her life, she might never get another chance. Because happily-ever-after was one expectation she couldn’t fulfil.
So why was she hesitating?
She was the innocent party in all this. She need feel no compunction about using him. With one stroke she could save Kim’s marriage and gain herself pleasure for as long as it lasted. Because there was one thing she didn’t doubt: Rico D’Alessio would be dynamite between the sheets.
But she wasn’t going to let him think her a pushover. Her jaw tilting, she released her knees, setting her feet firmly on the ground. “What if I can’t bear for you to touch me?”
It sounded so ridiculous. She lifted her chin another notch.
“I don’t think that will be a problem, Princess,” he purred.
She wanted to hit him for his confidence. “You going to force me?” she charged rashly.
His eyes froze. “Force won’t be necessary. Despite the initial accusations, rape never was to my taste.”
A hand reached out. She felt his fingertip against the side of her uptilted cheek. Slowly it moved down, following a thin, burning line like a brand, until it stopped at the corner of her mouth, then moved inward to rest on the bow of her lips.
“These lips will respond when I kiss them—you know that as well as I do. So let’s drop the pretence, hmm?” He lowered his big body, settling himself beside her, his thigh touching hers.
Heat exploded within her. “What are you doing?” Her voice rose. The last thing she needed was Rico finding out how much—
“I thought I’d prove that you won’t find me repulsive, and replace my fingertip with my mouth,” he murmured, and all coherent thought fled.
Her heart thundered. Panicked, she put her palms against his bare chest and shoved. “Don’t worry, I don’t need that kind of persuasion. I’ll marry you.”
Her words had the effect she told herself she wanted: his hand lifted and he moved away to the other end of the couch, giving her space. “You’ll give me the son I want?”
She hesitated, then gave an abrupt nod. “On one condition. That tomorrow you sign an agreement promising never to go after Kim. That you’ll leave her alone.”
“It would never hold up in court.”
She blinked. His dark gaze held determination and passion. “I know. But strangely enough I trust you to honour it.”
Some of the chill left his eyes. “Okay, I’ll live with that.”
Danielle shivered. She doubted he’d still consider it binding if he ever discovered her deception, but that was a risk she’d have to take.
Standing in the hustle and bustle of Queen Street outside the registry office on Monday morning, Danielle knew in her heart of hearts she’d always consider Saturday’s ceremony as her wedding day—not today’s grey proceeding with the dull-voiced public official whose monotone did little to block out the enormity of Rico’s latest deceit.
“Okay, Mrs. D’Alessio, how about lunch to celebrate?” Rico suggested. He’d been cautious ever since she’d learned it took three days to obtain a marriage licence—a licence he’d managed to produce from his pocket forty minutes ago.
He’d been so certain of her that he’d applied for a licence nearly a week ago.
That maddened her.
“I must get back to work,” she said in a stiff little voice. “I’ve already been out for over two hours.”
In addition to getting married, there’d been a visit to Steele & Hancock where she and Rico had signed the prenuptial contract she’d hastily arranged this morning, the terms of which had almost caused Darien Steele’s eyebrows to hit the ceiling. At the last moment Rico had tried to insert a settlement into the contract.
Guilt money, she’d thought, even as Darien Steele tried to talk her into accepting it. Of course she’d refused Rico’s offer. He’d have to live with his conscience. For her part she wanted to keep the terms of the exchange clear—for revenge he got a child. As far as Rico was
concerned, she got nothing except his promise to leave Kim alone, and a watertight clause to vacate her house on demand. Nothing to muddy the waters later.
“Surely getting married deserves some celebration?” Rico’s slow smile made her pulse quicken against her will. “I took the liberty of telling Cynthia that I was taking my new bride to lunch, seeing that we’ve delayed the honeymoon until you’re less busy.
“I’ve booked a table,” he cajoled. “You deserve some time out.”
Rico was right. She was feeling stressed and out of sorts. Perhaps they could call a truce, starting with lunch. After all, they were going to be living together and trying to…
Her breath quickened as erotic images of what might happen later filled her mind. Her voice husky, she said, “You’re right. Lunch would be good.”
Danielle expected him to take her to Sergio’s—a very exclusive Italian restaurant—or perhaps to one of the finer French establishments. Instead she was pleasantly surprised when he led her to a shopfront dominated by Japanese influence in a quiet side street. Inside the décor was stark but serene; modern black lacquer and white rice-paper screens, with splashes of colour provided by scarlet pots filled with leafy bamboo. They sat on low pallets and the exquisite morsels of food arrived on flat white platters—works of art that made her mouth water.
How decadent to be out to lunch in this exotic restaurant with its interlocking screens that blocked out other diners. Like an assignation. That thought, and the decidedly sensual food, made Danielle’s stomach churn with excitement.
“Try this.” Rico held out a piece of sushi.
Delicately Danielle took it from his hand, careful not to let her lips brush his fingers. Taste sensations exploded on her tongue; she closed her eyes and moaned in delight. When she opened them he was staring at her with a strange expression.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s good to be with a woman who loves food. Somehow I never associated such an appetite for food with you.”
Instantly Danielle felt self-conscious. “I’m making a pig of myself,” she said ruefully, eyeing the empty platter in front of her.
“No! Never apologise for eating with passion and enjoyment. I simply thought you’d be too—” he hesitated “—restrained.”
What word had come to his mind first? Did he think her colourless? Or had he heard the cruel rumours that dubbed her frigid, an Ice Queen?
She looked away, blinking rapidly as her throat tightened.
“You remind me of my youngest sister, she eats like that, too.”
Quickly she glanced back at him. Rico hadn’t been mocking her. And he’d never before spoken about his family to her. He’d always been contained, remote.
Her father’s perfect protégé.
She leaned forward. “You have sisters? How many? Tell me about them.”
“Two. Claudia is twenty-seven—three years younger than me—and married to an Australian. She’s pregnant—she already has one daughter—and lives in Melbourne.” His smile was soft. “Bella is the baby of the family. She’s twenty-two and stays in Milan with my parents. My mother despairs of ever marrying her off.”
How must they have felt when Rico had been questioned by the police? His younger sister was the same age as she was. Four years ago Bella would’ve been eighteen. Had they believed him guilty? Kim’s actions must have affected them all.
Danielle stared at the platter, suddenly no longer hungry. Would she ever be able to come to terms with what had been done to Rico? And, more important, would she ever be able to forgive him for choosing her as the scapegoat for her family’s actions?
She feared not.
By the time they returned to the office, Cynthia had already left and a pile of messages awaited Danielle’s attention. She sighed, knowing that they would not be leaving early today.
Through Cynthia’s office she caught a glimpse of Rico’s dark, tough profile and ducked her head before he caught her staring, and tried to block out the tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard. A pile of questionnaires were stacked beside her. Several staff members had recently undergone extensive psychometric testing. She needed to analyse the results and update their personnel files before she called them in to discuss the outcomes and help them map out career paths.
Rico—her husband, she amended, refusing to look in his direction—was a distraction she didn’t need. For the next half hour, uninterrupted by anything except the occasional rustle of paper and the clatter of keyboards, Danielle struggled to process the pile of forms in front of her. Without Cynthia in the outer office, the silence simmered.
Eventually Danielle rolled the chair back and stood, stretching her arms to ease the tightness that lurked in her shoulders—a symptom of a much deeper tension. She strolled through Cynthia’s office and tried not to notice that Rico’s hands had stilled on the keyboard.
“Where are you going?”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, safe in the knowledge that her back was firmly turned, and answered, “Down the passage.”
“Exactly where down the passage?” he asked with exaggerated patience.
“To the little pink room.”
His voice was closer than she’d expected. “I’ll walk you there.”
She hadn’t heard him move. Her neck prickling, she swivelled and found him right behind her. “This is ridiculous, Rico.”
He confronted her. “No, it’s not. It’s a sensible precaution. It’s late and the building is empty.”
“Fine. Please yourself,” she huffed, then turned on her heel and strode away, conscious of him following her down the deserted corridor. The offices on either side were empty of their occupants, and the large open-plan office space near the cloakrooms looked desolate, like a railway station abandoned after the commuter rush.
When she opened the cloakroom door Rico’s hand closed around her elbow.
“Let me take a look around first,” he commanded, releasing her. Only when he was satisfied that no one skulked in any of the cubicles did he come out.
“I thought you said it was pink,” he murmured.
“You know what I meant.” Danielle stepped past him.
As she closed the outer door, he hooked his foot around it and murmured, “This door stays open.”
A burst of exasperated air escaped her. He waved four fingers at her. “Off you go, I’ll be waiting.”
Danielle stormed into the end cubicle, as far as she could get away from him, and banged the door shut. His soft laughter followed her, disrupting her peace even here.
Insolent, insufferable man!
When Danielle came out of the ladies’ cloakroom, Rico studied her uptight expression with some amusement. “I’ll escort you back to your office,” he said with gentle irony.
She shot past him, indignation coming off her in waves. As he strode down the corridor behind her he couldn’t help noticing, in true Italian fashion, how lovingly the ivory designer suit clung to her body, outlining her pert bottom, drawing his eyes to the angry sway of her hips, giving him ample opportunity to admire her long, slim legs striding out. He itched to reach out and stroke her bottom. Rico’s lips curved. Perhaps not a good idea given her current level of irritation with him.
Instead he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and, averting his gaze, he studied her narrow shoes as he strolled behind her. The dainty black heels contrasted with the caramel colour of the rest of the shoe which matched her bare skin perfectly—making them appear endless. Her legs were taut and sleek, the colour of Manuka honey—
Ah. Hell. Frustrated, he shook his head. Not even her feet could distract him from the understated sensuality she exuded.
“Are you following me?” The elegantly shod feet had stopped. She swung round, her usually serene eyes smouldering, hungry for a fight, and so close that he could see the smoky silver clouding the irises.
“I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, remember?” he said, fighting to control the heat surging though his lo
wer gut as their eyes warred. He was overreacting. This…this madness resulted from too many years of forced abstinence, because Danielle Sinclair was not the kind of woman who would normally attract him.
Icy, cool-eyed almost-blondes left him cold.
Except, she didn’t look cool right now. Her eyes glowed with silver heat, and the streaks in her hair shone like ancient amber. She looked fiery and alive. Suddenly Rico had a mad, consuming desire to throw caution to the winds and take her in his arms.
“You’re invading my space,” she said, in that private-school, touch-me-not voice.
She provoked him. Hell, she made him burn.
He struggled to keep his tone humorous. “Trust me, I’m keeping well out of your personal space.”
Her delicately arched brows shot up. “This is keeping out of my space?” Deliberately she gazed measuringly at the space that separated them.
She had a point. From this close he could appreciate the silky texture of her skin, count each long, dark lash that circled her eyes. But instead of admitting it and backing off, some primal impulse made him respond to the cool challenge in her gaze by moving closer until their hips touched.
He watched her pupils dilate and her eyes turn stormy.
“Princess, now I’d say I’m in your space,” he taunted.
“D’Alessio,” her voice held a warning note, “you’re in my face.”
A rush of reckless energy filled him. “In your face? Not yet, Princess. But that can change.”
Without waiting for an answer, he swiftly bent his head and kissed her.
Rico tasted her gasp. Immediately he took advantage of her parted lips, swirled his tongue past their lush softness and sank into her mouth. Adrenaline shafted through him. He dropped his hands to the edge of the desk behind her, and gripped the wood tightly, his hips sinking closer, his thigh shifting between hers.
He withdrew and teasingly nibbled her bottom lip. She moaned. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and the restless friction of her fingers against the fine cotton of his shirt drove him wild. He licked the corner of her mouth until her tongue came out to brush his, then retreated. With a groan he followed it. He didn’t stop to think; he simply unleashed his senses and let his mouth go wild, bending her back until with a gasp she stretched out on the desk. Immediately Rico followed her down, his thigh still between hers. Propping his weight on his elbows, careful not to trap her under his bulk, he slanted his mouth across hers and demanded a response.