Blackmailed Bride, Inexperienced Wife Read online

  Che diavolo! This was just what he’d hoped to avoid.

  The car purred to a halt. Alissa looked out the window and gasped. She’d thought the end of this journey would bring some respite. How wrong she’d been.

  Her eyes goggled as she took in the scene before her, lit by the setting sun. A masterpiece of minimalist architecture greeted her. Massive, soaring, stark white but for slender columns of polished steel and vast expanses of smoky glass wall. This couldn’t be his house, surely?

  Her gaze strayed from the huge bronze entrance doors, down the imposing steps to the group watching the car.

  Alissa heard a burst of pungent Italian oaths that would have done her grandfather proud. Disconcerted, she slewed round to see Dario staring at his welcoming committee. The stern, lowered brow and the tight set of his jaw betrayed displeasure.

  ‘Stay here!’ he barked, then swung open the door and unfolded his length onto the driveway.

  He stalked across the gravel and a resounding cheer echoed around him. He took the hands of a slight figure at the centre of the crowd. The woman was tiny but projected an air of authority. Alissa saw the woman’s grey head nod as she broke from his grip, her hands gesticulating.

  Abruptly the scene changed. Dario bent to kiss the woman on both cheeks, there was another cheer, then he strode back, his long legs eating up the distance.

  There was no mistaking the grim annoyance in those grey eyes as he opened the door and held out his hand. His mouth was pinched in a straight line and his nostrils flared as if he took deep breaths to calm himself.

  Reluctantly Alissa put her hand in his, and then almost withdrew it as a jangle of nerves cascaded up her arm and through her body. Her gaze flew to his, aghast, and she saw the almost imperceptible tensing of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes that told her he felt it too—that instantaneous spark of connection.

  ‘Come. There’s someone waiting to meet you.’ He tucked her arm in his, covering her fingers. She felt blanketed by his heat, yet she shivered. ‘But take note.’ His voice was a low, silky threat. ‘Say as little as possible. You’ll smile and nod and I’ll do the talking. Understood?’

  ‘Why?’ Despite the exhaustion that made her sway on her feet, she had no intention of blindly kowtowing.

  She caught his eye, hoping to look confident. Then she wished she hadn’t. His look could freeze blood at fifty paces.

  ‘Because if you don’t, if you utter one word of disagreement, I’ll make sure the next six months are the most miserable of your life. And that money you want from the estate? It might even be delayed.’

  His voice was a lethal slash of sound. But worse was his expression. He wore a smile that from a distance must look charming. Up close it accentuated the feral anger in his eyes, the raw savagery of his tone. He looked like every nightmare her grandfather had ever conjured for her, evil intent cloaked by stunning good looks.

  She could almost believe he’d like nothing better than an excuse to sink those strong white teeth into her tender flesh. Rapacious, fierce, deadly. That was Dario Parisi.

  What had she got herself into?

  ‘I…’

  ‘Is that agreement? Speak up, woman.’

  ‘Then stop looming over me!’

  His eyes widened. Alissa even surprised herself. She’d thought she was too tired to meet his belligerence head-on, yet it wasn’t in her nature to submit meekly to bullying. That was why she’d always been in trouble as a kid.

  ‘Why can’t you just ask me to cooperate?’ She was sick of threats. Was that how all Sicilian men operated?

  ‘Are you saying you would?’ Disbelief coloured his voice. He didn’t wait for her to respond. ‘You will do as I say.’ It was an order, not a question.

  ‘Since you ask so nicely.’ She pasted a sickly sweet smile on her face. Better than letting him see how his threat to withhold the money for Donna unnerved her.

  ‘Good. Follow my lead like a good Sicilian wife and things will be easier for you.’

  Alissa opened her mouth to snap out a retort. If there was one thing she’d never be, it was a good Sicilian wife!

  He forestalled her by draping his arm around her, drawing her against his warm, solid body. That sucked the breath from her lungs and the words from her mouth. She hoped he couldn’t feel her shiver. His ego was huge. Proof that she wasn’t immune to him would only fuel his conceit.

  ‘Come, wife, and meet your household.’ His voice dripped an icy contempt that belied his wide smile.

  There was a chef, a housekeeper, gardeners, a secretary, security men, maids and more. Names and faces blurred as Dario introduced her and good wishes were pressed upon them. The smiles looked genuine, as if they liked him. He must pay a fortune in wages. That was the only explanation.

  ‘This is Signora Bruzzone.’ His tone softened but his grip tightened. ‘Caterina, this is my wife, Alissa.’

  Alissa wondered if anyone else noticed him pause before the word ‘wife’. But the woman before her gave no such indication. She drew Alissa out of Dario’s grasp. His hands dropped reluctantly.

  Gleaming dark eyes smiled up at Alissa as the older woman kissed her on both cheeks. She was grey-haired and dressed smartly in black. Her face was strong with character and traces of great beauty, her smile genuine.

  Alissa, used to being on the small side of average, felt ungainly and ill-dressed beside her. The dark trousers, cream blouse and caramel jacket that had seemed perfect for travelling were rumpled now.

  ‘Alissa, welcome to your new home!’ Her English was accented but clear, her welcome genuine.

  Alissa didn’t know how to respond, especially with Dario glowering at her. Tentatively she returned the older woman’s hug, uncomfortably aware of his scrutiny.

  ‘Thank you, Signora Bruzzone.’

  ‘You must call me Caterina. There’s no need for formality. I was Dario’s housekeeper for years and now I hope to be your friend.’ The older woman smiled. ‘You will be happy here. I know Dario will work hard to ensure it.’

  Alissa struggled to repress a bubble of hysteria at the thought.

  ‘As you say, Caterina, it will be my business to look after her.’ His smooth tones slid along Alissa’s nerves as his hand skimmed her waist. She drew in a trembling breath then bit down hard on her bottom lip, fighting the instinctive need to shrug him off and flee.

  Snapping dark eyes surveyed her face then Caterina spoke again, more sharply this time.

  ‘Dario! Look at the poor little one. She’s exhausted. You shouldn’t have subjected her to the long flight so soon after the wedding. Not everyone has your energy.’

  The older woman smiled again. ‘I have told him he should have waited and brought you here to marry. Then it wouldn’t seem quite so strange to you.’ Her eyes flashed a rueful glance over Alissa’s shoulder. ‘But it is always the way with this one. He sees what he wants and he is impatient. He would never take no for an answer.’ She shook her head, but Alissa read fond approval in her eyes.

  ‘Come. Everything has been prepared. I’ve seen to it myself. Welcome to your new home, my dear.’

  Alissa opened her mouth to respond but the other woman gave an order to the staff, who separated, creating a pathway up the wide steps.

  Without warning strong arms curved round Alissa’s back and legs. She was swung high, coming to rest against the hard heat of an impressive male chest.

  ‘What…?’

  Her eyes clashed with dark grey ones under straight black brows. The intensity of Dario’s scrutiny cut off her question and her heart dived.

  He stood unmoving, looking at her. She was insidiously aware of the feel of his powerful arms, of splayed hands pressed intimately against her. A hint of spicy scent made her nostrils quiver and somewhere deep inside a spark of something horribly like excitement fired her blood.

  Dario’s expression changed slowly. Shock sizzled in her veins as a real smile curved his sculpted lips. The effect on that chiselled, handsome face stole
her breath.

  He strode forward and around them cheers broke out.

  He was halfway up the sprawling staircase before Alissa found her voice. ‘I can walk. I’m not that tired.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ His words feathered her forehead. ‘They’d be disappointed if we broke with tradition.’

  ‘Tradition?’ Alissa told herself it was weariness that dulled her brain. That her slow thinking had nothing to do with the effect of Dario Parisi’s arms about her.

  ‘Of course.’ His teeth flashed a smile of genuine amusement, edged with something else she preferred not to identify. ‘Didn’t you know it’s Italian tradition for a groom to carry his bride over the threshold?’

  ‘You have to be kidding! You know this isn’t—’

  His embrace tightened and he strode faster, his long legs eating up the distance to the massive front doors.

  ‘You and I know what our marriage is, but it does not suit me that anyone else should know.’ He paused and looked down into her eyes. ‘Welcome to my home, wife.’

  Her breath hissed as he shouldered his way through the open door to the sound of raucous cheering from below.

  ‘Well! Now you’ve kept up tradition you can put me down.’ Her nerves were shredded. She needed space.

  He shook his head and crossed a vast atrium towards a curving marble staircase.

  ‘Ah, but that’s not all. There’s more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ This time the smile he bestowed betrayed a raw heat that reminded her of a hungry predator. ‘Didn’t you hear Caterina? She has already made the preparations.’

  ‘Preparations?’ Alissa didn’t like the look in his eyes, or the jerky way her pulse galloped in response.

  ‘Of course. She has prepared our marriage bed.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALISSA’S head swam as he strode through double doors and kicked them shut.

  The room was huge, luxurious and private. The whisper of his breathing and the frantic thrum of her pulse were the only sounds.

  A vast lake of smoky blue carpet spread like a reflection of the indigo sea beyond the enormous windows. The furnishings were few but impossibly expensive. The centrepiece was a bed: wide, low and far too large. It filled her vision and she couldn’t look away.

  Panic gripped her, fuelled by his menacing threats in the car, and more, the savage satisfaction she’d glimpsed in his eyes as he carried her up the stairs.

  This man despised her, he couldn’t possibly want…

  ‘I’d like to stand on my own feet now,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘There’s no need to perform for your audience any more.’

  ‘Ah, but you heard Caterina. You’re exhausted.’

  Alissa didn’t look at him. She felt too vulnerable, here in his embrace. His searing gaze was too disturbing.

  ‘Not that exhausted! Put me down. Now!’ She welcomed the surge of anger. It beat the insidious chill of fear and the edgy awareness hands down.

  Instead of answering he shifted his hold, drawing her closer, pacing slowly to the bed. Alissa’s heart beat in time with each step as tension coiled tighter.

  When he stopped the bed was an unending expanse below her. Blinding-white linen filled her vision, old linen, edged with ornate, handmade lace. The scent of lavender and sunshine emanated from it. Petals were strewn across the comforter. In the centre lay a plump, blush-pink rose.

  ‘As you wish.’ He lowered her.

  Alissa was torn between wanting to tear herself from his arms and trying to scrabble back into them rather than be placed like some virgin sacrifice on his marriage bed.

  The bedding cushioned her like an embrace. She held herself stiffly, sitting primly away from the luxuriously soft pillows.

  ‘You can’t mean for us to share this bed.’

  ‘Why not?’ His voice was a sultry murmur, his eyes glittering with a light she didn’t want to decipher. ‘We’re man and wife. It is customary. Are you afraid there isn’t room for two?’

  Despite her best intentions, Alissa’s gaze strayed over the bed. Its modern lines were designed for something less traditional than heirloom sheets. Satin perhaps, sinfully soft and caressing. She could imagine Dario sprawled here on black satin. Dario with a svelte, dark-haired beauty.

  Alissa shot off the mattress, horrified at how vividly she pictured him naked. Her knees trembled as she faced him. He looked as implacable as a carved deity.

  ‘Don’t even joke about it, Signor Parisi. You and I both know you have no interest in sharing this bed with me.’ She refused to dwell on the possibility that she was wrong. ‘I’m sick of your innuendoes and accusations. I’m tired after the trip and definitely not in the mood for your point-scoring games.’

  Alissa breathed deep, trying to calm her racing pulse. She’d been on a roller-coaster ride of anxiety too long. She needed to claw back some control.

  ‘Now,’ she said, squaring up to his unreadable gaze, determined not to let him sense her fear, ‘I’ve gone along with this charade and I haven’t disappointed your fan club out there. I’ve been more than reasonable, putting up with your he-man routine carrying me up here.’ She paused and dragged in another deep breath, wishing she could rid herself of the shivery awareness.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d show some courtesy and give me privacy. I don’t care how you explain it to your retinue but we will not be sharing this bed.’

  She spun round and marched to the far side of the room. With each step she expected the heavy weight of his hand to descend on her shoulder and halt her in her tracks.

  Her fingers were unsteady as she pushed open a door and found what she’d hoped for: a bathroom. Relief flooded her as she entered and clicked the door shut, snapping it locked behind her.

  For a moment she gazed at the palatial travertine and gleaming glass. Then she slumped against the door and let her shaky legs give way till she sat, huddled on the floor.

  Six months of marriage. How was she going to survive?

  Her situation got worse by the hour.

  Dario stared at the door and willed his taut muscles to relax. His palms prickled at the memory of her curvaceous form in his embrace. Her rich, sweet fragrance lingered in his nostrils. More, his blood pooled and thickened low in his body.

  Damnation! He was aroused. Fully, painfully aroused. By Alissa Scott, his not-so-convenient wife.

  It had been the feel of her, warm and luscious and soft in his arms, that excited him. But even more, the sight of her standing up to him fearlessly when ninety-nine women out of a hundred would have meekly acquiesced.

  The blaze of hauteur in her eyes as she called his bluff had been nothing short of magnificent. The belligerent jut of her chin, like an Amazon queen who didn’t know the meaning of defeat. Her precise, cut-glass diction as she challenged him. The sizzle of defiance radiating off her. All had been superb. Glorious. Sexy as hell.

  Even her dark red hair, tumbling around her shoulders as her rigidly upswept style disintegrated, had enhanced her splendour. It added a sensuous promise to her defiance. A reminder that beneath the glacial indignation every inch was warm, red-blooded woman.

  The undercurrent of attraction had exploded into a tidal wave of wanting. He couldn’t fathom it. He’d become accustomed to capitulation, not defiance. But this one woman, daring to confront him as no one had in years…

  She’d been scintillatingly alive. Vibrant and real in a way few women were. She didn’t simper or mindlessly agree or deliberately issue sultry invitations.

  She hated him.

  And he’d never been so turned on in his life.

  The realisation was a shocking body blow.

  She wasn’t his type. She was everything he despised. She was his blood enemy. She was trouble with a capital T. She was nothing like the quiet, charming woman he planned to find and make his permanent wife.

  Yet he was across the room, his hand on the bathroom doorknob, without any memory of deciding to fol
low her.

  Horrified, he snatched back his hand and strode to the windows. The indigo waves, ceaselessly moving, reminded him of her. Of the way her brilliant gaze darkened as she faced him down.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and swung round, only to be confronted by the bed. Even now he saw her there, russet hair and pouting lips pure invitation against the pristine bedspread. Her full breasts rising and falling in her passion.

  He’d wanted to push her back against the covers, cup that delicious flesh in his hands, taste her again on his tongue. Find release inside her.

  But sex meant complications. He had enough experience of importunate ex-lovers to understand that. Sex with his wife…that would be a complication on a grand scale. Better to keep this strictly business.

  Suddenly the idea of spending half a year under the same roof as Alissa didn’t seem simple. Even in a separate room she’d be a distraction. Knowing she was here in his home would be a potent disturbance to his well-ordered life. His plan to make the next six months as difficult for her as possible was backfiring. He’d intended to enjoy her discomfort, enjoy making her pay just a little for the inconvenience she’d caused and the damage her family had done.

  She was supposed to be at his mercy. Not the other way around.

  Dario tightened his fists. Perhaps it was enough to have the castello in his grasp. He needn’t sully himself with petty vengeance, despite the provocation.

  He’d master this unwanted desire and forge ahead as he’d always done. Only his total-focus determination had got him where he was today, out of a nondescript orphanage and into the rich lists. If he’d let himself be sidetracked he’d still be nothing, nobody, not the worthy inheritor of his family pride and prestige.

  He turned. His gaze flickered to the bathroom door but he headed for the landing. Alissa could wait. He had to straighten things out with Caterina. She was far more than his retired housekeeper. She was the one person who’d known him since those early days in the orphanage. She’d believed in him, giving up her job to keep house for him as his quest to rebuild the Parisi fortunes prospered.