Fascination

His mouth tightened. ‘I do not care to have you, or indeed anyone else, tell me what to do!’

‘Ditto,’ she assured him tartly.

Cesare looked at her through narrowed lids, noting the pallor beneath her angrily inflamed cheeks, the way she held her body so rigidly, the telltale tremble in her tightly clenched hands.

All signs that she was not as calm or composed as she wished him to believe.

Perhaps he had pushed her enough for the moment. After all, he had plenty of time—years—in which to take his retribution.

‘Very well,’ he allowed. ‘These papers—’ he held them up for her to see ‘—gathered by me over the last three months, contain an accounting of all the IOUs and debts accrued in casinos scattered across Europe by your brother. Accounts that I have taken upon myself to satisfy—’

‘I’m sure my father will be only too happy to see that you are reimbursed—’

‘But I do not wish to be reimbursed, Robin,’ Cesare assured her. ‘At least not with money,’ he added smoothly.

Robin’s eyes widened. ‘Those debts are the reason you think I will agree to marry you?’ she said incredulously.

‘To marry me and to become Marco’s mother.’

Robin’s resolve shook a little as he once again mentioned his now motherless nephew. It really was beyond imagining—a tragedy—that something so awful should have happened to a child of only a few months old.

And, despite her earlier protestations, she really wasn’t as confident as she’d sounded when she had claimed the accident hadn’t been Simon’s fault …

The last three months had been traumatic. Her father had suffered a mild heart attack when told of Simon’s death, and Robin’s own grief at her loss had almost brought her to her knees.

But those three months had also been a time of learning just exactly how far Simon had fallen into debt. Robin knew that the whole situation had become a nightmare for the lawyers, who were still trying to sort out his will as each day seemed to bring in yet another claim for money owed to one establishment or another.

Obviously Cesare Gambrelli had missed those particular claimants because most of them were in the UK.

But her father would find the money owed. And neither that, nor the spectre of Simon’s debts in the first place, altered the fact that forcing her to become Marco’s mother was not the answer to the problems that now faced Cesare Gambrelli as the adoptive father of his nephew!

There were no real answers for any of them with regard to the future. Three months ago two young people had died needlessly, prematurely, and though their families mourned them there was nothing they could ever do or say that would bring them back, or change what had happened.

It certainly wouldn’t be solved by Robin agreeing to marry Cesare Gambrelli, she reaffirmed to herself determinedly.

Cesare watched the play of emotions on Robin’s beautiful face—her uncertainty, her sorrow, quickly followed by a return of her earlier resolve.

It was time to end this cat-and-mouse game!

Cesare straightened. ‘The debts and IOUs are trivial, unimportant, in comparison with this,’ he told her curtly, and he held out the top sheet of paper to her.

Her hands shook a little as she took the paper from him, all the blood draining from her face as she read what was written there.

‘As you can see,’ Cesare continued remorselessly, ‘almost the last act of your disreputable brother Simon was to gamble away the shares that were left to him by your mother. Shares in your father’s publishing company. Thirty per cent of the shares. Shares that are now owned by me, in a nominee account,’ he pronounced, and he handed her a second sheet of paper.

Robin couldn’t believe what she was reading. This couldn’t possibly be true. Simon couldn’t have—would never have—

Wouldn’t he?

His gambling had become a sickness, an addiction. An addiction that Robin knew he had lost everything to. Everything, they had thought, except Simon’s shares in their father’s publishing company, left to him by their mother on her death five years ago.

‘This can’t possibly be legal—’

‘It is perfectly legal, I assure you,’ Cesare Gambrelli came back confidently.

She swallowed hard, glancing at those papers once again. ‘But the money Simon received for them is—’

‘Far beneath their value,’ the arrogant Sicilian acknowledged dryly. ‘Nevertheless, the transaction was completely legal, and would still have been so if your brother had accepted no more than one of your English pence for them!’

Robin felt slightly numbed, having no doubt that this man would never have come here so full of himself if he weren’t absolutely sure his ownership was legal.

‘I would be willing to gift these shares to you on our wedding day,’ Cesare Gambrelli said with satisfaction.

Robin raised startled lids, staring at him incredulously. This man thought he could blackmail her into marrying him with the promise of the return of Simon’s shares in her father’s company …

He really did!

That darkly handsome face was set in grimly determined lines, his black eyes challenging as he stared at her levelly.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sure my father will happily buy the shares back from you—at the full market value, of course,’ she added hollowly.

‘They are not for sale—for any price,’ Cesare Gambrelli returned. ‘At the moment, because as I told you the stock is held in a nominee account, my name is not registered as a shareholder with your family’s company. However, if you do not agree to my terms, Robin, I intend to put them into my name and take up my role on the board. A very active role,’ he finished pointedly.

Robin swallowed hard, not doubting him for a moment. Knowing how this man felt about her family, she was also sure that once he had taken his place at Ingram Publishing he would then do everything in his power to ruin the business—and her father!

The company meant everything to her father. He and Robin’s mother had established it together, at the beginning of their marriage, building it up into the multi-million-pound empire that it was today.

It was a completely family-owned, family-run enterprise, Robin having worked there herself in the six years since she’d left university, and taken over as her father’s assistant these last two years, since Simon’s excesses had made him incapable of fulfilling that role.

‘Your father was ill after your brother’s death, I believe …?’ Cesare Gambrelli enquired mildly.

Robin winced, not in the least fooled by the pleasantness of his tone, knowing this was yet another threat.

A very real one.

Her father had been instructed by his doctors to take things easy after his minor heart attack—advice he had been forced to ignore as each new day seemed to bring forth yet another disaster created by Simon’s gambling excesses. In fact, her father was at yet another meeting this afternoon to discuss settling some of those debts.

She hesitated. ‘I don’t care to discuss my father’s health with you—’

‘I agree. There is no discussion necessary,’ Cesare came back swiftly. ‘I am sure that you know as well as I that the shock of learning to what extent his son gambled his life away would no doubt result in another seizure for your father—perhaps a fatal one—’

‘What sort of man are you?’ Robin cut in, aghast, her violet eyes accusing now in the paleness of her face.

‘I am a Sicilian!’ Cesare told her proudly. ‘And in my country a blood feud such as ours can only be settled in one way! Blood for blood, Robin,’ he explained flatly as she stared at him blankly. ‘Paid for either in death or by a marriage between the two families!’

Her father had warned her to stay away from this man—although quite how she was supposed to have avoided him when he had actually come to their home, she had no idea!

But for now all she could wonder was how her father had known Cesare Gambrelli was such a threat to them. Whether he hadn’t received some sort of response to his letter of condolence after all.

Cesare looked at her, completely unmoved by the pain and shock he could see in her face. His beautiful sister was dead, and this woman’s brother, also dead, was the one responsible; he would have his blood payment, one way or another!

Robin paused, her throat moving convulsively before she answered him. ‘My father would never agree to my marrying you under these circumstances—’

‘The choice is not your father’s but yours,’ Cesare snapped dismissively. ‘Refuse to become my wife and I will do everything in my power to destroy Ingram Publishing.’

It was not an idle threat on his part. As the next major shareholder of Ingram Publishing—after Charles Ingram’s own fifty per cent—Robin was in possession of twenty per cent, her own inheritance from her mother … Cesare knew exactly what he would be capable of, concerning the disruption of the company. In fact, until he had met and decided he wanted Robin Ingram, and had realised there was another, even more satisfying kind of retribution than the one he had originally planned, he had been looking forward to bringing the Ingram company to its knees.

Now his primary desire was to bring Robin Ingram to her knees. Pleasurably so!

‘But I don’t want to marry you!’ Robin cried protestingly.

He shrugged broad, unconcerned shoulders. ‘Then I will take my place as a major shareholder of Ingram Publishing—’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Robin demanded emotionally. ‘I can’t believe that you want to marry me any more than I want to marry you! So why are you doing this?’ she repeated desperately.

There were tears in her deep purple eyes now—tears that Cesare instantly distanced himself from; there was only one area of this woman’s emotions that he wished to explore!

‘My own wishes do not come into this—Marco is in need of a mother,’ he reminded her detachedly.

‘But as far as you’re concerned I’m your bitterest enemy!’ Robin reasoned quickly.

‘You are making this too personal, Robin,’ he cautioned.

‘How much more personal could it get?’ she came back, outraged.

‘Oh, much more, Robin,’ he assured her quietly, knowing she had understood him perfectly. ‘But at this moment in time you merely happen to bear the name of my bitterest enemy—Ingram. And as a Sicilian—’

‘A cold, vengeful Sicilian!’ she put in insultingly.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘Vengeful, perhaps. But I am not always cold, am I, Robin?’ he queried tauntingly. ‘And, despite what I have been told about the unattainable Robin Ingram, neither are you!’

She felt hot at his taunt, knowing she had betrayed herself shamefully a short time ago, that her response to this man’s kissing made it impossible for her to claim that, physically, she would be able to deny him everything.

She didn’t like the fact, either, that there had obviously been gossip about her avoidance of all relationships since her marriage ended—gossip this man had clearly listened to. Even if he didn’t know the reason she had chosen to remain aloof from all physical and emotional entanglement following her divorce.

‘My father would never accept my marrying you for the reasons you’ve stated,’ she repeated doggedly.

Cesare Gambrelli shrugged. ‘I am not interested in what your father would or would not accept!’

No, he wasn’t, was he? Robin acknowledged heavily. It was of absolutely no concern to him whatsoever what she or her father felt about anything!

‘But I am,’ she told him determinedly. ‘I know my father well enough to know he would never accept my marrying a man I don’t love as a means of saving his company from promised ruin.’

Yes, she did know him well enough to be sure of that. Just as she was equally sure that it would finish her father completely if, on top of Simon’s recent death, and the debts and worry that had accrued since, his beloved company were to fail.

And she also knew him well enough to realise he would never accept her making the sacrifice of marrying Cesare Gambrelli in order to avoid that ruin!

Dear God, she wasn’t actually thinking of agreeing to this man’s archaic terms, was she?

No, of course she wasn’t!

But until she’d had time to check into all of Cesare’s claims she had no choice but to at least listen to him.

‘Then it will be up to you to convince him otherwise,’ Cesare Gambrelli—the man who was insisting on becoming her husband—said with a wave of his hand. ‘I perfectly understand the reason you feel so … protective, towards your father—’

‘Even if you don’t give a damn yourself?’ she accused angrily.

His eyes glittered darkly. ‘I am not completely heartless, Robin—no matter what you may think to the contrary! I have no objection to your … embellishing the truth in order to satisfy your father’s concern, if that is your wish. You may choose to tell your father we have fallen madly, passionately in love with each other. That you cannot live without me as your husband. Tell him what you like, Robin. But make no mistake, you will become my wife!’

He was so hard, so implacable—so damned sure he was going to get his own way, Robin recognised with dismay.

And wasn’t he?

Could she really tell her father what Simon had done, of Cesare Gambrelli’s demands, and risk her father having the second and perhaps fatal heart attack that his doctors had warned her might occur if he became too stressed?

Too stressed!

She had watched these last three months as her father had sunk deeper and deeper into despair with each damning action of Simon’s coming to light following his death.

What she needed was time …

‘I will give you some time to … become accustomed to the idea of becoming my wife,’ Cesare Gambrelli told her graciously, even as he neatly folded those damning papers and put them away in his jacket pocket.

Time to think of a way out of this, Robin desperately finished her previous thought.

‘I suggest the two of us have dinner together this evening in order to conclude the arrangements,’ he said.

‘You consider a mere few hours giving me time to become accustomed to the idea of marrying you?’ Robin exclaimed.

Cesare looked at her, at the way she held her body so proudly—and he wanted nothing more than to finish what they had started earlier.

But he controlled his emotions. ‘I do not see the point in delaying the inevitable,’ he stated practically.

‘Inevitable to you, but not to me!’ Robin fought back.

Cesare gave a thin smile. ‘Marco is in need of a mother now, not in three, or even six months’ time.’

And he, Cesare knew, wanted this woman in his bed. If she would not agree to it legally, then he would take her without the benefit of a marriage licence. Then he would marry her!

‘I am obviously aware that you have been married before.’ He spoke with distaste of her previous marriage. The thought of another man possessing all her passionate beauty was not in the least palatable to him.

‘And what about you?’ she attacked scornfully. ‘You’re what? Thirty-seven? Thirty-eight?’

‘Thirty-seven to your twenty-seven,’ he supplied tersely.

She nodded impatiently. ‘And have you been married before too?’ she challenged.

Cesare calmly surveyed her flushed beauty for several lengthy seconds before answering her. ‘If I had been married at all, Robin, then I would still be married,’ he replied. ‘Divorce is not something I will ever allow to happen in my life. Once married, I will stay married,’ he added, snuffing out any hope that, once bound to him, with those shares safely in her possession, she could then decide to part legally from him.

The sooner he got her with child, binding her to him irrevocably, the better it would be for both of them.

‘You will stay married,’ he added, in case she had even the smallest doubt that he meant what he said. ‘So, dinner this evening,’ he repeated briskly. ‘I think it would be best if I were to call for you here at seven-thirty—’

‘I haven’t even agreed to have dinner with you yet!’ Robin cried frustratedly. Things were moving too fast for her altogether—Cesare Gambrelli was moving too fast for her altogether!

At the same time as she could feel the tightening of his ties about her as he drew her to his side with the intention of keeping her there.

True, at this moment in time she could see no way out of what he was proposing—ordering—her to do. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. And the more she played for time, the more chance she had of thinking of one!

He lifted dark brows, his mouth curved fully into a mocking smile. ‘But you will, will you not?’

His confidence was just too—too infuriating! She felt like a mouse being played with by a very large, very dangerous feline! A black panther, perhaps.

Oh, get a grip, Robin, she instantly instructed herself. Cesare Gambrelli was definitely as dangerous as her father had warned her he was, but she had no intention of actually showing him how disturbed she was by his threats.

‘Yes, I will,’ she agreed through gritted teeth. ‘But you will not come here and pick me up,’ she told him, knowing she had to take some control of this situation or become completely lost to Cesare Gambrelli’s demands. ‘I’ll meet you at the restaurant.’

Cesare’s smile faded instantly, his mouth twisting derisively at what he easily guessed was a deliberate show of independence.

For the moment he had no problem with that—could allow her that freedom. He would have plenty of time, once she was his wife, to show her that he did not take orders from anyone—least of all the woman he was only taking as his wife in order to settle a blood feud!

‘We will not be eating at a restaurant, but in my suite at the London Gambrelli Hotel,’ he informed her loftily. ‘I feel it would be … more private for the conversation we intend having,’ he opined, before she had a chance to argue.

He could almost see the workings of her mind at this statement. First indignation. Followed by trepidation at the thought of being alone with him in his hotel suite. And then finally the realisation that, despite her reluctance, he was probably right.

Probably! He had no doubt whatsoever that this evening’s conversation would be no less heated than the one they had just had. Just as he had no doubt that neither of them was the type of person to relish causing a scene in a public restaurant.

Her brother Simon had caused enough public scenes for the whole of his family.

Cesare’s mouth tightened just thinking of the other man. ‘I will expect you at the Gambrelli Hotel at seven-thirty.’ Again he made it a statement rather than a request.

He could expect all he liked—Robin would get to his hotel this evening when it suited her, not him!

Pure bravado on her part, she accepted, even as she made the decision to deliberately keep him waiting this evening. Cesare Gambrelli had made it more than obvious that there was no way she was going to be able to avoid seeing him again, so what was the point in antagonising him?

It would make her feel better—that was the point!

If she could feel better about anything concerning this emotionally charged situation.

But, whatever time her father returned this evening, she intended speaking to him before she went out. Not with the intention of telling him about Cesare Gambrelli’s visit, or his threats, but out of a need to know exactly what her father had meant by his warning that Cesare Gambrelli was dangerous.

Not that she doubted the claim for a moment. She now knew for herself exactly how dangerous he could be!

‘Eight o’clock would probably suit me better,’ she told him bravely.

He shook his head. ‘That is far too late, I am afraid.’

Robin very much doubted this man was afraid of anything! ‘Too late for what?’ she prompted warily.

‘Marco, of course,’ he drawled. ‘He is usually in bed by eight o’clock.’

Robin stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘You have Marco here with you in London?’ she finally voiced weakly.

‘But of course,’ Cesare answered her. ‘Where else would he be but with me?’ He quirked dark brows challengingly.

Where else? Robin mentally echoed faintly. The prospect of having dinner with this man hadn’t been all that alluring in the first place. But this was worse, so much worse, than she had even imagined.

She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to meet Marco just yet—’

‘I am sure that you do not think it a good idea for you to meet Marco at all,’ Cesare returned speedily. ‘I am well aware that you have no experience with children, Robin,’ he added. ‘But it is a lack of knowledge you will have to overcome. And quickly.’

Robin was startled by this pronouncement. No experience with children.? Obviously, as the youngest sibling in her own family, she hadn’t had an awful lot of experience with young children, let alone babies, but she would have loved one of her own.

‘Well, it’s true that I haven’t been around young children much …’ she began.

Cesare eyed her knowingly. ‘Your marriage to the Honourable Giles Bennett was childless. Which was surprising since, being the heir to his father’s title, he needed children to continue his line. Maybe he divorced you because you refused him on that score? Perhaps, like many young women, you hoped to put off pregnancy and hang on to your freedom as long as you could?’ He looked down at her with dark, searing eyes when he saw the way her expression visibly fell. ‘But it is time you settled down now. You will soon overcome your selfish needs when you become my wife and Marco’s mother,’ he finished.

It was completely against Cesare’s culture, and his own nature, not to cherish and adore children, and he had no sympathy with anyone who did not put them first.

Having set out to find out about Robin Ingram and Giles Bennett’s divorce—and succeeding—Cesare knew his resolve to make her his wife, the mother of his children, had only deepened.

Although he hadn’t quite expected such strong resistance from Robin to meeting Marco.

Not all women were maternal, he accepted that, and some took longer than others to settle down to motherhood. But somehow he didn’t think that was really the case with the deeply responsive Robin Ingram.

She had obviously loved her older brother very much, and her affection for her father was unmistakeable, so perhaps it was that she feared pregnancy and childbirth?

Whatever her reasons for not wanting to get on and have babies, she would get over them.

Because Cesare expected—fully intended—her to mother his nephew and to produce a brother or a sister for Marco within the first year of their marriage …

CHAPTER FOUR

‘YOU ARE LOOKING very beautiful this evening,’ Cesare complimented Robin formally, as he ushered her out of the private lift that opened straight into his hotel suite at seven forty-five.

Robin eyed him distantly, having deliberately adopted her role of cool and unattainable by wearing a simple black dress that covered her from her throat to just above her knees. Her hair was smoothed back from her creamy brow and fastened in a neat chignon, exposing the plain gold earrings she wore, and a simple linked bracelet was her only other jewellery. Her make-up was deliberately light—only mascara, a sheer foundation and peach lip gloss.

After all, she had thought as she’d surveyed her reflection in the mirror before leaving home, she wasn’t going out on a date. This evening was probably going to be just another challenging conversation with Cesare Gambrelli.

And it would introduce her to Marco.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘I hope you aren’t expecting me to return the compliment?’ She dismissed his own darkly attractive appearance in a black silk shirt and black trousers as she swept past him and into the sitting room of the suite.

A penthouse suite, she had discovered after making enquiries at the reception desk downstairs, that consisted of the whole of the top floor of the building, with a private lift to whisk her to its lofty heights.