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Her shivers grew to a shudder. A huge spider seemed to tap-dance down her backbone. She gritted her teeth and stood straighter, willing the trembling to recede.
It didn’t matter how powerful he was, or that years of threats had turned Dario Parisi into a name to fear. He was just a man. Wealthy, ruthless, determined, but he had no power over her.
‘You could have told me your name straight away. Or didn’t it suit your desire for melodrama?’ She refused to look away from that accusing glare. ‘Was I supposed to faint at the realisation I was in your presence?’
Alissa wouldn’t let him see how close she’d been to doing precisely that. Her heart pumped double time and her body was rigid from an overdose of adrenalin. But she had to stand up to him. She’d learned that was the only way to deal with a bully.
He scowled and Alissa experienced a fillip of delight that she’d chipped his superior air.
‘But then,’ he said in an easy voice as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘it’s not surprising you remember the name of the man you were supposed to marry.’
‘We were never—’
‘Ah, but we were, Alissa.’ He spoke her name like a slow, lethal caress, his emphasis on the sibilants giving it a whole new, provocative sound. ‘It had been agreed.’ The heat left his eyes, replaced by chilly hauteur.
‘Not by me!’ She drew herself up to her full height, glaring unabashed into his dark stare. ‘Surely the bride has something to say in such circumstances.’
He shrugged those broad shoulders in a movement that was pure Italian male. She hated it.
‘Not necessarily,’ he murmured.
She stared.
Not necessarily.
That attitude summed him up. He was just like the old man: manipulative, domineering and chauvinistic. Yet he was only in his early thirties. What was it about Sicily that produced men like that, all ego and testosterone?
‘In this century women have as much say in who they marry as men. And I didn’t want to marry you.’
Shards of ice rayed out from his frozen glare.
‘You thought I was eager to wed you?’ His accent thickened, the only sign of emotion as he stood ramrod-straight. ‘You think I delighted in the prospect of marrying a Mangano? That I wanted a bride of that tainted blood? A spoiled, irresponsible troublemaker who…’ He reined in the thread of vitriolic accusation, his mouth flattening in a hard line of contempt.
‘You know why I countenanced the match. It had nothing to do with desire for such a wife as you.’
That put her in her place! Alissa felt at a complete disadvantage, bedraggled and shivery, bruised by the sheer force of his personality. She dragged in a breath and slid clammy palms down her damp skirt, searching for a poise she was far from feeling.
‘No, you wanted the Sicilian estate I’d bring as dowry. A crumbling castle and overgrown vineyards.’ It was unbelievable that he set such store in stones, mortar and soil. Enough to agree to an arranged marriage to a woman he’d never met. Enough to collaborate with Gianfranco Mangano, the man he abhorred.
Dario Parisi was a tycoon with more wealth than he could spend in a lifetime, and still he wanted more. Her grandfather had been the same. They’d vied for the same property, using it and her to further their bitter feud.
His nostrils pinched and his jaw tightened till his neck corded with tension. Those were the only indicators of his struggle to restrain his fury. His face remained impassive, his gaze unreadable.
He obviously had a right royal temper, yet he knew how to control it. If it had been the old man, he’d have lashed out by now, incensed at her for standing up to him.
‘I can’t believe you bought Jason off.’ She paced away from him, needing distance from his imposing presence. ‘It must have cost you.’
‘Your boyfriend is easily tempted.’ Dario’s gaze didn’t leave her face, yet she had the uncomfortable feeling his attention trawled over her. Heat rose in her throat and she turned to pace again, avoiding that skewering stare.
‘Obviously Mr Donnelly didn’t feel your…charms were enough to entice him to go through with the deal.’
Her charms! Didn’t he realise Jason was gay? But then Jason didn’t wear his sexuality on his sleeve.
‘You came all the way from Sicily just to stop my marriage?’ She paused to shaft a glance at him. ‘You must hate the Manganos very much.’ The shudder ricocheting through her had nothing to do with her wet clothes.
He shrugged, and this time the movement was anything but insouciant. ‘Your family stole from mine. Cheated mine. Deprived me of my birthright, thieving not only my family’s home but also the opportunities that should have been mine. Did you ever think of that as you enjoyed your comfortable life? Did you spare a thought for those whose misfortunes laid the foundations for your luxurious lifestyle?’
Fury radiated from his glittering eyes, the steel-grey of a drawn sword. His posture was aggressive, like that of a man poised to destroy.
Alissa opened her mouth to tell him her life hadn’t been one of luxury, but of punishment and fear. Yet he wouldn’t believe her. He’d seen her grandfather’s home, the grandest in that district of Victoria. He’d believe what he wanted to believe.
Just as the local townspeople had found it convenient to believe Gianfranco was a devoted old man who lavished care and luxury on his granddaughters. Far easier than facing the truth, that the pillar of society was a miserly sadist who spent a small fortune entertaining dignitaries to build his prestige but who thought nothing of sentencing his granddaughters to a week of bread and water for the slightest disobedience.
‘Well? Nothing to say?’
She looked up into heavily lidded eyes, ignoring the flutter of tension in her stomach as she met his scathing glare. It wasn’t her fault Dario Parisi was caught up in the destructive vendetta between their families.
‘I’m not responsible for my grandfather’s actions.’
‘So you admit he did wrong?’
Alissa’s lips firmed at the recollection of Gianfranco’s crimes. The memories were so vivid she found her hands clasped together, white-knuckled and shaking.
Carefully she unknotted her fingers and let her hands fall. The past was the past. It was that knowledge which had enabled her to turn her life around, hers and Donna’s.
‘He did many things that were wrong. Perhaps now he’s paying for them.’ He’d been frightened enough by the looming prospect of death to leave his estate to the church, trying to atone for a lifetime of sins. All except the Sicilian property. He’d used that to try manipulating her one last time.
‘Don’t expect me to shoulder his guilt.’ She stared back boldly, refusing to be intimidated. After what she’d survived a tongue-lashing was nothing. More important was the vital question of how to meet the terms of the will and get the inheritance she so desperately needed.
‘Can I help you?’ A disapproving voice made Alissa spin round. A woman in a navy suit glared at them from an open doorway. Alissa opened her mouth to apologise for intruding but Dario forestalled her.
‘Chiedo scusa. We shouldn’t be here, I know.’ He lifted his shoulders and spread his open hands and smiled.
Even from where Alissa stood to one side, that smile was spectacular. It transformed his face from censorious and autocratic to warm, attractive and, she hated to admit it, downright sexy.
She blinked but the metamorphosis remained in place. He looked a completely different man. If she hadn’t known what sort of guy Dario Parisi was she’d have thought him stunning. Even his eyes sparkled with charming, rueful apology. And that smile…
He was more dangerous than she’d thought!
The sheer force of his personality and his absolute determination to get what he wanted made him formidable enough. But with a charm that made even Alissa’s pulse quicken? Definitely a man to beware.
The office worker didn’t think so. Her frown melted and a smile hovered on her prim mouth as she heard his glib explanation, liberally peppered with Italian phrases. Cynically Alissa wondered if they were a deliberate part of the charming-Mediterranean-male persona he’d adopted.
It was only when he used the words ‘my fiancée’ and stepped close that she focused on the content of his spiel. She jerked out of reach as he explained how he and his fiancée needed privacy to discuss a personal matter.
Alissa glared, but her anger only corroborated the implication they’d had a lovers’ tiff. Before she could set the record straight the other woman was actually apologising that she couldn’t let them use her office as she had urgent work to do.
Unbelievable!
‘No, no, you mustn’t apologise. We have intruded here long enough.’ He turned to Alissa. ‘Come, cara.’
Alissa nodded at the now beaming woman and walked stiff-legged from the room, speeding up when she felt the proprietorial warmth of his touch in the small of her back.
She didn’t pause as they walked outside. The rain had eased and she marched down the steps, too aware of Dario beside her. He was infuriating, impossible and an undoubted threat. Yet she couldn’t ignore a tiny thrill of awareness at his long, lean body so close to hers.
She must be going crazy.
‘In here, fidanzatina mia.’
‘I’m not your little fiancée.’ The words shot out of her mouth, indignation flaring anew. Her Italian was rusty but that she understood. ‘We don’t have an audience now so you can drop the act.’
She turned to see him inviting her to enter a limo, complete with tinted windows and a chauffeur standing to attention at the door. It was in a ‘No Stopping’ zone and the chauffeur, despite his suit, looked more like a burly bodyguard than a mere driver. More reminders of Dario’s status and wealth.
‘I’m not going anywhere in that.’ Not with Dario Parisi. Especially not in a limo with blacked-out windows, driven by a goon.
‘We have things to discuss.’ The thread of almost-temper wove through his words, though his face gave nothing away. ‘You know it. This isn’t finished.’
Unfortunately he was right. Alissa would have loved to stalk away and never see him again. But that wasn’t going to happen. Her shoulders slumped as weariness and worry took their toll. What choice did she have?
‘OK.’ She paused, thinking rapidly. ‘There’s a decent café two blocks away. We should find a quiet table.’
Silently he regarded her as if she were some unique specimen. Perhaps she was, refusing to kowtow to him. She’d bet a lot of women would just say ‘Yes, Dario. Whatever you say, Dario’, blinded by his wealth and fatal charm.
Even now the memory of his sexy smile warmed a shocked part of her.
‘Daccordo. Come on, then. Lead the way.’ He gestured her forward and paused to speak to the chauffeur.
You will be marrying me instead. His words resounded in her head as she walked. The words she’d steadfastly refused to think about for the last few minutes.
Could it be true? Could that be why he’d come to Australia? To claim her as his bride?
The idea sent a chill of trepidation through her. She tugged her shoulder bag on more securely and hugged her arms tight across her torso.
Dario Parisi’s bride…the very fate she’d been so determined to avoid.
How she’d paid for her determination that last year in the old man’s house. He’d never forgiven her refusal to comply with his scheme to link the two families.
She should have left home then, but she’d felt compelled to stay till Donna was legally old enough to leave home too. Donna had been her responsibility for as long as she could remember. She’d never leave her little sister alone to their grandfather’s tender mercies.
Absently she rubbed at her wrist, remembering Gianfranco’s reaction when she’d rejected the marriage he’d schemed to bring about.
‘You’re getting wet.’ The deep voice curled like smoke through her memories, drawing her back to the present.
She turned her head to find Dario walking beside her, holding an enormous umbrella over them both. Heat from his body transferred the few centimetres to hers: her arm, her shoulder, her hip and thigh. And further, spreading through her shock-numbed body. Latent energy sizzled off him in waves, sparking tingles of awareness.
What was this man? Some sort of power generator?
Her pulse quickened and so did her pace. She didn’t like the illusion of intimacy as he sheltered her from the rain. The world beyond the umbrella was an anonymous blur, cocooning them together as the soft rain became a downpour.
It didn’t seem to bother him, though the rain angled down so his legs must be getting wet. Had he chosen her left side to shelter her from a soaking? Surely not. This man was no protector.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured eventually, forcing the words through her tense lips, ‘for the umbrella.’
He looked at her then. She could no longer see the gleam of anger in his eyes or stark impatience. But his expression made her stomach muscles spasm tight, her breath falter. She read speculation and something that looked almost like possessiveness.
No! Abruptly she looked away. There was no expression in his eyes. Nothing at all.
‘Here. This is it.’ Alissa didn’t care if she sounded desperate to see the café. She plunged under its awning and pushed open the door, not waiting for him.
Dario shook the umbrella and followed her inside. She scurried in, spoke briefly to the waiter and took a seat with her back to the wall. The choice indicated Alissa Scott felt under threat. She had that much sense then.
Her jerky movements as she patted at her hair and fussed over her bag gave her away too. As did her furtive glances in his direction.
He dropped the umbrella inside the door, nodded at the waiter and strolled across the room, enjoying the way Alissa’s eyes widened at his approach.
Obviously she hadn’t bothered to discover what he looked like before today and his appearance was a surprise. The implied dismissal smarted. Yet though she tried to hide it, part of her response to him was feminine interest. Dario had been on the receiving end of female stares since adolescence. He could read those hot, guilty glances in a second.
One more piece of knowledge to use to his advantage. Who knew? Dealing with the recalcitrant Ms Scott might have unexpected bonuses.
He dragged out a chair and took a seat. His long legs tangled with hers till she shifted away.
What was he thinking? She was a cute little package, if one liked that sort of thing. But he was more discerning. Cheap goods weren’t to his taste.
The waiter was there as he settled in his seat.
‘Espresso,’ Dario murmured, not shifting his gaze from Alissa’s wide blue gaze. ‘And…?’
‘Hot chocolate.’
At his raised brows she muttered, ‘I don’t need a stimulant in my bloodstream.’
Why? Because she’d already taken something to see her through the day? No, she was sober enough. No sign of drug use. He’d scrutinised her carefully.
‘I just want to get warm.’
Despite the streaks of hectic colour on her cheeks she was pale. Stress? Shock? Annoyance at having her avaricious scheme ruined? He felt no sympathy at all.
Leaning back, he stretched his legs and shoved his hands in his pockets. She’d go nowhere till he was ready.
The silence grew thick. Dario was in no haste to break it. He knew how to use it to unnerve an adversary. What was the point in rushing? The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Let her sweat a little longer.
Yet she didn’t fidget. Her spine was straight and her gaze steady. Her attitude piqued his interest. She wasn’t easily intimidated. That surprised him. He’d expected her to have little stamina and no grit.
The waiter left their drinks and Dario watched Alissa cradle her mug. She closed her eyes and inhaled on a sigh of pleasure that spiked heat straight through his belly.
Porca miseria! That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with her. Just because he could imagine that Cupid’s-bow mouth pouting under his, sighing out a very different kind of pleasure as those slim, neat hands caressed his…
‘Are you going to tell me now, or are you enjoying trying to intimidate me?’ she asked in a low voice.
Those remarkable eyes, the colour of the sea on a clear day, fixed on his. Her mouth twisted in a tiny wry smile that belied her defensive posture. She was a fighter.
‘You know why I’m here.’
She lowered the mug, but kept her fingers wrapped round it as if needing its warmth.
‘The Sicilian estate.’
‘The Castello Parisi.’ He nodded, using its proper name and feeling the inevitable surge of pride.
‘You want it.’ Her voice was flat, giving nothing away. Her gaze dropped to her hot chocolate.
‘Can you doubt it?’
She shook her head once. ‘No. You badgered the old man for it long enough.’
‘Badgered!’ He leaned forward till she raised her face. Her eyes were enormous, but if she expected sympathy she had the wrong man. ‘To offer more than a fair price for what is rightfully mine? For what the unscrupulous old devil stole from my family? The home of my family for generations?’
The heat in his belly now had nothing to do with sexual awareness and everything to do with outraged pride and the desire for justice.
Until the castello was in his hands, once again the jewel in the crown of the now vast Parisi holdings, all his success was hollow. It was his home, his past, the family he no longer had. His identity, proof that he was worthy of his proud name. Dario had promised his father the day he died that he’d recover it. Nothing would make him break that oath.
‘I know the story,’ she said slowly. ‘Gianfranco bought it when your family fell on hard times, promising to sell it back when they recouped their losses.’
‘He bought it for a fraction of its worth.’ Hatred for the man who’d destroyed the Parisis sent adrenalin surging through his blood. ‘Did he also tell you it was his underhand dealings, his dishonesty that ruined us in the first place? That he’d set out to destroy the family he’d once called friends?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Do you have any idea how it stuck in my craw to negotiate with that man? The niceties of business were too good for him. In an earlier time I would just have taken it from him.’
‘By force?’ Alissa looked into those metal-grey eyes and wondered how she’d ever imagined warmth there. His gaze was glacier-cold, frozen with a hate that made her shiver.
She shuddered and pushed her chair back from the table as dread curdled her stomach.
‘I’m a law-abiding man,’ Dario Parisi drawled, but his expression told her how he would have enjoyed inflicting a very personal vengeance on her grandfather.
Two of a kind. That’s what they were. Just as she’d always suspected.
That was why Gianfranco had been so determined Alissa marry this hard-faced stranger. Partly for the satisfaction of seeing a Parisi marry his granddaughter. The feud had begun when a Parisi jilted Gianfranco’s sister and he’d carried a chip on his shoulder ever since. But mainly because ‘He’ll put up with none of your nonsense, girl. He’ll knock you into shape and keep you under control. A good, old-fashioned Sicilian husband with a hard hand’.
Her breath came in shallow gulps as she fought for calm. She was safe. Dario Parisi couldn’t harm her.
‘What’s that?’ She found her voice as he took a document from his suit pocket and spread it on the table.
‘You need to complete it so it can be lodged today.’ He reached back into his pocket and drew out a gold fountain pen, placing it neatly on the table beside the official-looking document.
Foreboding slammed into her. She couldn’t sell him the estate, he knew that. So what was he asking her to sign?
Reluctantly she leaned forward and read the title.
Notice of Intention to Marry.
The breath whooshed from her lungs like air from a pierced balloon. She’d signed one when she and Jason had planned to wed. But this time the names were different.
Alissa Serena Scott and Dario Pasquale Tommaso Parisi.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU can’t be serious!’ Alissa stared, heart sinking. Yet instinctively she knew Dario was absolutely serious about marrying her. Correction: marrying the Parisi estate.
She slumped, her energy draining away. She’d come full circle. After years fighting the old man’s manipulative schemes, had she no choice now but to do as he’d always planned? Marry Dario Parisi and force his aristocratic family to accept a Mangano into the fold? Take as her husband a man every bit as dangerous as the old tartar who’d made her life hell?
‘Your display of feminine vulnerability is charming,’ murmured a deep, gravelly voice, ‘but it’s wasted. You could have made this easy. Instead you chose the hard way.’
Her head shot up. ‘You blame me for this mess?’
‘If the cap fits…’ He looked so at ease, sipping his espresso, his dark suit parted casually, like a model in a glossy lifestyle magazine. Except no paid model would ever wear that lethally calculating expression.
‘We could have married several years ago when I first agreed to the idea.’
Her grandfather’s idea. Dario had only agreed after Gianfranco rejected offer after offer to buy the Sicilian estate. He’d vowed the only way a Parisi would get his hands on it was to marry her.
Alissa had refused. And she’d paid for her disobedience. Absently she ran a finger over her wrist, a nervous gesture that stopped under Dario’s scrutiny.
‘I suppose your need for funds wasn’t so urgent then. Your grandfather was alive to indulge you.’
Alissa almost laughed aloud at the idea of being indulged by the old man. ‘Or perhaps I just objected to marrying you.’ She put her palms on the table. She’d had enough of his jibes and his self-assurance. She wished she could find some vulnerability in him. But his only response was a quirk of the lips as if her riposte amused him.
‘That doesn’t bother you?’ She lifted her chin.
‘Our marriage isn’t a meeting of minds. Or a consummation of romantic love. It’s business. Otherwise I would not contemplate marrying a woman like you.’
He spoke through a chilling half-smile and Alissa shivered. Ruthless. That was Dario Parisi. She felt a net draw inextricably tighter around her, leaving no way out.
She’d thought she knew all about ruthless men. But the way his relaxed demeanour cloaked bone-deep obsession gave a whole new perspective on the type. Foreboding sliced through her. He was relentless, biding his time patiently for years as he waited to acquire the property he wanted. And acquire her in the process.
He leaned close, the smile sliding off his face. ‘You should have accepted the offer I made after your grandfather died. Marriage, a quick divorce and a handsome settlement in return for your share of the estate.’
Except she’d wanted nothing to do with her grandfather’s property. She’d had no qualms giving up her chance for wealth, especially with such strings attached. When her lawyer told her of Dario’s second proposal after her grandfather’s death, she’d rejected it instantly.
‘I didn’t want the estate then,’ she murmured.
‘No, you thought you could challenge the will and inherit alone, without the inconvenience of sharing with me.’ Suspicion darkened his gaze. ‘Greed runs strong in your family.’
‘You should talk!’ She leaned towards him, recklessly disregarding the zap of electricity that sheared between them as their glares clashed. ‘You’ll do anything to get your hands on the castello.’
This close she saw the fine-grained texture of his skin, the shadow darkening his chin. She inhaled the scent of spicy male skin and citrus and her nostrils quivered.