His kiss was slow, deliberate and provocative.

Masterful. His lips were soft but insistent. Surprisingly seductive. He tasted of rich, honeyed darkness, of mystery. The musky male scent of heat and spice clouded her bemused brain.

Alissa’s eyes widened as she registered pleasure at his skilful caress. A tiny spark of feminine appreciation. A rippling tide of awareness that heated her blood.

Ruthlessly she crushed it, ignoring too the sizzle of unexpected pleasure as his hands all but spanned her waist, making her feel dainty, feminine and delicate.

Desperately she focussed on pushing him away. Yet her efforts had no effect. He swamped her senses till she was aware of nothing but his hot, heady presence, and the undertow of desire threatening to drag her under. A slow-turning twist of unfamiliar tension coiled deep inside her.

Eventually he lifted his head and she stared, dumbfounded, at the man who was her husband. She hadn’t expected him to kiss her. More, she couldn’t believe his kiss had been so… disturbing. How could she have responded to a man she didn’t want?

Annie West spent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years of preparing government reports and official correspondence she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past, she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can e-mail Annie at www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent books by the same author:

THE DESERT KING’S PREGNANT BRIDE

THE GREEK TYCOON’S UNEXPECTED WIFE

BLACKMAILED
BRIDE,
INNOCENT WIFE

BY

ANNIE WEST

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To all the readers who have enjoyed my stories.

To the many who have taken the time

to contact me about my books.

And especially to Sofia, Cindy, Gena and Dottie,

who were the very first to encourage

a brand-new author on her debut.

Thank you all!

CHAPTER ONE

ALISSA stepped off the tram just as the leaden Melbourne sky opened, releasing a downpour. She had no umbrella. The weather had been the last thing on her mind today.

Thunder cracked so close she expected the pavement to shatter before her. The temperature plummeted. Alissa shivered, suddenly chilled to the marrow.

It’s a sign, an omen.

She grimaced, refusing to heed the superstitious inner voice. The voice of foreboding that had plagued her all day. The storm had been predicted days ago. It wasn’t an omen of disaster. It was mere coincidence.

Alissa ignored the way the hairs on her neck prickled. She hunched her shoulders and darted along the pavement, heedless of the rain’s drenching needles.

She’d planned this afternoon meticulously. Nothing, not a storm or her own doubts, would stop her when so much was at stake. Success was so close.

All she had to do was…marry.

Her pace faltered as her heel jammed against uneven pavement. She was doing the right thing, the only thing she could. Yet fear slid like an icy finger down her spine at the idea of marriage.

Tying herself to a man.

It didn’t matter that this wedding was her idea. That Jason was unthreatening. Safe. Or that the marriage would be short-lived. Experience had taught her the danger of being in a man’s power. All the logic in the world couldn’t stop the atavistic dread freezing her veins.

But this was no time for caution. Donna needed her. This was her sister’s last chance.

Alissa would do anything, even tackle her darkest terrors, to save her beloved sister. No one else could do this. The burden rested on her shoulders.

Setting her jaw, she climbed the steps of the looming public building. One leaden foot in front of the other.

It will be all right…unbidden, the old mantra filled her mind.

Of course it would be all right. She and Jason would marry and after six months they’d go their separate ways, unencumbered but for the money they’d receive. The money that would save Donna’s life.

It was a simple business arrangement. No power play. No threat. A win-win situation.

Nothing could go wrong.

She hurried through the entrance, plunged into the gloomy foyer and tripped over something.

‘Careful there!’ an abrupt voice commanded.

Large hands grasped her elbows, holding her away from the solid body her momentum had flung her against. Heat encircled her, the smell of spicy, warm male skin and citrus aftershave. Alissa’s pulse skittered at the understated yet unmistakable invitation of that heady scent.

She leaned away to see what she’d fallen over.

Shoes. Large enough to match the hands holding her so firmly. Glossy black handmade shoes that had never seen a scuff in their privileged life. The sight of that perfect footwear, of elegant suiting stretched over long, powerful legs, unsettled her as much as the stranger’s silence.

She stepped back but his hands didn’t fall. Annoyance skated through her.

Alissa raised her eyes. Past the exquisitely cut jacket, custom-made to accommodate broad shoulders and a rangy frame. Up to an angular jaw, scrupulously shaved. A firm mouth, wide and superbly sculpted, a slash of sensuality across an otherwise hard face. A long, decisive nose, bracketed by high cheekbones that gave him an aristocratic air of disdain.

The air hissed through Alissa’s teeth as she drew a sharp breath. His face was lean, harsh, arrogant. With his black hair combed back from a widow’s peak he looked impossibly elegant. But his eyes… Alissa reeled as she stared into a charcoal gaze ripe with disapproval.

Heaven help the woman he’d come here to marry.

With those looks—male model meets pure testosterone—his bride was probably too besotted to realise what she was in for. But one moment’s collision with his piercing, censorious gaze told Alissa everything. He had an ego big enough to match those shoes. More, there was danger in his superior look, his air of latent power.

Trouble. That was what he was. Why any woman would shackle herself to a man like that…

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered when she got her tongue to move. ‘I was in such a hurry to get out of the rain I didn’t see you there.’

Silence.

His brows arrowed down in a V of displeasure.

Alissa lifted a hand to her soaked hair. A dribble of rain slid down her nape. Her suit clung to her breasts, back and legs. Even her toes were damp. She shivered as cold sliced through her.

What was wrong with him? Did he disapprove of the way she looked? Or the fact that she’d run into him?

Uncontrollable, unladylike little hoyden. The words rang so loud and clear Alissa jumped. But it was her grandfather’s hoarse voice she heard. The stranger’s cold gaze had evoked an unexpected memory. The realisation shook her to the core. She must be even more nervous than she’d realised to hear the old man from the grave.

‘Look, I—’

‘Do you usually burst through doors like that? Without looking where you’re going?’ His voice was low, deep, with a husky edge that made her skin prickle, but not with fear or cold this time. It was a bedroom voice, made for seducing women to mindless compliance. A slight accent lengthened the vowels, producing a tantalising drawl. To her annoyance, she felt the zap and tingle of nerves reacting to the masculine timbre of that voice.

‘I didn’t burst anywhere.’ She stood straighter, yanking her arms free. To her chagrin she barely reached his shoulder. Typical! That excess height no doubt added to his belief in his own superiority.

Those frowning brows rose in supercilious disbelief. He’d probably never been caught without an immaculately cut raincoat, or perhaps a lackey hovering with an umbrella.

‘My apologies for interrupting your…reverie. I’ll leave you in peace.’

Alissa spun round and strode away. She felt his glare graze the bare skin of her neck and the sway of her hips as she shortened her stride to accommodate her heels.

But she didn’t mistake his stare for male admiration.

His regard was contemptuous, sharp as a blade. Why, she had no idea. But she had enough experience of disapproving men to recognise his animosity.

Perhaps his fiancée was late and he wasn’t used to waiting so he’d taken out his impatience on her.

Alissa tilted her chin and stepped through a doorway into the corridor she needed. She had a marriage to attend and no time for speculating over strangers.

‘He said what?’ Her voice rose in breathless disbelief. Alissa shook her head, wondering if the soaking had somehow affected her hearing.

The clerk shrugged and spread his hands. ‘That he couldn’t make the appointment.’

The appointment! Alissa stared, numb with shock, hearing the loud thrum of her pulse in the silence. This was hardly an appointment. This was a wedding. Jason’s wedding as well as hers. Was this a joke?

No, not a joke. Jason was as eager for this marriage as she. Well, as eager for the money they’d get when they inherited her grandfather’s Sicilian estate then sold it. He’d jumped at the idea of a convenient wedding with an alacrity that surprised her. His need for cash was greater than she’d first thought.

Surely this was a mistake. Jason must be running late, that was all.

‘What, exactly, did he say?’ she asked through stiff lips.

The clerk darted a speculative glance at her before reading the note in his hand. ‘Mr Donnelly rang thirty minutes ago and said he wouldn’t be able to come. He’d changed his mind.’

Another sharply curious glance accompanied the words. Yet Alissa was beyond feeling embarrassed that her bridegroom had done a runner. The news was too devastating for humiliation even to register. This was disaster on a cataclysmic scale.

She linked her fingers tight together, willing herself to be calm. Her heart thudded out of control as panic edged her thoughts. Her stomach descended into freefall.

She couldn’t afford to fail. The very idea knotted her stomach with dread.

What would she do if Jason really had jilted her?

Alissa had to marry. If within the next thirty-one days she wasn’t Mrs Someone-or-other, married as required by the terms of her grandfather’s will, she could kiss goodbye to the chance of getting Donna to the States for the treatment she needed.

Contesting the will would take too long and her solicitor had warned the outcome of such legal action wasn’t certain. As for getting a loan to cover the astronomical costs…the banks had disabused her of that possibility. There were no other options but to do the one thing she’d vowed she never would—comply with her despised grandfather’s last wishes in order to inherit part of his estate. The old so-and-so would be chortling in hell if he could see the fix she was in now.

She pinned a tight smile to her face and drew a slow, calming breath. ‘Was there anything else?’

‘No.’ The clerk couldn’t hide the inquisitive glimmer in his eyes. ‘That was all.’

‘I see. Thank you.’ But she didn’t see. This made no sense.

She turned away and drew out her cellphone. Punching in Jason’s number with an unsteady hand, she lifted it to her ear, only to hear the infuriating engaged signal. Had something terrible happened or was he avoiding her? It took a moment to realise he could have phoned her instead of the marriage registry. So yes, he was avoiding her.

Alissa put a hand to her brow, flummoxed. What was she going to do? Panic edged her whirling thoughts. She’d go to Jason’s, but she felt an unnerving certainty he wouldn’t be at his flat or anywhere else she looked.

‘Miss Scott?’ The clerk’s voice made her swing round eagerly. Had Jason turned up?

Hope died instantly. There was only the clerk and, with him, the tall stranger from the foyer.

Why was he here? She cast a swift glance at those narrowed eyes and looked away, feeling again that frisson of reaction to his blatant stare. The man made her supremely uncomfortable.

‘Yes?’ She stepped forward, concentrating on the clerk, not the stranger beside him.

‘This gentleman is here to see you.’

‘To see me?’ She forced herself to look up into that beautiful, arrogant face and ignore the tremor of consternation that ran through her.

‘If you are Miss Alissa Scott?’

She nodded. ‘I am.’

‘Affianced to Jason Donnelly?’

‘That’s right.’ Her mouth dried. He had the deliberate, enigmatic tone of a judge pronouncing sentence.

‘Granddaughter of Gianfranco Mangano?’

She nodded jerkily, her lips primming at the mention of her late, unlamented grandfather.

‘We need to talk. I have news for you.’

‘From Jason?’ Was that why he’d been loitering in the foyer? To explain Jason’s absence? Why hadn’t he said so?

‘Si.’ The single word was curt, his expression sombre, and Alissa felt a presentiment of trouble, deep trouble.

He gestured for her to accompany him, not waiting to see if she complied before striding away. Alissa scurried to keep up, her feet sliding in her damp shoes.

He’d reached the foyer, heading for the main door, when she caught him up.

‘Where are you going?’

He paused and turned his head, eyes narrowing on her. ‘My limousine is outside. We can talk privately there.’

She shook her head. She was going nowhere with a man she didn’t know. Especially not this man. Especially not into some anonymous vehicle. She was desperate, not a fool.

‘We can talk here.’ She angled her chin up.

‘You wish to discuss your private affairs here, in such a public place?’

She met his gaze steadily. Better to err on the side of caution. ‘You said you had news for me?’

Dario looked into that upturned oval face and felt it again—the stab of physical awareness. Despite everything, his hatred of the Mangano family, his contempt for this woman, his fury at the steps he’d been forced to take to secure what was his, there was no mistaking her impact on him. An intense jolt of desire carved a hole right through his belly. Its burning trail was hot as flame.

A similar, unexpected surge of need had held him still when she’d run into him five minutes ago. He’d been stunned by its intensity—far stronger even than his disgust.

This was the woman who’d rejected his offers, rejected him not once but twice now, not even deigning to meet him in person. That alone was an insult for which he required satisfaction. No woman had ever denied him what he wanted. More, she connived to thwart his plans to recoup what was his. She’d schemed behind his back, collaborating with Donnelly to prevent Dario winning back his birthright.

She wanted it all for herself. If she’d planned to marry for love he might have understood. But this was a greedy, calculating attempt to keep the old feud alive and stop him acquiring the one thing that meant everything to him. The castello in Sicily her grandfather had stolen from Dario’s family.

He breathed deep, suppressing a lifetime’s hatred.

This woman was everything he despised. Shallow, conniving, spoiled. She’d grown up with every advantage money could buy yet she’d squandered her opportunities, turning instead to drugs, drink and wild parties. Till even her grandfather would have nothing to do with her.

Dario should feel nothing but contempt for her. And yet…

Her pale, pure skin, her wide-open cornflower eyes, her plump bow of a mouth, the voluptuous curves on that tiny figure…even her air of barely suppressed energy, comprised a feminine package that was far too alluring.

It infuriated him. It was not supposed to happen. And things which were not supposed to happen had a way of disappearing silently out of his life: bought off or simply banished by his superior power and strength of will. Dario had worked hard for what he had. He had no patience with things or people, or feelings, that did not comply with his plans.

‘What I have to say isn’t for public consumption.’

He punched down irritation at her contrary attitude in refusing to accompany him. What had he expected? Her previous actions, having her lawyer reject his more than generous offers out of hand, illustrated her selfish obstinacy.

He drew a breath, trying to block the rich scent of lilies and damp woman that played havoc with his concentration.

‘Come. Let us find a better place for this conversation.’ He’d be damned if he discussed matters of such importance in an echoing public foyer. She might have few scruples but he had more respect for himself than that.

He stalked across the vestibule and found an empty office. He held the door and waited for her to precede him.

His gaze strayed down over her compact, curvaceous figure as she entered, the sway of her pert bottom in the tight skirt. Even in a rain-stained suit, with saturated hair, her complexion milky with shock, she drew his unwilling gaze.

Despite those top-class legs, reason dictated she wasn’t his type. Pocket Venus redheads with attitude and tarnished reputations weren’t his style. Give him a brunette with a madonna smile and a docile nature any day.

Unfortunately the voice of reason stayed silent on this occasion.

‘What is this place?’ She stared at the desk before them. ‘Are we allowed in here?’

He shrugged and closed the door. ‘We are here. And we have privacy. That’s all that matters.’

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth as if to argue then clearly thought better of it.

Good. Things would proceed more easily when she learned to accede to his wishes. A shaft of anticipation warmed his belly at the thought.

‘Your bridegroom—’

‘What happened to Jason? Have you seen him?’ No mistaking the concern in her voice. He catalogued the fact for later consideration. Perhaps, after all, their wedding hadn’t been purely a convenient arrangement. Perhaps lust as well as greed had been a factor in her marriage plans.

He remembered Jason Donnelly’s weak, handsome face—good looks but no substance. Was he the sort of man that attracted her? The idea was strangely disquieting. He had no interest in this woman’s weaknesses, except insofar as he could exploit them to his advantage.

‘I saw him this afternoon.’

‘Is he all right? What happened?’

Dario felt a stirring of pleasure, remembering the ease with which this afternoon’s interview had followed the map he’d laid out for it.

‘Nothing happened. Your Mr Donnelly is perfectly well, though he is no longer your Mr Donnelly.’

Her brow puckered in a frown and Dario wondered if he’d let his satisfaction show. What did it matter if he had? There was nothing she could do about it. He held all the cards. No matter how much she protested, she’d find the only way forward was his way. After all the trouble she’d caused the knowledge pleased him.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘He has decided he no longer wishes to marry you.’

‘But why? And why not tell me himself? Why send a stranger?’

‘He didn’t send me. I chose to come.’

Her eyes widened as she met his gaze. Then she sagged back against the desk, shaking her head.

‘Look, can’t you just tell me? What’s going on?’

‘Mr Donnelly had a better offer. An offer he found it impossible to refuse. As a result he changed his mind about marriage.’ Dario had made absolutely sure of that.

‘An offer of what? Not marriage!’

Dario paced further into the room to stand before her, his feet planted wide, his hands finding his pockets as he enjoyed this moment of triumph.

‘An offer of money, of course. That’s the language the two of you understand best.’ He watched her pupils dilate, darkening her eyes. Her jaw sagged to reveal even white teeth and a glimpse of moist pink tongue.

Dario frowned. It was impossible that any woman should look sexy while gawping in disbelief, but somehow Alissa Mangano…no, Alissa Scott, managed it. That mouth was ripe, luscious, inviting. He felt a tingle of awareness, a tightening of muscles as his gaze zeroed in on the dainty curl of her tongue circling her lips.

He set his jaw. Lust for this woman was not on his agenda. His standards were higher than that.

‘Money to do what?’ She stood straight now, her momentary weakness sloughed. She stuck her hands on her hips, a picture of demanding femininity. Her neat chin jutted belligerently. ‘And who made him this offer?’

Dario permitted himself a small, satisfied smile. ‘I did. I offered him enough cash to ensure he gave up all thoughts of marrying you.’

It had been ludicrously easy. If Donnelly and this woman were lovers, there was no loyalty between them. Donnelly had jumped at the chance of cash in hand with no thought for the woman he’d jilt. It had been Dario who suggested he leave a message at the registry office.

Colour flagged her cheeks and her eyes sparked, giving her a vibrancy that had been missing before. A vibrancy that only enhanced her looks.

‘Why would you do that?’ She took a step closer as if to get a better look at him, staring straight into his eyes. Despite himself, Dario was impressed that she wasn’t daunted as so many people were in his presence.

But then she didn’t yet know who he was.

He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Because he was in the way.’ And Dario had no patience for obstacles in his path. ‘Because you will be marrying me instead.’

CHAPTER TWO

HE MEANT it!

Unbelievably this stranger was in deadly earnest. Alissa shivered and curled her arms tight round herself. She stared up into that smirking, satisfied, gorgeous face and felt the bottom drop out of her world.

‘Who the devil are you?’ It emerged as a hoarse whisper, barely audible despite the stillness of the room.

For a heartbeat, then two, then three, there was silence.

‘I am Dario Parisi.’

The words echoed in her ears like a death knell. Why hadn’t she guessed before? The Italian accent, the outrageously handsome face, the arrogance, the air of discreet elegance only serious money could achieve. The hatred in his eyes.

But who’d believe he’d cross the globe to confront her in person? He’d been persistent. Now it seemed he was obsessed.

Alissa bit her unsteady lip. Looking into the intense burn of that stare was like looking into the scorching fires of hell. Dangerous, unforgiving and inescapable. She already knew this man was without mercy or finer feeling.

He had a reputation for ruthlessness and success the Press adored. In business he was without rival, letting nothing stand in his way when he wanted something. And in love…he had a reputation for being just as ruthless in acquiring and discarding gorgeous women.

‘I’m delighted you remember my name,’ he drawled, the sting of sarcasm making her wince. ‘I thought perhaps you’d put it from your mind.’

How could she when it had been imprinted on her consciousness every day? Her grandfather had been determined to marry her to Dario Parisi, alternately extolling his virtues and threatening her with retribution if she didn’t obey. He’d taken special delight in reading out reports in the Italian papers describing Parisi’s phenomenal success and his merciless tactics.

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.

Too close screamed a warning voice in her head as each sense came alive to his presence. Alarm bells jangled as her heartbeat revved and her skin prickled.

Before she could move large hands captured hers, imprisoning them on the table. Long fingers linked around her wrists. Heat radiated from his touch.

‘No doubt you also inherited a hatred of my family. You were determined to keep for yourself what’s mine.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I just didn’t want the money.’ Not until the news that Donna needed help.

The impact of his unblinking regard and his handsome, brooding face was devastating. She jerked her hands, trying to break free.

His encircling fingers didn’t loosen. To an onlooker they’d seem like lovers. He was so intense, his wide shoulders crowding her in, cutting her off from the room.

‘Don’t lie. You grew up with money and you’re feeling the pinch now you have to fend for yourself.’ He paused. ‘It must have been a shock to find Gianfranco had left most of his estate to charity.’ One sleek, dark brow rose speculatively. ‘You fell out with him.’

‘You could say that.’

He shook his head. ‘I know about your…habits. They don’t come cheap.’ His face hardened, grooves appearing beside his mouth. ‘Even though you seem to have cleaned up your act lately, your record with designer drugs shows you have expensive tastes.’

Alissa goggled. He knew about that? Nausea churned in her stomach at the memories he’d dredged up. Bile choked her. This man knew about her past and judged her with such matter-of-fact contempt. Yet still he wanted to marry her!

How badly he wanted that land.

Looking into his wintry, judgemental eyes, she wanted to blurt out that she’d never taken drugs in her life. That she’d been innocent.

She couldn’t. Only one other person knew the truth. The person she’d vowed to protect, even at the cost of her reputation. She’d gladly shouldered the blame and accepted the consequences. It was too late to change the record now. Besides, Dario Parisi was so biased he’d never believe her.

‘You had me investigated,’ she said flatly.

‘Of course.’ He slid a thumb along the side of her hand in a mockery of a caress. To her horror her skin drew tight and shivery. ‘Even to gain my birthright, I would not walk into marriage without knowing my bride.’

He lingered over the last word with a deliberation that set her teeth on edge. She felt trapped. Claustrophobia gnawed the edges of her consciousness. She fought it, refusing to let it drag her under. She tried to slip one hand free, but his hold was implacable.

‘Why wait till today to buy Jason off?’ She hurried into speech, unnerved by his waiting silence.

‘My staff contacted Mr Donnelly as soon as you sought permission to marry.’

‘You organised this weeks ago?’ Her eyes widened as she took in his satisfied expression.

‘As if I’d leave it to chance! While you expected to marry him I knew exactly what your plans were.’

‘And by having him jilt me today, you cut off my options.’ The air was expelled from her lungs. ‘I have to marry within a month to inherit.’ She breathed deep, ignoring the acid taste of fear on her tongue. ‘And in Australia we have to give a month’s notice before marriage. Which means—’

‘You just ran out of alternatives.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Unless you have another bridegroom tucked up your sleeve?’ He paused and stroked an insolent finger along her wrist. Her pulse jumped and she gritted her teeth, furious with him and with her traitorous body that didn’t know the enemy when he sat before her.

‘No one else willing to sign a document like this—’ he nodded at the paper beneath her hands ‘—before close of business today?’

His sarcasm made her blood boil. ‘You manipulative, arrogant, cocksure—’

‘Now, now, Alissa. Is that any way to talk to the one man who can give you what you want?’ His gaze roved over her with a provocative thoroughness that was the final straw.

‘Take your hands off me. Now!’ She didn’t raise her voice but raw fury throbbed in each word.

His brows arched. His fingers loosened. She slid her hands into her lap and cradled them, trying to ignore the heat of his touch lingering on her skin. Trying to conquer her fear.

She wanted to shove her chair back and walk out, alone. Never see Dario Parisi’s gorgeous fallen-angel face or hear his mocking, sexy voice again.

The trouble was she lived in the real world, with responsibilities she couldn’t shirk. People she cared for. Cold iced her bones and she reached for her mug, seeking its residual warmth.

‘By the terms of the will I have to live with my husband for six months before we jointly inherit.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll divorce as soon as the land is ours. Then you sell your share of the property to me, for the current market price, of course.’ He sounded as if he discussed a routine financial transaction. Not marriage.

Alissa’s heart beat fast at the idea of living with Dario Parisi. Could she survive six months with this man who looked at her with such condemnation, but whose touch turned her inside out?

‘But it means living together.’

He watched her speculatively. ‘That bothers you? Living with me?’ If she weren’t so keyed up Alissa would be insulted by his surprise. As if trusting herself to the care of a stranger was no big deal. What did he think she was? A tart as well as a drug addict?

‘I knew Jason. I could trust him.’ That seemed stupid since he’d duped her, but she’d known they’d be platonic flatmates and no more.

‘Ah.’ The syllable stretched out, like her nerves. ‘You want assurance your abundant charms won’t incite me to seduce you.’ His gaze dipped to her jacket buttons and searing heat coiled in her stomach.

Alissa kept her mouth firmly shut against the protest that she’d never let a man like him seduce her.

‘You have my word as a Parisi. I would never force a woman. Besides—’ his lips curved in a half-smile that held no humour ‘—your type is not to my taste.’

Her type. Her type!

‘I understand completely.’ Alissa pasted on a saccharine smile, despite the protest of muscles taut with horror. ‘I can’t think of a man less appealing than you.’

It was minuscule compensation to see him taken aback by her statement. But, boy, it felt good.

Just as well he couldn’t know she lied. Dario Parisi didn’t appeal. But maybe with a personality transplant…that strong, lean body, the mobile, sensuous mouth and well-shaped hands…he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Fate didn’t play fair.

‘Excellent,’ Dario murmured, thrusting aside annoyance at her insult. ‘Then there will be no complications.’

He’d get what he wanted and dump Alissa Scott like lightning. Tying himself to a woman tainted not just by her Mangano blood but also by self-indulgence, avarice and low personal standards appalled him.

After the castello was safe he’d find the perfect wife. That Signora Parisi would be elegant, refined, sweet-tempered. Not a sharp-tongued virago who challenged with every stare, sidetracked his thoughts and stirred his hormones at inconvenient times.

They’d raise a houseful of bambini. He’d possess everything he’d dreamt of in the days when he had nothing but pride and determination. He remembered how it felt to be hungry and alone. Never again.

He’d have it all. Respect, wealth, power, the birthright he’d been denied. And a family of his own, flesh of his flesh.

Yet Alissa’s jibe rankled. His looks and vast wealth made him irresistible to most women. She was no different. He’d seen the flare of awareness in her wide blue eyes.

Despite his strict code of honour that tempered the drive to succeed, he’d been accused of many things as he forged his way to the top of the corporate heap. Usually by unsuccessful competitors or journalists whose stock-in-trade was exaggeration. Why did her insult needle him like a splinter embedded deep?

‘We know where we stand. Si? There will be no misunderstandings.’

The last thing he wanted was for her to try her feminine wiles on him. He had no patience with importunate women, even if they radiated sexual allure like this one. There was dynamite in the sway of her hips, her lush mouth and in the feminine curves her cheap suit couldn’t hide.

Yet her huge, shadowed eyes looked vulnerable.

Nonsense. She was a calculating little piece. She’d deliberately stymied his chances to regain the estate, once when her grandfather proposed a merger and again after his death. She’d gone to great lengths to thwart Dario and keep the estate to herself and her weak-chinned boyfriend.

He had to remember Alissa Scott was his enemy.

No misunderstandings. Could she trust his word?

He despised her, so he couldn’t want her. Could he? What about the sizzle of masculine speculation in his eyes? To her relatively inexperienced eye that looked like the stare of a man who was all too interested.

Was it possible his archaic ideas about family vendettas meant he wanted retribution? The personal satisfaction of seducing a woman he saw as his enemy?

No! Her imagination was out of control.

Alissa squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could open them to discover this was a dream.

‘Alissa?’

No one else said her name like that. A rumbling purr that made it sound interesting…seductive. That made her nape prickle and her breasts tighten.

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. Dario Parisi watched her with the attention a scientist gave a newly discovered species, missing nothing.

‘A business arrangement.’ She forced the words out.

He nodded.

‘I suppose you’ve thought about where we’d live?’

‘Naturally you’ll come to Sicily. My home is there.’

‘Naturally.’ She doubted he noticed her sarcasm. It wouldn’t occur to him that she had reasons to stay in Australia. A job, a home, a sister she loved and feared for. ‘I’d have to give up my job.’

Grey eyes held hers. ‘In six months you’ll have enough money not to need a job.’

What would he say if she told him she loved her work? Enjoyed helping people plan their holidays? Had a flair for dealing with even the most hard-to-please clients?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except saving Donna. Even if it meant spending six months under the same roof as a condescending, manipulative Sicilian male.

Been there. Done that. Survived.

She looked at the paper between them. The details had been completed, even hers. He was frighteningly thorough.

Could she really be planning to agree? Shock held her rigid as she absorbed the enormity of what she risked. She was caught fast, she had no choice. But surely Dario was vulnerable too. His obsession with regaining the estate must give her leverage in this unholy bargain.

‘If I agree—’ she met his stare without blinking ‘—I want an advance. A third of the castello’s value on the day we marry.’ Her heart thundered. The money meant nothing to him. He had plenty. To her it meant immediate treatment for Donna. The specialists said she had time, could wait, but this way there’d be no delay.

‘Well?’ Alissa lifted her chin, her palms growing damp. ‘Your bankers could arrange it easily.’

‘No doubt they could.’ He left the sentence hang till her nerves shredded to tatters. ‘You’ve inherited your grandfather’s instinct for screwing cash out of people.’ The deadly chill in his tone thrust her back in her chair.

His glare now was pure threat. Pure hatred. Each clipped word a shard of ice on her unprotected skin.

‘Very clever, Alissa. You know I want the castello. I’ll even marry you to get it.’ His emphasis on the word made her feel like something that had scuttled from under a rock. ‘But there I draw the line. I won’t be manipulated any further by your family. Every man has his limit and I’ve reached mine. You Manganos have pushed me as far as I’m willing to go.’ He leaned across and held her captive with a coruscating look.

‘If you want any more you can whistle for it. I might be constrained by the terms of the will, but so are you, fidanzatina mia.’ His lips curled in a smile that chilled her blood. ‘This is the only deal on the table. If you want more, find some other man.’

Alissa shuddered. A lifetime’s memories of fear and vulnerability flooded back as she met his merciless gaze. He had the upper hand because he was powerful and rich. Even if he had to wait for years and expend a fortune, he’d find a way to get the estate in the end.

She had no other options.

‘It’s an hour before the registry closes.’ He glanced at his discreet gold watch. ‘Then you miss the deadline.’

Alissa smoothed trembling hands over her skirt. She straightened her spine and reached for the pen, ignoring the voice inside that shrieked dire warnings.

This felt wrong. But it was the only way to make things right.

‘Where do I sign?’

Dario paced the foyer, resisting the urge to check the time. She was on her way; he’d just had an update on her movements.

He strode to the entrance, fists deep in his pockets. He’d never been so keyed up before a deal. Regaining his family home meant more than buying or selling companies. This wasn’t about mere cash, but about family, his very identity. This quest had been his sole purpose for as long as he could remember.

It went against the grain marrying a woman shallow enough to sell herself to acquire a fortune she could fritter away. But no sacrifice was too great.

His gaze fixed on a passing teenager, all fly-away hair and bare legs. Instantly the memory he’d repressed so often filled his mind. Alissa the first time he’d seen her. A few years ago, when he’d grown impatient of long-distance negotiations and visited Gianfranco Mangano. The old weasel had insisted only marriage would secure the Parisi estate.

Dario had sat in his car after the fruitless meeting, trying to find the bait to make Mangano sell. That was when he’d seen her, sneaking into the house in the dark.

He recalled the sultry length of her legs as she climbed out of the low car in her miniskirt. The throaty laugh of a woman sharing a joke with her lover. Her long hair flicked provocatively over one shoulder, a glimpse of pert breasts and a profile that stopped his breath.

His body had responded with a primal throb of hunger neither pride nor logic could prevent. The old man had let slip a thing or two about his granddaughter and her wild ways. He’d wanted her safely married and off his hands.

From that one glimpse Dario knew she wasn’t the sort to have marriage on her mind. A judgement confirmed when he heard of her later drug conviction.

Yet he’d never been able to rid himself of that image of carefree, sensual beauty. Even now something about Alissa Scott made his hormones stand up and salivate. It was a reaction he wasn’t proud of.

A blur of movement caught his eye and he turned.

Porca miseria! She couldn’t be serious.

His lips thinned as she approached, his temper rising to boiling point. Had she no self-respect? She made a mockery of them both.

His gaze swept over his wife-to-be, climbing the steps towards him. Heads turned to watch. She wore satin and lace, a long white dress with a froth of skirts and a dragging train. A fussy veil obscured her face, no doubt hiding a triumphant smirk at his expense.

‘I don’t remember specifying fancy dress.’ His provocative drawl slid across her flesh like ice. Alissa clenched her jaw and continued up the stairs, ignoring him.

She felt sick to her stomach about the wedding. The last thing she needed was sarcasm.

For two pins she’d…what? Run away?

She didn’t have that luxury. The knowledge weighed her down, like shackles on a condemned prisoner. She drew a sustaining breath then wished she hadn’t as the bodice, a size too small, constricted her lungs.

‘Hello, Dario. As charming as ever, I see.’

He was too big, too daunting, too…unsettling. Tension squirmed in her stomach and her pulse tripped as she caught the scent of lemon and warm male flesh.

Her body conspired against her, responding to his overt masculinity with an excitement that appalled her. She lifted her skirts and hurried up the last of the stairs.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ He stepped in front of her so she had no alternative but to meet his steely gaze. Glacial ice couldn’t be colder than the look he gave her.

‘This?’ She tilted her chin.

‘The masquerade costume.’ He spoke through barely parted lips and she had the satisfaction of knowing that no matter how terrible she felt wearing Donna’s precious bridal dress, her bridegroom hated it more. Good. Let that be some small compensation for the distress he’d caused.

‘Haven’t you seen a bride before?’ she taunted.

‘But you’re not a bride in the usual sense.’

For that she was thankful. The idea of a real marriage, of intimacy with Dario, was too devastating.

‘What do you care?’ She moved sideways but he blocked her, filling her vision, dominating her senses.

‘Why do you insist on this charade?’ he snarled.

Alissa slipped a hand under the veil and rubbed her temple where a tension headache throbbed.

‘As I’m moving to Italy I had to explain to people I was getting married. There was no need when I’d planned to stay in Melbourne.’ He said nothing, just stood, waiting. ‘My sister is sentimental. She married recently. She believes in romantic love with all the trimmings.’

‘So you lied about this marriage? To your sister?’ There was condemnation in the deep timbre of his voice.

Alissa shrugged. ‘It was easier to let her believe I’d been swept off my feet. When we divorce it will seem a case of marry in haste and repent at leisure.’ She wouldn’t add to Donna’s worries by revealing the true reason for the wedding. She’d be racked with guilt, knowing Alissa had married for her sake, and Dario Parisi of all men.

‘That doesn’t explain the costume.’

‘Donna wanted to be here but I persuaded her not to.’ Even her loving sister had seen it made more sense to save to see a specialist in the USA than cross the country for a wedding. ‘She asked me to wear her dress. You know, something borrowed…’ Her words petered out under his critical stare. ‘I promised her I’d wear it. OK?’

‘And you keep your promises?’

Did he have to sound so sceptical? It was a good thing she didn’t care about his opinion. This was just a business deal. A charade to satisfy the terms of a will.

Yet, wearing her borrowed finery, dwarfed by his ultra-masculine presence, Alissa felt a thread of something unexpected weave through her. A tremor of awareness. Dario was still the sexiest man she’d laid eyes on.

Pity he was an arrogant jerk.

‘If you’ve finished finding fault, can we go in? We don’t want to miss our appointment.’

Silently he took her arm and escorted her inside, a parody of the solicitous lover.

After that everything was a blur. Nothing seemed real, not the weight of the dress, or the way her hand fitted snugly in his. When he produced a ring, a glittering proclamation of wealth and status, she wasn’t even surprised that it fitted perfectly.

Only as the celebrant said, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ did the comfortable illusion of unreality splinter.

Dario turned her round, his hands heavily proprietorial at her waist, and heat radiated through her. She read triumph in his eyes. Satisfaction.

That was when it hit her full force. She’d just married a man who could make her life hell.

Panic clawed at Alissa. She fought for oxygen, her breathing hampered by the too-tight bodice. Blood rushed so loud in her ears she heard nothing else.

Deft hands drew the veil up. Without its protection his scrutiny was razor sharp, his smile knowing. It was the satisfied look of a rapacious marauder, not a dispassionate businessman. And it confirmed what she’d feared.

This was personal.

Before she could protest his lips covered her mouth.

Instinctively she lifted her hands and pushed with all her might against the hard-muscled wall of his chest. It was warm, weighty, alive with the throb of his heart and as immovable as the building in which they stood.

His hands at her waist were deceptively loose. When she backed away they tightened possessively, holding her still. No mistaking that encircling grip for anything more tender than an imprisoning grasp.

His mouth touched hers. More than touched, it caressed, blazing a trail of molten heat across her lips. His kiss was slow, deliberate and provocative. Masterful. His lips were soft but insistent. Surprisingly seductive. He tasted of rich, honeyed darkness, of mystery. The musky male scent of heat and spice clouded her bemused brain.

Alissa’s eyes widened as she registered pleasure at his skilful caress. A tiny spark of feminine appreciation. A rippling tide of awareness that heated her blood.

Ruthlessly she crushed it, ignoring too the sizzle of unexpected pleasure as his hands all but spanned her waist, making her feel dainty, feminine and delicate.

Desperately she focused on pushing him away. Yet her efforts had no effect. He swamped her senses till she was aware of nothing but his hot, heady presence and the current of desire threatening to drag her under. A slow-turning twist of unfamiliar tension coiled deep inside her.

Eventually he lifted his head and she stared, dumbfounded, at the man who was her husband. She hadn’t expected him to kiss her. More, she couldn’t believe his kiss had been so…disturbing. How could she have responded to a man she didn’t want?

Dark grey eyes surveyed her as thoroughly as she scrutinised him. His gaze was unrevealing but for a shadow of expression that flickered for an instant.

A firm hand grasped her sagging jaw. ‘Time enough to stare later, moglie mia.’ His whisper was sardonic.

Moglie mia. My wife. Alissa’s heart plunged in free fall as she absorbed the horrifying finality of those words. There was no going back.

He steered her to a desk so she could sign the marriage certificate. Absurdly she was grateful for his support. Her legs felt like cotton wool, her mind was muzzy with shock.

Why had he kissed her?

Because he can. It’s a power thing.

Yet, watching his tight-lipped profile as he signed his name in a slashing script, Alissa could no longer read satisfaction on his face. He looked grimmer than ever.

Perhaps he didn’t like kissing her. She tried to take comfort in the thought. But her brain was stuck in shocked awareness of how devastating his kiss had been.

It must never happen again.

Dario watched the witnesses sign the vital paper that finally secured his ownership of the family estate.

That bound him to Alissa Scott. Alissa Parisi now.

His wife. Distaste filled him. She sat motionless, bedecked in showy white satin and a froth of gauzy veil. Who did she think she fooled with that virginal outfit? She was no innocent.

Was the gown an obscure joke or had she been serious about dressing to please her sister? The notion didn’t sit well with what he knew of this woman.

Grasping, immoral, unrepentant. She’d tried so hard to deny him ownership of his home. She must have imbibed the Mangano hatred of Parisi blood with her mother’s milk.

Yet he’d made her his wife.

The Parisi name shouldn’t be sullied in such a way.

He ignored the turbulent heat that fired his bloodstream whenever their gazes met. The way his eyes strayed to her face. Her neat nose, bluer-than-blue eyes, her perfect mouth, the fragility of her slender neck.

He was merely taking her measure. It was anger he felt, not desire. He remembered the feel of her flagrantly enticing body, his hands encircling her tiny waist. The taste of her, rich and sweet. The tattoo of need that throbbed in his blood as he inhaled her skin’s perfume. The pulse of need he couldn’t suppress.

Triumph had tempted him to respond to the lure of her petal-soft lips. They’d fascinated him from the first. Now he knew they were lush, delicious, dangerously enticing.

The kiss had been an error.

It must never happen again.

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