Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife. Annie West
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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