A Vengeful Passion. Lynne Graham
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she had first formed in her early teens. For some inexplicable reason, she didn’t feel the same religious fervour of conviction that she had once had. But that scarcely mattered now. Why should she apologise for saving them both from the long-drawn-out agonies of a disastrous marriage?
After five months, they had been at each other’s throats at least twice a day. Near the end, it had been like living on the edge of a precipice when you had a pronounced fear of heights. Tears stung her eyes. She was the one person who could reason with Vito on Tim’s behalf and yet she was the very worst messenger he could have had.
Time had not lessened Vito’s antipathy. She stole a covert glance at his rock-hard profile, absorbing the innate ruthlessness stamped into every slashing line of his stark bone-structure. No, they could never have parted friends. Vito came from a long line of blue-blooded, immensely wealthy and arrogant people. Negative responses had figured rarely in his experiences. Everything he wanted, he got. Everything he wished, happened. When your name was Cavalieri, the world was your oyster and the pearl at the centre was always yours. That Vito had been prepared to marry her in the very teeth of his family’s opposition had made her flat refusal all the more heinous a crime in his eyes.
‘If you could just bring yourself to withdraw the complaint against Tim,’ she pleaded tightly.
‘Why would I do that?’ Vito fielded drily. ‘If I think like a tradesman, I would obviously be striking a most unequal bargain. Freeing your brother from the punishment he most assuredly deserves would not fill me with any warm feeling of benevolence. His freedom is worth nothing to me. What is it worth to you?’
The casual enquiry struck her as savagely cruel. She trembled. ‘Anything…everything,’ she whispered, thinking of Tim’s smashed future and her mother’s fragile mental stability and the unending guilt which would be hers alone if she could not persuade Vito to change his mind.
‘Is it worth your own freedom?’
Her delicately pointed profile turned to him. ‘I don’t understand.’
Black-lashed golden eyes flamed over her tense figure, skimming across the feminine curves that even the unflattering clothing could not disguise and finally fanning at an outrageously leisurely pace back up to her burning cheeks. Only a hot-blooded Italian could have projected that much sexual menace into a single look. ‘Anything…everything? Intriguing,’ he murmured softly. ‘If you returned to my bed, it is possible that I might be persuaded to withdraw the complaint.’
Her slim hands closed convulsively together, the heated colour draining from her complexion. ‘That’s not funny, Vito.’
‘It wasn’t intended to be.’ He sank down with inherent grace on the edge of his immaculately tidy desk. ‘You come to me on my terms—entirely on my terms,’ he stressed, ‘and your brother goes free.’
‘That’s obscene!’ Ashley gasped.
‘You shared my bed once without love. You could surely share it just as happily with hatred,’ he drawled.
Her hands parted and knotted into balled fists.
‘Your body language is so uniquely expressive,’ Vito remarked. ‘Bring some of that fire into the bedroom and I might even be persuaded to buy your delinquent brother a Ferrari of his own.’
She shuddered with rage, fought the emotion and won only by dint of trapping her tongue painfully between her teeth. How dared he? How dared he send her up like this? For, of course, that was what he was doing. He was settling old scores. He wanted to humiliate her. In the situation she was in, it was inhumanly cruel. But that was Vito. The dark side of Vito. The ruthless, unrelentingly vengeful side of Vito which she had clashed with unforgettably on the day he’d married another woman.
He flung his dark head back and laughed soft and deep in his throat. He was utterly pagan in his unashamed enjoyment of her mortification. ‘Allora, cara. Once you said to me, “If you feel like it, go for it”. I am, as you so succinctly advised, going for it.’
‘But you can’t be serious…you can’t be,’ she stammered.
Glittering dark eyes rested on her with a fierce, wholly physical intensity. ‘It would have to be marriage…’
‘Why the hell would you want to marry me now?’ she blistered back at him, abruptly relocating the power of proper speech.
A satiric smile slanted his expressive mouth. ‘But you know the answer to that question, cara,’ he said smoothly. ‘You told me why four years ago. I want a servant to pick up after me, a devoted slave to massage my ego and a bimbo to show off in designer clothes. And, last but not least, sex…unlimited sex, whenever I want it. Only marriage could supply me with all these essentials.’
Involuntarily her jaw dropped, oxygen escaping her lungs in a shattered sound of disbelief. She had long since forgotten those bitter words. Vito, she registered with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, had not.
‘In addition,’ he continued, luxuriant lashes dropping reflectively low as he looked her over again with incredibly offensive thoroughness, ‘beneath that ridiculous miniature terrorist outfit you sport lurks a perfect body and a very beautiful woman. I still want to possess that woman. And why should I not when the means are within my grasp?’
‘You’re crazy!’ she cried. ‘Absolutely stark, staring mad!’
‘Am I?’ Vito surveyed her with a brand of cold, grim satisfaction that made her skin crawl. ‘Are you telling me that I could get you any other way? I want you, Ashley. That is the only card you have to play. Whether or not you choose to play it is entirely up to you.’
‘I’d sooner be dead than married to you!’ Stinging conviction lanced from every biting syllable.
‘Is that your final answer?’
In three enraged steps, Ashley reached the door and swung helplessly round to vent yet another last word. ‘You vengeful bastard!’ she hissed in disgust. ‘I hope you burn in hell for what you’ve said to me today!’
‘And I would warn you that “where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury”.’ Contemptuous amusement glittered in his unyielding gaze as he absorbed her bewilderment. ‘Haven’t you ever read The Taming of the Shrew, Ashley?’
In her desperate haste to depart, she cannoned into the stalwart solidarity of his secretary, who was hovering anxiously outside. ‘How can you work for a chauvinistic, woman-hating swine like that?’ she demanded shrilly on her way past.
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