The Italian's Future Bride (3 page)

 He had loads of natural pulling power. That was his problem.

 ‘Are you always this obnoxious when you’ve been caught off your guard?’ she flared up on the back of pure agitation. ‘So I hit on you—what’s new there to a man like you? From what I hear, half the women in Europe have done it at some point in your blessed life—and not all of them because of your sex appeal!’

 He sent her a glinting look. ‘Did I hear a hint of scorn in your tone then?’

 ‘Yes!’ she flicked out. ‘Men like you stroll through life as if you own it. You do what you want when you want to do it. You pick your women on looks alone and don’t give a care whether they have feelings you could actually wound!’

 Something sharp hit his voice. ‘I wounded—you?’

 ‘You mean you don’t know?’ The sarcasm was out before she could stop it.

 They’d stopped at a set of traffic lights and he turned in his seat. Instantly the sheer size and power of the man flooded over Rachel like a simmering hot shower. She could feel his eyes skimming her face and her body as he checked her out while flipping through his huge data bank of women, trying to pinpoint who she was. Any second now and he was going to make a connection he could have made hours ago if he’d been more observant.

 Rachel felt the stinging temptation to lie, if only to really confuse him, but—‘No,’ she said finally.

 Someone just like you did that to me, she added inside her head. Then she flicked him a hard resentful glance,’ heaved in a breath and saved him the bother of further taxing his no doubt phenomenal brain power.

 ‘Elise Castle,’ she breathed out.

 CHAPTER TWO

 THEname had its desired effect, Rachel noticed bitterly, as a long thick silence stretched between them and he didn’t say or do a single thing.

 She held her breath again while she waited for him to recover and begin spitting out a barrage of angry questions—but still nothing came.

 In the end she took the initiative and broke the silence. ‘The name means nothing to you?’ she gibed.

 Other vehicle headlights swished past the car windows, lighting their faces momentarily. Illuminated, she saw only the cold steel of his eyes as they fixed hers like lashing daggers and he kept his silence. In the darkness her gaze dropped for some reason to the single line straightness of his mouth.

 A mouth that already felt disconcertingly familiar. She could still taste it. Her tongue even made a passing swipe at her lips in response to the thought.

 Headlights lit up the car’s interior again, dragging her attention back to his eyes. They’d narrowed and were watching her like a hawk waiting to pin its next victim. Rachel’s breathing fell into small jerky fits. Her heart was pounding. He was frighteningly exciting to look at, all well cared for male with just the right balance between sensational good looks and raw masculinity.

 Her mouth had to part to aid her quick breathing. He dropped his gaze and the result was a tingling quiver across her lips that sent the tip of her tongue nervously chasing it. Sexual awareness was suddenly alive and cluttering the atmosphere. Rachel felt her breasts grow heavy, their tips pushing out with a terrible knowing sting. He flicked those eyes back to hers again and he knew—heknew !

 Then the traffic lights decided to change, demanding that he set them moving. She watched as if mesmerised as his dark head shifted back into profile, watched his long-fingered hands as he flipped the car into a slick right turn. More seconds ticked by and her chest felt as if it was burning beneath the pressure she was placing on it by barely breathing at all now.

 ‘The name means plenty to me,’ he finally answered. ‘And you are not Elise.’

 No, Rachel knew she wasn’t Elise. She was her younger, less pretty, more sensible half-sister.

 More sensible—when? She then scoffed at that. Sensible women did not get themselves into situations like this. Sensible women steered clear of the complicated love lives of others—and especially of frighteningly sexy men like him!

 Sensiblewomen did not fall in love with handsome Italians with a rich repertoire of words of love and a killer seduction technique—yet she had done it.

 She had to close her eyes as an image of Alonso suddenly appeared in front of her. Tall, dark, beautiful Alonso, who had been so warm and attentive and flatteringly possessive when they had been out together, and so excitingly intense and passionate when naked with her in bed. They’d spent six glorious weeks living together in his apartment overlooking Naples. He’d vowed he loved her. ‘I love you—ti’ amomia bella cara…’he’d murmured to her in his rich, dark, accented voice and she’d known without a doubt that she loved him.

 Rachel shivered.

 It was only when the time had come for her to return to England and he’d said, ‘We had a wonderful time, hmm,amore ? It is a shame it now has to end,’ that she’d understood what a stupid, gullible, naïve fool she had been.

 ‘I said you are not Elise,’ this other Italian with the rich, dark accent prompted.

 Rachel opened her eyes and let the real world back in. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But very few people will be able to tell that from behind…’

 A bell of understanding suddenly clanged loud in Raffaelle’s head. Next to come was an action replay of the way this woman had thrown herself on him, followed by several camera flashes. Like a wild beast sniffing danger in the atmosphere, he picked up the scent of a deliberately constructed scandal involving him and the very married Elise.

 But it was a scandal he believed he had already diverted. As far as he was aware, the lovely Elise had seen the error of her ways after his last spiked conversation with her on the telephone before he’d broken all contact with her and made his quick exit from London back to Milan. The grapevine, via Daniella, said she had not been seen on the social circuit since.

 So what wasthis devious creature up to? Why had she gone to so much trouble to make out for the camera that she was Elise?

 ‘Explain,’ he commanded.

 Not this side of midnight, Rachel thought tensely and clamped her lips together. Having come this far, she was not about to scupper everything by getting Mark’s story pulled before going to print.

 She’d already revealed more than she should have done.

 ‘Look…’ she heaved out instead. ‘You’re not an idiot, Mr Villani. You must know you’re asking for trouble taking me against my will like this—so just stop the car and let me out now.’

 ‘Not a chance in hell,’ he refused.

 And the way he turned his head to slide his eyes up her legs had Rachel tugging jerkily at the short skirt of her dress. She knew that look. It was as old as the human race. She’d let him see her attraction to him; now he was looking over the goods on offer.

 ‘If you honestly think—!’

 ‘Changing your mind about the hit,cara ?’ he taunted. ‘Wondering if you might have bitten off more than you can chew with me? Well, let me confirm that you have done.’ His voice hardened. ‘You made the hit. I bought it. Now you are going to play it my way.’

 ‘You’re crazy,’ she whispered.

 Maybe he was, Raffaelle conceded. But no woman—no woman—played games with him and got away with it!

 ‘I’m getting out of this car—’ Rachel reached for the door handle. The automatic lock gave a clunk as it fell into place at the same time that he increased their speed.

 True—true unfettered fear began to scream in her head as it finally began to sink in what a stupid, crazy, dangerous situation she had managed to get herself into here. What did she know about Raffaelle Villani, other than the details fed to her by Mark and Elise? How did she know he wasn’t some kind of mega-rich sex maniac prowling Europe unhindered because his money could buy his victims’ silence.

 Just as he said, he had bought her…

 Her skin began to creep, her fingers closing tightly around her small clutch bag so they felt the reassurance of her cellphone.

 How much time did she need to call the police before he reacted?

 She dared a quick glance at him, heart hammering, fingers tensely toying with the clasp on her bag. He didn’t look like a lunatic, just a very angry man—which he had every right to be, she was forced to admit.

 ‘Your partner in crime did not hang around to protect you,’ he taunted grimly next.

 He had to mean Mark. ‘You don’t—’

 ‘Unless he is in one of the cars following behind us, that is…’

 Cars—? Rachel twisted around to peer through the rear window.

 ‘There are three back there I can pick out as belonging to the paparazzi,’ she was told. ‘And there are most likely more of them following not far behind them.’

 Twisting forward again, she stared at him. ‘But why should they want to follow us?’

 ‘You are not that naïve,’ he derided the question, flicking his eyes from the rear-view mirror and back to the road ahead. ‘Or you would not have chosen Raffaelle Villani to pull your life-wrecking stunt.’

 Life wrecking—? ‘N-no.’ Rachel gave an urgent shake of her head. ‘You don’t understand. This was not—’

 ‘Not that it matters,’ he interrupted. ‘We are here now.’

 As inwhere —? Even as Rachel thought the question, one of those shiny new apartment blocks that flanked the river loomed up close. With a spin of the wheel he sent the car sweeping on to its forecourt. He stopped it hard on its brakes and was already out of the car and striding around it to open her door.

 Rachel didn’t move. She was trembling like mad and her heart was thundering. She didn’t look at him either, but just stared starkly ahead.

 ‘Do you get out yourself or do I have to lift you?’ he demanded.

 Since she’d already learnt the hard way that he was perfectly willing to do the latter, swallowing tensely, Rachel took the more dignified choice, unfastened her seat belt and slid out of the car.

 It was an odd sensation to find herself standing close to him. Nor did that sensation make any sense because she’d stood this close once already tonight and thrown herself right against him a second time, yet he hadn’t felt this tall or as powerfully built or as dangerous as he did right now.

 She shivered, panicked and was about to make a run for it when car doors started slamming. The paparazzi had arrived right behind them and were already piling out of their cars.

 Raffaelle bit out a curse, then he was wrapping her beneath the hook of a powerful arm.

 Cameras flashed. ‘Look this way, Elise—!’ one of them called out to her.

 But she was already being ushered through a pair of doors.

 ‘Keep them out,’ Raffaelle instructed the security man manning the foyer.

 Before Rachel knew what was happening, he’d marched her into a lift and the doors were closing the two of them inside.

 It had happened so fast—all of it—everything! And she’d never felt so afraid in her entire life. Her head was whirling and her legs had gone hollow. The panic had not subsided and it sent the heels of her shoes screeching shrilly beneath her as she spun round, then she lifted an arm and hit out at him with her bag.

 He fielded the blow like a man swatting a fly away. ‘Calm down,’ he gritted.

 But Rachel didn’t want to calm down. Hair flying about her slender neck as she struggled with him, ‘Let me go—let mego !’ she choked out.

 Then she threw back her head and opened her mouth to scream.

 Only it didn’t arrive. Nothing happened. The scream remained just a thick lump pulsing in the base of her throat. And he didn’t attempt to smother it like he had done outside the hotel but just stood there looking down at her while she stared up at him.

 It was crazy—the whole evening had been crazy, but this wasthe craziest part because it felt as if they’d both suddenly been frozen in time.

 The panic receded. She forgot to breathe. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t breathing either and he was frowning as if he too couldn’t understand what was going on.

 Gorgeous frown, she found herself thinking. Gorgeous black silk-hooded eyes. In fact he was, she saw as if for the first time, altogether totally breathtaking to look at. His facial bone structure was striking—the high forehead and good cheekbones, the long narrow nose and perfectly symmetrical chin.

 And his eyes weren’t really grey, but an unusual mixture of green flecked with silver. His skin was amazing, a tightly wrapped casing of honey-gold her fingers remembered with a tense little twitch. The satin-black eyebrows, those luxuriously long eyelashes that were hovering just above the cheekbones, and the mouth…

 Don’t look at his mouth, she told herself tautly, but she didn’t just look, she stared at it. Slender, smooth, slightly parted. The tip of her tongue snaked out to wipe away the now familiar tingle she felt take over her own lips.

 He breathed. The warmth of his breath brushed her face, scented with the heady fruits of a rich dark wine. She tried a tense swallow, looked back into his eyes and saw what was coming. He was going to kiss her. Not to stop her screaming or even in anger, but because—

 Oh, God, she wanted him to!

 He muttered something in Italian. She released the strangest-sounding groan. In the next second he’d captured her mouth and they were kissing—really kissing. Not stolen, fought-for, punishing or smothering kisses, but like two greedy, hungry lovers with a swift, hot, urgent necessity.

 Their tongues flickered and slid in a wild, erotic dance of hungry heat. Without caring she was doing it, Rachel lifted her arms up over Raffaelle’s shoulders and arched closer until she could feel every inch of him pressing against her, from his hard-packed chest to powerful thighs.

 He was so pumped up and solid, his hands moving on a restless journey over the silk dress covering her slender body to the bare flesh of her shoulders, then back down to her small waist again. She became aware that she was purring like a well stroked kitten. He breathed something harsh, then picked her up with his hands and started walking without breaking the kiss.

 Her hands were in his hair now, raking his scalp and scrunching its smooth style, the swollen globes of her breasts nudging at him high on his chest.

 This should not be happening. Thisshould not be happening! a shrill voice screamed inside her head.