The Mediterranean Billionaire's Blackmail Bargain (12 page)

‘No, Dante. I didn't realize that it had been an order. I don't respond well to orders.' Her mouth was set in a mutinous line and Dante had one clear desire, one way to eradicate the irritation in his blood.

The kiss was harsh, all consuming. And brief, but not brief enough to stop Alicia's pulse soaring or her cheeks flushing.

He stopped and lifted his head. All she could see was dark eyes, a dark face, a cruel smile. It was time to make his intentions clear. ‘Then take this how you want—by the end of this week we are going to be lovers.'

‘Never,' she breathed immediately with self-protecting swiftness, with horror at his calm assurance. ‘Absolutely no way.'

She shook her head, even as her blood sizzled at his nearness. She tried to push free but it was futile against his strength. Eventually he let her go and only the wall at her back kept her from falling.

His eyes flickered down over her silk button down dress, her loose hair and plain earrings. ‘You're dressed fine for dinner; stay here and enjoy an aperitif, we'll be down in half an hour.' And, with another swift, devastating kiss, he walked away and Alicia realized that everyone had left. She hadn't even noticed. She turned around and the two launches bobbed with what seemed to be blissful unconcern on the gently lapping waters.

 

By the last evening of the week Alicia was a bag of nerves. This situation, which had started out as a result of her assumption that he was the father of Mel's baby, had morphed into something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with outside influences—something between them. Uniquely. And Alicia had nowhere to turn. Melanie was being cared for, was thriving in the new house with Paolo, who appeared to be the devoted fiancé. Yet that had an awful tendency of slipping from her mind completely, so consumed was she by this man. So consumed had she become, after a week of intimate looks, physical contact, but, as yet…no move to take her to bed.

And the awful thing was, it was all she could think about.

She looked at him now as he drove his car into the small nearby town. Behind them were a couple of luxurious people carriers conveying the guests. The breeze barely ruffled her hair and he drove with sure controlled mastery, those long fingers resting on the gear stick, very close to her leg. They were on their way to have dinner in that same hotel that she'd seen him emerge from only a week ago. And tomorrow they would travel to Cape Town.

She cast him a look and couldn't keep it in any longer—what she'd found out earlier in a conversation with Patricia. Guilt clawed at her
again,
an annoyingly frequent emotion with this man.

‘Why didn't you tell me what your plane was really being used for when it brought the clothes? I had no idea that it was bringing children from the orphanage in Milan to the lake for water sports.'

He didn't turn to look at her and was silent for a long time. His jaw clenched and a muscle pulsed under the skin.

‘Dante—'

‘I heard you.'

‘So…why?'

He flicked her a glance and then looked back to the road. ‘I didn't tell you because it's none of your business what I use my aeroplane for.'

Hurt struck her with the precision of a tiny arrow. ‘I know. But I just…I wish you'd told me, that's all.' Her hands twisted in her lap.

He hated the fact that she had found out. It made him feel absurdly weak…exposed. He cast her a look and arched a brow. ‘Spare me the fake interest. The others might be taken in by the selfless aid nurse but I've no doubt you had an agenda. No doubt a man must have been involved—a rich doctor, perhaps? What happened—did it go sour? Is that why you came home and you and your sister schemed to make the best of a bad situation?' he queried idly.

Alicia sucked in a breath. It was on the one hand so near to the truth and on the other so far removed from the truth that she saw spots appear before her eyes. Her anger, for once wasn't hot and tumultuous; it was icy-cold and far stronger.

She turned to face him. ‘I take back what I said, for trying to be polite.' She waved an agitated hand. ‘No doubt your
apparent philanthropy
is a highly calculated move to endear you to the public. Because, if you didn't at least do that, wouldn't you just be another rags to riches story? Another of the idle
nouveau riche?
No doubt your action gets you major kudos in our politically correct world. Especially here, with people you need to impress…'

The only sign that she'd got to him was his hands clenching on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. And stupidly, she was already regretting her words; she knew it was a cheap shot. Patricia had waxed lyrical for nearly an hour earlier, telling her how involved Dante was with the street kids and orphans usually overseeing their activities himself, and that he was patron of numerous charities for street kids in nearly every city in Italy.

His voice when he spoke sent shivers of fear down her spine. ‘You're right in one aspect Alicia.'

‘I am?' she said hesitantly, all bravado gone.

‘Yes.' He sent her a smile and it turned her blood cold. A large brown hand snaked out and gripped her bare thigh, shoving her skirt up roughly. Her immediate reaction was to take his hand off her leg; its effect had been violent. But he pushed her hand away easily.

He still drove, his concentration not gone for a second as that hand inched higher and higher. Alicia tried to clench her legs close together, but her instinct was to relax them. His hand was so high now that he grazed her panties and Alicia had to close her eyes at the awful wantonness of the picture she must present, and at the way she could feel herself start to throb down there. She gripped his wrist but that was worse, she could feel his pulse, his hair roughened skin.

Without her even realizing it, he'd pulled in to park outside the hotel with a smooth move and, before anyone approached them, he leant over, cupping her sex properly, intimately. He was dark, smouldering, intense. She couldn't speak. She was on fire and he knew it.

‘Yes. You are right…all we need to focus on is
this.
Who cares what we do, what we are?'

She opened her mouth to speak, to say, Stop, I do care, and he halted her words by meeting her lips with a devastating kiss that was so incendiary that she could feel herself reacting, shamelessly wanting to push into his hand in a totally instinctive move. He pulled back, his eyes glittering, a mocking triumphant smile on his face. She coloured in shame, a vivid recollection of only a week before, the way he'd left that woman on the nearby steps coming back to taunt her.

‘And don't even try to deny it any more. This is why you're here, why I'm even indulging you or your sister at all.'

At that moment Alicia knew that she was in more trouble than she'd ever been in her entire life and that this man had the power to hurt her in a way that made anything that had gone before seem like nothing more than a teenage crush.

O
N THE DRIVE
back to the villa after dinner, which seemed to have passed in an indecently short amount of time, there was no conversation. They had stayed for coffee after dessert and when everyone else, in various states of inebriation decided to go to the club downstairs, Dante had taken Alicia's hand and led her outside.

And now Alicia sat like a statue: fear, a little bit of loathing, largely directed at herself and aching desire all warring in her body.

They pulled up on the gravel and Julieta—lovely, kind Julieta—appeared in the doorway to greet them. Alicia gave her a kiss goodnight and wanted to cling on to her for dear life. But Dante took her hand again and led her to the stairs. She stumbled at the bottom step in her heels and Dante barely changed pace as he caught her under her legs and lifted her up into his arms. Still no words. She looked at his face, which was impassive, carved from stone. Remote. Cold. How could they do this with so little warmth or affection?

He strode confidently past her door and reality sank in. His door was shut behind them and then she was on her feet, breathless, as if she'd been the one carrying him in what seemed like a mere second. She backed away and made for her own adjoining door but he caught her back easily.

‘No, you don't.'

Alicia arched away from him as much as she could within the steel band of his arms. ‘I don't want to do this; I won't do this.'

He didn't answer, making him seem even more dark and dangerous. Remote. When he lowered his head to hers she twisted hers away and, with more than a touch of ruthlessness, he turned her head back to his. Her whole body was stiff, fighting the urge to sink, and melt.

‘No…'
She struggled again, fruitlessly.

He bent his head to hers and caught her mouth. The sensation was shocking and Alicia tore her head away again, every ounce of her strength going into this struggle, this fight. But Dante was utterly remorseless. With her head turned away, he pressed his mouth against her neck. Her fists beat against his chest and made absolutely no impact. Without force, he merely twisted one arm back behind her, bringing her breasts into tight proximity to his broad chest. There was something untamed about him that called to some deep, dark part of her.

The feel of his arousal against her soft flesh was too much, pushing her over the edge. It started a drum beat of desire in her blood. She could feel the battle being lost, her limbs shaking with the effort it took to resist when she didn't want to. His mouth descended into the valley exposed by her wrapover top. Her free hand was on his shoulder, it moved to his head, his hair…but instead of pulling him away, as she'd fully intended, that hand caught in the short, silky dark strands and clung on. Then his hand gripped one buttock and he pulled her against him in a move that made her gasp with its earthy sensuality, its urgency. She felt a force flood her entire body and an unbelievably strong urge to connect in the most intimate way with this man. And she knew, at that moment, that
he knew
she'd tacitly acquiesced.

Alicia's legs nearly buckled as she swayed. He caught her, lifting her again, and brought her over to the bed, where he put her down on her feet. This time, when he bent his head, she didn't move, couldn't fight. Angry with him for making her feel so weak and with herself for this unwanted response, she kissed him back with passion and anger, matching him, their mouths clinging, tongues searching and stroking with heady intimacy.

Her anger emboldened her. Her hands went to his jacket and pushed it from his shoulders, it fell to the floor. He ripped at his bow tie, she heard material tear but it only echoed the sound of her pulse soaring as she watched him open his shirt, to reveal his torso. For a second she couldn't breathe, just taking in the sight of the sheer bronzed magnificence in front of her. Acting on pure impulse, she stretched out her hands and spread them across the wide plane, the light smattering of hair; her eyes followed it down and she saw the bulge just under his belt.

A finger tipped her chin up. ‘Undo my belt…and trousers.'

She was shaking as she did as he asked, sliding the belt through the buckle and through the loops until it fell open. Her hand went to the top button; she could already feel the heat of him. Slowly, because she was shaking too much to go quickly, she drew the zip down and her knuckles brushed enticingly against his erection, which pulsed and strained against the material of his briefs. He sucked in a breath above her and, when she looked up, they were the only two people in the world. His eyes glittered down at her. Right now, there was only this.

With jerky impatience Dante brushed her hand away and stepped out of his trousers and briefs, standing in front of her, entirely naked. Bronzed, glistening skin stretched over hard, hard muscles. Something caught Alicia's eye and she instinctively put out a finger to touch—it was a tattoo on his right arm, high up. Some kind of ancient symbol. It looked rough, as if it hadn't been done properly. The air was very still and heavy around them as she traced it with a small finger. Her eyes grew round.

A burst of angry cynicism rushed through Dante and he smiled down at her harshly. ‘It was part of my initiation into a gang. Does it excite you?'

Alicia felt sad…for what he must have gone through. She looked up hesitantly and shook her head minutely. She knew he wouldn't appreciate her pity. Even so, she couldn't help asking, ‘What does it mean?'

Dante took her finger away and brought it to his mouth, sucking the tip deeply inwards before releasing it again. A spasm of lust gripped her, warring with a scary falling feeling in her chest.

He caught the gleam of something in her eyes and felt something beat in his chest—a warning:
danger, danger…

He called back that anger, even though it was fast being obliterated by the lust firing his blood. ‘It means,
cara,
that I trust no one…'

And especially not me…
flashed through her head.

But, before she had time to think about it, he had undone the catch at the back of her skirt; it fell to the floor with a swish, and then her top followed equally rapidly. She kicked off her shoes, which lowered her a few precious inches. Dante nudged her back on to the bed. She hadn't looked yet but now she couldn't avoid seeing him—
all
of him. And he looked very aroused. She felt a dart of fear in her belly. What if he was too big for her? And, just as quickly, she felt a rush of liquid desire, moistening her, making her ready to take him. Her own body, a traitor of the worst kind.

He dispensed with her bra and came beside her on one arm, looking his fill. Her breasts seemed to tighten even more, the tips flagrantly aroused, waiting, hungering for his touch, his mouth. As if he read her mind, he passed a palm over one nipple and Alicia shivered. But she exploded into pieces when he bent his head and took it into his mouth, suckling roughly. Her body arched and his hand came around and under her back to pull her close.

Instinctively she stiffened and recoiled as his hand moved down over the still tender skin of her scar. His head came up. ‘What the hell is that?'

Before she could say a word or move, he had turned her in to him to inspect what she knew was a large area of puckered pink scar tissue just above her right buttock. She closed her eyes and pushed away from him so violently that he had to let her go. She was glad of the dark. She scooted back up the bed and hugged her arms around herself, knees up. Guilt, fear and self-consciousness all vied in her breast.

He was looking at her…with
pity?
As much as she couldn't bear his censure, she couldn't bear this.

‘It's nothing.'

‘It's hardly nothing, Alicia; you've got a huge scar on your back. Where did you get it? Is it sore?'

‘It's only sore sometimes, if I do too much or anything too physical.'

Dante had a sudden memory of throwing her over his shoulder and winced, guilt rushing through him. Alicia saw it and read it. Her mouth twisted. ‘You weren't to know.'

‘No,' he said harshly, ‘but I didn't need to be so rough.'

Something in his voice inexplicably made her melt inside, made her forget her intention not to tell him anything. ‘I…it happened about five months ago. Rebel militia had surrounded the aid camp and were taking pot shots at us. They killed twenty people. The bullet that got me was a ricochet. I'm lucky, it turned out to be little more than a flesh wound…'

Dante had moved off the bed and pulled on his trousers, leaving them open.
Lucky.
He knew that had to be an understatement. She spoke so carefully and precisely that he knew well she was trying to avoid remembering the undoubted horror. If she was telling the truth…something urged him to believe that she was, though…she'd reacted too forcibly to him touching her there.

Alicia's gaze was drawn to where the hair descended in a line to the potent heat of him—the heat that had almost consumed them. She closed her eyes and turned her head in disgust at herself. But she had to focus on him, on the physical, because if she didn't…she would think about the rest. Her hands clenched.

Dante paced close to the bed. She'd been shot. A bullet had passed through her flesh…
Alicia's flesh…
cutting it open. He stopped and felt a curious weakness in his chest for a moment. He looked at her averted profile, her chest moving up and down, her breasts crushed by her knees and arms. He realized then too that she'd said this had happened five months ago…and she'd obviously stayed, hadn't left a dangerous situation…thoughts were shifting around him, in him, and he couldn't stop them.

He sat down on the side of the bed and watched as the colour flooded her cheeks. He ran a finger up and down her arm and saw goosebumps spring up. Even now, he burned for her. He spoke her name without thinking, instinctively. ‘Alicia…'

She looked up at him with desperation in her eyes. It shocked him. Her hair was tumbled over her shoulders, her eyes were huge and again the thought of someone shooting at her made him want to gather her up close and never let her go. A maelstrom of emotions ran through him.

‘I'm OK. It's fine.'

But she wasn't. Everything was starting to flood back. Images, faces of the dying…the ever present danger. And yet, right now, being here with this man and the power he held over her body and mind scared her witless too.

She could move, get up, leave the room; she knew instinctively that he would let her go. But…this
heat
that vibrated between them wouldn't let her move, as much as she wanted to. As much as it terrified her.

This man had the power to halt all the terrible images that threatened to flood her mind. She remembered the feeling of safety she'd had in his arms. And, right then, desire surged through her, powerful and so strong—again she had that overwhelming urge to lie with him,
be
with him. She knew she was flirting with a far more dangerous fire in order to obliterate her own pain, even for a short while. She needed to feel
alive,
needed some of this man's potent vibrancy. The fact that she was allowing herself to be seduced yet again…She blocked it out. And she knew, somewhere that she wasn't willing to look at yet, that Raul Carro had never had her so aflame that she couldn't resist.

Before she could lose her nerve, she took her hands away from her breasts and lay down on the bed. And also before she could lose her nerve, in a bold and completely untutored instinctive move, she lifted her hips and slipped her panties off. She lay there naked. She saw the confusion in Dante's eyes, the split second of hesitation before a familiar hardness crossed his face.

Without a word, he stood and slipped his trousers off lean hips again. This time she didn't look down; she looked up and, as Dante came down beside her and lowered his head to hers, she breathed a sigh of relief. This danger was infinitely preferable to being vulnerable in front of him. She twined her arms around his neck, holding him close, revelling in the heat of him, the scent of him and the protective strength of him. Sexual heat combusted all around them, white-hot and illuminating. Within what seemed like minutes they had surpassed where they'd got to before and all that Alicia was aware of was the man who hovered over her, muscles bunched in his arms as he looked down at her.

His hand parted her legs and she had a brief moment of trepidation as she could feel the smooth head of him nudge her slick entrance. As if sensing that fear, Dante stopped for a second, even though never before had he had the urge to drive in so far and so deep that he'd lose himself. He put a hand between them, feeling for himself. Her wetness made him throb; she was so ready. She moaned as his hand moved and he slipped a couple of fingers inside her. She bit her lip and moved her hips slightly against him and then he took his hand away.

‘No,
bella,
it's going to be much better than that.'

And, lowering his body, pushing against her, he slid in. Sweat broke out on his brow at the first feel of her tight muscles squeezing around him, holding him so snugly that he didn't even know if he could push in any more, but then he felt her hands on his arms and she tilted her hips and he slid deeper. He bit back a long moan of pure masculine joy and pleasure. No woman had ever felt like this around him. So snug, so tight, so
hot.