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Chills skipped up her spine, but she forced herself to stand straight and greet this next hurdle straight on. Deep breath in … slow exhalation. But even that failed to calm her racing heart or lessen the knocking of her knees.

As for offering a serene smile—she wasn’t about to attempt one. Only a fool would smile at the shark swimming toward them.

Henry’s voice drifted to her, so clear she knew he was standing in the corridor outside the waiting room door. “Miss Tate is in her father’s office. If you’ll come this way, sir?”

“That will be all,” replied a deep, masculine voice that ground Delanie’s thoughts to a screeching, nerve-grating halt.

No! Her mind must be playing cruel tricks on her.

But there was no mistaking that husk of an Italian accent that she hadn’t heard in ten long years except in her dreams. That she’d never wished to hear again.

“Sir,” Henry sputtered. “I insist I be on hand …”

“Leave us!” The clipped order blew open the lid on painful memories she’d tucked away long ago.

The man from her past was here. Was he the corporate raider? The man with the wherewithal and the ruthless bent to strip everything from her?

Her gaze swept the room to find a way out, her pulse racing so fast she was lightheaded. Were the walls closing in on her?

No, just her past.

About the Author

For as long as JANETTE KENNY can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love for literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.

Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.

Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.

Janette shares her home and free time with a chow-shepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com. She loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com

Recent titles by the same author:

 ILLEGITIMATE TYCOON (Bad Blood)

 CAPTURED AND CROWNED

 INNOCENT IN THE ITALIAN’S PASSION

 PROUD REVENGE, PASSIONATE WEDLOCK

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Innocent of
His Claim

Janette Kenny

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

“IT’S done.” Henry returned the telephone to its austere black cradle with a decisive click, his face as stoic as the marble busts in David Tate’s executive office in central London. “The takeover of Tate Unlimited is complete.”

Delanie sat perfectly still and stared across the desk at her father’s massive, empty chair. Most women thrust into her situation would be a puddle of tears. Fretful. Scared. But she felt curiously numb. Detached, as if she was watching someone else go through the death of a parent, the subsequent ordeal of a swift hostile takeover of his corporation and now a very uncertain future.

Though she’d been unable to display grief at his funeral, she had at least shown respect. Considering her relationship with her father, even that was a lot.

“My bid to exclude the house and my family’s personal assets?” she asked, holding onto the hope that she had salvaged something from her father’s empire.

Henry, who’d been her father’s attorney for as long as she could remember and who she’d affectionately called Uncle Henry all of her life, shook his head, his papery lips pulled into a thin line that sent her hopes plummeting. “All gone. However the new owner has trumped your bid to buy Elite Affair with a counter offer.”

“What does he want?” she asked.

Not that it mattered. Her only means to negotiate a deal in the first place hinged on selling the vintage cars. But those were gone, leaving her with nothing tangible to trade or sell.

“His solicitor wouldn’t say, stating the owner will inform us of the details upon his arrival,” Henry said.

Of course, more waiting. More drama added to this corporate piracy.

She huffed out a weary breath and pushed to her feet, smoothing her dress over her hips. Fittingly, she was garbed in a somber black Dolce and Gabbana sheath, although it made her pale complexion seem waxy and lifeless. Right now she felt bloodless but was too angry to surrender.

The fall of her father’s company had been inevitable, yet she’d hoped that the corporate dragon breathing fire down on them for the past two weeks would have the decency to show respect. That he would at least listen to her request. That the unknown entity hiding behind the group called Varsi Dynamics was, in fact, human and not a machine or monster.

Now she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything.

It would be so easy to toss in the proverbial towel. Certainly people would understand that losing both parents and every worldly thing she possessed in such a short span of time was simply too much for her to bear. But her pride wouldn’t let her give in to pity and pride was all she had left.

Narrow shoulders squared, she strode to the draped window and gathered her courage around her for this meeting with the tycoon who had gobbled up everything her father had owned. Everything she owned and valued as well, damn him!

She flung back the drapes and stared at the cold rain streaking down the mullioned windows. Steel-gray clouds barred the sun from making an appearance.

The gloomy weather was appropriate to laying her father and his wretched empire to rest once and for all. If she could just get back what was hers….

“Do we at least now know who’s behind Varsi Dynamics?” she asked as she faced her father’s loyal attorney.

“No.” Henry consulted his Baume & Mercier watch, a gift for service long ago. The brown leather band now seemed too bulky and masculine for his bony wrist that was only slightly bigger than her own. “But we shall soon find out. He’s scheduled to arrive at quarter past two.”

Any time then, she thought. “Good. I want to get this over with and go home.”

Only she didn’t have a home anymore. She had nothing. So where would she go? Impose on friends? Pound the streets looking for a job?

Delanie tried to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear but the tremor that continued to rock through her undermined the effort. She gave it up with a heavy sigh and let the pale gold strand fall as it had repeatedly done at the cemetery.

If she were prone to outbursts then this would be the ideal time to have one. What kind of man would demand that this meeting be held in the closed offices of Tate Unlimited on the heels of her father’s burial?

Perhaps a visceral man with horns and a tail. Clearly he was a man without principles.

The man behind Varsi Dynamics had launched his takeover on Tate Unlimited in her father’s last hours. Before her father was interred at the Tate family plot at Sumpton Park, the corporate shark had gained control of her father’s assets, right down to the furniture in the mansion and the fleet of Rolls Royces in the garages.

“I imagine the new owner will take great delight in personally firing everyone on staff,” she groused as she stopped behind the burgundy leather chair her father had ruled from.

Henry fidgeted with his crimson-and-gold striped tie, the first sign that he wasn’t quite as calm as he let on. “Actually, his solicitor assured me that all Tate employees would remain on staff through a six-month vetting period.”

She blinked, that news the one ray of sun on this gloomy day. “That’s a surprise.”

“Indeed,” Henry said, consulting his watch again. “Time to go below stairs to meet and show him up. Wouldn’t want the gent wandering around the building and getting lost. Will you be all right alone?”

His concern brought a bittersweet smile to her face. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

Henry gave a crisp nod and left, his gait swift and sure for a man his age.

Silence thrummed in the room that held only bitter memories. No, she wouldn’t miss Tate Unlimited. But Elite Affair, the company her father had swindled out of her, meant everything to her. It was her dream. Her means to support herself. Her freedom from a man’s control.

She was anything but fine, she thought as her palms pressed into the sumptuous leather back of the executive chair.

The scent of spice wafted in the air. Her father’s aftershave. Faint, as if he’d just stepped out of the office.

The old urge to run pinged through her like a cold pounding rain and she shivered. To her father, a woman’s main purpose was to marry well and produce an heir. A male heir, according to the verbal barbs he’d flung at her mother for failing to uphold her duty.

In his eyes, Delanie was no better. Her fingers dug into the leather as his biting diatribes played over and over in her mind. A failure. A liability. No better than her mother.

If he hadn’t blackmailed her to stay on this past year she would have left. In hindsight she should have done that, for she’d ended up with nothing anyway—unless by some miracle she could meet the new owner’s counteroffer.

The ding of the elevator echoed dully down the corridor. Masculine footsteps pounded the marble floor like an advancing army. Her pulse rose with each step.

The waiting was over.

He was here.

Chills skipped up her spine, but she forced herself to stand straight and greet this next hurdle straight on. Deep breath in, slow exhalation. But even that failed to calm her racing heart or lessen the knocking of her knees.

As for offering a serene smile, she wasn’t about to attempt one. Only a fool would smile at the shark swimming toward them.

Henry’s voice drifted to her, so clear she knew he was standing in the corridor outside the waiting-room door. “Miss Tate is in her father’s office. If you’ll come this way, sir.”

“That will be all,” replied a deep masculine voice that ground Delanie’s thoughts to a screeching, nerve-grating halt.

No! Her mind must be playing cruel tricks on her.

But there was no mistaking that husk of an Italian accent that she hadn’t heard in ten long years except in her dreams. That she’d wished never to hear again.

“Sir,” Henry sputtered. “I insist I be on hand …”

“Leave us!” The clipped order blew open the lid on painful memories she’d tucked away long ago.

The man from her past was here. But why? Was he the corporate raider, the one with the wherewithal and ruthless bent to strip everything from her?

Her gaze swept the room to find a way out; her pulse raced so fast she was light-headed. Were the walls closing in on her?

No, just her past.

The waiting-room door slammed shut, likely in Henry’s face. She jumped in heels that suddenly pinched, her skin pebbling and her heart thundering with each determined step that brought Marco closer.

Footsteps stopped outside the office door. She swallowed hard. Had Marco paused to straighten his tie—a quirk he’d done often because he detested wearing one? Or, on a wilder thought that mirrored her rising hysteria, was he sharpening his teeth for the proverbial kill?

Her heart thundered, her body swayed as the dizzying rush of memories swirled around her like a choking fog. Each second nipped along her skin, chipping away at the confidence she tried desperately to shore up.

The man she’d thought never to see again stepped into the office and shut the door behind him with a deafening click. Her traitorous eyes drank him in: tall and commanding, broad shoulders racked tight. Breathtakingly handsome.

Piercing dark eyes set in a classic face drilled into her, impaling her to the spot. “Ciao, Delanie.”

Her fingernails dug into her father’s chair, likely scoring the leather. But it remained her only shield against the enemy.

Enemy … In her wildest imaginings, she had never guessed that the mystery owner of Varsi Dynamic was Marco Vincienta, her ex-fiancé. The man who’d held her heart in his powerful hands and crushed it without remorse.

There could only be one reason for him to take over Tate Unlimited and demand that she meet him here a scant hour after her father’s funeral. Revenge.

She swallowed, her throat parched, the spacious room shrinking as the powerful throb of his aura reached out to encircle her. Trap her.

“Marco,” she said, her voice catching over his name that she’d once said lovingly, the emotionally wounded man that she’d foolishly thought she could heal with her love.

He looked larger, stronger, colder. His lean torso was in top physical form, more so than memory served. His wealth of dark hair that she’d loved running her fingers through was clipped short in a fashionable style, yet an errant curl strayed onto his broad tanned forehead to hint at his rebel soul.

He was far more handsome and intense than she remembered. Far more dangerous-looking. Hungry. Like a caged wolf she’d seen at the zoo, its cool gaze scanning the crowd, searching for easy prey.

Only Marco stared straight at her. The look of a predator who’d tracked down his quarry. Who had it cornered and was moments away from pouncing.

Perspiration beaded her forehead and dampened the deep V between her breasts. It took supreme effort to stand straight and keep her head high, refusing to show fear or any weakness.

“So you are the man behind Varsi Dynamics,” she said.

A rapacious smile curved his chiseled lips that had once played so tenderly over her eager flesh, awakening sensations she’d never felt before or since he’d exited her life. Sensations that maddeningly still caused heat to curl in her belly.

She hated that odd loss of self-control, that awareness of him on that level. Hated him as much as she’d once loved him. Perhaps more now that she knew he’d been the one to put her through such hell the past few weeks.

“It is one of my lesser acquisitions.”

“Lesser?” She couldn’t hide her surprise.

The wolf’s smile widened. “Hard to believe that the young bastard you and your father stole a company from amassed a fortune and the power to take down a titan.”

“I had nothing to do with what my father did,” she said, earning a snort from him. “Everything I felt for you was real.”

“Yes, just like your tearful confession of family abuse, revealed after I confronted you and your father with the truth, after I said I was done with you.” His dark eyes were void of emotion. “It was too little too late. Perhaps if you’d told me your story before you betrayed me …”

“I never betrayed you,” she spat. “Why are you so blind to the truth? Why must you think the worst …”

He sliced the air between them with a hand and she stammered to a halt. “History. What happened then has nothing to do with why I’m here now.”

She forced her chin up and met his cold gaze head-on. “That’s rather difficult to believe after you’ve systematically stripped me of everything.”

The tailored sleeves of his jacket pulled into perfect pleats as he crossed his arms over his chest, his face an impassive mask. He was a stranger, worlds away from the young Italian she’d lost her heart to. An older, harder version of the dynamic lover who’d broken her heart.

“I’m in need of your services,” he said sharply.

She blinked, stunned speechless. As a wedding planner? Lover? Did it matter when either was cruel to ask of her?

“Is this a joke?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I want you to come to Italy with me today.”

For a moment she couldn’t think, couldn’t get past those same words he’d spoken long ago. Come to Italy with me … Leave the hell of her life. Leave her mother at her father’s mercy …

She couldn’t do it then. She wouldn’t now.

“No way,” she said. “The only reason I honored your order to be here today was to hear your counteroffer to my bid for Elite Affair.”

One dark brow winged up. “This is my counteroffer. Come to Italy and plan a wedding. If you please the bride and me then Elite Affair will be yours.”

Could it be that simple? No, there would be nothing simple about being around Marco, seeing him fawn over his bride.

It would be emotional hell for her. Torture. But, she thought, her mind catching on the carrot he dangled before her, in the end she would gain Elite Affair—if she could trust him to uphold his end of the bargain.

Her eyes met his intense ones and her foolish heart fluttered. It was a dangerous game. But right now she had absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“All right. But I can plan your wedding from London and send one of my consultants to ensure the events go off perfectly.”

He shook his head. “No. You will be there from start to finish or the deal is off.”

She shoved her father’s massive chair aside and rounded the desk, facing him. “Why? What does it matter as long as your bride is happy?”

He drove his fingers through his hair, then pinned her with a look so intense she had to lean against the desk to keep from swaying. “Because the bride insists that you be there to oversee every detail.”

“And you would do anything for your bride,” she said.

“Si. I want her day to be perfect.”

Exactly what every groom should want, except this man had once asked her to marry him. The man who had vowed to stand by her. Believe her. Protect her.

Marco had failed miserably at all three. What was to stop him from stringing her along to get his way?

“Not good enough,” she said. “I demand a guarantee in writing that I’ll get my company back when the work is done.”

“No. You get the company if your work is satisfactory to the bride.”

“And if she nitpicks?”

“You have a reputation for pleasing the most finicky client.”

“Within reason,” she clarified.

He almost smiled. “You’ll be amply compensated for your time.”

And make a fool of herself over him again? She shook her head, having been down that rocky road before, having trusted him before. Never again.

“Forget it. I’ll never agree to that.”

“Don’t make vows you can’t keep,” he said.

“Trust me, I can keep this one!”

He glared at her, a stone pillar of a man who had once been turgid hot flesh and blazing passion in her arms. Ancient history.

They had been a bright nova. They’d come together in a cataclysmic crash of passion only to fade into cold darkness when it ended. He’d hurt her more than she’d thought possible. Was still hurting her, she thought sourly.

“I never knew you, Marco, but then that’s how you wanted it,” she said, letting him see the pain and anguish that must be evident in her eyes. “You put up walls and shared very little about your past or your fears, and the dreams you wove for our future were hazy.”

“Yet you were willing to marry me.”

She bit her lip, wanting to deny it. But she couldn’t. “I was young. Naive. I trusted you.” Loved him.

Marco’s brow snapped into a V as he jerked his gaze from her and mouthed a curse. Then he presented a broad rigid back to her, fists clenched at his sides.

She hadn’t expected a like confession from him. That wouldn’t be Marco. So why were tears stinging her eyes?

Dammit, she’d held her poise and dignity throughout the funeral. She certainly wouldn’t give Marco the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d crushed her again. How close she was to crumbling into a heap.

Head high, she marched toward the door. There was no reason to stay, no use to try and negotiate with him. That would be up to Henry now.

No home. No job. Nothing but her pride.

“I am not finished with you,” he said.

“Tough,” she said, relieved her voice didn’t betray her heartache, that her knees didn’t buckle. “I’m finished with you.”

A few more feet and she was closing the door behind her with that same resounding click she’d heard as he’d entered. A sob caught in her throat but she managed to choke it back as she ran across the waiting room toward an uncertain future.

CHAPTER TWO

MARCO wrenched the door open with nearly enough force to pull the heavy oak panel off the bronze hinges. Amazing that just a few minutes in Delanie Tate’s infuriating company could fling him right back into that chaotic mix of emotions he’d tried to run from all his life.

His disposition was soured by the fact his body stirred at being near her again. That his heart thundered despite the anger cracking like sheet lightning along his nerves.

No woman but Delanie had ever brought those explosive emotions out in him, but with that intense desire came fear. A cold choking fear that he’d never understood until he’d returned to Italy ten years ago and yanked the dark shroud off his past.

He should let Delanie go. Cut his losses now and go home. But as his eyes locked on her trim backside running across the waiting room, he knew he couldn’t let her go. Not now. Not when he’d promised his sister that he would return to Italy with Delanie Tate.

He wouldn’t gain her compliance by crossing swords with her. But he damned sure wasn’t going to beg for her help either.

A smile flicked over his lips. He held what she wanted most. She would be the one begging.

“How much does Elite Affair mean to you?” he asked, just as she was a step away from sailing out the door.

She stopped, one hand pressed to the open doorjamb while the toe of one impossibly high black heel remained poised to push her out the door. Even in unrelieved black mourning, she was sexy as hell. And those damned shoes …

The strong, perfectly curved length of her leg and dainty foot in those take-me-now shoes brought back memories of her wearing similar footwear and nothing else. His body stirred, his blood heating to a most uncomfortable level. If not for the steely snap to her slender shoulders and the cool, almost hostile gaze she flung at him just then he would think the pose was staged to entice him.

“Well?” he prodded when she simply glared at him.

“You’re enjoying your victory at my expense.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “My goal was to take down your father’s empire.”

“Which you did. Don’t expect me to congratulate you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, enjoying this side of her. When he’d met her she’d been a combination of playful and meek, leaning more to meek in her father’s shadow.

But in the ensuing years Delanie had acquired bite and verve. The way she held herself and her ability to closet her emotions intrigued him. Not that he wanted to be intrigued again by this woman.

She’d tricked him once. He would never be so foolish as to totally trust her again.

Remembering that betrayal zinged an old burning sensation across his heart. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Elite Affair means a great deal to me and you know it,” she said, slender shoulders straight and back painfully stiff.

“Then use your head. If you walk out that door now you will toss away any chance of regaining total control of the business you built.”

She went pale, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. “After what you’ve done, how can you expect me to trust you?”

“I don’t,” he said. “This is strictly business. I’ve taken the initiative to draft a mutually beneficial contract. Are you willing to listen to terms or do I fire your employees and liquidate Elite Affair?”

“You’d do that to a profitable business?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Her small hands bunched at her sides and the mouth he’d dreamed of kissing into submission in the dead of night drew into a tight unyielding knot that slammed straight into his gut.

Dammit, he’d expected a tearful confession that she had worked with her father against him, followed by his magnanimous offer to hire her for his sister’s wedding, with Delanie’s reward being a fat check plus title to her company. But she was resisting him at every turn. Showing spunk and a stubborn bent that challenged him—aroused him.

Not that he would back off no matter what she said or did. He’d come this far and there was no retreat. No concession.

His gaze locked with hers and he caught that flicker of doubt. It was a battle of wills and in that he had the upper hand because he held what she wanted most. Elite Affair.

“Fine. We talk,” she snapped, not sparing him a glance.

She had conceded as he’d expected her to do. So why didn’t he feel victorious?

Delanie slammed the door she’d been about to escape through and strode back into her father’s oppressive office, passing him with a swish of her long hair. Ever the reigning princess.

He loosed a smile, enjoying the sight of her full bottom beneath her unbecoming black dress. His gaze remained on those long dainty legs that were deceptively strong, that had once clung tightly to his hips in the throes of passion.

Certainly if he put his mind to it he could have her back in his arms, back in his bed. And that was a complication he had no intention of taking on. Too much was at stake to risk satisfying his libido no matter how tempting. And she damned sure was tempting!

Ironic that the only passion between them now was anger and that shimmered off her in sizzling waves. Even that set his pulse racing, he admitted, sobering instantly.

If only he could cease wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. If only he could purge her from his system once and for all.

He gave his French cuffs a tug and followed her into the room, shutting the door and his emotions firmly behind him. She visibly jumped and he swore.

“Relax,” he said. “I don’t intend to pounce on you.”

“Excuse me for not trusting you,” she said, still presenting her painfully straight back to him.

He fisted his hands, resisting the urge to cross to her and force her to face him. Touching her would be a major mistake.

“That goes both ways, Delanie.”

She whirled to face him, features pinched tight. “If you distrust me so, then why do you want to negotiate with me?”

“I don’t,” he said frankly. “As I told you before, you are the bride’s choice.”

“And you’d do anything to please her.”

“Yes,” he bit out, “but—”

“Including corporate rape,” she interjected, chin thrust out and accusing eyes fixed on him.

He stiffened, the explanation poised on his tongue forgotten. “My takeover of Tate Unlimited was aboveboard.”

“Perhaps,” she said, chin up. “But your motive was revenge, proving you’re no better than my father.”

His fingers wadded into fists. “Never compare me to him.”

The warning was given in the strong, flat monotone that always convinced his opponents to switch topics. Color instantly bloomed on her too-pale cheeks, like vibrant English roses blooming amid snow, but her chin remained up and her gaze glittered defiance.

“Are you denying you acted out of vengeance?” she asked.

“No. But if I was in the same league as your father I would overextend Tate Unlimited until it was destroyed, as he did to my vineyard.”

Lines creased her delicate brow. “What?”

He drove his fingers through his hair and swallowed a curse. “Do not pretend you weren’t aware of its downfall.”

“I had no idea.” She shook her head, voice soft, big blue eyes wide. “Please tell me the truth.”

The look, the plea … That’s all it took to shift his plans off kilter. To get him thinking about her. In his arms. In his bed.

Her innocent act was worthy of an award, he thought grimly.

“You were vice-president of Tate Unlimited. How could you not know when you had access to all corporate records?” he asked.

Color flooded her face and she looked away. “It was a token position. I served as his hostess at business functions and, as he termed it, a charming diversion to his potential clients during intense initial meetings.”

He wouldn’t allow himself to believe her, no matter how much he might want to. “Fine. Play innocent. It doesn’t matter.”

Her fists landed on the plush back of the chair. “I am not playing innocent. I am ignorant of what my father did to your family’s company once he gained control, or why he would destroy something he obviously wanted so badly.”

Her wide eyes pleaded with his, open, unguarded. He huffed out a breath. Swore.

“Sagrantino grapes are prized throughout Italy and the world and my family’s winery grew the best. It was our legacy but few had heard of us outside of Italy because we couldn’t produce enough to satisfy world demand.” A muscle pulsed along his lean jaw. “That’s why I sought your father out. I needed financial backing as well as a noted exporter who could place our wine worldwide. Once he had wrested control of my family’s company, he destroyed it with gross mismanagement.”

“I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

“As am I, because his impatience and ignorance destroyed the vineyard.”

It was time to let the past drop into the black hole of his memories and hammer the lid back on it. He was in control of all that David Tate had owned. That evened the score as far as he was concerned.

As for Delanie, she was back in his life only because of his vow to please his sister. Once she finished planning the wedding, it would be better for both of them if they never saw each other again.

“Your small company has achieved a degree of favorable notoriety,” he said.

She gave him a long appraising look. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“It was brought to my attention.”

His gaze drilled into hers as she stood behind her father’s chair. “I’m giving you the chance to gain sole ownership of Elite Affair, debt-free, by successfully planning a lavish carte blanche wedding that will be photographed and reported worldwide.”

She went absolutely still, eyes widening like saucers. “Why are you willing to hire me with our history between us?”

It was a sound question, especially considering what he’d done—storming the citadel and winning. “You are my sister’s choice because of your company’s promise to work with the bride to make her wedding special. Every plan you do is unique.”

She crossed her arms beneath her bosom and gave the most unladylike snort, as if his compliment meant nothing to her and that almost made him smile. “Does your bride know that you are entrusting arrangements for her wedding to your former lover?”

He shook his head and let a rusty chuckle escape. This bolder side of Delanie was a welcome switch from the demure girl he’d known.

“I am not that trusting,” he admitted. “The bride is my sister, Bella, and she wants someone who will understand her needs and abide by her wishes. She needs your special touch, Delanie.”

Her eyes widened again and the faintest flush stole over her cheekbones. “I wasn’t aware you had a sister.”

“I didn’t know myself until eight years ago.” His hand cut the air, dismissing the topic from further inquiry. “It is complicated.”

“I’ve discovered that many families are ‘complicated’ in ways that have some impact on an upcoming wedding,” she said. “That’s one reason we are selective in our clientele.”

“Is that the only reason why you turned Bella down when she attempted to hire you two weeks ago?” he asked.

Her too-pale lips parted. “You can’t be thinking that I knew she was your sister, because I swear that isn’t the case. And even if I had known, my assistant handles all the initial calls. The moment he discovered the wedding was to take place in Italy, he would have politely declined and wished her well.”

Which, according to Bella, is exactly what had happened. “So what will it be? Your agreement to plan Bella’s wedding for title to your company or do we part company now?”

She bit her lip and frowned, then huffed out a breath and nodded as if coming to grips with her decision. “I’ll do it. I’ll have Henry send a contract to your solicitor by the weekend and we can go from there.”

“That’s too late. The wedding is two weeks from now.”

“That’s not nearly enough time,” she sputtered. “Two months is not sufficient to orchestrate such a lavish affair.”

“If we wait two months it will be clear why the bride is marrying so quickly. Understand?”

Her cheeks flushed a charming pink but she gave a jerky nod. “Yes. Well. That doesn’t leave us much time.”

“No,” he said. “I had my attorney draft a contract for your review. Once you sign we can be off.”

She stiffened up again. “We?”

“I’m in a time crunch and must return to Italy tonight. You’ll come with me and oversee the details there.”

“I can’t,” she said in a strained voice he’d never heard before, that touched something kindred in him. “My business and assistants are here.”

“There is nothing that can’t be done via the internet or phone,” he said. “You’ll have the best of both at your disposal.”

She cupped her palms to her face, her slender shoulders trembling once. Twice.

That tremor had him fisting his hands to keep from reaching out to her, enfolding her slender form against his length. And that would be a mistake for then she would know how much she’d affected him.

Dammit, he wasn’t going to let her get to him.

“Your answer, Delanie,” he said. “Do you come with me? Or is the deal off?”

She pressed her lips together, throat working. “After all that has happened between us, do you honestly expect me to trust you and drop everything?”

“Yes, because I am entrusting you to organize the most important day in my sister’s life.”

She looked away, stilled, then she bobbed her head and he hoped to hell that meant she understood, that she would cease fighting him.

“I prefer my own contract,” she said.

“As do I.”

Her chin came up again and her gaze clashed with his. Only the tremor in her lower lip belied her total control.

“My contract is designed for my purposes but you are entitled to make minor changes to it if you like,” she said.

He most certainly would do that. Ever since the disaster of dealing with David Tate, Marco had learned to manage his own affairs to the letter.

But this concession was doable. Perhaps even wise, for he would know what she expected and would be able to mount a countermove if necessary.

This time he held control and he would have Delanie close at hand again. And why the hell was he entertaining any thought of being close to her again?

His gaze raked over her, his brow furrowing. The black dress she wore encased the petite figure he remembered with aching clarity. She appeared gaunt and fragile. A deception, he was certain.

Marco paced to the heavily draped window and swore, painfully aware of what was at the heart of it. She’d intrigued him from the start. She still did.

But that didn’t matter now. It was all in the past, and it would stay there. He had control over that part of him now.

Having her in Italy would prove that. By the time his sister was a happily married woman, Marco would have no doubt in his mind that walking away from Delanie had been the right choice ten years ago. He could finally purge her from his system.

“Fine. Give me your contract and I’ll read it on the plane,” he said, the decision easy as it suited both their purposes. “Now let’s leave.”

Delanie bit her lower lip again. No was the easy answer.

But he was holding out her dream on a silver salver. He also held her employees’, really her only friends, future in his hands. She couldn’t refuse.

And if she was honest with herself, a part of her didn’t want to walk away. She could easily blame that lonely part of her heart that still held Marco Vincienta close, the part of her that wondered why he’d found her so lacking. That deep-in-the-night dream that his desertion had all been a horrid mistake and that they truly were meant for each other.

She was a fool for entertaining such fanciful thoughts, even for a moment, but she’d always been a fool for love where Marco was concerned. At least by taking this job she would be opening doors for herself in the future. That was her dream. That was what she would focus on instead of the tall handsome Italian whose touch made her bones melt.

“Okay,” she said. “It won’t take me more than an hour to pack.”

He broke eye contact the moment her agreement was out, snapping a strong wrist up to consult a watch that looked masculine and expensive. “We leave now. I will buy you whatever you need once we get to Italy.”

And that was the end of that argument, concluded before she could get her anger up. She made a quick stop at her minuscule office to collect the passport she’d needed for her dealings with Henry, her laptop, a contract and the jeans, jersey and comfortable sandals she’d left at work in case she decided to begin cleaning out her father’s office today.

With the lot of it crammed into a small carryall along with the few toiletries she kept on hand there, she let Marco escort her from the building, barely having the time to thank Henry before she was ushered into a gleaming black sedan.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, the drive through London a blur while Marco sprawled beside her and talked on his mobile, speaking a language she barely recognized as Italian. Not that it would have mattered if she spoke it fluently. Each time the car zoomed around a corner, the steely length of his leg brushed hers and her mind simply shut off as another emotion exploded in her, one that had lain dormant for ten years.

But even if they hadn’t touched, his presence simply commanded every inch of space. Commanded every second of her attention, leaving her all too aware of him as a powerful man.

Ruthless. Driven. She could see the end effect of what she’d glimpsed in him years ago.

Knowing she was powerless in his company played along her nerves until a discordant hum vibrated through her to leave her stomach knotted. Even shallow breaths pulled his essence deep into her lungs, bringing a flood of memories that made her throat clog with emotion best left untouched. In these close confines she was doubly aware of his control, his power, his sensuality.

Shifting away from him the best she could only brought his intense brown eyes slewing back to her. Her cheeks instantly turned red—she knew they must be because she felt the fire burning her skin.

“Is something wrong?” he asked when she had inched as far from him as possible.

Wrong? He had the gall to ask that when his large muscled form dominated the interior of the auto? When he’d taken everything from her?

She lifted her chin, aware diplomacy was necessary to avoid further conflict. “I was just giving you space.”

His gaze narrowed, his lips pulling into an uncompromising line. “Are you? Because to me it looks as if you’re avoiding my touch, even if that touch was no more than my arm or leg brushing against you. Accidentally brushed you, I would add.”

What could she say to that and maintain this fragile peace? The truth. They’d had a wretched history of avoiding the truth when honesty mattered most. But then when she had been honest with him, he had still walked away from her. He had been the one to turn his back on her.

“Use your head. Less than an hour ago you stormed into my life and took everything from me in the wake of my father’s burial,” she said with a telling quaver in her voice that had her clenching her fingers in frustration, a habit she’d developed as a child when her father was venting his anger on her mother.

She’d been so good at hiding her emotions from her volatile father. But she’d failed miserably at that with Marco.

He knew when she was angry, hurt, cautious. But he never could guess the reason for her trouble and she’d been too ashamed to tell him everything.

Her cheeks burned at the old memory. In that regard he’d been right to accuse her of lying to him. To be angry. If only he had believed her when she finally revealed her shame …

“I’m physically and emotionally spent, Marco. You’ve won. I’ve agreed to come to Italy and plan your sister’s wedding. But that’s all you’ll get from me,” she added. “Is that clear?”

“Extremely! I want nothing more from you than what was agreed upon,” he said, shoulders snapped into a rigid line.

“Good. I don’t want any misconceptions,” she said.

“There was never a doubt of your role or of mine,” he said as the sedan thankfully came to a stop at the airport, ending the torture of him jostling against her time and again. “Ten years ago you were looking for a rich man with status, a man who would measure up to your and your father’s precise standards. I was not that man then nor am I now.”

She gaped, flabbergasted. “You can’t believe that!”

“It is the truth.”

He couldn’t be more wrong, but to admit that would prompt questions she wasn’t about to address. Her trust had been broken not once but twice by this man. She wasn’t about to put it out there again.

Not that it mattered. He’d already slammed out of the car, leaving her alone and trembling. She pressed a hand to her middle and slumped against the seat.

A private jet—she’d never been able to tell one from the other—sat on the tarmac to her left, its stairs lowered to admit passengers. It didn’t dawn on her that this was Marco’s plane until she saw a crewman carrying her small duffel onto it.

Her door was wrenched opened a heartbeat later and cool brown eyes flecked with gold stared down at her. “Let’s go.”

She gave a nod and tried to extract herself from the car without his help. He mouthed a curse and assisted her to her feet, his large hand enveloping hers before she could protest, his skin warm against hers, his touch gentle and strong. Heat sped up her arm yet she shivered, liking his touch far too much and hating herself because of it.

The moment she gained her footing he dropped his hand from her and motioned her toward the plane. The message was clear: he didn’t wish to touch her any more than she wished to be touched.

A lie, if her libido had a say, which it most certainly did not. She crossed the tarmac quickly and hoped once inside she could find a seat far removed from him.

Not a problem, she realized as she mounted the stairs and stepped into the private lair of an Italian wine baron. The interior was dressed in a classic, yet understated, design resplendent in rich browns, ivory and gold.

The flight attendant motioned Delanie to take a seat. She bit her lower lip—so many to choose from. Twin flight chairs. A large curved sofa that was far too intimate. Farther back more chairs and a table, likely utilized for meetings. Beyond that an open door that showed a glimpse of a bed.

Wishing to stay as far away from a bedroom as possible, she claimed one of the deep gold chairs up front with a smile to the attendant and a quick glance at her traveling companion. He passed her without sparing her a glance, the thick carpet muffling his steps yet cluing her in that he preferred the rear of the plane.

Fine by her, she thought irritably as the strategically positioned cushions conformed to her tired back and tense shoulders. He could shut himself up in his bedroom for all she cared. The lack of his presence after such a trying hour would be a welcome pleasure.

“We’ll take off immediately so please fasten your seatbelt,” the attendant told her before disappearing into a cabin up front.

Delanie obeyed without complaint and tried to relax, not an easy feat as she’d never been a seasoned traveler. In the Tate household, the only member who took holidays was her father.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. The interior was quiet and comfortable and the chair was an absolute dream. If she managed to control her stress levels as the plane reached cruising altitude and leveled off then maybe she could nod off en route.

God knew she was tired enough to fall asleep standing up. The past week of dealing with doctors and attorneys and worried shareholders had drained her of her last reserves.

But total rest was still denied her.

Perhaps she could have dozed off if Marco’s voice hadn’t drifted to her. If her body hadn’t come awake at the deep timbre that left her shaking.

He spoke in clipped Italian delivered so fast and fluently that with her meager knowledge she couldn’t begin to translate. Was he really so much like her father, always engaged in some deal? Or was he delivering the news to Italy that he’d succeeded, that he’d brought Tate Unlimited to its knees?

That he had the millionaire’s heiress in tow with the contract that she’d agreed to do his bidding safely in hand?

All of the above, she thought as a small degree of hysteria rippled through her. Could she have dreamt up a more intense working relationship? No!

Marco was the billionaire who had trumped her tyrannical father’s millionaire status. He was the antithesis of power. He was her boss for the next two weeks.

He was the only man she’d fallen in love with. The only man she had ever loved physically and emotionally.

A hysterical laugh stuck in her throat as the plane sped through the clouds, carrying her into the unknown with a man who was more stranger to her than ever before. A man she’d hoped to cling to in the dead of night, who would be there for her until the day she drew her last breath. The man she’d spun dreams on.

Her only lover. Her hero.

Unwanted tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. How very wrong she’d been.

Hopefully, once they arrived in Italy he would take himself off so she could breathe again. So she could think. So she could do her job and then escape back to London with sole ownership of her business in hand.

Only then could she focus on her career. On her future. On living in peace. That’s all she wanted.

All she had to do to have that was endure two weeks in the company of the man who still left her weak-kneed. Who tormented her dreams in the dead of night.

She could do it. She had to. Failure wasn’t an option.

CHAPTER THREE

TWO hours into the flight, Marco ended the conference call and rubbed his gritty eyes. Sleep had been sporadic all week, a fact that could be blamed on the alluring beauty seated primly in the front of his plane.

His gaze zeroed in on her with unerring accuracy. She hadn’t moved much since boarding the plane. Had she dozed off? Was she simply enjoying the flight, content knowing that she would get exactly what she’d wanted all along?

He shifted and damned his restlessness. It shouldn’t matter to him if Delanie Tate was pleased or not. He’d never set out to spite her and he damned sure hadn’t attempted to placate her.

In fact, before his sister’s interference, he’d hoped to avoid her entirely during this shift in power. Delanie was a page from his past and he intended to keep her there.

Page? A wry smile tugged at his lips. No, she was a chapter at least. Perhaps even a book of pure trouble.

Still he hadn’t wished to reread that episode anytime soon. But Bella’s stubborn insistence on having Delanie as her wedding planner forced him to chose between pleasing himself or his sister.

He snorted. That had been no contest.

His sister’s happiness came first.

That had put Delanie right back into his life.

While he’d been prepared to deal with her on a business level, he hadn’t anticipated he would still find her unbelievably attractive. He’d never anticipated his body would react so at her nearness.

It was frustrating. Annoying. Unacceptable.

Dammit, he was a man in charge of his emotions. In control of his sex drive.

So why the hell was he shifting restlessly on the leather chair?

He swiped a hand down his face. This unwanted reaction to her was unacceptable on far too many levels.

If he had taken Delanie at her word, which he did not, he would have ordered the plane back to London and have her escorted off. He would have gladly let her plan his sister’s wedding from there, thus freeing himself of her alluring company.

But he couldn’t trust her. She’d betrayed him before when she’d sworn she loved him. There was nothing between them now but animosity on her part, and wariness on his own.

Since Elite Affair had turned down his sister once and then him a second time when he had upped the offer of money, he was left with one choice—force Delanie’s hand. His takedown of Tate Unlimited was the perfect opportunity.

There was no other recourse, he reasoned, refusing to take pleasure from watching the dim light play over her hair. She worked for him now. More so than other contractors he was in league with, she needed to be watched and made accountable.

The only way he could achieve that was by maintaining total control of the situation. That was best done by having her under his thumb.

Easy enough to accomplish. Or it should have been.

Being physically close to Delanie was a totally different matter that he still didn’t feel comfortable dealing with. But he would.

She aroused him on a deeper level than he liked and no amount of avoidance would change that. Even distancing himself from her on the plane hadn’t worked because she’d been on his mind the entire time.

He swore and scanned the contract she’d pressed on him earlier. Since it was straightforward and clear, he signed it without ceremony and left his chair.

“Your contract is precise yet fair,” he said, breaking the silence as he came to a stop behind her.

She started in her chair and looked back at him. The dark of her eyes nearly swallowed the clear blue.

“Thank you,” she said. “I see no reason to make a straightforward business arrangement complex.”

Her voice held that breathy quality that lapped around his control like warm waves, threatening to erode his defenses. It was so tempting to relax and be taken out to that sea of passion they’d frolicked in long ago. Too tempting.

“I’m of a like mind,” he said, planting his feet firmly in the here and now as he dropped onto the seat across from her.

The most charming flush stole across her cheekbones and he paused. Except for the unnatural stiffness in her narrow shoulders and the tilt of her head, she looked very much as she had when they’d met.

The years should have hardened her. Should have shown on her face. But all he saw was a reluctant surrender and a proud bearing that he admired.

“Tell me about her,” Delanie said, her gaze fixed on his again.

He looked away so she wouldn’t see he was softening to her again, that his control over remaining impassive was slipping through his fingers like warm grains of sand.

“My sister?” he asked, then smiled when she nodded. “Bella is beautiful and willful and far too seductive for her own good.”

“Yet you love her.”

He sobered at that assessment. Love. He had loved his grandparents. Had loved his mother and tried to love his cold father—a wasted effort. He’d been consumed with Delanie but had he loved her?

No, it couldn’t have been love. Infatuation. Lust. When the truth came out he’d had no difficulty walking away from her.

So why did she cross his mind in the dead of night? Why did he catch himself comparing every woman he met with her?

His chest heaved as the answer skirted his mind—an answer that he always ignored, just as he always ignored that old gnawing sense of emptiness when it threatened to yawn away in his soul. Or the skitter that streaked up his spine.

Like now.

“Bella is my responsibility,” he said. “I care for her.”

“That’s cold.”

“That’s reality. Bella resents me.”

She blinked, her clear eyes fixed on his as if she could read his soul. “Why?”

He shifted on the seat, uncomfortable delving into this. Yet what was the use in holding his silence? She would find out soon enough from someone in the village or at the villa. He might as well be the first to break the news.

“Bella thought she was Antonio Cabriotini’s only bastard,” he said simply.

“Antonio Cabriotini?” she parroted.

“Our biological father,” he said, glancing her way to gauge her reaction.

She shook her head and frowned. “I thought your parents were married.”

Such naiveté. “The man who raised me, who gave me his name, was married to my mother but I wasn’t his son. When he found out, he withdrew the closeness I’d always had with him.”

For a moment Delanie couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t wrap her brain around what he was telling her. And then finally she got it with a breathless wham to her midsection.

She finally understood the reason behind those broad tense shoulders attempting a careless shrug, the motion as abrupt as a salute. His illegitimacy was the reason for the pain she caught lurking behind those dark fathomless eyes, pain at having the father he’d loved ripped from him. That was the change in him she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“How long have you known this?” she asked.

“Eight years.”

The words were shot out without feeling, his gaze boring into hers now. Hard. Cold. Defiant.

But she heard the underlying pain in his voice as well. Caught the tiny tick of hurt that snapped like a sail along his taut bronzed cheek.

Her heart gave an odd thud and her hand shifted, a blink away from reaching out to him. She caught herself with a trembling clasp of her own hands.

How wrongly would he take it if she offered compassion? Considering their past, she doubted he would take it well. Yet hadn’t they moved beyond the past pain? Weren’t they old enough and wise enough to understand nothing untoward was meant by it? Now wasn’t the time to dissect it to find out.

“I see,” she said, nerves stretched so tight they hummed.

“Do you?” he asked. “Because I don’t understand how my mama who claimed to have loved my papa could be unfaithful to him. I do not understand why nobody saw fit to tell me the truth until after my parents’ deaths.”

Hearing the anger in his voice, that telling drawl when he told her this, made her insides cramp in an oh-too-familiar pang of understanding. No wonder he had no faith in love. He would never open himself to an emotion he believed caused only pain. And wasn’t she just as guilty of holding back from him? He was right. That was in the past. There was nothing she could say when Marco had never believed her anyway.

“You would likely be surprised by how many families hold dark secrets,” she said, cheeks burning and stomach knotting at the troubled memories of her own childhood.

He snorted. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

How sad that he had become more jaded. But then, so had she. Wasn’t she afraid to trust? To surrender her heart and soul?

She shifted on the chair while her mind shoved away from that train of thought. “I gather your sister knew of her paternity before you did.”

“By a month or so.” He drove his fingers through his hair, sending the thick waves in disarray.

She caught a breath as an old memory ribboned through her of doing the same to his wealth of dark hair. Of holding him close to her on a sun-kissed beach, laughing with him, kissing him in a slow, deep burn until the world blurred to only them.

Ten years ago she’d been a hopeless dreamer, desperately wanting a hero. Her innocence had convinced her that when she looked deeply into his warm brown eyes she believed her world was complete with him in it.

She shook off those idyllic yesterdays like a cool rain on chilled skin and chanced a glance at him, hoping he wasn’t looking at her in some sort of horror. But he stared off, brow furrowed, clearly troubled by something else.

“Did you know her?” she asked, grasping the thread of their conversation by its tail.

“No. We were strangers coming from vastly different backgrounds which complicated matters more. Since the start Bella has resented that I was named her guardian until she reached twenty-five,” he said, clearly not of the same mind.

Delanie felt a commiserating pang with his sister, knowing how badly she’d ached to break free of her domineering father, hating that she’d waited and waited for her own dawn of independence. “How old is she now?”

“Twenty,” he said, sliding her a knowing look.

The same age she had been when she’d met Marco. Willful. Emotional. And tangled in a wretched triangle with her parents, dreaming of freedom yet unwilling to put her frail mother at risk to grab what she wanted.

“Tell me more about Bella,” she blurted out.

He shrugged, this time the movement less tense. “As I said she’s young. Spoilt. Resentful.”

“Of you?” Delanie guessed.

He laughed, but she caught the pained treble, the hint of worry that had her wanting to leave her seat and go to him. Hug him, comfort him. Sanity prevailed and she didn’t, but it wasn’t easy knowing his elite world wasn’t perfect. And hadn’t she hoped that would be the case? She was suddenly glad for the subdued light on board that hid the heat scorching her cheeks.

“Bella resents me, resents the world,” he said, dark eyes on her again. “She needs a strong hand.”

Of course he would think that! But hearing him admit he was controlling his sister proved her fears long ago were right. Or did they? Was she still using that as an excuse to hold back from giving her all again? From trusting?

She stared at the floor, admitting she’d lost herself in his arms that first time. Basking in the afterglow of love was new. Terrifying.

Still she’d loved Marco. She’d hoped that she was simply mistaken. But the second time they made love was more consuming, more earthshattering to her heart. Her soul.

My dear, I love your father, and he loves me in his own way, her mother had told her as she recuperated from a volatile night spent suffering her father’s anger.

Delanie never forgot that night. Never forgot that love could hurt. That love could strip a woman of her independence. Perhaps even her sanity.

No love was worth that, Delanie had decided.

That realization had kept her from committing fully to Marco again. And wasn’t she right in thinking that in time he would have slipped further into the role of dominator, perhaps even going to the depths her father had sunk to? That she would relive the hell her mother had had throughout their marriage?

Single was safer. Single was being free. So why was her body craving his possession again? Why was she so weak around Marco Vincienta?

“I seriously doubt your sister needs a man dominating her,” she said and was instantly pinned in place with his fierce scowl.

Her heart raced but she hiked her chin up, determined not to tremble over the past that still bound her, refusing to cringe at Marco’s command as she’d seen her mother do with her father countless times. Or worse, whimper when he physically abused her.

“You are an expert on these matters because?”

Delanie didn’t understand why on earth she had thought that the intervening years might have finally made him believe her. Still, he’d asked so she would answer.

“My father was quick to rule with an iron hand or fist depending on his whim.” He’d used it liberally on her mother to gain Delanie’s compliance.

A ripe curse exploded from him. “I told you never to compare me to David Tate!”

“Then stop acting like him.”

He frowned, brows drawn in a deep forbidding V over the classic slope of his nose. Time hung suspended between them, her heart supplying each tick of the seconds that raced past.

His fingers bunched into fists at his sides and her stomach flipped over. Ease up a bit. Marco won’t hurt you. At least not that way. She knew it in her heart, her soul.

“Are you saying Tate hit you?” he asked, his dark gaze probing hers.

For an instant she almost thought he cared that she might have suffered physical abuse, though for her the emotional barbs scared her just as much. But she’d heard her father apologize for his deplorable behavior for too many years, and watched him break his promises.

“No, he never hit me,” she said. “As I already told you, Father reserved his punishment for my mother.”

“A lot can change in ten years.”

That was an understatement considering she’d found herself trapped in an untenable situation. Since he hadn’t believed her then, why show concern now?

She huffed out a breath, his curiosity annoying. Insulting even. It no longer mattered to her what he thought. She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation.

His gaze narrowed, hardened. “Answer me.”

Again with the demands. But avoiding the issue was more troubling that it was worth. Nothing could be gained by ignoring him.

“A lot can remain exactly the same as well,” she said. “But to satisfy your curiosity, I stayed to ensure that my mother wasn’t abused. It was the only promise that my father never broke to me.”

Marco clenched his teeth against her bare-faced lie. He knew she was lying. Had known ten years ago. But if she was so insistent on pursuing her lies, then he would see how far she would go with them.

“What kept you there after her death?”

“You still don’t get it, do you? My father did to me what he did to you. He gained control of my business and the only way I could get it back was to abide by his agreement. I was two months away from getting my company back from him when you launched your takeover.”

She glared at the rich, powerful man who held all the cards and tried to forget there had been a time when she’d loved him with each breath she took. When she’d wanted to believe his every word. Wanted to trust him fully. A time when she wrestled between fear and desire.

“Now I’m doing your bidding to gain title to what is mine,” she said.

His gaze remained remote. “You’ll be amply compensated.”

“I’ll hold you to the letter of the contract,” she said.

He smiled, the gesture brief and calculating. “As will I, Miss Tate. Which is why we will stop at the villa first so you can meet Bella and complete your survey.”

Without another word he rose and walked to the rear of the plan, the soft snick of a door the only indication this inquisition was over. That he’d finally left her alone.

She crumbled in the chair and rubbed her forehead, emotionally spent. Despite his resentment of her, or perhaps because of it, he’d given her a golden opportunity to reclaim Elite Affair.

He was following her contract so far, so she couldn’t very well complain on that quarter either. Still she wasn’t about to let down her guard around him.

This was business. Nothing more. For that reason alone she had to keep her guard up. Had to see this event through to the end. Had to watch that he didn’t double-cross her—that once the job was completed, Elite Affair reverted solely to her one hundred percent.

Only then would she be able to start over. To make a life for herself. To be independent for once in her life.

All she had to do was get through the next two weeks.

Moments after the plane smoothly landed at the San Francesco d’Assisi airport on the less hilly outskirts of Perugia, Marco escorted Delanie to a waiting sedan and they were off. He rarely used a driver unless he was entertaining a fellow businessman, preferring to handle the wheel himself down the autostrada as well as on the roads that bypassed walled towns and sliced through the patchwork of medieval fields of produce.

But the combination of too little sleep and the emotional upheaval of being near Delanie again curtailed that urge. He tapped a fist on his thigh, still vexed by the latter.

He should not find her attractive. He sure as hell shouldn’t begin to believe her lies about her troubled childhood, not when he’d learned the truth. If David Tate had been the beast Delanie swore him to be, her mother would have broken free when she’d had the chance.

He needed his thoughts on the present. His relationship with Delanie was just business, pure and simple. That fact alone called for space between them. Though once they were in the backseat of the car she took that to the extreme and scrunched against the door as if waiting for the chance to jump free.

“I repeat, I am not going to pounce on you,” he said.

Her gaze swung to him, a bit wild and overly wide. “I know it’s just … You’re so intense. So angry still.”

He scowled, disliking that he was letting his emotions reign. She was so nervous he literally felt every quick breath she sucked in until his own equilibrium was spinning.

“My apologies then,” he said. “It has been a very long day without sleep.”

“For both of us.” She heaved a sigh and directed her attention beyond the auto again. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Il cuore verde d’Italia. The green heart of Italy.” He loved it. Respected it. Nurtured the land to the best of his ability and it rewarded him with kingly yields.

“You’ve always lived here?”

“For some time now,” he said, not inclined to share more of the details of his life with her.

There was no point in it.

She faced him, her perfectly shaped head lifted, pale brows pulled over the proud tilt of her nose. “Your vineyards. Are they near here?”

“The vineyards I inherited or the land your father destroyed?” he asked when he knew damned good and well that the latter was what she meant.

Two swaths of red streaked across her cheekbones. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

“It is not something one forgets.”

“Or forgives,” she said, frowning. “I’m so sorry Father did that—”

“Save it,” he snapped. “I’m in no mood to hear your apology or excuses.”

She shut her mouth, hurt he had jumped to conclusions when what she’d been about to say was “to us.” Yes, it was horrific that her father had spitefully ruined the business that had been in Marco’s family for generations. That he’d added another emotional scar to the ones Marco already suffered.

But the greatest tragedy of all was that Marco saw her as the enemy too, that he had refused to believe her then, that he couldn’t find it in him to trust her now.

You don’t trust him anymore either.

How funny he’d accused her of lying, of betraying him, when he too had broken his promise. He’d shattered her trust in him.

She heaved a sigh, sick at heart that nothing had changed. They were still two wounded souls, hurting each other because that was easier.

“I’m curious about the vineyard my father destroyed,” she said, making herself clear.

He stared straight ahead, annoyed she was continuing her questions, vexed that the ripple of pain reflected in her clear blue eyes got to him, made him believe her innocence if only for a moment.

All an act. It had to be. And if he was wrong? If she was truly ignorant of her father’s schemes? If she’d been blackmailed to comply with Tate’s dictates?

What did it matter now? Too much had happened between them. He was more jaded than ever before and she was as well or she wouldn’t be this cautious, this remote.

“Fine,” she huffed out, crossing her arms and staring militantly out the window. “Forget I asked.”

He caught himself smiling at her show of temper, admiring that steel that ran down her spine. A gentleman would comply with her request. But he was no gentleman.

“It is roughly twenty kilometers south of the villa. Half an hour by car.” He stared at her profile, willing her to face him. “Less if I’m driving.”

She continued her vigil out the window but he thought some of the tension eased from her narrow shoulders, that the slightest hint of a smile teased her soft lips. “How long before we reach the villa?”

“It should not take more than twenty minutes,” he said, answering as calmly as she’d asked, keeping his tone low, intimate, as she’d done.

It didn’t require a response and she didn’t offer one. That was for the best. More than ever he needed to get back to the reason she was here.

Theirs was simply a working relationship. Anything beyond that was too great a risk.

Yet instead of relaxing, his heart accelerated even more during the drive to the Cabriotini villa. The easy explanation was his own unease at returning here, far easier than admitting his thoughts were on Delanie.

The simple truth was this mansion wasn’t home to him and never would be. The moment he was away from it, he put the man who’d lived and wasted his life and fortune here completely out of his thoughts.

If he could just do the same regarding the enticing woman beside him. She’d plagued his sleep too often over the years. He’d convinced himself he’d hated her.

A damned lie.

He distrusted her but he didn’t hate her. He wanted her with the same fire that had burned in him ten years ago.

The conundrum for him was how to put that fire out?

His gaze flicked to hers and his body stirred more than it had in ages. What the hell was it about this woman? Dare he hope he could get her out of his system? That he could move on?

Overindulgence. Too much of a good thing could sour a man. Perhaps that was what was needed now.

CHAPTER FOUR

DELANIE had caught glimpses of elegant mansions nestled among the hills throughout the drive and had expected Cabriotini Villa to be along the same order. But the moment the auto pulled into an iron-gated drive that swung open automatically, she knew this estate was far grander than any she’d seen so far. Perhaps more so than any she’d visited in England.

For one thing, the villa claimed a commanding view of the valley, perched on a knoll overlooking perfectly aligned fields of grapevines laden with plump purple and blush fruits. On the surrounding fields, groves of olives lined up in precise rows, their leaves shimmering silver in the sun, their black and deep green fruit glistening like jewels.

“Welcome to Cabriotini,” Marco said as the driver sped up a long drive flanked by poplars standing like sentinels.

The sun popping through their dense tops created a dappled effect, as if they were waving Marco home. Only instead of a smile he wore a pensive expression as if he dreaded coming here.

“You don’t care for your ancestral home, do you?” she asked at last.

“I am only here temporarily—this isn’t my home. It’s the estate bequeathed to me and Bella by the man who sired us, and it’s where we’ve lived since discovering our paternity.”

She blinked, stunned by his vehement tone. “That’s a rather impersonal way to refer to your father and your sister.”

He cut her a look that made her shiver. “Antonio Cabriotini wasn’t my father. His seed gave me life. I never spoke with the man. Never met him though I saw him once from a distance long before I was told I had any connection to him.”

An uneasy silence rippled between then. “He must have known who you were.”

He shrugged. “I doubt it. Cabriotini didn’t attempt to look for his bastards until he was dying. That’s when he decided to find an heir.”

She offered a thin smile. “He wanted you then.”

Marco laughed, the bitter sound mirroring his dislike of his paternity. “Don’t paint this into something homey. He detested the thought of leaving his wealth to a distant cousin in Majorca. So he hired investigators to discover if he’d sired any bastards in Italy.” He gave a gruff snort. “Cabriotini’s attorney hit the jackpot, finding my young sister and then me some months after the investigation was launched.”

She winced, her burning cheeks surely as pink as the roses clustered against an ivory wall. “He must have been a very miserable man.”

“Cabriotini lived hard and played hard and enjoyed a procession of mistresses. According to them, he made it clear to every women he bedded that he would deny any ‘mistakes’ that might evolve from a liaison.” His mouth pulled into that pained smile again and she shifted away from the car door without realizing she’d done so.

Not that Marco noticed. His gaze was riveted out the window again, his broad shoulders so stiff she imagined them lashed to a steel girder.

She worried her lower lip, wanting to avoid a scene. God knew she’d endured enough of them in her life.

“You haven’t been a family for very long then,” she ventured, thinking by diverting the conversation to his sister again it could qualify a bit as her doing her job.

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