Carol Marinelli – Her Passionate Italian: The Passion Bargain / A Sicilian Husband / The Italian's Marriage Bargain (страница 15)

Silent hit. Singing in the turbulent atmosphere. Francesca was trembling so badly that her teeth were chattering. She tried to clench them into stillness but they just rattled inside her shocked head.

Carlo’s arms folded right around her. ‘It’s OK,’ he said then repeated it soothingly. ‘It’s OK…’

But it wasn’t OK. His voice might be calm but the rest of him wasn’t. Every muscle was clenched, pumped up and ready for whatever Angelo’s anger made him do next.

What Angelo did was swing back to face them, and his face was hard now, locked in a mould of anger and contempt. ‘Let’s cut to the chase,’ he thrust out at Francesca. ‘Looking at this little scene I interrupted, you have been behaving no better than me. So let us stop this foolishness. Come over here, Francesca,’ he commanded but she noticed he didn’t attempt to come and get her. ‘We can talk about this later but for now we have an engagement to announce.’

He just didn’t get it—or refused to get it. ‘Don’t you understand? It’s over between us.’

‘Because you think he is a better bet than me?’ he sliced. ‘Don’t delude yourself. He doesn’t want you. He’s toying with you, cara, just for the hell of it and to get his revenge on me. Look at yourself then look at the women he usually has hanging on his arm. What do you have to compete with them?’

The cruel words flayed her already battered ego. And the contempt in his eyes flayed it some more. He might be lashing out at her in anger, but to hear and to see how much this man she’d believed loved her only an hour before actually openly disliked her was the worst blow of all.

But he was also right. A man like Carlo Carlucci had his pick where beautiful women were concerned. What could he possibly see in her?

‘Don’t listen,’ Carlo advised in a roughened undertone. ‘He wants to draw blood to salve his wounded pride.’

‘He’s after your money, cara.’ Angelo fed her more poison. ‘Don’t kid yourself that his attention means anything more than that.’

The money. She winced. It had to come down to the wretched non-existent money. ‘There isn’t any money,’ she sighed.

He sent her a cynically disbelieving look.

‘I’m telling you the truth,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve always told you the truth about the money,’ she added because that was just another hurt she was having to deal with—the knowledge that he’d smiled all of those careless smiles about her Gianni connection and had been scoffing at her at the same time. ‘There never has been a Gianni fortune languishing in a bank vault somewhere, waiting for me to marry before I make my claim. Whoever started that silly rumour must be rolling on the floor laughing at you by now, Angelo, because my grandfather died virtually penniless, having spent years squandering his wealth on bad investment after bad investment.’ She told it more or less exactly as her great-uncle Bruno had told it to her. ‘What you see at the Palazzo Gianni is basically all that’s left.’

‘You’re lying,’ he said, ‘to punish me.’

‘Punish you?’ Her chin lifted, dusky eyebrows arching above clear hazel eyes. ‘If I wanted to punish you I would be walking out of here without telling you a word of this, knowing I’d left you really festering on your loss.’

His blue eyes flicked a look at the man standing behind her. Whatever he saw in Carlo’s face drained the gold out of his skin. ‘You believe her,’ he breathed.

‘I couldn’t care less if she comes dressed in rags and dragging a mountain of debts along with her so long as she does come to me,’ he answered. ‘And that,’ Carlo added succinctly ‘is the marked difference as to why you are standing where you are right now and I am standing right here…’

You had your chance and blew it, in other words. Carlo might have well said those words the way all the anger drained out of Angelo and he sank into a nearby chair then buried his face in his hands.

‘What am I going to tell everyone out there?’ he groaned.

Francesca could have felt a pang of sympathy for him—until he said that. Selfish to the last, he was still thinking about his own situation and wasn’t showing a hint of guilt or shame for the one he’d put her in.

‘Tell them the truth about your little heiress that isn’t,’ Carlo suggested. ‘But if you can’t bring yourself to do that only to be laughed at then tell them your betrothed jilted you in favour of Carlo Carlucci. At least that should win you the sympathy vote.’

Once again he was revealing his ruthlessly cutting edge. Francesca shivered as she acknowledged it. The hands at her waist tightened their grip. ‘Are you ready to leave now?’ He used that same edge on her next.

She hovered over giving an answer, aware that she could well be making the second biggest mistake in her life by going anywhere with him. He was ruthless to the core, easily as selfish as Angelo. And she was also aware that all that stuff about taking her in rags had been a slick cover-up to what he really believed about the Gianni fortune.

But was Carlo willing to sacrifice his freedom for it? No, the answer came back. He had too much pride in himself, too much inner strength. And he hadn’t offered to marry her in Angelo’s place, she reminded herself quickly. Just to get her away from here and maybe indulge in some hot sex before they parted again.

The kind of sex she’d never felt even mildly tempted to experience until she came into contact with him. That made him dangerous. She’d always known he was dangerous. Say no, she told herself. Do yourself a favour and go out there, find your friends and let them take you safely away from here before you drop yourself into even deeper trouble than you are already in!

‘Stop thinking so much,’ he rasped suddenly. ‘You’re no good at it right now.’

She flinched at the angry flick of his voice. He could feel her hovering indecision—feel the uncertain flutter of her heart beneath the hand he had slid up the wall of her stomach and had settled beneath the curve of her left breast. A thumb dared to move in a single light stroke against its sensitive underside and she responded with a stifled gasp.

Angelo lifted his face out of his hands, picking up the tension in the atmosphere like an animal sniffing sexual scent. ‘How long have you two been two-timing me?’ he demanded harshly.

It was so much like the pot calling the kettle black that she stared at him, a bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to burst in her throat.

‘Not quite as long as your affair with the flatmate but long enough to know what we want.’ It was Carlo who answered. He was so good at this lying business, she thought anxiously. How could she be considering putting her trust in him?

He surprised her then by lifting his hands to her shoulders, the fingers threatening to bite. She dragged her eyes away from Angelo to look into this other, darker face. He was angry, she saw. His eyes were a glitter, his mouth compressed into a grim line—not kissable, definitely not kissable right now.

‘Do we leave quietly by the back way or are you up to running the gauntlet out there so you can pack your bag?’

It was both a question and a hard warning. He’d put his pride on the line here and now she was threatening to make him look a fool by wavering over going with him.

‘How old are you?’ she asked out of nowhere.

‘Old enough to have grown out of playing games,’ he said. Then he kissed her, and she learned that angry or not that mouth was indeed very kissable, hard and demanding and searingly hot—

‘This is sickening.’ On that muffled choke Angelo got to his feet and lurched towards the door.

‘Stay where you are, amico,’ Carlo lifted his head to toss after him. ‘We still have things left to say to each other.’

Angelo froze. So did Francesca. What did they have left to say? Her skin began to prickle. She didn’t like the new dark look in his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare discuss me with him!’ she warned tautly.

‘Frightened he might give your most intimate secrets away?’

She gasped, ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, then on a growl of impatience lowered his mouth to her ear. ‘Stop looking at him as if he’s your preferred option.’

She jerked her head back to stare at him. ‘But I wasn’t—’

‘Do we go by the back or the front?’ he cut over her.

It was decision time, Francesca realised. Did she go with him or did she not? In the end it was pride that made the choice for her. What bit she had left of it was not going to let her kill it by taking the coward’s way out.

So, ‘The front,’ she replied and wondered straight away if there was insanity in her family because, pride or not, she had to be crazy to want to go anywhere with him.

Some of the anger seeped out of him. He nodded his dark head then actually smiled. ‘Brave girl,’ he murmured and even kissed her for it before taking hold of her arm to lead her to the door.

He had to step around Angelo to open it for her and he did it with a smooth shift of his body that blocked the other man off from her behind the width of his wide shoulders and ignored his presence at the same time.

Ruthless, she repeated inwardly, and shivered and knew she didn’t feel brave at all. The door swung open. Heaving in a deep breath, she clutched her hands into two tight fists by her sides then lifted her chin and took that first mammoth step over the threshold.