Fiona Hood-Stewart – At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command (страница 9)

‘Carlo needs you,’ he stated in a distant, chillingly frosty voice.

‘At least we agree on something,’ she said sharply.

‘Therefore,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘I have decided that you will live here.’

Her eyes widened as her jaw dropped. Seconds ticked away before she could jerk out an astonished,

‘What?’

In a haughty gesture he swung back on his heel to face her.

‘You will have total access to him,’ Dante went on as if she hadn’t spoken.

‘You—you’re letting me have him?’ she gasped, her face suddenly radiant with hope.

The black eyes flashed and his mouth tightened.

‘No.’

She slumped down in the chair, feeling as if he’d hurled a bucket of iced water over her. She passed a shaking hand over the smooth silk of her hair.

‘Then what? My patience is exhausted. If you don’t tell me exactly what you’re proposing,’ she grated, ‘I’ll start smashing things.’ With a menacing glare, she picked up a figurine from the desk and held the voluptuous ivory in her cold and trembling hand. ‘Starting with this!’

‘I’m trying to,’ he gritted. ‘I am not finding this easy—’

‘Do you think I care?’ she flung.

His expression became utterly forbidding and closed.

‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘I don’t think you do. Still, at least that will make your part in this less difficult. You will be able to consider this as a business arrangement.’

‘A…what?’ she gasped.

‘We will be colleagues, as we were once before. It worked well then—’

‘I was your secretary!’ She frowned, puzzled. ‘Is that what you want? I am to work for you?’

‘Not exactly. I don’t think either of us would want the hothouse atmosphere. Me in this chair dictating letters, you sitting there…’

His hoarse rebuttal croaked to a halt. But it had reminded her of the heady days when she was falling in love with him. The way he’d watched her, his dark eyes turning her knees to water, ruining her concentration so that he’d had to come close and go through her shorthand notes, one hand on the back of her chair, his breath whispering on the hairs at the back of her neck.

She gulped and shifted in the seat because of the pooling heat in her loins.

He looked grim, his lips pressed firmly together as though he had loathed the charade he’d had to act out, the pretence of falling in love with his secretary.

Whereas it had been a roller coaster of ecstasy for her. Tense moments of excitement. The thrill of seeing him so cool and businesslike at meetings, knowing they had just made love across his desk…

‘What, then?’ she jerked out, hurting from the self-torture of those wild memories of unbelievable pleasure.

He took his time to answer, his chest rising and falling several times before he was ready. By which time she hated him for keeping her dangling.

‘I propose,’ he said tautly, ‘that you will live in this house. I want people to assume we are a perfectly normal husband and wife—’

‘That’s not likely when we’re at daggers drawn,’ she said caustically.

‘They won’t know that. Must not know that. To all intents and purposes we will seem to be on good terms,’ he snapped. ‘For our son’s sake we will be polite and courteous to one another in public. We will appear at functions together. It is not necessary that we give an impression that we lust after one another—that would be asking too much of me,’ he added scathingly, ‘but we will keep up appearances—’

‘You must be joking!’ she gasped.

‘Deadly serious. There will be no bickering, no acid-tipped remarks, and no double meanings in our conversation when Carlo or others are around.’

His eyes were frighteningly remote. Miranda shrank back, absorbing his extraordinary suggestion and the catalogue of dos and don’ts, her face pale with shock.

For several seconds he studied her, then when she said nothing but remained trembling and astonished, he firmed his mouth and continued.

‘In your private life,’ he said tautly, ‘you will be irreproachable. You will not get drunk. You will not take drugs. You will never, never,’ he roared suddenly, making her jump, ‘be indiscreet and cause a scandal by taking a lover. If you do, you’re out of here. Is that understood?’

She felt as if he’d hit her with a steam-hammer. He wanted her to live here as his wife. The thought of living with Dante and not making love with him was impossible to imagine.

‘You want me to live like a nun for the rest of my life?’ she asked slowly.

‘Too difficult?’ he scorned.

The way things were, she never wanted to commit herself to another man again. Her plush mouth thinned. Stunned and still trying to absorb his suggestion, she pretended indifference.

‘I’m just establishing the ground rules.’

‘One of which is that you will be chaste and above suspicion. That is my ultimatum. As I said, if you break it, I will throw you out to fend for yourself. And you will never see Carlo again.’

She put a hand to her temple where a pulse throbbed painfully. ‘That’s why you wanted him out of the way! If I refuse this…gross proposition, then you intend to hide him until I leave! Well, I have no intention of agreeing to your cold-blooded solution. I couldn’t possibly live with you! I won’t go, either,’ she defied. ‘I’ll stay here until—’

‘The police will escort you from the premises,’ he stated smoothly.

He smiled faintly when her shoulders dropped, a give-away, she thought in despair, that she was at the end of her tether.

‘Maybe. But I won’t go quietly! I’ll raise hell!’ she threatened.

‘Then everyone will sympathise with me about the fishwife I mistakenly married,’ he flung back. ‘Your attitude would affect your chances of access. Besides, no one will believe anything you say. I will reveal my reasons for keeping you from Carlo and the courts will uphold my request for sole custody. You will be deported as an undesirable.’

Her eyes darkened to violet. Now she was clutching at straws, searching for anything to fight him with. Tears welled up as she thought of Carlo’s unhappiness and she racked her brains for a way to gain mastery over Dante.

‘In that case, I will walk away quietly,’ she amended, ‘and stay near by. People will murmur and wonder why my son is so sad and why I stand at your gates hoping for a glimpse of him!’ she hurled.

His jaw set hard. ‘You have no money, Miranda. How will you survive? Or…is that a silly question when your assets are clearly displayed before me?’

‘You are obsessed with whoring!’ she yelled in frustration, hating the fact that he was right about her poverty and seeing no way out but to surrender. In one final stab, she snapped, ‘Strange that you were perfectly happy for me to play the whore for you in bed!’

‘And anywhere else, for that matter. You did it so well,’ he murmured, so mockingly sexy that her breath began to jerk in the furnace of her body. ‘But those days are over. And I find it interesting that you see your role in that light. I fondly imagined you were enjoying uninhibited sex with the man you loved. But of course, you had sold yourself to me, hadn’t you?’

The look in his eyes belied his remark that their physical relationship had ended. A desperate and unstoppable desire heated the air between them. Hunger was in every tense inch of his body. She had seen it too often before to doubt the evidence of her own eyes. He wanted her.

As much—heaven help her—as she wanted him. They were still physically tied and it would take a while before their passion for one another waned. The memories were too recent, too intense, and too ecstatic.

She felt hot, the electrically charged atmosphere swamping her senses. It took a huge effort of will to reject his unspoken invitation. Yet she must, because otherwise he’d destroy her.

There was something more important to consider. Carlo. She had no doubt that Dante would carry out all his threats. It seemed she had no choice.

‘If—if—I should agree to your disgusting plan,’ she croaked, ‘then I’d want your guarantee that you won’t touch me.’

How odd. Immediately after she’d made this stipulation she felt miserable…empty, at the thought of never reconciling with Dante. After all, she’d never be able to trust him again. Or to respect him. She sighed. Bodies were odd things—totally at odds with one’s brain.

Dante’s intake of breath broke the spell and he seemed to withdraw into himself, his head lifting proudly.

‘I would rather kiss a cockroach,’ he drawled.

She flinched at his vile insult. ‘The feeling’s mutual.’ Or it would be, once she’d got over him. ‘Let’s get something straight,’ she said with dignity. ‘I was ill when you abandoned me that night. I could have been seriously ill for all you knew. In fact it took days before I felt better. Not only did you take our son away—although I’d looked after him devotedly—’

‘That’s debatable—’

‘Devotedly!’ she emphasized. ‘But you scuttled away and secreted yourself away somewhere, too afraid to face me. Those are the actions of a heartless, callous man. Someone who is an abject coward, Dante! And to think I once believed you were hero material! Huh!’ she scorned. ‘I despise you. How could I possibly be polite to you when I feel hatred and loathing and contempt for you?’