The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding Read online

  The exit they took from the hospital was not the same one where they’d entered, but lay beyond a small, rather barren courtyard. It decanted onto a quiet side street that was almost deserted at this hour. At least, the only traffic seemed to be workmen or residents heading for their jobs. There was no sign of the paparazzi.

  Nicholas had taken out his phone as they walked, punching in a number and issuing a brief order. They stood less than a minute before the limo rounded a corner and glided to a stop in front of them.

  “If you don’t mind, you can drop me at a hotel,” she said as they pulled away from the curb. “Anything will do as long as it’s not too far away or too expensive.”

  The Italian made no answer but sat staring out the side window. For all she could tell, he might not have heard her.

  The driver did, and apparently understood English, for he glanced up into the rearview mirror. He looked back toward the street ahead of them, then into the mirror again as if awaiting an order. When it did not come, he cleared his throat. “Signor, signorina, a suggestion?”

  Nicholas replied then in a brief spate of hard-edged Italian. Reaching for a small knob on the arm beside him, he held it while a screen of smoked glass closed off their back section from the driver. He returned his gaze to the street scenes beyond the windows.

  She really did need to learn the language, Amanda told herself in irritation. As it was, she had no idea if Nicholas had reprimanded his driver for speaking out of turn or given directions to a hotel already selected for her.

  She should question it, she knew, but could not find the energy. It seemed just as well to wait and see.

  It wasn’t that she was intimidated by the man, certainly not. It was simply that he was a stranger and she was shut into a confined space with him at the moment. Given the state of his temper, it seemed best not to provoke another argument, even if she had the heart for it.

  She glanced at him, wondering a little at his silence. His appeared remote, completely unfamiliar in the dim light that was now pink-tinged with the beginnings of sunrise. She was aware again, as she had been off and on in the past hours, of his diabolical attraction. The flutter it caused in the pit of her stomach was beyond exasperating, as was the near compulsion she felt to stare at him.

  He sat in somber contemplation, as if turning over some knotty problem in his mind. And so he might be, considering the serious weight of his responsibilities. His hair looked as if he had run his fingers through it in either frustration or anger, and his eyes were shadowed from weariness. How long had it been since he had slept, she wondered. Forty-eight hours? Longer?

  He must have sped to the hospital at once from wherever he had been when news of the car crash came to him. Surely he had waited there many hours, until he knew his sister’s condition was stable. He had flown to the States, then spent time searching for her before flying back again. He had not slept on the plane for even the short time she had. He must be exhausted, and yet he made nothing of it.

  He was a formidable man but not indestructible, she thought with an odd constriction around her heart. No one was, least of all those who cared about others.

  Nicholas was watching over his sister with endless concern and a brother’s protective love. What would he not show toward a lover? What would it be like to become the center of such fierce devotion, especially with passion added to the mix?

  Bone-deep yearning spiraled through her, warming her blood so its heat pooled in her pelvis. He had supported her there in the hospital hallway. She could still feel the places on her arms where his thumbs had smoothed in absentminded yet sensual caress. His full attention would be an erotic onslaught of stunning proportions she was sure, a conflagration of feeling.

  Not that she was likely to find out. No, nor wanted to if it came to that. It was perfectly possible to have a fleeting fantasy about a man without acting upon it. Just because she felt as hot and liquid inside as melted chocolate didn’t mean she was ready to fall into his arms.

  They were virtual strangers. And so they would remain, given all that stood between them.

  Her thoughts were so far removed from her surroundings that it was a minute or two before she noticed that the wider city thoroughfares had faded away behind them. The big car was gliding along less crowded streets past gas stations, garages, garden shops stocked with stone columns and life-size statuary, and villas revealed only by gates inset in tangles of greenery.

  “Where are we?” She swung from her side window to stare at the man beside her. “Where are we going? I thought you were taking me to a hotel.”

  The look he gave her was implacable. “That would not be at all practical. You have no transport for hospital visits or the shopping you require. Besides, I brought you here. It’s my responsibility to see that you have a place to stay where you can be both comfortable and safe.”

  “Safe.”

  “You have forgotten the paparazzi already?”

  “They won’t be around forever.”

  “They will have discovered the connection between us by now, just as they discovered news of the accident. It’s unlikely they will rest until they know why you and I arrived together.”

  “So I’ll tell them exactly how it came about.”

  His smile had an ironic twist. “But will they print that when they can make up a better story, one that will sell more photographs and papers.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “No? Try this: The De Frenzas and Their American Lovers — Brothers and Sisters in Quadrangle of Passion!”

  “That’s obscene!” The heat of a flush scalded her face, though as much for the derision in his voice as the headline he suggested.

  “It’s only one step more as your brother has already been labeled my sister’s lover. Of course, they might go for bigger fish with something like De Frenza Rushes to Sister’s Bedside with Lovely American Clamped to His Side!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Not at all. For proof they need only print the photo with my arm around you as we entered the hospital.”

  “But it meant nothing.”

  The denial was mere kneejerk reaction. Amanda didn’t read the tabloids, but had seen enough while waiting in line at grocery store checkouts to know there was little they would not print. There were also few places safe from invasion by their long range camera lenses.

  “You are a beautiful woman alone in my country where you don’t know the language. I can’t leave you at the mercy of these predators. No, nor of any other man who may decide to seek you out after reading their lies.”

  She ignored the glancing compliment, knowing its purpose was to further his argument. “Only at your mercy, I suppose.”

  His eyes turned blacker as anger expanded the pupils until they seemed to merge with the irises. “Meaning?”

  “If you won’t take me where I ask, then I am forced to go where you please. I call that being at your mercy.”

  A smile edged with perilous threat moved over the graceful curves of his mouth. “Now, there you may be correct, signorina, for I have decided to take you home with me.”

  4

  “Thank you, but I still prefer a hotel. Please tell your driver to turn around and take me back.”

  So polite, so cool, though her voice was not quite even as she made the request, Nico thought. Her breasts under the jacket of her ridiculously severe suit rose and fell at too swift a rate as well. Watching that subtle movement under the fabric, he felt his fingers curl with the need to uncover those mysterious curves so buttoned away from his view, to cup them in slow exploration.

  It wasn’t easy to return his gaze to her face, or to concentrate on calming the tension he felt coming from her in waves, tension he had caused.

  “I can’t do that,” he answered.

  “Order your driver to stop then. I’ll find a taxi or walk back from here.”

  “Even more impossible. You will not meet with a taxi for hire along here at this time o
f morning. What you may meet with, instead, is a man who will offer you something more than a lift.”

  Her gaze was assessing as her eyes met his. “You don’t think much of your countrymen, do you? Or maybe you judge them by what you would do, what you’re doing.”

  She had no idea, he suspected, of the insult she had given him by suggesting he would harm her. Or else she hoped anger would cause him to abandon her. If the latter, she had completely misread his character.

  “There can be no comparison,” he said in tight-lipped reply.

  “So you say.”

  She turned from him to glance at the door next to her. A muscle firmed under the fine-grained skin of her cheek as her gaze touched the handle.

  “It locks automatically when the car is put in gear,” he pointed out. “An excellent innovation, wouldn’t you say?” He reached without haste to flip a latch at his side so a satisfying metallic click sounded in both doors. “It also has child-proofing that prevents the locks from being operated from inside.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she said with assurance. “I am quite able to see we are moving too fast to make jumping a possibility.”

  “Bene. I am pleased to hear it.”

  She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Look, I just want to be close to the hospital, closer to Jonathan.”

  “You may see him when you wish, as often as you wish. You’ll have only to ask.”

  “I don’t want to have to ask. I much prefer not to be dependent on you.”

  “I brought you here, exposed you to those who would hound you for my sake. You are my responsibility.”

  “No, I’m not! I don’t need you to look after me. I don’t want to go with you. I don’t want to stay in your home. Can you not understand plain English?”

  Fury erupted inside of him for the rejection of his aid, the unwarranted apprehension that lingered in her eyes, the continued insult. It coalesced with the strain of the past hours and his inconvenient attraction to become raging impulse.

  “Why is that?” he demanded. “Can it be because you expect this?”

  He reached for her, gripping her waist to haul her toward him, catching her with his other arm across her back so she twisted to fall across his lap. Her hair tumbled around her rose-tinted features so she stared at him through its silky strands. Her lips were parted, and her fingers clutched at the muscles in his arms. She looked exactly as he’d thought she might after being thoroughly kissed. Yes, or after he had just made mad, desperate love to her.

  “Por Dio,” he muttered, both a prayer and a curse, and lowered his head to take her lips.

  She was sweet fire, heady coolness, molten magic and everything he had dreamed a woman should be. She gasped with a strangled sound, and he followed that breath of air into her mouth, seeking its source, heating the inner surfaces with languid sweeps of his tongue as he savored her like a gourmet sweet. He pulled her closer while cursing the stiff suit jacket that prevented him from feeling the firm curves of her breasts or their hardened tips. He wanted her to relax into him, to lift her arms around his neck and press against him in need, to give him her tongue so he might take it deep into his mouth in clear possession.

  He wanted her to want him instead of being wary of him, to need him instead of pushing him away.

  The effort it took to lift his mouth from hers made his neck creak with strain. The air he breathed felt hot in his chest, and the pain in his groin was like the slash of a fiery knife. With hooded eyes, he stared at her mouth that was swollen from his kiss, her eyes that accused him and the flush of color that mantled her skin in the beginnings of desire. And the urge to strip her bare and take her on the leather seat while the world moved past them tied his stomach in knots and made his blood pound a primitive tarantella in his ears.

  What prevented him was the certain knowledge that she would fight him every inch of the way and hate him when and if she succumbed to his passionate possession.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, shoving at his shoulder.

  It hovered on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she should know, as she had made scant effort to resist him. That would be dim-witted as well as ungentlemanly. If she had been merely stunned into immobility, he had no wish to know it.

  “Delivering an object lesson, I believe,” he answered when he could force words through the wool-lined dryness of his throat. “Or else living up to your obvious expectation.”

  “I didn’t — I don’t—”

  “No? Then what are you afraid of that you refuse my hospitality?”

  “Nothing. Let me up.”

  “Certo,” he replied, his tone as politely aloof as he could make it. Returning her to her place at his side, holding her there until she was balanced, he went on. “In fact, I would have you understand that you have nothing whatever to fear from me. As a guest in my house, it will be my duty to protect you from the instant that you pass through the door. Honor and tradition demand it. This includes keeping my distance in everything except polite touches to aid or direct you.”

  “Really.”

  He could hardly blame her for the irony in her voice after what had just passed between them. His behavior could hardly be called reassuring. Perhaps he was more tired than he realized that he had gone so far. Or possibly it was the knowledge that he would soon be prevented from doing anything remotely like it again.

  “Be assured that once you enter the doorway of my home, I will not trespass again except by your invitation. But if you indicate by the smallest word or deed that you want something more, it shall be yours. Only be very certain of your desire. Once I have you, I will not let you go until whatever is between us is finished.”

  She swallowed before she spoke, a movement in the slim line of her throat that he watched with a painful need to feel it under his mouth. “There is nothing between us.”

  “You think not?”

  “You are very sure of yourself,” she said with a lift of her chin.

  She had courage. Nico saluted it even as he deplored it. He would have preferred that she tremble against him instead of suppressing the small tremors that shook her, that she be unable to meet his eyes instead of watching him like a gazelle eyeing a prowling lion, deciding whether to flee or ignore danger. Either of these would indicate a more certain surrender.

  And yet her defiance made his heart swell. She did not fear him entirely. She might yet answer his unsubtle invitation.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, his voice soft with promise. “I am unsure of one thing only, and that is what you want.”

  ~ ~ ~

  What was she to make of Nicholas de Frenza’s declaration? Amanda worried at the question as she tugged her suit jacket back into place with spasmodic jerks, swept trembling fingers through her hair to tidy it. She was not used to the sophisticated games or sensual experiments that left her lips tingling with the rush of blood, aching as if something important had been interrupted. Nor could she be sure he meant his warning, though she could not imagine why else he might have given it.

  She barely knew the man who turned from her now to take out his phone again, could not count even twenty-four hours since they had first met. Relationships took far longer to develop than he seemed to be suggesting. Besides, the idea that someone used to moving in the rarified circles of continental society would single her out for an affair was ridiculous.

  That was just as well as she wasn’t interested.

  Even if her thoughts were not all for Jonathan, she would be wary of sexual games. She had no time for them, had never felt the urge to indulge in brief, meaningless affairs, getting naked with men she barely knew. To start now, with someone so far out of her league, could bring only heartache. There was absolutely no future in it.

  So she was attracted to him. So he made her blood sing as it tumbled through her veins and danced through the too-tight chambers of her heart? It meant nothing, just as the fact that he was Italian need not automatically mean he would be a skilled and tend
er lover.

  Why — why — was she thinking such things when he probably meant nothing at all beyond what he had said? Well, or else he’d been curious to see how she would react, to discover if she was available. Had perhaps thought they might ease their mutual stress with a fast and meaningless joining of bodies.

  It wasn’t happening.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, crossed her legs as well to ease the hollow ache between them. The next time the two of them visited the hospital she would slip away and find her own hotel room. He could hardly keep her a prisoner.

  Yet glancing at him as he rode beside her, noting the brooding expression in his eyes and forbidding, untamed set of his handsome mouth, she was not entirely certain of it.

  Villa de Frenza.

  The words, highlighted by golden morning light, were incised into a gracefully sculpted white marker set amidst clipped shrubbery that flanked an enormous set of iron gates. The moss and lichen that straggled over the marble surface made it appear so ancient and incredibly venerable that Amanda wondered if she should recognize it from some history lesson.

  Certainly, Nicholas had expected her to know the name. It did seem vaguely familiar, in all truth, though she could not quite grasp the reason.

  They turned between the gates, nosing onto a drive that wound between masses of sunflowers backed by evergreens. Moments later, they came to open hills topped by dark green spires of cypress trees. Beyond was an endless grove of silvery olives, gray ghosts of trees that marched away toward the burning blue of the sea. Set among the olives, like a jewel nestled in soft gray velvet, was a house of astounding beauty, a fantastic Palladian villa that stared down at its reflection in the lake.

  Villa de Frenza.

  Good grief. Of course.

  Astonishment gripped Amanda as she recognized the famous structure of stone turned mellow-gold with age, with its perfectly proportioned wings on both sides and dark green shutters arched to match the windows they covered, its elaborate front entrance with columned portico featuring a cartouche embossed with a weathered crest.