The Mediterranean Billionaire's Blackmail Bargain (9 page)

‘I'
LL
be back for you in a couple of hours. I'm looking forward to never seeing those shapeless garments again.'

Alicia had her hand on the car door handle and nearly fell out when the driver opened it for her. She just looked at Dante murderously. Her mouth still smarted painfully from the coffee. She wanted to say something—anything—and had to settle for an incoherent grunt.

‘Ciao…' came softly from behind her in the car and she took great pleasure in slamming the door shut, much to the driver's surprise.

Two hours passed quickly. Alicia hadn't known that it was possible to spend so much time in one shop. Between fittings, she'd stood in her tatty underwear, surrounded by fabric and shoes. It was the kind of place where you had to ring a bell to get in and when she'd arrived she'd almost expected to be turned away, and had wondered for a second what she would do if that happened. Alone with no money in a foreign city. No phone number for Dante, no phone. Instead of feeling relief, she'd actually felt something much more confusing.

But then the door had opened and a tall woman with silvergrey hair and impeccable carriage had taken one look at her and said in perfect English, ‘Ah. You must be Alicia. Dante described you perfectly. I am Signora Pasquale.'

Alicia's cheeks had burned for about the umpteenth time that morning, as the woman and her assistants had proceeded to strip her completely. Every now and then the very intimidating Signora would come in and look at Alicia, tutting, ‘You are
so
tiny. What can I do?' And, with her arms in the air, she'd go off again.

Eventually Alicia heard the bell ring authoritatively and
knew
it was him. Stupidly, she wrapped her arms around herself, even though she knew he wouldn't see her. Butterflies fluttered in her belly. She heard the low rumble of his voice, the tinkling laughter of Signora Pasquale and, even though the woman was eighty, something very disturbing flared in Alicia's chest. One of the assistants came in then with rosy cheeks. Alicia's mouth tightened. She was going to start calling it the Dante effect.

‘Here are some casual clothes; the Signora had them delivered. They will do you for day wear until the main clothes arrive at Signore D'Aquanni's villa in a couple of days.'

The girl held out a beautifully folded pile of clothes and what looked like a leather weekend bag, also full of clothes. When Alicia unfolded them she found a silk camisole top in burnished copper, a cream skirt and matching underwear. Kitten heel sandals in a dark complementary gold—very simple, very Italian and very stylish. As much as she hated this—the waste and extravagance—the feel of the silky fabric against her skin made her close her eyes with a stirring of guilty pleasure. It had been so long since she'd let herself feel anything like it.

With the bag in one hand and the matching jacket of the suit in the other, Alicia emerged. Dante was sitting down, drinking a cup of coffee, talking to the designer. He looked up and his hand stilled on the way to his mouth. His whole body stilled. Apart from the tantalizing glimpses he'd had while she'd lain sleeping on the bed in his villa and that all too brief moment in his lap on the plane, he'd had to imagine her shape.

She looked at him defiantly and Dante felt as if they were the only two people in the room, the designer and her assistants forgotten. What she was wearing wasn't in any way overtly sexy but…with her delicate curves filling it out, he'd never seen anyone so alluring. Everything was in proportion—every curve, every swell. He imagined spanning her waist with one hand. Her skin was lightly tanned—soft and silky. For the first time in his life, he was rendered speechless.

Alicia tilted her chin. If he didn't stop staring at her as if she were some kind of alien just landed on planet earth she was going to scream. Thankfully, Signora Pasquale got up and fussed around her. ‘Oh, good. These clothes fit perfectly. They will see you through the next few days and we will have the rest delivered by your plane as soon as they are ready.' She looked at Dante. ‘This time of the month I presume it'll be on its usual run?'

Dante nodded absently. Alicia blanched and looked at the woman.
By plane?
Dante saw her reaction and stood smoothly, coming over and taking Alicia's bag, guiding her out of the shop with a hand on her upper arm, burning it.

In the car she rounded on him. ‘Is a plane really necessary just to bring clothes for me to wear? I mean, really, that is the absolute height of—'

‘Alicia—' his voice was like the crack of a whip ‘—I can afford it and—'

‘I don't—' she tried to interject, but he raised a hand, stopping her.

‘If this is just a facade, a veneer of trendy environmental concern, then give it up now, because I'm not interested. You might try to pretend to others that you didn't leave your bleeding heart behind in Africa, but you won't fool me.'

Alicia gasped. ‘It's not a veneer or a facade. If you can justify sending an entire airplane into the skies just to bring me some clothes, then go right ahead. And if you can sleep with your conscience, then so be it, but I think it's
disgusting.
'

Dante watched her with fascination. She was leaning forward, face alive, luminous. And all he wanted to sleep with right then was
her.
Her quick condemnation burned him again but he would not give in to the satisfaction of telling her the truth. Let her stew.

‘Well, then, you'd better get ready to be disgusted because we're on the way to take a helicopter to Lake Como right now. And just remember, you weren't disgusted when that plane was available to take you back to England at a moment's notice.'

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the censure in his. Yet again he'd managed to make her feel in the wrong.

She turned her head and looked unseeingly out of the window, her whole body tense and taut. She felt unbelievably exposed in the silky top and flimsy skirt. The silk of the new panties was also an unwelcome sensual reminder every time she moved, of the man who lounged on the seat only inches away. Little had she known that her actions would have brought her to this…back in Italy, to be paraded as Dante D'Aquanni's newest lover. She might as well be part of the harem of some desert king. What she'd just endured was the equivalent of being washed and sent to his tent.

Dante ached with the restraint it took not to reach out and haul her into his lap. But he imposed an iron will and he'd just remembered something. Her apparent ease and knowledge of the helicopter must have come from working with them in Africa. It made something uncomfortable lodge in his chest, and for the rest of the journey they were mutually silent.

 

The same benignly smiling housekeeper showed Alicia to her room. It was a different one from the one she'd spent that night in. The room she'd been
locked
in. She tried to hang on to that feeling of outrage as she sat on the bed and looked around, but it was hard. It was fading. Dante had surprised her by showing her where the study was and informing her that she could use it whenever she wanted to call Melanie.

Then he'd handed her over to the housekeeper, who he'd introduced as Julieta, and informed her that they'd eat at five p.m. He'd told her to make herself at home. A far cry from the last time. She stood somewhat shakily and went to look out of the window. The lake was spread out before her and took her breath away in the early afternoon sunshine.

Exploring a little, she looked around the room, found the
en suite
bathroom and then another door. Assuming it to be a dressing room, she opened it, only to find herself in another bedroom.
His.
She knew it without a doubt. It was huge, dominated by a massive king-size bed. Simple yet discreetly elegant furnishings—not too stark and masculine but enough of a stamp to make it unmistakably male.

At that moment his door opened and Alicia stood there, her eyes growing round, transfixed when he walked in. He was pulling off his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt and then stopped, seeing her.

His eyes raked her up and down. Took in her slight form, the jacket gone, the smooth skin of her shoulders bared. Took in her exquisitely shaped calves, her tiny bare feet. She had kicked off her shoes. Her hair was pulled back and one long tendril lay over her shoulder.

‘I thought this might be a dressing room…'

Dante spread out an arm, a hard smile playing around that seductive mouth. ‘By all means, you can dress in here if you want.'

She stood stiffly. ‘You know what I mean.' She turned. ‘I'll go. Sorry for disturbing you.'

He muttered something in Italian behind her and she turned again. ‘Excuse me?'

He looked slightly tortured for a second and something in that look made an answering quiver erupt deep in her groin. But she couldn't trust what she'd seen—it had to be her mind playing tricks.

‘Nothing. Go. You should rest. You're going to need it.'

A fear of something powerful moving through her made her blurt out, ‘Do we have to have adjoining rooms?'

He nodded and walked towards her. She backed away. ‘The guests will expect that we will be sharing a room, not merely occupying adjoining rooms, but here we can get away with it.'

She shook her head. ‘But—'

He interrupted her. ‘But when we go to South Africa we
will
share a room, whether you like it or not.'

Alicia's head swirled ominously. ‘Hang on a second.' She put out a hand. as if that might stop him from advancing. ‘South Africa? Since when were we going to South Africa?' She felt all the conflicting emotions arise again—the reason she'd run there in the first place, the heartache, the unimaginable pain she'd witnessed, the physical pain, hardship and
scars
she still bore.

Dante saw the colour drain from her face and frowned. ‘I said that the
first
week would be here. South Africa is the venue for the last two weeks and the main part of the negotiations. That's where we're proposing to finalize the deal and embark on our first project which will be the construction of a huge sports stadium just outside Cape Town. That has been at the centre of this merger. Thousands of companies competed for the job and we got it on the basis of the merger being successful. So even
that
at this stage hangs in the balance.'

Alicia felt weak. She wanted to sit down. ‘You never mentioned that.'

‘What's wrong?' he asked sharply, coming closer.

Alicia stepped back jerkily. She felt far too vulnerable to be under close scrutiny.

‘Nothing.' She tried to smile, ‘I just hadn't expected to be going back there so soon, that's all…' She'd be fine. She wasn't going back to the same place. She'd be at the other end of the continent. She turned and put one foot in front of the other. ‘I'll see you at five.'

And once in her own room, she closed the door and leant back against it breathing shallow breaths. She'd had no idea the thought of returning to Africa would affect her this badly.

Minutes later she paced up and down the floor. It wasn't as if she'd experienced any more or any less than any of the other aid workers. But still…the remembered fear gripped her and the pain seemed to flare in her lower back…it could have been so much worse. And she'd stuck it out after that, determined not to be weak, to give in…but then when
he'd
arrived, that had been the final straw and she'd returned home. And that still made her feel guilty. That she'd let a man influence her actions—
again.
He'd driven her there, and then away too…

She sat down on the bed and felt cold. She didn't want to think about him, but right now there were too many uncanny similarities.

Raul Carro.
Dr Raul Carro. The man who had taken her heart and watched it beating in his hands before calmly crushing it to pieces.

Or at least that was what it had felt like at the time. Almost two years ago now. The dark and dashing Spanish doctor working briefly in England had captivated her, and her heart.

And here she was, in close proximity to another of his ilk. Too good looking and powerful for his own good. A Latin magician. She knew this situation was nothing like the one with Raul, who had seduced her with ruthless guile. And she was quite certain that the physical contact Dante had initiated so far was nothing but cold calculation, designed to unnerve her. So why did she feel then as though she were on a precipice, about to fall off again?

It was only when in her shower a short time later that shock stilled Alicia's body as she remembered Dante's assertion that they would be sharing a room in South Africa. She rested her forehead against the tiled wall under the spray. Dark and treacherous desire rose up to taunt her. And then she stood straight. She would not allow herself to be used like that again. She
would
protect herself this time. And she got on with scrubbing her body. It wasn't as if Dante D'Aquanni was really attracted to her anyway. A man like him would play around with her for pure idle sport.