The Italian Proposal: His Virgin Acquisition / Her Little White Lie

She looked at him. He was engaged in a conversation with the couple next to them, his speech pattern eloquent, his manner perfect. His profile was aristocratic, and he wore tuxedos as though the whole concept of formalwear had been built around his physique. He didn’t look like a man who had ever struggled for anything.

At that moment, though, no amount of research into his background could have prepared her for the very disturbing effect Marco was having on her. She could hardly taste the gourmet dinner that had been prepared for the evening. Every few minutes her knees would brush Marco’s beneath the table, or someone would come to speak to Marco and congratulate them on their engagement, and Marco would take her hand and look lovingly into her eyes. Or, worse still, he would draw her hand to his lips and press a tender kiss to her knuckles and send the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach into tailspins.

When the plates were cleared, after-dinner drinks were served—which Elaine declined. Her defenses were weakened already. No sense at all throwing alcohol on the burning fire of her attraction to Marco. So instead she sat still in her chair, ramrod-straight, trying her best to smile at everyone who cast a glance in her direction, and trying not to jump a foot in the air every time Marco’s leg made contact with hers.

Tinkling crystal distracted her, and Elaine looked across the room at Caroline, who was standing on a riser at the far end of the room.

Caroline cleared her throat and the hum of conversation diminished. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming this evening. Your support means a tremendous amount. And I’d like to introduce the founder of De Luca House—Mr. Marco De Luca.”

Marco gave her a wry smile, stood from his seat and bent down to drop a lingering kiss on her cheek before he crossed the long expanse of the room. She couldn’t help but notice the sheer masculine grace his movements possessed. He stepped on the stage, his magnetic presence drawing the attention of everyone in the room and holding them, spellbound, in the palm of his hand. Her included.

“Thank you all for being here.” His rich velvet voice rolled over the room. Her stomach tightened. “In these economic times I know making large contributions might seem like a lot to ask. But I ask you to remember that these children have likely never had the most basic necessities, even in the best of times. They don’t have food, or clothing, or even shelter. They give no thought to four-star restaurants when they would give anything for a loaf of bread. What does fashion mean to them when they don’t have a coat to protect them from the elements?”

Elaine felt her throat constricting as she looked into his earnest dark eyes. Something near her heart shifted, and she wished more than anything that she could make it shift back. Because lust was bad enough, new enough, scary enough, without there being emotion involved.

Marco continued, his slight accent making his speech all the more compelling. “And how can we be concerned about keeping our summer homes when they do not even have the bare minimum of shelter?”

His speech went on, his words impassioned. He cited heart-wrenching statistics about how many of New York’s homeless were children who had fallen through the cracks in the system. The charity worked to provide those children with homes that would give them a sense of family, an education, and even occupational training. The vision was to provide them with a base they could always come back to, even after they reached legal age.

When Marco had finished, many of the guests were blinking back tears, and she had a feeling the emotions Marco had brought out in them would be reflected in their donations.

Marco made his way back to where she was standing, pausing at intervals to shake hands and direct people to the donation area.

When he came back to her side he wound his arm around her waist and her heart did a freefall into her stomach.

“That was…” she struggled to sound unaffected “…a very nice speech. I had no idea there was so much need.”

His dark eyes were clouded. “Many people assume that the government is taking care of all of the displaced children, but that is not the case.”

It hadn’t been the case for him. He and Rafael had been abandoned—first by their father, then by their mother. And no one had stepped in. No one had known about the two young teenagers who had been left to fend for themselves.

“Many people are unaware of what goes on in their own backyard. I consider it my duty to educate them and to do what I can.”

She chewed her lush bottom lip, and he had the strongest urge to use his tongue to soothe away the marks her teeth had left in the tender pink flesh. “So not all of the nice things you do are for public image?”

He chuckled darkly. “Not all. But most.”

A pianist began to play a slow, jazzy song, and couples started to migrate to the dance floor. Her body language was screaming that she didn’t want him to ask her to dance.

“Elaine, I think I should have this dance with my fiancée.”

He was amused when she pressed her lips into a thin line, her tension palpable. What would it take to kiss those lips into soft, willing supplication?

She was the epitome of hot, sexy woman in the skintight black dress that showcased curves so tempting they would make a priest sin, and still she maintained that untouchable aura of hers that she always threw up like a shield unless he kissed her.

She looked at the people around them, as if evaluating the situation to see if she could get away with a refusal. “All right.” She said it as though he’d offered her a jail sentence.

It was a source of fascination to him that this woman, who was so obviously attracted to him, so responsive to his touch, his kiss, acted as though physical contact between them was anathema to her.

Elaine tried to quiet the pounding of her pulse. She looked at the couples on the dance floor, their bodies entwined as they moved in a rhythm that seemed far too…sexual to simply call it dancing.

Marco trained his bright white smile on her, but this smile was different than any other he’d given her before. It was almost predatory. He extended his hand. “Dance with me.”

Not a question, a command. And for some reason a thrill ran through her rather than the anger that she’d expected, needed. Something about him was breaching her defenses, softening her. He was surprising her. He wasn’t just a shallow playboy, and she had been much more comfortable with him when she’d been able to just write him off as such.

She accepted his offered hand, hoping he didn’t notice that her own was damp with perspiration, and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Not smart. Her practical inner voice was all but screaming at her.

Necessary, she countered, ignoring the churning pleasure in her stomach when he took her in his arms and brought her close to the heat of his body. Dancing with her fiancé was necessary. It wasn’t about anything but keeping her end of the bargain.

The music was sultry, captivating, and she found herself swaying in time to the rhythm. One of his hands held onto hers, the other was low on her back, holding her to him, bringing her breasts into contact with his hard muscled chest. Her nipples tightened, ached. It was so unfamiliar, unexpected, and no matter how much she wanted to she couldn’t hate it. She couldn’t even muster up a faint dislike for it.

Her heart was pounding and she was certain he must be able to feel it. Certain he would be able to see the fluttering pulse that she could feel moving at the base of her throat.

Marrying a stranger didn’t frighten her. Standing up in front of family and friends making vows she wasn’t going to keep didn’t bother her in the least. The thought of running a company wasn’t scary at all. Not next to this—this attraction that she didn’t want or understand. She always had control, and this sudden absence of it was terrifying. And oddly exhilarating.

She gripped his broad shoulders more fiercely in an instinctive effort to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. She regretted that instinct almost immediately.

He chuckled low, his hot breath fanning across her cheek, his grasp becoming stronger. Everything in her suddenly wanted to lean into him, kiss him again, to feel his mouth, hot, hard and insistent on hers.

She pulled away from him, her breathing labored, her body sluggish from unfamiliar desire. He looked amused. It was infuriating. Even worse that he knew exactly how he had affected her.

“Why do you pull away from it, Elaine?” he asked, his dark eyes compelling. Tempting.

“From what?” Playing ignorant was pointless, and she knew it, but pride and a desperate need to gain some sort of control pushed her to try anyway.

“From this.” He hooked his arm around her waist and drew her to him, tilting his hips so that she could feel the length of his hardened arousal.

She drew in a shaky breath. “Because I don’t feel the same way.”

He chuckled. “This isn’t about feelings. This is about lust. Want. Need. And you do feel it.” He stroked a thumb across her hot cheek. “It’s written all over your pretty face.”

And just like that he was back in the slot she’d placed him in at their first meeting. It was a relief. But it didn’t cause her own arousal to lessen. Her breasts felt heavy, sensitive, and she felt an embarrassing slickness well up between her thighs. She didn’t have to be an expert on sex to know that her body was getting ready to experience it.

Too bad.

“I’m not interested in getting played, Marco. When I proposed to you it was so I could have the company, not a fling.” It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to make her voice even and steady.

“Elaine Chapman?” Elaine turned to face the source of the voice, and her stomach sank to her toes when she recognized the man who had spoken her name.

“Yes?” She tried to appear poised, blank. She had perfected the act over the past few years. Better to be seen as an ice queen than to be seen as a slut.

A sick sensation weighted down her stomach. Daniel Parker. The man who had ruined her reputation because she hadn’t slept with him. She knew he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to fling a few insults at her now.

She straightened her posture and mentally braced herself. It simply wasn’t in her to shy away from a challenge. She would not allow this man to intimidate and demean her. He’d gotten away with it once; she wasn’t letting it happen again.

Marco cupped her elbow and stuck his hand out toward the other man. “Marco De Luca. I’m Elaine’s fiancée.”

“Really?” Daniel drew the word out, extending it several syllables. He shifted his focus to Elaine. “Your taste in men hasn’t changed, then.”

She bit her tongue. She didn’t want to have this conversation, now or ever. Living through the humiliation and condemnation, and her subsequent barring from every decent firm in the city, had been bad enough. Rehashing it now just seemed stupid—especially when the man in front of her seemed to be out for blood. In a very sophisticated way, of course. There was no other way amongst the Manhattan elite.

To Marco’s credit, he didn’t comment. To Daniel’s discredit, he pressed. “You always did prefer a more powerful man.”

“I just prefer a man with as much ambition as I have,” she answered waspishly, tightening her hold on Marco’s arm. The fresh scent of his aftershave tickled her nose and, along with the surge of anger, quickened her pulse. “And they’re difficult to find.”

Daniel’s smile turned cruel. “I would have thought it would be difficult to climb the corporate ladder lying flat on your back.”

Her face heated unbearably, and she felt a surge of adrenaline infuse her veins with trembling energy. From the curious and condescending glares the other guests were giving her she knew no one in the immediate vicinity had missed Daniel’s sleazy allegations.

“At least I don’t feel as though I have to step on others on my way to the top,” she said coldly.

“Of course not, Elaine,” Daniel said, his eyes glinting. “You’ve just had to straddle others on your way to the top.”

Adrenaline surged through her, and she clenched her fists to try and still her shaking hands. Daniel didn’t wait for a response from her; he simply took the arm of his graceful, cold-looking date and walked away from them.

Marco put a hand on her elbow. “Do you want to leave?”

She looked around the room. People were still staring. She set her jaw. “No.”

He regarded her closely. “You look like you might break at any moment. I think for the sake of your pride it would be best if we left.”

She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat and nodded her consent. She wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t a crier by nature, but there was a very real danger that she might end up dumping a drink on Daniel’s head.

Marco thanked Caroline for hosting the event and slipped his arm around Elaine’s waist, leading her down to the limousine that was idling at the curb. He opened the door for her and she slid inside. He got in and sat beside her, sitting closer to her than was strictly necessary.

“Are you all right?” Marco asked, studying her drawn face. The encounter with that man had disturbed her. She had kept her wits in place, not letting him cow her, but it had affected her.

She angled her face away from him, keeping her eyes trained on the brightly lit streets. “Of course. People like that are a part of life, aren’t they? People who resent the success of others.”

“Perhaps just their methods,” he said coolly.

“Perhaps. But if I really was climbing the corporate ladder I doubt I would be stuck in a cubicle.”

“I doubt you would be stuck in a cubicle if you hadn’t been caught messing around with your married supervisor. Word spreads.”

Her head whipped around. “And sometimes word is wrong. I can’t beat the rumors, Marco. Believe me, I’ve tried. No one believes the truth, and the lie makes me a liability that nobody wants around the office. So I’ve found my way around it. Hard work isn’t going to be enough—not with all of that—” she gestured toward the direction of the hotel “—hanging over my head. But I’m not the woman Daniel says I am, and I refuse to be punished for sins I didn’t commit.”

Marco shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t care what happened. Whether or not you slept with your boss is wholly irrelevant to me. But I must warn you that while some men might be easily blinded by generous curves, I’m not. You can’t use your body to get to my heart or my bank account.”

She clenched her teeth. “My body isn’t on offer.”

“Really?”

She was angry, he could see that, and it was genuine. At being called out or at being falsely accused, he wasn’t certain. He knew she was calculating—he had known it before she’d walked into his office. But it was no matter to him. He was hardly going to become a victim of her machinations like her foolish supervisor had supposedly been. He wasn’t going to be swayed by her tempting mouth and her lush curves. He was far too jaded for that.

Of course she was welcome to try. It would make the next twelve months interesting.

“Really,” she stated emphatically. “For what it’s worth, I have too much pride to seduce my boss into promoting me.”

He studied the haughty tilt of her chin. It was very possible that she did have too much pride to do anything like that—now. She had been very young after all.

“It’s no matter to me one way or the other.”

She scoffed. “Not worried that I’ll take advantage of you?”

“Not in the least.” He had infinite experience with conniving women. “Although you’re welcome to try.”

Angry color suffused her milk-pale skin. “I don’t think that will happen. We have a deal. I already have what I want,” she said stiffly.

He moved his hand to her soft cheek, letting his finger drift along her silken skin. He felt a sharp tug in his midsection and his shaft hardened. What was it about this woman that made her such a temptation? “But what if you could get more? Doesn’t that appeal to you?”

She blew out a breath, its heat fanning across his hand. “No. I only want what I earn.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “That could be taken many different ways, cara mia.”

“You know what I mean,” she said tightly.

The limo pulled up at the curb in front of her small, shabby apartment building. Neither of them moved.

She parted her lips and slicked her tongue across their surface. She was pure temptation. And he wasn’t used to resisting.

He leaned in, half expecting her to draw back. But she met him in the middle, her soft lips clinging, her mouth molding to his, her tongue testing him almost shyly. He cupped the back of her head and crushed her to him, delving deep inside her mouth, tasting her.

She pulled back abruptly, shoving hard at his chest, her blue eyes rounded, her lips pinched. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“It was only a kiss,” he growled, knowing he sounded as frustrated as he felt. But he had been ready to take her in the back seat of his car, with only the privacy shield and tinted glass between them and the world.

“And it shouldn’t have happened,” she insisted.

She ran her hands over her tightly knotted hair. Even after their passionate interlude there wasn’t a lock out of place, he noticed with wry humor.

She drew in a sharp breath and thrust her chin high, her prim façade firmly back in its place. “I would invite you in,” she said tartly, “but I don’t want to.”

“You want me to come in. You’re just afraid of what might happen if I do.”

She looked thoughtful. “You’re right. This might be the perfect opportunity to seduce you out of your millions. But, darn it all, I have a headache.”

He laughed. At least she was amusing. “I guess even temptresses need a night off now and then.”

She gave him a humorless smile and stepped out of the car.

“Elaine?”

She paused, her expression cautious.

“Next time I see you you’ll be wearing a white dress.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WEDDING HAD become sort of much-anticipated society event, despite how little time had passed between the announcement and the actual ceremony—or maybe because of that reason. Elaine couldn’t help but think that the haste of the marriage was part of what made it interesting.

She felt half the eyes in the historic church examining her flat stomach speculatively as she walked down the long aisle.

The air was heavy with the perfume of flowers, compliments of her overzealous wedding planner, and the late-afternoon sun streamed through a round stained glass window, throwing squares of blue light onto the stone floor. It was a beautiful wedding. But it was someone else’s wedding. None of it was to her taste except for her simple dress. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was what would happen twelve months from this moment. When the company she had worked so hard for would be hers.

She raised her eyes and looked at her groom, waiting for her at the head of the aisle. She had never seen him look so handsome. His tuxedo was black and well fitted, showing off broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He was in fantastic shape, but hours in the gym weren’t the biggest contributing factor to his immense appeal. He was handsome, criminally so, his chiseled features the perfect blend of masculinity and beauty. But it was his charisma, his raw confidence, his power that made people gravitate to him. He wasn’t like any man, any person, she’d ever met. And she was about to marry him.

She swallowed. Her throat felt like the inside of a pincushion.

This is nothing but a business deal. Nothing but another contract.

She shifted her bouquet and took her groom’s hand.

* * *

Elaine had no idea how she’d managed to make it through the ceremony, the receiving line, and four hours of the reception. Her feet hurt from wearing her extremely impractical shoes, and her face hurt from all the overly cheerful smiling. And dancing with Marco, clinging to his arm, trying to pretend that she wasn’t melting from the heat he was making her feel, had been as taxing as it had been torturous.

She sank into the limo with a sigh, and rested her head on the back of the seat. “That was exhausting.”

“New brides usually say that after the honeymoon.”

Heat flooded her face. Her treacherous mind was all too willing to offer up possible ways Marco could tire her out. She did not need this. Not now, and not with this relic from the Dark Ages.

The limo, which had been decorated with over-the-top script writing that said Mr. and Mrs. Marco De Luca, pulled up to the curb in front of Marco’s penthouse. She didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. She got out and waited for him by the entrance of the building.

He caught up to her and passed her by, his long legs taking strides much faster than her own legs could carry her. She’d changed after the reception into a white silk pencil skirt and a green sweater, but she was still wearing the ridiculous stilettos, which made walking fast a little tricky.

She trailed after him down the long marble corridor. This was the sort of love den she’d expected a man like him to own. His women probably fawned over it. Then over him.

Her stomach lurched at the thought of him bringing other women back here. How many had there been? More importantly, how many would she have to see during their marriage? Would she be able to hear them as she lay in her own bedroom trying to sleep?

“This is my elevator.”

“You have your own personal elevator?” All those little tarts he paraded though here probably loved that.

“Yes, it acts as the main door to my house. It would be a security risk if everyone could use it.” He spoke to her as if she might be a small child.

“Does everyone have their own elevator?”

“No, just me.” He offered a smug grin at that.

He entered a key code into the number pad that was on the lift and the doors opened. The ride up was a long one; he was on the top floor, naturally—what penthouse wasn’t? When the ping signaled that they had reached their destination, the doors opened and revealed a bright, airy living room. It didn’t match with the rest of the building at all. Nothing tacky or overdone about it. No gold filigree on the windows. No champagne glass hot tub dominating the room.

Far from any of the glittering garishness she’d imagined, it was a contemporary design with clean, sleek lines that didn’t suffer from the impersonal, cold feeling of some modern décor.

White walls and vaulted ceilings added to the feeling of openness, along with floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded a fantastic view of the sparkling Manhattan skyline.

The kitchen and living room flowed into one another seamlessly. The countertops in the kitchen were granite, and the appliances were top-of-the-line stainless steel. It was a modern luxury Mecca. The kind of home she’d always imagined setting up for herself. Of course her overcrowded one-bedroom apartment with its mismatched secondhand furniture could hardly compete with Marco’s spacious, state-of-the-art penthouse. She just didn’t have the cash to own such high-end things. Loath as she was to admit it, living here wasn’t going to be a trial.

“You like it?” Marco asked. His husky, sexy voice sent a tremor through her body, and she had to tamp down the wave of longing that threatened to rise up and swamp her. No, it was going to be a trial, all right. Just a luxurious one.

“I do. It’s very tastefully decorated, and the view is amazing. Although the windows don’t offer much privacy, do they?”

“Will we be needing privacy?” He raised his eyebrows, his expression one of keen interest.

Her face went hot. “No! I just meant…I mean because people could see in.”