Fascination: The Sicilian's Ruthless Marriage Revenge

Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her with those dark brown eyes, from beneath hooded lids—as if he were stripping each piece of clothing from her body to reveal the creamy curves beneath.

Whatever the reason, she was just as aroused by this man as she had been a week ago—could almost feel those long hands caressing her, the feel of his lips against her flesh as he tasted her.

She sat down on the edge of the sofa, lacing her slightly trembling hands together to look across at him enquiringly. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Gambrelli?’

Many things, Cesare acknowledged to himself as he regarded her, a knowing smile curving his lips.

This woman, whose beauty was no less striking today, with that honey-coloured hair loose about her shoulders, had the sort of body that could give a man so much pleasure she would have the ability to drive him completely out of his mind.

Not Cesare, of course. Any relationship he had with this woman would be of his choosing, his design, his control.

A nerve pulsed in his jaw and his mouth tightened before he answered her. ‘Perhaps we could start by having you call me Cesare.?’ he invited smoothly, and he saw the flush deepen in her cheeks.

Not the blush of a maiden—at twenty-seven, having been married and divorced, she certainly wasn’t that! But the heated colour of sexual arousal. Her eyes had become almost purple with the depth of her response.

He could see her breasts through the sheer material of her blouse, through the cream outline of her bra, their dark, aroused tips clearly visible through those thin layers of silky fabric as they pouted invitingly.

Though she looked almost prim and proper, sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hands modestly linked, her knees pressed together, as Cesare’s gaze moved slowly down over those aroused breasts to her slender waist and below, he knew without a doubt that she wasn’t sitting like that out of modesty—that she would be moist between her thighs as her body readied itself with the sexual desire she was unable to hide from him.

Robin Ingram—the unattainable Robin Ingram—wanted him with a fierceness she couldn’t hide!

Which should make the next few minutes much simpler for both of them.

This was awful, Robin decided, and she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, very aware of the heat of her body just from looking at this man.

Damn it, if he ever stripped off in front of her, revealing that dark, muscled body in all its naked glory, she would probably have an orgasm right then and there!

‘Very well … Cesare,’ she accepted tautly, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘I believe you wanted to see my father?’

‘No,’ he came back dismissively. ‘It was always my intention to call on you.’

Robin blinked, frowning slightly. ‘But I thought you asked to see my father …’

He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘In the knowledge that he was not here.’

Robin stared at him, no longer sure what was going on. If Cesare had known her father was away from home when he called, then why had he bothered to ask?

‘I don’t understand.’ She gave a puzzled shake of her head.

‘No,’ he accepted dryly. ‘But I can assure you that you very soon will.’

The threat in his tone was unmistakeable now, causing a shiver of apprehension down Robin’s spine.

She stood up abruptly, her cheeks warm with anger now. ‘I don’t know what game it is that you’re playing, Mr Gambrelli, but I can assure you—’

‘No game, Robin,’ he cut in, dark eyes glittering as he looked up at her, his expression scornful, his jaw clenched. ‘Sit down,’ he instructed coldly.

‘How dare you—’

‘I said sit down, Robin,’ he repeated. ‘Must I remind you that you’re a guest in my home, Mr Gambrelli? An unwelcome guest at that!’ she snapped. ‘And that I don’t take orders from anyone!’ she added furiously.

‘You will sit down,’ Cesare told her calmly once again. ‘The two of us will talk. Or rather, I will talk, and you will listen,’ he amended. ‘And when your father returns home later this afternoon you will inform him that you have decided to become my wife.’

‘Your—your—’ Robin stuttered in stupefied outrage. ‘I most certainly will not!’ she scorned incredulously. ‘Are you taking medication, Mr Gambrelli?’ she exclaimed. ‘Would you like me to call you a doctor?’

‘I am not taking anything, Robin,’ he assured her with icy calm. ‘Neither am I insane,’ he added, as he saw the wary way she was now looking at him.

With not a trace of sexual arousal left in her tensed-for-flight body, he noted with hard amusement.

No matter. There would be plenty of time for that once she was his wife. He envisaged a lifetime of exploring the delights of this woman’s body.

Once she had married him.

He had made a more thorough investigation of Robin Ingram—briefly Mrs Robin Bennet—during the last six days, and now he even knew exactly what her bra size was, amongst other things that she would probably rather he nor anyone else didn’t know about her.

Cesare’s mouth tightened as he thought of her failed first marriage, of the real reason her husband had divorced her. And it had nothing to do with the ‘incompatibility’ that had been quoted on the petition.

Many things would change for Robin once she was his wife. She would become Marco’s mother, of course. But Cesare also intended her to bear him more sons and daughters. He intended for the beautiful, the accomplished, the elusive Ms Ingram to become Mrs Cesare Gambrelli, and to spend at least the next few years barefoot and pregnant!

Suitable retribution, Cesare believed, for this woman’s brother taking the life of his own sister, Carla—for depriving Marco of his mother.

Although he very much doubted that Robin was going to see it the same way he did.

Not that it mattered what her objections were. He had other inducements, to bend her to his will—if necessary. And, from the look of rebellion on her exquisite face, it seemed as if that was going to be the case.

Again, it did not matter. He would not be thwarted in this. Robin Ingram would become his wife, and Marco’s mother, whether she wanted to or not.

‘Sit down before you fall down!’ he ordered.

Was her apprehension—her fear of this man—so obvious? Robin wondered with an inward wince.

Well, of course it was! What woman wouldn’t be nervous in the company of a man—a man she barely knew—who had come into her home and arrogantly informed her she was to be his wife?

‘I would rather stand, thank you,’ she informed him with dignity. ‘And I really would like you to leave now,’ she added firmly. ‘You’re obviously suffering under some delusion that I wish to marry you, and—’

‘Let me assure you that I am not suffering under any delusions at all where you are concerned, Robin,’ he informed her with a hard, humourless laugh. ‘You are the spoilt, pampered, overindulged daughter of a man who had absolutely no control over either of his children—’

‘Would you please leave!’ Robin cut in forcefully, trembling.

‘—and you are the sister of the man responsible for killing my young sister!’ Cesare Gambrelli continued harshly, as if she had never spoken.

Robin stared at him, her eyes deep purple smudges in a face gone suddenly white.

Gambrelli …!

She had thought the name sounded familiar a week ago, but once her father had explained he was the multimillionaire Cesare Gambrelli she had reasoned that must be why she recognised it.

But now she remembered.

Now she knew!

Her brother Simon’s car had collided with another vehicle when he had been so tragically killed in Monaco three months ago. And the driver of that other vehicle, who had also died, had been a young woman called Carla Gambrelli.

Cesare Gambrelli’s sister …?

It had been a very traumatic time for all of them. But she was sure, once her father had recovered sufficiently, he had sent a letter of condolence to Carla Gambrelli’s family. To Cesare Gambrelli …?

She shook her head. ‘As my father wrote at the time, we’re so very sorry for your loss, Mr Gambrelli—as we are for my brother’s—’

‘I do not want your apologies!’ he rasped forcefully, and he surged to his feet, once again dominating the room with his powerful presence as he glared at Robin with fiercely black eyes. ‘No amount of apologies can bring my sister back to me,’ he grated.

‘Or my brother Simon,’ she reminded him quietly, her chin raised in challenge.

Her father had never mentioned whether or not he had received any acknowledgement of his note—although from Cesare Gambrelli’s behaviour now, she somehow doubted it!

Cesare gave a scornful snort. ‘Your brother was a wastrel and a gambler. A man without honour. A man who was no loss to anyone. Whereas—’

‘How can you say that?’ Robin gasped incredulously.

‘I say it because it is true,’ he told her, every inch the arrogant Sicilian that he was. ‘Your brother had lost everything to his gambling habit; he was a disgrace to his family—’

‘I believe that is for my father and I to decide,’ Robin interrupted emotionally. ‘Look, I realise that you’re upset about the death of your sister, Mr Gambrelli. And I can sympathise with that—really I can. But your sister and Simon collided on a steep and winding mountain road. No one knows who was responsible. You can’t seriously place the blame for your sister’s death on Simon—’

‘I can and I do!’ he assured her fiercely, once again filled with the frigid rage he had felt on hearing how his sister had met her death.

For so long it had just been the two of them—Cesare and Carla—their mother having died when Carla was born and Cesare was only eleven years old. The bringing up of his baby sister had been left to Cesare as his father took to drink, which had eventually killed him when Cesare was twenty-two and Carla eleven.

Cesare had loved his sister dearly, had cared and protected her all her life—and Simon Ingram had killed her!

‘Your brother had been at the casino the whole of the evening before the accident occurred,’ he continued disgustedly. ‘Several witnesses have confirmed that he was extremely upset by his losses, that he was belligerant and aggressive, and that he got into a fight with one of the other patrons before he left the casino,’ Cesare sneered scathingly. ‘Whereas Carla had been to dinner with friends in Nice that night—I have spoken to Pierre and Charisse Dupont, and they both confirmed that Carla was happy and cheerful when she left them. My sister was a careful driver, Robin—of the two, which do you think more likely to have caused the accident?’ he finished.

If anything, Robin Ingram looked even more beautiful with her face so deathly pale, her deeply violet eyes huge in that pallor, the fullness of her mouth trembling slightly.

She gave a shake of her head, her honey-coloured hair moving silkily across the narrowness of her shoulders and the fullness of her breasts. ‘The police report was totally inconclusive as to the cause of the accident—’

‘I know what the police report said, Robin—I asked which of the two you think was responsible,’ Cesare cut in forcefully, black eyes gleaming.

Robin looked away from his accusing gaze, shaking slightly, not knowing quite how to answer him.

Both she and her father had been aware of Simon’s gambling habit. Of the fact that he’d become aggressive and upset when he lost. Which had been most of the time.

But for this man to imply—

No, he hadn’t implied anything—he had clearly stated that he held Simon responsible for his sister’s death. But that still didn’t explain how Cesare Gambrelli jumped from that accusation to demanding that she marry him!

She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin as she once again met that angry black gaze. ‘The accident was a tragedy for both our families, Mr Gambrelli.’ She spoke softly. ‘I don’t believe that either of us attaching any sort of blame as to its cause is going to help the situation. It certainly won’t bring my brother or your sister back to us!’

‘Or Marco’s mother,’ Cesare Gambrelli put in.

Robin hesitated. This conversation had become surreal several minutes ago, but now she had definitely lost the plot!

‘Marco …?’ she repeated.

His mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘Something else you have chosen not to acknowledge? Or did you seriously not know?’ he added scathingly, his dark eyes narrowed on her pityingly now.

‘Know what?’ she echoed dazedly.

‘That at the time of her death Carla was the mother of a three-month-old baby boy!’ Cesare declared.

Robin’s knees buckled slightly as nausea washed over her, and she staggered back slightly to drop down onto the sofa.

Carla Gambrelli had been a mother when she’d died so prematurely?

Her death had left a three-month-old baby motherless?

Robin swallowed hard, trying to fight down the nausea. Losing Simon had been traumatic—a tragedy neither she nor her father would ever get over. But Cesare Gambrelli’s loss was just too awful to contemplate.

She looked up sharply. ‘Where is the baby—your nephew—now?’

Cesare Gambrelli looked down his haughty nose at her, with no sign of softening in his expression at her obvious shock at what he had just told her. ‘Marco is with me, of course,’ he replied.

‘But I … What of his father?’ Robin prompted.

‘There is no father.’

Well, of course there was a father. There had to be a father! Even if, as Cesare Gambrelli’s manner indicated, he perhaps refused to acknowledge his son …?

Which, considering Carla’s brother was Cesare Gambrelli, was either very brave or very stupid of him!

‘There is no one but me,’ Cesare Gambrelli informed her tersely. ‘Which is why Marco is now my adopted son. A son who needs a mother,’ he concluded pointedly.

Robin gave a pained frown. Was this the reason? Was Marco the reason this man was demanding that she marry him? So that she could act as replacement mother for Marco, because Cesare believed her brother, Simon, had taken Carla away from him?

It was ridiculous.

Insane.

Cesare Gambrelli couldn’t seriously think she would ever—

He did, she realised, as she looked up into his hard, uncompromising face.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I really had no idea. But it still doesn’t change the fact that your marriage proposal is a preposterous idea—’

‘It was not a marriage proposal, Robin, but a statement of intent,’ Cesare told her, totally unmoved. ‘You will become my wife as soon as the arrangements can be made.’

‘You can’t force me to marry you, Mr Gambrelli,’ she came back defiantly.

‘I thought we had agreed that you would call me Cesare,’ he reminded her.

‘You decided that!’ Robin corrected. ‘And no amount of bullying on your part is going to make me marry you!’ she added determinedly.

Cesare remained impervious to her claim, seeing the two wings of angry colour in her cheeks as she looked across at him.

‘Is it not?’ Cesare’s voice was velvety soft. ‘Oh, but I think it will, Robin,’ he assured her.

She looked up at him uncertainly, her gaze searching the complete implacability of his expression.

His original plan of retribution on the Ingram family had not involved marriage, Cesare admitted, but since meeting Robin almost a week ago he had decided that this was a much more practical solution. Marco would once again have the mother he was so desperately in need of, rather than the nanny who cared for him now. A mother who, as Cesare’s wife, would also provide him with suitable entertainment.

Entertainment Robin Ingram had not seemed to view as so unpalatable a short time ago.

‘Come, Robin,’ he bit out impatiently. ‘Sharing my bed would not be so … unacceptable, would it?’

Sharing his bed. Robin’s panic-stricken thoughts echoed his words desperately.

Minutes ago she’d had only to look at this man to know she wanted him in a way she could never remember feeling before. But it was a desire that had completely deserted her once he’d told her that he intended marrying her out of misplaced revenge!

She had already escaped one marriage, which had been so disastrous she had no desire ever to repeat the experience. Had spent the last year totally avoiding even dating, let alone becoming seriously involved with anyone, knowing she had earned herself the reputation of being frigid and aloof.

Something Cesare Gambrelli’s overt sexuality didn’t even allow for!

She didn’t need to know any more about him to realise that a marriage between herself and Cesare Gambrelli would be even worse than the disaster of her first marriage!

She gave a firm shake of her head. ‘That question doesn’t even merit an answer—What are you doing?’ she gasped as Cesare Gambrelli reached her side in one forceful stride to pull her to her feet and straight into his arms.

‘Well, if you do not know, Robin, then perhaps I had better show you!’ he came back mockingly, before his head lowered and his mouth claimed hers.

She was too surprised initially either to fight or respond to the sudden onslaught—was aware only of a leaping of her pulse rate, of the way her hands moved up to grasp the broadness of his shoulders in order to stop herself falling, of how strong and muscled they were, as was the rest of his leanly hard body as he pulled her in tight against his arousal.

Robin wanted to resist him. Knew she should resist him. That she should push him away, should once again ask him to leave.

But as he moved that hard arousal sensuously against her she felt the return of that moist heat between her thighs, groaning low in her throat as his tongue parted her lips even farther and plunged hard and hot into her mouth in a rhythm that matched his thighs as they moved so seductively against hers.

Her body felt consumed by liquid fire, every part of her alive and responsive to Cesare’s slightest touch. Her nipples were hard and throbbing as he tore his mouth from hers, to lower his head and capture one of those hard peaks though her thin blouse and bra into the burning heat of his mouth, teeth gently biting even as his tongue moved moistly against that sensitive tip. Robin’s spine arched as she sought a release for the spasms of pleasure between her thighs.

So aroused, so lost in that pleasure was she, that she could only stare up at Cesare dazedly when he suddenly raised his head to look down at her triumphantly.

‘No, Robin,’ he mused. ‘I do not think sharing my bed will be unacceptable to you at all!’

His words, the scorn in his tone, made Robin feel as if she’d had a cold shower sprayed over her, so quickly did the heat of her arousal die. She pushed hard against him, almost stumbling as his arms immediately fell from around her and he stepped back to survey her with contemptuous eyes, his triumph at her capitulation more than obvious.

‘You bastard!’ she breathed furiously, her face burning both at her response to him and at his obvious disdain at her response.

‘Probably,’ he accepted unconcernedly. ‘But you will marry me, Robin. And soon, if we do not want the first of our children to be exactly what you have just called me,’ he amended.

Robin felt embarrassed by her response to him seconds ago, angry with Cesare for being able to arouse her so easily, and not a little uncomfortable in her slightly damp blouse. She certainly wasn’t in any sort of mood to put up with this man’s supreme arrogance much longer!

‘I have no intention of marrying you,’ she gritted. ‘Now or in the future!’

‘Oh, but I think you will, Robin,’ he contradicted softly. ‘I think you will marry me very soon. And I think you will do so without any more histrionics.’

Robin looked at him searchingly—at his assured expression, the challenge in his gaze. His self-confidence was such that she sensed she hadn’t yet got all the facts. ‘What is it you haven’t yet told me?’ she finally voiced slowly.

‘Intelligent as well as beautiful,’ Cesare complimented her with a mocking inclination of his head—though he was not as unmoved by what had happened a few minutes ago as he liked to appear.

Robin Ingram really did have the most responsive body—a body that he knew had been on the point of orgasm when he’d decided to release her.

But he did not intend to make love to her in the sitting room of her father’s home. He wanted to be in bed, both of them naked, when he gave Robin that release—wanted to lie and watch her, feel her, touch her as her body spasmed and trembled with pleasure. And then he wanted to lie back again, and watch her, feel her, as she gave him the same pleasure.

‘What have I not yet told you?’ he repeated consideringly, his teeth bared in a wolfish grin. ‘How very astute of you, Robin, to realise I have saved the best until last.’

‘Oh, cut the sarcasm and just get on with it!’ she bit back impatiently.

His grin turned to a genuine smile. ‘Sexual frustration has not improved your temper, I see,’ he observed in amusement.

Her eyes narrowed to purple slits. ‘You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me why it is you’re so confident that I’ll marry you, after which I will call for the butler and have you removed—forcibly, if necessary—from my father’s house!’ she warned him heatedly.

‘Somehow I do not think so,’ he taunted confidently. ‘But, nevertheless, I have no objection to satisfying your curiosity.’ He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘In fact, it was always my intention to tell you exactly why it is you have no choice but to agree to marrying me.’

‘I’m all ears!’ Robin came back wearily, wanting this man gone. Not just from the house, but from her life!

She wanted to sit and lick her wounds—her battle scars!—in private, away from this man’s all-seeing, all-knowing gaze.

‘On the contrary,’ Cesare Gambrelli continued derisively. ‘Your ears, though charming, are far from your best feature.’ His gaze moved slowly down to her breasts, lingering there.

It took all of Robin’s will-power not to look down at her breasts too—to check and see if the material had dried enough yet after the caressing of this man’s mouth for her nipples not to be clearly visible.

‘You have ten seconds left!’ she warned through gritted teeth.

He gave a confident smile even as he reached into the top pocket of his jacket, bringing out several pieces of paper that he began to unfold with infuriating slowness.

Robin watched him much as a fly must watch the spider that had caught it in its web. She was sure, from Cesar1e Gabrelli’s unshakeable manner, that whatever those papers contained he personally had no doubts it was enough to induce her to accept his marriage proposal.

The marriage proposal that hadn’t been a marriage proposal at all, but a statement of intent!

CHAPTER THREE

‘IS IT NOT time for you to call the butler, Robin?’ Cesare Gambrelli prompted. ‘I believe my allotted ten seconds are up!’

Yes, they were up, and they had passed slowly, painstakingly, as this man meticulously unfolded the sheets of paper he had withdrawn from his jacket pocket.

But her curiosity was such—as Cesare Gambrelli had known it would be!—that Robin had no intention of calling for anyone until she knew exactly what those papers contained.

‘And I believe I told you to get on with it?’ she came back tightly, so tense that her shoulders actually ached.

His mouth tightened. ‘I do not care to have you, or indeed anyone else, tell me what to do!’

‘Ditto,’ she assured him tartly.

Cesare looked at her through narrowed lids, noting the pallor beneath her angrily inflamed cheeks, the way she held her body so rigidly, the telltale tremble in her tightly clenched hands.

All signs that she was not as calm or composed as she wished him to believe.

Perhaps he had pushed her enough for the moment. After all, he had plenty of time—years—in which to take his retribution.