The Italian's Baby Bargain: The Italian's Wedding Ultimatum / The Italian's Forced Bride / The Mancini Marriage Bargain

His dark eyes meshed with hers. ‘You are the problem.’ And one he was going to sort once and for all.

Sam stared, totally bemused by his aggressive response. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No, I have not been drinking. I saw you throw yourself at him.’

Sam shook her head at this harsh addition. ‘Throw…? Who…?’

His dark eyes flicked across her slightly parted lips and his own moved in a moue of distaste.’ Kiss him…’ He smiled cynically as he watched the guilty colour fly to her pale cheeks. ‘There is a name for women who do that to married men.’

This last contemptuous observation and that horrid smile snuffed out the guilt Sam had nursed for the secret she carried in her heart and loosened the firm grip she normally kept on her Celtic redhead’s temper. She trembled with the force of the surge of anger that washed over her as she read the superior condemnation in his face.

If she hadn’t been in the grip of strong emotions—namely the desire to physically remove the nasty smile from his smug face—she might have remembered that it probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonise someone who was in a position to make Jonny’s life uncomfortable. But caution wasn’t part of her plan as, head flung back, she took a step towards him.

The sheer, unmitigated nerve of the man—looking down his nose at her like that. Especially when you considered this was the same person who had refused to deny or confirm the rumours that he was the real reason a high-profile politician and his lawyer wife had split up. He was obviously as guilty as sin! Sam chose to ignore the fact that at the time she had argued with a friend that silence did not equate to guilt.

‘You have something against kissing…?’ she asked, injecting sarcasm into her voice and being rewarded by the expression on his face.

Clean up your own act before you criticise other people, she thought grimly.

‘Is that kissing generally…?’ A finger pressed to the soft indentation in her firmly rounded chin, she pretended to consider this possibility. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head from side to side. ‘That can’t be right. Because you appeared to have nothing against kissing at that film premiere, when that girl was eating your face.’ The tasteless pictures had been plastered over every tabloid’s front page the next day.

Sam almost laughed. He couldn’t have looked more astonished if one of the pieces of furniture had spoken up for itself. She was dimly aware, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that the adrenaline rush she was experiencing was responsible for half the things coming out of her mouth. Her inability to back down in the face of warning signs you’d have to be blind not to see was down to her own stupidity.

Her breath coming in short, shallow bursts, she studied his proud, patrician features. Hard disdain and anger was implicit in every intriguing hollow and strong plane. His nostrils were flared and his firm jaw tight, and his golden skin was drawn taut across the angles of his jutting cheekbones.

‘The lady in question was not married.’

That made a change, then. ‘Nor very fussy, it would seem.’

She sniffed, and smiled sweetly in response to his hoarsely ejaculated, ‘Dio mio!’

‘But then some people will endure almost anything to advance their careers. I suppose I’m just lucky that I didn’t need to sleep my way to the top.’

Sam registered the dark glitter visible through the mesh of his long lashes and her stomach took a lurching dive. It was only sheer bloody-minded obstinacy—of which her nearest and dearest said she had been gifted an extra portion—that enabled Sam to maintain eye contact.

‘You are at the top, then, are you…?’ His smile said more clearly than any words that he thought she was lying.

The comment made Sam, normally the most self-deprecating of creatures, who would have been the first to play down her success, stick out her chin and boast boldly, ‘I will be.’ Her long-suffering editor, who was often heard to despair over her lack of drive and ambition, would have stared to hear that. ‘And wherever I am,’ she added, with the confidence of someone who knew a company wanted her to write a TV serialisation of the accident-prone feline she had created, ‘at least I won’t have to rely on my looks to stay there.’

There was a pause as his dark glance moved down her reed-slender figure. ‘That is indeed fortunate.’ Actually, she had the sort of delicate bone structure that would enable her to grow old gracefully. And lily-pale flawless skin. His eyes slid over the graceful length of her slender neck and the line between his brows deepened.

Two can play at that game, mate, she thought, smiling at him through gritted teeth. ‘Nor do I have to worry that people want to be my friend just because of what I can do for them.’

‘I consider myself an excellent judge of character.’

Sam’s malicious smile widened. In a rather perverse way she was almost enjoying this exchange of smiling insults. Of course she would have enjoyed kicking his shins even more, but as she was no longer six the option wasn’t open. ‘Of course you do. But this time you have got it so wrong you’re going to feel very stupid.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘Being able to admit when you’re wrong is a sign of maturity.’

‘A subject you would not know one hell of a lot about.’

Great—so now I’m childish, and I go around kissing married men! Sam, who didn’t like the way his dark eyes were lingering on her mouth, decided enough was enough—even if the verbal tussle was exhilarating. ‘Look, you’ve got it wrong—’

‘I know what I saw.’

His sheer bloody-minded intransigence made her want to scream. ‘And even if I did kiss him, what business would it be of yours?’ Even before she saw his expression she knew that he’d interpret her angry retort as an admission of guilt. Frankly, she was past caring.

‘Katerina is my sister, and I will protect her.’

She gave up trying to prove her innocence and asked, ‘How are you going to stop me sleeping with Jonny?’

‘I think telling him you are mine will have the desired effect.’

He said it so matter of factly that Sam thought at first she had misunderstood him. The uncertainty only lasted a moment. There was no room for misinterpretation in his ruthless smile. Honestly, this man belonged in a different century! Mine, he had said…As though owning someone body and soul was perfectly acceptable.

The idea of surrendering control to a man like Alessandro Di Livio was a concept that made her shudder with horror…Are you so sure it’s horror?

Sam swallowed. ‘I take it you’re not an advocate of political correctness?’ she observed, moistening her dry lips with her tongue. She inhaled and raised her eyes, only to discover his burning gaze was fixed on her mouth. As their eyes connected the blaze of raw hunger in his nailed her to the spot.

Paralysed by a stab of lust so strong she couldn’t breathe, Sam stared up at him. He reminded her of a sleek jungle cat—beautiful, and totally ruthless. She had always considered the claim that danger was attractive a particularly stupid one. Now she knew that she had been very wrong. The fear she had denied feeling moments earlier was now coursing through her veins, along with some primitive stuff she had no intention of ever analysing.

There was no point. None of this was real, she told herself. It was all the result of some freak chain of events—events that were never going to happen again. She was never going to feel this way again. She was going to go home and close the door and everything would go back to the way it had been before Alessandro Di Livio had looked at her as if he wanted to rip off her clothes.

Sam closed her eyes, thought about closing that door, and felt slightly calmer. She might get a new safety bolt fitted…She opened her eyes and pointed out the obvious flaw in his manipulative plan.

‘Jonny wouldn’t believe it…’ She thought about it, and added. ‘Nobody would believe you.’

‘Why not?’

Was he serious? Her eyes travelled up the long, lean, gorgeous length of him before settling on his dark, fallen angel features. ‘Because you’re…’ She just stopped short of saying incredibly beautiful, and substituted a husky, ‘I don’t like you. Everyone knows that.’

One dark brow lifted at everyone, and he looked amused. ‘Liking is not a prerequisite to…’ he slotted in.

‘Ownership…?’ she suggested sweetly. ‘Look, this conversation is going nowhere—but I am.’

She edged towards the door, but he blocked her way with his body.

Lips pursed and eyes narrowed, she glared up at him. ‘You’re in my way.’

‘Before you go I want to make very sure that you know it would be unwise for you to continue your pursuit of Trelevan.’

A whistling sound of frustration escaped her clenched teeth. My God, the man was fixated! ‘Where do you get off, making a judgement about me?’ she demanded, indignation making her voice shrill. ‘How many times have we met…? Five…? How dare you? You don’t even know me!’

‘Eight. Not including today.’

The smooth correction made her stare. ‘You were counting…?’ Her brows lifted and she laughed nervously. ‘Should I be flattered?’ Her expression hardened. ‘Or afraid…? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But then bullies always do,’ she contended grimly. ‘Only I’m not afraid of you, Mr Di Livio. Not at all,’ she stressed shakily, before she was forced to pause to gasp for breath.

‘There is nothing preventing us getting to know one another better, if that is what you would like.’

Sam rubbed her damp palms against her skirt and didn’t even let herself think about what he meant by that. ‘Other than mutual dislike. And I wouldn’t like.’

‘Dislike…?’ he mused contemplatively. After a moment he shook his dark head and a predatory smile split his lean features. ‘Dislike is such a mild word. I think it goes much deeper with us than mere dislike.’

The tactile quality she had noticed before in his deep, darkly textured voice was stronger than ever. Sam swallowed. This man really did have the market in enigmatic and disturbing cornered!

‘You lack caution and judgement.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing.’ Her response had worryingly little to do with caution and a lot to do with the excitement that was tying her stomach in knots! ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s a bit cold out here.’ Actually, she no longer felt the cold—her skin was burning.

Instead of moving out of her way, he leaned against the ajar door, causing it to close with a loud click.

Sam’s voice was flat, even though inside she was panicking. ‘Excuse me…’

His dark eyes slid down her slim figure before returning to her face. The overt contempt in his expression brought a sparkle of anger to Sam’s wide-spaced eyes.

‘No, I will not excuse you.’

Taken aback by the overt provocation in his response Sam blinked.

A long silence followed, which he showed no signs of filling until he suddenly said accusingly, ‘Your eyes have turned green.’

‘Pardon me…?’ It was possible she had misheard him. It was equally possible her aquamarine eyes had turned green. This happened when she was in the grip of strong emotions. Chameleon eyes, her father called them. Though the colour-change did not disguise but reveal the depth of her feelings.

‘No, I will not do that either.’ Without warning he reached out and took her chin in between long brown fingers and carried on looking into her eyes, which were still green. ‘You would not want me for an enemy, cara.’

Gazing up into the dark mesmeric depth of his astounding eyes, Sam felt the breath leave her body in one long, shuddering sigh. Her knees began to give, and she closed her eyes while she tried to tap into her reserves of wilting composure.

She opened her eyes and gave a contemptuous smile. ‘Almost as little as I’d want you as a friend.’

One corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. ‘Friendship is not possible between men and women.’

That he held this chauvinistic viewpoint did not surprise Sam at all. ‘You would think that. It just so happens that one of my best friends is a male.’

‘And sex has never got in the way…?’

He said it as calmly as if he was asking her how she liked her steak. Sam was less then comfortable about discussing sex in the same county as this man, let alone while he was touching her. She looked away, aware of the flush that had mounted her cheeks. ‘I’m talking about Jonny.’

‘So am I.’

Sam’s horrified gaze flew to his face. ‘All I am to Jonny is a s…supportive friend. I’m getting tired of telling you—there’s never been anything like that between us!’ she protested shrilly.

‘And you wouldn’t want there to be? Do not play the innocent with me. I have been watching you.’

‘The all-knowing, all-seeing Alessandro Di Livio?’ Sam cut in, her voice a successful marriage of boredom and amusement. Inside, however, she was struggling to control her rising panic. She lifted her chin, carefully focusing her gaze somewhere over his right shoulder to avoid contact with those hateful knowing eyes. ‘In case you’ve forgotten,’ she reminded him, ‘Jonny is married.’

Alessandro arched an ironic brow and wondered if the copper hair felt as silky as it looked. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ His voice dropped to a low, threatening purr as he pushed his point home. ‘And I suggest you don’t.’

Sam felt the humiliating colour in her cheeks deepen.

Of course it wouldn’t occur to him that she might have the odd principle or two. ‘I’ve told you—Jonny and I are just good friends.’

A quiver of irritation crossed his olive-skinned face and he gritted something soft and angry in his native tongue.

‘Well, let’s just say your mouth says one thing…’ He paused, a slightly distracted expression drifting across his face as his glance zeroed in on the soft full curves of her lips. ‘And,’ he continued, anger hardening his voice, ‘those big, hungry eyes say another thing entirely. Have you been waiting for him to notice that you’re a woman?’ He released a low, scornful laugh as his eyes raked her stricken face. ‘Of course it is entirely possible you wouldn’t like it if he had,’ he mused, half to himself.

‘I wouldn’t know—he never has!’ Sam was pushed into yelling.

A moment later she connected with his eyes and wanted to curl up and die from sheer humiliation. But pride, and the scorn in his eyes, made her stick out her chin and pronounce in a low, but clear voice, ‘But I’m not the type to give up at the first hurdle.’

His dark brows twitched into a disapproving straight line above his masterful nose. ‘Are you totally without conscience?’

The irony made her laugh. ‘Gosh!’ she sighed, holding up her hands in mock surrender. ‘You’ve seen right through me. I’m your original scarlet woman. Your sons are not safe while I’m around.’ Her lips twisted into a derisive grimace. ‘For goodness’ sake, you silly man, I don’t represent a danger to anyone.’

He stiffened, and from where she stood she could distinctly hear the sound of his startled inhalation. Sam studied his face and thought, I’m guessing that nobody has ever called him a silly man before. More’s the pity. If they had he might have learnt not to take himself so desperately seriously.

His dark eyes narrowed to slits, but the startled annoyance glittering in the dark depths was mingled with reluctant admiration as he registered the mockery shining in her eyes. ‘You are a very aggravating female.’

She glared back up at him, torn between exhilaration and exasperation and wishing that he’d yelled—not used that purring tone which made more places than the soles of her feet tingle. ‘And you,’ she declared, dumping diplomacy in favour of bluntness, ‘are much more likely to be the cause of the break-up of your sister’s marriage than I am!’

His lips curled. ‘Me…?’ He dismissed her words with a shrug of his magnificent shoulders. ‘You think you can shift the blame that easily?’ A suspicious expression slid into his deep-set eyes. ‘You are talking as though a break-up is inevitable…?’

When Sam turned her head away, her lips tight, Alessandro placed a finger under her chin and drew her face round to him. His narrowed eyes scanned her angry face.

‘What do you know…?’ he demanded, his voice dropping in volume in direct proportion to the degree of threat in his tone.

‘Like I’d tell you if I did know anything,’ she retorted, pulling her chin free.

Her breath coming in short, angry gasps that made her chest rise and fall in tune with her rapid respirations, Sam planted her hands on her hips and angled an angry glare up at him, her eyes flashing green fire.

‘Oh, you will tell me…’

At that moment Sam was willing to do just about anything to wipe that confident smirk off his impossibly good-looking face. ‘Brought your thumbscrews with you, did you?’

Before he could confirm or deny this a giggling couple carrying glasses of wine came around the corner. They saw Alessandro and Sam and stopped dead.

‘Oops—pretend we’re not here!’ said the girl, grabbing her partner’s hand and winking at Sam before she dragged him away.

‘Oh, God!’ groaned Sam, burying her face in her hands. ‘Just what I need.’ Pam Sullivan was the sort of gossip who could make the most innocent incident sound salacious.

‘You’re right—we need some privacy.’

Sam’s head came up, her expression horrorstruck. She needed privacy with Alessandro Di Livio the same way she needed cellulite!

‘That place over there—what is it?’ He nodded towards a section of tiled roof just visible beyond a large shrubbery.

‘It’s the gazebo, I think.’ The original intention had been for a band to be situated there, so that the guests could listen while they sat or strolled around the lovely grounds. Then the weather had intervened and things had been hastily transferred indoors.

‘It will suit our purposes,’ he announced.

God, if Pam had heard that it would have made her year. ‘Look,’ Sam said, deciding it was time to inject a little reality into the conversation, ‘the only place I’m going is back indoors. I’m freezing cold, and this conversation—such as it is—is over.’

She froze and looked at the hand on her arm. A strong, shapely hand, with long, tapering fingers. Having it touching her without any sort of warning switched her brain into mush mode.

‘Yes, you are cold,’ he agreed, sliding one brown finger under the neck of her blouse. It slid slowly across the bony prominence of her collarbone before moving back to the hollow at the base of her throat. The blue-veined pulse there was throbbing so hard that he couldn’t fail to feel it.

Had her brain not already been mush, she might have noticed that his fingers lingered there a lot longer than was strictly necessary—not that it mattered. The damage was done in the first micro-second of contact.

It had an electric effect—almost literally! It was, Sam mused, as she tried to focus her hazy thoughts, like being plugged into the mains. It took the space of a heartbeat for the shock to travel all the way to her curling toes.

‘I don’t want your jacket.’ Actually, there were other things she wanted less—things like the surge of lustful longing that was making her ache in every cell of her body. But a lifetime of focusing on good things enabled her to look on the bright side: now that he was no longer touching her, her paralysed vocal cords had started working.

Acting as if she hadn’t spoken—no change there—he carried on shrugging off the beautifully tailored pale grey jacket he wore. Draping it over her shoulders, he placed a hand in the small of her back and propelled her in the direction of the gazebo.

‘You don’t take no for an answer, do you?’ His jacket retained the warmth of his body and held the faint, elusive fragrance that was exclusively him—a mingling of the masculine fragrance he favoured, soap, and warm male.

Standing there in his silk shirt, he appeared not to notice the cold—even though the fabric was fine enough for her almost to see through. She could definitely see the strategic drift of dark body hair on his chest, and the suggestion of muscle definition on his taut washboard belly.

Ashamed of what amounted to a fascination with his body, Sam—painfully aware that her cheeks were burning—turned her head to one side. Well, as far as she was concerned he could freeze to death—and good riddance!

‘This is ridiculous,’ she muttered under her breath, thinking, He’s not a man, he’s a darned force of nature. Despite the fact that saying no to him had as much impact as saying no to a hurricane, she was uneasily aware that she ought to have at least tried. The casual observer might have been forgiven for jumping to the conclusion that she actually wanted to prolong their time together.

A comment Emma had made not long after she’d met the man she was eventually to marry popped into Sam’s head. ‘You know, Sam, I have more fun fighting with Paul than having sex with any other man. Makes me wonder what the sex will be like…Actually, I started wondering that about five seconds after I met him.’

When Sam had admitted with a touch of envy that she’d never met a stranger who had that effect on her, Emma had laughed and said with total conviction that she would one day.

Though exposed on one side, the gazebo did offer some protection from the elements. Once inside, Alessandro took her by the shoulders and spun her to face him. Leaving his hands where they were, he looked down into her face.

Chapter Four

OH, GOD, did today have to be the day? And did he have to be this stranger?

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he asked.

I was trying to imagine what it would be like having sex with you, was clearly out, and she wasn’t sure if her voice even worked, so Sam shook her head, and inside his jacket carried on trembling. She had no intention of surrendering to her darkest urges even had the opportunity arisen. And she supposed to some people the gazebo, tucked away from prying eyes, might represent that opportunity.

Actually, the fact she had dark urges at all was a bit of shock-horror revelation. The urges she felt for Jonny could not be described as dark, she mused. Those feelings were a lot more wholesome and easier to handle. Also, there was a certain safety in fantasising about a man who had never noticed you had breasts.

While Alessandro didn’t like her, and actually seemed pretty much to despise her, Sam did get the impression he knew…

‘This situation is easily resolved. Just tell me what you know.’

Shamefully aware of the ache and burning tingle in her shamelessly engorged breasts, Sam crossed her hands across her chest in a protective gesture. ‘This is getting beyond ridiculous.’

‘What is ridiculous is you thinking I’m going to let you go before you tell what you know about the problems in my sister’s marriage. And don’t tell me you don’t know anything, because you look as guilty as hell.’

‘And you look—!’ She watched as his lashes dipped, casting a shadow across the slashing curve of his strong cheekbones, and the breath suddenly snagged in her throat. You look perfect, damn you!

She stepped back, and his hands fell from her shoulders. Still feeling the imprint of his light touch on her skin, she squinted angrily up at him. ‘This isn’t guilt,’ she said pointing at her face. ‘This is fear for my safety. You are obviously a total lunatic.’

‘Then I suggest you humour me.’

Sam swung away, her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. Her low heels clicked on the wooden floor as she walked to the opposite side of the octagonal enclosure to put as much space as was humanly possible between them. A faintly pointless exercise, as the sound of footsteps behind her indicated the wretched man had followed her.