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

‘Fine!’ she cried, throwing her hands up and turning to face him. ‘The problem with Kat’s marriage? Yes, there’s a problem.’ She jabbed a finger in the direction of his chest. ‘Like I said—you.’

Alessandro looked at the small finger and felt a sudden distracting desire to lift it to his lips. ‘I warn you, I will have an answer.’

‘And I’m giving you one. Has Kat asked you to intervene in her marriage?’

In the act of dragging a hand through his dark and tousled hair, Alessandro stopped and slung her an exasperated look. ‘What sort of question is that?’

Sam ignored the interjection. ‘Well, has she?’

‘Of course she hasn’t.’

‘And would she feel able to come to you if she needed to?’

He looked indignant. ‘Of course she would.’

‘Then don’t you think it might be a good idea to wait until then before you jump in with your…’ she glanced at his feet and added, ‘…size twelves? Kat is twenty-one,’ she reminded him.

‘She was nineteen when she got married. At nineteen she should have been—’

Sam actually felt a twinge of sympathy as he clamped his lips together and inhaled deeply through flared nostrils.

‘You thought she was too young to get married?’

‘Do you think at nineteen you should be deciding to commit yourself to one person?’ he demanded scathingly. ‘What were you doing at nineteen?’

She responded unthinkingly to the curious question. ‘I was training to be a teacher.’

‘And would your parents have been happy if you’d turned up at home married to some beach bum?’

‘Jonny was not a beach bum—he was a champion surfer.’

‘I stand corrected,’ he inserted drily. ‘Married to an exchampion surfer.’

‘My parents would have flipped,’ she admitted. ‘But it happened, so you just have to live with it. You know, I think Kat is pretty resourceful—and quite capable of sorting out her own life. It might be easier for her to do that if you weren’t always there, hovering in the background like a bad smell.’ Actually, he smelt pretty wonderful—but she felt the occasion called for a little poetic licence. ‘Don’t you think,’ she asked him gently, ‘that it’s time you let go? Doesn’t Kat deserve the chance to make her own mistakes?’

An expression of blank astonishment spread across Alessandro’s face. ‘You think you are qualified to offer me advice?’

‘Not qualified, maybe,’ she conceded, flushing at his sneering tone. ‘But you asked. I know you have a close relationship with your sister—’

‘You know nothing about it.’

‘I used to wish I wasn’t an only child, but meeting you has made me realise what a lucky escape I’ve had. Let me spell it out. The fact is you are no longer the person she’s meant to turn to for support. Couldn’t you settle for being emergency back-up rather than the main man? Have you any idea,’ she wondered out loud, ‘how intimidating you must be to a younger man?’

‘Intimidating…?’ he echoed, looking bewildered by her contention.

‘What man could compete with the marvellous Alessandro Di Livio?’ she asked, rolling her eyes.

His mobile lips thinned with displeasure. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Looking thoughtful despite his terse tone, he added, ‘It isn’t a competition.’

‘Not to you maybe…’ she inserted drily.

‘I have never interfered in my sister’s marriage.’

Sam stared at him, wondering how on earth he could say that with a straight face. ‘Oh, pardon me. I must have imagined the past…’ she glanced at her watch, her eyes widening ‘…half an hour.’

‘It has felt like longer,’ he gritted.

Under the capacious folds of his jacket, Sam folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’re being nasty because you know I’m right. You really shouldn’t grind your teeth like that.’

She stood and listened in silent admiration as he loosed a flood of very angry-sounding Italian. If tone was anything to go by he seemed to have an extensive knowledge of expletives in his native tongue.

‘If you’re in love with Trelevan surely it would be in your best interests to see his marriage fail?’

The angry colour in Sam’s cheeks deepened. ‘Caring for someone obviously doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me. When you care for someone you want them to be happy.’

‘Care…?’ His lips twisted derisively as he spat the word. ‘I am not talking about caring. I am talking about passion…lust…’

And I so wish you wouldn’t! ‘I think you’re talking about sleazy sex.’

‘And you? What are you talking about? Holding hands?’ he suggested, reaching out and capturing one of hers. ‘Picking out matching china and deciding on the new garden furniture?’

Angrily Sam tore her hand from his, praying that his no doubt well-developed predatory instincts had not told him what the contact had done to her. ‘You’re obsessed with sex!’ And it’s catching.

The claim made him laugh. ‘Well, at least I don’t have a problem with it.’

The taunt made her cheeks burn. ‘I don’t have a problem with sex—just you!’

‘It makes you blush just to say the word…’ he discovered, sounding astonished. ‘I don’t believe you have ever wanted someone so much that you would do anything to have them.’ He angled a speculative look at her flushed face. ‘When was it you decided he was the love of your life?’

‘I’m not going to discuss Jonny with you.’

He gave a grimace of distaste. ‘Give me honest lust rather than mawkish sentimentality any day.’ His expressive upper lip curled. ‘Look at me—I’ve got a broken heart, but what a little trouper I am…’ He gave a snort of disgust and shook his head. ‘Heaven preserve me from women who fancy themselves as martyrs.’

Scenting a certain inconsistency in his criticism, she held up her hands. ‘Hang on—I thought I was some sort of calculating, husband-stealing—’

‘Frankly,’ he said, dragging his hand through his dark hair in an exasperated manner, ‘I’m not quite sure what you are.’

The way he was looking at her made Sam’s throat grow dry. She pressed a hand to her throat, where her heart was trying to climb out of her chest.

‘You have been generous with your advice…so let me give you some in exchange.’

She folded her arms across her chest and looked bored. ‘This should be good…’

‘Stop weaving your sexual fantasies around somebody else’s husband and go out and get yourself a lover.’

This recommendation drew an inarticulate gurgle from Sam’s throat. ‘Jonny does not feature in my sexual fantasies!’

His eyes stayed hard and hostile while he bared his teeth in a wolfish leer. ‘Then he definitely isn’t the man for you.’

‘I do not have sexual fantasies!’ she choked.

‘Then you really are as repressed as you look.’

Sam regarded him with loathing and prayed that one day he would tell a woman he loved her and she would laugh in his face. That such a woman existed was somewhat doubtful, but if there was any justice at all one day he would crash and burn—and she would be there to see it!

‘Then you don’t have to worry, do you? I’m too repressed to seduce your sister’s husband. And, just for the record, I do not fancy myself a martyr,’ she added, in a voice that shook with the strength of her outraged feelings. ‘And I doubt if you’re capable of anything deeper than lust—with anyone other than yourself, that is.’

The only response she got to her biting condemnation was a quirk of one dark brow. ‘Are you surprised he has never noticed you are a woman when you dress like—? On every occasion I have seen you, you dress to hide your femininity, not celebrate it.’

‘You mean flaunt?’ Sam suggested, and gave a scornful laugh. Actually, she didn’t find being thought dowdy and unattractive by a man who had to be about the most attractive creature on the planet nearly so amusing as she made out. ‘I don’t enjoy being leered at.’

One ebony brow lifted as he affected amazement. ‘I’m amazed you have any experience of leering.’

Ashamed of the weakness which brought the hot sting of tears to her eyes, Sam gritted her teeth and glared up at him. ‘Not all men are as shallow as you!’

‘I think you’ll find they are, cara.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want the sort of man I have to tart myself up for and pretend to be something I’m not.’

‘I think the idea is that the man should make you feel sexy and attractive. Hasn’t any man done that for you?’

Sam pressed her hands to her ears and shook her head in a childish gesture of denial. ‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll…I’ll…!’

Her frustrated threat ignited a look of astonishment in his heavy-lidded eyes, and then, as he appeared ready to reward her audacity with a killer retort, he saw the telltale glitter in her eyes. ‘You’re crying…?’

Sam bit her lip and shook her head. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ she accused.

Without warning he reached across and took the hand she held clenched against her chest, raising it towards his mouth. ‘I have no desire to see you weep. But that red-headed temper…it will get you into trouble if you don’t learn to tame it.’

Fighting clear of the paralysis which held her a pliant spectator, Sam snatched her hand from his grasp and backed away. Her eyes trained unblinkingly on his face, she carried on backing up until the backs of her legs made contact with a wooden chair. She let out a small shriek and stumbled, and would have fallen if a strong arm hadn’t snaked around her waist.

‘You should be more careful,’ he cautioned.

A shaky laugh squeezed its way past the emotional congestion in her aching throat. ‘That sounds like excellent advice,’ she said, fixing her eyes on a point mid-way up his chest.

His dark, autocratic features were hard and remote as he posed his question. ‘You love him…?’

Very aware of the arm still encircling her waist, she cleared her throat. ‘I’m not about to discuss my feelings with you.’ So what have you been doing for the past half an hour?

‘What I don’t understand is why you stood back and let her take him?’

Sam felt something inside her snap. Her head came up. Let her…? He made it sound as though she’d had some sort of option.

‘What would you have had me do?’ she demanded, stabbing a finger within a whisper of his broad chest.

‘Do…?’ he said, watching the accusing finger with an expression of fascination.

‘Well, you seem to be the expert.’ She angled her head, directing her resentful glare into his lean face and stepping backwards. The fact that she wanted to protest when his hand fell away only made her angrier.

‘How would you go about making someone notice you?’ She recognised the total stupidity of her question the moment the words had left her lips.

As if anyone was not going to notice him!

Let’s face it, the man was a total hunk—with more rampant maleness in his little finger than most men had in their entire bodies. He was the perfect male specimen—from the top of his sleek, glossy head to his highly polished shoes. Her resentful glare slid from his bronzed, beautifully sculpted features and skidded over his lean, lithe frame. Some men might wear a suit to disguise a few unwanted inches around the middle, but not him. Even sheathed in perfect tailoring there was no disguising that Alessandro’s body was in perfect condition.

‘I thought such things came naturally to a woman,’ he offered suggestively.

Sam sucked in a furious breath through her clenched teeth. ‘There’s nothing natural,’ she sneered, ‘about push-up bras.’ Glaring at him, she clamped her hands over her not terribly impressive breasts. ‘Or, for that matter, comfortable—and besides, this has nothing whatever to do with underwear.’

‘You were the one who introduced the subject,’ he pointed out mildly.

‘What would you have suggested? That I flaunt a bit of leg?’ she asked, extending one slender appendage in his direction. A snort of disgust escaped her lips as she shook her hair back from her hot face. ‘Take up pole-dancing?’ she challenged.

His dark eyes travelled up the slender curve of her calf. ‘An interesting thought,’ he murmured, swallowing. ‘But it probably wouldn’t have done you any good if there was no chemistry to begin with.’

‘For your information, I wouldn’t demean myself just to get a man,’ she declared hotly. Then aware that his eyes were fixed on her hands and what they covered, she dropped them and added, ‘I suppose that’s the sort of thing you like? Women who make fools of themselves to get your attention?’

His dark brows lifted to a quizzical angle. ‘You consider it demeaning to seduce a man?’

‘Seduce…?’ she echoed, as an image of herself astride the prone figure of a man, running her fingers down his lean, hard torso flashed through her mind. The image itself was deeply disconcerting. The fact that the man in question was Alessandro was utterly shocking.

‘It is what a women who is worthy of the name would do to get the man she loves,’ he contended calmly. ‘It is certainly a more healthy option than clinging to a juvenile infatuation.’

‘I’m not infatuated with anyone,’ she choked, thinking that if she could curse anyone with unrequited love it would be this man.

Continuing to scan her upturned features, his only response to her protest was a smile that made her want to hit him.

‘You spend too many evenings alone with your romantic dreams. Sex isn’t about soft focus and sweet music,’ he derided scornfully. ‘Sex is visceral. It’s about smells and texture…’ Without warning he reached out and ran a long brown finger down the inner aspect of her wrist. Sam gasped as the light contact sent an electric shock through her body.

When she finally got her paralysed vocal cords to respond, her voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. ‘Thank you for the lesson…’ She had no doubt at all that he was a master of the subject.

His mesmerising eyes locked onto hers and Sam felt her knees shake.

‘It’s about sweat.’ His low, throaty purr had an almost narcotic quality, and Sam, aware of the danger it presented, was seduced by it anyway.

She might not like the man, she might loathe what he was and what he stood for, but she wasn’t crazy enough to imagine she had been granted some sort of immunity to the raw sexuality he exuded.

Painfully conscious of her wildly quivering stomach muscles, and aware that she was quite literally panting—which could give the wrong impression—Sam fought to control her breathing, perfectly aware that there was nothing mutual about the chemical reaction she was suffering. How could there be? Compared to the sexy, in-control women he dated, she must seem like a sexless reject…an oddity.

Sam sniffed and lifted her chin to an aggressive angle. At that moment if she had been granted any wish she would have blown it without a second thought for that special X factor that made some women totally irresistible to the opposite sex—or at least one of the opposite sex.

Well, let’s face it, Sam, the only place you’re going to be able to say no when he begs you to be with him is in your dreams.

‘If I want sweat I’ll go to a gym,’ she retorted, just managing to sound derisive even though her knees were shaking.

The longer this confrontation went on the stronger the feeling became that she was a voyeur rather than a participant in the scene. She shivered and released a scared gasp as his half-closed eyes moved over her slender body.

‘What you need is some reality,’ he concluded.

His thickened accent nailed her to the spot. Was there anything short of a Lotto win that was less real than discussing sweaty sex with Alessandro Di Livio? ‘Reality…?’ A shaky laugh emerged from her lips, sounding reckless when in reality she had never felt less reckless in her life.

‘What I don’t need,’ she panted hoarsely, ‘is advice from you!’

‘What you need is some…’ his heavy-lidded eyes touched her mouth and his own lips quirked ‘…substance.’

‘Next you’ll be telling me that what I need is you…’ Her scornful laugh faded as he took her face between his big hands, and she thought, Did I invite this…?

As he looked at her wide, soft pink mouth, a sound that was close to a growl vibrated in his throat. Sam felt the vibration and opened her own mouth to say something frosty and ascerbically cutting, which would awaken him to the fact that he wasn’t dealing with one of his simpering push-overs, but encountered his glittering eyes. All her life her cutting one-liners had saved her from uncomfortable situations, yet now, of all times, her ability to deliver a slick comeback had failed her!

The last time she had seen that much barely restrained heat had been in a disaster movie about a volcano. She became aware of the fact that she was no longer cold—no longer cold to the point where she was burning up.

‘If you kiss me I’ll sleep with Jonny,’ she hissed.

Chapter Five

OF COURSE she realised too late that this wasn’t the sort of man who responded well to threats—even empty ones. Only he didn’t know it was empty, because he clearly considered her a trollop when he wasn’t thinking she was frigid. His entire attitude towards her was decidedly schizophrenic.

Alessandro cupped the back of her head in one hand and drew her face up to his. This was one of those moments that definitely required a verbal bucket of cold water to stop a bad situation getting worse.

A moment where Sam knew she had to send him a very strong, unambiguous message.

Moaning and grabbing his jacket while she gasped, ‘Oh, God!’ was not the message she had intended to send! But it was either that or fall down at his feet, so she chose the option which was on balance marginally less humiliating.

His long fingers moved through the strands of hair, grazing her scalp and causing several million nerve-endings to sigh as she inhaled the warm male scent of his hard, lean body. There was an expression of fierce fascination in his face as he let the silky strands fall through his fingers, making Sam’s senses spin.

‘Your hair should be hot,’ he rasped throatily.

Why not? The rest of me is. She was burning up from the inside out. Common sense told her that there were no flames burning in his utterly spectacular eyes, but knowing it was a mirage didn’t stop her stomach dropping to somewhere below her knees.

‘I really think…Oh, God…’ She sucked in her breath sharply as he moved his thumb across her trembling lips. ‘The thing is, you don’t have to do this…’

It didn’t take a genius to work out his sudden interest. He thought if he kissed her she would forget about Jonny and start lusting after him. An inconvenience he was no doubt prepared to put up with for his sister’s sake!

Her heavy lids lifted when he stopped what he was doing—something which Sam was dismayed to discover she had mixed feelings about. Blinking, her passion-glazed eyes wide and wary, she glimpsed for a split second his expression. She thought he looked shocked, then a short, strange laugh was wrenched from his throat and he bent his head towards her.

‘The thing is, though, I find I do.’ His expression suggested that the discovery didn’t make him overwhelmingly happy.

‘But I’m not going to seduce Jonny,’ she protested weakly. ‘And if I did,’ she confessed, ‘he probably wouldn’t notice. He doesn’t think of me as a girl…’

Alessandro focused on the curve of her lower lip, which was hard to do without biting into the luscious pink softness. ‘Not even he is that much of an idiot…’ he said, thinking he probably was.

‘He is…That is, no, Jonny’s not an idiot!’ Sam protested. ‘You just don’t understand—’

Alessandro’s angry voice cut across her faltering defence of the man she was clearly infatuated with. ‘I don’t want to understand,’ he informed her tautly.

‘But you…’ The raw, driven intensity of the way he was looking at her made the words dry as her aching throat closed over.

‘The only thing I want to do is taste you,’ he confided, in a rough velvet drawl that made every individual cell of her body ache with a deeply disturbing nameless need. ‘And I’d prefer you didn’t talk about another man while I do it.’

‘Don’t I have any say in the matter?’

She stopped, her expression freezing as she realised that she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him so much that she could feel it in her bones. And, actually, what harm could it do?

My God, am I even considering letting this man kiss me? Could I stop him? And, more to the point, do I want to stop him?

Well, it might be interesting. Actually being kissed by a man who was hard and lean, who smelt delicious and male and…Sucking in a horrified breath, she brought her private debate to an abrupt halt. Interesting…! God, I’m going insane—stark, staring mad!

Alessandro gave a fierce smile and ran a brown finger along the moist inner curve of her lower lip. ‘I don’t generally ask permission before I kiss a woman,’ he confessed, before reaching up and calmly unfastening the clip that held her hair in a careless topknot on her head.

Too astounded by his action to do anything, including breathe, she stood there, her shocked gaze trained on his face, while her hair tumbled around her shoulders. He reached out and lifted a hank of shiny coppery hair, winding the tendril around his finger before he released it. ‘You should always wear your hair loose. Why would I ask for permission to kiss you when it is obvious that you want me to?’

‘You’re insane!’ And he’s not the only one, she thought as she grabbed her hair in both hands before pushing it ruthlessly behind her ears. ‘If you go around doing this sort of thing I’m amazed you’ve not been arrested yet.’

He looked amused by the accusation. ‘It’s the signals you’re sending out. Though you’re probably not even aware of doing so,’ he conceded. ‘Your pupils are dilated and your skin is flushed.’

‘So is yours.’ There was a faint sheen to his glorious olive-toned skin, and bands of colour accentuated the sculpted elegance of his prominent cheekbones.

‘You look like you’ll taste…sweet,’ he observed, his breathing quickening perceptibly as he stared at her lips in a way that made Sam’s sensitive stomach flip and quiver.

‘That would be the strawberry cheescake…’ she responded, faint, but holding it together in a pulse-racing, kneeshaking sort of way—until she made the mistake of allowing her darting gaze to linger on the sensually moulded curve of his mouth. ‘Cheesecake,’ she echoed, getting hot inside as she carried on staring at his mouth and thought about how it would feel on her skin. ‘Do I have some on my mouth…?’ She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, very aware of and mortified by the heat spreading through her body.

Alessandro sucked in his breath through flared nostrils, and the reckless, predatory gleam in his hooded dark eyes made Sam’s already stressed pulse kick up another notch. She brought her eyelashes down in a protective shield and plucked fretfully at the neck of her shirt, to loosen the fabric that was clinging to her damp, hot skin.

‘The only thing you need on your mouth is mine…’ he claimed, with the sort of macho arrogance that should in theory have brought a scornful laugh to her lips.

But this wasn’t theory, and it was no theoretical tongue that slowly traced the outline of her quivering lips and tilted her face up to his. Paralysed with lust, she literally ached for the taste of him. The man didn’t have many things right, but in this particular instance, as she felt the first movement of his lips against her own, Sam could find no fault with his conclusion. She did need his mouth on hers.

Oh, God, did she need it!

Her lashes lifted from her flushed cheeks when his head lifted. ‘Oh, God!’ she moaned, meeting his hot, glittering eyes. ‘I suppose you think that proves something? Other than the fact you can kiss quite well.’ Which had always been pretty much a given. Nobody with a mouth like his could be a bad kisser.