The Mediterranean Billionaire's Blackmail Bargain by Abby Green

even though she knew he wouldn’t see her. Butterflies fluttered in her belly. She heard the low rumble of his voice, the tinkling laughter of Signora Pasquale and, even though the woman was eighty, something very disturbing flared in Alicia’s chest. One of the assistants came in then with rosy cheeks. Alicia’s mouth tightened. She was going to start calling it the Dante effect.
    â€˜Here are some casual clothes; the Signora had them delivered. They will do you for day wear until the main clothes arrive at Signore D’Aquanni’s villa in a couple of days.’
    The girl held out a beautifully folded pile of clothes and what looked like a leather weekend bag, also full of clothes. When Alicia unfolded them she found a silk camisole top in burnished copper, a cream skirt and matching underwear. Kitten heel sandals in a dark complementary gold—very simple, very Italian and very stylish. As much as she hated this—the waste and extravagance—the feel of the silky fabric against her skin made her close her eyes with a stirring of guilty pleasure. It had been so long since she’d let herself feel anything like it.
    With the bag in one hand and the matching jacket of the suit in the other, Alicia emerged. Dante was sitting down, drinking a cup of coffee, talking to the designer. He looked up and his hand stilled on the way to his mouth. His whole body stilled. Apart from the tantalizing glimpses he’d had while she’d lain sleeping on the bed in his villa and that all too brief moment in his lap on the plane, he’d had to imagine her shape.
    She looked at him defiantly and Dante felt as if they were the only two people in the room, the designer and her assistants forgotten. What she was wearing wasn’t in any way overtly sexy but…with her delicate curves filling it out, he’d never seen anyone so alluring. Everything was in proportion—every curve, every swell. He imagined spanning her waist with one hand. Her skin was lightly tanned—soft and silky. For the first time in his life, he was rendered speechless.
    Alicia tilted her chin. If he didn’t stop staring at her as if she were some kind of alien just landed on planet earth she was going to scream. Thankfully, Signora Pasquale got up and fussed around her. ‘Oh, good. These clothes fit perfectly. They will see you through the next few days and we will have the rest delivered by your plane as soon as they are ready.’ She looked at Dante. ‘This time of the month I presume it’ll be on its usual run?’
    Dante nodded absently. Alicia blanched and looked at the woman. By plane? Dante saw her reaction and stood smoothly, coming over and taking Alicia’s bag, guiding her out of the shop with a hand on her upper arm, burning it.
    In the car she rounded on him. ‘Is a plane really necessary just to bring clothes for me to wear? I mean, really, that is the absolute height of—’
    â€˜Alicia—’ his voice was like the crack of a whip ‘—I can afford it and—’
    â€˜I don’t—’ she tried to interject, but he raised a hand, stopping her.
    â€˜If this is just a facade, a veneer of trendy environmental concern, then give it up now, because I’m not interested. You might try to pretend to others that you didn’t leave your bleeding heart behind in Africa, but you won’t fool me.’
    Alicia gasped. ‘It’s not a veneer or a facade. If you can justify sending an entire airplane into the skies just to bring me some clothes, then go right ahead. And if you can sleep with your conscience, then so be it, but I think it’s disgusting. ’
    Dante watched her with fascination. She was leaning forward, face alive, luminous. And all he wanted to sleep with right then was her. Her quick condemnation burned him again but he would not give in to the satisfaction of telling her the truth. Let her stew.
    â€˜Well, then,