Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians by Caro LaFever Page B

with. Because he wouldn’t ever be crazy in love with her and give her the passion and the life she knew she wanted and needed and deserved.
    “He’s never going to be the man for you,” she whispered to herself. “Not then. Not now.”
    Another lone tear dribbled down to her chin. She didn’t wipe it away this time.
    Then why did her body rebel against this sure knowledge her mind knew? For the first time in years, for the first time since her innocent crush on Dante, she came alive sexually around a man. There’d been an insatiable need inside her to nuzzle into his neck while they danced. Even the imprint of his hand on her thigh, as he pushed her down in her seat at the wedding dinner, still tingled with delight. The fact he was enforcing his will on her at the time had done little to stop the tightening of her nipples or the wash of wet between her thighs.
    This was perilous, far too perilous. Because if she ever acted on her desire, if she ever let him go beyond kisses, he would find out another one of her secrets. A secret she didn’t want anyone to know, but above all, not Dante.
    Because he would pity her. He would think, again, she wasn’t anything more than a child.
    “You have to find something to drive him away for good,” she stated under her breath.
    Before it was too late and he drew her in with his body and need.
    “Ah,” he said from behind her. “I thought I might find you here.”
    Jerking around, she stared in utter dismay at his enigmatic face. “Go away.”
    He closed the stone door behind him and leaned against the ivy, his tux unbuttoned, hands in his pockets. “When I last checked, I owned this garden.”
    “Then I’ll go.” She walked with a resolved air right up to his relaxed body. Still, she couldn’t make herself invade his personal space. Getting too close was a deadly trap.
    She glared at him.
    His mouth quirked.
    “Move.”
    His brows arched.
    With a sound of disgust, she twirled and marched away from him. He couldn’t keep her here forever. He was the host of the party. He had to leave soon. She moved behind the tree, blocking him from her sight.
    He would leave. Eventually.
    She sensed him, sensed him, God help her, move to her side.
    “You do not appreciate my dancing abilities?” His voice was laconic.
    Ignore him .
    “I cannot remember a time when a woman left me on the dance floor so abruptly. Or left me at all.” He strolled a few paces and turned to face her. “A remarkable experience.”
    She would not meet his eyes.
    “My family. My neighbors. My business acquaintances.” His voice wrapped an edge of hostility around each word. “Everyone looking at me. Then talking.”
    Her tongue leapt to action. She tried to still the words, but they tumbled forth. “Poor Dante.”
    His mouth turned down, a grim line. “Be careful. You are pushing me too far.”
    “You don’t scare me.” She knew it as a lie, yet her pride demanded she keep going at him. She even managed a short laugh after the lie and noted with stupid satisfaction that he tensed. For a moment, she was sure he would pounce.
    A thrill of pleasurable terror raced through her.
    But then he turned, a sharp motion, and paced away from her to lean on the stone wall once more. “Time to cut to the chase,” he said, his tone mild.
    How did the man do that? She’d sensed his sudden surge of frustration, an almost visible wave of aggravation. And then, nothing. How could he possibly think this would be attractive to her? That she would have any desire to spend the rest of her life with a man who stifled every emotion until all he exuded to the world was bland disinterest and haughty arrogance?
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “There is something between us.” His black stare was pinned to her face. “A spark.”
    “A spark of dislike.”
    “Keep telling yourself that. However, eventually you will see what it actually is.”
    Folding her arms in front of her, she turned her back to him,