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The Fiorenza Forced Marriage
MELANIE MILBURNE


Step into a world of sophistication and glamour, where sinfully seductive heroes await you in luxurious international locations.Rafaele Fiorenza is furious. To get his inheritance he has to marry…his estranged father’s mistress! Emma March was only doing her job, caring for the late Valentino Fiorenza. She expected no mention in his will, let alone a stipulation to marry his son! But, financially, she’s desperate…Rafaele will treat Emma like the money-grabbing harlot he thinks she is. He’ll wed her, bed her and destroy her. But then he discovers his new wife is a virgin! He’s forced an innocent woman up the aisle…







His eyes came back to hers, his inherent cynicism glittering like black diamonds.

‘I can only assume my father thought by forcing me to marry his little nursemaid it might have some sort of reforming effect on me,’ he said. ‘What do you think, Miss March? Do your skills extend to taming decadent playboys?’


Melanie Milburne says: ‘I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and a nationally ranked top ten Master’s swimmer. I also have a Master’s Degree in Education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometre swim I’d be even happier!’

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MARCIANO LOVE-CHILD

INNOCENT WIFE, BABY OF SHAME

ANDROLETTI’S MISTRESS

WILLINGLY BEDDED, FORCIBLY WEDDED

BOUGHT FOR HER BABY

BEDDED AND WEDDED FOR REVENGE

THE VIRGIN’S PRICE

The Royal House of Niroli:

SURGEON PRINCE, ORDINARY WIFE (Book 2)

Did you know that Melanie also writes for Medical ™ Romance?

SINGLE DAD SEEKS A WIFE

(The Brides of Penhally Bay) THE SURGEON BOSS’S BRIDE HER MAN OF HONOUR IN HER BOSS’S SPECIAL CARE A DOCTOR BEYOND COMPARE




THE FIORENZA FORCED MARRIAGE


BY

MELANIE MILBURNE




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To one of my most loyal fans, Anu Sankaran, who has encouraged me from book one. Thank you so much for your lovely e-mails and fabulous personal reviews! This one is just for you. x


CHAPTER ONE

EMMA looked at the Italian lawyer in heart-stopping shock. ‘There must be some sort of m-mistake,’ she said, her voice wobbling with disbelief. ‘How could I possibly be included in Signore Fiorenza’s will? I was just his carer.’

‘It is no mistake,’ Francesca Rossi said, pointedly tapping the thick document in front of her. ‘I have it here in black and white. Valentino Fiorenza changed his will a matter of weeks before he died.’

Emma sat in a stunned silence. She had lived with and nursed the multimillionaire for eighteen months and not once had she thought something like this would happen. ‘But I don’t understand…’ she said after a moment. ‘Why on earth would he leave me half of his estate?’

‘That’s exactly what his son has been asking,’ Francesca Rossi said with a speaking glance. ‘I believe he is on his way over from London as we speak. As his father’s only remaining heir one can only assume he was expecting The Villa Fiorenza and the bulk of his father’s assets to pass directly to him.’

Emma chewed at her bottom lip for a moment. ‘You said the terms of the will are rather strange….’

‘They are quite unusual,’ Francesca agreed. ‘In order to inherit your share you must be legally married to Rafaele Fiorenza within a month and stay married to him for a year.’

Emma felt her stomach drop like a gymnast mistiming a tricky manoeuvre on the bar. ‘M-married in a month?’ she croaked. ‘For a year?’

‘Yes, otherwise the estate in its entirety will automatically pass to a previous mistress of Valentino’s, a woman by the name of Sondra Henning. Did he ever mention her to you?’

Emma wrinkled her brow. ‘No, I don’t think so…but then he was a very private man. He didn’t talk much about anything, especially towards the end.’

The lawyer leafed through the document before looking back up at Emma. ‘Signore Fiorenza stipulated that upon marriage to his son you are to receive a lump sum of fifty thousand euros, and then for every year you remain married to Rafaele you will receive an allowance,’ she said. ‘A rather generous one, in fact.’

Emma’s stomach did another fall from the bar. ‘H-how generous?’

The lawyer named a sum that sent Emma’s brows shooting upwards. ‘I guess it does seem rather a lot to walk away from…’ she said, thinking of her sister’s recent phone call. Fifty thousand euros at the current exchange rate would not completely solve Simone’s financial situation, but it would certainly go a long way to help her get back on her feet.

‘It is a lot to walk away from,’ Francesca said. ‘Even without factoring in the allowance, the villa, as you know from staying there, is considered one of the most beautiful showpieces around Lake Como. You would be a fool to forfeit such an asset, even a half share of it.’

‘What is Rafaele Fiorenza like…I mean as a person?’ Emma asked. ‘I’ve seen photos of him in the press from time to time, but his father barely mentioned him. And as far as I know he wasn’t at the funeral. I got the feeling there was bad blood between them.’

‘I have not met him personally,’ Francesca said. ‘Apparently he left home when he was a young adult to study abroad. He is a high-flying stock trader now. But, yes, as you said he is often featured in gossip magazines throughout Europe and further abroad. Word has it he is a bit of a playboy and a very wealthy one at that.’

‘Yes, I did get that impression,’ Emma said, and then with another little crease of her brow added, ‘but what if he doesn’t agree to the terms of his father’s will? If he’s so wealthy why would he agree to be married to a perfect stranger?’

‘The entire estate involves a great deal of money, even for a rich man,’ Francesca said. ‘Besides, the villa was where he spent most of his early childhood until he went to boarding school abroad. I cannot see him walking away from such a gold mine without at least inspecting the candidate his father chose to be his bride.’

Emma felt every fine hair on her body lift up like the fur of a startled cat. ‘I haven’t said I would agree to marry anyone,’ she said, ‘especially a man who didn’t even have the decency to visit or communicate with his dying father.’

‘Given he has had little or no contact with his father for the last decade or so you might have a hard time explaining your relationship,’ Francesca said. ‘I know you were employed as Valentino’s carer but the press haven’t always seen it that way and neither, I suspect, will Rafaele Fiorenza.’

Emma straightened agitatedly in her chair. When she had first taken on the position as Valentino Fiorenza’s carer she had not been prepared for how the press would misinterpret her relationship with him. Every time she had accompanied him out in public it seemed the paparazzi were there to document it, often times misconstruing the situation to make her appear a gold-digger, content to hook up with a man three times her age. She still cringed as she thought of the last photo that had appeared in the press. Weakened by the progression of his bone cancer Valentino had been too proud to use a walking stick and had relied increasingly on Emma’s support. The photographer had captured a moment where Emma’s arms had gone around her employer’s waist to keep him from falling, making it appear she was intimately involved with him. Even her sister Simone had rung her from Australia and asked if what everyone was saying was true.

‘He can think what he likes, but there was absolutely nothing improper about my relationship with his father,’ Emma said. ‘Valentino was an invalid, for pity’s sake. He employed me to take care of his day-to-day needs. I grew fond of him certainly, but that happens with just about every home care client I take on. Looking after someone as they count down their last days is incredibly poignant. I know it’s not wise to become emotionally involved, but from the very first day Valentino Fiorenza struck me as a very lonely soul. He had wealth but not health and happiness.’

‘Well, let us hope Rafaele Fiorenza understands the situation,’ Francesca said. ‘In the meantime I take it you are staying on at the villa?’

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘I wasn’t sure what else to do. Some of the staff have taken leave and I didn’t want the place left unattended until I heard from the son. I’ve been looking for alternative accommodation but with not much luck so far. I let my previous lease go as Signore Fiorenza insisted I move in with him from day one.’

‘You do realise of course that Rafaele Fiorenza stands to lose rather a lot if you do not agree to the terms,’ Francesca said in a serious tone. ‘Even though he might not need the money it would still be wise to take some time to think it over before you come to a final decision for his sake as well as your own.’

Emma shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘I realise it is a difficult situation for him…but I’m not sure I can agree to such a thing. It doesn’t seem…right…’

‘There are a lot of people who would see it differently,’ the lawyer said. ‘They would not baulk at a short term marriage of convenience in exchange for a fortune.’

Emma nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment. ‘You mentioned the marriage has to last a year. Is there any way of negotiating on that time frame?’

‘No, I am afraid not, but, as I said earlier, for every year you remain married to Rafaele you will be paid an allowance.’ Francesca rolled back her office chair and offered her hand across the desk. ‘I hope it goes well for you whatever you decide, Miss March,’ she said. ‘Signore Fiorenza Senior was clearly very fond of you. He would not have been an easy person to nurse, I would imagine. The Fiorenza family has had its share of tragedy. The boys’ mother died when they were very young children and if that was not bad enough the younger of the two boys, Giovanni, died in a tragic accident when he was about eight. Over the years Signore Fiorenza became increasingly bitter and reclusive, not to mention terribly stubborn.’

‘Yes, he was certainly stubborn,’ Emma said. ‘But I couldn’t help feeling it was all a bit of a front. He liked to rant and rave a lot but he was as soft as butter towards the end. I really liked him. I will miss him.’

‘You never know, Miss March, the son may turn out to be perfect husband material,’ the lawyer said with a wry smile. ‘It would not be the first time a marriage of convenience in this country turned into something else entirely.’

Emma backed out of the lawyer’s office with a strained smile and made her way to the bank of lifts. But all the way down to the ground floor she felt a fluttery sensation disturbing the lining of her stomach, like a thousand tiny moths all frantically looking for a way out…

Every time Emma stepped through the elaborate wrought-iron gates of the Villa Fiorenza she stood for a moment or two in awe. The massive gardens set on four tiers were nothing short of breathtaking, the lush green of yew hedges and elm and beech trees and cypress pines a perfect backdrop for the crimson and pinks and reds of azaleas and roses and other fragrant spring blooms. The villa itself was equally breathtaking; set above the stunning crystal-blue beauty of Lake Como, it was four storeys high and built in the neo-classical style lending it an allure of old-world grandeur that never failed to take Emma’s breath away.

Most of the rooms of the villa were no longer in use, the antique furniture draped in shroud-like sheets and the shutters pulled tight across the sightless windows, giving the grand old place a slightly haunted look. And without the presence of daily staff bustling about the villa and gardens the sense of loneliness and isolation was even more acute.

After she had spent more than a year looking after him in his palazzo in Milan, Valentino Fiorenza had announced to Emma six weeks ago he wanted to come back to the villa to die. And now to Emma it seemed as if every breath of breeze that disturbed the leaves on the trees were lamenting his passing. She had loved spending time pushing him around the gardens in his wheelchair, for, although towards the end he had found speech difficult, she had sensed his enjoyment of the peaceful surroundings.

The warmth of the spring weather brought out the heady scent of wisteria and jasmine as Emma walked under the arbour on the second tier of the gardens. She had just stopped to deadhead some of the milk-white climbing roses when a sleek black sports car growled throatily as it turned into the driveway at the back of the villa, like a panther returning to its lair.

She brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and watched as a tall figure unfolded himself from the car. Even from this distance she could see the likeness to his father immediately: the loose-limbed, rangy build, the brooding frown, the chiselled jaw and the arrogant set to his mouth all spoke of a man used to insisting on and getting his own way. But, unlike his father, Rafaele Fiorenza was well over six feet tall and his fit body wasn’t bent over double and ravaged by disease and his glossy black curly hair was thick and plentiful on his head and held no trace of grey. It was casually styled, the wide, deep grooves in amongst the strands suggesting he had used his fingers as its most recent combing tool.

Even though Emma had seen his photograph in the press a couple of times she realised now it hadn’t done him justice. He was quite simply the most arrestingly handsome man she had ever seen.

He was dressed in casual trousers and an open-necked light blue shirt, the cuffs rolled back over his strong tanned forearms, an expensive-looking silver watch around his left wrist and a pair of designer sunglasses, which shielded the expression in his eyes.

He slammed the car door and strode down the steps leading to the second tier, his long, purposeful strides bringing him within a matter of seconds to where she was unconsciously crumbling rose petals in her hand. ‘Miss March, I presume?’ he said in a clipped, distinctly unfriendly tone.

Emma hated talking to people wearing sunglasses, particularly the one-way lens type he was wearing. She always felt at a disadvantage not being able to read what was going on behind that impenetrable screen. She lifted her chin and let the petals float to the ground at her feet. ‘Yes, that is correct,’ she said. ‘I take it you are Rafaele Fiorenza.’

He removed the sunglasses, his black-brown gaze sweeping over her contemptuously. ‘And I take it you were my father’s latest floozy.’

Emma automatically stiffened. ‘I take it you have been misinformed, Signore Fiorenza,’ she returned with arctic chill. ‘I was employed as your father’s carer.’

He gave her a cynical smile but it didn’t involve his dark bottomless brown eyes. ‘So you took care of all of his physical needs, did you, Miss March?’ he said. ‘I must confess my mind is having a bit of a field day with that information.’

‘Then I would say your mind needs to drag itself out of the gutter, Signore Fiorenza,’ she returned with a deliberately haughty look.

His smile went from cynical to devilish. ‘So how do you feel about becoming my bride, Miss March?’

Emma tightened her mouth. ‘I have no intention of doing any such thing.’

He stood looking down at her for a pulsing silence, his eyes unwavering as they held hers. Emma tried her best not to squirm under his piercing scrutiny but in the end she was the first to drop her gaze.

‘I suppose you put him up to it, did you?’ he asked. ‘In a weak moment of his you talked him into signing away a fortune.’

‘That’s a despicable thing to say,’ she said, looking back at him in affront. ‘I had no idea what he had planned. The first I heard of it was when his legal firm contacted me about the terms of the will.’

‘Do not take me for a fool,’ he said. ‘You were living with my father for a year and a half. That is the longest relationship he has had since my mother died. Everyone knows you were sleeping with him. It has been in the papers numerous times.’

Emma felt her cheeks burning but forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘I did not have that sort of relationship with your father. The press made it up just to sell extra copies. They do that with anyone rich or famous.’

His dark eyes glittered with disdain. ‘Come on, now, Miss March,’ he said. ‘You surely do not expect me to believe my father wrote you into his will at the last moment just because you smiled sweetly at him on his deathbed, do you?’

Emma sent him a flinty glare. ‘I have never slept with your father. It’s totally preposterous of you to even suggest it.’

His expression communicated his disbelief. ‘My father was a well-known womaniser,’ he said. ‘You lived with him for well over a year before he publicly announced he was ill. It would be all too easy to assume you wormed your way into his bed to secure yourself a fortune.’

‘I did no such thing!’ she protested hotly. ‘I only agreed to live with your father so long before his health deteriorated because he didn’t want a profusion of carers coming in and out of his life. He was also concerned if people knew he was terminally ill when he was first diagnosed, his investment clients would leave him in droves. His illness progressed slowly at first, but a couple of months ago he realised the end was near. I did my best to support him through the final stages.’

‘I just bet you did,’ he said with a little curl of his lip. ‘Although I must say you are not his usual type. He usually went for busty, brassy blondes. Pint-sized brunettes must have been a taste he had recently acquired.’

Emma felt the scorch of his dark gaze run over her again and inwardly seethed. ‘I resent your reprehensible insinuations,’ she said. ‘I can see now why your father refused to even have your name mentioned in his presence. You have absolutely appalling manners.’

He had the audacity to laugh at her. ‘What a prim little schoolmarm you are,’ he taunted. ‘Miss March suits you perfectly. I bet my father loved you putting him to bed.’

Emma was almost beyond speech and to her immense irritation she could feel her face flaming. ‘You…you have no right to speak to me like—’

‘I have every right, Miss March.’ He cut her off rudely. ‘My father would not marry you, would he? He swore he would never marry again after my mother died. But you obviously thought of a way to get your hands on the Fiorenza fortune by suggesting you marry me instead.’

Emma clenched her teeth as she battled to contain her temper. ‘You are the very last man I would consent to marry,’ she threw at him heatedly.

His eyes were like twin lasers as they held hers. ‘You want more money, is that it, Miss March? I am sure I can afford you. Just tell me how much you want and I will write you a cheque here and now.’

Emma bristled at his effrontery. ‘You think you can wave your wallet around and pay me?’

He gave her a scornful smile. ‘That is the language of women such as you. You saw a big fat cherry just ripe for the picking in my father, did you not? You must have buttered him up rather well to get him to rewrite his will. I wonder what tricks you had up your sleeve, or should I say skirt?’

Emma had never felt closer to slapping a person. She curled her hands into fists, fighting for control, anger bubbling up inside her at his despicable taunts. ‘How dare you?’ she bit out.

He rocked back on his heels in an imperious manner. ‘You are quite the little firebrand behind that demure façade, eh, Miss March? No wonder my father took such a shine to you. Who knows? We might make quite a match of it after all. I like my women hot and flustered. I think you might do very well as my bride.’

Emma gave him a look that could strip paint. ‘You are the most obnoxious man I have ever met,’ she bit out. ‘Do you really think I would agree to become involved with someone like you?’

He gave her another cynical smile. ‘I am not sure I should tell you what I think right now, Miss March,’ he drawled. ‘You might follow through on your current desire to slap my face.’

Emma hated that she had been so transparent. It made her feel he had an advantage over her being able to read her body language so well. What else could he see? she wondered. Could he tell she was deeply disturbed by his arrant masculinity? That his sensually shaped mouth made her lips tingle at the thought of what it would feel like to have him kiss her?

Her reaction to him was somewhat of a bewildering shock to her. She was normally such a sensible, level-headed person. She had never considered herself a sensualist, but then she had so little experience when it came to men.

Rafaele Fiorenza, on the other hand, looked as if he had loads of experience when it came to women. His tall frame, classically handsome features and magnetic dark brown eyes with their impossibly long dark lashes were a potent combination any woman would find hard to resist. Emma could imagine he would be a demanding and exciting lover. She could almost feel the sexual energy emanating from him; it created a crackling tension in the air, making her feel even more on edge and hopelessly out of her depth. The thought of being legally married to him for any length of time was disturbing in the extreme. The lawyer had spoken of a marriage of convenience, but what if Rafaele wanted it to be a real marriage?

In order to pull her thoughts back into line she said the first thing that came to her head. ‘You didn’t go to your father’s funeral.’

‘I am not one for hypocrisy,’ he said, shifting his gaze from hers to sweep it over the property. ‘My father would not have wanted me there, in any case. He hated me.’

Emma frowned at his embittered tone. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. Very few parents truly hate their children.’

His eyes came back to hers, his inherent cynicism glittering like black diamonds. ‘I can only assume he thought by forcing me to marry his little nursemaid it might have some sort of reforming effect on me,’ he said. ‘What do you think, Miss March? Do your skills extend to taming decadent playboys?’

Emma could feel her colour rise all over again and quickly changed the subject. ‘How long has it been since you were here last?’ she asked.

He drew in a breath and sent his gaze back over the stately mansion. ‘It has been fifteen years,’ he said.

‘You have lived abroad all that time?’ she asked.

He turned back to look down at her. ‘Yes. I’ve been primarily based in London but I have a couple of properties in France and Spain. But now my father is dead I intend to move back here.’

Hearing him speaking in that deep mellifluous voice of his did strange things to Emma’s insides. He spoke English like a native and even had a trace of a London accent, which gave him a sophisticated air that was lethally attractive. She could imagine him travelling the globe, with a mistress in every city clamouring for his attention. He was everything a playboy should be: suave, sophisticated and utterly sexy. Even his aftershave smelt erotic—it had a citrus base and some other exotic spice that made her think of hot sultry musk-scented nights.

‘Um…I have a spare set of keys for you,’ she said as she led the way to the front door. ‘And there’s a remote control for the alarm system. I’ll write down the code and password—they might have changed since you were here last.’

‘I noticed you trimming the roses,’ Rafaele said. ‘What happened to the gardeners? Do not tell me my frugal father refused to pay them?’

Emma gave him another haughty look. ‘Your father was very generous towards the staff,’ she said. ‘They were all provided for in his will, as I am sure you know. They are just having a couple of weeks’ break. I was keeping an eye on things until you arrived.’

‘What a multi-talented little nurse you are,’ he said. ‘I wonder what else you can turn a hand to.’

Emma fumbled through the collection of keys, conscious of his dark satirical gaze resting on her. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when his hand came over hers and removed the keys.

‘Allow me,’ he said with a glinting smile.

She stepped to one side, trying to get her breathing to even out while her fingers continued to buzz with sensation from the brief contact with his.

He opened the heavy door and waved her through with a mock bow. ‘After you, Miss March.’

Emma brushed past him, her nostrils flaring again as she caught the alluring grace notes of his aftershave as they drifted towards her. She watched as he came in, his coolly indifferent gaze moving over the black and white marbled foyer with its priceless statues and paintings.

‘It’s a very beautiful villa,’ she said to fill the echoing silence. ‘You must have enjoyed holidaying here with all this space.’

He gave her an unreadable look. ‘A residence can be too big and too grand, Miss March.’

Emma felt a shiver run over her bare arms that had nothing to do with the temperature. Something about his demeanour had subtly changed. His eyes had hardened once more and the line to his mouth was grim as he looked up at the various portraits hanging on the walls.

‘You are very like your father as a younger man,’ she said, glancing at the portrait of Valentino Fiorenza hanging in pride of place.

Rafaele turned his head to look at her. ‘I am not sure my father would have liked to be informed of that.’

‘Why?’ Emma asked, frowning slightly as she looked up at him.

‘Did he not tell you?’ he said with an embittered look. ‘I was the son who had deeply disappointed him, the black sheep who brought shame and disgrace on the Fiorenza name.’

Emma moistened her lips. ‘No…he didn’t tell me that…’ she said.

He moved down the foyer and stood for a moment in front of a portrait of a young woman with black hair and startling eyes that were black as ink. Emma knew it was his mother, for she had asked Lucia, the housekeeper. Gabriela Fiorenza had died of an infection at the age of twenty-seven when Rafaele was six and his younger brother four.

‘She was very beautiful,’ Emma said into the almost painful silence.

‘Yes,’ Rafaele said turning to look at her again, his expression now inscrutable. ‘She was.’

Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot. ‘Um…would you like me to make you a coffee or tea before I go?’ she asked. ‘The housekeeper is on leave, but I know my way around the kitchen.’

‘You are quite the little organiser, aren’t you, Emma March?’ he asked with another one of his sardonic smiles. ‘It seems even the staff are taking orders off you, taking leave at your say-so.’

She pulled her mouth tight. ‘The staff are entitled to some time off. Besides, someone had to take charge in the absence of Signore Fiorenza’s only son, who, one would have thought, could have at least made an effort to see him just once before he died.’

His expression became stony. ‘I can see what you have been up to, Miss March. You thought you could secure yourself a fortune by bad-mouthing me to my father at every opportunity. It did not work, though, did it? You cannot have any of it without marrying me.’

Emma was finding it hard to control her normally even temper. ‘I told you I had no idea what your father was up to,’ she said. ‘I was as shocked as you. I’m still shocked.’

He gave a little snort of disbelief. ‘I can just imagine you having little heart-to-hearts with the old man, telling him how shameful it was his son refused to have any contact with him. I wonder did he tell you why, hmm? Did he allow any skeletons out of the tightly locked Fiorenza closet?’

Emma swallowed thickly. ‘He…he never told me anything about you. I got the feeling he didn’t like discussing the past.’

‘Yes, well, that makes sense,’ he said with an embittered expression. ‘My father’s philosophy was to ignore things he did not like facing in the hope they would eventually disappear.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘Miss March,’ he said, his look now condescending, ‘I am not prepared to discuss such personal details with the hired help, even if you were elevated to the position of my father’s mistress.’

‘I was not your father’s mistress,’ Emma said crossly.

‘I find that very hard to believe,’ he said with another raking glance. ‘You see, prior to arriving I did a little check on you, Emma Annabelle March.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘W-what?’

‘I have a contact in the private-eye business,’ he said, his hawk-like gaze locked on hers. ‘This is not the first time a client of yours has left you something, is it?’

She moistened her lips with a nervous dart of her tongue. ‘No, it’s not, but I never asked for anything, not from anyone. I have had one or two clients who have left me small gifts but only because they wanted to show their appreciation. Nursing someone in the last weeks or months of their life can sometimes blur the boundaries for the patient. They begin to look upon you as a trusted friend and confidante.’

‘All the same, such gifts must be quite a windfall to a girl from the wrong side of the tracks,’ he went on smoothly.

‘Not all people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth, Signore Fiorenza,’ she said with a cold, hard stare. ‘I have had to work hard to achieve what I’ve achieved.’

His dark, impenetrable gaze was still drilling into hers. ‘According to my source you left your last client’s house in a storm of controversy. Do you want to tell me about that or shall I tell you what I found out?’

Emma compressed her lips momentarily. ‘I was accused of stealing a family heirloom and a large sum of money,’ she said. ‘I have reason to believe I was framed by a relative. The police investigating eventually agreed and the charges were dropped. In spite of my name being cleared the press were like jackals for weeks later, no doubt fuelled by the rumourmongering of Mrs Bennett’s family.’

‘Is that why you moved to Italy from Australia?’ he asked, his expression giving no clue as to whether he believed her explanation or not.

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘I had wanted to work abroad in any case, but the Melbourne papers just wouldn’t let it go. It made it hard for me to find a new placement locally. I had no choice but to start again elsewhere.’

‘How did you get into this line of work?’ he asked.

‘I trained as a nurse but I found working in hospitals frustrating,’ she said, trying to make him see that she was genuine, not the gold-digger he assumed she was. ‘There was never enough time to spend with patients doing the things nurses used to do. Back rubs, sitting with them over a cup of tea, that sort of thing rarely happens these days. I started working for a private home-based care agency and really loved it. The hours can be long, of course, and it can be disruptive to one’s social life when a client needs you to live in, but the positives far outweigh the negatives.’

‘I am very sure they do,’ he said with another mocking tilt of his lips. ‘Inheriting half a luxury Italian villa and a generous allowance are hardly to be considered some of the downsides of the job.’

‘Look,’ Emma said on an expelled breath of irritation, ‘I realise this is a difficult time for you, Signore Fiorenza. You have just lost your father and in spite of your feelings towards him that is a big thing in anyone’s life, particularly a man’s. I am prepared to make allowances for your inappropriate suggestions given you had no recent contact with him, but let me assure you I have nothing to hide. Your father was a difficult man, but I grew very fond of him. He was lonely and desperately unhappy. I like to think I gave him a small measure of comfort in those last months of his life.’

He stood looking down at her for a long moment before speaking. ‘Let us go into the library. I would like to discuss with you how we are to handle this situation my father has placed us in.’

Emma felt her insides quiver at the look of determination in his eyes. ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ she said with a hitch of her chin. ‘I’m going upstairs right now to pack.’

His eyes burned into hers. ‘So you do not want what my father intended for you to have?’

She flicked her tongue across her suddenly bone-dry lips. ‘It was very generous of him but I’m not interested in marrying for money.’

‘Do you really think I am going to allow you to sabotage my inheritance?’ he asked with a steely look.

Emma swallowed tightly. ‘You surely don’t expect me to agree to…to…marrying you…’

‘I am not going to give you a choice, Miss March,’ he said with implacable force. ‘We will marry within a week. I have already seen to the licence. I did that as soon as I was informed of the terms of the will.’

Emma glared at him even though her heart was hammering with alarm. ‘You can’t force me to marry you,’ she said, hoping it was somehow true.

His dark eyes glinted. ‘You think not?’

I hope not, she thought as her stomach did a flip-flop of panic.

‘Miss March,’ he went on before she could get her voice to work. ‘You will comply with the terms of the will or I will personally see to it you never work as a nurse in this country again.’

Emma sent him a defiant glare. ‘I am not going to be threatened by you,’ she said. ‘Anyway, even if you did manage to sully my reputation in Italy I can always find work in another country. There is a shortage of nurses and carers worldwide.’

His lips thinned into a smile that was as menacing as it was mocking. ‘Ah, yes, but then working as a nurse or carer you will not receive anything like the wage I am prepared to pay you to be my wife.’

Emma felt her defiant stance start to wobble. ‘A…a wage?’

‘Yes, Miss March,’ he said with an imperious look. ‘I will pay you handsomely for the privilege of bearing my name for a year.’

‘How much?’ she asked, and almost fell over when he told her an amount that no nurse, even if she worked for two lifetimes, would ever earn.

‘Of course it will not be a real marriage,’ he said. ‘I already have a mistress.’

Emma wasn’t sure why his statement should have made her feel so annoyed. She disliked him intensely, but somehow the thought of him continuing his affair with someone else while formally married to her was infuriating. ‘I hope the same liberty will be open for me,’ she said with a jut of her chin.

‘No, Miss March, I am afraid not,’ he said. ‘I am a high-profile person and do not wish to be made a laughing stock amongst my colleagues and friends by the sexual proclivities of my wife.’

Emma glared at him in outrage. ‘That’s completely unfair! If you’re going to publicly cavort with your mistress, then I insist on the same liberty to conduct my own affairs.’

His mouth tightened into a flat line. ‘I will be discreet at all times, but I cannot be certain you will do the same. The way you conducted your affair with my father is a case in point. You lapped up the press attention whenever you could, hanging off him like a limpet when all the time all you wanted was his money.’

Emma clenched her teeth. ‘I did not have an affair with your father. You can ask the household staff. They will vouch for me.’

His lip curled in scorn. ‘You very conveniently sent them all off on leave, did you not?’ he said. ‘But even if they were here I am sure you would have convinced them to portray you as an innocent.’

She gave him a blistering glare. ‘You’re totally wrong about me, Signore Fiorenza, but I am not going to waste my time trying to convince you. You’re obviously too cynical to be able to see who is genuine and who is not. Do you know something? I actually feel sorry for you. You are going to end up like your father, dying with just the hired help to grieve your passing.’

He ignored her comment to say, ‘I expect you to act the role of a loving wife when we are within earshot or sight of other people, and that includes the household staff.’

Emma could feel her panic rising. ‘But I haven’t said I would marry you. I need some time to think about this.’

He looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes quietly scanning her features. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I will give you until tomorrow, but that is all. The sooner this marriage starts, the sooner it ends.’

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ Emma muttered under her breath as he walked off down the long wide corridor until he finally disappeared from sight.


CHAPTER TWO

EMMA didn’t see Rafaele again until later in the day. She was picking up the fallen petals from a vase of fragrant roses in the library when he sauntered in. He had changed into blue denim jeans and a close-fitting white T-shirt, which highlighted his flat stomach and gym-toned chest and shoulders. His hair was still damp from his recent shower and his jaw cleanly shaven. He looked tired however; she could see the dark bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes and the faint lines of strain bracketing his mouth.

For the first time Emma started to think about his angle on things. This magnificent villa was his heritage; it had been in the Fiorenza family for generations. No wonder he was angry at how his father had orchestrated things. Forcing him to marry a perfect stranger in order to claim what should have been rightly his would be enough to enrage anyone.

But why had Valentino chosen her to be his son’s bride? Emma had talked to him on one or two occasions about her difficult childhood, and how she wanted one day soon to settle down with a man she loved and have a little family of her own, to have the security she had missed out on as a child. That was when he had—she had thought jokingly—suggested she marry his wealthy, successful son and fill the villa with Fiorenza babies. It was one of the few times he had mentioned Rafaele’s name. She had tried on several occasions to get him to talk about his son but he had remained tight-lipped, and, sensing the subject was painful to him, Emma had decided it was better left well alone.

‘I have made a start on some dinner,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure what your plans were so I made enough for two.’

He gave her a sardonic smile. ‘Are you rehearsing the role of devoted wife for our temporary marriage?’

‘You can interpret it any way you like, but the truth is I was merely trying to be helpful,’ she said, a little stung by his attitude when she had made an effort to understand his point of view.

He held her gaze for several heartbeats. ‘I noticed when I was upstairs your things are in the room connected to my father’s,’ he said. ‘If you were not sleeping with him as you claim, why did you use that particular room when there are numerous other suites you could have occupied?’

‘I was planning to move out of there as soon as you informed me of your sleeping arrangements,’ she said tersely. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would feel comfortable sleeping in the bed in which your father died.’

A shadow flickered briefly in his eyes, like the shutter of a camera opening and closing. ‘Were you with him when he passed away?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I was,’ she answered. ‘He asked me to stay with him. He told me he didn’t want to die alone.’

He turned and, walking over to the bank of windows, looked down at the view of the sparkling waters of the lake, his long, straight back reminding Emma of a drawbridge being pulled up on a fortress. She had seen a lot of grief in her time; it seemed as if each member of a family had a different way of expressing it. But something about Rafaele Fiorenza made her think, in spite of his obvious anger and hatred towards his father, somewhere deep inside him was a little boy who had loved him once.

‘Signore Fiorenza?’ she said after a long silence.

He turned and faced her, his expression giving no clue of what was going on behind the screen of his coal-black gaze. ‘Rafaele will be fine,’ he said with a stiff on-off smile. ‘I do not think we need to stand on ceremony given the circumstances.’

‘Um…I’ll just go and move my things into one of the other rooms, then…’ Emma said, moving towards the door.

‘The Pink Suite is probably the most comfortable,’ he said. ‘It was my mother’s favourite. She decorated it herself. It was one of the last things she did before she died. I remember helping her with the wallpaper.’

Emma turned back to look at him. His expression had softened, as if the memory of his mother had peeled off the hard layer of cynicism he usually wore. ‘The housekeeper told me your mother died when you and your brother were quite young,’ she said. ‘That must have been very difficult for you.’

He gave her a humourless smile. ‘Life goes on, eh, Emma? Death and disorder and disease happen to us all at one time or another. The trick is to pack as much enjoyment in your life before one or all of them get their claws into you.’

‘Life is certainly harder on some people than others,’ she responded quietly.

He came across to where she was standing and, before she could do anything to stop him, lifted her chin with the blunt end of one long, tanned finger. ‘Those grey-blue eyes of yours are full of compassion,’ he said. ‘But then I wonder if it is for real?’

Emma could barely breathe. The pad of his thumb was now moving back and forth against the curve of her cheek, his dark mysterious gaze mesmerising as it held hers within the force field of his. She could smell the cleanness of his freshly showered skin and the citrus spice of his aftershave, a heady combination that was intoxicating. She could see the sculptured perfection of his mouth and thought again of how it would feel to have those very experienced lips imprinted on hers. She ran her tongue out over her mouth, her heart kicking like a tiny pony behind her chest wall and her stomach doing little jerky somersaults as his thighs brushed against hers.

‘Is this how you worked your magic on him, sweet, shy, caring little Emma?’ he asked. ‘Making him so mad with lust he promised you the world?’

Emma shook herself out of her stasis and stepped back with a glowering glare. ‘I-I would prefer it you would keep your hands to yourself,’ she said, annoyed that her voice shook.

He smiled in that taunting way of his. ‘I will keep my hands to myself if you stop looking at me like that,’ he said. ‘It gives me all sorts of wicked ideas.’

She frowned at him furiously. ‘I’m not looking at you with anything but disgust at your insufferable behaviour. You are one of the most obnoxious men I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’

He was still smiling at her in that mocking way of his. ‘Has anyone ever told you how cute you look when you are angry?’

She swung away from him, her face flaming. ‘I’m going to see to dinner,’ she said and, stalking out, clicked the door shut behind her.

Rafaele waited until she was well out of earshot before he let out his breath in a long, tired stream. He sent his hand through his hair and turned and looked down at his father’s antique leather-topped desk. His gaze went to where a gilt-edged photograph frame was sitting next to a paperclip dispenser, but he didn’t pick it up. He didn’t need to turn it around and look at his younger brother’s face to summon the pain.

He still carried it deep inside him…

* * *

After Emma had transferred her things to the Pink Suite she made her way back downstairs to the massive kitchen, where through one of the windows she saw Rafaele out on the lower tier of the garden. He was standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking out over the expanse of verdant lawn fringed by silver birch trees, their lacy leaves quivering in the faint breeze. The same light breeze was wrinkling the surface of the lap pool, and a peahen and her vociferous mate were nearby, but it looked as if Rafaele hadn’t even noticed their presence.

He stood as still as a marble statue, his tall, silent figure bathed in a red and orange glow from the fingers of light thrown by the lowering sun. The Villa Fiorenza was perhaps the most tranquil setting Emma had ever seen and yet she couldn’t help feeling Rafaele Fiorenza did not find it so.

She opened the French doors leading off the terrace, the sound of her footsteps on the sandstone steps bringing his head around. She saw the way his expression became instantly shuttered, as if he resented her intrusion.

‘I was wondering if you would like to eat outside,’ she said. ‘It’s a warm evening and after such a long plane journey I thought—’

‘I will not be here for dinner after all,’ he said in a curt tone. ‘I am going out.’

Emma felt foolish for feeling disappointed and did her best to disguise it. ‘That’s fine. It was nothing special in any case.’

He took the set of keys hanging on a hook on the wall. ‘Do not wait up,’ he said. ‘I might end up staying overnight in Milan.’

‘Did your mistress travel with you from London?’ she asked.

‘No, but what she does not know will not hurt her.’

Emma knew her face was communicating her disapproval. ‘So faithfulness in your relationships isn’t one of your strong points, I take it?’

‘I am not sure I am the settling-down type,’ he said. ‘I enjoy my freedom too much.’

‘I thought most Italians put a high value on getting married and having a family,’ she said.

‘That may have been the case for previous generations, but I personally feel life is too short for the drudge of domesticity,’ he said. ‘I have got nothing against children, but I like the sort you can hand back after half an hour. I have no place in my life for anything else.’

‘It sounds like a pretty shallow and pointless existence to me,’ Emma said. ‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’

‘No, I do not,’ he said. ‘I like my life the way it is. I do not want the complication of having to be responsible for someone else’s emotional upkeep. The women I date know the rules and generally are quite willing to adhere to them.’

‘I suppose if they don’t you get rid of them, right?’

He gave her a supercilious smile. ‘That is right.’

Emma pursed her mouth. ‘I feel sorry for any poor woman who makes the mistake of falling in love with you.’

‘Most of the woman I know fall in love with my wallet. What they feel for me has very little to do with who I am as a person. As you have probably already guessed, I am not the type to wear my heart upon my sleeve,’ he said, and then with a rueful twist to his mouth added, ‘Perhaps I am my father’s son after all.’

‘Your father liked to give the impression he was tough, but inside he was a very broken and lonely man,’ Emma said. ‘I could read between the lines enough to know he had some serious regrets about his life and relationships.’

‘What a pity he did not communicate that to what remained of his family while he still could,’ he said with an embittered set to his mouth.

‘I think he would have done so if you had made the effort to come to see him,’ Emma said. ‘Towards the end I couldn’t help feeling he was lingering against the odds on the off chance you would visit him.’

His lip curled up in a snarl. ‘He could have made the first move. Why was it left to me to do so?’

‘He was dying,’ she bit out with emphasis. ‘In my opinion that shifts the responsibility to those who are well. He couldn’t travel; he could barely speak towards the end. What would it have cost you to call him? These days you can call someone from anywhere in the world. What would it have cost you to give a measly five minutes of your time to allow a dying man to rest in peace?’

He stabbed a finger at her, making her take an unsteady step backwards. ‘You know nothing, do you hear me? Nothing of what it was like being my father’s son. You came into my father’s life horizontally. You know nothing of what passed before. You were his carer, for heaven’s sake. You were paid to wipe the dribble from his chin and change the soiled sheets on his bed, not to psychoanalyse the train-wreck of his relationships.’

Emma took a shaky breath. ‘I realise this is an emotionally charged time for you, but I think—’

‘I do not give a toss for what you think.’ He raised his voice at her this time, his dark eyes flashing with anger. ‘As I see it you exploited a dying man to feather your own nest. I find it particularly repugnant to be subjected to your lectures on what constitutes appropriate behaviour from his son when you clearly have no idea of what the dynamic of our relationship was like.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…’

He let out a ragged sigh as he scraped his hand through the thickness of his hair. ‘Forget about it,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘I should not have shouted at you. I am sorry. Put it down to overwork and jet lag. God knows I did not sleep a wink on the plane.’

‘It’s fine…really…I understand…it’s a difficult time…’

There was a small tight silence.

‘I am glad you were there for him when he died,’ Rafaele said in a gruff tone. ‘In spite of everything I am glad someone was there…’

‘He was a good man, Signore… I mean, Rafaele,’ she said. ‘I think deep down he was a good man who had simply lost his way.’

He gave her a somewhat rueful smile. ‘I am starting to think you make a point of seeing the good in everyone, Emma March. Is that something you learnt in your training or somewhere else?’

‘No one is completely bad, Rafaele. We all have our stories, the history of what makes us the people we are. I am sure your father had his. It is a shame he didn’t share his with you so you could understand the demons he had to wrestle with.’

‘My father was not the sort of man to share anything with his family,’ he said. ‘He deplored weakness in others so I cannot imagine him ever getting to the point of confessing any of his own.’

‘Were you ever close to him?’ Emma asked.

His expression became shuttered again. ‘He was not comfortable with small children, or even older ones when it comes to that.’

‘What about your younger brother?’

His eyes turned to fathomless black. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?’

‘I’m sorry…I just thought it might help to talk about—’

‘Well, it does not help, Miss March.’ He cut her off brusquely. ‘And in future I would appreciate it if you would refrain from putting your nose where it is not wanted. Digging up the past serves no purpose. My father is dead and I am sorry if it offends your sensibilities, but I for one could not be happier.’

Emma stood in silence as he strode out of the room, the echo of his embittered words ringing in her ears long after his car had roared out of the villa grounds and faded into the distance.

Emma’s sister Simone called again not long after Emma had gone to bed. She sat up against the pillows and listened as Simone tearfully informed her how she had tried to apply for a personal loan only to find out there was a black mark against her credit rating. On further investigation Simone had found out her ex-partner had fuelled his cocaine habit by applying for various loans, using her as guarantor. Emma had listened in horror as Simone had described a visit late at night from a loan shark Brendan had used. The man had threatened Simone and her daughter, making it more than clear that if the money was not repaid within a week there would be unpleasant repercussions.

‘I don’t know what to do, Emma,’ Simone sobbed. ‘I’m so scared. When I picked up Chelsea from school I was sure we were being followed.’

‘Have you called the police?’ Emma asked, her heart thumping in alarm.

‘I can’t do that,’ Simone said. ‘You know how they treated me the last time when they came looking for Brendan. They thought I was lying about not knowing where he was or that he was using drugs. They made me feel like a criminal too.’

Emma chewed at her lip. Simone had always had it tough. In the past she had been there so many times for Emma, protecting her from one or both of their parents’ drug-fuelled rages until finally the authorities had stepped in and placed both girls in foster homes. And then at the age of nineteen Simone had finally found happiness with David Harrison, but he had been killed in a motorcycle accident just six weeks after Chelsea had been born.

‘Listen, Simone, I have a plan.’ Emma took a shaky breath and continued, ‘It turns out the man I was nursing left me quite a bit of money in his will. It might take a few days to get it to you, but if you can tell this man Brendan owes the money to that you will settle the debt, perhaps things will calm down until you get some legal advice.’

‘But, Emma, it’s such a lot of money,’ Simone said in anguish. ‘I’ll never be able to repay you, even if I do manage to take Brendan to court over this. It’s not as if he’s ever going to have any money to pay the legal fees, let alone the debt, even if the police do manage to track him down and arrest him.’

‘I don’t want to be repaid, Simone. I just want you and Chelsea to be safe,’ Emma insisted. ‘If things go according to plan you’ll have enough money to relocate to another suburb or even to another state and make a fresh start.’

‘Oh, Emma, that would be a dream come true,’ Simone choked. ‘I hate this place. It reminds me of our childhood, living with Mum and Dad stoned out of their brains all the time. I can’t believe I didn’t see it in Brendan. He was always so charming and loving. How could I have got it so wrong?’

‘It’s not your fault, Simone,’ Emma said. ‘You know what drugs do to people. They turn them into someone else. You have to move on for Chelsea’s sake. It’s not safe for her to be in such an environment.’

‘You’re right,’ Simone said. ‘If Dave was still alive he’d be so ashamed of me for subjecting Chelsea to this.’

‘Honey, don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Emma said. ‘I know how tough things have been for you. No one should have to deal with the stuff you’ve had to deal with. Just be strong, this will all go away and you’ll never have to worry again.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Simone said. ‘I really don’t know what Chelsea and I would do without you.’

Emma felt a little guilty not telling her sister the truth about how she was going about getting the money, but she reasoned that Simone had enough to worry about for the time being. If she were to tell Simone she was about to marry a man she had only met that morning, her sister would think she had gone mad.

But then maybe I have, Emma thought as Rafaele’s handsome features came to mind. She gave the pillow a thump and settled back down but it was ages before she could relax enough to sleep…

Emma’s eyes sprang open as the front door slammed. She heard Rafaele move about the villa with no attempt to keep the noise down, as if he couldn’t care less about disturbing her, no doubt because he considered her an interloper in his family home.

She heard the sound of a glass shattering in the lounge room downstairs and then a course expletive cut through the still night air. She waited a few minutes, listening as various cupboards and drawers were opened and slammed shut as he began hunting through the main bathroom.

‘Where the hell is the first-aid kit?’ Rafaele’s voice roared from the foot of the sweeping staircase.

Emma threw back the covers and, reaching for her bathrobe, tied it securely around her waist and came out on the third-floor landing. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, looking down at him. ‘Have you cut yourself?’

He swayed slightly on his feet as he held up his right hand wrapped in a hand towel. ‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. Want to kiss it better, pretty Emma?’

She frowned at him as she came down the stairs. ‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked in a reproachful tone.

He gave her a sinful smile. ‘So what if I have?’

She stood three steps above him to meet him eye to eye. ‘Did you drive home in this state?’

He swayed towards her, the strong fumes of brandy wafting over her face. ‘No, I caught a cab,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that sensible of me?’

‘It’s not sensible to drink to excess even if you’re not planning to be behind the wheel of a car,’ she said. ‘Let me look at your hand.’

He held it out to her and she gently peeled back the towel to find a gash near the base of his thumb that was still oozing blood.

‘Am I going to make it through the night?’ he asked with one of his mocking smiles.

Emma pursed her mouth and led him by his uninjured hand to the nearest bathroom. ‘Sit on the stool,’ she directed sternly as she washed her hands. ‘You’re very lucky, as it doesn’t need stitching. I’ll put a Steri-Strip on it to pull the edges together.’

She located the first-aid kit and set about cleaning the wound and dressing it. But she found it almost impossible to control the slight tremor of her hands as she touched him. His shirt sleeves were rolled back, revealing strong wrists with a generous sprinkling of dark hair, a potent reminder of his virility.

She was acutely aware of his closeness, his long legs trapping her between the basin and him at one point. He was such an intensely masculine man. She could smell the musk of his skin, this close to him she could see every pinprick of stubble on his jaw, making her fingers ache to touch him there, to see if her soft skin would snag on his rougher one.

She took an unsteady breath and tried to ignore the flutter of her pulse as his dark eyes locked on hers.

‘You have very soft hands,’ he said. ‘I wonder if that prim little mouth of yours is just as soft.’

‘I guess you’ll just have to keep on wondering,’ Emma said, trying to move to one side.

He stood up, his left arm blocking her exit. ‘How about I kiss you and find out, eh, Emma?’

Emma gave a nervous swallow, her belly doing a funny little somersault at the smouldering look in his darker-than-ink eyes. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea…’

He gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘Why not?’

She unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips. ‘You know why not.’

‘Is there someone else?’

‘No…I mean, yes, there is,’ she lied, but she knew the colour storming into her cheeks was betraying her.

‘You are not a very convincing liar, Emma,’ he said. ‘If you were involved with someone else you would not be sending me those hungry little looks all the time, now, would you?’

‘I’m doing no such thing,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He released her hand and placed the heated warmth of his palm at the nape of her neck instead. Emma couldn’t stop the little shiver that coursed like a tickling feather all the way down her spine, loosening every vertebra along the way. Her heart began pick up its pace, the thud of her pulse so heavy she was surprised he couldn’t feel it leaping beneath her skin where his hand rested.

‘You want to know, don’t you?’ he went on in that same toe-curling, sensuous drawl. ‘You have done it with the father, now you want to know what it feels like to do it with the son.’

Emma’s eyes flared in shock at his crude statement. ‘That’s not true!’

‘Did he make you come?’ he asked.

She tried to push at him, but if anything it brought him closer, the stirring of his body against hers sending sparks of heat coursing through her lower body. Her breasts were jammed against his chest, her stomach hollowing out at the diamond-hard glitter of his dark gaze as it drilled into hers. ‘L-let me go…’ she choked. ‘Y-you’re drunk.’

He countered her paltry escape manoeuvre by placing his injured hand in the small of her back, his left hand now buried in the curtain of her hair. ‘Perhaps a little, but that will not affect my performance,’ he said. ‘I can make you come like you’ve never come before.’

In spite of her outrage Emma could feel her body betraying her. His sultry promise set her senses alight at the thought of having him deep inside her, bringing her the sort of pleasure she had so far only dreamed about. She knew it was unusual in this day and age for a woman of twenty-six to be without sexual experience, but she had never met anyone she had been attracted to enough to take that final step. Getting involved with a playboy was not something she had ever contemplated and certainly not one as ruthless and arrogant as Rafaele Fiorenza. He was undoubtedly the most attractive man she had ever encountered, but allowing herself to be seduced by him was something she was determined to avoid if at all possible. He was an inveterate heartbreaker and she would do very well to remember it.

‘I don’t recall reading anything in your father’s will that stipulated I have to satisfy your disgusting animal urges,’ she said with as much acerbity as she could. ‘Now, if you don’t let me go this instant I will have to resort to slapping your face.’

He grinned at her, which wasn’t quite the effect she had intended. ‘You are quite something when you are all fired up,’ he said. ‘I bet you go off like a firecracker in bed.’

She drew in a sharp little breath, her eyes flashing him a warning. ‘I don’t have to put up with this,’ she said. ‘If you don’t stop this I will pack my bags first thing in the morning to make way for Ms Henning.’

A nerve twitched at the side of his mouth, his eyes hardening to narrow chips of black ice. ‘Are you blackmailing me, Emma?’ he asked.

Emma lifted her chin. ‘You bet I am,’ she said. ‘And you’d better not forget it.’

He looked at her for a long pulsing moment, his palm still on the nape of her neck. Emma tried not to show how unnerved she was by his closeness, but her heart was skipping every second beat with each drawn-out second that passed.

‘You would walk away from a fortune such as this just to spite me?’ he asked, dropping his hand.

Emma’s neck was still tingling from the touch of his fingers. ‘If I have to, yes. I refuse to be treated like a tramp. I do have some measure of pride, you know.’

‘I am sure you do,’ he said. ‘But I wonder if you are calling my bluff.’

She gave him an arch look. ‘There is only one way to find out.’

He smiled again, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Are you daring me to kiss you, Emma March?’

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Of course not!’

‘I am tempted,’ he said, looking down at her mouth. ‘In fact, I have never been quite so tempted.’

Emma spun on her bare feet to leave, but before she could take a single step he captured one of the ties of her bathrobe and towed her into his solid warmth like a wobbly dingy being drawn towards the safe harbour of a jetty. ‘Thank you for fixing my hand,’ he said. ‘I really appreciate it.’

Emma had to fight against the overwhelming temptation to look at his mouth. ‘It’s fine…I hope it doesn’t get infected.’

‘If it does at least I will have you on hand to mop my feverish brow, will I not?’

She tugged her bathrobe tie out of his hold and gave him a testy glare. ‘I’m sure your current mistress will do a much better job than me.’

His eyes moved over her face in a leisurely fashion, his quiet assessment of her features even more disturbing to her than his verbal taunts. ‘As of earlier tonight I have dismissed her services,’ he said. ‘She was starting to bore me, in any case. I have no time for emotionally needy women. They are too much hard work.’

Emma wasn’t sure what to say in response. She felt a pang of empathy for the woman he had discarded so cavalierly. She wondered if he had called her or texted her on his mobile, not even bothering to wait until he could speak to her face to face. Either way she couldn’t help wondering if the woman had done the unthinkable and fallen in love with him. It was a sobering reminder of what she was in for if she dared to allow her own feelings to get out of control.

‘It’s very late,’ she said. ‘You should go to bed. You look exhausted.’

He cocked his head at her. ‘How about you tuck me in? I am sure you are very good at it. After all, isn’t that what my father paid you to do?’

‘I would have looked after him without any payment,’ she said, even though she knew it was going to annoy him. ‘In my opinion he was worth two of you.’

A flicker of anger flashed in his dark gaze. ‘Are you telling me you were in love with him?’ he asked.

She held his glittering gaze with an effort. ‘Everyone deserves love, Rafaele; even, dare I say, someone as odious as you.’

She gave him one last frosty look and stalked out with the sounds of his mocking laughter following her all the way upstairs.


CHAPTER THREE

WHEN Emma came downstairs the following morning Rafaele was leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in one hand. He put the cup down and pushed himself away from the counter and came to stand in front of her. ‘I believe I owe you an apology,’ he said. ‘I have no real excuse for my behaviour last night. I was not even drunk, not that it would have been any excuse even if I had been. It was a difficult day for me…coming back here after a long absence. I guess I had underestimated just how much of a strain it would be.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said and, after a little pause, asked, ‘How is your hand?’

‘It is fine,’ he said, holding it out for her to see. ‘I do not think there will even be a scar. You did a good job.’

A silence hummed for several seconds.

‘Have you come to a decision?’ Rafaele asked.

Her grey-blue eyes moved away from his. ‘I have…yes…’ She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. ‘I have decided I will marry you. It’s the most sensible thing to do and…and it’s what your father wanted.’

Rafaele smiled to himself. He had known from the first moment she would not be able to resist getting her hands on a fortune. She thought she had it all stitched up now, but he wasn’t going to let things go her way. Nor was he going to make life easy for her. He would marry her certainly, for there was no other way to get his inheritance, but he wasn’t going to stay married to her any longer than necessary. Once the year was up that would be it. Although looking at her now with her slim but curvy figure dressed in a white sundress, he was tempted to make the marriage a real one. She had an air of sensuality about her that was intoxicating. He had seen the looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t watching. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. He had felt the tension passing between them like high voltage electricity. He could even feel it now. ‘I am sure we will be mutually satisfied by the arrangement,’ he said with an enigmatic smile.

A flicker of something came and went in her gaze. ‘I would like to establish some ground rules,’ she said.

‘Such as?’

‘This is a hands-off arrangement, correct?’

‘If that is what you want,’ he said. ‘But if you change your mind just let me know.’

She gave him a withering look. ‘I will not be changing my mind,’ she said. ‘As far as I am concerned this is a temporary businesslike arrangement. I hope I won’t have to keep reminding you of that.’

Oh, but she’s damned good at this, Rafaele thought, deliberately withholding her charms to make me feel the lure of thechase. He would bring her to heel, however, and a whole lot sooner than she realised. His body hardened at the thought of driving into her softness, claiming her as his until she forgot all about her affair with his father. She would be screaming his name in the throes of pleasure. She would be raking her nails down his back as he took her to paradise. ‘You will not have to remind me,’ he assured her. ‘I will take my cue from you.’

Her gaze narrowed slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

He gave another inward smile at her artifice. ‘I mean that if you make the first move I will respond to it as any full-blooded man would do in the same situation.’

She gave him a condescending look. ‘So any woman with a pulse will do for you—is that it?’

‘You do yourself a disservice, Emma,’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘You are a very attractive young woman. I would be more than happy to consummate our marriage if you should require my services.’

Her cheeks pooled with angry colour. ‘I am sure I will be able to survive the duration of our marriage without resorting to such a measure of desperation,’ she clipped back primly.

Rafaele felt his groin kicking with anticipation. He had never felt such wild desire before. No wonder his father had agreed to give her half of his estate. Rafaele felt like offering her double what he’d already offered just to have her on her back on the floor right here and now. He had to fight not to show how she was affecting him. He schooled his features into indifference and reached for his coffee again. ‘I will have some legal papers for you to sign later today,’ he said.

‘What do I need to sign?’ she asked with a guarded look.

‘A pre-nuptial agreement, for one thing,’ he said. ‘I am not going to be stripped of half of my assets when we terminate our marriage.’

‘How soon do I get the money you offered?’ she asked.

He held her grey-blue gaze. ‘How soon do you want it?’

She lowered her eyes. ‘I have some debts to see to…they’re rather urgent.’

‘If you give me your bank account details I will see to it the moment we get back from the church.’

Her eyes flew back to his. ‘The church? You mean we’re getting married in a church?’

‘Do you have a problem with that?’

She sank her teeth into her lower lip for a moment. ‘No… it’s just I thought a register office would be more appropriate under the circumstances.’

‘I do not think our marriage would be considered authentic if we did not have it consecrated by the church,’ he said. ‘I will also arrange for a dress and veil for you.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘It is no bother,’ he said. ‘My mother’s wedding dress and veil have been well preserved and you are much the same size as she was.’

Her eyes were wide grey-blue pools. ‘I can’t wear your mother’s dress!’

‘Why not? People will think it a loving gesture on your part,’ he said. ‘Besides, this is probably going to be the only time I marry anyone so I might as well do it properly.’

Emma chewed at her bottom lip in agitation. This was going to be much harder than she had expected. Somehow she had thought a quick civil service would make her feel less married. That was vitally important to her. She didn’t want to feel married to him.

‘I will get my mother’s rings out of the safe for you,’ he said. ‘But of course they must be returned to me once our marriage ends.’

‘Yes, of course…’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of keeping them.’

‘The wedding will take place tomorrow.’

Emma’s heart gave a sickening lurch. ‘T-tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The legalities will be seen to this afternoon. The ceremony will take place tomorrow at the Basilica of Saint Abbondio, the ancient cathedral in the town. Have you by any chance been there?’




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