Roccanti's Marriage Revenge (Marriage by Command 1)

Vitale released his breath in a driven hiss of impatience. ‘You’re the one making it complicated.’

Zara’s tiny frame was rigid. Could she take a risk and give him another chance? But marriage wasn’t an experiment. She could not marry him on a casual basis and walk away without concern if it failed. In her experience failure always bit deep and hurt. And just how far could she trust a man she couldn’t read with any accuracy? ‘I don’t know enough about you. I can’t forget that you plotted and planned against me.’

‘I can put that past behind us if I have to, angelina mia. Our child’s needs take precedence,’ Vitale contended.

The silence buzzed. Her troubled gaze lingering on his wide, sensual mouth, she recalled the taste of him with a hot liquid surge low in her tummy that she struggled to quell. The tender flesh between her thighs dampened and a pink flush of awareness covered her face. Tensing, she looked hurriedly away from him.

‘But I will be honest—I also want you,’ Vitale conceded in a dark driven undertone, startling her with that additional admission. ‘That’s not what I chose, not what I foresaw and certainly not what I’m comfortable with. But it is how I feel right now. Ever since we were together in Italy I’ve wanted you back in my bed again.’

Although she flushed, Zara stood a little straighter, strengthened by that raw-edged confession. It did her good to know that he was not quite as in control as he liked to pretend. Every time she looked at him she had to fight her natural response to his sleek dark magnetism. The idea that he had to fight the same attraction had considerable appeal. He bent his arrogant head, eyes narrowed to track her every change of expression with a lethal sensuality as integral to him as his aggressive take on life.

‘All right, I’ll give marrying you a trial for three months,’ Zara declared, tilting her chin. ‘If we can’t make it work in that time we have to agree to split up without any recriminations on either side.’

‘A sort of “try before you buy” option?’ Vitale drawled silkily.

‘Why not?’ Feeling as though she was somewhat in control of events again, Zara settled her soft full lips into a wary smile. She could handle being attracted to him as long as he was attracted to her. If she kept a sensible grip on her emotions there was no reason why she should get hurt. Furthermore, after what he had done to her she would never make the mistake of viewing him through rose-coloured glasses again.

His hand curving to her narrow shoulder, Vitale lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his. As he pried her lips apart with the tip of his tongue an arrow of sizzling heat slivered through her with such piercing, drugging sweetness that she shivered violently in response. She dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from reaching out to him and she stood there stiff as a board while the greedy warmth and excitement of desire washed through her every skin cell, filling her with restless energy and longing.

He lifted his head again, dark golden eyes blazing with unconcealed hunger. ‘I’ll make it work for us,’ he swore.

But the very fact that he acknowledged a need to work at their marriage was, to her way of thinking, the most likely reason why their efforts would fail. Natural inclinations often outgunned the best of good intentions, she reflected worriedly. Only when the going got tough would they discover how deep their commitment to a practical marriage could actually go.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TWO weeks before the wedding, Vitale arranged to pick Zara up for lunch. Not having seen him at all in the preceding week owing to his demanding schedule, she was surprised by the invitation.

‘I thought you were always too busy during the day for this sort of thing,’ Zara reminded him of his own words on the phone several nights earlier as she climbed into his car.

‘As a rule I am but this is rather different. We’re going to see your father,’ Vitale revealed grimly.

Her head swivelled, eyes bright with dismay and curiosity in her disconcerted face. ‘Why the hell are we meeting up with Dad?’

‘It’s time I asked those questions about my sister’s death,’ Vitale volunteered tight-mouthed, his brooding tension palpable in the taut lines of his face. ‘Now that we are getting married those questions have to finally be answered. He’s your father. I can’t leave you out of this.’

‘I’m not sure I want to be there,’ she confessed, disturbed by the prospect of being on the sidelines of such a sensitive confrontation. ‘Although it hardly matters as relations currently stand between me and my parents, Dad won’t forgive me for being present if you’re planning to humiliate him.’

‘I see no advantage to doing that,’ Vitale admitted flatly fingers flexing and tightening round the steering wheel. ‘I phoned your father first thing this morning and told him that I was Loredana’s brother and that I need him to tell me the truth of what happened the night she drowned. He’s had a few hours to think over his options.’

‘And you think an upfront approach will work like some kind of magic charm with him?’ Zara pressed doubtfully.

‘Your father is not a stupid man. What does he have to lose? He knows I probably can’t disprove anything he says. There were only two crew members on board that yacht. The stewardess, who was also the cook, died. Rod Baines, the sailor in charge of the boat, suffered head injuries and remembered very little about that night after he had recovered.’

Monty Blake was in his office on the first floor of the elegant flagship hotel of the Royale chain. He was standing by the window when they entered and he swung round, his mouth tightening with annoyance when he saw his daughter. ‘Did you know about this connection when you got involved with the man you’re planning to marry?’ he demanded accusingly.

‘That’s not relevant. Why don’t you just tell Vitale what happened that night?’ Zara replied evenly.

‘I told the full story at the inquest many years ago—’

‘Yes, I believe

you magically found yourself in the rescue dinghy and then fell conveniently unconscious while the yacht sank,’ Vitale breathed witheringly. ‘How long were you a part of my sister’s life before that night?’

The older man grimaced. ‘I wasn’t a part of her life. I hardly knew her—’

‘But she was pregnant—’

‘Not by me, as I stated at the inquest,’ Zara’s father insisted quick as a flash. ‘I was never intimate with her.’