Sicilian's Christmas Bride Read online

  “Is it impossible for you to be a gentleman?” Tally said, hating herself for the way her voice shook.

  His smile was slow and sexy and so dangerous it made her heartbeat quicken.

  “But I was a gentleman with you. Was that a mistake? Perhaps you didn’t want a gentleman in your bed.” She gasped as he forced her head back. “Is that why you ran away in the middle of the night?”

  “I left you, period. Don’t make it sound so dramatic.”

  “Left me for what, exactly? The glory of an existence in the middle of nowhere? A bank account with nothing in it?” His tone turned silken. “I think not, cara. I think you left me for a new lover who isn’t a gentleman at all.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  He thrust his fingers into her hair. The pins that held it confined clattered sharply against the marble floor as the strands of gold-burnished cinnamon came loose and fell over her shoulders.

  “Is that it? Was I too gentle with you?” He wound her hair around his fist and lowered his head until his face was an inch from hers. “Had you hoped I would do things to you, demand things of you, that people only whisper about?”

  “Dante. This is—It’s crazy. I don’t—I didn’t…” She swallowed dryly. “Let me go.”

  She’d meant the words to be a command. Instead, they were a whisper. He smiled with amusement, and she felt an electric jolt in her blood.

  “I said, let go…Or did you come here thinking you could bully me back into your arms?”

  His eyes grew dark; she saw his mouth twist. The seconds ticked away and then, when her heart seemed ready to leap from her breast, he thrust her from him, stepped back and folded his arms.

  “Never that,” he said coolly. “And you’re right. Things were over between us. I knew it. In fact, that was the reason I went to see you that night. I wanted to tell you we were finished.” He gave a quick smile. “As you say, cara, things get old.”

  She’d known the truth but hearing it made it worse. Still, she showed no reaction. He wanted her to squirm, and she’d be damned if she would.

  “Is that what this is about? That the great Dante Russo wants to be sure I understand I made the first move only because your timing was off?”

  Dante chuckled. “Bright as always, Taylor—though you surely don’t believe I bought this bank and made this trip only so I could tell you it was pure luck you ended our affair before I did.”

  Tally moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She was dying inside, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know it.

  “No. I’m not that naive. You bought the bank because—” Desperately, she ran through the terms of the loan in her mind. Could he do that? Could he cancel what Dennison had already approved? “Because you think you can cancel my loan.”

  “Think?” he said, very softly. “You underestimate me. I can do whatever I wish, but canceling a loan that already exists would take more time and effort than it’s worth.” He smiled. “So I’m going to do the next best thing. I’m reinstating the original repayment terms.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “Reinstating them?” she said stupidly. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple, cara,” he said, almost gently. “As of now, you will pay the amount you are supposed to pay each month.”

  Tally thought of the four-figure number the loan called for. She was paying a quarter of that amount now, and barely managing it.

  “That’s—it’s out of the question. I can’t possibly—”

  “Additionally, you will pay the amount that’s in arrears.” He took a slip of paper from his pocket and held it out toward her. His lips curved. “Plus interest, of course.”

  Tally looked at the number on the paper and laughed. It was either that or weep.

  “I don’t have that kind of money!”

  “Ah.” Dante sighed. “I thought not. In that case, you leave me no choice but to start foreclosure proceedings against your home.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Foreclosure proceedings?”

  “This was a home equity loan. You put up your house as collateral.” Another quick, icy smile. “If you don’t understand what that means, perhaps your lover can explain it to you.”

  “Are you crazy?” Tally’s voice rose. “You can’t do this! You can’t take my house. You can’t!” Her hands came up like a fighter’s, fists at the ready as if she would beat him into understanding the horror of his plan. “Damn you, there are rules!”

  “You’ve forgotten what you know about me,” Dante said coldly. “I make my own rules.”

  He proved it by gathering her into his arms and kissing her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HE WAS KISSING HER, Dante told himself, because she’d lied to him a few minutes ago.

  Why else would he want her in his arms, except to make her confess to the lie?

  Taylor had never faked her responses in bed, and he’d be damned if he’d let her pretend she had.

  He was over her, but she knew just the right buttons to push. Well, so did he. He’d kiss her until she melted against him the way she used to and then he’d step back and say, You see, Taylor? That’s the price liars pay.

  Which was why he was kissing her.

  Or trying to.

  The problem was that he had cornered a wildcat. She fought back, twisted her head to the side to avoid his mouth and pummeled his shoulders with her fists.

  When none of that worked, she sank her teeth in his ear lobe so hard he hissed with pain.

  “Damn you, woman!”

  “Let go of me, you—you—”

  Her fist flew by his jaw. Grimly, Dante snared both her hands in one of his and pinned them to his chest. Her knee came up but he felt it happening and yanked her hard against him to immobilize her. She was helpless now, pinned between him and the wall beside the double doors.

  “Take your hands off me, Russo! If you don’t, so help me—”

  “So help you, what? What will you do? How will you stop me from proving what a little liar you are?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am not a—”

  He bent his head and captured her mouth with his. She nipped his lip, her teeth sharp as a cat’s. He tasted blood but if she thought that would stop him, she didn’t know him very well.

  He would win this battle.

  He had the right to know why she’d lied about what she’d felt when he made love to her. And to know why she’d left him.

  He wanted answers and, damn it, he was going to get them.

  He caught her face in his hands. Kissed her again, angling his mouth over hers, penetrating her with his tongue. He remembered how she’d loved it when he kissed her this way. Deep. Wet. Hot. He’d loved kisses like this, too…

  He still did.

  Dio, the feel of her in his arms. Her breasts, soft against his chest. Her hips, cradling his erection.

  He wanted her, and it had nothing to do with anger.

  It was the feel of her. The taste. The scent of her skin. He remembered all of it, everything making love to her had done to them both, and his kiss gentled, his touch turned from demand to caress, and a little sigh whispered from her lips to his.

  She was trembling, but not with fear.

  It was with desire. For this. For him.

  Something began to unlock inside him. Something so primitive he couldn’t put a name to it. He only knew that the woman in his arms still belonged to him.

  He swept his hands into her hair. All that lush, cinnamon-hued silk tumbled over his fingers.

  “Tell me you want me,” he said, his voice rough and thick.

  She shook her head in denial. “No,” she whispered.

  But her eyes were pools of darkness as she looked up at him, as her hands spread over his chest.

  “I don’t,” she said, “I don’t…”

  He took her mouth again and suddenly she gave the wild little cry he had heard her make a thousand times in th
e past. It excited him as much now as it had then, and when she rose on her toes and wound her arms around his neck, whispered “Dante,” as if he were the only man in the world who could ever make her feel this way, he went crazy with desire.

  It had been so long. Oh, so long since he’d possessed her. He was on fire…and so was she.

  Saying her name, blind to everything but passion, Dante fumbled with the buttons of her coat. When they didn’t come undone quickly enough, he cursed and tore the coat open.

  He had to cup her breasts or he would die. Had to thrust his knee between her thighs and hear her cry out again as she moved against him. Had to shove up her skirt, slip his hand between her thighs and, yes oh yes, feel her heat, yes, feel the wetness of her desire, yes, yes…

  Her head fell back like a flower on a wind-bent stalk. She whispered his name over and over, knotted her fingers in his hair as she lifted herself to him.

  Blindly, he lifted her off her feet. Spread her thighs. Reached for his zipper. Now. Right now. He would be inside her. Lost in her silken folds…

  “Mr. Dennison? I didn’t finish cleanin’ but considerin’ the storm’s turnin’ into a blizzard, an’…Whoa!”

  The thin, shocked voice had all the power of an explosion.

  Dante whirled around, automatically shielding Taylor with his body. A grizzled old man in overalls and work boots stood next to the tellers’ cages, his eyes wide and his jaw somewhere down around his ankles.

  “Who,” Dante said coldly, “are you?”

  Tally pulled the lapels of her coat together and peered past Dante’s shoulder, heart thumping in her ears.

  “It’s Esau Staunton. The janitor,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

  The old man was also Shelby’s biggest gossip. By tomorrow, the whole town would know what had happened here this afternoon. She gave a soft moan of despair, and Dante put his arm around her and drew her forward so that she was pressed against his side. She stiffened and would have moved away but he spread his hand over her hip, the pressure of it insistent.

  Was he trying to brand her? Or was he telling her this wasn’t finished? Either way, she had to let him do it. Her legs had turned to jelly.

  “Is that your name?” Dante said pleasantly. “Staunton?”

  The old man swallowed audibly. “That’s me.” His eyes danced to Taylor, then back to Dante. “Where’s Mr. Dennison?”

  “Mr. Dennison no longer owns this bank. I do. And you’re right, Mr. Staunton. You should leave now, before the storm gets worse.”

  “You sure?” Again, the rheumy gaze fell on Taylor. “My boy’s just pulled up at the curb in that red pickup, but, ah, if you or the lady wants—”

  “Go home, Mr. Staunton,” Dante said, his tone still pleasant but now backed with steel.

  “Oh. Sure. Sure, I’ll do that. Mr., ah, Mr.—”

  “Russo. And there’s one last thing.” Dante spoke softly, in that same polite but unyielding voice. “I’m sure you understand that Ms. Sommers wouldn’t want anyone to know about her fainting spell.”

  “Her fainting—”

  “Surely, I can trust you to be discreet. People who work for me always are. And you do want to work for me, Esau, don’t you?”

  Another audible swallow. “Yessir. I do.”

  “Excellent. In that case, have a pleasant weekend.”

  The old man nodded and opened the double doors. The wind filled the room with its icy breath as he scrambled into the red pickup, which disappeared into the swirling snow.

  “The old man was right,” Dante said. “The storm’s turned into a blizzard.”

  Tally stared at him. How could he talk about the weather after what he’d just done? Forcing his kisses on her. His caresses. If the janitor hadn’t turned up, who knew what would have happened?

  As for his admonitions to the old man—did he really think they meant anything here? By tomorrow, this sordid little story would be everywhere.

  Not that it mattered.

  Without a house, without an income, she and Sam wouldn’t be living in Shelby much longer.

  “Nothing to say, cara?”

  She wrenched free of his encircling arm. “You’ve done what you came to do, Dante. More, thanks to…to that performance just now.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Is that what you call it?”

  Amusement tinged the words. Oh, how she wanted to slap that smug, masculine smile from his face.

  “You are—you are despicable. Do you understand? You are the most despicable, contemptible—”

  The world blurred. She raised her hand and swung it, but his fingers curled around her wrist.

  “Such a temper, bellissima. And all because I caught you in a lie.” His smile vanished. “You wanted me three years ago and you want me now.”

  “If you ever come near me again—”

  “Don’t make threats, Taylor. Not unless you’re prepared to back them up.”

  She wanted to scream. To weep. To lunge at him again—but none of that would change anything. Because of him, her life had almost come apart before. Now, it lay in tatters at her feet.

  The only thing left was a dignified retreat.

  “You’re right,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm. “No threats. Just a promise. I don’t ever want to see you again. If you come after me, I’ll go to court and charge you with harassment. Is that clear?”

  He laughed. And, before he could stop her a second time, Tally slapped his face.

  Fury darkened his eyes. He reached for her, a harsh Sicilian oath spilling from his lips, but she slipped by him, yanked the doors open and ran.

  She heard him shout her name but she didn’t look back. The parking lot was a sea of white; the wind tore at her with icy talons as she fought her way to her station wagon, pulled the door open, got behind the wheel and slammed down the lock.

  Just in time. A second later, Dante grabbed the door handle, then banged his fist against the window.

  “Taylor! Open this door.”

  Her hands were shaking. It took two tries before she could jab the key into the ignition. The engine coughed, coughed again—and died.

  A sob burst from her throat. “Come on,” she said, turning the key, “come on, damn it. Start!”

  “Taylor!” Another blow against the window. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Getting away. That was what she was doing. Dante had destroyed everything she’d built over the last years. He’d taken her home with a stroke of the pen, her pride with a kiss she hadn’t wanted, her reputation with an X-rated scene she didn’t want to think about.

  And all he’d proved was what they’d both already known, that he was powerful and brutal, that he had no heart. That he could still make her respond to him, make her forget what he was and drown in his kisses….

  “Taylor!”

  She turned the key again. Not even a cough this time. Calm down, she told herself. Take it easy. The engine needed work, she knew that, but it had gotten her here, hadn’t it?

  The car wouldn’t start because of the cold, that was all. Or maybe she’d flooded it. You could fit what she knew about cars inside a thimble and have room for the rest of the sewing kit, but wasn’t there something about not giving a cold engine too much—

  The station wagon rocked under the force of Dante’s fist.

  “Damn you, woman, are you out of your mind? Get out of that car! You can’t drive in a blizzard.”

  She couldn’t stay here, either. Not with him. And there was Sam to worry about. Was Sam safe at the Millers’? Yes. Of course. Sheryl and Dan were Sam’s friends as well as hers. Still, she’d worry until she reached home.

  If there was one thing life had taught her, it was that anything was possible.

  One last try. Turn the key. Touch the gas pedal lightly…

  Nothing. Nothing! Tally screamed in frustration and pounded the heels of her hands against the steering wheel.

  “Listen to me,” Dante said, calmly now, as
if he were trying to talk sense to a child.

  How could she not listen? They were inches apart, separated only by glass.

  “Come back inside until the storm is over. I won’t touch you. I swear it.”

  She almost laughed. What could he possibly know of a New England winter? The storm might last for days. Days, alone with him? With a man who’d just promised not to touch her in a way that made it clear he was sure she was helpless against him?

  “Taylor. Be reasonable. We’ll phone for help. This town has snowplows, doesn’t it?”

  Of course it did. But would the phones work? The first thing that always failed in bad weather were the telephone lines.

  “Damn you, woman,” Dante roared. “Can’t you be without your lover for a few hours? Would you risk your neck, just to get back to him?”

  So much for logic and reason.

  Dante cursed, yanked at the door and it flew open. Tally grabbed for the handle but he was already leaning into the car, gathering her into his arms and striding to the bank through the blinding snow, head bent against the shrieking wind.

  When they reached the entrance, he put her down.

  “Just stand still,” he said grimly. “Once we’re inside, I’ll call the police. For all I give a damn, you can lock yourself in the vault until they arrive.”

  He reached for the brass handle and pulled.

  Nothing happened.

  He grunted, wrapped both hands around the handle and pulled harder. But the doors were locked.

  He spat out a word in Sicilian. Tally didn’t need a translator to know what it meant. Here was one situation he couldn’t control. Neither could she. The doors were probably on a timer. They wouldn’t open until Monday.

  People died in storms like this, and she knew it.

  So, evidently, did Dante.

  He picked her up again. She didn’t fight him this time. The footing was slippery; he stumbled, recovered his balance and she automatically wrapped her arms around his neck. Snow crunched underfoot as he made his way toward the black SUV she knew must be his. Halfway there, he dug his keys from his pocket, pointed the remote at the vehicle and unlocked it.