LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      A SOFT BREEZE wafted in through the open windows, making the filmy drapes at the window shiver like a bridal veil and the mocking significance of that didn’t escape Willow. She drew her hand over her clammy brow and looked around the luxurious room. She could hardly believe she was here, on Dante’s estate, or that he had persuaded her to come here for a long weekend, despite the many objections she’d raised.

      But he’d made her feel guilty—and guilt was a powerful motivator. He’d said that her lies about being his fiancée had given his grandfather hope, and it was in her power to ensure that a dying man’s hopes were not dashed.

      ‘You seemed to want to let your family believe that you were going to be my bride,’ were his exact, silken words. ‘Well, now this is your chance to play the role for real.’

      Except that it wasn’t real, because a real bride-to-be would be cherished and caressed by her fiancé, wouldn’t she? Not kept at a chilly distance as if she was something unwanted but necessary—like a bandage you might be forced to wrap around an injured arm.

      They were installed in an unbelievably cute cottage in the extensive grounds, but in a way that was worse than staying in the main house. Because in here there was the illusion of intimacy, while in reality they were two people who couldn’t have been further apart. She was closeted alone with a man who clearly despised her. And there was only one bed. Willow swallowed. This time it was a king-size bed, but the principle of where to sleep remained the same. Was he really willing to repeat what had happened at the wedding—sharing a bedroom, while keeping his distance from her?

      Dante had telephoned ahead to tell the housekeeper that they wished to be guaranteed privacy. She remembered the look on his face as he’d finished the call. ‘They’ll think it’s because we’re crazy about each other and can’t keep our hands off each other,’ he’d said mockingly.

      But Willow knew the real reason. It meant that they wouldn’t be forced to continue with the farce for any longer than necessary. There would be no reason for Dante to hide his undeniable hostility towards her. When they were with other people they would be sweetness and light together, while in private...

      She bit her lip, trying hard to block out the sound of the powerful shower jets from the en-suite bathroom and not to think about Dante standing naked beneath them, but it wasn’t easy. Their enforced proximity had made her achingly aware of him—whether he was in the same room, or not.

      They had flown in by helicopter an hour earlier and Willow’s first sight of the Di Sione family home had taken her breath away. She’d grown up in a big home, yes—but this was nothing like the crumbling house in which she’d spent her own formative years. This, she’d realised, was what real wealth looked like. It was solid and real, and clearly money was no object. The white marble of the Long Island mansion was gleaming and so pristine that she couldn’t imagine anyone actually living in it. She had been aware of the endless sweep of emerald lawns, the turquoise flash of a swimming pool and the distant glitter of a huge lake as their helicopter had landed.

      A housekeeper named Alma had welcomed them and told Dante that his grandfather was sleeping but looking forward to seeing them both at dinner.

      ‘And your sister is here, of course,’ she said.

      ‘Talia?’ questioned Dante as the housekeeper nodded.

      ‘That’s right. She’s out making sketches for a new painting.’ Alma had given Willow a friendly smile. ‘You’ll meet Miss Natalia at dinner.’

      And Willow had nodded and tried to look as she thought a newly engaged woman should look—and not like someone who had recently been handed a diamond ring by Dante, with all the emotion of someone producing a cheap trinket from the remains of a Christmas cracker.

      ‘What’s this?’ she’d asked as he had deposited a small velvet box on her lap.

      ‘Your number one prop,’ came his mocking response as their helicopter had hovered over the Di Sione landing pad. ‘The bling. That thing which women love to flash as a symbol of success—the outward sign that they’ve got their man.’

      ‘What an unbelievably cynical thing to say.’

      ‘You think it’s cynical to tell the truth?’ he’d demanded. ‘Or are you denying that women view the acquisition of diamonds as if it’s some new kind of competitive sport?’

      The awful thing was that Willow secretly agreed with him. Her sisters were crazy about diamonds—and so were plenty of the women she worked with—yet she’d always found them a cold and emotionless stone. The giant solitaire winked at her now like some malevolent foe, splashing rainbow fire over her pale fingers as Dante emerged from the bathroom.

      Quickly, she looked up, her heart beginning to pound. She’d been half expecting him to emerge wearing nothing but a towel slung around his hips, and guessed she should be pleased that he must have dressed in the bathroom. But her overriding sensation was one of disappointment. Had she secretly been hoping to catch a glimpse of that magnificent olive body as he patted himself dry? Was there some masochistic urge lurking inside her which wanted to taunt her with what she hadn’t got?

      Yet the dark trousers and silk shirt he wore did little to disguise his muscular physique and his fully dressed state did nothing to dim his powerful air of allure. His black hair was still damp and his eyes looked intensely blue, and suddenly Willow felt her heart lurch with a dizzying yet wasted sense of desire. Because since that interrupted seduction at her sister’s wedding, he hadn’t touched her. Not once. He had avoided all physical contact with the studied exaggeration of someone in the military walking through a field studded with landmines.

      His gaze flickered to where she’d been studying her hand and his eyes gleamed with mockery. As if he’d caught her gloating. ‘Do you like your ring?’

      ‘It looks way too big on my hand,’ she said truthfully. ‘And huge solitaire diamonds aren’t really my thing.’

      He raised his dark brows mockingly, as if he didn’t quite believe her.

      ‘But they have a much better resale value than something bespoke,’ he drawled.

      ‘Of course,’ she said, and then a rush of nerves washed over her as she thought about the reality of going to dinner that evening and playing the part of his intended bride. ‘You know, if we’re planning to convince your grandfather that we really are a couple, then I’m going to need to know something about you. And if you could try being a little less hostile towards me that might help.’

      He slipped a pair of heavy gold cufflinks in place and clipped

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