Sandra Marton - Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

“Why, signore, ” she all but purred, “I see I have silenced you at last.”

She smiled. It made his belly knot. There were hundreds of years of arrogance in that smile; it spoke of the differences between commoners and kings, and in that instant, Nick knew the game had changed.

He smiled, too, but something in it made her expression lose a little of its upper-class defiance. She began to step back but Nick caught her by the wrist and tugged her toward him.

“There’s been a change in plans, princess.”

“Let go of me!”

He did, but only to slip his hand around the nape of her neck. Tendrils of the softest gold tumbled over his fingers.

“I’m the potential investor,” he said softly, “not my old man.”

“That is not what my father told me!”

A muscle knotted in Nick’s jaw. She was staring at him through eyes so deep a blue they were almost violet. He’d stunned her, he could see that. Hell, he’d stunned himself.

He might be a peasant, but he was also a man. And she was a woman. A woman who needed to learn that this was the twenty-first century, not the sixteenth.

Nick’s gaze dropped to her lips, then rose so his eyes met hers.

“Trust me, princess,” he said in a voice as rough as sandpaper. “The only Orsini you’re going to deal with is me.”

Alessia Antoninni, the Princess Antoninni, shook her head. “No,” she said, and he silenced her the only way a man could silence a woman like this.

He thrust his hands into her hair, lifted her face to his and kissed her.

TIME seemed to stop.

Alessia was too stunned to react.

A stranger’s powerful arms around her. His mouth on hers. The heat of his body, the leanly muscled male strength of it…

Then she gasped. Fury and indignation transformed her into a virago. She twisted her head, slammed her hands against his chest, knotted those hands into fists when he failed to let her go.

A mistake, all of it.

His hand slid up into her hair so that there was no way to turn away from his kiss. One big palm slid down her spine, stopped at its base and brought her tight against him.

Was he insane?

He was kissing her as if he had the right to do it. To take whatever he wanted because of who and what he was, and to hell with propriety or their surroundings or the fact that they’d met only minutes ago and already despised each other.

Her hands flattened against his chest again. She pushed at that wall of hard muscle and when that had no effect, she tried to squirm free.

Another mistake, worse than the first one.

Instantly, she felt the thrust of his aroused flesh against her belly.

Her heart thudded.

She began to tremble, and his lips moved on hers, the angle of the kiss changing so that she had to tilt her head back. Was that why she suddenly felt dizzy and the ground took a delicate tilt beneath her feet?

She heard a sound. Was it she who’d made it, an almost imperceptible whimper overlaid by Nicolo Orsini’s raw, ragged groan?

Her hands moved. Slid to his shoulders. Into his hair. Her lips began to part…

And then it was over.

He clasped her arms with such force that her eyes flew open, and as they did, he set her away from him.

She stared at him. His face was all harsh planes and angles; his eyes were slits of obsidian beneath thick, black lashes. Faint stripes of color ran beneath his high cheekbones as a muscle ticked in his jaw.

Alessia wanted to slap his face. More than that, she wanted to run.

But she wouldn’t. She knew better than to show fear to a predatory animal. It was a lesson she’d learned when she was twelve, hiking the golden Tuscan hills alone late one afternoon and suddenly coming face-to-face with an enormous wild boar. Its long, razor-sharp tusks could easily have torn her open.

Despite her terror, she’d stood her ground. After what had seemed an eternity, the creature had snorted, stepped back and faded into the brush.

Now, as then, she forced herself to stand still. Not only wild animals but men, too, measured power in the fear they could engender.

That was why Nicolo Orsini had kissed her, and why she would not run from him. Instead, she drew a steadying breath and then slowly, deliberately, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

“If that was meant to impress me,” she said in a steady voice, “it failed in its purpose.”

The slightest smile curved his mouth.

“Did it,” he said.

His tone made it clear the words were not a question. Alessia decided to ignore the implications.

“And I warn you, signore, if you do anything like that again—”

“Spare me the threats. You’re in no position to make any.”

Dio, the man was hateful! Alessia’s chin lifted. “Sei un barbaro!”

“I’m a barbarian, huh?” He grinned. “Come on, sugar. Don’t hold back. Say what you’re thinking.” His phony smile vanished. “What I am is the man who holds the purse strings. Remember that and we’ll get along just fine.”

Alessia stared at the hateful American and the last of her composure slipped away.

“We will not get along at all, signore. There has been a change in plans. The Antoninni Vineyard is not available for investment. You have made a long trip for nothing.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. The principessa stood tall, shoulders back, head lifted in an attitude of defiance. She despised him, which was fine. He didn’t think any better of her. All that was clear and up-front. The only question was, why had he kissed her?

To put her in her place?

A lie.

He didn’t deal with women that way. He had faults, sure, but using sex as a weapon wasn’t one of them. And he was not a man who’d ever take anything a woman wasn’t eager to give.

Aside from all that, if putting her in her place had been what he’d intended, it had backfired. She wasn’t shaken by what had happened; she was as cold and disapproving as ever. He must have imagined that something had changed in the last seconds of that kiss. That her mouth had softened. That her body had yielded to his. That she had parted her lips for him, that she had moaned…

Or had the moan been his?

“Do you understand me, Signore Orsini? Go home. Go back to your people. You have no further business here.”

Nick looked at her. The message was clear. He was not only a barbarian, but he was also a Sicilian thug. An Orsini. And that was more than sufficient for a woman like her.

“We shall, of course, reimburse you for any expenses you’ve incurred.”

The imperial we. The princess, addressing one of her subjects. Nick smiled, folded his arms and leaned back against the side of the Ferrari. It was a smile that those who’d faced him in boardroom battles or desert combat would have known enough to fear.

Hell, he thought coldly, why not live down to her expectations?

“Such a generous offer,” he said softly.

“Yes. It is.” She shot a look at the Ferrari’s bumper. “I see some simple damage. Send us the bill.”

“Shall I send it at the same time I send you a list of…how did you put it? The expenses I’ve incurred?”

“As you prefer. And now, signore …”

“And now, you assume, arrivederci .”

“Assume?” she said, her tone one of elegant disdain.

But she didn’t look elegant. Nick’s gaze made a slow circuit again, from the shoes that seemed to make her wobble to the wrinkled silk suit to the drawn-back hair. Wispy strands the color of winter sunlight fell around her oval face.

There was a bedraggled look about her.

And maybe bedraggled was the right word.

She looked as if she’d just tumbled out of a man’s bed. His bed, he thought, and felt the immediate response of his body to the image of what it would be like to strip the arrogant princess of her clothes and do whatever it took to turn all that frosty hauteur to hot passion.

He did a mental double take. Why would he even think of something like that? Alessia Antoninni was beautiful in the way statues were beautiful. There was nothing soft or warm or welcoming about her. She wasn’t a challenge, she was a turnoff. That he’d even imagined bedding her—hell, that he’d actually kissed her—made him furious.

Dammit, he thought, and he took his anger and put it where it rightly belonged.

“You were right,” he said brusquely, “my trip was lengthy. Eight hours flying to Rome from New York, then a three-hour delay at the airport added up to lots of time to kill.”

“And you expect compensation for that time immediately.”

She said it as if it were a given. Nick watched as she opened her purse, rummaged through it and finally extracted a checkbook. “If you can provide me with a figure—”

She gasped as his hand closed around her wrist. His fingers were biting into her flesh. He was probably going to mark that tender, upper-class skin. Not only didn’t he give a damn, but he was also grimly pleased to do it.

“Are you always so sure of yourself, princess? Or is it only with me?”

Her eyes flashed.

“Let go of me, Mr. Orsini.”

Nick smiled tightly. “What happened to signore? Don’t I even rate that much now that I’m about to call your bluff?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you don’t unhand me—”

“Another threat, principessa? ” His smile twisted. “Maybe you need to listen before you make threats.”

“Listen to what?” She looked as if she wanted to kill him. Fine, he thought grimly. The more certain she was of herself, the more he’d enjoy the sight of her taking a metaphoric tumble right on her icy ass. His grasp on her tightened until they were a breath apart. “I repeat, I had lots of time on my hands. I spent it going through the material your father sent about your precious vineyard. It was detailed. Very detailed…but there was lots missing.”

“I have no knowledge of what material you saw and it is of no interest to me. You are—”

“Dismissed? A while ago, I was excused. Now I’m dismissed.” Nick’s smile was as frigid as his tone. “Antoninni Vineyards is on the verge of ruin.”

“That is not your concern.”

“Four years of bad weather damaged the grapes. Your old man chose new plantings that turned out to be a mistake. He made lousy marketing decisions. I don’t know a damned thing about viniculture—”

“How nice to hear you admit it.”

“But I do know about investments. I added up some figures, added them up again and figured out, real fast, that what your father neglected to list in that report is at least as meaningful as what he did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but Nick could hear the lie in the words.

“I think you do. Papa Prince took more cash out of those vineyards than he put in. Where did it go, sugar? The horses? The casinos? Women?”

Alessia yanked furiously on her imprisoned hand. “This conversation is over!”

“Without money—and we both know it’s going to require more than the five million euros Daddy requested—without it, your family’s business will be a thing of the past.”

“You are a fine one to talk about family businesses,” she said, her face filling with color.

It was a nicely placed jibe. Dead wrong, but she had no way of knowing that and Nick had no interest in pointing it out. She thought he was a famiglia heavy? Let her think it. Hell, he wanted her to think it. There was a sweet pleasure in a woman like this believing she was on the receiving end of help from the man she believed him to be.