Innocent of His Claim

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, enjoying this side of her. When he’d met her she’d been a combination of playful and meek, leaning more to meek in her father’s shadow.

But in the ensuing years Delanie had acquired bite and verve. The way she held herself and her ability to closet her emotions intrigued him. Not that he wanted to be intrigued again by this woman.

She’d tricked him once. He would never be so foolish as to totally trust her again.

Remembering that betrayal zinged an old burning sensation across his heart. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Elite Affair means a great deal to me and you know it,” she said, slender shoulders straight and back painfully stiff.

“Then use your head. If you walk out that door now you will toss away any chance of regaining total control of the business you built.”

She went pale, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. “After what you’ve done, how can you expect me to trust you?”

“I don’t,” he said. “This is strictly business. I’ve taken the initiative to draft a mutually beneficial contract. Are you willing to listen to terms or do I fire your employees and liquidate Elite Affair?”

“You’d do that to a profitable business?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Her small hands bunched at her sides and the mouth he’d dreamed of kissing into submission in the dead of night drew into a tight unyielding knot that slammed straight into his gut.

Dammit, he’d expected a tearful confession that she had worked with her father against him, followed by his magnanimous offer to hire her for his sister’s wedding, with Delanie’s reward being a fat check plus title to her company. But she was resisting him at every turn. Showing spunk and a stubborn bent that challenged him—aroused him.

Not that he would back off no matter what she said or did. He’d come this far and there was no retreat. No concession.

His gaze locked with hers and he caught that flicker of doubt. It was a battle of wills and in that he had the upper hand because he held what she wanted most. Elite Affair.

“Fine. We talk,” she snapped, not sparing him a glance.

She had conceded as he’d expected her to do. So why didn’t he feel victorious?

Delanie slammed the door she’d been about to escape through and strode back into her father’s oppressive office, passing him with a swish of her long hair. Ever the reigning princess.

He loosed a smile, enjoying the sight of her full bottom beneath her unbecoming black dress. His gaze remained on those long dainty legs that were deceptively strong, that had once clung tightly to his hips in the throes of passion.

Certainly if he put his mind to it he could have her back in his arms, back in his bed. And that was a complication he had no intention of taking on. Too much was at stake to risk satisfying his libido no matter how tempting. And she damned sure was tempting!

Ironic that the only passion between them now was anger and that shimmered off her in sizzling waves. Even that set his pulse racing, he admitted, sobering instantly.

If only he could cease wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. If only he could purge her from his system once and for all.

He gave his French cuffs a tug and followed her into the room, shutting the door and his emotions firmly behind him. She visibly jumped and he swore.

“Relax,” he said. “I don’t intend to pounce on you.”

“Excuse me for not trusting you,” she said, still presenting her painfully straight back to him.

He fisted his hands, resisting the urge to cross to her and force her to face him. Touching her would be a major mistake.

“That goes both ways, Delanie.”

She whirled to face him, features pinched tight. “If you distrust me so, then why do you want to negotiate with me?”

“I don’t,” he said frankly. “As I told you before, you are the bride’s choice.”

“And you’d do anything to please her.”

“Yes,” he bit out, “but—”

“Including corporate rape,” she interjected, chin thrust out and accusing eyes fixed on him.

He stiffened, the explanation poised on his tongue forgotten. “My takeover of Tate Unlimited was aboveboard.”

“Perhaps,” she said, chin up. “But your motive was revenge, proving you’re no better than my father.”

His fingers wadded into fists. “Never compare me to him.”

The warning was given in the strong, flat monotone that always convinced his opponents to switch topics. Color instantly bloomed on her too-pale cheeks, like vibrant English roses blooming amid snow, but her chin remained up and her gaze glittered defiance.

“Are you denying you acted out of vengeance?” she asked.

“No. But if I was in the same league as your father I would overextend Tate Unlimited until it was destroyed, as he did to my vineyard.”

Lines creased her delicate brow. “What?”

He drove his fingers through his hair and swallowed a curse. “Do not pretend you weren’t aware of its downfall.”

“I had no idea.” She shook her head, voice soft, big blue eyes wide. “Please tell me the truth.”

The look, the plea … That’s all it took to shift his plans off kilter. To get him thinking about her. In his arms. In his bed.

Her innocent act was worthy of an award, he thought grimly.

“You were vice-president of Tate Unlimited. How could you not know when you had access to all corporate records?” he asked.

Color flooded her face and she looked away. “It was a token position. I served as his hostess at business functions and, as he termed it, a charming diversion to his potential clients during intense initial meetings.”

He wouldn’t allow himself to believe her, no matter how much he might want to. “Fine. Play innocent. It doesn’t matter.”

Her fists landed on the plush back of the chair. “I am not playing innocent. I am ignorant of what my father did to your family’s company once he gained control, or why he would destroy something he obviously wanted so badly.”

Her wide eyes pleaded with his, open, unguarded. He huffed out a breath. Swore.

“Sagrantino grapes are prized throughout Italy and the world and my family’s winery grew the best. It was our legacy but few had heard of us outside of Italy because we couldn’t produce enough to satisfy world demand.” A muscle pulsed along his lean jaw. “That’s why I sought your father out. I needed financial backing as well as a noted exporter who could place our wine worldwide. Once he had wrested control of my family’s company, he destroyed it with gross mismanagement.”

“I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

“As am I, because his impatience and ignorance destroyed the vineyard.”

It was time to let the past drop into the black hole of his memories and hammer the lid back on it. He was in control of all that David Tate had owned. That evened the score as far as he was concerned.

As for Delanie, she was back in his life only because of his vow to please his sister. Once she finished planning the wedding, it would be better for both of them if they never saw each other again.

“Your small company has achieved a degree of favorable notoriety,” he said.

She gave him a long appraising look. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“It was brought to my attention.”

His gaze drilled into hers as she stood behind her father’s chair. “I’m giving you the chance to gain sole ownership of Elite Affair, debt-free, by successfully planning a lavish carte blanche wedding that will be photographed and reported worldwide.”

She went absolutely still, eyes widening like saucers. “Why are you willing to hire me with our history between us?”

It was a sound question, especially considering what he’d done—storming the citadel and winning. “You are my sister’s choice because of your company’s promise to work with the bride to make her wedding special. Every plan you do is unique.”

She crossed her arms beneath her bosom and gave the most unladylike snort, as if his compliment meant nothing to her and that almost made him smile. “Does your bride know that you are entrusting arrangements for her wedding to your former lover?”

He shook his head and let a rusty chuckle escape. This bolder side of Delanie was a welcome switch from the demure girl he’d known.

“I am not that trusting,” he admitted. “The bride is my sister, Bella, and she wants someone who will understand her needs and abide by her wishes. She needs your special touch, Delanie.”

Her eyes widened again and the faintest flush stole over her cheekbones. “I wasn’t aware you had a sister.”

“I didn’t know myself until eight years ago.” His hand cut the air, dismissing the topic from further inquiry. “It is complicated.”

“I’ve discovered that many families are ‘complicated’ in ways that have some impact on an upcoming wedding,” she said. “That’s one reason we are selective in our clientele.”

“Is that the only reason why you turned Bella down when she attempted to hire you two weeks ago?” he asked.

Her too-pale lips parted. “You can’t be thinking that I knew she was your sister, because I swear that isn’t the case. And even if I had known, my assistant handles all the initial calls. The moment he discovered the wedding was to take place in Italy, he would have politely declined and wished her well.”

Which, according to Bella, is exactly what had happened. “So what will it be? Your agreement to plan Bella’s wedding for title to your company or do we part company now?”

She bit her lip and frowned, then huffed out a breath and nodded as if coming to grips with her decision. “I’ll do it. I’ll have Henry send a contract to your solicitor by the weekend and we can go from there.”

“That’s too late. The wedding is two weeks from now.”

“That’s not nearly enough time,” she sputtered. “Two months is not sufficient to orchestrate such a lavish affair.”

“If we wait two months it will be clear why the bride is marrying so quickly. Understand?”

Her cheeks flushed a charming pink but she gave a jerky nod. “Yes. Well. That doesn’t leave us much time.”

“No,” he said. “I had my attorney draft a contract for your review. Once you sign we can be off.”

She stiffened up again. “We?”

“I’m in a time crunch and must return to Italy tonight. You’ll come with me and oversee the details there.”

“I can’t,” she said in a strained voice he’d never heard before, that touched something kindred in him. “My business and assistants are here.”

“There is nothing that can’t be done via the internet or phone,” he said. “You’ll have the best of both at your disposal.”

She cupped her palms to her face, her slender shoulders trembling once. Twice.

That tremor had him fisting his hands to keep from reaching out to her, enfolding her slender form against his length. And that would be a mistake for then she would know how much she’d affected him.

Dammit, he wasn’t going to let her get to him.

“Your answer, Delanie,” he said. “Do you come with me? Or is the deal off?”

She pressed her lips together, throat working. “After all that has happened between us, do you honestly expect me to trust you and drop everything?”

“Yes, because I am entrusting you to organize the most important day in my sister’s life.”

She looked away, stilled, then she bobbed her head and he hoped to hell that meant she understood, that she would cease fighting him.

“I prefer my own contract,” she said.

“As do I.”

Her chin came up again and her gaze clashed with his. Only the tremor in her lower lip belied her total control.

“My contract is designed for my purposes but you are entitled to make minor changes to it if you like,” she said.

He most certainly would do that. Ever since the disaster of dealing with David Tate, Marco had learned to manage his own affairs to the letter.

But this concession was doable. Perhaps even wise, for he would know what she expected and would be able to mount a countermove if necessary.

This time he held control and he would have Delanie close at hand again. And why the hell was he entertaining any thought of being close to her again?

His gaze raked over her, his brow furrowing. The black dress she wore encased the petite figure he remembered with aching clarity. She appeared gaunt and fragile. A deception, he was certain.

Marco paced to the heavily draped window and swore, painfully aware of what was at the heart of it. She’d intrigued him from the start. She still did.

But that didn’t matter now. It was all in the past, and it would stay there. He had control over that part of him now.

Having her in Italy would prove that. By the time his sister was a happily married woman, Marco would have no doubt in his mind that walking away from Delanie had been the right choice ten years ago. He could finally purge her from his system.

“Fine. Give me your contract and I’ll read it on the plane,” he said, the decision easy as it suited both their purposes. “Now let’s leave.”

Delanie bit her lower lip again. No was the easy answer.

But he was holding out her dream on a silver salver. He also held her employees’, really her only friends, future in his hands. She couldn’t refuse.

And if she was honest with herself, a part of her didn’t want to walk away. She could easily blame that lonely part of her heart that still held Marco Vincienta close, the part of her that wondered why he’d found her so lacking. That deep-in-the-night dream that his desertion had all been a horrid mistake and that they truly were meant for each other.

She was a fool for entertaining such fanciful thoughts, even for a moment, but she’d always been a fool for love where Marco was concerned. At least by taking this job she would be opening doors for herself in the future. That was her dream. That was what she would focus on instead of the tall handsome Italian whose touch made her bones melt.

“Okay,” she said. “It won’t take me more than an hour to pack.”

He broke eye contact the moment her agreement was out, snapping a strong wrist up to consult a watch that looked masculine and expensive. “We leave now. I will buy you whatever you need once we get to Italy.”

And that was the end of that argument, concluded before she could get her anger up. She made a quick stop at her minuscule office to collect the passport she’d needed for her dealings with Henry, her laptop, a contract and the jeans, jersey and comfortable sandals she’d left at work in case she decided to begin cleaning out her father’s office today.

With the lot of it crammed into a small carryall along with the few toiletries she kept on hand there, she let Marco escort her from the building, barely having the time to thank Henry before she was ushered into a gleaming black sedan.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, the drive through London a blur while Marco sprawled beside her and talked on his mobile, speaking a language she barely recognized as Italian. Not that it would have mattered if she spoke it fluently. Each time the car zoomed around a corner, the steely length of his leg brushed hers and her mind simply shut off as another emotion exploded in her, one that had lain dormant for ten years.

But even if they hadn’t touched, his presence simply commanded every inch of space. Commanded every second of her attention, leaving her all too aware of him as a powerful man.

Ruthless. Driven. She could see the end effect of what she’d glimpsed in him years ago.

Knowing she was powerless in his company played along her nerves until a discordant hum vibrated through her to leave her stomach knotted. Even shallow breaths pulled his essence deep into her lungs, bringing a flood of memories that made her throat clog with emotion best left untouched. In these close confines she was doubly aware of his control, his power, his sensuality.

Shifting away from him the best she could only brought his intense brown eyes slewing back to her. Her cheeks instantly turned red—she knew they must be because she felt the fire burning her skin.

“Is something wrong?” he asked when she had inched as far from him as possible.

Wrong? He had the gall to ask that when his large muscled form dominated the interior of the auto? When he’d taken everything from her?

She lifted her chin, aware diplomacy was necessary to avoid further conflict. “I was just giving you space.”

His gaze narrowed, his lips pulling into an uncompromising line. “Are you? Because to me it looks as if you’re avoiding my touch, even if that touch was no more than my arm or leg brushing against you. Accidentally brushed you, I would add.”

What could she say to that and maintain this fragile peace? The truth. They’d had a wretched history of avoiding the truth when honesty mattered most. But then when she had been honest with him, he had still walked away from her. He had been the one to turn his back on her.

“Use your head. Less than an hour ago you stormed into my life and took everything from me in the wake of my father’s burial,” she said with a telling quaver in her voice that had her clenching her fingers in frustration, a habit she’d developed as a child when her father was venting his anger on her mother.

She’d been so good at hiding her emotions from her volatile father. But she’d failed miserably at that with Marco.

He knew when she was angry, hurt, cautious. But he never could guess the reason for her trouble and she’d been too ashamed to tell him everything.

Her cheeks burned at the old memory. In that regard he’d been right to accuse her of lying to him. To be angry. If only he had believed her when she finally revealed her shame …

“I’m physically and emotionally spent, Marco. You’ve won. I’ve agreed to come to Italy and plan your sister’s wedding. But that’s all you’ll get from me,” she added. “Is that clear?”

“Extremely! I want nothing more from you than what was agreed upon,” he said, shoulders snapped into a rigid line.

“Good. I don’t want any misconceptions,” she said.

“There was never a doubt of your role or of mine,” he said as the sedan thankfully came to a stop at the airport, ending the torture of him jostling against her time and again. “Ten years ago you were looking for a rich man with status, a man who would measure up to your and your father’s precise standards. I was not that man then nor am I now.”

She gaped, flabbergasted. “You can’t believe that!”

“It is the truth.”

He couldn’t be more wrong, but to admit that would prompt questions she wasn’t about to address. Her trust had been broken not once but twice by this man. She wasn’t about to put it out there again.

Not that it mattered. He’d already slammed out of the car, leaving her alone and trembling. She pressed a hand to her middle and slumped against the seat.

A private jet—she’d never been able to tell one from the other—sat on the tarmac to her left, its stairs lowered to admit passengers. It didn’t dawn on her that this was Marco’s plane until she saw a crewman carrying her small duffel onto it.

Her door was wrenched opened a heartbeat later and cool brown eyes flecked with gold stared down at her. “Let’s go.”

She gave a nod and tried to extract herself from the car without his help. He mouthed a curse and assisted her to her feet, his large hand enveloping hers before she could protest, his skin warm against hers, his touch gentle and strong. Heat sped up her arm yet she shivered, liking his touch far too much and hating herself because of it.

The moment she gained her footing he dropped his hand from her and motioned her toward the plane. The message was clear: he didn’t wish to touch her any more than she wished to be touched.

A lie, if her libido had a say, which it most certainly did not. She crossed the tarmac quickly and hoped once inside she could find a seat far removed from him.

Not a problem, she realized as she mounted the stairs and stepped into the private lair of an Italian wine baron. The interior was dressed in a classic, yet understated, design resplendent in rich browns, ivory and gold.

The flight attendant motioned Delanie to take a seat. She bit her lower lip—so many to choose from. Twin flight chairs. A large curved sofa that was far too intimate. Farther back more chairs and a table, likely utilized for meetings. Beyond that an open door that showed a glimpse of a bed.

Wishing to stay as far away from a bedroom as possible, she claimed one of the deep gold chairs up front with a smile to the attendant and a quick glance at her traveling companion. He passed her without sparing her a glance, the thick carpet muffling his steps yet cluing her in that he preferred the rear of the plane.

Fine by her, she thought irritably as the strategically positioned cushions conformed to her tired back and tense shoulders. He could shut himself up in his bedroom for all she cared. The lack of his presence after such a trying hour would be a welcome pleasure.

“We’ll take off immediately so please fasten your seatbelt,” the attendant told her before disappearing into a cabin up front.

Delanie obeyed without complaint and tried to relax, not an easy feat as she’d never been a seasoned traveler. In the Tate household, the only member who took holidays was her father.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. The interior was quiet and comfortable and the chair was an absolute dream. If she managed to control her stress levels as the plane reached cruising altitude and leveled off then maybe she could nod off en route.

God knew she was tired enough to fall asleep standing up. The past week of dealing with doctors and attorneys and worried shareholders had drained her of her last reserves.

But total rest was still denied her.

Perhaps she could have dozed off if Marco’s voice hadn’t drifted to her. If her body hadn’t come awake at the deep timbre that left her shaking.

He spoke in clipped Italian delivered so fast and fluently that with her meager knowledge she couldn’t begin to translate. Was he really so much like her father, always engaged in some deal? Or was he delivering the news to Italy that he’d succeeded, that he’d brought Tate Unlimited to its knees?

That he had the millionaire’s heiress in tow with the contract that she’d agreed to do his bidding safely in hand?

All of the above, she thought as a small degree of hysteria rippled through her. Could she have dreamt up a more intense working relationship? No!

Marco was the billionaire who had trumped her tyrannical father’s millionaire status. He was the antithesis of power. He was her boss for the next two weeks.

He was the only man she’d fallen in love with. The only man she had ever loved physically and emotionally.

A hysterical laugh stuck in her throat as the plane sped through the clouds, carrying her into the unknown with a man who was more stranger to her than ever before. A man she’d hoped to cling to in the dead of night, who would be there for her until the day she drew her last breath. The man she’d spun dreams on.

Her only lover. Her hero.

Unwanted tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. How very wrong she’d been.

Hopefully, once they arrived in Italy he would take himself off so she could breathe again. So she could think. So she could do her job and then escape back to London with sole ownership of her business in hand.

Only then could she focus on her career. On her future. On living in peace. That’s all she wanted.

All she had to do to have that was endure two weeks in the company of the man who still left her weak-kneed. Who tormented her dreams in the dead of night.

She could do it. She had to. Failure wasn’t an option.

CHAPTER THREE

TWO hours into the flight, Marco ended the conference call and rubbed his gritty eyes. Sleep had been sporadic all week, a fact that could be blamed on the alluring beauty seated primly in the front of his plane.