Sev's Blackmailed Bride (The Dante Dynasty Series: Book #1): The Dante Inferno Page 7

  He thought fast. “We can be discreet. They don’t have to know.”

  She cut him off with a swift shake of her head. “Forget it. I won’t make that sort of foolish mistake again or do anything to jeopardize my standing with the Fontaines. And just so we’re clear? Being with you could get me fired and my job’s more important than anything else.” She spared a swift glance toward the couch where the cushions still showed the imprint of their entwined bodies. Still held the heat of their passion. “Even that.”

  “Francesca—”

  She waved him silent. “Forget it, Sev. I agreed to meet with you this one last time. I think you’ll agree it was a lovely way to conclude our affair. And that’s all this is. A brief affair, now concluded. Now, I really need to go.” She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “If I don’t come back from lunch in a reasonable length of time, they’ll start asking questions I can’t answer.”

  It would be pointless to argue, he could tell. Better to find out what Nicolò and Lazz had dug up regarding the gorgeous Ms. Sommers. That way he’d be in a stronger position to formulate a new plan, one with a better chance of success. And it had to be quick, before his North surrendered to his South.

  “I’ll arrange for a cab,” he limited himself to saying. “And I’ll give you a call later this week.”

  She gave him a remote smile. “There’s no need . . . on either count.”

  He watched the delicious sway of her hips as she exited the room, the view threatening to bring him to his knees. “Damn, woman,” he muttered. “There’s every need. And I plan to prove it to you.”

  But he’d better figure out how, and fast. Because if he’d learned nothing else as a result of the past few hours, he’d discovered how wrong he’d been about The Inferno and all matters related to it.

  He’d been determined to woo Francesca away from the Fontaines and have her work for Dantes. To tempt her—not with sex—but with the financial advantages of working for Dantes. Or that had been his intention until he’d come face-to-face with one incontrovertible fact. A fact that sent his carefully laid plans crumbling to dust. There was no way in hell he could keep his hands off her now, or anytime in the near future. As of this minute, the plan changed.

  Not only did he want to uproot her from Timeless Heirlooms so the company would be more vulnerable to a Dantes’ takeover, but he also wanted to transplant Francesca into his bed and keep her there.

  At least until The Inferno burned itself out.

  Chapter Five

  Foolishly, Francesca assumed she’d seen the last of Sev.

  The delusion lasted right up until she decided to eat lunch at her desk, ordering from her favorite deli, a place that offered fast delivery service and thick sandwiches, stuffed with every imaginable delicacy. Within thirty minutes her sandwich arrived, along with a sprig of vivid-blue forget-me-nots, their delicate scent sweetening the air in her tiny office.

  “Thank you,” she said to the delivery boy before burying her nose in the fragrant blossoms. “What a nice thing to do.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “Do I get an extra tip for bein’ so nice?”

  “Absolutely.” She handed it over with a smile. “And thanks again.”

  “No sweat. The flowers weren’t from me, by the way. There’s a note that came with them. I stuck it in the bag with your sandwich.” With a cheeky grin he darted from the office.

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. Then curiosity got the better of her. She opened the bag and found a business card tucked inside. She glanced at it and, to her dismay, her fingers trembled. Sure enough, the linen-colored pasteboard had Sev’s name and business information typed on the front. On the back, he’d scrawled Remember.

  Somehow, he’d figured out where she usually ordered lunch. And for some reason, she spent the rest of the day sniffing the forget-me-nots as she struggled to do as he asked and remember . . . remember that dating Sev promised a fast end to a short career. Worse, it would put an even faster end to her burgeoning relationship with her father. Her mouth firmed. She wouldn’t allow anyone—not even a man as sexy as Severo Dante—to interfere with either of those two goals.

  The next morning on her way to work, she swung into her favorite Starbucks, desperate for caffeine after a sleepless night of wishing she were in Sev’s bed once more. To her dismay, the line stretched long and wide and she schooled herself to patience. Far ahead, toward the front, she caught a glimpse of a distinctive set of shoulders and striking ebony hair. Unbidden, her heart kicked up a notch and the air escaped her lungs in a soft rush.

  It wasn’t Severo Dante, she silently scolded, and constantly obsessing over him wasn’t going to help matters. She refused to see Sev in every man with an impressive build and dark coloring. She needed to get a grip. Deliberately, she forced her gaze away only to catch herself peeking at him as he finished paying and turned to leave.

  This time the breath exploded from her in an audible gasp as she realized it was Sev. He came directly toward her with the languid grace so uniquely his, carrying a pair of cappuccinos. He handed her one with a warm smile and a quiet, “Tesoro mio,” before continuing out the door.

  “Oh, God,” the woman behind her said with a groan. “Does that happen to you often?”

  “No.” Francesca stared at the cappuccino, then at the door through which Sev had vanished, before glancing at the woman behind her. “At least . . . not until recently.”

  “I don’t suppose you know what tesoro mio means?” Before Francesca could respond, the woman shouted out, “Hey, who knows what tesoro mio means?”

  “Italian. It means my treasure,” an older woman toward the front of the line called back.

  “Wow,” Francesca’s companion in line murmured. “Just, wow.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Francesca knocked back the drink Sev had given her in the vain hope it would pull her out of the sensual stupor fogging her brain. It didn’t. Instead, she spent the next twenty-four hours daydreaming about him.

  The next morning, Friday, she wasted her entire time in line searching in vain for Sev’s distinctive build. She refused to be disappointed when she didn’t spot him, and even came up with a handful of reasonable excuses for lingering in the small bistro while she sipped her drink. But he never showed.

  When she arrived at work, she was stunned to discover a blown-glass vase sitting on her desk with a new flower to replace the forget-me-nots, this time a sprig of orange blossoms. The white star-shaped blooms caressed the flame-red glass, the contrast between the two colors quite striking. Unable to resist, she picked up the vase, the sweet perfume of the flowers flooding her senses while the delicate glasswork warmed within her hold.

  It was an incredible piece with sinuous curves that flowed from base to stem and seemed to beg for her touch. Had Sev stroked it, just as she was now doing? Were her fingers tracing the same path his had taken? It was a distinct possibility, since no one who held this gorgeous creation could resist running their fingers along the flowing lines of the fiery glass.

  “Oh. My.” Tina came to peer over Francesca’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “And orange blossoms. Très romantique!”

  “Really? I didn’t know. I just love the scent.”

  “Mmm. They mean eternal love.” Tina’s eyes filled with laughter. “Or innocence. I’ll let you decide which is more appropriate.”

  Definitely not innocence. Francesca hastily returned the vase to her desktop. She took a seat and pulled out her sketchpad, determined to get straight to work. Not that she accomplished much. More times than she could count she found herself staring into space with a reminiscent smile on her face while she stroked the vase and inhaled the sweet scent of orange blossoms.

  Saturday came and Francesca assumed she wouldn’t have to worry about Sev showing up at Starbucks, or sending her a gi
ft at work, or finding some other way to tempt her into giving in to his blatant seduction. Or so she thought until she opened the door to her apartment to his latest surprise.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Sev lowered the fist he’d been about to use on her door. “I came to talk to you.”

  “I thought we decided we weren’t going to contact each other again,” she said. “Nothing can come of this, you realize that, don’t you? No matter how much I might want to see you, it means losing my job, and I won’t risk that.”

  He stared down at her with such heat that it was a wonder it didn’t turn the air to steam. “I’m well aware of that fact. Not that it changes anything.” He glanced over her shoulder and into her apartment. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Please, Francesca.”

  Just those two words and she felt her resolve fading. “What’s the point, Sev?” she whispered.

  “This. This is the point.”

  He cupped her face and took her mouth in a passionate kiss. Francesca closed her eyes as Sev made his point, as well as several others, in ways sweeter and more generous than any that had gone before. She gave herself up to sheer rapture, surrendering to desire over common sense. Without even realizing it, she backed into her apartment and Sev kicked the door closed behind them. Endless minutes passed before she surfaced with a groan.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this again. It’s not safe.” She fisted her hands in his shirt. “Listen to me, Sev. I’m telling you straight out. You can’t show up at Starbucks or send me flowers or any more gorgeous vases—thank you, by the way—or slip me notes in my lunch.”

  “Fine. I won’t. Instead, why don’t I steal you away for the weekend?”

  She had to give him credit for sheer brazenness, if nothing else. “Forget it. I’ve already told you—”

  He nodded impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before. That still doesn’t change anything. We need time together in order to resolve our differences.”

  “We can’t resolve our differences,” she emphasized. “There are simply too many obstacles.”

  “Obstacles we haven’t made any effort to overcome. I’d like to try and correct that oversight. I’ve made reservations. We’ll be discreet. No one will find out we’ve been together.”

  “And if I say no?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Will you blackmail me again?”

  “Would that make it easier for you to surrender?” His voice dropped, reminding her of a certain moonlit night when he’d whispered the most outrageous suggestions in her ear, suggestions he’d then turned from proposition to action. “Come with me, Francesca. Or I swear I’ll show up at Timeless and tell everyone who’ll listen that we’re lovers.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that because—”

  He leaned in, stopping her with another endless kiss. “Don’t challenge me.” There was no mistaking the warning in his dark eyes. “When have I ever failed to follow through on my word?”

  “Right now,” she informed him. “All this week. You said—” She hesitated, struggling to recall precisely what he had said when they last met. As far as she could remember, she’d done most of the talking that day. He gave her a knowing look and she blew out her breath in an aggravated sigh. “Okay, fine. You might not have come right out and said it, but you did agree to end the affair.”

  He tipped her face up to his. “Does it look like I agree with our ending things?”

  Not even a little. “Without question.”

  His slow, knowing smile proved her undoing. “Go pack a bag. We can finish arguing about it in the car.”

  She turned without another word and crossed to her bedroom. Five minutes later she returned with an overnight bag, more certain with every step she took that she’d completely lost her mind. And maybe she had, but after five minutes with Sev, she no longer cared. One more weekend and then she’d put an end to their relationship, she promised herself. Just these two days together and then no more. After all, who would it hurt?

  To her delight, Sev drove them into wine country, where he’d booked a room at a charming bed-and-breakfast. They spent the day at several of the local wineries sampling the wares before enjoying an impromptu picnic that consisted of generous slices of the local Sonoma Jack cheese and freshly baked bread. That night they dined out at a small, elegant restaurant specializing in French cuisine, their day together one of the most enchanting Francesca had ever experienced. The sun had long since set when they returned to their room and silently came together.

  She’d been waiting for this from the moment she’d agreed to spend the weekend with Sev, had been anticipating it, desire fomenting with each passing hour. And now that the moment had arrived, she tumbled, falling headlong into his arms and into his bed, if not into his heart. Because she couldn’t quite convince herself that what they felt could be anything more than physical.

  “We can make this work,” he told her, during the still hours between deepest night and earliest morning. “If we agree not to discuss anything job-related, this will work.”

  “For how long?” she protested.

  “Look, I know TH is after a big-name actress to pull them out of their financial hole. Eventually, I’ll find out who she is. I don’t need you for that. There are far more interesting ways to spend my time with you.”

  She managed a smile, even though she continued to worry. “Our jobs mean everything to us, Sev. Even you can’t deny that. They’re as much a part of us as our flesh and bones. We won’t be able to share that part of ourselves.”

  He conceded the point with a swift nod. “We’ll discuss other things, instead.”

  “Like what?”

  He rolled onto his side to face her. “Like, growing up in foster care. Coming from such a huge family, I can’t begin to imagine it. Why were you never adopted?”

  She tugged the sheet over her breasts and tucked it beneath her arms. A ridiculous reaction, she conceded, and more than a little telling. But talking about her childhood left her exposed. Any covering, even a sheet, helped compensate for that.

  “I almost was,” she said in answer to his question. “When I was eight. I’d been in foster care for three years by then.”

  He traced a scorching finger from the curve of her cheek down the length of her neck. As always, she flamed beneath his touch, her breath growing ragged. “What happened?”

  Francesca shrugged. “They were about to adopt me when Carrie unexpectedly became pregnant with twins. The doctor ordered complete bed rest and her husband insisted I be placed elsewhere because it was too much for his wife. I heard him tell the social worker that taking care of me put their babies at risk, and that the babies were their most important consideration.”

  Sev swept her hair back from her face, regarding her with heartbreaking compassion. “What happened then?”

  “I went through a succession of homes after that. Four, I think.” She dismissed the memory with a careless smile and rolled over on top of him. His warmth became her warmth and helped diminish the coldness that streaked through her veins and sank into her bones. A coldness those particular memories always engendered. “Acting out, I guess, because I’d been foolish enough to imagine that Carrie and her husband might actually want me as much as the children they were about to have.”

  “I’m sorry.” He released his breath in a rough sigh, causing the curls at her temples to swirl and dance. “That’s such an inadequate thing to say. But I mean it.”

  “Like I said, don’t feel sorry for me.” Pity was the last thing she wanted from him. “I survived.”

  “And found your father. That must have helped.” He studied her curiously. “You haven’t told me anything about him. What’s he like?”

  “There’s not much to tell,” she claimed, aware of how evasive she sounded. “He . . . he had a one-night stand with my mother. Since he was married at the time—is still married—I
didn’t feel comfortable intruding in their lives.”

  Sev swore. “You just can’t catch a break, can you?”

  “What about you?” She deliberately changed the subject. “You’ve said that after your father’s death you had to dismantle most of Dantes. I gather that included Timeless Heirlooms.”

  “Yes.”

  She could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but pushed, anyway. “Which explains why you’re so determined to get it back again. That must have been as difficult for you as foster care was for me.” She hesitated before asking, “Why has it become such an obsession? I mean, if your father was the one responsible for Dantes’ decline—”

  He wrapped his arms around her and reversed their positions, bracing himself on his forearms to lessen the press of weight on top of her. “Why have I become so obsessed with rebuilding it?”

  He looked so fierce. So determined. “Yes.”

  “Because my father tried to tell me something about the business the day before he died.” His words grew ragged. “And I was too impatient to listen to another of his crazy schemes. Maybe if I had—” He broke off, a muscle jerking in his cheek.

  “What?” Her eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You think he had an idea for saving Dantes? One that didn’t involve dismantling the entire business?”

  “I don’t think. I know. He called it Dante’s Heart. Even my mother thought it would work. I—reluctantly—agreed to meet with them the next day when they returned from their sailing excursion.”

  “Only they didn’t return.”

  He closed his eyes, grief carving deep lines into his face. “No.”

  “Didn’t he write down his idea? Leave some sort of clue behind?”

  “I tore both home and office apart looking for it. There was nothing. Nothing except—”

  She recalled what he’d told her when they’d visited his Pacific Heights house. “Letters detailing his affair with a designer.”