“Are you trying to protect me from myself?” She looked almost…amused. “How sweet.”
Before he could answer, she walked away.
Massimo stared out the window at the thick wall of snow that held them here, trying to tame the frustration and desire that brewed inside him.Dio, this woman was driving him crazy. He wanted her in a way that defied rational thought. But he had controlled this want, he reminded himself, and he would continue to keep himself in line. But wasn’t his whole life’s work perfectly suited to this task? From the moment he and Alessandro had taken over the family’s company, he had learned to put his own needs aside to lead others down a path that, in the end, was ultimately to his benefit. He had done it in far more high-stakes conditions, he told himself, and yet there was a dark rumbling inside that told him that never had the stakes been higher. But he would master this control. And if she refused to respond in an acceptable way? Massimo could end their marriage arrangement and find a more biddable bride. The idea turned over inside him uncomfortably. In fact, he found that even thinking about this option provoked a strong distaste.
No. He would make this arrangement work. And itwouldwork as long as he didn’t mistake his own lust for anything more than a tool to be wielded carefully and precisely, a tool to help negotiate a marriage that would show the world that, contrary to his father’s example, Carandini marriages were a stabilizing force in the dynasty. Emilio Carandini was the colorful exception, not the rule. The problem wasn’t the family’s temperament, as some tabloids had suggested when Massimo and Alessandro were kicked out of school. Massimo Carandini was not his father, as he had reminded himself so many times, and he never would be. Though less attraction between them would be ideal, if she could master it, they could craft an acceptable form of marriage. Every bit of his investigation suggested she knew how to calculate her best interests. Tonight he would nudge her to apply this skill to their relationship.
Catarina d’Avalos was sheltered, her visions of marriage no doubt as fanciful as those in the books that lined her extensive library shelves. She had made it clear that she’d wanted a bit of romance, and though this was far outside his natural inclination, Massimo had a few ideas to work with at the moment. The fire that sparked between them had made her curious, so he would flame it.
He would spend time softening her, opening her for seduction, which eventually could make her pliable, amenable to his will. To make this work, he would likely need to be more approachable, less intensely…himself. Temporarily, of course, until she agreed to the marriage bargain. Strangely, he felt an unfamiliar hesitancy with the ruthlessness of his plan of using her softness, her curiosity, against her. He felt a confounding aversion to the idea of taking advantage of her vulnerability. After all, he had chosen her precisely for these characteristics. But he pushed this hesitation away. He would simply get what he wanted from her, so they could come to an understanding that she could soon realize suited them both. And then he would move on from this distraction. They would live separate lives the way the most levelheaded members of society did, coming together occasionally only to slake any lingering desire. Children would, of course, put them in closer proximity, as he had no intention of neglecting his children the way his parents had. But that was a problem for long in the future. For now, he would draw her out with passion and bring her back to those first moments in the library, when she had been prepared to marry him.
Chapter Seven
AFTER A DAYof slinking around, trying to avoid Massimoin her own house, Catarina gave up. Her breaking point was the scent of garlic, olive oil and spices that seeped under her door and swirled in the air. Was Massimo…cooking? It was an image she couldn’t quite conjure in her mind, and yet, as she rounded the corner to the kitchen, she found Massimo in front of the oven looking as if he belonged there. He was wearing a new T-shirt that fit in all the right places, and the sweatpants sat temptingly low on his hips. In one hand he held a dish with an oven mitt, and with the other, he squeezed a lemon in his large, capable hand. Dark, wavy locks of hair hung over his forehead as he worked, obscuring the bandaged cut. Catarina found her gaze pulled back to the way the muscles on his forearm flexed as he held the pan. He looked focused on the task in front of him, shockingly at home in the kitchen in a way that she herself had never been. The scene was captivating.
Catarina didn’t realize he was aware of her presence until he turned and gave her a smile dazzling enough to momentarily stun her. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I thought Alessandro was the charming one,” she said. “Did you do some sort of twin switch with your brother?”
“I contain multitudes of layers, Catarina.” He said it with his usual self-important seriousness, but followed the statement with a wry smile. Was he laughing at his own intensity level? “I hope you like fish.”
“Much better than my plan for shrimp, mayonnaise, dill and cucumber sandwiches.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”
His tone suggested he was glad he knew how to cook.
“It’s a Norwegian tradition that reminds me of summer.” Summers with her mother.
He nodded. “Then that’s understandable.”
“How gracious of you to say so,” she said with mock sincerity. “The country is grateful for your approval.”
His eyes danced with humor, and she had the same off-kilter feeling she’d had a moment before. He was so much more approachable all of a sudden, as if he wanted to please her. This was enough of a change to make her suspicious. Or maybe she was just irritated by the fact that he had taken over her kitchen.
“Please…” he said, then gestured to the table.
“Make myself at home?” She flashed him a wry smile. “Thank you.”
Catarina turned to the dining room area and noted what she had somehow missed in her dazed walk from the stairs to the kitchen: The table had been transformed. Massimo had pulled out one of the many linens her grandmother had monogrammed and laid it across the far side of the long table, creating a more intimate space. On it, he had placed candles at the center that he had gathered from various shelves. Two places were set, facing each other, using her grandmother’s silver, and to the side of the candles was a chilling bucket for wine. Catarina eyed the platter of olives, figs, olive-oil-soaked goat cheese and a selection of crisp crackers, some of which she didn’t even know she had, and she wanted to make another comment along the lines of making himself at home, but the voice stuck in her throat. The table was beautiful, and he had somehow transformed the emptiness of this house, with its ghost that still lingered, into something inviting. She approached the table and sat in one of the tall-backed chairs where her former life had played out, bracing herself for the familiar rush of sadness. But instead, Catarina felt a small burst of something else. Was it hope?
The thought made her want to retreat to her room, and maybe she would have if she hadn’t been so incredibly hungry and if the scent of the food he had prepared hadn’t been so intoxicating.That’s not the only reason, said a voice somewhere deep inside. She felt Massimo behind her, stirring the heat that seemed to grow stronger each time he was near.
“I hope you approve,” he said.
“It’s lovely,” she acknowledged softly, hoping her voice didn’t betray a hint of the wistfulness she was trying to tamp down.
But Massimo’s words from her father’s library returned, mocking this optimism.I was given to understand that you were clear about the nature of ouragreement.She absolutely shouldn’t pin hopes on this man. He had made that perfectly clear.
He set another plate on the table, this one a grilled antipasto platter of zucchini, carrots and red onions with a creamy dip that gave off hints of garlic. She had been entranced by this man from the moment she walked toward him in the family library. His raw sexuality was overwhelming. But this Massimo Carandini, who’d created a multi-course meal from the ingredients Signe had brought and no recipe? He was even more dangerous. This softer, more approachable man intrigued her, even when she knew better than to trust his motivations. And underneath it all was still the thrum of their electric connection that sparked and sizzled inside her.
Catarina took a long breath. The kiss this morning had been a lesson, probably even a warning of what lay ahead. That he had meant it as such had been clear. Was he right that there was no room for freedom in a kiss like theirs? It certainly wasn’t freedom she had felt when she’d clung to his shirt as if it was a life raft in the storm of their kiss. She knew cages, and this didn’t feel like one. It was something new, something that she needed to understand, especially if she were to marry Massimo.
Was she still considering this marriage? When she fled to this mountain refuge, all she could think about was escape—from her father, from the marriage, from Massimo. She had put aside the feeling in the library and left, and maybe she could have hardened her resolve if he hadn’t followed her. But now she knew the way it felt when his stern gaze darkened with desire, when his solid frame pressed against hers, his soft lips coaxing hers open, his hard length between her legs, the intent unmistakable. Everything about him preoccupied her to the point of distraction. Maybe she could make sense of this feeling that giving in to her desire for Massimo could cost her everything. It was their situation, this inescapable closeness, she told herself, that sparked this intense flame between them.
Through the windows, the snow continued to fall. The light from the candles reflected on the walls and warmed the hue of Massimo’s bronze skin as he opened the bottle of wine and poured her a glass. He took his seat across from her and raised his. “To unexpected pleasures.”
She raised her glass and smiled. “Pleasures like avalanches and head injuries?”
