Dario Lorenti was a powerful and ruthless man who held her future and the happiness of the people she loved in the palm of his hand, and who had no scruples about using that power to get what he wanted. Trying to appease him probably wasn’t the best strategy, because it was like playing peek-a-boo with a tiger. Eventually, she’d lose.
She had no idea why he needed this fake marriage, or why he had picked her, but she had to ensure she didn’t allow him to beguile and belittle her. No easy feat, given she didn’t have a lot of experience with men generally.
She wasn’t a virgin. She’d dated at school and gone all the way with a boy she’d met at agricultural college… But those pleasant if not particularly memorable encounters hadn’t got her anywhere near as hot and bothered as Dario Lorenti had with a single look.
Sexual confidence seemed to ooze from this man’s pores, and he used it as a weapon, without even trying. Because how else had he put her whole body on high alert—every pulse point pounding, each erogenous zone humming—when she was fairly sure she didn’t even like the guy? And she certainly did not trust him. He was far too surly, and mercurial, and unreadable. And that was before you factored in that he was proposing they ‘pretend’ to be man and wife for an entire year…
Stop acting like an airhead then! And talking in silly euphemisms.
‘I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to sleep together!’ she blurted out, seizing the tiger by the tail. ‘If I take on the role of your wife, that’s all it would be, a role. I just want that understood. In case you were wondering…’
His eyes narrowed, but what she saw in them bolstered her resolve—not amusement anymore, but admiration.
‘Duly noted, Tallulah,’ he murmured, his ego clearly not dented by her assertion, but at least he wasn’t laughing at her anymore. ‘What we choose to do in private would not be part of your paid role as my wife,’ he continued.
‘Okay, good,’ she said. His phrasing was a little weird, because they wouldn’t be doinganythingtogether in private, surely. But English wasn’t his first language, and she was glad he wasn’t going to press the point, because the hot spot between her thighs had begun to ache.
‘You will take the job then?’ he asked, although it didn’t really sound like a question, his confidence as intimidating as everything else about him.
‘I… I suppose so,’ she said. His eyes flashed with that exhilarating intensity, forcing her to add, ‘But I’d need the money now.’
Westwick was falling apart, and her staff hadn’t had a pay rise in years. She couldn’t wait any longer to secure the investment they needed.
Irritation doused the fierce glow in his eyes at her counter demand. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being bargained with. But she refused to cower or back down. If she was going to spend a year having to appear in public with this man, and dealing with all these bizarre tingles and pulses, not to mention his controlling and volatile personality, she had to make sure it would be worth it. But the truth was, pretending to love, honour and obey him would be a small price to pay to secure the Hall’s future—and make all her dreams for her dream job become a reality.
‘I will put five hundred thousand euros into the Hall’s operating accountonceyou have signed the pre-nuptial agreement,’ he countered. ‘And a further five hundred thousand on the day we are wed. The balance of the investment, though, will be contingent on your ability to adhere to the terms of our agreement—and willnotbe paid until I am entirely satisfied with the outcome of this arrangement.’
Tali blinked, the heat rising in her cheeks—and a few other disconcerting places besides—at the commanding tone, but right alongside that disturbing reaction was the giddy burst of hope.
A million euros! It was more than she could ever have hoped for when she walked in here—and that was before his initial threat to demolish the place. Even if Lorenti wasn’t satisfied with the arrangement—which she suspected he wouldn’t be, when he discovered she was about as far from being trophy-wife material, evenfaketrophy-wife material, as it was possible to get—the Hall would have a million euros of new investment.
She could repair the holes in the roof and the driveway, give everyone a modest pay rise, fund the tearoom’s much-needed makeover and offer their chef Jim a full-time job—so he could give up the night shifts at the local pub she knew he hated. Plus her mum’s home would be safe and Tali could even begin the infrastructure projects that would demonstrate to Dario Lorenti the magnificent potential of the stately home he had inherited.
It was all good. In fact, it was fantastic. And if by some miracle she managed to pull off the role of trophy wife to Lorenti’s satisfaction—which was a very big if, but she’d do her best—they would have an additional million euros to play with in a year’s time. Of course, it would help if she had some idea of what he was trying to achieve with this fake marriage, why he needed it and why on earth he had chosen her, but that could wait until she knew him better.
The thought of spending more time in his company made the strange reaction in her abdomen pulse and glow, alongside the giddy leap in her heartbeat. She ignored it.
This was a job, he’d said so himself. Lorenti was a fascinating man—and okay, beyond gorgeous. But he was also scarily intense and unknowable, and she suspected that would never change, no matter how much time she got to spend with him over the coming year—which would probably only be a few strategic appearances together, she hoped.
She could still remember the taciturn and angry teenager, whose moody façade she’d only managed to make a few dents in as a little girl. And he’d been a great deal more vulnerable and approachable then—lonely and in pain—than he was now.
She’d been a lot more naïve herself as an eight-year-old, of course, convinced all Dario Lorenti had really needed was a friend, someone to make him smile, someone to care about him, to help him heal. She’d strived to be that person once, but it would be like butting her head against a brick wall now, and she’d done enough of that as a child, trying to get her father to notice her.
What all those ignored texts and emails had taught her, eventually, was that you couldn’t change people, and you couldn’t make them care about you if they chose not to. So, it was pointless to try.
Even so, her heartbeat thundered in her ears when Dario murmured in a gruff voice, ‘Do we have a deal, Tallulah Whittaker?’
She nodded. ‘Okay, I’m in,’ she replied, trying to focus on the million euros and all the things she could do with it, and not the unreadable expression on his harshly handsome face—which was making her pulse points go haywire.
He held out his hand. ‘Let us shake on it.’
She reached out, but as his hand gripped hers, something fierce and shocking leapt up her arm and surged into her sex.
His eyes widened a fraction, as his fingers tightened.
Had he felt it, too—that shocking burst of adrenaline which was even now causing her legs to feel like overcooked noodles and her lungs to contract?
If he had, he controlled it faster than she could, the flecks of gold in his irises mesmerising her as he lifted her hand to his lips in a practiced move. But before his mouth could connect with her knuckles, he sniffed and dropped his gaze to her fingers.
