Melanie Milburne - Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride

Frankie shook her head and bit her lip. ‘No. It must be awful for you.’

‘Damn right it’s awful.’ He moved to stand behind her father’s desk, his hands gripping the back of the chair as she had done earlier. ‘It’s been virtually impossible to run my business lately. Deals have been cancelled at short notice. Big deals. Deals I worked on for months. Every time I turn up to a board meeting I can feel the tension, the uneasiness. Your situation is awful too, but we can fix both with a short-term marriage. It’s not as if you’re marrying a stranger. I will not treat you with anything but the utmost respect. You have my word on that.’

Put like that, it sounded a perfect plan. The trouble was the devil was in the detail. Devilish details such as her growing awareness of him. The physical awareness she could feel even now. The faint prickle of her breasts every time his gaze skated over her figure. The tingle in her lips when his eyes rested on her mouth. The hollow burning ache between her thighs when she thought about him touching her there . Frankie crossed her legs in an effort to quell the sensation but, if anything, it made it worse. It made her more aware of the secret tingling urgings of her body. ‘But if we were to marry on paper, say, won’t people expect us to be affectionate with each other, at least in public if not in private?’

His gaze drifted to her mouth for a brief moment. But then he blinked and brought his eyes back to hers, his expression an unreadable mask. ‘We will have to touch on occasion but we can agree on what’s appropriate.’

‘You’re making it sound so...so clinical,’ Frankie said.

‘The best solutions to tricky problems are formed without emotion clouding judgement.’ He tapped his fingers on the back of the leather chair and added, ‘Which brings me to the number one rule I insist on.’

‘Rule?’

His eyes were as steady and determined as a marksman’s. ‘No falling in love with me.’

Frankie rocketed out of her chair as if it had burned her. ‘Me fall in love with you?’ She pointed her index finger at her chest and then at him. ‘What about you falling in love with me?’ This time she stabbed her index finger at him before pointing it back at herself. ‘Works both ways, buddy.’

His jaw was set in an intractable line, his gaze suddenly cold and marble-hard. ‘It’s highly unlikely. No offence.’

Frankie gave a snort of laughter even though her ego was suffering a major crisis. A debilitating crisis. Was she so unlovable? Was every doubt she had about herself true? ‘Let me tell you what I find offensive. You thinking I would be so desperate as to accept your stupid proposal.’

Gabriel put his hand on the paperwork he’d placed on the desk earlier and pushed it across so she could see it. ‘The villa will be placed back in your name as soon as we’re married. It’s written in this contract. We will go on a short honeymoon to the south of France for the sake of appearances.’

A honeymoon? Frankie’s gaze went to the contract even though she hated herself for it. She didn’t want to need Gabriel’s help but who else would or could help her? Some of the people she had thought of asking had already lent her father money and were impatient to be repaid. And who else had that sort of money?

She read through the contract, wondering yet again why he was going to so much trouble to help her. But then she recalled what he’d said about his father’s latest scandal and the board position Gabriel was trying to keep. Success was important to men like Gabriel. He thrived on it. It was why her rejection of him had nettled him.

He didn’t give up on a goal.

He found ways, made ways, to achieve it.

Frankie pushed the contract back to his side of the desk. ‘It seems to me you’re paying a very high price for respectability, marrying a woman you swear you could never love.’

‘It’s best if we both keep our emotions out of this, Francesca.’ He softened it with a small on-off smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘And if we were to consummate the marriage, I absolutely insist on the use of contraception. No exceptions. Understood?’

Frankie held her hand up. ‘Whoa there. Aren’t you jumping ahead of yourself? I haven’t agreed to marry you yet and I—’

‘You will marry me, cara . You have too much at stake not to.’

Frankie wished it wasn’t true. But the thought of losing her home for the sake of her stubborn pride was an ask too big, an even bigger ask than marrying a man who claimed he would never fall in love with her. Was there any crueller blow to a feminine ego than that insulting declaration?

Frankie blew out a breath of resignation, keeping her gaze out of reach of his. ‘It looks like I’ve got no choice...’

He came from behind the desk and stood next to her. ‘Look at me, Francesca.’

She brought her gaze up to his dark inscrutable one. He searched her gaze for a long moment, then he lifted his hand to her face and gently traced the curve of her cheek from just below her ear to the base of her chin. Every nerve in her face tingled at his touch, her heart skipping a beat, her breath coming to a screeching halt.

His mouth slanted in a knowing smile. ‘I’m helping you. You’re helping me. That’s all this is. Do I make myself clear?’

Frankie pulled out of his hold and pointedly rubbed at her chin. ‘I have some rules too. You don’t get to touch me unless I say so.’

‘Sounds reasonable, although there will be occasions when we’re in public that my asking permission will look odd, sì ?’

‘Okay, but I mostly meant when we’re alone.’ Frankie elevated her chin to a defiant height. ‘And it’s going to be a paper marriage.’

A glint appeared in his gaze as if the wick of an irresistible challenge had been lit. ‘Are you absolutely sure about that, cara mia ?’

GABRIEL HELD FRANKIE’S defiant grey-blue gaze. He could see the battle playing out over her beautiful features. She reminded him of a haughty princess who had suffered an insult from a lowly stablehand. She wanted to slap him but her classy upbringing prevented her from doing so. Her small fists kept clenching and unclenching, her shoulders stiff with bottled-up emotion. It was one of the things he found so cute about her. The way she was so buttoned up like she had stepped straight out of the Regency period.

‘I told you not to call me that.’ Her eyes flashed like lightning and his groin tightened at the thought of seeing those unusual eyes shining with lust instead of loathing. Grey one minute, blue the next, her eyes reminded him of the lake outside with its shifting blue moods and smoky grey shadows.

‘People will expect me to speak to you affectionately once we’re married,’ he said, privately smiling at her tightly compressed mouth. The mouth he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing. Lush, full lips shaped like a perfect cupid’s bow. A mouth built for passion, for pleasure. A mouth he craved to taste, to explore, to tease and tantalise.

She thought him beneath her—understandable given his criminal family—but while four years ago she had rebuffed his offer of a date, now she was the one who couldn’t say no.

He liked proving people wrong. It filled an emptiness inside him. He had spent most of his life trying to avoid comparisons with his father and it satisfied him to prove he was nothing like anyone in his family.

Gabriel was a self-made man who lived by his own moral code, not by the warped and corrupt one of his family. Marrying Francesca Mancini was his way of honouring her father. Marco Mancini had put aside his prejudice about his upbringing and had given him a chance. A chance Gabriel had not wasted. Marco’s timely advice and direction had meant Gabriel had been able to expand his career, buying and selling property, and in the process had amassed huge amounts of his own wealth. Last year, Marco had invited him to an exclusive board of company directors. The networking alone was worth gazillions. He would never forget the risk Marco had been prepared to take on a young man from a notoriously disreputable family.