Sandra Marton - The Sicilian's Christmas Bride

He wanted more. Wanted the kind of revenge that her infidelity merited. How dare she make a fool of him? How dare she?

There had to be a way. A plan.

Suddenly, he recalled the P.I.’s words. She’s done well. In fact, she’s just applied for an expansion loan at the local bank.

Dante smiled. There was. And he could hardly wait to put it into motion.

TAYLOR SOMMERS POURED a cup of coffee, put it on the sink, opened the refrigerator to get the cream and realized she’d already put it on the table, right alongside the cup she’d already filled with coffee only minutes before.

She took a steadying breath.

“Keep it up,” she said, her voice loud in the silence, “and Walter Dennison’s going to tell you he was only joking when he said he’d change those loan payments.”

Dennison was a nice man; he’d been a friend of her grandmother’s. He’d shown compassion and small-town courtesy when Tally fell behind on repaying the home equity loan his bank had granted her.

But he wasn’t a fool and only a fool would go on doing that for a woman who behaved as if she were coming apart.

Was that why he wanted to see her today? Had he changed his mind? If he had, if he wanted her to pay the amount the loan called for each month…

Tally closed her eyes.

She’d be finished. The town had already shut down the interior decorating business she’d been running from home. Without the loan, she’d lose the shop she’d rented on the village green even before it opened because, to put it simply, she was broke.

Flat broke.

Okay, if you wanted absolute accuracy, she had two hundred dollars in her bank account, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to what she needed.

She’d long ago used up her savings. Moving to Vermont, paying for repairs to make livable the old house she’d inherited from her grandmother, just day-to-day expenses for Sam and her had taken a huge chunk of her savings.

Start-up costs for INTERIORS BY TAYLOR had swallowed the rest. Beginning a decorating business, even from home, was expensive. You had to have at least a small showroom—in her case, what had once been an enclosed porch on the back of the house—so that potential clients could get a feel for your work. Paint, fabric, wicker furniture to make the porch inviting had cost a bundle.

Then there were the fabric samples, decorative items like vases and lamps, handmade candles and fireplace accessories…Expensive, all of them. Some catalogs alone could be incredibly pricey. Advertising costs were astronomical but if you didn’t reach the right people, all your other efforts were pointless.

Little by little, INTERIORS BY TAYLOR had begun to draw clients from the upscale ski communities within miles of tiny Shelby. Taylor’s accounts had still been in the red, but things had definitely been looking up.

And then the town clerk phoned. He was apologetic, but that didn’t make his message any less harsh.

INTERIORS BY TAYLOR was operating illegally. The town had an ordinance against home-based businesses.

That Shelby, Vermont, population 8500 on a good day, had ordinances at all had been a surprise. But it did, and this one was inviolate. You couldn’t operate a business from your house even if you’d been raised under its roof after your mother took off for parts unknown.

Tally’s pleading had gained her a two-month reprieve.

She’d found a soon-to-be-vacant shop on the village green. Each night, long after Sam was asleep, she’d worked and reworked the costs she’d face. The monthly rent. The three-months up-front deposit. The fees for the carpenter, painter and electrician needed to turn the place from the TV-repair shop it had been into an elegant setting for her designs.

And then there were all the things she’d have to buy to create the right atmosphere. Add in the cost of increased advertising and Tally had arrived at a number that was staggering.

She needed $175,000.00.

The next morning, she’d kissed Sam goodbye, put on a white silk blouse and a black suit she hadn’t worn since New York. She’d pulled her blond hair into a knot at the base of her neck and gone to see Walter Dennison, who owned Shelby’s one and only bank.

Dennison read through the proposal she’d written, looked up and frowned.

“You’re asking for a lot of money.”

“I know.”

“Asking for it in a home equity loan.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand what would happen if you were unable to pay the loan off, Ms. Sommers? That the bank would have the right to foreclose on your house?”

Taylor had nodded. “Yes, sir,” she’d said again. “I do.”

Dennison had looked at her for a long moment. Then he’d smiled. “You’ve got your grandmother’s gumption, Tally,” he’d said, and held out his hand.

The loan was hers.

She’d made the first payment…but not the second. Or the third. The contractors demanded their money according to the schedules she’d agreed to. Things couldn’t get worse, she’d thought…

And the furnace in the house went belly-up.

Pride in tatters, Taylor had gone to Dennison again. If he could see his way clear to lower the monthly payments…

He’d sighed and run his fingers through his thinning hair. In the end he’d done it.

Which brought her back to today’s phone call. It had come while she and Sam were having breakfast.

“I need to see you, Ms. Sommers,” Dennison had said. “Today.”

She’d almost stopped breathing. “Is it about my loan?”

There’d been a little pause. Then Dennison had said yes, it was, and she was to come to his office at four.

“Four,” he’d repeated, “promptly, please.”

The admonition had surprised her. So had the change from Tally to Ms. Sommers. She’d told herself it wasn’t a bad sign. A man who wanted to discuss a six-figure loan was entitled to be a little formal, even if he’d known you since you were a baby.

“Of course,” she’d said, all cool New York sophistication. Then she’d hung up the phone and tried to smile at Sam, whose eyes were filled with questions.

“Nothing to worry about, babe,” Tally had said airily.

Sam had grinned a Sam-grin, at least until she said she might not be home until suppertime.

“You can visit the Millers,” she’d said reassuringly. “You know how much you like them.”

She’d smoothed things over by promising they’d have the entire weekend together, doing what Sam liked most: snuggling with her on the sofa, watching videos and eating popcorn.

Dante Russo had probably never watched a video or eaten popcorn in his life…

And what was that man doing in her head again?

Who gave a damn what Dante Russo did or didn’t do? He was history. Besides, he’d never meant anything more to her than what she’d meant to him. New York was filled with relationships like theirs. Two consenting adults going out together, being seen together…

Having sex together.

Tally’s eyes closed. Memories rushed in. Scents. Tastes. Sensations. Dante’s hands, deliciously rough on her skin. His mouth, demanding surrender as he kissed her. His face above her, his silver eyes dark as storm clouds, his sensual lips drawn back with passion…

She swung toward the sink, dumped her coffee and rinsed out the cup.

What stupid thoughts to have today of all days, when she had to be at her best. Still, she understood why she would think of Dante.

Her mouth curved in a bitter smile.

This was an anniversary of sorts. She’d left Dante Russo a few weeks before Christmas, three years ago. All it took was the scent of pine and the sound of carols to bring the memories rushing back.

She wouldn’t let that happen. Dante had no place in the new life she’d built for herself. For herself and Sam.