The Italian’s Ruthless Marriage Command. Helen Bianchin

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      ‘Except at the end of the day you win.’ She attempted to keep the faint bitterness out of her voice, and was unsure she succeeded.

      His eyes remained steady, inviolate. ‘This is about Ben,’ he reminded quietly. ‘And what’s best for him.’

      It didn’t help that he was right. Or that she viewed his threatened alternative of adoption as totally unconscionable.

      There was no way she’d allow that to happen, although she refused to give in easily without protest.

      The waiter delivered their meal, and Taylor looked at the salad, contemplated her plate and wondered if she’d be able to eat so much as a morsel.

      ‘I don’t want to share a house with you.’ And if you comment I’m the first woman to say that, I’ll hit you.

      He looked at her carefully, caught the fast-beating pulse at the base of her throat, and his eyes narrowed fractionally.

      ‘There’s a boyfriend on the scene who will object?’

      A fleeting darkness clouded her eyes, then it was gone. ‘No.’ Betrayed trust ensured true friends were limited to a few, and acquaintances kept at a distance.

      Interpreting body language and subtle nuances in the human voice was an art in which he excelled…an invaluable asset in the cut and thrust of international business dealings.

      It took, Dante mused, an accomplished actress trained to submerge her own personality in order to assume that of the character she was contracted to play.

      And somehow he doubted Taylor was playing a part. Yet he’d stake his reputation on there being something responsible for her chosen façade…even allowing for recent grief, and Ben’s welfare.

      ‘And you, Dante? Won’t your current mistress protest at your proposed live-in arrangement with another woman?’

      ‘No.’

      Just…no?

      ‘Eat,’ Dante bade and he began doing justice to the food on his plate.

      The salad looked delicious…although her nerves were stretched too taut to appreciate the taste of food.

      She declined dessert and settled for coffee, sweet, black and strong, aware it was also Dante’s choice, and when the waiter presented the bill she reached for her wallet…only to have Dante refuse her offer to pay her share.

      ‘There’s enough time to check out the house before we collect Ben.’

      House? We? ‘I don’t think—’

      ‘We have an hour and a half,’ he enlightened as he ushered her out onto the pavement. All it took was a brief conversation via his mobile phone, and within minutes a black Mercedes slid in to the kerb.

      Dante opened a door, ushered her into the rear seat, then he crossed round the vehicle and slipped in beside her, introduced his driver, Gianni, with friendly ease. Given Dante’s reputed ruthlessness in the business arena, she assumed he’d appear businesslike with his staff, and she sat in silence as he issued instructions to an address in Watson’s Bay, one of Sydney’s luxurious suburbs offering widespread panoramic harbour views.

      House was a misnomer. Mansion seemed a more adequate description, Taylor conceded as the Mercedes swept through high, ornate remotely operated steel gates, circled a wide driveway and eased to a halt beneath a wide porte-cochère protecting broad double entrance doors of steel-strutted solid patterned wood.

      Double-storeyed, the building resembled a Tuscan villa, with a cream and terra-cotta tiled roof, cream stucco exterior walls and, she saw when she entered the large lobby, cream marble floor tiles, beautiful rugs and solid mahogany furniture.

      A middle-aged woman came forward to greet them. Dante introduced her as Anna, whose husband, Claude, maintained the grounds.

      There were oil paintings gracing the walls, an elegant, sweeping double staircase, and a sparkling crystal chandelier hung suspended from a tall ceiling.

      Taylor was supremely conscious of Dante’s close proximity as he showed her through the house.

      The subtle tones of his cologne teased her senses, and, although he made no attempt at physical contact, she disliked the prickle of awareness stealing through her body.

      She covered it well, making appropriate comments as they moved through the ground-level rooms, all of which were spacious, beautifully furnished, before moving to the upper level, which did, as Dante had indicated, contain two distinct wings, each containing guest suites with adjoining en suites. There was also a media room, a family lounge and two home offices.

      It was, Taylor had to concede, a beautiful home, complemented by landscaped grounds, a large swimming pool with entry from the side of the house and completely enclosed with a solar-tinted glass roof and glass-panelled external walls.

      There was no valid reason why Dante’s suggested living arrangement couldn’t work…with certain iron-clad provisos.

      ‘Any reservations you’d care to voice?’ Dante queried as they began descending the staircase, and she met his dark, probing look with equanimity.

      ‘A few.’

      ‘Then let’s hear them.’

      She paused on one step and turned towards him, aware he copied her action.

      ‘I want to make it very clear Ben is the only reason I’ll accept your suggestion.’

      ‘So noted.’

      ‘The live-in arrangement is strictly business,’ she offered, and lifted a hand to cover the tell-tale thud at the base of her throat, ‘with all that statement implies.’

      Dante looked at her for a long moment, aware she held his gaze with determined resolve, almost silently daring him to be the first to glance away.

      Yet beneath the resolve he sensed unaccustomed wariness and a degree of fragility. Coupled with innate reserve, it was an interesting mix.

      ‘You have nothing to fear from me,’ he drawled, and saw a delicate pink tinge her cheeks an instant before she turned away and began stepping quickly down the stairs.

      Dante checked his watch, alerted Gianni, then he followed Taylor down into the lobby and led the way to the waiting Mercedes.

      It was a relatively trouble-free run from Vaucluse to Double Bay, and Dante turned slightly towards her as the car slid into a parking bay adjacent the kindergarten. ‘I’ll come with you.’

      She could hardly refuse without sounding churlish, and she managed a polite response. ‘Ben will be pleased to see you.’

      Dante’s presence drew attention as they crossed towards the kindergarten entrance, his tall, broad, impeccably tailored frame a stand-out from the few males gathered waiting to collect children.

      Within minutes the outer door СКАЧАТЬ