fact, I agree.”
“Then, let me be more direct.” Aimee’s eyes were hot with warning. “I will not marry you under any—”
Nicolo cursed, grabbed her, hauled her into his arms and captured her mouth with his. It was sudden; she had no time to think, no time to do anything except let it happen…
No time to keep her lips from parting hungrily under the pressure of his.
When he drew back, she stood motionless, heart racing, body tingling, while he watched her through narrowed eyes.
“There is an American expression,” he said softly. “Win-win. Do you know it, cara? It is the perfect way to describe what I have in mind.”
“I know what you have in mind. And I don’t want any part of it.”
“Your grandfather wants an heir. I want SCB.”
“And you’d marry me to get it.”
“James says you are an intelligent woman. Can’t you see beyond your pride?”
Did he think that was why she wouldn’t agree? Because of her pride? Did he think that if he’d wanted her—her, not an expansion of his empire—she’d have agreed to this outrageous marriage?
“You’re right,” she said, her voice shaking, “I do have too much pride to marry someone like you.”
His eyes went cold. “This discussion is over.”
“You said that before. And I agree. It’s over. So are your pathetic attempts to convince me to marry you.”
“I was going to tell you that I would be willing to let you try your hand at helping me run SCB, once it is mine.” His mouth thinned. “Now, I would not even allow you to play at being in charge of the mail room.”
“What a coldhearted bastard you are.”
“No,” he said calmly, “not at all. For all intents and purposes, I had no father. I would wish better for my child.”
“Such a noble sentiment! Too bad I know that this is all about SCB. Well, I don’t give a damn for SCB! And nothing you say or do can make me change my mind.”
Nicolo smiled thinly. “I wonder if you’ll feel that way when I tell your grandfather that you carry my child, that I have offered to marry you and that you have refused.”
“Do it,” she said recklessly. “I hate you. I hate him—”
“You may hate me, cara, but you don’t hate that old man. If you did, you wouldn’t have been so hurt by the things he said this morning.” His gaze hardened. “Your grandfather hasn’t much longer to live,” he said bluntly. “Would you have him die knowing you denied him the things only you can give him?”
Aimee knotted her hands. “Is there anything you won’t do to get your own way?”
“Win-win, cara,” he said softly. “A peaceful close to your grandfather’s long life. Legitimacy for our child.” He drew her against him, his arousal swift and obvious against the V of her thighs. “And a bonus,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Or must I remind you what it was like when we made love?”
“It was sex, not love. And if you really think I’d ever let you touch me again—”
Nicolo laughed, gathered her against him and kissed her.
She struggled. Fought. But his kiss was deep and all-consuming and in a heartbeat, she was kissing him back.
It was the same as the night they’d met.
The fire. The hunger. The heavy race of her heart. The only way she could keep from falling was to clutch his jacket, rise on her toes, cling to him and cling to him until he let go of her.
It took a moment to catch her breath. By then, he had strolled to the door.
“Ten o’clock,” he said over his shoulder. “And be prompt. I don’t have time to waste.”
“You—you—”
Blindly she snatched a glass from the counter and flung it. It shattered against the wall an inch from his head but he didn’t turn around. If he had—if he had, he thought grimly as he yanked the door open and went into the hall, God only knew what he’d have done.
There was a limit to how much of a woman’s anger a man had to take.
Halfway down the stairs, he took out his cell phone and called his attorney.
“This is Nicolo Barbieri. I wish to be married tomorrow,” he said brusquely, aware and not giving a damn that this was exactly the kind of arrogance Aimee had accused him of. “The woman’s name is Aimee Stafford Coleridge Black.” He listened for a moment, then made an impatient sound. “Rules and regulations are your concern, signore, not mine. Find a way around them, make the necessary arrangements and send a report, the paperwork, whatever is necessary, to me at my hotel. No, not as soon as you can. Tonight.”
Nicolo snapped his phone shut and stepped into the street. It was raining again. Dio, what was with this combination? Rain, and Aimee Black. It was as if the skies were trying to tell him something. He had no coat, no umbrella and from what he could see, there wasn’t a subway station in the vicinity. No bus stops, either, and as always when it rained in Manhattan, the taxis seemed to have vanished.
He was at least forty blocks from his hotel.
He began walking. The exercise would do him good. Maybe he could work off some of his anger.
Aimee wasn’t the only one who was furious.
He was, too.
At her. At himself. At how easily she could make him lose his grip on logic and self-control, the very qualities that had helped him build what she so disparagingly referred to as his kingdom.
He knew men who lived on the largesse of those impressed by a useless title.
Not Nicolo.
He had worked hard for all he had, though Aimee made it clear she didn’t think so. She didn’t like him. Didn’t respect him.
Why in hell was he going to marry her?
To gain Stafford-Coleridge-Black? Ridiculous. He wanted it, yes, but not enough to tie himself to a woman he didn’t love.
To give her unborn child a name? He wasn’t even sure the child was his. How had he forgotten that?
And even if it was, he didn’t need to marry Aimee to accept the responsibilities of paternity. He could even make it a point to be part of the child’s life.
Well, as much as he could.
If he’d been calmer, he’d have seen all this right away. But Aimee had forced a confrontation. Her anger had fueled his and he’d let her wrest control of the situation from him.
She
