Innocent of His Claim. Janette Kenny
Why was she so weak around Marco Vincienta?
“I seriously doubt your sister needs a man dominating her,” she said and was instantly pinned in place with his fierce scowl.
Her heart raced but she hiked her chin up, determined not to tremble over the past that still bound her, refusing to cringe at Marco’s command as she’d seen her mother do with her father countless times. Or worse, whimper when he physically abused her.
“You are an expert on these matters because?”
Delanie didn’t understand why on earth she had thought that the intervening years might have finally made him believe her. Still, he’d asked so she would answer.
“My father was quick to rule with an iron hand or fist depending on his whim.” He’d used it liberally on her mother to gain Delanie’s compliance.
A ripe curse exploded from him. “I told you never to compare me to David Tate!”
“Then stop acting like him.”
He frowned, brows drawn in a deep forbidding V over the classic slope of his nose. Time hung suspended between them, her heart supplying each tick of the seconds that raced past.
His fingers bunched into fists at his sides and her stomach flipped over. Ease up a bit. Marco won’t hurt you. At least not that way. She knew it in her heart, her soul.
“Are you saying Tate hit you?” he asked, his dark gaze probing hers.
For an instant she almost thought he cared that she might have suffered physical abuse, though for her the emotional barbs scared her just as much. But she’d heard her father apologize for his deplorable behavior for too many years, and watched him break his promises.
“No, he never hit me,” she said. “As I already told you, Father reserved his punishment for my mother.”
“A lot can change in ten years.”
That was an understatement considering she’d found herself trapped in an untenable situation. Since he hadn’t believed her then, why show concern now?
She huffed out a breath, his curiosity annoying. Insulting even. It no longer mattered to her what he thought. She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation.
His gaze narrowed, hardened. “Answer me.”
Again with the demands. But avoiding the issue was more troubling that it was worth. Nothing could be gained by ignoring him.
“A lot can remain exactly the same as well,” she said. “But to satisfy your curiosity, I stayed to ensure that my mother wasn’t abused. It was the only promise that my father never broke to me.”
Marco clenched his teeth against her bare-faced lie. He knew she was lying. Had known ten years ago. But if she was so insistent on pursuing her lies, then he would see how far she would go with them.
“What kept you there after her death?”
“You still don’t get it, do you? My father did to me what he did to you. He gained control of my business and the only way I could get it back was to abide by his agreement. I was two months away from getting my company back from him when you launched your takeover.”
She glared at the rich, powerful man who held all the cards and tried to forget there had been a time when she’d loved him with each breath she took. When she’d wanted to believe his every word. Wanted to trust him fully. A time when she wrestled between fear and desire.
“Now I’m doing your bidding to gain title to what is mine,” she said.
His gaze remained remote. “You’ll be amply compensated.”
“I’ll hold you to the letter of the contract,” she said.
He smiled, the gesture brief and calculating. “As will I, Miss Tate. Which is why we will stop at the villa first so you can meet Bella and complete your survey.”
Without another word he rose and walked to the rear of the plan, the soft snick of a door the only indication this inquisition was over. That he’d finally left her alone.
She crumbled in the chair and rubbed her forehead, emotionally spent. Despite his resentment of her, or perhaps because of it, he’d given her a golden opportunity to reclaim Elite Affair.
He was following her contract so far, so she couldn’t very well complain on that quarter either. Still she wasn’t about to let down her guard around him.
This was business. Nothing more. For that reason alone she had to keep her guard up. Had to see this event through to the end. Had to watch that he didn’t double-cross her—that once the job was completed, Elite Affair reverted solely to her one hundred percent.
Only then would she be able to start over. To make a life for herself. To be independent for once in her life.
All she had to do was get through the next two weeks.
Moments after the plane smoothly landed at the San Francesco d’Assisi airport on the less hilly outskirts of Perugia, Marco escorted Delanie to a waiting sedan and they were off. He rarely used a driver unless he was entertaining a fellow businessman, preferring to handle the wheel himself down the autostrada as well as on the roads that bypassed walled towns and sliced through the patchwork of medieval fields of produce.
But the combination of too little sleep and the emotional upheaval of being near Delanie again curtailed that urge. He tapped a fist on his thigh, still vexed by the latter.
He should not find her attractive. He sure as hell shouldn’t begin to believe her lies about her troubled childhood, not when he’d learned the truth. If David Tate had been the beast Delanie swore him to be, her mother would have broken free when she’d had the chance.
He needed his thoughts on the present. His relationship with Delanie was just business, pure and simple. That fact alone called for space between them. Though once they were in the backseat of the car she took that to the extreme and scrunched against the door as if waiting for the chance to jump free.
“I repeat, I am not going to pounce on you,” he said.
Her gaze swung to him, a bit wild and overly wide. “I know it’s just … You’re so intense. So angry still.”
He scowled, disliking that he was letting his emotions reign. She was so nervous he literally felt every quick breath she sucked in until his own equilibrium was spinning.
“My apologies then,” he said. “It has been a very long day without sleep.”
“For both of us.” She heaved a sigh and directed her attention beyond the auto again. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Il cuore verde d’Italia. The green heart of Italy.” He loved it. Respected it. Nurtured the land to the best of his ability and it rewarded him with kingly yields.
“You’ve always lived here?”
“For some time now,” he said, not inclined to share more of the details of his life with her.
There was no point in it.
She faced him, her perfectly shaped head lifted, pale brows pulled over the proud tilt of her nose. “Your vineyards. Are they near here?”
“The vineyards I inherited or the land your father destroyed?” he asked when he knew damned good and well that the latter was what she meant.
Two swaths of red streaked across her cheekbones. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”
“It is not something one forgets.”
“Or forgives,” she said, frowning. “I’m so sorry Father did that—”
“Save it,” he snapped. “I’m in no mood to hear your apology or excuses.”
She shut her mouth, hurt he had jumped to conclusions when what she’d been about to say was “to