The Italian Groom. Jane Porter
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“This marriage. It’s not going to be easy. It won’t be impossible, it’s just not…natural.”
“No.” She laughed shakily. “It’s definitely not natural.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t make it work. We just have to try harder.”
“Niccolo, don’t you think this has gone far enough? I’d thought you’d back off from the marriage discussion by now. You’re not really going to go through with this.”
“Oh, yes, we are.”
“Maybe I’m misunderstanding you. Maybe you mean something in name only, an arrangement—”
“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” he interrupted. “You have your baby, you have your safety net. Sorry, Maggie, our marriage would be real.”
Shocked, she could only stare at him. A real marriage. Naked, beds, sex. Niccolo making love to her…
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Harlequin Presents #2178
The Italian Groom
Jane Porter
MILLS & BOON
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For my grandmother, Elizabeth.
I adore you.
Jane
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
“TEN years, and you still haven’t changed.” Niccolo’s softly accented voice echoed with disgust, his sensual mouth flattening in anger. “You never would listen to reason—”
“Nic, I’m only asking for the spare set of keys to my parents’ house,” Meg interrupted, trying to ignore the churning in her stomach. “These are not trade secrets.”
One of his black eyebrows lifted. “Is that a joke?”
She fought her fatigue and impatience. It wouldn’t help to get into an argument with Nic. Nic would win. He always won.
Struggling to sound reasonable, she reminded him of the long-standing agreement between their families. “It’s always been policy to keep a spare key for each other, in case of emergency. It’s never been a problem before, and I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of it now.”
“Because it’s not safe for you to stay alone at your parents’. The ranch is isolated. I’m ten minutes away if something should happen.”
“Nothing will happen.”
His voice fairly crackled with contempt. “Maggie, you attract trouble like pollen attracts bees. I’ve saved your skin from more scrapes—”
“I never asked for your help!”
“No, but you needed it.”
“You don’t know what I need, Nic. You just like to think you do.” She clenched her jaw, furious with herself for coming to the villa in the first place. If she hadn’t misplaced the key ring to her parents’ house, she wouldn’t be having this conversation with Niccolo Dominici, nor would she be receiving another of his famous lectures.
He made a choking sound and muttered something in Italian.
“What was that?” she demanded, knowing how he loved to resort to Italian when he wanted to say something particularly unflattering.
“I said I should give up on you.”
Meg stiffened indignantly, her shoulders squaring. She’d allowed him to crush her years ago, her tender heart broken by his harsh rejection, but thankfully she wasn’t a teenager anymore. “Then do! I don’t need your so-called help.”
“So-called?” He bristled, golden eyes glinting. The rapid pull of muscle in his jaw revealed her barb had hit home. She’d insulted him, bruising his considerable Italian machismo. Nic stared at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re fortunate that we have a very old friendship.”
“It’s not much of a friendship,” she retorted grimly. “In fact, you’re the last person I’d describe as a friend.”
His jaw tightened again, but he didn’t answer her. Instead his eyes searched her face. She kept her expression purposely blank. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see how strongly he still affected her. “Give me the key.”
“No.”
“My parents know I’ll be staying there. I left a message with the cruise line.”
“You cannot stay there alone.”
“I live alone.”
His mouth pinched tighter, and he crossed his arms, straining his green sport jacket. Yellow light glowed behind him, the villa’s French doors open to embrace the warm California night. “Which is quite dangerous in New York. The city is full of strangers who prey on young women.”
Inadvertently Mark, her baby’s father, came to mind.
What was the expression? A wolf in sheep’s clothing?
But she didn’t want to think about Mark, didn’t want to be reminded that she’d fallen for Mark partly because he’d reminded her so much of Niccolo. The fact that even after ten years Meg still desired men like Nic confounded her. Nic might be sinfully attractive, but he was also insufferably high-handed.
As it turned out, Mark and Nic were really nothing alike. Whereas Nic had scruples, Mark had none.
Mark wasn’t just any old wolf, but a married wolf with three kids and a wife tucked in an affluent Connecticut neighborhood. Greenwich, to be precise.
Her stomach heaved at the memory. Mark had insisted she get rid of the