Her jaw clenched. Every atom of her being exuded hatred of defeat, the knowledge that she was forced to accept it. This time around. Dante had her cornered with no way out. He was very good at that, Jenny thought with black irony.
Lucia managed to stretch her mouth into a smile aimed at her. ‘I truly had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable, Isabella. Please forgive my thoughtlessness.’
‘I don’t mean to be difficult, either,’ she replied with an answering smile. ‘I guess I haven’t yet recovered from the shock of being presented with a family I knew nothing about. I can understand it’s a shock to you, as well.’
Lucia seized the excuse. ‘Yes. Hard to know what to do for the best. I’ll go and fix everything up for you and join you on the terrace as soon as I can.’ With a last challenging glare at Dante, she turned on her heel and walked briskly to the hallway he’d indicated.
‘Well done,’ Dante murmured, his warm breath wafting over Jenny’s ear, making her flinch away from the tingling sensation.
Her head jerked up, her eyes rejecting any form of intimacy with him as they met and held his. ‘Bella might very well have walked away after one day of this rotten family rivalry,’ she said in a fierce whisper. ‘Why don’t I do that, Dante? Remove any danger of being caught out. You got me here, which is all your grandfather asked you to do. Be satisfied with…’
‘No!’ He cut her off, ruthless determination stamping on her rebellion. ‘I’ve paid for the performance. You give it.’
‘One day is enough,’ she argued on a wave of panic.
‘It won’t be for Nonno.’ He released her hand and took hold of her upper arms, forcing her to face him. His dark eyes blazed with relentless purpose. ‘While ever he lives, you stay here, giving him whatever he wants of you.’
She instinctively fought against the overwhelming pressure of his demands, frantically searching for some way out. ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’
‘He will.’
‘Why should he? He doesn’t know me.’
‘Neither do I but I like you, Isabella.’ The tension on his strong face broke into a slow, sensual smile. ‘I’m beginning to like you very much.’
Her heart skittered in wild alarm as she felt her resistance melting. Her mind screamed that he had a woman and she must not allow his famous ‘charm’ to get to her. ‘I haven’t given you any reason to,’ she snapped.
He laughed, effectively zooming up his attraction quotient which was already far too discomforting for Jenny. Her head whirled with the need to block it out, stay indifferent to him.
‘All this time we’ve spent together, not once have you whined or wailed or wept about your fate.’
‘There was no point in kicking and screaming over what I can’t change.’
‘Exactly. Which is a surprisingly intelligent response from a woman.’
‘Then you can’t know many intelligent women.’
‘Or you’re not practised in using feminine wiles to win what you want.’
He was right. She’d never learnt to use feminine wiles, never been in the kind of environment where they might have been of use. In any event, if she read his character correctly, they would have been futile weapons in this situation.
‘Would they have worked on you?’ she asked, showing her scepticism.
‘No. But that wouldn’t have stopped most women from using them.’
‘Waste of time and energy,’ she muttered.
‘True. And I appreciate your pragmatic attitude. Needs must to get the job done. You’ve actually given me many reasons to like you, Isabella. Not least of which was the deft way you handled Lucia.’
‘As you said, you’ve paid for the performance. I was simply following your lead.’
‘With a nice little embellishment of your own at the end.’ He smiled again as he lifted a hand to touch her cheek in an admiring salute. ‘I’m sure you’ll handle the meeting with Nonno just as well.’
Her skin burned under the light caress. Her eyes burned with resentment over the cavalier way he touched her as he liked, always reinforcing the inescapable link between them. An increasingly dangerous link in Jenny’s mind.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ she said tersely.
‘It will go better if you relax.’
‘I’ll relax more quickly if you get your hands off me.’
He raised his eyebrows at the too-revealing comment and Jenny cursed herself for letting it slip. He lifted his hands out in a gesture of meaning no offence, and she felt herself flushing as she rushed into answering the heart-pumping speculation in his eyes.
‘You might own me in one sense, Dante Rossini, but there are some liberties you have no right to take.’
He nodded but the speculation didn’t go away and she inwardly squirmed under it, knowing she had just shown a vulnerability that completely undermined any pose of indifference.
‘Another first,’ he murmured in dry amusement. ‘No woman has ever objected to my touch before.’
‘I’m your cousin,’ she fiercely reminded him. ‘And don’t you forget it.’
‘Cousins can and do show physical affection.’
‘I can do without Lucia’s brand of affection. And yours.’
He cocked his head musingly. ‘Nonno will like your feisty sense of independence. I think you’re ready to meet him now.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ She waved a careless hand, doing her utmost to appear relaxed. ‘Lead on. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him smiling as he ushered her over to a set of double glass doors which opened to a terrace overlooking the sea they had flown over only a short while ago. The old saying—‘caught between the devil and the deep blue sea’—slid into her mind. It was precisely how she felt.
Focus on what Bella would be feeling, she swiftly told herself. Here she was, meeting her grandfather for the first time, a man who’d wanted nothing to do with her family until now. Any sense of affection was impossible. Curiosity, yes. Perhaps resentment, too, at being called in so late in the day, too late for her own father who’d died in exile, never knowing any forgiveness for his grave teenage sin.
She mentally blocked out Dante, training her gaze on the old man being helped up from a sun-lounge by a woman caregiver. He still had a full head of thick wavy hair, shockingly snow-white, framing a face that seemed all bones, the flesh obviously wasted by the cancer that was eating him from the inside. His skin was tanned from lying in the sun, possibly in an attempt to look healthier than he was. He wore a loose white tunic over baggy white trousers. Neither hid the frailty of a body which had probably once been as big and strong as Dante’s.