Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian. Sandra Marton

her terror, she’d stood her ground. After what had seemed an eternity, the creature had snorted, stepped back and faded into the brush.

      Now, as then, she forced herself to stand still. Not only wild animals but men, too, measured power in the fear they could engender.

      That was why Nicolo Orsini had kissed her, and why she would not run from him. Instead, she drew a steadying breath and then slowly, deliberately, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

      “If that was meant to impress me,” she said in a steady voice, “it failed in its purpose.”

      The slightest smile curved his mouth.

      “Did it,” he said.

      His tone made it clear the words were not a question. Alessia decided to ignore the implications.

      “And I warn you, signore, if you do anything like that again—”

      “Spare me the threats. You’re in no position to make any.”

      Dio, the man was hateful! Alessia’s chin lifted. “Sei un barbaro!”

      “I’m a barbarian, huh?” He grinned. “Come on, sugar. Don’t hold back. Say what you’re thinking.” His phony smile vanished. “What I am is the man who holds the purse strings. Remember that and we’ll get along just fine.”

      Alessia stared at the hateful American and the last of her composure slipped away.

      “We will not get along at all, signore. There has been a change in plans. The Antoninni Vineyard is not available for investment. You have made a long trip for nothing.”

      Nick narrowed his eyes. The principessa stood tall, shoulders back, head lifted in an attitude of defiance. She despised him, which was fine. He didn’t think any better of her. All that was clear and up-front. The only question was, why had he kissed her?

      To put her in her place?

      A lie.

      He didn’t deal with women that way. He had faults, sure, but using sex as a weapon wasn’t one of them. And he was not a man who’d ever take anything a woman wasn’t eager to give.

      Aside from all that, if putting her in her place had been what he’d intended, it had backfired. She wasn’t shaken by what had happened; she was as cold and disapproving as ever. He must have imagined that something had changed in the last seconds of that kiss. That her mouth had softened. That her body had yielded to his. That she had parted her lips for him, that she had moaned…

      Or had the moan been his?

      “Do you understand me, Signore Orsini? Go home. Go back to your people. You have no further business here.”

      Nick looked at her. The message was clear. He was not only a barbarian, but he was also a Sicilian thug. An Orsini. And that was more than sufficient for a woman like her.

      “We shall, of course, reimburse you for any expenses you’ve incurred.”

      The imperial we. The princess, addressing one of her subjects. Nick smiled, folded his arms and leaned back against the side of the Ferrari. It was a smile that those who’d faced him in boardroom battles or desert combat would have known enough to fear.

      Hell, he thought coldly, why not live down to her expectations?

      “Such a generous offer,” he said softly.

      “Yes. It is.” She shot a look at the Ferrari’s bumper. “I see some simple damage. Send us the bill.”

      “Shall I send it at the same time I send you a list of…how did you put it? The expenses I’ve incurred?”

      “As you prefer. And now, signore…”

      “And now, you assume, arrivederci.”

      “Assume?” she said, her tone one of elegant disdain.

      But she didn’t look elegant. Nick’s gaze made a slow circuit again, from the shoes that seemed to make her wobble to the wrinkled silk suit to the drawn-back hair. Wispy strands the color of winter sunlight fell around her oval face.

      There was a bedraggled look about her.

      And maybe bedraggled was the right word.

      She looked as if she’d just tumbled out of a man’s bed. His bed, he thought, and felt the immediate response of his body to the image of what it would be like to strip the arrogant princess of her clothes and do whatever it took to turn all that frosty hauteur to hot passion.

      He did a mental double take. Why would he even think of something like that? Alessia Antoninni was beautiful in the way statues were beautiful. There was nothing soft or warm or welcoming about her. She wasn’t a challenge, she was a turnoff. That he’d even imagined bedding her—hell, that he’d actually kissed her—made him furious.

      Dammit, he thought, and he took his anger and put it where it rightly belonged.

      “You were right,” he said brusquely, “my trip was lengthy. Eight hours flying to Rome from New York, then a three-hour delay at the airport added up to lots of time to kill.”

      “And you expect compensation for that time immediately.”

      She said it as if it were a given. Nick watched as she opened her purse, rummaged through it and finally extracted a checkbook. “If you can provide me with a figure—”

      She gasped as his hand closed around her wrist. His fingers were biting into her flesh. He was probably going to mark that tender, upper-class skin. Not only didn’t he give a damn, but he was also grimly pleased to do it.

      “Are you always so sure of yourself, princess? Or is it only with me?”

      Her eyes flashed.

      “Let go of me, Mr. Orsini.”

      Nick smiled tightly. “What happened to signore? Don’t I even rate that much now that I’m about to call your bluff?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you don’t unhand me—”

      “Another threat, principessa?” His smile twisted. “Maybe you need to listen before you make threats.”

      “Listen to what?” She looked as if she wanted to kill him. Fine, he thought grimly. The more certain she was of herself, the more he’d enjoy the sight of her taking a metaphoric tumble right on her icy ass. His grasp on her tightened until they were a breath apart. “I repeat, I had lots of time on my hands. I spent it going through the material your father sent about your precious vineyard. It was detailed. Very detailed…but there was lots missing.”

      “I have no knowledge of what material you saw and it is of no interest to me. You are—”

      “Dismissed? A while ago, I was excused. Now I’m dismissed.” Nick’s smile was as frigid as his tone. “Antoninni Vineyards is on the verge of ruin.”

      “That is not your concern.”

      “Four years of bad weather damaged the grapes. Your old man chose new plantings that turned out to be a mistake. He made lousy marketing decisions. I don’t know a damned thing about viniculture—”

      “How nice to hear you admit it.”

      “But I do know about investments. I added up some figures, added them up again and figured out, real fast, that what your father neglected to list in that report is at least as meaningful as what he did.”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but Nick could hear the lie in the words.

      “I think you do. Papa Prince took more cash out of those vineyards than he put in. Where did it go, sugar? The horses? The casinos? Women?”

      Alessia yanked furiously on her imprisoned hand. “This conversation is over!”