The Italian’s Ruthless Marriage Command. Helen Bianchin

felt the sudden tightening of Ben’s hand within her own, and she gave his a reassuring squeeze as they drew close to a group of excited children all dressed in their finest, and mingling parents.

      ‘You’re going to stay, aren’t you?’

      ‘Hey,’ she chided gently, ‘you think I’m going to miss out on all the fun?’

      And it was fun; the professional planning ensured there was spontaneity in the children’s games, with thirty-odd pre-schoolers enjoying the time of their lives. Any minor squabble was intercepted, the perpetrator distracted, and eventually it was time for food, drink…and most importantly, the cake.

      It was easy to smile, to laugh a little at so many small faces glowing with anticipation as four candles were ceremoniously lit.

      A sudden prickle of awareness slid up Taylor’s spine and settled at her nape…an instinctive alert she endeavoured to ignore without much success.

      She shifted her gaze slightly and caught sight of the tall, broad-shouldered male figure crossing the grounds towards the host, hostess and their grouped guests.

      Dante. Attired in dark tailored trousers, a white shirt open at the neck, worn with a black butter-soft leather jacket.

      It wasn’t so much his attire that drew attention but the man himself, for there was an intrinsic quality she chose not to define…just aware of an instinctive need to build her defensive barriers high in self-protection.

      Survival…her own. Against a man whose sensual potency threatened to wreck her equilibrium. Something she vowed no man would ever be permitted to do again.

      Why now, when she’d reached a relatively relaxed state of mind? Settled, she added silently, into a life of relative contentment.

      Yet in one fatal second her world had changed, flung into an orbit she struggled to control.

      Not Ben…never Ben.

      Dante.

      A man who disturbed her more than she was prepared to admit. Had from the moment she first saw him. Friendly, warm…with a reputation for preferring sophisticated women who knew the score.

      It wasn’t her nature to flirt. Nor did she favour casual sex, possibly because there had been no one for whom she’d been tempted to discard her moral beliefs.

      Besides, Dante resided abroad and travelled the world. Any liaison with such a man could only be destined for heartbreak…and she was fiercely determined it wouldn’t be hers.

      Later she had reason to enforce that decision a hundredfold.

      Yet now he was in her life, occupying her mind, infiltrating her senses, and she struggled against it…wanting only the tranquil life that had once been her own.

      ‘Taylor.’

      She turned slightly and tilted her face a little to meet his easy smile. He had the advantage of height, marked by her choice of flat shoes for the afternoon.

      ‘Hi.’

      There was strength apparent beneath the casual elegance of his clothes. A compelling quality that stood him apart from other men. Power, she determined, and an innate sense of control. Mesh it with latent sexuality, and the result drew women’s attention like bees to a honeypot.

      Hadn’t she witnessed evidence of it at every opportunity?

      ‘Ben will be pleased you managed to make it.’

      The sparkling laughter he’d glimpsed had faded, replaced by polite friendliness…and he resisted the temptation to cup her cheek, smooth a thumb over her lips, feel them tremble a little beneath his touch.

      Almost as if she sensed his intention, her body stiffened, and the edge of his mouth lifted a little with the knowledge she was aware of the electric tension existing between them.

      ‘I wouldn’t disappoint him.’ His voice was a silken drawl as his gaze lingered briefly on the pulsing beat at the edge of her throat, then shifted to acknowledge Ben’s excited wave. ‘It’s good to see he’s enjoying himself.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Ben raced towards them, arms outstretched as he reached his uncle, and Taylor watched as Dante lifted him high against his chest to settle him in the crook of one arm.

      ‘We’re all getting a present,’ Ben enlightened with excitement. ‘And Tamryn says the party isn’t over yet.’ He transferred an anxious look from his uncle to Taylor. ‘We can stay, can’t we?’

      ‘Of course,’ Dante conceded easily.

      It became a pleasant hour as the parents mixed and mingled while the children were supervised at play.

      Drinks were offered, together with coffee, tea and canapés…and fairy lights illuminated the grounds as the sun faded beyond the horizon.

      Dante rarely moved from Taylor’s side, projecting a unified front…one she chose to dissemble without much success.

      It was almost seven when they collected Ben, bade Tamryn goodnight and thanked the little girl’s parents for the party invitation.

      Ben was already beginning to droop as Dante hoisted him high onto his shoulders and accompanied Taylor out to the car.

      It had been an exciting day for a little boy, who once they reached home, wanted only a glass of milk after his bath, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

      ‘Anna has prepared dinner,’ Dante relayed as they quietly closed Ben’s door behind them.

      Togetherness was a fine thing, but Taylor was in overload, and a little wired from spending a few hours in his company.

      ‘I’m really not hungry.’

      A statement which incurred an intense look. ‘You barely ate a thing at the party.’

      ‘I’m fine.’ He saw too much, divined more, and it put her on edge. ‘I’ll grab a banana, coffee, and spend time on my laptop.’

      ‘I’ll have Anna bring you a tray.’

      She raged a silent battle for a few seconds, then ventured with extreme politeness, ‘I’m capable of doing that myself.’

      Dark eyes speared her own, and held, almost as if he knew, then he inclined his head. ‘Your prerogative.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      The air seemed to hold a curious tension…something she chose to ignore as she descended the stairs and made her way to the kitchen, where she apologised to Anna for her lack of appetite, then with a mug of fresh coffee in one hand, a banana in the other, she bade Dante and Anna ‘goodnight’.

      ‘Don’t work too late.’

      Taylor sensed mild amusement beneath his indolent voice, and told herself she didn’t care if he thought she was avoiding him.

      What was more, she’d work as late as she liked.

      She occupied his home, but she was damned if he’d tell her what to do!

      Consequently she entered the home office, opened her laptop, reread the previous day’s work and wrote…weaving characters, motive and suspense into script, becoming lost in the fascination of creative process.

      Occasionally she rose from the chair, flexed her shoulders and executed a few calisthenics to ease the tension of repetitive movement.

      The night hours were her most productive writing time, and when she’d lived in her apartment she’d often lost track of time, realising the lateness of the hour only when her eyes began to blur…

      Now, however, she no longer lived alone…there was Ben, and the compelling man whose home she shared.

      Dante, who had led her to believe they’d rarely see each other…except he