The Italian Proposal. Maisey Yates

then by their mother. And no one had stepped in. No one had known about the two young teenagers who had been left to fend for themselves.

      “Many people are unaware of what goes on in their own backyard. I consider it my duty to educate them and to do what I can.”

      She chewed her lush bottom lip, and he had the strongest urge to use his tongue to soothe away the marks her teeth had left in the tender pink flesh. “So not all of the nice things you do are for public image?”

      He chuckled darkly. “Not all. But most.”

      A pianist began to play a slow, jazzy song, and couples started to migrate to the dance floor. Her body language was screaming that she didn’t want him to ask her to dance.

      “Elaine, I think I should have this dance with my fiancée.”

      He was amused when she pressed her lips into a thin line, her tension palpable. What would it take to kiss those lips into soft, willing supplication?

      She was the epitome of hot, sexy woman in the skintight black dress that showcased curves so tempting they would make a priest sin, and still she maintained that untouchable aura of hers that she always threw up like a shield unless he kissed her.

      She looked at the people around them, as if evaluating the situation to see if she could get away with a refusal. “All right.” She said it as though he’d offered her a jail sentence.

      It was a source of fascination to him that this woman, who was so obviously attracted to him, so responsive to his touch, his kiss, acted as though physical contact between them was anathema to her.

      Elaine tried to quiet the pounding of her pulse. She looked at the couples on the dance floor, their bodies entwined as they moved in a rhythm that seemed far too…sexual to simply call it dancing.

      Marco trained his bright white smile on her, but this smile was different than any other he’d given her before. It was almost predatory. He extended his hand. “Dance with me.”

      Not a question, a command. And for some reason a thrill ran through her rather than the anger that she’d expected, needed. Something about him was breaching her defenses, softening her. He was surprising her. He wasn’t just a shallow playboy, and she had been much more comfortable with him when she’d been able to just write him off as such.

      She accepted his offered hand, hoping he didn’t notice that her own was damp with perspiration, and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Not smart. Her practical inner voice was all but screaming at her.

      Necessary, she countered, ignoring the churning pleasure in her stomach when he took her in his arms and brought her close to the heat of his body. Dancing with her fiancé was necessary. It wasn’t about anything but keeping her end of the bargain.

      The music was sultry, captivating, and she found herself swaying in time to the rhythm. One of his hands held onto hers, the other was low on her back, holding her to him, bringing her breasts into contact with his hard muscled chest. Her nipples tightened, ached. It was so unfamiliar, unexpected, and no matter how much she wanted to she couldn’t hate it. She couldn’t even muster up a faint dislike for it.

      Her heart was pounding and she was certain he must be able to feel it. Certain he would be able to see the fluttering pulse that she could feel moving at the base of her throat.

      Marrying a stranger didn’t frighten her. Standing up in front of family and friends making vows she wasn’t going to keep didn’t bother her in the least. The thought of running a company wasn’t scary at all. Not next to this—this attraction that she didn’t want or understand. She always had control, and this sudden absence of it was terrifying. And oddly exhilarating.

      She gripped his broad shoulders more fiercely in an instinctive effort to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. She regretted that instinct almost immediately.

      He chuckled low, his hot breath fanning across her cheek, his grasp becoming stronger. Everything in her suddenly wanted to lean into him, kiss him again, to feel his mouth, hot, hard and insistent on hers.

      She pulled away from him, her breathing labored, her body sluggish from unfamiliar desire. He looked amused. It was infuriating. Even worse that he knew exactly how he had affected her.

      “Why do you pull away from it, Elaine?” he asked, his dark eyes compelling. Tempting.

      “From what?” Playing ignorant was pointless, and she knew it, but pride and a desperate need to gain some sort of control pushed her to try anyway.

      “From this.” He hooked his arm around her waist and drew her to him, tilting his hips so that she could feel the length of his hardened arousal.

      She drew in a shaky breath. “Because I don’t feel the same way.”

      He chuckled. “This isn’t about feelings. This is about lust. Want. Need. And you do feel it.” He stroked a thumb across her hot cheek. “It’s written all over your pretty face.”

      And just like that he was back in the slot she’d placed him in at their first meeting. It was a relief. But it didn’t cause her own arousal to lessen. Her breasts felt heavy, sensitive, and she felt an embarrassing slickness well up between her thighs. She didn’t have to be an expert on sex to know that her body was getting ready to experience it.

       Too bad.

      “I’m not interested in getting played, Marco. When I proposed to you it was so I could have the company, not a fling.” It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to make her voice even and steady.

      “Elaine Chapman?” Elaine turned to face the source of the voice, and her stomach sank to her toes when she recognized the man who had spoken her name.

      “Yes?” She tried to appear poised, blank. She had perfected the act over the past few years. Better to be seen as an ice queen than to be seen as a slut.

      A sick sensation weighted down her stomach. Daniel Parker. The man who had ruined her reputation because she hadn’t slept with him. She knew he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to fling a few insults at her now.

      She straightened her posture and mentally braced herself. It simply wasn’t in her to shy away from a challenge. She would not allow this man to intimidate and demean her. He’d gotten away with it once; she wasn’t letting it happen again.

      Marco cupped her elbow and stuck his hand out toward the other man. “Marco De Luca. I’m Elaine’s fiancée.”

      “Really?” Daniel drew the word out, extending it several syllables. He shifted his focus to Elaine. “Your taste in men hasn’t changed, then.”

      She bit her tongue. She didn’t want to have this conversation, now or ever. Living through the humiliation and condemnation, and her subsequent barring from every decent firm in the city, had been bad enough. Rehashing it now just seemed stupid—especially when the man in front of her seemed to be out for blood. In a very sophisticated way, of course. There was no other way amongst the Manhattan elite.

      To Marco’s credit, he didn’t comment. To Daniel’s discredit, he pressed. “You always did prefer a more powerful man.”

      “I just prefer a man with as much ambition as I have,” she answered waspishly, tightening her hold on Marco’s arm. The fresh scent of his aftershave tickled her nose and, along with the surge of anger, quickened her pulse. “And they’re difficult to find.”

      Daniel’s smile turned cruel. “I would have thought it would be difficult to climb the corporate ladder lying flat on your back.”

      Her face heated unbearably, and she felt a surge of adrenaline infuse her veins with trembling energy. From the curious and condescending glares the other guests were giving her she knew no one in the immediate vicinity had missed Daniel’s sleazy allegations.

      “At least I don’t feel as though I have to step on others on my way to the top,” she said coldly.

      “Of