Chapter six-Riley

"I NEED AN ANSWER NOW."

Startled, I whirl around, the long tangle of my hair whipping me in the face as I do. Matteo is standing just inside the doorway. At first glance, nothing is different from when he left twenty minutes ago... but when I take a moment and look harder, I can tell that something has changed.

The man who left this room before was confident and in control. Now... well, he still looks that way, mostly. But there's just the thinnest edge of something darker, something... desperate.

"I need your answer now," he repeats, slowly stalking his way toward me. I can feel my pulse accelerating, pounding just under the line of my jaw, as I note the clouds that have gathered in his eyes.

I don't think he'll hurt me. It might be stupid to trust him, but really... if he'd wanted to, he's had plenty of chances already. You know, like when I was unconscious.

Still, right now he seems harder, wilder than the man who just kissed me senseless. And I don't know him well enough to know what that means for me.

"You said I could have until morning." I hate that my voice is breathy, aroused. But damn it, I've never had the full attention of a man like him, never felt so... wanted.

"Things have changed." He stops just a bit less than an arms' width away from me... just inside my personal space. When he reaches out to toy with a piece of my hair, I can't stop the shiver that runs through me.

I have no business wanting this man. I'm not stupid, it would be like a lamb and a lion. And I have no desire to be anyone's dinner.

And yet...

"We both know what you're going to say, anyway." His voice is smug, and I pause, my lust rapidly cooling off in the face that tone. "You need the money."

Cocking his head, he studies me, his gaze lingering on the flush that still stains my cheeks. "Or maybe you just want the money. Maybe it's something else that you really want."

Jackass. The word is on the tip of my tongue. Matteo is the most infuriating man I've ever met, and my palm itches to slap him one right across the face. Or maybe to knee him in the nutsack.

And yet... that's what he would expect me to do. I can see it on his face—to play the part of the reluctant female, or maybe to go in the other direction, to swoon and fall right into his arms.

For reasons I don't quite understand, I don't want to be like all the other women, so I tamp my anger down, and try to think rationally.

"You need me." My voice is quiet, but the words seem to stop him in his tracks. Anger flickers over those gorgeous features, but again, it's like I'm wearing special goggles that can see beneath.

There's a thread of vulnerability there that is just barely detectable.

A sneer curves those lips that played over mine with such skill, and the expression is cruel.

"You still don't understand who I am, do you?" He spreads his arms wide, and I eye him warily, trepidation skittering over my skin. "I don't need anything or anyone."

"You're not making much of a case for yourself." I don't miss the hint of self-loathing that shows through his scorn. "I won't give you a decision until morning."

"Didn't you hear me?" He laughs, mockery a knife's edge in the sound. "There are thousands of women all over the world who would jump at the chance to be my wife. Take the offer, Riley, before I change my mind."

That glint in his eyes makes my heart pound against my ribcage. I'm still certain that he won't hurt me, but at the same time, I don't like him very much in that moment.

No, I don't like him... but I still want him. Cause I'm crazy like that.

"I'm sure there are other women," I say, keeping my voice as calm as I can make it, even though that storm in Matteo's eyes makes my own pulse accelerate. "But for some reason you want me. And I will give you my answer in the morning."

I feel the insane urge to giggle when I see the shock on his face. But it's a slightly hysterical feeling, because as the shock is replaced by anger, I become aware that I've just poked the sleeping bear.

"What did you say to me?" His face registers total and complete disbelief. A tremor runs through me, because I can see his temper rising right before my eyes, but...

I don't want to be that girl.

"You heard me." I'm holding my breath, and it's making me slightly dizzy, but I keep going anyway. "I just think that you're not used to anyone making you wait."

A strangled sound emanates from Matteo's throat, and I can feel a bead of cold sweat slowly slither down my spine. But I stand my ground, and don't break eye contact.

The muscles of his jaw twitch as he clenches it tightly shut. Then without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks from the room. He slams the door behind him, and the sound it makes is thunderous, echoing throughout the large bedroom.

"Christ." Adrenaline rockets through me and, suddenly breathing hard, I sink down to the floor, right where I've been standing. I feel sick.

He has no idea why I'm at such odds over his proposal, if you can even call it that. I really do need the money, and as he ever so eloquently pointed out, there's a definite attraction between us anyway.

There really isn't a choice. I've always sworn that I would never make the choices that my mother did. But now, penniless and desperate, I have a bit more understanding for what might have been going through her head.

I might have to follow in her footsteps, just for a month... because that amount of money will ensure that I'll never have to again. I'll be able to shake that shadow that has haunted me my whole life—the one that took the shape of the various men travelling to and from my mother's bed. I mean, who am I kidding? I'll do it. I might even... like it, if I can forget that I'm being paid for sex.

Because a man like Matteo Benenati... if anyone can make my first time amazing, I'd bet money I don't have on it being him.

MATTEO

After a half bottle of scotch and the resultant restless night, I sit on the massive balcony just off of my bedroom, my sunglasses not doing quite enough to protect my hung-over eyes from the hideously bright glare.

My father would have told me that real men don't get hangovers. This morning I have to not-so-respectfully tell his ghost to fuck off.

Even after downing three aspirin and two glasses of water, even after sipping at the rich caffè e latte and sweet rolls that one of the maids brought me a few minutes ago, I feel like absolute shit... and only part of it is the physical.

Miss Riley Tremaine set me back on my heels last night, and while I can't say that I much care for it, I know that I deserved it. Emilia's ridiculous proposition had upset me more than I'd wanted to admit, and I'd taken it out on Riley.

And the impertinent chit had the nerve to call me on it. Even as my own words echo in my ears, I wonder at that.

I've rarely been told no in my lifetime, and then only by my father. Certainly never by a woman. And I know, somehow I just know, that this particular woman is going to be trouble.

If I was thinking only with the brain in my head, I would just find another woman, one who understands the score. One who won't blink when the month is over, and who will be happy enough to warm my bed in the meantime.

"Fuck." Wincing as a particularly bright shaft of sunlight sneaks in the sides of my sunglasses, I settle back in my lounger and try to ignore the incessant throbbing in my head, the throbbing which is only intensified by the way my thoughts keep running in circles.

I saw Riley Tremaine for the first time yesterday morning, and yet she and her big eyes have managed to work their way under my skin. What kind of a woman chases after a knife wielding drug addict, just to help someone else?

What kind of a woman has to think about whether or not to accept half a million dollars when she doesn't have a penny of her own ?

"The kind of woman you should leave the hell, alone, Matteo, that's who." I glower down into my cup before shoving it away.

I already know that I won't. There's a darkness inside of me, forged by my father's hand, and it's drawn to the sweetness and light that this strange woman represents.

Since I set eyes on her in those ridiculous athletic pants that American women insist on wearing, I've wanted to possess her, and some primitive part of me loves the idea of marking her with a ring, of making her mine.

And though I know that Emilia is right, that Riley isn't for me, I know that I'm not a good enough man to send her away. I'm used to having what I want, and her reluctance has been like a red flag in front of a bull.

Even knowing all of this, I cannot change it. Or maybe I just don't want to. Either way, my conclusion is the same.

I will do whatever it takes to get Riley to agree to my proposal.

Standing, I pull my cell from my pocket, dial Rossi the lawyer. The older man answers on the fourth ring and doesn't sound fully awake—it is just barely dawn, after all. But after the scene at the office yesterday, I find a strange glee in irritating the man who thinks he knows what's best for me.

"I need you to get Mama's ring out of the vault today." Saying the words gives me a little jolt... even knowing that the marriage is temporary, it's still... marriage. Something I've always intended to avoid, thanks to the example my own parents set for me.

Thanks to Carmine, I have no choice, and for the millionth time in my life, I curse him. Why had he done this? My best guess was just to continue being the miserable bastard he'd always been... to show me that even death can't stop his control over me.

To tease me with the freedom I'd never hand, only to cruelly snatch it away. Certainly, I could refuse my father's terms, and forfeit the company.

But my mother silently suffered years of abuse, keeping up appearances and eventually dying in that same silence, just to make sure that that company would still be there for me, as my legacy.

To honor my mother's sacrifice, I would do a lot. And though I chafed at being ordered, at having my choices taken away...

Would it really be so terrible to spend a month with a woman that I find fascinating? Though I am irritated when I think of the way she put me in my place last night, I am also... intrigued.

And aroused, truth be told. The life that I have—there is little that surprises me anymore, and that includes sex. I've had women who promised to be a seductress, and then didn't participate in the act at all. I've had women who were too aggressive even for my liking, and everything in between.

Riley Tremaine? I have no idea what it will be like to lie with her... to lie with her as my wife. And that excites me like nothing has in years.

Belatedly I realize that Rossi is still droning on in my ear. "I really don't advise using an heirloom like your mother's ring for an occasion like this..."

He continues, and, unable to control myself, I slam my fist into the wall. "Shut up. Just shut the fuck up."

I hiss as the pain radiates outward from where my closed hand impacted the cold plaster.

"I beg your pardon?" Rossi sounds as stuffy as I know he is. I want to give him some respect, for dealing with Carmine and the business for so many years, but the fact is, he doesn't have any respect for me in return.

That has to change.

"Did you or did you not, just yesterday, inform me that I need to take a wife?" I can hear the ice in my voice, and I do nothing to hide it. This man may have known me since I was a child, but the fact remains that he is now in my employ. And the bastard knows, he knows exactly what I had to put up with at Carmine's hands to get to this point.

Rossi sputters through the line. "You know I did. It's the term of your father's will, one that I advised him against—"

"Then please enlighten me as to why you feel I shouldn't use my mother's ring to give to my future bride." I smile as I would if the lawyer was here, a smile that I really don't mean.

Rossi sighs, and I can feel my temper rise.

"Matteo. You know that this marriage... it won't last past the month." The lawyer's voice is full of condescension, and I cannot believe that he has the gall to say this to me—me, the one who pays his retainer. "And you may well want to give that ring away to someone you truly care about someday. Or perhaps Emilia—"

"Emilia is not to touch my mother's ring. Ever." Even if she hadn't pulled last night's stunt... that ring is mine. Mine to give to whom I choose. "And thank you ever so much for your thoughts on the matter, but let me make myself clear. I need the fucking ring, and I need it now. Figure it out."

"Matteo."

I know I'm not imagining it, the way Rossi is talking to me like a petulant child. And I realize that that's exactly what I'm acting like. But I can't seem to stop—it's a kneejerk reaction. I have so much to prove, and Carmine had ensured that I'll never be able to do so.

I'm not going to correct him for using my first name over a private phone call. But I'm also not leaving this phone conversation without making something clear.

"Rossi. Until the company passes to either Emilia or myself next month, you are under my employ, yes?" This isn't a question—it's a fact. "I have asked you to do a simple task. Are you refusing?"

"What? I—no."

I can tell that he has picked up on the steel that I have infused my voice with.

"Good. There's no need to come in when you get here; just leave it with Massimo." Massimo is the massive thug who works at the front gate; he'll ensure it gets delivered to the house unharmed.

I almost hang up, but Rossi stops me with words that I don't expect.

"Matteo. You don't have to do this." His words pull my world out from under me.

Rossi, of all people, knows exactly what my parents' marriage was like—know exactly what my mother and I endured.

Knows how I must feel to be controlled like this from beyond the grave.

"Are you saying you have a loophole in Carmine's will?" My spirits rise, then unexpectedly crash.

Without this will, I would have no further need to keep Riley Tremaine around. And that...

I don't like it.

And so I'm only partially disappointed when Rossi replies in the negative, and as I hang up, the realization stuns me.

I have never wanted to marry. Have actively avoided it. Where are my mushy feelings coming from... the disappointment, the primal desire to see that ring on the girl's finger?

For, despite my anger with Rossi, he is completely right. I will marry Riley—that I will be able to convince her, I have no doubt. I will enjoy her for the month.

And then I will let her go.

There is no other choice, not for a man like me.