Page 16 of The Sicilian’s Deal For 'I Do'

‘We’re driving, Mia, what did you think?’

She gripped the car door. ‘No way. Let me out.’

‘Answer my question,’ he demanded bullishly. ‘Why are you so determined to marry him?’

Her features took on a mutinous set as she glared first at him and then beyond him, through the heavily tinted windows. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Why did you agree to marry me?’ he pushed.

Her eyes flew back to Luca’s then she turned away from him completely, crossing her arms and staring out of the window. Without answering.

Despite the dark emotions that were threatening to undo his self-control, Luca felt a strange lick of amusement—and a double dose of admiration—for the tactic. But she was seriously underestimating him if she thought he’d let it go.

‘Are you so desperate to help your parents, Mia?’ A thought occurred to him, one he didn’t like but needed to test. ‘Or was the whole thing your idea?’

‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded hotly, turning back to face him and puffing out a breath to move a pale clutch of silk hair that had drifted in front of her lips. It danced an inch off her face then fell down again. He reached for it, his fingers gentle, guiding it behind her ear and lingering there. Their eyes held, hers troubled, confused, his own, he hoped, devoid of any telltale emotion.

‘Your being included to sweeten the deal,’ he said darkly. ‘Did you volunteer yourself? Or did your parents suggest it?’

Her lips formed a perfect, voluptuous circle. He dug his fingers into the leather seat to stave off the temptation to kiss her again—because a kiss would lead to more and they needed to talk.

‘I don’t think my inclusion was intended as an inducement,’ she said after a beat, her lips pulling to one side, a troubled expression on her face as she once again turned away from him. He hated that. Her many-storied eyes were his to read. Or he wanted them to be.

‘Then why?’

But Mia didn’t want to have this conversation. ‘Tell your driver to let me out.’

‘No.’

She shook her head angrily. ‘Are you actually intending to kidnap me?’

The decision was instant. ‘Yes.’

That got her attention. She pivoted to face him, chest moving with the force of her breathing. ‘Luca Cavallaro, you stop the car this damned minute. Or else I’ll—I’ll—’

He waited with the appearance of calm when, inside, something was ticking faster than was healthy, making him question the wisdom of this on so many levels.

‘You’ll...?’ he prompted, when silence fell. Her expression was mutinous.

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet.’

‘Well, you have over an hour to think about it. Let me know what my punishment will be.’ He leaned closer, deliberately provoking her. ‘I like your style of punishment, Mia. Please, do keep it coming.’

CHAPTER FOUR

ASAGIRL, Mia had visited San Vito Lo Capo on vacations. Jennifer had loved the crystal-clear ocean and white sandy beaches, the extra-salty water making for buoyant swimming. They’d always brought a yacht around, and Mia had jumped off the edge, knees bundled to her chest, feeling sublimely contented until pre-adolescence, when Jennifer had begun to make comments about Mia’s bikini not being appropriate given Mia’s size, or pinching Mia’s hips and remarking that Mia should really try the watermelon diet Jennifer was a die-hard fan of.

Somehow, it had soured the beachside town for Mia. She’d started to loathe their trips here and, eventually, managed to get out of coming altogether. So while she could appreciate the beauty of the coastline as Luca’s car swept around the corner and produced a breathtaking view of the sea, she couldn’t look at this familiar aspect without a curdling sense of anxiety gripping her.

‘Tell me we’re not stopping here.’

‘You do not like it?’ he prompted, gesturing to the stunning aquamarine sea.

She clamped her lips together, angled her face away and harumphed.

On the drive from Palermo to the coast, she’d made a thousand resolutions to deal with his apparent kidnapping. One of them was to stop making conversation with him as though they had anything in common.

As though she’d forgiven and forgotten what he’d done to her—the embarrassment and shame his rejection had caused. Last night hadn’t been about forgiveness, it had been about...closure. Revenge? Or at least taking back the narrative, taking control, because in the last year, she’d learned the importance of asserting herself, and she wasn’t going to forget those lessons.

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