Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 Carol Marinelli (ebook reader computer txt) 📖

But she’d hated her father long before that. She was testing him, baiting him to see if he could be distracted from digging too deep where things were too sensitive.

Like attracted like, and just like his, hers was a mature hatred, barrel-aged in a human heart for years.

Their lives had been intertwined mirrors, each marred by the scar of Dominic d’Tierrza, without either of their knowing. She was testing to see if she could distract him, like she did everyone else, even if she didn’t realize it.

She wanted him to, and he wanted her off balance, so he didn’t press. When it was clear he wouldn’t, the light of a real, if rueful, smile lit her expression, and she said, “So when do we eat? I’m starving?”

As if the restaurant staff could hear her, they began to bring out their food. As promised, the chef had gone all out, sending succulent bites of lamb, savory vegetables, crispy fried calamari, fresh regional fish served raw with citrus slices and a melon-ball salad with no less than four different types of melons. And this was merely the appetizer course.

She’d gotten her distraction...for the moment.

Helene took bites, oohing and aahing when appropriate, humming her pleasure after each bite, though, in truth, he wondered if she truly tasted anything.

She was being a good sport about his seduction, but since their moment on the tennis court, he had yet to truly ensnare her.

He shared stories of Calla’s history and his family, and asked her about her life and work, but knew he was no closer to moving her than he had been when they’d disembarked from his ship.

The chef sent out the soup and salad, followed by a resplendent dinner course, and for the moment, both he and Helene were sidetracked by the flash and flare of spicy and sweet.

When they could stuff themselves no more and the server asked if they would like to see the dessert selection, both shook their heads emphatically, waving their hands in surrender.

“I couldn’t,” Helene exclaimed, her glow only enhanced from overindulging.

“No, thank you,” Drake said to their server, but with a smile and the promise to return and save room for dessert the next time.

The car waited for them along the river plaza, then took them up the ancient cobblestone streets of Calla toward Caline and the further pampering that awaited them there. Drake’s attack plan was always direct and relentless—he didn’t stop until his objective was achieved. The seduction of Helene would be no different.

Anticipating the timing, he had ordered dessert be readied following their visit to the bathhouse and massages. That should give them plenty of time to digest.

At that point, if they weren’t restored enough by pure decadence, he would show her to her room and she could sleep.

And women complained that men didn’t know their true needs.

This woman had the carefree aura of the soldier that didn’t know when to quit. He’d had men like that under his command before.

They were assets—as long as they were managed to prevent reckless burnout.

The driver pulled into the curved entryway and parked before coming around to open the door for them.

Drake stepped out first, offering Helene his hand, a broad smile stretching across his face at the opportunity to show her more of his manor, Caline.

She raised a slender platinum eyebrow at his offered hand and took it, sapphire eyes twinkling.

Inside, he pointed out dining rooms, party rooms and libraries on their way to his private rooms, more invested than he’d like to be in what she thought of it all.

She was used to luxury, had been weaned on it, in fact, and he watched her for her reaction. Unlike the ducal estates they had both been born to, he himself had pulled Caline and Calla from the brink of collapse and ruin. He’d rebuilt and grown them with his own labor, pockets and efforts, dragging the entire estate to a level of class that he had been accustomed to. But would she think so? Would she see that, and taste it, and feel it, as she wandered the suite designed to be his sanctuary? He wanted her to.

Situated high and center in the manor, his suites featured full landscape views of Calla, from its busy bay entrance, to the rich, fertile farmland inland and upriver.

Like the great medieval structures of Europe, Caline was built from stone.

Counting his office, bathrooms, closets, workout room, meditation space, living area and large bedroom, his suite consisted of ten rooms, including a set of guest rooms where Helene would sleep—until she slept with him, that was—and comprised the greater portion of the wing.

His sister was housed elsewhere in the structure, a floor below, her rooms with river and farm views but nothing of the sea.

While she loved him, she didn’t share his love of the sea and hated waiting and watching for him to come home like some tragic figure from a dirge...at least in her words. Since it had become just the two of them occupying the manor, Caline felt cavernous. Strange and echoing and far too big for a pair of adult siblings even though they’d been just three before.

His mother had had a big presence, though, dying her gray hair silver-white and keeping it in long decorated braids, wearing daring patterns and prints, unafraid to be seen, confident she’d be admired—Amira Andros had been his model for how to navigate the world. She’d had to be after they’d lost his father.

Then it had been just him and Nya and his mother. And now it was just him and Nya, the last of the Androses. Unless, of course, Helene was agreeable.

In his common room, the decor was simple, but each and every item was of the highest quality, from his leather sofa, to the sleek built-in entertainment centers, which blended seamlessly with his still, watery aesthetic. And while no one would think to describe the room