Revenge at Bella Terra by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page B

was all very well for him to tell himself he wasn’t interested in anything but her dowry.
    Apparently his biological directive said otherwise. Perhaps Conte had seen something in him Eli had not recognized. Maybe like a grape Eli had reached the peak of maturity, and it was time for him to marry and reproduce.
    What a mental image.
    But whatever magic made him want to follow her around seeking the source of that warm, female scent . . . it seemed to have no effect on her. She wasn’t staring up at him adoringly. She had returned her gaze to the vista, her eyes narrowed on the horizon as if she were deep in thought.
    Then, turning on her heel, she walked inside. “Thank you for allowing me to use your cottage. I’m sure I can finish my book here.” She laughed over her shoulder. “Or not. You should worry that I won’t finish so I can stay right here!”
    She looked so pleased, so enthused, so pretty . . . and so oblivious about the ignominious contract that had led her here that Eli grunted in ill-tempered dismay. He followed her in, veered away, and headed toward the front door.
    “Wait!” She ran after him, grabbed his arm, and yanked him to a halt.
    He glared down at her.
    She stared up at him. “Look. You don’t have to be so pissy.”
    “Pissy?” Pissy? He was not pissy.
    “It’s okay.” She patted his arm comfortingly. “I know what my father’s up to.”

Chapter 7
    E li considered Chloë. Considered what to say. His first thought— You know I’ve committed to a marriage of convenience with you? —was promptly rejected.
    Don’t admit to anything!
    “You know what your father’s up to?” he repeated warily.
    “You don’t have to feel self-conscious. Papa wants me to get married. He makes no bones about it. So he parades young men in front of me like it was breeding day for his prize mare.” She grinned, but painfully, as if someone had given her a wedgie and she was trying to be a good sport about it.
    She didn’t know about the contract. Eli relaxed.
    “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m not interested in you.”
    He tensed. That was blunt. And surprisingly exasperating.
    Chloë stood with her feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor, crossed her arms, and looked him right in the eyes. “I’ve got a job. I’ve got ambitions. I’ve got a deadline. I’ve got a mother who warned me about my father and his schemes before I even met him, and she’s been right about everything except . . . well, he’s cooler than she led me to believe.”
    Apparently when Conte talked to Eli, he had left out a few pertinent details about his relationship with Chloë. “When did you meet your father?” Eli asked.
    “Last year. No, the year before. My parents never married.”
    Eli hadn’t thought to ask Conte why his daughter was an American. Now he discovered he was sharply curious. “Your father abandoned your mother?” Conte didn’t seem the type to dump his daughter, no matter what he thought of the mother.
    “No! Not at all. My mother worked for my father. They had an affair. . . . Well, you’ve met him, right?”
    “Yes, I’ve met him.” On one of the darkest days of his life.
    “So you know he’s overbearing and pushy and an Italian mogul down to his bones. He believes he should always get his way, and my mother knew that was no way to raise a child. So when she discovered she was pregnant, she left without telling him.”
    “Pardon me, but that seems . . .” He hesitated. Chloë seemed fond of her mother—and that woman was going to be his mother-in-law.
    “Like a shabby way for her to treat him.” Chloë nodded. “Yes, she and I have had words about that.”
    “She supported you well?”
    “Very well. My mom is from Boston. Both her parents are alive. She had a degree when she worked for my father, returned to the States, got a position in the Italian department at the University of Texas in Austin, became a tenured professor. I was never without.”
    “Except