Too Cold To Love Read Online Free PDF

The summons had been
curt and brief, as was Marco's habit.
    "Meet me at 11.00. Don't bring Mimi, and
wear something sexy and elegant. We'll be eating out."
    The nerve of the man! She hadn't seen much of
him since Sunday. He left the house early every day, returning long after Mimi
went to bed. She could hear him across the hall saying good night to his
daughter. More than once his footsteps stopped in front of her door, giving
Elise palpitations, before they moved on to his room next to hers.
    He confused the hell out of Elise with his
actions. After that humiliating scene in the garden, he'd stayed irritatingly
close to her the rest of the afternoon. He'd kept one hand on her at all times,
and by the time they finally bundled a sleeping Mimi back into the car, Elise
wanted to scream in pent up frustration. He took Mimi up to bed himself,
leaving her to clatter about in the huge kitchen trying to fix herself a hot
chocolate before bed.
    Her nerves were in such tatters that she spilled
the hot milk all over her hand when she sensed Marco's quiet presence behind
her. He swore loudly when she yelped at the pain, dropping the milk all over
the floor and his polished Italian loafers.
    "For God's sake, woman, you're a
menace."
    But he grabbed her hand and made her hold it
under the cold water until she thought she would have frost bite. And his hands
applying the burns cream and dressing to the large reddened area of her poor,
abused fingers had been gentle and steady, even if his eyes were frost itself.
    He made her sit down and prepared a new hot
chocolate, adding a large dose of brandy to it. When she was going to refuse,
he stared her down until she took it.
    "Don't argue, woman. You're as white as a
sheet. Drink that; it will help you sleep, and for God's sake stay out of the
kitchen. You are no use to me injured."
    "I am no use to you, period. Why are you
doing this, Marco? Why force me to marry you? Surely you have more than enough
willing women lined round the corner…"
    She grimaced, remembering the fierce scowl on
his face as he wielded the mop with such force Elise feared it would break. He
didn't answer her, just carried on clearing up the mess on the floor, frowning
at the state of his shoes.
    "I'm sorry about your shoes," Elise
made herself say. "Guess you'll be adding them to the bill I have to pay
off."
    Marco sighed, fixing her with an intent gaze
before he stepped into her personal space once again.
    "They're just shoes; forget it. How's the
hand?"
    Elise flexed her fingers experimentally.
"I'll live. I am forever dropping things. I'm used to it."
    "I noticed. The likes of you ought to carry
a government health warning. I suggest you try tobe more careful in future. I
have no wish to spend half my married life mopping up after you."
    "Then let me go. I can stay as your nanny.
Hell, I can even work in the office. Just don't make me…"
    "Make you what, pasticcino ?"
    Elise fought back the tears once again as he
cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her head up to make her look at him.
    "I can't marry you. You're asking too
much."
    His face turned even frostier, if that was
possible.
    "On the contrary, my darling." The
tone of his voice made the endearment feel like slap to her face. "You
can, and you will. I find myself in need of a wife, and I have no time, nor the
inclination, to find myself another one."
    "But…"
    "But nothing, you and I will rub along well
enough for now, and you'll want for nothing as long as you stick to the plan.
As for all those willing women you seem to think I have, I wouldn't make the
mistake of marrying one,I can assure you. This is a business deal. My
solicitors will hash out the details, and you will stick to it!"
    "And what if I don't?"
    The grip on her chin turned painful as he
brought his mouth down hard on hers. He forced his tongue inside her clenched
lips, branding her with an intensity and brutal ruthlessness that made Elise
cling to him for support, as he shifted his hands