didn’t need to reveal herself. Your father paid maintenance for her upbringing until she was eighteen.’
He sagged slightly at this revelation but it was the briefest of movements, his composure regained in a breath. ‘That is something I can discover the truth of for myself.’
‘It is the truth and, if you hadn’t stonewalled her every attempt to speak to you, you would have all the facts at your fingertips.’
‘My father acknowledged one child. Me. There was no talk of a secret sister, no death-bed confession.’
‘That’s not Orla’s fault.’
‘Would she still claim to be my sister if I were to tell you there is nothing left of his estate?’
‘That’s because you’ve sold it all off!’
The look he cast her was full of fake pity. ‘My father was a gambling addict. He sold everything he could to fund his debts.’
‘I’ve seen the list of assets.’ That was the only thing Orla’s useless lawyer had been able to get from Dante’s terrifyingly efficient one. ‘He was worth millions. Orla isn’t being greedy. All she wants is a small share of it. Morally, she’s entitled to that, even if you and your lawyer don’t agree. I’m prepared to stage a sit-in in this cottage until you either sign it over to her or pay her off.’
Before Dante could laugh at Aislin’s nerve, a lock of hair fell onto his forehead and over his eyes. He brushed it back. He needed to get it cut, another thing to add to his ever-long list of things to do.
‘The law is on my side. Do you really believe that moving into this cottage—illegally—will get you anywhere?’
Her eyes spat fury at him. ‘Possession is nine-tenths of the law.’
‘Maybe in Ireland. But this is Sicily. My country. My property. My land. I can snap my fingers and have you removed from this cottage and expelled from the country.’
‘Try it.’ She jumped back to her feet and snatched the envelope off the table to pull yet another sheet of paper out of it. ‘Try it and I will make sure every media outlet knows what you’ve done. This is not your land, it’s part of your father’s estate. All Orla wants is what she’s entitled to, and this is the authority for me to handle things on her behalf.’
Dante ignored the letter, although he took note of the pretty hand holding it and the buffed, shapely nails. Then he slowly let his gaze drift upwards, over the curvy hips, the slender waist and the large breasts caressed lovingly in a soft, silver sweater. Simple clothing draped over an outstanding body. As her fragrance snaked its way back into his senses, he experienced a thickening in his loins. Disconcerted with this involuntary reaction to this woman, and at this moment in time, he reached for his coffee.
Dante freely admitted his libido was strong but the last time he’d experienced an inappropriate erection like this had been in a maths lesson almost two decades ago when his teacher had leaned over his desk to help him and her top had gaped open, exposing her cleavage.
He made a point of taking a large sip of the coffee, dragging his focus to the matter at hand. For instant coffee, it wasn’t too bad, its heat a welcome respite from the cold that had settled in his spine.
The resemblance between himself and the woman in the photograph was astounding.
‘Has your sister ever lived in Sicily?’
The neat, pretty eyebrows drew together. ‘No.’
‘Say for argument’s sake that your assessment is correct and that my father really was worth millions when he died, what makes you think Orla would be entitled to anything? My father named me as his sole heir. She was not recognised as his child. You have to appreciate that my lawyer and I have been through this many times already.’
When the first fraudster had tried their hand at claiming on the estate, Dante and his lawyer had discussed all the legalities on the off-chance the fraudster was telling the truth.
‘It might have been different if she had lived in my country at any point in her life. I suggest she pays a visit to a Sicilian lawyer and hears for herself that she has no rights.’ He laughed, although humour was the last thing he felt right then. ‘There is nothing for her to have. That list you have is old and dates from my grandfather’s death. My father sold most of the assets on it. The family home never belonged to him and nor did the land in Florence—my grandparents put them in a trust for me to stop my father selling them to feed his gambling addiction.’
That hadn’t stopped one of the fraudsters taking out an injunction to prevent Dante selling those assets, an injunction his lawyer had overturned in ten days. That fraudster was currently rotting in a Sicilian prison, awaiting trial for fraud.
‘This cottage is all he had left and it is not for sale.’ As dilapidated as the cottage was, Dante would never sell it. He wasn’t a man for sentimentality but this was the one place where his childhood memories were only positive. His mother had loathed the cottage and thus it remained untainted by her long-ago desertion.
‘Then pay Orla off. Even if what you say is true, and your grandparents bypassed your father, surely she’s entitled to something? She knows she can’t expect things to be fifty-fifty between you but morally she’s entitled to something. She’ll be happy to settle for the value of this cottage.’
He shook his head in a display of sympathy. Her approach was pitch-perfect, reason matched with a seeming lack of greed. The perfect cover for an outrageous act of fraud.
Dante had almost convinced himself she spoke the truth but that was impossible. His father would never have kept such a secret from him.
He was quite sure his lawyer, one of the most feared legal brains across the Mediterranean, would have been taken in too. Aislin clearly had the brains to match her beauty. She was an incredible actress.
‘This cottage is worth no more than a hundred thousand euros,’ he said, ensuring his voice contained just the right amount of commiseration. ‘The land is worth about the same.’
‘That might not be a lot of money to you but to Orla it’s a fortune.’
‘If it’s worth so much to her then why is she not here? Why has she sent you to deal with it?’
‘Because right now she doesn’t want to leave Ireland. I’m portable—’
‘Did she not want to face me?’ The anger that had been simmering deep inside bubbled to the surface. ‘Or did my sister think sending a beautiful woman in her place would blind me? Is that why you’re here? To tempt me into giving this cottage to her?’
Her eyes widened, dark spots of angry colour forming again over the high cheekbones. ‘Your mind belongs in a sewer.’
‘I’m sure it does.’ He rose slowly to his feet. ‘You were showering when I came to the cottage. Was that deliberate? Were you keeping watch for me? Did my men being with me force you to change your plans? Did you realise then that you had taken on more than you could handle?’
He gave her no time to defend herself.
Stepping to where she had backed herself against the kitchen unit, he continued, ‘Admit it, this is all a bag of lies. What do they call it in English, when a person steals another’s image and passes it off as their own?’
The colour spread from her cheekbones to suffuse her entire face, the plump lips clamping tightly together as he stared down at her, daring her to tell the truth.
A sudden image came into his head of those plump lips parting for him...
Heat coiled through his loins again and he breathed deeply to drive it away, only to inhale another lungful of her beautiful scent.
Dante gritted his teeth and waved the photograph still in his hand at her. ‘How long did you search for the perfect image that you could use to pretend to be my long-lost sister?’
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