Grabbing her heavy skirts, she spun around, heart thundering as she saw the man who’d walked the length of the aisle to halt mere steps away.

Amongst the horde of people dressed to the nines, he stood out in worn, faded jeans that clung to powerful thighs, a black T-shirt and leather jacket. Even his hair looked rumpled, matching his unshaven jaw. As if interrupting the sanctity of a wedding ceremony wasn’t enough, his casual appearance added extra insult.

Stella refused to let her gaze travel his tall body or dwell on the strength of his chest and shoulders. She ignored his chiselled, too-handsome features and focused on his eyes. She’d never seen anything so cold in her life. It was like looking at shards of ice.

Ice that nevertheless had the power to burn.

He stood a step below her yet their eyes were level. How could such a cold stare look so angry? As if he had anything to be angry about!

‘Ah, the blushing bride. All dressed in white, too. How very predictable.’

Once his sneer might have hurt. Maybe it would later. For now she had the strange sensation that she saw him from a distance, as if separated by a wall of toughened glass.

‘Now see here, Valenti, you’re not welcome.’ Her father bustled forward, his big hands clenched. Her half-brothers rose from the pew to stand behind him.

Giancarlo Valenti ignored them. Not by so much as a flicker did he give any indication he’d noticed the three solid men crowding threateningly close.

Stella opened her mouth but it was Eduardo beside her who spoke. ‘I must ask you to leave. If you want to offer your good wishes to my wife and myself, you can wait outside.’

‘But she’s not your wife yet, is she?’

Her father started blustering but Stella spoke over him, snapping out the words. ‘I can’t imagine why you’re here, but—’

‘Can’t you? Can’t you really?’

She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes, staring him down. If she’d been able to harness the power of her hatred he’d be a pile of smouldering cinders at her feet.

‘No,’ she said loudly and clearly. ‘I can’t think of any reason for you to be here.’

Abruptly, with no warning, her energy disappeared like air from a punctured balloon. This was too much on top of everything else. These last months had been appalling. She’d told herself she just had to get through the wedding but now despite her righteous anger she suddenly felt like she didn’t have the strength. Her muscles loosened and it took enormous effort to shore up her wobbly knees.

She stiffened her legs and her spine. ‘Goodbye, Signor Valenti.’

She turned towards the altar, only to halt as he responded, clear enough for half the congregation to hear, ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily. I’m here to stop this farce of a marriage.’

Stella spun around as a hubbub exploded from the congregation. Her father lunged at him, grabbing his leather jacket with one hand and pulling back a fist. It was Eduardo who grabbed her father’s arm and stopped the punch.

Giancarlo Valenti didn’t flinch, his eyes were on her, making something inside her frozen heart squirm.

Her groom hissed at her father under his breath, ‘Do you want to make matters worse, Barbieri? You’re playing into his hands, resorting to violence.’

Belatedly Stella’s half-brothers hauled their father back, holding him by the arms.

Eduardo, cultured, unflappable Eduardo, forked his fingers through his immaculate hair. He shook his head, sliced a look her way then murmured, ‘We need to take this somewhere private. Father?’ He turned towards the shocked priest hovering nearby. ‘There must be somewhere we can talk.’

‘It’s too late for that.’ Silver grey eyes held Stella’s, their expression as dangerous as summer lightning. ‘You can’t marry her. She’s mine.’

She heard a hissed breath and realised it was hers. Her hand went to her throat. What was he playing at? Why? This made no sense.

She hadn’t realised she’d moved until she was standing before him, toe to toe, neck arched to hold his stare, fisted hands planted on her hips.

‘Who do you think you are? No one owns me. I’m not a piece of property.’

Though her father used her exactly like that, as an asset to be traded.

‘Get out of here,’ she snarled. ‘You’re not wanted. You’re not welcome.’

Something blazed in his eyes but she was too het up to read it.

‘Oh, I’m going. And you’re coming with me.’ Hard fingers wrapped around her elbow, his warmth seeping into chilled flesh. Everyone shouted at once, remonstrating, threatening or cursing. Men from the congregation thronged forward, encircling the intruder, but still he stood his ground. Angry hands reached for him as he said, calmly and clearly, ‘Do you really think I’d let you marry another man when you’re pregnant with my baby?’