Untamed Italians. Janette Kenny
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a desirable man instead of the man who’d just gained control of all she held dear. A very handsome man with an odd glint in his eyes that roused her suspicions.
If he thought she’d tumble into bed with him now, he was sorely mistaken. There had to be plenty of rooms on board. Hopefully there was one far from his domain.
“This is the starship of my new fleet,” he said with pride ringing clear in his tone. “I can work from here as easily as I can on land.”
“Have you done that often?” she said in an attempt to make idle conversation.
“Many times of late. Come.”
He stepped from the helicopter and rounded it to assist her down. An odd thing to do since there were plenty of men who had jumped to attend to the helicopter and its billionaire pilot.
A refreshing breeze greeted her as she crossed the deck with her hand tightly clasped in Stefano’s. Possessive. Sensual.
The last sensation thrummed her nerves in an erotic melody she couldn’t deny. She didn’t want to feel anything toward him but animosity.
Though she was helpless to stop the swift stab of desire, hell would surely freeze over before she acted upon it. With that thought in mind, she was able to draw a decent breath as he led her belowdecks.
If Gemma didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d just entered a sunken palace. Marble floors and pillars, plush Brussels carpets that her feet sank into, crystal light fixtures that caught the light and reflected it back in a rich rainbow of color.
Servants rushed to attend to Stefano’s needs but he waved them off. “I need nothing more tonight,” he said as he tugged Gemma down a hall and into a large suite.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said as she took in the massive stateroom.
The lighting was subdued. The furnishing modern yet masculinely opulent.
“This is the salon where we meet clients.” He crossed to a bar. “May I get you something?”
This was one of those occasions when she needed alcohol.
“Chianti, please.”
Stefano obliged and handed her a glass. “I imagine you are close to exhaustion.”
“It’s been an extremely taxing day.”
He nodded agreement. “But there is one more bit of business I wish to discuss now.”
The inn. She was sure of it.
He had her where he could punish and torment her and they both knew it. It was a matter of how much blood he wanted from her for not confiding in her personal affairs.
She drank her wine too fast and felt a wave of dizziness engulf her. “Very well,” she said in her most businesslike tone. “What is it that is so urgent?”
“I gather the inn means a great deal to you.”
“More than it could possibly mean to you. I want the opportunity to buy it back,” she said, her chin lifting for the argument she was sure would come.
“Fine,” he said so quickly she nearly reeled. “I have no wish to delve into the hotel business at any level.”
“Then why did you buy Emilio’s shares?” she asked.
He poured an equal amount of wine in his glass and took a sip. “Because I didn’t want a third party to have any say over my plans for the inn.”
His answer left her more confused than before. “You just said you had no wish to manage an inn.”
“I don’t. But I didn’t want to divide the shares, either.”
A fact she appreciated even though it forced her to appeal to him solely now. “Then do you agree to sell the inn to me?”
His firm lips curved into that wicked smile again. “Selling is a lengthy process I’d prefer avoiding.”
“I planned to get a loan—”
He raised a hand and she fell silent. “I don’t want money, bella. I want you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, though she feared she knew where this was leading.
“I want you to be my mistress.”
She set the glass down though she was tempted to hurl it at his hard head. “I won’t prostitute myself for you or anyone.”
One devilishly dark eyebrow lifted in mock questioning. “Not even for sole ownership of your inn on Manarolo?”
Damn him! “I can get a loan and pay you—”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “You will not work for Marinetti beyond another month.”
“You’re firing me?”
He shrugged. “I am extending you one offer, bella. In addition to your duties as my personal secretary, I want you to be my mistress for one month.”
“You’re vile.”
“Think what you like. In exchange for your companionship for one month, I’ll give you the title to the inn on Manarolo free and clear.”
She hadn’t thought she could hate him more than she did at this second, but a fury like she’d never felt before surged through her. She wanted to pummel his chest, kick him. She wanted to walk out of his life and never look back.
But he had her in a vulnerable position.
Unless she was willing to break her promise to Cesare, or see her inn sold to a stranger and her nonna displaced, she had no choice but to agree to Stefano’s outrageous demands. The fact that her body did respond to the power and erotic pulse of his was moot—and if she told herself that enough, just maybe she’d believe it.
The cold fact remained that he was dangling the prize before her eyes. All she had to do to gain her heart’s desire was be his mistress.
She wouldn’t have to like it. She just had to lay there and suffer his touch for a month.
As if his touch would bring her anything but pleasure the likes she’d never known before!
“I want it in writing,” she said, disgusted her voice trembled. “I won’t sleep with you until then.”
A muscle tensed in his lean cheek and she braced herself for an argument. “Agreed. It is after all a solid business proposition.”
It was a personal proposition to settle a vendetta, to bend her to his will because he simply could. Because he believed she had been his father’s mistress first and had bled Cesare of his fortune. What would happen when the truth did come out?
Truths, she amended.
She’d never been with a man before, and he was sure to realize that. How long could she put him off?
Not long, she feared. What in the world would she tell him then regarding the jaunts to Milan?
He set his glass down and strode toward her, nudging her chin up with a finger that sent a new wave of awareness crashing through her. She hated that her body responded so readily to him.
“You look dead on your feet. Come, let me show you to your stateroom.” He guided her across the salon with a hand to her back, a hand that left her burning hot as if he’d left his brand on her skin.
She broke contact with him as soon as she walked into the suite. But the effort drained her and the soft lighting, the quiet, all tempted her to curl up on the first sofa she came to and sleep.
But before she did, she had to appease the final thing that would rob her of rest. “Have you spoken with your father?”
His shoulders snapped taut for a moment, as if her query had been a stinging lash. “I talked with his nurse earlier. He’s resting and his