The Moretti Heir / Billionaire Extraordinaire: The Moretti Heir / Billionaire Extraordinaire. Katherine Garbera
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looked up at the moon shining brightly down on her and took strength from it.
“It is a beautiful night, is it not?”
The deep, masculine voice sent a tingle down her spine and she wasn’t surprised when she turned around and saw Marco Moretti standing there.
The panic she’d felt inside the party didn’t return. Instead, as she looked over her shoulder at him, she felt a sense of power come over her.
“Yes it is,” she said.
“May I join you?”
She nodded.
“I’m Marco Moretti.”
“I know,” she said. “Congratulations on winning today.”
“That’s what I do, mi’ angela,” he said, grinning at her.
“I’m not your angel,” she said, though she loved the sound of him speaking in his native language.
“Tell me your name and I shall call you by it.”
“Virginia,” she said, very aware that her last name would give her away. So she kept it to herself.
“Virginia…very pretty. What are you doing here in Melbourne?”
“Watching you win,” she said.
He laughed out loud, the sound washing over her senses like the warm breeze that stirred around them.
“Will you join me for a drink?”
“Only if we can stay out here,” she said. She didn’t want to go back into the craziness of the party. Out here, she felt in control and better able to concentrate. Plus, she needed all the strega magic she could summon. The night sky filled with stars and the bright moon would help her.
“Certainly,” he said. He signaled one of the uniformed waiters and they placed their drink orders.
Once their drinks came, Marco took her elbow and led her farther away from the people lingering on the terrace. The terrace spanned the entire side of the building, and as they walked along, she became very aware of his hand on her arm, of the subtle brush of his fingers over her flesh.
When they reached a quiet area with no one around, he stopped walking and dropped her arm. Leaning back against the railing, he looked at her, his dark brown eyes intense. She wondered what he saw, she hoped she seemed mysterious, sexy, sultry. She was afraid she was going to give up the game she was playing by betraying her nervousness.
“Tell me about yourself, mi’ angela bella,” he said.
She hadn’t counted on her senses being engaged by Marco. She’d figured she’d come here, flash some leg and a hint of cleavage, and that he’d be turned on and take her to bed and she’d leave in the morning.
Instead she found that she liked listening to his voice. She loved his accent and the rhythm of his words as he spoke. Liked also the scent of his cologne, and the way that he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. And of course, that fit what she’d learned about him—that his relationships, while short-lived, were very intense.
“What do you want to know, mi diavolo bello?”
He laughed again and she understood why he was considered so charming. Charm imbued every part of him. “So you think I am handsome?”
“I think you’re a devil,” she said.
“I love the sound of my native tongue on your lips,” he said. “Tell me about yourself in Italian.”
“I only know a few phrases,” she said, “What is it you want to know about me?”
“Everything,” he said.
She shook her head. “That would be a very boring tale. Nothing like the famed story of the Marco Moretti.”
“I bet that’s not true. What do you do?” he asked.
“Right now I’m on sabbatical,” she said, which was the truth. She had taken six months off from her teaching job at a small liberal arts college to follow the Formula One racing season and meet Marco.
“Why?”
“I’m going to be thirty next year and I decided it was time to see the world. I’ve always wanted to travel but never had the time.”
“So it’s just a happy coincidence that we are both in Melbourne?”
“Yes,” she said. A very happy coincidence, put in play by her own actions.
“Melbourne’s only the first stop. This is one of my favorite cities.”
“What do you like about it?” she asked. She knew little about the man beyond what she’d read on the Internet and in magazines.
“Tonight, I like that you and I are both here.”
She shook her head. “That’s a corny line.”
“It’s not a line, but the truth,” he said. “Come and dance with me.”
She took a sip of her Bellini. She’d caught his attention, diverted the conversation away from herself, and now…“Okay.”
“Did you really have to think it over?” he asked, taking her hand in his and drawing her near to him.
“Not really. I just wasn’t expecting this.”
“Expecting what?”
“To find you so attractive.”
He laughed. “Good. I wasn’t expecting you, either, Virginia.”
“What were you expecting?” she asked.
“Another victory party where everyone pretends that they are happy for me, but no one really cares.”
“Is that usually a problem for you?”
“Not really. That’s just the way this crowd is. Everyone is here to see and be seen.”
His words revealed more than she was sure he intended them to. But before she could ask any more questions, he leaned in, cupped her face and brought his mouth down to hers.
The scent of his Scotch was sweet as he parted her lips with his own. She felt the warmth of his breath and then the gentle brush of his tongue against her mouth.
And in that moment she knew—strega magic or not—this was a dangerous mission she’d set for herself. Because not falling for the charming Marco Moretti was going to be harder than she’d ever imagined it would be.
Two
Virginia’s plan was working…a little too well. Marco was smooth and charming. She’d expected that. But he was also very funny and a bit self-deprecating.
Everyone wanted a piece of him tonight. A moment to bask in his glory. He had the aura of someone who was going to break that record on wins in the Formula One circuit, and everyone wanted to be close to him.
Since they’d come in from the terrace, she tried to leave a few times, not being comfortable in the spotlight. But he kept her by his side, his fingers linked loosely with hers as they moved through the crowd.
She didn’t have to try to be mysterious here. No one knew her, and to be honest, she didn’t think anyone wanted to know her tonight. She was simply a pretty woman hanging on Marco’s arm.
The feminist in her was a bit outraged to be delegated to nothing more than arm candy.
“I am sorry, mi’ angela, but winning always means that my time is not my own.”
“It’s okay,” she said. She was learning a lot about Marco from watching him. She wondered if her grandmother had realized what the Formula One lifestyle was like. Was this why Lorenzo Moretti hadn’t wanted to settle