Untamed Italians. Janette Kenny
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Carlo.
No, he couldn’t let her near his father. Instead he must make a more attractive proposition to her, and he must give her little chance to refuse.
As soon as it was safe to exit the helicopter, he hurried her across the helipad and into the waiting limo. His blood heated from the light scent that was uniquely hers and the excitement that crackled in the air. From the fact that when this nasty business was concluded here, he and Gemma would form a new arrangement.
That she’d be his.
Flashes of lights confirmed the paparazzi were out in force, leading him to believe that more celebrities than usual were partaking of the games of chance or just visiting on the chance to be noticed partying among the ultrarich.
He’d never found this jet-set lifestyle appealing. Staying on the cutting edge of his business and promoting it to its fullest kept him on the go. Unlike a good number of his contemporaries, he preferred to celebrate his successes with a select few or in private with a beautiful woman.
Like Gemma?
He shoved that thought from his mind and concentrated on what had brought him here tonight. Gemma.
How ironic that just two weeks ago Jean Paul had goaded him to come gamble. Buying Cardone’s old trawler had made it worth his time.
And now?
The last text message he’d received from Jean Paul hinted at a repeat of the last time he’d been pitted against Cardone. Only this victory tonight would be over Gemma.
It would be all the sweeter. When she saw her brother fail this time, she’d have no choice but to accept what Stefano offered. No choice at all.
“How in the world will I find Emilio here?” Gemma asked, her voice so low he wondered if she was talking to herself.
The hand he had pressed to her spine slid to her side—all to get a better hold on her as they wended their way through this throng. It had nothing to do with offering her comfort for the turmoil she’d face in the next hour. Nothing!
“Cardone is in the poker room engaged in a high stakes game,” he said. “He has lost the last two hands.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“My friend sent me a message some time ago,” he said.
She stopped and stared at him. “Did you hire your friend to gamble against Emilio?”
“No, Jean Paul is a billionaire with a talent and desire to gamble on his off time.” He didn’t bother to mention Jean Paul was a celebrated Formula 1 driver, for what was the point?
“Come. We’ll join the audience, but you must remain quiet,” he said. “Any disruption will have you removed.”
She glared at him for the longest time with nothing short of hatred. With a huff, she turned and strode down the hall, back impossibly rigid.
Fine. He would rather she hate him; he could deal with that better than coping with the desire and empathy she’d stirred to life in him earlier. If she raised a ruckus, she’d find herself hustled from the room.
It would only make the tension between them all the more stronger later when they sat down to business. Yes, they were waging their own high stakes games. But he would win.
He could make her want him. He could make her wild with desire. He would have his vengeance!
Because he intended to blackmail her into his bed? His cheeks burned, a rarity to be sure.
But for all his shrewd business sense, he’d never mistreated a woman in his life. Never! Not even the one he’d brought home to meet his parents and who set her sights on his brother.
But that anger that always roared to life failed to come. In its place was a new emotion. Stronger. More volatile.
This business between him and Gemma had meaning. This fired his blood.
This was archaic thinking. It was something he’d never done and never thought to do with a woman.
But he couldn’t back down. Not now. Not when the scent of her filled his senses, when the brief kiss they’d shared inflamed his desire.
“Marinetti,” he told the guard at the door.
The man nodded and stepped aside without a word.
Gemma hesitated, but Stefano’s hand to her back hurried her inside. A row of plush chairs cast in shadow faced the tables.
She eased onto a chair and stared at him with eyes that were too huge and too filled with an emotion he couldn’t grasp. The deep sense of hurt that dimmed her eyes charged the tension-filled air and raised the hair at his nape.
“Call,” said the Russian mogul playing against Cardone.
The last chips where thrust forward. The cards revealed. Cardone lost.
She looked at Stefano and asked in a whisper, “Is it over?”
He nodded in answer, and her narrow shoulders bowed. In fact her entire body seemed to cave in on itself.
Damn her brother for doing this to her. Then he damned himself for letting her get to him. For wanting to take her in his arms and comfort her.
“All players must purchase the required chips before the start of the next game.”
Cardone pushed from the table and stalked to the bank, a trip he’d undoubtedly made countless times. “I have title to property. Will you take that as surety for a stake in the next game?”
“Yes, if you have it with you.”
“What is he doing?” Gemma said, her tension so acute Stefano felt it abrading his nerves.
Cardone produced a document and handed it to the bank. “The inn on Manarolo is in good condition and makes a modest profit.”
The bank took the paper. “One moment to verify this, sir.”
“No! He doesn’t own the inn.” She rushed to her brother, drawing all eyes to her.
Stefano followed on her heels, wanting to believe that Gemma had lied all along about the ownership of the inn. But her reaction was too genuine to be staged.
She was shocked by her brother’s actions to the point of hysteria.
Cardone whirled on her then, eyes widening with surprise before narrowing in anger. “What are you doing here?”
“Stopping you from making a mistake,” she said. “How did you get Nonna’s shares of the inn?”
Her brother let out a smug laugh. “Nonna is already heartbroken that you lost your half of the inn to Marinetti.”
“You told her about that?” she asked, her voice dropping to a choked whisper.
“Of course. She signed over her half of the inn to me, the family who has stayed by her side this past year.”
“The family who is about to gamble away our heritage!” She clasped trembling hands over her mouth and stared at her brother as if he were a stranger. “What are you thinking? The inn is your home. It’s our family’s livelihood. You live there. Your wife works with Nonna and affords you a modest income off the guests.”
“Peasant wages,” Cardone spat. “I want more for my family and myself.” He flicked a damning glower at Stefano. “I want the kind of life your rich boss enjoys.”
“Then work for it!”
“Trust me in this, mio serella,” Cardone said to Gemma, the endearment sounding false to Stefano’s ears. “When I win this pot you’ll never have to bow and scrape for a milionario again,” he said, inclining his head Stefano’s way. “You would be independently wealthy.”
“You can’t risk our home,” she said, and Stefano realized