The Italian's Summer Seduction. Karen Van Der Zee
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rare occasions when they’d been attending the same function together, he had become heir to the vast family-run business enterprise that ranged from the petrochemical industry through luxury hotels to dealing in fine art and precious gems.
Nonna had helped him come to terms with everything. The business was to be run by his late father’s hand-picked executive managers until he reached his majority, of course, but she had hired a private tutor to help him learn all he could about his future inheritance, a project he had eagerly embraced.
He could deny her nothing, but caution, and that niggle, had made him add, ‘I’ll do some rescheduling and stick around for the first few weeks to make sure you suit each other.’
A stab of anger shot through him now as he entered the dank passageway which obviously led to the door to the above-the-shop premises. Jilly Lee had charmed his grandmother into trusting her implicitly, into relying on her company, into actually enjoying what the scheming minx had called ‘Girl-talk’. And had done a runner when he’d made it plain that he didn’t want her in his bed and wasn’t in the market for marriage. Taking a whole load of the old lady’s cash with her.
He would make her pay. In spades. He stabbed a finger on the bell-push.
Milly Lee flicked on the overhead light and drew the skimpy curtains over the window to shut out the depressing sight of the wet April evening. It hadn’t stopped raining all day. The interior of the small living area was just as chilly and depressing and she wouldn’t have stayed here a moment longer than necessary after her mother’s death—would just have found herself an inexpensive bedsit with enough room for one—but Jilly wouldn’t know how to contact her if she did that and since she’d left her job in Florence Milly had no means of contacting her.
That her identical twin was thoughtless went without saying, but that didn’t mean Jilly wouldn’t get in touch at some stage, when she finally remembered her family back home. Sadly she reflected that Jilly didn’t even know that their mother had passed away. She would be gutted. So, until her twin remembered that she had a family who worried about her and made contact, she would have to stay put.
Pushing the floppy fringe of her short blonde hair out of her eyes, she opened the local evening paper she’d bought on her way home from work and optimistically turned to the Situations Vacant column.
She was going to need to find a new job.
Manda, her boss, had told her this morning that she was selling up. She and her husband wanted to start a family—at the age of thirty-six it was time. And conception might prove easier if she wasn’t rushing from pillar to post from the crack of dawn.
The likelihood of another florist taking over the business and keeping her on was slim—profits had been dropping for the last year. ‘You’d better start looking for something else,’ Manda had warned. ‘If you find something, don’t worry about working out your notice. I can wind the business down on my own. No probs.’ So that meant she had to find something double quick if she was to be able to pay the rent on this flat.
The sound of the doorbell made her spirits lift. Cleo, her best friend since schooldays, had said she’d pop by this evening, bring a bottle of wine, and they could discuss her wedding plans. Milly was to be chief bridesmaid.
Glad that her friend was a couple of hours early—she’d mentioned nine as the most likely time—she flew down the narrow, carpetless staircase to let her in. And found she was staring at a complete stranger.
A drop dead handsome stranger.
An unexplained sensation quivered its way down her spine, intensifying as a shard of triumph glimmered briefly in the stranger’s dark eyes and the sinfully sexy mouth curved in a smile that was definitely more predatory than friendly.
‘The disguise doesn’t fool me, Jilly, but it suits you—believe it or not.’
The deep voice was slightly accented; it made her toes curl. He obviously thought she was her glamorous twin, dressed in the sort of gear Jilly wouldn’t be seen dead in—faded old jeans and woolly sweater, the trademark long beautiful hair cut to a boyish bob, and she shook her head, about to tell him he’d made an understandable mistake. But he forestalled her, striding past her, drawling crushingly, ‘You should have known there was no place to hide. Lesson one—no one messes with me and mine. Lesson two—you pay for trying.’
Heavens! What had Jilly done now? The burning question went unspoken as he reached the foot of the dimly lit stairs and swung round to face her. Her breath caught, her heart hammered, speech was impossible for the moment because he looked so formidable.
Not an ounce of spare flesh on his impeccably suited six foot frame, broad shoulders, narrow waist and elegantly long legs. The dark hair, spangled with raindrops, was superbly cut, his features austerely sculpted but saved from coldness by a wickedly sensual mouth. And those eyes—rich dark chocolate with penetrating amber glints trained on her own green ones, which were wide with apprehension.
‘My grandmother is already missing you. I will not have her upset. I told her you had to leave the villa because of a family crisis. You will stick to that story.’ The long beautiful mouth tightened with distaste. ‘Personally, I wouldn’t let you within a mile of my home. But for Nonna’s sake you will return to Tuscany with me tomorrow. You will take up your duties, continue to amuse and charm her but with one stricture—’ he delivered chillingly ‘—there will be no more shopping trips in Florence on the pretext of refreshing her wardrobe and somehow persuading her to fill yours with designer gear. Understood?’
Not waiting for a reply, he drawled icily, his eyes threateningly narrowed on her now ashen face, ‘The alternative is a spell in prison. I personally take care of my grandmother’s finances. Did you think the large cash withdrawals would remain unnoticed? That I wouldn’t make enquiries? The forged signatures on the cheques you presented are good enough for casual scrutiny by a clerk who recognised you as having accompanied the old lady who always used cash because she considered the use of plastic the devil’s work. But not good enough to fool me. Or an expert brought in by the courts.’
Milly gasped and turned whiter. Shock had her feet rooted to the spot. Her heart was thumping so heavily she could hardly breathe. Her stomach seemed to be turning inside out and her head was reeling.
All through his hostile diatribe she’d been struggling to make sense of what he was saying, putting her initial and instinctive need to butt in and correct him on hold as the conviction that her identical twin was in trouble deepened, until the mention of prison, of fraud and theft made it impossible to let on that she wasn’t the woman he was looking for.
Jilly was plainly in a horrible mess and until she could figure out what to do, how to protect her sister, she’d say nothing and hope she’d nodded off and this was a nightmare, not real.
But it was all too real.
He turned and headed for the door, his stride lithe and totally assured, his shoulders straight and elegant. He opened the door, admitting damp air. ‘I will collect you at six in the morning. Be ready. If you attempt to disappear again, be sure that I will find you. Be very sure of that.’
He turned then, his stunning eyes hard and cold. ‘In the event of your non-compliance to my demands, I shall have no hesitation in hauling you through the courts and seeing you behind bars. My desire to protect my grandmother from the pain of discovering that the hired companion she had grown to trust, rely on and love was nothing more than a devious thief is strong. But even that has its limits.’
Chapter Two
‘HE CAN’T MAKE you do that!’ Cleo howled, her perky face scarlet with outrage.
Secretly, Milly desperately wished she could agree with her. But she loved her twin and her conscience wouldn’t let her wash her hands of her. When her friend had arrived, complete with samples of fabric, wedding magazines and a bottle of wine, she had still been sitting, stunned, on the draughty staircase.
And she’d let it all out, relaying every word the Italian had said and now,