Excerpt: Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian
Book 1: Irresistible Mediterranean Tycoons
Leo stood at the head of the steps that scaled the private jet and checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Damn it. Why did his shoulders feel as if they were roped into knots the size of fists? And why couldn’t he shake this weird, jittery feeling from the pit of his stomach?
Granted, he’d expected the car he’d sent for Helena to have arrived by now, but it was Friday rush hour and this was London. Traffic would be hitting its peak and a fifteen minute delay was negligible. If the driver had encountered any serious hold-ups, or if Helena had failed to show, he’d have heard by now.
All of which meant he needed to kill this obsession with his watch and relax.
This arrangement of theirs might top the scale of harebrained ideas, but his impromptu return to London on Monday had at least gained him an edge. In less than an hour he’d blindsided Helena at her office—fair payback for ambushing him at the hotel—tossed her firmly on the back foot and enjoyed their verbal sparring to boot.
Though not nearly as much as he’d enjoyed putting his hands on her.
His fingers curled at the memory of her skin’s heat penetrating his palms through her thin blouse and the way her nipples had pebbled in response to his touch. At some point the vibrant girl with her bold colours and creative ambitions had given way to a woman too content with mediocrity, yet he’d seen a spark of fire in her blue eyes that convinced him some remnant of that passionate, captivating girl still existed.
A flash of reflected sunlight at the edge of the tarmac caught his eye and he squinted into the lowering sun. A gleaming silver SUV with tinted windows approached, cruising to a stop in the traffic safety zone alongside the aircraft hangar. The driver sprang from the vehicle and made for the other side, but his passenger had already climbed out. Smiling at the man, her loose curls tossed by the evening breeze, she spoke a few words Leo strained to hear but couldn’t catch from where he stood.
He sucked in his breath, the edgy, irritable mood that had plagued him all day dissipating beneath an entirely different kind of tension.
Dio.
Even casually attired the woman was a breathtaking vision. A perfect combination of long, slender limbs and feminine curves in all the right places. An ache stirred deep in his groin as he watched her cross the tarmac, her rounded breasts clearly outlined beneath her figure-hugging tee, the denim of her jeans stretched over shapely hips and slender thighs. In one hand she carried a jacket, in the other a small holdall.
He descended the steps. When she neared he took her bag, slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Her eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise.
‘Ciao, Helena.’ He lowered his head, intending to drop an experimental kiss on those sweet, inviting lips, but she averted her face and his mouth collided instead with her cheek.
Her body stiffened. ‘People are watching,’ she hissed.
He glanced at the men in overalls working around them, some engrossed in their tasks, others paused and openly staring. ‘So they are.’ He dragged her closer, some deep primal instinct spurring him to send a clear message to the onlookers. Mine. He turned his attention back to those delectable lips. ‘Perhaps we should not disappoint them?’
Her eyes narrowed to pinpricks of sapphire and she pulled in a breath, but whatever retort hovered on that pretty pink tongue she chose not to share it. Instead, she twisted from his grasp and started up the steps, the mesmerising roll and sway of her hips holding his gaze captive. He tightened his grip on her bag, his amusement tempered by a sting of annoyance.
Was this how she planned to fulfil her role as his mistress? By tolerating his touch only when it suited her?
Think again, cara.
‘Drink?’ he offered after he’d stashed her bag in an overhead locker and snapped the cover closed. For a woman she travelled exceptionally light, the carry-on he’d just stowed small and compact, the single piece of luggage the driver had removed from the SUV’s trunk not much larger.
The observation gave him pause. A week ago he’d have shrugged it off, assumed she planned to hit the shops in Rome and buy an extra case to carry home her purchases. Now, after Nico’s report, he knew that scenario was unlikely. Despite her family’s enviable wealth, Helena’s lifestyle appeared modest, even frugal. A revelation he found oddly disturbing.
She tossed her jacket over a seat. ‘Yes, please.’
He moved to a built-in bar where a bottle of champagne sat chilling on ice. He filled two long-stemmed flutes, handed one to Helena and raised the other in a toast. ‘To our arrangement.’
She hesitated before touching her glass to his. The crystal sang sweetly as the rims chinked. ‘To our arrangement.’ Her head arched back on her graceful neck as she took a surprisingly long swig of the effervescent liquid. She lowered the glass, gestured a hand at the cabin’s interior. ‘You travel in style.’
He considered the gleaming mahogany fixtures, fine Italian leather, and thick cut pile carpet. The expansion of his business into Asia and North America over the last few years had demanded extensive travel and his board had deemed the corporate jet a justifiable expense. ‘You sound surprised.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s more luxurious than I’d expected.’
‘And you disapprove?’
For a second the question seemed to throw her, then her features morphed back into an aloof, dignified mask. ‘No. Of course not. It’s just…not what I’m used to these days.’
‘And what are you used to?’
Her eyebrows tugged together. ‘I don’t know. Things more…ordinary, I suppose.’
‘In that case—’ he took her glass, placed both flutes on the bar ‘—you will need to reacquaint yourself with things less…ordinary.’ He moved closer, enjoying the way her eyes flared wide, the titillating glimpse of her tongue as it darted across her lower lip. She was nervous despite her cool, controlled demeanour. The skittering pulse at the base of her throat gave her away. ‘And there is one more thing you must become accustomed to.’
She notched her chin. Quietly defiant. Utterly beautiful. ‘And that is?’
He captured her jaw between thumb and forefinger. ‘Me.’
* * * * *
Helena swallowed. The generous mouthful of bubbles she’d foolishly imbibed on an empty stomach was meant to give her sass and courage. Instead, she felt lightheaded and shaky on her feet. She wanted to turn her head, tear her gaze from those mesmerising eyes, but his fingers held her captive. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Then I will demonstrate.’
The instant his head lowered, panic seized her. ‘Wait!’ Her hands flew to his chest. ‘What are you doing?’
He halted, his lips mere inches from hers, his black-fringed eyes glittering like a star-studded night. With what? Amusement? Desire? ‘Demonstrating my point.’
She pushed harder, her fingers tingling, his warmth—his vitality—seeping through the fabric of his shirt and into her nerve endings. ‘What point?’
‘That you seem to have developed an untimely aversion to me.’ He grasped her wrists, the latent strength in his long fingers making her bones feel small. Fragile. ‘No one will believe we are lovers if you balk at my touch.’
She tried to free herself but he held fast, keeping her hands anchored to his chest. Under her palms his heart beat strong and steady, unlike hers, which had launched into the cardiac equivalent of a Fred and Ginger tap routine. ‘We agreed to play lovers in public.’ Why did her voice sound so high and breathless? ‘Not in private. And I’ve proved to you I can do this.’
‘Yet you stiffen in my arms like an innocent.’ He pulled her hands upward, linking them behind his neck. Dragging her body into agonising contact with his. ‘It will not do, Helena. Santino is an astute man, his daughter no fool. If we are to convince them, you must learn to relax with me.’ His big hands circled her waist. ‘And now is the perfect time for a lesson.’
Heat spiralled through her but she fought the shiver of desire gathering momentum in her muscles. He was testing her boundaries, pushing her limits, and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her quiver. She dropped her arms and willed her body to go lax. Unresponsive. She could struggle, make it difficult for him, but he was strong. He’d kiss her anyway. Better to play it cool and aloof and retain at least some scrap of dignity. She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together and waited, but the expected pressure of his mouth didn’t come.
His hot breath skimmed her lips as he spoke. ‘Your little martyr act doesn’t wash with me, cara. Admit it. You want my kiss. My touch. Your body craves it—’ his hand rose to the back of her head and closed around a fistful of curls ‘—just as mine does.’
She opened her eyes and shook her head, or tried to. Moving was difficult with his long fingers tangled in her hair. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ His teeth flashed, his quick smile too sharp. Too knowing. ‘I remember the nights you begged for my touch, the nights you lay naked beneath me, panting and pleading—’
‘Stop!’ His brazen words evoked a hot rush of erotic memories. Fresh panic spurted in her chest. ‘Maybe this was a…a mistake.’
His eyebrows hiked. ‘This was your idea, remember? What are you afraid of?’
Myself. ‘Nothing.’
Amusement rumbled deep in his chest. ‘Liar.’
He tugged her head back, tilted her face to his, and she knew in the span of a single panicked heartbeat she was headed for trouble. Knew the instant his mouth covered hers this kiss would not be the hard, demanding, alpha-take-charge kiss she’d expected. No. This kiss was something altogether different. Something far more calculated and disturbing. A skilled, sensual assault that sent his mouth and tongue moving in long, lazy strokes over her tightly clamped lips.
Helena’s nostrils flared, her sharp inhalation drawing in the heady spice of his cologne, and a whimper of protest caught in her throat. Or was it a moan? Either way, Leo showed no sign of relenting. His lips coaxed, his tongue teased, his teeth lightly grazed. And with every stroke, every nip and tug, her resolve to refuse him access suffered another crippling blow.
Ruthless, she thought, the floor tilting under her, the bones in her legs melting like heated wax. He was ruthless and she was drowning, oblivious to everything except the hard male body imprisoning hers and the sweet, blistering assault of his mouth.
Belatedly she registered a tugging at her waistband, a whisper of cool air on her midriff, then the explosive charge of flesh against heated flesh. She jerked with surprise, but the hand behind her head held firm while the other rose to cup her breast. Deft fingers hooked aside cotton and lace and closed around one hard, almost painfully taut peak.
Helena arched her back and groaned. She couldn’t help it. Her body was on fire and she couldn’t douse the flames. Her lips parted, her lungs desperate for air, and she did nothing to resist when Leo’s tongue swept in and tangled with her own. He growled—with satisfaction or triumph?—and then she was lost, unable to remember why she didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. With a moan of surrender, she wound her arms around his neck. Arched into his touch. Opened herself to his kiss.
‘Ahem.’
Helena froze.
Oh, no, no, no.
That could not be the sound of a man clearing his throat inside the cabin. Heat of a different kind crawled up her neck as she realised that Leo, too, stood motionless, his mouth locked on hers, one hand twined in her hair while the other cradled her breast beneath her tee.
Horrified, she wriggled to snap whatever spell held him frozen. Slowly his head lifted, his gaze blazing into hers with a momentary intensity before shifting to the uniformed man standing near the entry to the cockpit. Her cheeks flamed. Why didn’t Leo release her? Remove his hand from her breast? She squirmed, mortified.
‘Five minutes to take-off, sir,’ the attendant said, his voice neutral, his face devoid of expression.
Leo nodded. ‘Grazie.’
The man retreated behind a floor-length curtain and she dragged in a breath, waited for the curtain to fall then shoved at Leo’s chest. Her trembling arms possessed just enough strength to break his hold. Hastily she rearranged her bra and tee, conscious of her smarting cheeks. Her tingling lips.
One kiss.
And she’d lost herself completely. Been ready to give him whatever he wanted. Whatever he demanded. How could she be so weak? So pathetic.
Was this what her mother did every time she kissed and made up with her husband? Did she let herself get played? Sucked in by some practised seduction routine that made her forget all the hurt that had gone before? All the ugliness that would surely follow?
Anger flared, at herself. At him. ‘Is this part of our deal?’ She yanked the hem of her tee into her jeans. ‘That you get to maul me whenever you feel like it?’
He had the nerve to smile. A cool, sardonic smile that made her want to throw something, preferably at his head. ‘You call that being mauled?’
‘What would you call it when a man forces himself on a woman?’
His soft laugh jarred her nerves. ‘Force?’ She would have spun away if his hand hadn’t risen with startling speed to capture her jaw. Her pulse skittered. ‘Don’t fool yourself, cara.’ He dragged his thumb over her mouth, parted her lips. Ran his tongue over his own as if recalling how she tasted. ‘You enjoyed that as much as I did.’
A sharp denial danced on her tongue but she choked it back. His heated appraisal, the glitter in those dark eyes, told her he felt the pull of their physical attraction as surely and inexorably as she. Refusing to acknowledge what they both knew existed was futile. Dangerous. Instinct warned he’d take great pleasure in proving her wrong—again.
She jerked free of his grasp, moved to a window seat and strapped herself in. Outside, the ground crew completed their final safety checks and she stared out the window, feigned an interest in their activity.
Leo made her feel vulnerable, exposed, and she hated it. Hated that her desire for him was so plain to see. Hated the ease with which he zeroed in on it, ruthlessly exploiting her weakness for him.
Her father did the same thing, found people’s weaknesses, their soft spots and vulnerabilities. Is that why her mother stayed? Did he wield her fears and weaknesses against her? Use them as leverage so she didn’t leave?
Helena blinked away the burn of tears. She’d never make her mother’s mistake. She’d rather die a dried-up old spinster than tolerate a man who didn’t treat her with respect.
If only Leo’s kiss hadn’t made her blood sing. Hadn’t fired every dormant cell in her body to glorious life. With a ragged sigh, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the seat.
So much for cool and aloof.