The Virgin's Sicilian Protector

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘What’s the matter, cara?’

  ‘Oh, there was a spiteful piece written about me in one of the fashion magazines. You would think I’d be hardened to bad publicity by now,’ she said flatly, revealing a vulnerability that made his insides clench. ‘But the journalist who wrote the article suggested that my father is the creative and financial force behind Anna and Randolph must help me with the designs.’

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘We need to devise a great PR campaign in the run-up to London Fashion Week. You could give a couple of interviews to explain your concept of Anna as a fashion brand for contemporary women. It would also be a good idea if we gave a joint press statement about Tiger Investments’ involvement in your company.’

  ‘Would you be prepared to do that?’

  He nodded. ‘I have a vested interest in wanting Anna to succeed as I own a forty percent share of the business,’ he reminded her. ‘Leave the PR campaign to me while you concentrate on producing a runway collection that will blow the fashion world away.’ He untied the belt of her bathrobe and cupped her breasts in his hands. ‘But right now I think you should concentrate all your attention on me,’ Santino said thickly as he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to his bed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ARIANNA’S KNEES ACHED from kneeling on the floor in front of a mannequin while she sewed the hem on a cocktail dress that she planned to include in her collection at London Fashion Week’s spring show. Her back was stiff, her fingers were sore from sewing sample pieces—her seamstress could not do all the work alone—and with less than a week to go until the show she was beset by self-doubt.

  After weeks of preparation, the actual amount of time during which her designs would be paraded on the runway by the models she had hired was minutes. But she knew that those moments could make or break her fledgling career. Fashion editors, writers and bloggers would scrutinise her work and their verdict of her debut collection was crucial to the future of her Anna label. She wanted to succeed as a designer, not just for herself, but to prove to Santino that the faith he had shown by investing in her business had been justified.

  ‘I thought we agreed that you would not work past 9:00 p.m.’ Santino’s gravelly voice had its usual effect on her heart, making it flutter like a trapped bird in her chest. She removed a couple of pins that she’d been holding between her lips before she stood up and turned to see him stroll across the studio. He had changed out of the suit that she’d watched him put on that morning into black jeans and a grey cashmere sweater topped by his black leather biker’s jacket that gave a dangerous edge to his devastatingly sexy looks.

  ‘I just need to finish this,’ she explained, grimacing when he shook his head.

  ‘No, cara, you need to come home for some food, a relaxing bath and bed.’

  A shiver of pleasure ran through her at his use of the word ‘home’. Technically, of course, the penthouse near Tower Bridge was Santino’s home, but for the past month she had lived there with him. She was still paying the rent on her bedsit, while she was supposed to be looking for a new flat to move into, but she had been so busy preparing for the fashion show, and the few places she had viewed online hadn’t met with Santino’s approval.

  If she was not careful she would start to believe that he was as happy with their current living arrangements as she was, Arianna thought. Her good sense warned her not to hope he felt something for her that went deeper than the sex-without-strings affair he’d insisted was all he wanted. But when he smiled at her the way he was doing right now, and when he kissed her with passion and an inherent tenderness that played havoc with her heart rate, she dared to wonder if he might love her a little. It would be too good to be true, because she loved him a lot. With all her heart, in fact. The voice in her head that cautioned that she could get badly hurt was way too late.

  She glanced back at the mannequin. ‘The show is in three days and I still have tons to do. It will only take me another five minutes to finish this. I’m not tired,’ she insisted.

  ‘All the more reason for us to have an early night,’ he drawled, with a glint in his eyes that caused her stomach muscles to clench with anticipation.

  * * *

  As it was, they did not even make it to the bedroom at his apartment. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily while the lift took them from the underground car park up to the penthouse. Once inside, they tore each other’s clothes off, and he tumbled her down onto the sofa and made love to her with a fierce intensity so that she shattered once, twice, before he let out a harsh groan and collapsed on top of her.

  It was early the next morning when Arianna woke with a start to the sound of Santino shouting. She sat up in bed and switched on the bedside lamp. He was sprawled next to her, the sheet tangled round his hips, his head moving restlessly on the pillow. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard so that his chest rose and fell jerkily. When she touched his shoulder his lashes flew open and he stared at her blankly.

  ‘You were having a nightmare,’ she told him softly.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you.’

  She bit her lip. His desperate cries had ravaged her heart. ‘Was it about when you were serving in Afghanistan?’

  ‘No.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘I was dreaming about my father.’ Arianna waited, and after a moment he said roughly, ‘I’ve mentioned before that after my mother died Dad sank into a deep depression and became reliant on alcohol.’ A nerve jumped in Santino’s cheek. ‘One evening he disappeared from the house. I knew he’d been drinking all day, and I was worried when I couldn’t find him. I went down to the beach that had been a favourite place he used to go to with Mum.’

  ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘Yes, I found him. He had walked into the sea fully clothed. It was winter and the waves were huge. By the time I waded into the sea, he had been under the water for a few minutes and he was a dead weight. I was scared that we would both be swept against the rocks but I finally managed to drag him back to the beach, and he punched me.’

  ‘He punched you? Why?’

  ‘Because I’d saved his life. He wanted to die and be with my mother.’ Santino’s jaw clenched. ‘He loved her so much that nothing else mattered to him, not his children or his business. For my father, death was preferable to living without the woman he loved.’ He gave a grim laugh. ‘What does that say about love?’ he asked savagely. ‘When I was a boy I looked up to my father, respected him. But I watched him become a pathetic drunk. Love weakens and destroys.’

  Arianna stared down at the sheet that unconsciously she had been pleating between her fingers. ‘Perhaps that’s true for some people, but for others love strengthens and empowers them,’ she murmured.

  She took a deep breath, aware of the painful thud of her heart beneath her ribs. Santino’s story made her ache for him, for the teenage boy who had risked his own life to save his father. His mother’s death had robbed him of both his parents and it wasn’t hard to understand why he had a deep mistrust of strong emotions.

  But she was sure he felt something for her. They had grown so close these past few weeks, and every time they made love it felt like a complete union that was much more than the physical act of sex. Hearing what had happened in his past gave her an insight into why he kept tight control of his emotions, but the fact that he had opened up to her surely must mean he trusted her?

  ‘Love has made me stronger,’ she said softly. I love you, Santino.’

  ‘Then you are a fool,’ he bit out coldly. ‘I made it clear from the start that all I wanted was a no-strings affair.’ His green eyes were as dark and wild as a stormy sea. ‘Whatever romantic notions you have about me are a fantasy. I don’t believe in happy-ever-after, and I am not in love with you.’

  A knife sliced through her heart but she clung desperately to hope. ‘You can’t deny that we hav
e been happy these past few weeks,’ she said huskily.

  ‘Sure, we have amazing sex, but it won’t last.’

  ‘Only because you don’t want it to last.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘I understand...’

  ‘No, Arianna, you don’t get it.’ He shrugged off her hand and swung his legs over the side of the bed. She watched him yank open the wardrobe and grab a T-shirt and jogging pants. ‘It was always going to end between us because I can’t give you want you want. I don’t want to fall in love with you or anyone else.’

  His words fell like hammer blows, smashing her dreams to pieces, but she was not prepared to give up on him, on them. What she had learned since she had vowed to take charge of her life eighteen months ago was that you had to fight for what you wanted.

  ‘I know you love your sister,’ she argued. ‘I think you are afraid to allow yourself to fall in love with me. You’re scared to give us a chance.’

  ‘There is no us,’ he told her curtly. He had pulled on his clothes and strode over to the door. ‘I should have guessed that you would want more.’ His voice was as hard and uncompromising as the expression on his granite features. ‘Women always do.’

  Arianna stared at the door after Santino had slammed it behind him, feeling numb. His parting shot played on her deepest insecurities—his implication that she was one of a long list of women he’d had affairs with who had hoped for more from a relationship with him than he was willing to give. She had no idea where they went from here. But, having given him her heart and had it thoroughly trampled on, she could not bear to be humiliated by him again—and she could not continue to live in his apartment.

  Tears stung her eyes but she angrily blinked them away. The old Arianna might have curled up in a ball and cried, but she had a fashion show to put on, a business to run and, she remembered with a jolt, she and Santino were supposed to be holding a joint press conference later that day to promote her Anna label. She could take the easy way out and make up an excuse for why she couldn’t attend. But she was not a coward, she thought grimly.

  She bit her lip. Santino was a war hero and couldn’t be accused of cowardice, which must mean that he had told her the truth when he’d insisted that he wasn’t in love with her. She must have imagined she’d seen a tender expression in his eyes that had given her false hope.

  * * *

  His PR team had arranged for the press interview to be held in Tiger Investments’ hospitality suite. Arianna felt sick with tension at the prospect of seeing Santino again, but her pride insisted on her hiding her broken heart. As she had done so often in the past, she disguised her feelings behind a wall of bravado, and when she sauntered into his office—wearing a scarlet suit with a very short skirt and four-inch heels, black patent stilettos that made the most of her shapely legs—she had the satisfaction of seeing dull colour streak along his cheekbones.

  ‘You’re cutting it fine,’ he said brusquely as he glanced at his watch, and she had a strange feeling that he was desperate for an excuse to look away from her. ‘The interview is at twelve, and it’s five to.’

  No way was she going to admit that she had arrived at The Shard fifteen minutes ago and had paced up and down the cloakroom trying to control her nerves. Santino held open the door, and as she walked past him the evocative scent of his aftershave almost made her crumble. But she lifted her chin and gave a confident smile to the group of journalists assembled in the hospitality suite.

  She sat down on a sofa facing the journalists and tried not to stiffen when Santino sat next to her. She’d prepared a short speech outlining her ideas and aspirations for her fashion label, which she delivered perfectly without glancing at her notes.

  ‘You stated that your only financial backing comes from Tiger Investments and that your father, the celebrated designer Randolph Fitzgerald, has no involvement in your fashion label,’ a journalist said.

  Arianna nodded. ‘That’s right. Anna is entirely independent from my father’s fashion business.’

  ‘That is not entirely true,’ the journalist persisted, looking at Santino. ‘Isn’t it the case, Mr Vasari, that you were given a significant number of shares in Fitzgerald Design by Arianna’s father when his company was floated on the stock exchange last summer?’

  ‘No, you have been misinformed...’ Arianna began.

  Beside her Santino shifted in his seat.

  ‘Yes, I received shares in FD when it became a public company.’

  Arianna’s stomach hit the floor.

  ‘So there is a link between Randolph Fitzgerald and Anna.’ The journalist gave Arianna a triumphant look. ‘Mr Vasari owns shares in your father’s company and Tiger Investments provides financial backing to your business. Did your father give Mr Vasari the shares to persuade him to back your fashion label? And is Randolph in fact the creative genius behind Anna?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Santino answered the journalist tersely, but Arianna barely heard him. Her head was pounding and she felt horribly sick at the shocking news that Santino had shares in Fitzgerald Design. She pressed her hand to her brow, feeling as though her head was about to explode.

  ‘Arianna, are you all right?’ Santino asked urgently. His fake concern battered her already bruised heart.

  ‘I have a migraine. I’m sorry, but I can’t continue with the interview.’ She lurched to her feet, and hurried out of the hospitality suite. She flinched when Santino caught up with her and put a hand on her arm. Anger joined the host of violent emotions swirling inside her and she couldn’t hide her sense of betrayal. ‘Don’t touch me, Judas,’ she hissed, before she spun away from him and stalked down the corridor with her head held high and her heart in tatters.

  * * *

  A cruel wind whipped across the Devon beach where, twenty years ago, Santino had dragged his father out of the sea. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he stood, watching the waves crash onto the shore. White spray flew up and mingled with the mist that slicked his hair against his skull, but the freezing temperature was not as cold as the lump of ice in his chest.

  He was sure he would never feel warm again, that he would never smile again. For what was there to smile about when he had lost the one thing in his life that he cared about more than anything else—the one person who had briefly melted the ice inside him and filled him with light and laughter?

  ‘Arianna.’ He whispered her name and the wind whipped it away. He could not forget the shock and devastation on her face when the damned journalist at the press conference had revealed that he had accepted shares in her father’s fashion business. Dio, he should have seen it coming and prepared her. It should not even matter. The journalist had made more of the link between his interests in Fitzgerald Design and Anna than really existed. He had not kept the shares, and had donated them to the charity he had set up. But Arianna did not know that, and she hadn’t given him a chance to explain. He knew he had hurt her badly, perhaps even more than when he had brutally rejected her for a second time.

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes and discovered that his lashes were wet. It must be the mist or the salt spray from the sea. These could not be tears sliding down his cheeks, he assured himself. As he walked along the beach, the mournful cries of the wheeling gulls echoed the silent cry of pain inside him. Had his father felt this miserable when he had tried to drown himself all those years ago? Santino halted and kicked a lump of sand with the toe of his boot. His father had wanted to die rather than face life without the woman he loved. Now he was facing a lonely, pointless life without the woman who had captured his heart.

  Arianna’s accusation that he was scared to fall in love with her taunted him. He had been commended for his bravery when he’d served with the SAS in Afghanistan, but in truth he was a coward. Since he had been a teenager he had supressed his emotions and turned his back on love. But where had that got him? Santino asked himself painfully. He was alone
on an empty beach and hurting like hell. He did not want to walk into the sea. There was only one place he wanted to be, only one woman he wanted to be with. As he tore back up the beach, he could only pray that he hadn’t left it too late finally to come to his senses.

  * * *

  The days leading up to London Fashion Week were crazier than Arianna could have imagined. It was a good thing that she’d had no time to eat or sleep because she didn’t feel like doing either. Since she had walked out of the press conference and away from Santino, her appetite had been non-existent. Luckily she had been so exhausted from dealing with last-minute preparations and problems for the show that when she had crawled up the stairs to her bedsit at night she’d slept for a couple of hours without dreaming of him. But his treachery was the first thing she remembered when she opened her eyes, and her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest.

  Tonight she should be feeling on top of the world and celebrating at one of the celebrity-packed parties she had been invited to. But instead she was alone at her studio, where she had escaped to after the show. Her runway collection had received a standing ovation and Anna was the buzz word on the lips of every fashion editor, blogger and fashionista.

  Such recognition and excitement for an emerging brand was unusual and she felt proud of her debut presentation. But it all felt meaningless without someone to share her success with. Jonny had been at the show with Davina and some of her other friends, but the only person she longed to see had not been there. Santino’s absence had reinforced the message that he wasn’t interested in her.

  Arianna stiffened when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She was sure she had locked the shop door, and only she and Santino had a key. She whirled round and her heart collided with her ribs as she stared at him.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she burst out. ‘What’s happened?’ His face looked ravaged. There was no other word to describe the deep grooves on either side of his mouth and the tormented look in his eyes as he walked towards her. There was only one person he cared about. She swallowed. ‘Is it your sister? Has something happened to the baby?’