Invitation from the Venetian Billionaire

by Lucy King

  And, perhaps, he’d lend her some cash?

  Carla had been financially independent for years, ever since she’d realised that having her own money and plenty of it would give her choice and freedom. She paid her credit card off in full every month. The only money she borrowed was for her mortgage. But even if she asked Georgie to send her some, with no ID she wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Without her phone she couldn’t access her digital wallet. However strong her motivations, however excellent her intentions, she had to be practical.

  ‘OK, well, first of all,’ she said, taking a great leap in her personal development by choosing to look forward not back, ‘I need to go to the police station and report the theft of my things.’

  ‘We can leave as soon as you’re ready to go.’

  ‘I also need to get a phone.’

  ‘I thought you might,’ he said, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a way that did sizzling things to her stomach which she could really do without. ‘So I had this delivered this morning.’ The model he slid in her direction she knew to be the latest of its kind and worth over a thousand euros. ‘It’s yours if you want it.’

  See? she told herself while struggling to get a grip on the heat that was threatening to turn her into a puddle of lust. He wasn’t trying to cut her off. Quite the opposite, in fact. ‘On loan?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘I insist.’ She took a deep breath, then said, ‘And on the subject of loans... I was wondering...’

  ‘How much do you need?’

  With a wince, she told him and he nodded. ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’

  ‘No hurry.’

  There was every hurry, she thought as she popped an olive in her mouth and watched intrigued as Rico turned his attention to his own plate and began working through it with the same degree of focus he’d had last night. Because she might not disturb him any longer, but Rico, with his dark looks, cool confidence and decisiveness, certainly disturbed her. He was so attractive and so hard to resist on any number of levels. She had to take care not to let this practical help of his slide into something more dangerous where her emotions became involved and she became infatuated with him. The sooner she removed herself from his magnetising orbit and returned home, to her job, her friends, her life, the better.

  But when it came to the actual police station visit itself, Carla was unexpectedly rather glad of his presence. As they approached and then pulled up at the jetty immediately in front of the entrance to the building, she welcomed the distraction provided by his proximity and solidity and didn’t even bother to resist the temptation to keep glancing over and drinking in how very good he looked in shorts that revealed the lower half of a pair of very sexy legs, a T-shirt that moulded to his muscles, and mirrored sunglasses.

  The only other time she’d been anywhere near such an establishment was immediately after she’d been rescued from the seedy east London hotel she’d ended up in when she’d run away to be with the man she’d thought she’d loved. The occasion had been invasive and embarrassing and horrible, she remembered, her pulse beginning to race and her stomach churning as they alighted, and, just in front of the arch through which she and Rico had to proceed, her step faltered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concern flickering in his gaze as he looked down at her.

  She took a deep breath and fixed a smile to her face. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, aiming for breezy but not quite hitting it. ‘Just not a huge fan of police stations. So let’s get this over and done with, shall we?’

  She went ahead of him, and stepped out of the bright sunlight and into the dark, busy station, and it wasn’t the same, obviously, but the uniforms and the noise and the musty, damp smell acted like a trigger, and recollections of being interviewed and inspected, stripped and swabbed, suddenly slammed into her head.

  In an instant she was awash with memories of the confusion and discomfort she’d felt at the intrusion, along with the fury and outrage and resentment at what had been done to her by those who’d ripped her away from her one true love. She remembered how it had all been brought up again at her abuser’s trial, by which time she’d broken free of his malevolent influence and could see what had happened for the horror it really was, which had converted the resentment and fury into the shame and guilt that still faintly lingered even now, a decade later.

  And today it was all too much. She was hot and she was tired. Her defences were weakened by the robbery and jet lag. She didn’t want to be reminded of her abuser and what he’d done to her and how she’d facilitated it. Yet now it was all she could think of. The naïvety and the neediness she’d felt. The hundreds of emails they’d exchanged that contained an angst-ridden outpouring of her concerns, her worries, her hopes, her dreams. The intimate photos she’d sent and the innermost thoughts she’d shared.

  The memories and the emotions whirled round her head faster and faster, as if she were on some kaleidoscopic, out-of-control merry-go-round. Her heart thundered as if trying to break her ribs. Her lungs tightened, her dress clinging to her body clammily. She couldn’t breathe. Her head was swimming. Her limbs were turning to liquid. She felt as if she was about to throw up.

  God, she wasn’t going to faint, was she?

  No. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t the type. She was strong and capable and a survivor. Yet her knees felt weirdly weak. Sweat was trickling down her back and her blood was pounding in her ears. She was hot, so very hot, and her vision was now blurring at the edges and her head was going all prickly.

  The last thing she was aware of before her legs gave way was a strong arm whipping round her waist, a hard wall of muscle into which she collided, and then there was nothing but darkness.

  * * *

  Rico had experienced many, many things in his thirty-one years on the planet but having someone pass out on him was not one of them.

  Thank God he’d caught Carla before she fell. Given the direction in which she’d listed, she’d most likely have hit her head on the corner of the very solid-looking table to her right and that might well have put her in hospital. Instead, she’d collapsed into the relative safety of his arms.

  Ignoring the screaming protest of his body, he scooped her up in all her dead weight glory and barked out a series of orders that resulted in chairs being swiftly assembled into a row.

  Now was not the time to notice how soft she felt gathered up against him or how delicious she smelled. Nor was it the time to dwell on how well he knew this building, how often he’d spent the night here in these cells, having been caught earning money and later ‘running errands’ on the sestieri, a cocky and mouthy youth on the surface, a lost and petrified child beneath. Now was the time to lay her down to get her blood flowing in the right direction and procure the paperwork.

  With what wasn’t his most elegant of moves Rico set Carla down, pausing only to slide the strap of her dress that had fallen down up over her shoulder and absolutely not indulging in the temptation to linger.

  Dio, the things he’d done, he thought darkly as he straightened and stalked over to the desk, the small crowd in front of it taking one look at the scar at his temple and the bump in his nose and parting like the waves. Willingly at first when he’d been desperate to prove himself and fit in but then increasingly less willingly when he’d gained the respect of his bosses and been asked to take on a bigger role and more responsibility, although by that point he’d been in so deep he hadn’t been able to see a way out.

  He hadn’t been anywhere near this place in years. Not since that last time, when, at the age of sixteen, he’d been charged with crimes relating to money laundering. But it might as well have been yesterday. He could still recall how terrified he’d been despite the bravado. How slowly the hours had passed while he waited for his bosses to come and bail him out. How sick with devastation and disillusionment he’d f
elt when he’d realised no one was coming, that the loyalty he’d given them would not be repaid, and how unbelievably naïve and stupid he’d been to put his trust in people who’d dealt only in exploitation and had never known a code of honour.

  But that was ancient history, he reminded himself with a clench of the jaw. On leaving the courtroom that day he’d slammed the door shut on everything that had happened to him between the death of his parents and turning his life around, and it no longer had the ability to affect him. Nothing on any level other than the purely physical did these days.

  By the time he returned to Carla, forms in hand, she’d recovered and was sitting up, looking slightly dishevelled, slightly stunned, yet oddly, mystifyingly...adorable.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, her question cutting through his bewilderment, since he’d never found anything adorable, oddly or otherwise, while the huskiness of her voice sent a jolt of awareness through him.

  ‘You passed out.’

  She stared at him. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said curtly in an effort to pull himself together. ‘You went out like a light.’

  ‘Who does that these days?’

  ‘You do, evidently. How are you feeling?’

  ‘A bit odd,’ she said, after thinking about it for a moment, and then added with a grimace, ‘A lot mortified.’

  ‘Should I call the paramedics?’ he asked, the fact that he was asking a question instead of issuing an order and expecting it to be obeyed a further source of irritation. But if there was one thing he was beginning to realise about Carla, it was that she preferred to make her own decisions and didn’t respond well to being told what to do, however well intentioned.

  ‘No. I’m fine.’

  He looked at her, caught the paleness of her face and the turmoil in the shimmering depths of her eyes, and frowned. ‘You really don’t like police stations, do you?’

  ‘No,’ she said with a faint shudder.

  ‘Why not?’

  She tensed. ‘Does anyone?’

  Well, he certainly didn’t, which would have given them something in common had he ever been remotely interested in seeking such a thing with anyone. ‘What made you faint?’

  ‘The heat,’ she said, and he might have believed her if she hadn’t bitten her lip and shifted her gaze from his.

  ‘It’s not that hot.’

  ‘Jet lag and lack of sleep on top of a stressful week and even more stressful weekend, then,’ she said with a scowl. ‘How would I know?’

  Of course she knew. She wasn’t the type to stumble. Or collapse. Besides, he’d felt the tension vibrating off her. He’d caught the turmoil in her expression the second before she’d fallen into his arms. But actually it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t believe. It was none of his business. He didn’t need details. He was just here to facilitate her departure and get his life back. ‘Do you need any help with the forms?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  In the ten minutes it took her to fill in the details, Rico distracted himself by going through the seventy-five emails that had come in since they’d left the house, deleting or replying with single-minded focus and ruthless efficiency.

  One unexpected disadvantage of working on his own with only back office support was that during the fortnight he’d spent in hospital being put back together while dosed up on morphine he’d been unable to operate his phone, let alone engage with the highly complex financial instruments he used to manage his funds. As a result he’d lost millions, which he was still in the process of recuperating.

  The markets might be closed today but decisions still had to be made. Strategies had to be clarified. Requests had to be considered and, in the case of the email from one Alex Osborne of Osborne Investigations, who was apparently looking into his and Finn’s biological family and was after details about him that he had either no intention of sharing or else didn’t know, ignored.

  Responding to or even engaging with the investigator, however briefly, would not help him in his quest to return his life to normal. It was bad enough that Finn kept popping into his head, triggered by Carla’s revelation last night at dinner about how upset his brother had been by Rico’s departure from his house.

  The nonsensical guilt that came with these appearances was not something he appreciated. He doubted he could shed any light on anything anyway. He certainly didn’t need to open the email that had come directly from this new-found brother of his. He wasn’t interested in anything he might have to say. He wasn’t interested in family full stop, and that was where this ended.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Carla briskly, snapping him out of his dark, rumbling thoughts. ‘I’m done.’

  She stood up and swayed and Rico was on his feet in an instant.

  ‘Steady,’ he said, instinctively putting one hand on her shoulder, which he realised was a mistake the minute he did it. She tensed beneath his touch and her breath caught. Her gaze jerked to his, a flash of heat lighting the emerald-green depths of her eyes, which exploded a reciprocal burst of desire inside him before she shook his hand off at the exact same moment he snatched it away.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said curtly, resisting the urge to curl his hand into a fist to squeeze out the burn. ‘I’ll take them.’

  For once she didn’t protest but did as he suggested with alacrity, and by the time he returned with the report his hand had just about stopped tingling and the memory of the feel of her soft, smooth skin beneath his palm had just about gone.

  ‘Want to get out of here?’ he asked, looking down at her and noting with relief that she now displayed no hint of her reaction to his touch.

  ‘Very much so,’ she said coolly, clearly having decided, like him, to take the denial approach.

  ‘Are you going to pass out again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ he muttered as they stepped outside out of darkness and into the light, ‘but I could do with a drink.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHILE RICO ORDERED a couple of beers and pastries from the terrace of a cafe that had apparently been serving drinks from the same spot since 1750, Carla investigated the ways in which she might replace her stolen passport. It wasn’t as complicated as she’d feared, helped by the fact that once upon a time she’d uploaded copies of her birth certificate, driving licence and passport to the cloud. Nevertheless, it still took far longer than it should have, in no small part because her thoughts kept drifting off and circling around what had just happened.

  First of all, she couldn’t believe she’d actually fainted like that. She’d never fainted before, ever. And to do so now, in front of a strong, controlled, insanely sexy man like Rico, well, embarrassing didn’t begin to cover it. Nor did disappointment. She hated that the memories of a time she thought she’d dealt with had flooded back with such ease and such vividness.

  Secondly, there was all the contact that had taken place. She could still feel the steel band of Rico’s arm around her waist and the warm wall of hard muscle against which she’d been clasped moments before she lost consciousness. Her shoulder still burned with the imprint of his hand from when she’d stood up too fast and he’d steadied her. The high-voltage charge of electricity continued to zap through her blood and the flash of desire in his eyes was singed into her memory.

  Most shocking of all was the realisation that Rico wasn’t as immune to her as she’d assumed, that the attraction on his side hadn’t gone and up until that moment he’d simply just been very good at hiding it.

  Well, whatever.

  None of it made a scrap of difference to how she proceeded, Carla told herself sternly as she clicked on the submit button and a moment later received a confirmation email. In a couple of days she’d be gone and this little blip in her otherwise well-ordered, smoothly running life would be over.

  ‘So I’ve ordered an
emergency travel document,’ she said, mightily relieved to have gained at least a modicum of control of the situation. ‘It’ll be ready at the British Consulate in Milan on Wednesday.’

  ‘Wednesday?’

  At the hint of censure in Rico’s voice she glanced up at him to find him frowning, the expression on his face dark and disapproving, which was odd, since the machinations of bureaucracy were hardly anything to do with her. ‘It takes two working days, minimum.’

  ‘Give me a minute.’

  He put down his bottle of beer, took out his phone and a minute later was rattling away in Italian. Carla listened, trying not to stare at his mouth, which was difficult when it was such a beautiful mouth producing such a beautiful language in deep, rich, spine-tingling tones, and idly pondered taking lessons. Not that she was planning to return any time soon, of course, and it wasn’t as if she wanted a memento of her time here, but—

  ‘Your new passport will be ready tomorrow.’

  Jolted out of her musings, she wrenched her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. An actual passport? Tomorrow? Oh. Right. Well. That was good. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I’m owed a favour.’

  By the British Consulate? Who was he? And why was she feeling ever so slightly piqued that he was as keen to see her leave as she was to go? That made no sense. She ought to be delighted they were on the same page, even if it did truncate the amount of time she had to achieve her goal.

  ‘Are you owed enough of a favour to have it couriered here?’ she asked, deciding to attribute that particular anomaly to jet lag, along with everything else.

  ‘Unfortunately not. You need to pick it up in person.’

  So checking out trains was another thing she was going to have to do as well as changing her flight to Tuesday morning and booking a hotel.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, thinking that at least she wouldn’t have to wash out her underwear any longer than was necessary. She’d only packed for an overnight stay and she hadn’t been looking forward to having to put on damp knickers. ‘Thank you, anyway.’