Back In The Italian's Bed

by Annie West

  Jenna wrapped her arms around her torso. She was breaking apart inside. The pain had gone from gnawing discomfort to ragged, tearing anguish.

  ‘I’m sure there are plenty of women who’d be honoured to accept what you offer, Fabrizio, but it’s not enough for me. I’m worth more.’

  ‘You want to haggle over a financial settlement?’ He scowled down at her and she laughed at how far off the mark he was.

  ‘I mean I value myself more highly than you do. I won’t be relegated to some hole in the corner affair, to be brushed aside and belittled.’

  ‘I never—’

  ‘You did, Fabrizio.’ Jenna rubbed her hands up her bare arms, trying to create some warmth where there was only an icy chill. ‘You took a phone call. An invitation to your mother’s birthday celebration.’ She paused, swallowing. ‘Obviously the caller asked if you planned to bring me with you but you declined. You said, if I remember correctly,’ and she did remember – the words were engraved in her brain, ‘that you had no intention of taking your mistress to an intimate family celebration.’

  His eyes widened.

  ‘But I wasn’t supposed to hear that, was I? I was supposed to be grateful the mighty scion of the Armati family deigned to share his bed with a nobody like me. Or perhaps I was supposed to be dazzled by the promise of riches to come?’

  ‘That’s why you left me?’ He looked thunderstruck. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘It was exactly like that, Fabrizio. I wasn’t good enough to meet your mother because I was your mistress.’ She paused and dragged in a breath. Somehow she couldn’t seem to fill her lungs. ‘What a quaint, old-fashioned word that is. Why not whore or slut? They mean the same, after all.’

  Pain lashed her. Not from the sound of such ugly words on her tongue but the fact that was how he’d thought of her, with such disdain. He’d turned the heady joy she’d experienced into something tainted.

  And, glutton for punishment, she’d let him drag her into his world again. Oh, she’d gone willingly because she hadn’t had the willpower to resist him and she’d told herself this time she set the rules. But standing here in his aristocratic home, surrounded by wealth that had taken centuries to accumulate and looking into his stunned face, Jenna knew she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

  Nothing would ever fix this.

  ‘Don’t talk like that.’ His soft, persuasive tone was replaced by sharp command. ‘It doesn’t suit you, Jenna. You’re turning this into something it isn’t. You don’t understand.’

  Jenna backed away from him, knowing she couldn’t take any more.

  ‘Oh, I understand perfectly. There’s nothing you can say that will change the truth. So don’t bother trying.’ She stared into his shocked, gorgeous face one last time, imprinting his features on her memory, then turned away. ‘Goodbye, Fabrizio.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘FABRIZIO, ARE YOU still with me?’

  He blinked as a slim hand waved in front of his face and the tiny trattoria came back into focus. Suddenly he heard the clatter of lunchtime dishes and the distant hum of conversation. ‘There’s no need for theatrics, Chiara.’

  His sister puffed out an exasperated breath, rolling her dark eyes and pushing her hair back behind her ears. ‘You were miles away. You weren’t paying attention at all.’

  ‘Do you honestly expect me to hang on every word when you insist on describing your shopping trip in excruciating detail?’ Catching her eye, he couldn’t quite repress a half smile. ‘A man has his limits, even a long-suffering brother.’

  ‘But that’s not why you’re distracted, is it?’ Chiara said with discomfiting insight. ‘There’s something wrong.’

  He looked down at the menu, tension setting hard across his shoulders. ‘Have you decided what you want to eat?’

  ‘It’s not like you to hide from a problem.’

  ‘Who says I’ve got a problem?’ he growled, but his heart wasn’t in it. Jenna’s words sat like a lump of cold lead in his belly. The pain in her beautiful eyes was branded onto his brain. Had he really been so selfish? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  ‘I do. I’ve never seen you like this. Is it the company? Has there been some disaster you haven’t mentioned?’

  Fabrizio gestured dismissively. ‘Business is booming. It’s outperforming all the trends.’

  ‘Are you sick? Is that it?’ She reached out across the table.

  ‘Of course I’m not sick. I’m never ill. Now about this meal—’

  ‘If you haven’t been diagnosed with something horrible and business is thriving, what else could it be?’ Chiara sat back, her eyes narrowing on his face, her head tilting to one side. Suddenly her eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered. ‘I really don’t believe it. It’s a woman, isn’t it? After all these years some woman has finally got to you.’ She shook her head. ‘I never thought I’d see the day you felt something for one of them.’

  Fabrizio’s mouth flattened. ‘You make me sound like some sort of Casanova.’

  Her eyebrows arched. ‘If the shoe fits, big brother. You’ve been loving and leaving them for as long as I can remember. Except I doubt love entered into it, for you at least.’

  Fabrizio sat straighter, scowling. ‘You think I’ve left a trail of broken hearts?’ He shook his head. He’d always taken the precaution of choosing sophisticated women who understood he enjoyed sex, enjoyed female companionship, but had no intention of settling down yet.

  Until Jenna.

  With her he’d taken one look and known he had to have her. There’d been no time for carefully setting the boundaries, just a gut-deep certainty he needed her.

  He still needed her.

  ‘Well,’ Chiara paused, ‘a string of disappointed women. I can think of at least two who were horribly let down when you ditched them.’

  Fabrizio stared. ‘You knew them?’

  ‘They were hardly a secret.’ Her look was assessing. ‘Until lately. For ages I’ve heard reports about a beautiful blonde with a great smile but you’ve kept her very much to yourself.’

  A great smile. Jenna’s smile could light up a room. It always warmed him. It had been one of the things that had first drawn him to her. Now his world felt cold without her.

  His heart dived. Last time he’d seen her those lush lips had been quivering in distress – so at odds with the bravado of her angled chin and perfect poise. Pain slashed through his belly, ripping a gaping hole that left him raw and bleeding. He was to blame for that.

  ‘Fabrizio?’ He looked up to see Chiara watching him closely, her brow puckered. ‘Why didn’t I meet her? Why did you kept her to yourself?’

  Because she was different.

  Because Jenna wasn’t like the other women who flitted in and out of his life.

  Because instinctively he’d known she was more important than all the rest. Even if he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

  Santo cielo ! He ploughed his hand through his hair.

  ‘Fabrizio!’

  He felt Chiara’s hand on his sleeve and met round, questioning eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’ For once his little sister looked serious, all teasing gone.

  He shook his head. ‘Anything but.’ He hauled in a rough breath that made his tight lungs ache. ‘I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘PRONTO.’ JENNA HELD the phone to her ear with one hand while she rubbed the blackened brass door-knob with the other.

  ‘Jenna, it’s Adriana here from the Tourist Office.’

  Jenna sat back on her heels and wiped her sleeve over her damp forehead. She’d worked steadily all morning and ached all over. This call was a welcome respite, even if she could barely afford the time.

  ‘Adriana! How are you?’

  ‘Good, thank you.’ Her friend sounded breathless. ‘But I have news. Your first guests are on their way.’

  Jenna’s eyes widened. ‘Not for another week. By then I�
��ll have finished—’

  ‘You don’t have another week. This was too good an opportunity to pass up, believe me. Just tell me you’ve got the internet connection up and running. That’s a must for them, apparently.’

  ‘Of course I have. I was working on the website again this last week. But I’m not ready for guests.’

  ‘You’ll have to be. They’re on their way, said they’d be there in an hour.’

  Jenna shot to her feet, leaving her stomach on the floor. An hour? Impossible. She looked at the ladder and bucket on the front step, thought of the unfinished painting in the dining room, all the work to be done before she could open her guesthouse.

  ‘You’ll have to call them back and tell them there’s been a mistake.’

  ‘And turn down the chance for triple the income you’d get from a full house?’

  Jenna slumped against the wall. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘That’s the whole point. I warned them you weren’t planning to open till next week but they brushed that aside. There’s only three of them but they want complete privacy. They’re willing to book the whole guesthouse at three times the usual rate just to ensure they’re alone.’

  ‘Who are they? Royalty incognito or something?’ Though what royalty would be doing in her little slice of rural Tuscany, Jenna had no idea.

  ‘I don’t think so. The guy I spoke to was a Frederico Santarelli. The name wasn’t familiar to me.’

  ‘Me neither.’ Jenna glanced at her watch, calculating when Signor Santarelli might appear. ‘Are you sure he was serious? About the money, I mean?’

  She wasn’t really considering opening her doors today, was she?

  ‘Dead serious. All he seemed concerned with was a guarantee of complete privacy and internet access.’

  ‘How long do they want to stay?’

  ‘A month initially.’

  ‘A month?’ Jenna yelped, her mind whirling at the prospect of such an injection of cash into her stretched bank account. She’d estimated how long it would take to begin breaking even with her new business. But with unexpected guests paying the equivalent of three months’ full income in one hit…

  How could she say no?

  ‘Thanks, Adriana. I’ll call you back later.’

  Jenna ended the call and sped into action, clearing the hallway, hiding mops and tools, then washing her hands before racing up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. Just as well she’d finished several of the bedrooms. At least her surprise guests would have somewhere comfortable and luxurious to sleep. She grabbed the pristine, lavender-dried sheets and began making the four-poster bed in the first room.

  Fifty-five minutes later, Jenna was pinning up her hair, her body still slightly damp from her quick shower, when she heard the low growl of a motor. Rapidly she pulled on a tailored, dark skirt and an aquamarine shirt she knew matched her eyes, then slipped into her black heels and added her mother’s pearl earrings. One thing she’d learnt, presentation was everything. If these wealthy guests were paying for the luxury of complete seclusion, they’d expect an elegant hostess, not a bedraggled navvy in paint-stained clothes.

  One final glance in the mirror as she tucked in her shirt and she was out the door, heading towards the entrance hall.

  She was on the bottom step when the front door swung open, letting in a blaze of light that silhouetted a dark figure. A tall, imposing figure that for a moment made her heart stall. Till she realised how foolish the very notion that Fabrizio Armati would follow her into the depths of the Tuscan countryside. Imagine him risking his precious Lamborghini on her rutted, not-yet-repaired drive!

  ‘Signor Santarelli?’ She stepped forward, a welcoming smile on her face.

  ‘Not quite,’ said the voice that haunted her dreams.

  Jenna slammed to a stop, her hand pressing against her frantically pounding heart. Her indrawn breath was overloud in the silence.

  ‘Fabrizio?’ His name was a bare scratch of sound. She blinked into the light. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Silly how hope rose, like a flame out of sheer darkness. Pleasure soared through her, only to be shot down in cinders as memories crowded in. There could be no happy ending for them.

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and Jenna saw the expensive case he carried. He crossed the hall to where she stood, transfixed, then deliberately planted his suitcase at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘No!’ This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. ‘You can’t—’

  ‘I can. You’re already expecting me.’

  Her head swung from side to side in denial even as she ate him up. He looked utterly gorgeous, suave in his hand-made suit yet utterly masculine with that dangerous glint in his piercing grey eyes.

  It took far too long for his words to register. She stiffened. ‘No, I’m waiting for a Signor Santarelli.’

  ‘My assistant. He made the booking.’

  Jenna swayed a little as that sank in and she grabbed for the newel post, smooth and reassuringly strong beneath her unsteady fingers. ‘That can’t be. There are supposed to be three guests.’

  ‘There will be, later. For now it’s just me.’

  His gaze never left hers and, unbidden, a sizzle of heat flared in her veins even though his expression was sombre, not seductive. In fact, he looked as grim as she’d ever seen him. Not angry or haughty, but as if he carried the weight of the world on those wide shoulders. He looked weary around the eyes too, like he’d been getting far less than the usual few hours’ sleep he needed in order to function.

  ‘You can’t stay here.’ Jenna didn’t care how much money she’d lose by turning him away. She couldn’t have Fabrizio under the same roof. It would be like rubbing salt into an open wound. This was her fresh start – a place with no memories of Fabrizio to haunt it. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘That I wanted to see you.’ He lifted his hand as if to touch her face and she shrank back. Instantly he stiffened and she almost convinced herself that was pain she saw flicker across his face.

  ‘You can’t just walk in here and expect to take up where we left off.’ Her tone was bitter, her throat raw with pain.

  ‘I never expected anything so simple.’ He paused and she had the oddest sensation he hesitated, searching for the right words. That couldn’t be right. Fabrizio was assured and persuasive, never lost for words.

  ‘You’d better go.’ She made to step past him, her eyes on the front door, when he stopped her.

  He didn’t use force, just reached out and grazed her wrist with the back of his hand. Instantly her senses went into overdrive and she stumbled to a dead stop. Her chest rose and fell quickly, mirroring her agitation. She had to fight to keep her eyelids from fluttering shut at the delicious torment of that light-as-air caress.

  Despair filled her. Even now she had no defences against him. She’d tried and tried but nothing, not time nor distance nor anger had worked.

  ‘Please, Jenna. We have to talk.’

  Her head jerked around, dragged by the pleading note she’d never heard from Fabrizio.

  This close, his eyes glowed with a heat that threatened to incinerate her. She tried to pull away but stood, rooted to the spot. Finally, swallowing hard, she nodded.

  ‘In here.’

  Reluctantly she led the way to the room off the hallway. Her legs felt stiff, like she’d forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other.

  ‘I approve,’ he murmured behind her and she spun around to see him surveying the watered lemon silk on three walls, the full-length book-cases taking up the other one, and comfortable lounges grouped before the fireplace and near the window. ‘You’ve made this very inviting.’

  Any other time she’d have been thrilled by his praise. When she’d bought the villa with the money she’d inherited from her parents and her hefty new mortgage, this room had been dark and neglected. It had taken lots of hard work and careful planning to turn it into a luxury retreat on her modest budget.

 
At least she’d had more success with her makeover than she had at eradicating Fabrizio from her thoughts.

  ‘You didn’t come here to discuss my taste in furnishings.’ She planted her hands on her hips, trying to hide the way her blood ricocheted too fast around her body just at the sight of him.

  ‘How did you come to be here? You were supposed to be working for De Laurentis.’

  Her eyebrows rose. Fabrizio sounded almost accusing, as if she’d cheated him somehow.

  ‘I told you, I didn’t want to work in a large, city hotel.’ Not that he’d remember that. He’d been too caught up in his own demands to consider what she wanted. He hadn’t listened to her at all when he’d thrown out his offer, no, his demand, that she work for him in Rome. ‘My dream has always been to work somewhere small enough to provide a special, memorable experience for guests.’

  She didn’t confide that the true catalyst for her resignation was a broken heart. Exciting as the job was that Luca De Laurentis had offered, Jenna had known she had to escape, find somewhere far away from the cosmopolitan cities frequented by Fabrizio. This ramshackle old villa set in the Tuscan hills had been a godsend, even if it had used up every cent she possessed and put her in a lifetime of debt.

  She had her dream, she reminded herself fiercely. That was all that mattered.

  ‘That explains how long it took to find you.’

  ‘Find me?’ she parroted, frowning.

  Of course he looked for you. It’s no coincidence he’s here.

  Yet the idea of Fabrizio searching her out again seemed ridiculously improbable. He’d watched her walk out his door and hadn’t lifted a finger to stop her. He hadn’t uttered a word.

  ‘Why are you here, Fabrizio?’ She stood tall, one hand planted on the back of a massive wing chair. She told herself he couldn’t know she needed the support for her wobbly legs.

  For long seconds he held her gaze from across the room. He shoved his hands deep in his trouser pockets, looking far too sexy and appealing for her peace of mind.