Bought by the Italian

by Annie West

  BOUGHT BY THE ITALIAN

  By

  ANNIE WEST

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Annie West

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever, including information storage and or retrieval systems, without the express written permission from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  For all those readers who read Fabrizio’s story and wanted his sister, Chiara’s.

  Thank you for your support.

  And for Josephine Chiara Caporetto – I promised you Chiara as a heroine one day!

  Hope you enjoy this one.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  Excerpt from ‘Back in the Italian’s Bed’

  Excerpt from ‘REBEL’S BARGAIN’

  Annie’s other titles

  ABOUT ANNIE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gennaro De Laurentis planted himself at the rear of the huge reception room, eyes fixed on the spotlit dais.

  Around him the crowd chattered in rising excitement. The charity auction had morphed abruptly from mildly interesting, just another date on the Milan social calendar, to enthralling.

  All because of Chiara Armati.

  The prospect of buying the vivacious beauty, if just for a dinner date, roused even the most unimaginative.

  Bidding had started in the thousands of euros.

  Then Chiara herself had gone to the podium, sashaying through the packed room. The spotlight tracked her progress and the play of flame-red fabric over the flare of her hips and tight buttocks. Every man in the room watched the cling and shift of that sexy dress and her even sexier body, as she squeezed past the tables and up to the stage.

  Gennaro’s chest constricted. His hands clenched, his jaw locking.

  He hated other men slavering over her.

  He hated that she’d agreed to be auctioned off. Even if strict stipulations clarified it was only a few hours of her time, her charming company, being sold. The winner would have her to himself over dinner in Milan’s best restaurant.

  Heat spiked in Gennaro’s belly as he watched the crowd watch her.

  The testosterone levels in the room rose and peaked as she stood, smiling, beside the compere.

  Her glossy, sable hair was pulled back from that exquisitely sensual face, emphasising her bone-deep beauty. Bare arms and shoulders glowed under the brilliant lighting that accentuated every lush curve in her slender body.

  He ground his teeth as she laughed up at something the host said, her face alight. It was her laughter that had first attracted Gennaro.

  He wanted to cover her. Wrap his jacket around her shoulders and cart her off the stage. By force if necessary.

  She was his.

  Correction. She’d been his.

  Until the day she’d stormed out of his home, her fine patrician nose so far in the air it was a wonder she hadn’t tripped herself up.

  He shouldn’t have let her go. He’d known she was volatile, but he hadn’t credited she’d walk out and never return.

  As if she could pretend what they’d shared was over!

  A collective gasp filled the room and he forced himself to focus on the bidding.

  ‘Forty thousand euros.’ A media mogul with a satisfied smirk nodded, acknowledging the crowd’s applause.

  ‘Fifty thousand.’ A tall man to one side offered.

  Chiara’s head swung around to him. Was that relief on her face? If so it was quickly masked.

  ‘Sixty.’ The mogul bid again, frowning. Clearly he expected to get what he wanted. By all accounts he always got what he wanted, even if it bordered on the illegal or immoral.

  Gennaro’s mouth tightened. He didn’t like the way the man leered up at her.

  ‘Seventy.’

  ‘Eighty.’

  The murmurs of the audience subsided as the bidding rose. The sums offered were unexpected, even for the company of a gorgeous woman, an up and coming fashion designer and a member of one of Rome’s oldest families.

  Gennaro rocked back on his heels as the tall man at the side of the room bid again, so high there was a gasp of astonishment then a buzz of excited anticipation.

  Gennaro smiled grimly as Chiara, for once visibly disconcerted, grabbed the auctioneer’s lectern as if for support.

  Who’d have thought it? For the first time ever her self-assurance looked shaky. Long ago her ancestors had bargained for their personal slaves in the market. She would be the first Armati to be bought that way. Had that finally dented her gilt-edged sense of superiority?

  The bidding closed to a round of thunderous applause and a standing ovation. No one in the history of the charity event had ever bid so much on a single lot. Across the room Chiara smiled and applauded. The victorious bidder gave a quick, almost nervous bow from the side of the room.

  But Gennaro’s attention was all for Chiara. He guessed no one else in the vast room could tell how shaken she was. Society darling and privileged aristocrat, Chiara Armati was used to being adored. But the swift escalation of the bidding from high to astronomical had thrown her. Even from this distance he sensed her nerves, her wariness.

  Gennaro had become an expert at reading her moods. He knew her as no-one outside her family did, more intimately than any other man.

  But Chiara still had much to learn about him.

  Fire branded his belly, building to a white hot burn. She’d stamped those dainty feet all over him as she stalked out the door. Had she truly believed he’d take that lying down?

  He smiled, anticipation welling as he turned and left the room.

  *

  Chiara sipped sparkling water, trying to find her equilibrium as her companions’ animated chatter washed over her. She’d returned to their table the focus of rampant speculation.

  What had begun as a favour to a friend, agreeing to dine with a stranger for a charity donation, had become a profoundly unsettling experience.

  Raised in the public eye due to her family’s lineage and wealth, she’d thought herself inured to such attention. She’d even thought the auction might raise the profile of her fledgling design business.

  But being bid over in public, and so aggressively, like a harem girl bought for a pasha’s pleasure, had unnerved her. It wasn’t being looked at by so many people that bothered her. She was used to that. It was the way they’d watched her, with an avid excitement that had turned a charitable gesture into something sleazy. As if, when the bids rose to incredible heights, everyone believed far more than an innocent meal was on offer.

  As if she’d been for sale.

  Chiara wished she’d brought a wrap for her halter neck evening dress. She’d wanted to cover up, especially when Enrico Contaldo in the front row had leered up at her, smacking his lips as if she were some tasty morsel.

  She shivered and swallowed another mouthful of water.

  But that hadn’t been the worst. Far worse had been the instant when she’d caught sight of a dark silhouette at the back of the room. A tall man with powerful shoulders who stood unmoving through the whole spectacle. Dazzled by the light, she’d still been almost sure it was him, the man she’d once believed in. The man she’d foolishly given her heart t
o.

  That heart had instantly leapt in excitement and hope, recognising that against the odds, he was here for her.

  But the latecomer had given no indication he was interested in bidding for the privilege of her company.

  Sick to the pit of her stomach, Chiara told herself it couldn’t have been Gennaro. If it had been, the fact he’d let the slimy media baron bid for her spoke volumes. Gennaro had used her for his own ends. He had no interest in her personally. She’d been a convenient stepping stone to getting what he wanted – insider information.

  Familiar pain pierced. It had been weeks since she’d discovered the truth. Yet she still felt as raw and desperate as the day she’d pleaded with him to tell her it was all a mistake, that he’d never betray her.

  What an idiot she’d been.

  Chiara cringed and reached, not for her water, but her tall flute of champagne. Recklessly she knocked back a huge gulp. Surely that would help deaden the hurt. There was still a long way to go before this evening was over.

  ‘Signorina Armati?’ She turned to find one of the event’s organisers at her side.

  ‘Yes?’ She took another sip of bubbly.

  ‘I have a favour to ask.’

  He looked uncertain and she nodded encouragingly. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s rather unusual but not against the conditions of the prize.’

  The prize. That was her. Remarkable how viscerally she reacted to the sensation of being bought like a chattel.

  ‘Yes?’ She wished he’d get to the point and leave her to nurse her bruised emotions.

  ‘Signor Fabbri, the bidder who won the pleasure of your company for dinner, has a request.’

  Chiara stilled. What had he asked that made the event organiser look so tentative? ‘Go on.’

  ‘He asked if you would consider missing the auction dinner here.’ He nodded to the door on the far side of the room where waiters were emerging with the first course. ‘He would like to invite you to dine with him tonight instead. The original agreement was to meet at the end of the week, but he thought, since you were both here…’

  Chiara hesitated. Go out with him tonight? All she wanted was to head back to her hotel and find some peace and solitude.

  On the other hand, dining with this Signor Fabbri now meant she didn’t have to come back to Milan later. More importantly, her obligation to him would be over. The sooner the better, as far as she was concerned.

  Plus it would give her a reason to escape the stares of the fascinated crowd that she still felt trained on her. If she stayed here it would be a long, drawn out evening, with the auction continuing between courses.

  Relief filled her at the excuse to leave. A few hours now and she could put all this behind her.

  ‘Of course.’ She pinned on her most gracious smile. ‘Tell Signor Fabbri I’d be happy to.’

  Ten minutes later Chiara found herself being ushered to the car by the tall stranger with the long face and surprisingly gentle eyes who’d stunned Milan society with his extravagant bidding.

  Older than her by several years, his manner instantly put her at ease. She’d expected someone brasher and more self-satisfied, since he’d faced down the media giant, Contaldo, without even blinking. But this man was polite to the point of self-effacement. His old-fashioned manners, opening doors and all but bowing her from the room, soothed her ruffled feathers. Chiara relaxed a fraction.

  Together they descended the wide stairs to the street.

  ‘Ah, here’s the car now.’ He gestured to a dark sports car pulling up at the pavement.

  Chiara stared, surprised. Signor Fabbri, though obviously wealthy, hadn’t struck her as the type to drive a sports car. This was the sort of powerful, designer car her brother Fabrizio would drive, or—

  No. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to think about Gennaro again.

  ‘Do we need to drive? It’s only a few blocks to the restaurant.’ Chiara breathed deep, glad to be out of the closed atmosphere of the reception room. The noise and mingled scents of expensive perfumes, or perhaps the unexpected stress of the auction, made her grateful for the balmy summer air. Far better to be outside, enjoying the soft early evening light.

  ‘As you say, it’s not far. But with those shoes…’ He shrugged, his eyes flickering down to her high, spiked red heels with their slender ankle straps and faux flowers that perfectly matched her evening gown.

  He really was considerate. Perhaps an evening spent in his company wouldn’t be such a chore.

  He opened the car door and she smiled, delighted and relieved that this evening promised to be so easy after all, when she’d been dreading it. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.’

  ‘Allow me.’ He stood between her and the car, gesturing for her to pass over her purse. ‘I’ll stow this for you. You may need to balance yourself as the seat is so low.’ Again that slight flicker of his gaze downward.

  Chiara liked his attentiveness and the fact he didn’t stare. This dress, a new design, looked great but wasn’t made for climbing in and out of low slung supercars.

  ‘Thank you.’ She passed over her purse and watched him lean in, passing it to the shadowy valet driver. Then Signor Fabbri turned and steadied her as she sank down into the embrace of the soft leather seat. Carefully she swivelled, surprised at the amount of leg room in the vehicle, as he gently shut the passenger door for her.

  Instantly the engine revved. Through the throaty growl Chiara heard another sound, the small click of the door locks. She frowned, looking up through the side window at Signor Fabbri. Instead of walking around to the driver’s side he stood on the pavement, his long face grave.

  Unease trickled down her backbone as the engine growled again.

  ‘You’d better put on your seatbelt, princess,’ said a familiar voice. No-one else had a voice quite like it: whisky and honey, husky yet smooth. Machismo and pure seduction.

  The trickle became a full-scale floodtide of shock as she swung her head around and saw a familiar profile.

  Gennaro De Laurentis. The man who’d used and betrayed her.

  The man she’d never wanted to see again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Pull over. Now.’ Her voice rose on the final word and she snapped her mouth closed, rather than betray how he’d stunned her.

  In answer Gennaro accelerated through some traffic lights, one hand, she saw now, stashing her silk purse further down between his seat and the driver’s side door.

  ‘And give me back my purse.’

  Even in profile she saw his eyebrow hike up. ‘What happened to “please”, princess? Or aren’t you familiar with the word?’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my breath. Not on someone like you,’ she spat with all the venom in her wounded soul.

  To her chagrin the man beside her didn’t react. But then why should he? She could only dent his ego if he actually cared about her. And everything they’d shared had been false, at least on his part.

  It flayed her that she’d been so taken in by him. She who’d been awake since her teens to the devious, grasping ways of men interested in her social standing or money or connections, or even just a quick lay.

  ‘Well, now that we’ve established your sense of superiority over a mere plebeian, perhaps you’d be so kind as to strap your seatbelt on.’ His silky tone was infuriating.

  ‘That’s not necessary.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I have no intention of going anywhere with you, Signor De Laurentis.’

  ‘Much as I hate to disappoint you, Chiara, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.’

  He flashed her a sideways look and she felt herself slump into the deep embrace of the bucket seat. Was it the way he said her name, in that velvet-on-gravel tone that reminded her of his bed, rumpled and smelling of sex? Or was it the impact of that indigo gaze? She’d always found his eyes captivating, their colour courtesy of his North Italian ancestors. This time his look sizzled. She felt it like fire, brushing her flesh.

 
; She opened her mouth to argue then shut it again. There was no point. Gennaro had the keys, he’d locked the doors, and short of performing some desperate mime for a passing policeman, if she happened to see one, she had no choice but to stay where she was. Even her phone was out of reach thanks to Signor Fabbri.

  ‘Who was he, the man at the auction?’ She reached for the seatbelt and clicked it shut. ‘A friend of yours?’

  It took far too much effort to get the words out in a passably normal voice, rather than screech for him to stop right now. One look at that implacable jaw told her he wouldn’t respond to persuasion or ultimatums.

  ‘An employee.’

  Chiara snorted. ‘And there was I thinking he seemed quite pleasant! I should have guessed something wasn’t right. His suit was good but not made for him. And anyone spending that sort of money…’ Despite herself her gaze flicked to Gennaro, effortlessly suave in a dark jacket and open shirt that accentuated his aura of utterly masculine energy. Her stomach gave a dismaying lurch.

  She was used to seeing him in faded jeans or motorcycle leathers. There’d been something about his rough-hewn earthiness, melded with his beautifully-sculpted features, that always made her throat catch. Now though, he looked a different man in his elegant clothes and sporting a close-cropped beard just long enough to be classed as more than stubble. It was shaped to reveal his sensuous mouth and accentuated the hard line of his jaw.

  ‘Trust a spoiled blue-blood to judge people by their clothes.’

  Chiara’s hands curled into fists. The only people who carped on her lineage were those who envied it. Gennaro had never been one of them.

  But he’d duped her once. She’d fallen for him but he hadn’t cared. All he cared about was using her, taking the sensitive information she’d let slip about her brother’s business and feeding it to his brother to beat him to a massively lucrative project. She’d never really known Gennaro. Who knew what he thought of her?