Bought by the Italian

by Annie West

  Not to be completely alone with her kidnapper.

  Fear skipped down her backbone.

  Above them, outlined against a sky scattered with bright stars, was a stunning building, its vast gabled windows glazed, presumably to catch the view. A single light burned inside, revealing a soaring space with beautiful timber ceilings, and nothing else. No furnishings. No people. No movement.

  Alarm shot through her, drawing every nerve and sinew taut. Till she remembered he was watching her and forced her body to relax.

  She refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her crumble.

  For one mad moment she considered grabbing the door, slamming it shut and throwing herself across into the driver’s seat. But the manoeuvre wasn’t for someone in a long dress and high heels. Gennaro would have the driver’s door open before she could get there. And she’d bet he’d taken the precaution of removing the keys.

  Chiara swung her legs out and stood carefully, feeling gravel shift under her feet.

  A quick scan revealed that first look had been right. There was nothing but this sole building. Away in the valley to the left, pockets of distant lights revealed what must be the nearest habitation. Those might as well be on the moon for all the good they did her. The isolation unnerved her. Chiara was used to the constant hum of the big city, the vibrant sense of energy and bustle.

  ‘This way.’

  ‘Where are we?’ She planted her feet and crossed her arms.

  He sighed and turned. ‘On my brother’s property. A new resort I’ve just finished building for him.’

  ‘Your brother?’ Suspicion stirred.

  ‘Yes, that brother. Luca, the one your Fabrizio is so scared of.’

  ‘Scared?’ She sneered. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Fabrizio is scared of no-one, much less a man who resorts to industrial espionage to succeed.’

  She wasn’t aware of Gennaro moving but suddenly his shoulders blocked the light from the building. She swallowed. If he was trying to intimidate he was doing a good job. Just as well she wasn’t frightened of him. She tilted her head up and met that piercing scrutiny she felt rather than saw.

  Her pulse hammered once, twice and then he moved back. ‘If you want to stay out there with your pride, you’re more than welcome. But it’s more comfortable inside.’

  He clicked the door lock on the car and strode off towards the resort. Leaving Chiara alone in the darkness. Cool air brushed her arms and shoulders and stirred the soft material of her full length skirt against her legs.

  She spun around, surveying what she could of the site. The mountain rose behind the building and dropped down precipitously below them. The nearest village was far distant, too far to walk at night in these heels or barefoot, even if she trusted her night vision. The flat gravelled area was totally deserted. There was no other vehicle, nothing that looked like equipment left lying around. Nothing to help her break into the car so she could hot-wire it.

  She snorted. As if she knew how to hot-wire a car. But she’d teach herself soon enough if given half a chance. Anything to get away.

  Finally, reluctantly, she turned and walked towards the stream of light from the open door.

  Gennaro might have the upper hand for now but she’d bide her time. Somehow she’d find an opportunity to escape. When she did, he wouldn’t see her for dust.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Chiara’s flesh prickled when she saw what awaited her inside the resort.

  It wasn’t quite as empty as she’d thought from outside.

  On the other side of the enormous room, before a stone fireplace set in a wall of soaring glass, lay a large mattress. It was big enough for two.

  Chiara’s stomach twisted in a somersault that almost choked her. She blinked, breath stilling in her lungs as she took in the neatly folded blankets topped with a couple of pillows.

  He couldn’t think…

  Stunned, she turned, noticing a rug spread across the wooden floor, complete with bright cushions and a massive picnic basket. There was also a bottle of wine in a beaten pewter ice bucket and a pair of elegant glasses.

  If she didn’t know better she’d think this the site of a romantic tryst, not a kidnap.

  ‘All the luxuries of home,’ she drawled, belatedly focusing on the overhead light. If there was electricity, were there also phones? Her phone was in her purse and as far as she knew it was still in the car.

  Gennaro leaned back from the fire he was stoking then unfolded his long legs to stand. Even the enormous fireplace didn’t dwarf him as he looked at her. The orange flames sent flickers and shadows into the room that emphasised the saturnine perfection of his dark features. That ultra-short, sculpted beard reinforced something she’d never seen in him till tonight. A ruthlessness, a hard edge that was about far more than the simple sex appeal she’d once revelled in.

  He looked older, grimmer, more implacable than the laughing man she remembered from Rome.

  Was it the surroundings or her overworked imagination that made him seem abruptly dangerous? And all too attractive. Disquiet filled her.

  Chiara notched up her chin. Attack was surely the best defence. If he sensed any chink in her armour…

  ‘Quite a little love nest you’ve got here.’ She made herself stroll further into the room despite her churning stomach. ‘If you have a taste for roughing it.’ Once upon a time she’d have adored sharing an impromptu picnic by a blazing fire with him.

  Except she wasn’t that woman any longer. She couldn’t afford to be.

  She planted her hand on one outthrust hip in a challenging, sexy pose she’d seen so many models use. ‘Sure I’m not intruding?’ She made a production of peering towards the darkened doors leading off the back of the room. ‘If you’ve got some poor, besotted woman here waiting for you I’m happy to take the car and drive somewhere a little more… up to my usual standards.’

  Chiara cast a dismissive glance that hid her appreciation of the cosy scene. And her nausea at the thought of some other woman waiting to share intimacies with Gennaro.

  The sound of slow clapping froze her to the spot.

  ‘Brava. Spoken like a true society queen.’ His deep voice brushed across her sensitised nerves. ‘I should have known it was too much to expect a pampered aristocrat to appreciate a place like this. At least not till it’s decked out with all the requisite luxuries.’

  His barbed tone pricked. Absurdly, after all she’d been through, it made her blink and turn away.

  Had he always thought that? Even when they’d been together? That she was nothing more than a rich, spoiled woman? That she couldn’t appreciate the beauty of simple things?

  What about the times they’d eaten, engrossed in each other and the rustic ambience of tiny, out of the way trattorias? The shared thrill of riding on his big, growling motorbike? The memorable picnic of bread, cheese and wine in a deserted olive grove? They’d made love beneath a gnarled, ancient tree with an intensity she could feel even now in the pit of her belly. She’d thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

  Pressing a hand to her stomach, trying to keep in the ache of distress, Chiara swept a look around the space. It had vaulted wooden ceilings, high arching windows that would frame the views, and lots of exquisite detailing like the traditional carving on the door frames.

  The undressed space, bare of furnishings, was spectacular, full of possibilities. Even the scent of fresh wood added depth and appeal.

  ‘Who designed it?’ Anything to change the subject.

  ‘I did.’

  Chiara swung around, eyebrows raised.

  The look he sent her was pure challenge. As if he expected her to say something scathing. How could she? It was extraordinary. A perfect blend of modern and traditional design, with a unique twist that made it something special.

  ‘Congratulations. You must be pleased.’

  For an instant Gennaro’s eyes widened then he frowned, his gaze narrowing on her. Clearly he hadn’t expected that.

  �
��What happens now?’ She tried and failed not to dart a look at the mattress spread so invitingly beside the fire. Briskly she rubbed her arms, trying to counteract the sudden chill.

  ‘It’s just occurred to you to wonder about that?’

  ‘No.’ She stood straight, refusing to reveal how badly her nerves had frayed. ‘I’ve been doing that ever since you abducted me.’ She glared at him and drew a quick, sustaining breath. ‘What I haven’t worked out is how far you’ll go to exact revenge for the fact I walked out on you.’

  She’d thought Gennaro easy-going, laidback, except for his commitment to his work and the intensity with which he made love. Clearly she’d been mistaken.

  ‘Revenge? You think that’s what this is about?’ His deep voice curled around her, stroking her flesh, reminding her he’d only ever had to touch her for her to fall into his arms.

  Again her gaze skittered to the makeshift bed. Did she have it in her to resist him? Did she want to?

  Fear at her own weakness hollowed her insides. She hated what he’d done to her. She hated that he’d snatched her tonight as easily as if she’d been some gullible kid. But if she was truthful, she didn’t hate Gennaro De Laurentis nearly as much as she should.

  ‘Per la Madonna! Stop looking like a scared virgin. I didn’t bring you here to rape you!’

  Chiara jutted her chin and suddenly the storm she’d been holding within burst free. She found herself stalking across the room towards him. She hadn’t ever seriously thought Gennaro would stoop so low as sexual violence but she felt horribly shaky nevertheless. Tonight had rocked her to the core. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life. First the auction and then being taken so easily, as if she wasn’t a successful, competent woman, able to look after herself.

  All her certainties, her self-confidence, wobbled and cracked under the pressure.

  ‘Well, thank you for that assurance, Signor De Laurentis. It’s good to know there are at least some boundaries you won’t cross. I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me feel.’

  ‘Cut the sarcasm, Chiara, it doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘What? Pampered, worthless society princesses can’t be sarcastic?’

  ‘I didn’t say you were worthless.’ Indigo fire sizzled in his eyes.

  ‘You implied it. You’ve done nothing but gripe at me all night. It’s not my fault you’ve got a chip on your shoulder because you were born working class.’

  ‘I don’t have a chip—’

  ‘You have one the size of a tree trunk. Why else would you harp on and on about my social standing?’ She drew a shuddering breath, realising suddenly that she’d stormed up too close to him. The evocative scent of maleness, rich and enticing crept into her nostrils, reminding her how good it had felt to be naked with him.

  Big hands clenched then flexed by his sides. Chiara swallowed hard, transfixed, wholly aware of the bed beside them. What was she thinking, pushing him like this?

  Except when she was with him she found it hard to think. Especially when he wound her up like he had tonight. She didn’t know whether it was anxiety or anticipation she felt at the idea she might push him too far.

  With a muffled oath he turned away, striding across the room and slamming his hand against the wall.

  ‘I hate it when you look at me like that,’ he growled. ‘Do you really think I’m going to hurt you?’

  Everything in Chiara stilled as she registered something unfamiliar in his tone. If she didn’t know better she’d think it was pain.

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ She shook her head, pushing away the hair that had come loose as she slept. ‘I thought I knew you. But I was wrong.’ Chiara swallowed convulsively, hating the vulnerability she heard in her voice.

  He might not force her into his bed, but she had no confidence in her self-control. Not when the sight of him, the scent of his skin, even the tension radiating from his big frame spoke to her in primitive, unspoken ways that made her body soften and her blood rush eagerly. Beneath the tailored jacket beat the heart of a man who had more than a hint of wildness in his soul. A wildness that had always thrilled her.

  It should be impossible, but just arguing with him turned her on.

  She’d fought the realisation ever since she got in his car. How could she respond so to a man who’d betrayed her? How could she look at those clenched fists and imagine his long fingers sliding over her skin, rough to her smooth?

  ‘Then know this, Chiara.’ Suddenly he was before her, his stare pinioning her. She hadn’t even heard him move. ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’

  Chiara bit her lip so hard it throbbed. He might not intend to hurt her. He might never touch her again, but she’d already discovered this man had the power to hurt her as no-one else could. Because he’d taken part of her heart.

  She refused to let him take any more, no matter what ideas her weak body had.

  ‘Good,’ she snarled. ‘Because if you did, my brother would kill you.’ She shook her head, her hair swirling heavily around her shoulders, and planted her hands on her hips. ‘No. I would kill you.’

  She was sick of this. Sick not just of the regret and pain, but of the need he still stirred. It was as if Gennaro De Laurentis had got into her blood and nothing, not his lies or his scandalous behaviour tonight or even her common sense could eradicate him. Where were her hard won defences?

  ‘That’s more like it. That’s the sassy woman I remember.’

  A slow smile tipped up one corner of Gennaro’s mouth. To Chiara’s amazement she read approval in his eyes. Approval and something else, something more intense, that made him suddenly look like a marauding buccaneer.

  For a heartbeat, for two, she stood transfixed by the look on his face and by the answering thud of her heart.

  ‘Right now this woman is hungry.’ She spun away, needing to break free of that gleaming indigo gaze. It did things to her that were just plain wrong.

  ‘You promised me dinner, Gennaro.’ Chiara swallowed hard on his name. Once it had tripped so readily from her lips. ‘All I can say is, after what you’ve put me through, this food had better be amazing.’

  *

  Gennaro leaned back on one arm, stretching his legs out, and watched Chiara through slitted eyes as she sat before the fire.

  She was something else. The most vivacious, gorgeous woman he’d ever known. Even barefoot on a picnic rug, her legs tucked under her and her hair a long, ebony curtain around her shoulders, she had presence.

  The flickering firelight chased shadows across her face, emphasising her sculpted cheekbones, the full curve of her lips and the neat angle of her jaw and pointed chin. Her eyes gleamed, sloe-dark and mysterious as she focused on the food he’d brought, just as if he wasn’t there.

  She reached for bread and bresaola, the distinctive cured beef his uncle made, adding rocket and a sliver of asiago cheese. Then she bit into the open sandwich with all the gusto of one of his labourers falling on food after a long day’s work.

  His gut clenched. Chiara was a woman with appetites and she didn’t try to pretend they didn’t exist. That was one of the things that had always appealed to him. Her innate honesty despite the fact she moved in such rarefied circles.

  She was the only woman he’d dated who would tuck into pasta with enthusiasm, enjoying her food instead of calorie counting. More than once he’d found himself sitting back, watching her neat, precise bites, the eager way she tore at new-baked, crusty bread. The way she used all her senses, inhaling deeply and surveying each dish with approval before she ate. The way her eyes rolled in delight at some fantastic new flavour. That throaty little hum of approval that made his belly tighten.

  Sharing that first meal with her was how he’d discovered she was a deeply sensual woman. As if it hadn’t been obvious from the way she moved, touched, responded to her surroundings.

  It had made him wonder too, what she did to burn off those calories, for despite the lush bounty of her breasts and the womanly curve of
her hips, she was slender. His hands all but met around her waist. That was before he discovered she threw herself into life with a verve he’d never seen before. She didn’t jog each morning, she ran. She didn’t work at her designs, she lived and breathed them.

  To his delight she was just as enthusiastic about sexual pleasure. The wholehearted way she’d given herself to him, the deliciously arousing way she’d responded to every caress, had been a revelation.

  She’d demanded everything from him, but she’d given unstintingly too.

  Heat drilled through his chest, dropping to eddy in his stomach and lower, tightening his groin.

  Sex had always been phenomenal between them and he missed that.

  He swigged a mouthful of crisp pinot grigio. But it did nothing to cool the flames licking inside.

  Cavolo! It wasn’t just the sex he missed. It was Chiara. Her smile, her rich laugh. The light in her eyes when she was happy. The way she leaned close as if gifting him with shared secrets when they spoke. Her zest for life and sense of humour. Even her pride when she spoke of her family.

  He could relate to that. Wasn’t his family the most important thing in his life?

  Gennaro swallowed some more wine, feeling its cool track down into his chest.

  Her family. If it weren’t for her brother—

  ‘What are you scowling about? If anyone has a right to scowl it’s me. I’m the one who’s been kidnapped.’

  How the hell did she do that? She couldn’t have noticed his expression because she hadn’t deigned to look at him. Instead her attention was on a basket of fruit, fingers hovering over purple-black grapes and ripe peaches.

  Gennaro imagined feeding her the rich, slippery peach flesh, tantalising her with it, licking the juice from the corner of her mouth, letting his—

  ‘Gennaro?’ Her voice was a sharp crack of sound.

  ‘What?’ Why did he let her distract him like that? He’d brought her here with a purpose. Instead he found himself brooding like a kid too long deprived of his favourite toy.

  Chiara sighed and pushed away the food. ‘Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.’ She reached for her glass and took a deep swallow.