“My pleasure.” Pete smiled and looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”
Arturo nodded. “Gotta go pee before it kicks off. Hold my champagne.”
He made his way into the villa and found the restroom on the second floor. It was quiet up here, and Arturo relaxed in the moment’s peace before the auction started. Stepping out of the restroom, he made his way back towards the stairs and then stopped.
At the far end of the hallway, a woman was staring out of the window, her features in profile, and Arturo’s heart nearly stopped. Her long, dark hair, falling in soft waves, was pulled over one shoulder, and she looked so sad it made Arturo’s chest hurt. Her resemblance to Flavia was so uncanny that everything in Arturo’s body screamed at him to go to her.
She was wearing a white dress that ended just above the knee; the dress molded to her body, her full breasts, the soft curve of her belly, the long legs. Seeming to sense his scrutiny, she suddenly looked up at him, and Arturo’s chest tightened at the depth of sadness in her lovely, dark eyes. He wanted to know what was making this beautiful woman so unhappy and how to make her smile again.
“Buongiorno,” he said softly. She blinked at him, those big doe eyes a little startled at his speaking.
“Buongiorno.” A soft, American-accented voice. Her lips were plump, pink, and parted slightly, and Arturo felt his body respond, becoming aroused by this mysterious stranger.
They stared at each other for a long moment before she turned away. “Scuzi.” She disappeared back into the hotel, and Arturo stepped forward, ready to pursue her, but then he heard Peter’s voice from the stairs.
“Turo? They’re ready. Let’s go.”
Arturo hesitated, his heart still thumping hard again his chest. God…what a fucking beautiful woman…he had to know who she was.
“Turo? Come on. Hotel Bachi awaits.”
A half hour later, Arturo was no longer thinking of the beautiful woman, nor was he in a good mood any longer. “How the fuck did that happen? It did happen, right?”
He’d been outbid. He, Arturo Bachi, had been outbid. The apartment was sold and not to him. He could feel the stares of his friends, colleagues, and investors as he tried to process what had just happened.
Bidding had started off as expected, somewhere in the low hundred-thousands and had quickly shot up to almost a million. Arturo had shot a smug look at Peter, then at George Galliano, who raised his champagne glass at him, somewhat sarcastically.
Then it had all gone to hell. Just as the auctioneer was about to bring down the hammer, there was a new bid. Two million. A hush ran through the crowd. Arturo rocked back in shock and scanned the attendees to see who the new bidder was, but he or she wasn’t giving themselves away.
“Two-five,” he shot back.
Three million.
Peter was looking alarmed, shaking his head at Arturo. The top end of their budget for the apartment was only one and half million, and in any case, the apartment was only worth a tenth of that.
“Four million,” Arturo called it, and Peter made a disgusted noise.
“Turo, no.”
Five million. Another, louder gasp in the crowd and a hum of astonishment. Peter grabbed Arturo’s arm as the auctioneer looked at him. “Signore Bachi?”
“Arturo, if you do this, I’m out. I mean it, I quit. You cannot do this. It’s reckless, and you’ll be humiliated. Whoever this is…obviously money is nothing to them. Let it go. We’ll figure out something else.”
Arturo stared at his friend helplessly. Peter wasn’t kidding, but it was Arturo’s dream that was slipping away.
“Signore Bachi?”
Everyone was staring at him. Peter’s eyes were fierce, and finally Arturo shook his head, his heart sinking. “No.”
Another hum of gossip, and then the hammer came down. “Sold for five million euros.”
“To whom?”
“Yes, to whom?
“Who bought it?”
The questions came thick and fast. The auctioneer held his hands up. “I’m sorry, my friends. This is a buyer who wishes to remain anonymous.”
Arturo felt a rising anger. “They won’t be anonymous for long,” he said, grimly, and Peter sighed, mostly from relief.
“Let’s get out of here, Turo. I’ll buy you a drink.”
On their way out, and despite his anger, the thought of the beautiful woman drifted through his mind again, and he looked around, disappointed when she was nowhere to be found. He could do with an angry fuck right now.
Even as he thought it, he felt a wash of shame. No. She wasn’t someone he could forget the next morning. Something about her spoke to him in more than just desire; he felt connected with the deep sadness in her lovely face.
He was still thinking about her as he got into Peter’s Lamborghini who drove them back to the bar in Como he and Peter owned, and he found, strangely, his anger had dissipated quicker than he would have thought.
He had to see her again—that much Arturo knew. He had to see her again…and soon. Because more than anything now, on this day of disappointments, he wanted to see her smile.
Chapter Three
Hero’s hand shook as she signed the documents which would make her the owner of the Villa Patrizzi apartment. Five million euros. Holy hell. She’d had no idea she would go that high for what was essentially only four small rooms, but as the bidding went higher, it had become imperative that she secure it. It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t.
Of course, that was when she saw who she was bidding against. Him. The man she had seen upstairs; the man whose physical beauty had sent her body into a frenzy of arousal after just one look. His green eyes, brooding and dangerous, his dark curls…his incredible body in that exquisite suit…Jesus. As they had stared at each other, all Hero could think of was what it would be like if he were to approach her, touch her, fuck her right there against the window. God, she had gotten wet even thinking about what was underneath his clothes.
And immediately she was ashamed. She’d never felt that way about anyone—even Tom. She had loved Tom with every cell in her body, but they had been best friends before they were lovers.
But the look in the man’s eyes had been a mirror of her feelings, she could tell. She only had to say the words…fuck me…and she knew without a doubt, he would not have hesitated.
And she wanted to punish him for making her feel like that, making her feel so disloyal to Tom’s memory, for taking that away from her. So, she bid a ridiculous amount to beat him to the apartment. And won. It was a Pyrrhic victory at best. Five million was a massive chunk of her settlement—and the apartment was definitely not worth it.
She pushed the thought away as she shook hands with the auctioneer. “Would it be possible for you to call me a cab, please?”
“Of course, Madam. Please wait here and make yourself comfortable.”
Hero sat back and tried to steady her shaking hands. Maybe she’d go out to eat tonight, walk through the town, mingle with the tourists, try to feel like a human being again. The paperwork on the apartment would go through quickly now, and she would be able to move in by the end of the week.
Not that she had anything to move in apart from her clothes, her art supplies, and her books. She would have to find a record player somewhere and some vinyl: Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, maybe some Paolo Conti. She could see herself sitting out on the balcony overlooking the lake, her watercolor paints in front of her, listening to Billie. That, to Hero, was her idea of heaven. Maybe lunch: fresh bread, some cheese, a bag of sweet, juicy peaches. Cold white wine. The image was so appealing she found herself smiling to herself, and when the auctioneer came to tell her the cab was waiting, she found herself shaking his hand far more enthusiastically than she meant to.
Back at her hotel, she changed out of the form-fitting dress and back into her usual uniform of a grey-marl T-shirt and jeans. She glanced in the long mirror, noting that she should really try to dress better.
&nbs
p; You look beautiful no matter what you wear. Tom’s words came back to her.
Her eyes filled with easy tears, and she dashed them away impatiently. Stop wallowing. She should go out into the city now, do some window shopping or maybe actual shopping. I have a new home. Time to get to know it.
She grabbed her bag, slung it across her body, and left the hotel room.
It was late by the time Peter left Arturo at the bar and went home. Arturo, buzzy on a few vodkas, sat outside at one of the small tables, smoking a cigar and people watching. People-watching and brooding over his loss today. Damn it. Peter had talked him down from bribing the auctioneer to tell him who had purchased the Villa Patrizzi apartment.
“Dude, don’t be dumb. Wait a couple of weeks until the person moves in, then knock on the door.”
“What if they have no intention of moving in? What if they just bought it to fuck with me?” An idea came then. “Fuck, I bet it was George.”
Peter sighed. “Don’t even go there, man. This feud you two have…it’s gone on for far too long.”
Arturo’s eyes narrowed. “He fucked Flavia, Pete. He fucked my girlfriend and then told me about it after she’d been murdered.”
Peter nodded, his blue eyes serious. “I know, Turo. But…we all lost Flav, too. You knew he had feelings for her—and admit it, you did flaunt it in front of him.”
Arturo looked away from his friend’s gaze. “I was young and stupid.”
“And so was he.”
Arturo shook his head. “It’s gone too far now, Pete. Why did he have to tell me? I already had the image of Flavia, dead, gutted, and then he gave me another of the two of them together.” His pleasant buzz wavered dangerously at the memory.
“Turo, stop,” Peter warned. “Move on. George didn’t buy the apartment. I saw him leave before the auction began.”
Arturo sighed. “Fine. But he could have sent a proxy…” His friend’s dark look finally broke through his moody, drunken haze. “Okay, I’ll stop.”
Peter looked at his watch. “Man, I have to go. I’ll come over in the morning. We’ll talk about what we do next.”
So now Arturo rose from the table, throwing down money for the drinks, and took off into town. He wandered aimlessly around the side streets for a time, but as he turned down an alleyway to double back to his car, he caught sight of a woman walking in front of him. He enjoyed the sway of her hips, the curve of her waist, her rounded, perfect ass. She only wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, but the way she moved…
She stopped and turned to look into a bright shop window, and Arturo felt his pulse quicken as he saw her profile.
It was her. His white dress girl from the Villa D’Este. For a moment, he just watched her. God, she was beautiful—achingly, heartbreakingly so. He walked up behind her and met her gaze in the reflection in the window. He read so much in her lovely eyes: sadness, resignation—heat.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Then Arturo risked snaking his hand around her waist and letting his fingers stroke her belly through her T-shirt. Her eyes widened, and he paused, wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake and misread things completely. But then she leaned back into his body, and her hand crept around to cup his cock through his pants. Arturo groaned and pressed into her more intimately. He swept her hair to one side and pressed his lips to her neck.
She turned in his arms and gazed up at him, her eyes wary but full of desire. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Bonne noche. I’m—”
She cut him off with a swift, hard press of her lips to his.
“No names.” Her voice was a low, gruff whisper, but it sent thrills through his body. He nodded and offered her his hand. She took it, only hesitating a little, and slowly he led her back to his car. He turned to her, confirming. “Yes?”
She nodded, and he opened the passenger door for her. What are you doing, man? You don’t even know her name! But he hushed the inner voice and slid into the driver’s seat. He gently brushed a lock of her hair over her ear. “Guess what we’re going to do?”
A smile. At last, a smile. Small, hesitant, but a smile. He couldn’t take his eyes off her exquisite face. He leaned in to kiss her again, lingering over it before starting the car and heading towards his villa.
Chapter Four
Hero, for the second time that day, couldn’t stop trembling. What the hell are you doing? She asked herself over and over. So many feelings were rushing through her but none of them were as strong as the need to fuck this man. When he had appeared behind her, and she’d seen his eyes searching her face in her reflection, she had known what would happen.
When he had been so daring as to touch her belly—how the hell did he know it was her most sensitive erogenous zone?—she was lost. His lips were against her neck, and she felt herself wanting to touch him. His cock, twitching at her touch, was hot, thick, and long through his pants, and Hero quivered with desire.
Now, as he pulled his car up to the entrance of his villa, she could scarcely take anything in but the man beside her and the way he held her hand as they walked into the vast mansion, straight up the staircase to his bedroom. When he touched her again, drawing her into his arms and kissing her so passionately, her head swam.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard, beautiful one.” His deep, mellifluous voice sent shivers through her—God, this man was pure sex.
“Don’t wait, please, fuck me now.” She said breathlessly, and he grinned, triumphant. He pulled her T-shirt over her head and swiftly freed her breasts from her bra, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking so hard she thought she might pass out from the pleasure.
Stopping only to whisk off her jeans and panties and lay her on the bed, the man stripped off his own clothing quickly. Hero couldn’t take her eyes off his body: hard pecs, washboard stomach, and his cock, standing so thick and proud against his belly.
He smiled at her admiration, fisting the root of his cock. “This is all for you, sweet girl. Spread those beautiful legs for me and let me see your delicious cunt.”
Hero did as he asked, and with a groan, he dropped between her knees and buried his face in her sex, licking and teasing her, lashing his tongue around her clit until it was rock hard, then dipping his tongue deep into her cunt until she was weeping with pleasure.
As she came, he slid a condom over his cock, moved to cover her body and thrust his straining length deep inside her, making her cry out. He pinned her hands to the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Cosi bella, così bella…” So beautiful.
There were so many emotions in his eyes as they made love that Hero felt like a stranger in her own skin, as if she had always been meant to meet this man, make love with him, be here tonight—spend this particular night with him.
Her orgasm hit her hard, and she arched her back, pressing her belly against his, her breasts against his chest. The man buried his face in her neck, kissing, sucking, biting at her skin as he groaned through his own climax, and she shivered as she felt him come. His lips trailed down her spine. “Excuse me for a moment, bella.”
She heard him go into the bathroom, obviously to deal with his condom, and she lay spent, her eyes closed, letting her body recover. She felt as if her skin were on fire, and when he came back to bed, the feeling of his fingertips stroking a circle around her navel made her eyes roll back in her head.
Arturo chuckled. “You have a very sensitive belly, pretty one.” He slid his thumb into the deep hollow and began to finger-fuck it, making her moan with pleasure. He chuckled as she came again, sighing and laughing softly.
“God, what you do to me…” Her eyes were shining, and he was happy to see that the sadness in them was lessened.
“Tell me your name, lovely girl.”
But she shook her head. “No names. This is perfect just the way it is.”
“Then, let us call each other…” He cast around for two names, then spotted the book on his nightstand. “Beatrice and Benedict. From Much Ado About Nothing.”
> He was surprised when her face flamed red. “What?”
“Nothing. You like Shakespeare?”
He nodded. “Very much. You?”
“Some. I studied him at college, but I have to say, I prefer more modern writers.”
Arturo smiled. “Such as?”
“McCarthy, Angelou, Arundhati Roy. Haruki Murakami.”
Arturo smiled. “I’m also a fan of Murakami. Favorite book of his?”
“Kafka on the Shore.”
“Same.”
She looked skeptical, and he held his hands up. “I swear, Principessa.”
“I’ll believe you.” They gazed at each other for a long time, then she raised her hand to his face and cupped his cheek. “You’re really beautiful.”
Arturo grinned, inclining his head. “Thank you.”
She giggled at his confidence. “I forgot Italian men had no time for false modesty.”
Arturo propped himself up on his elbow next to her. “Forgot? You don’t live here?”
“I didn’t. I just relocated here. I was born here, but I’ve spent most of my life in the States.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Chicago.”
He smiled. “Nice town.” But he noticed the sadness was creeping back into her eyes. He bent his head and kissed her. “Beautiful girl, what is it? Why do you look so sad? What is your pain?”
She stared at him for a long time then sat up. “I have to go.” She reached for her clothes and began to put them on.
Arturo was bemused by the sudden change in atmosphere. “Did I say something wrong? Or do something wrong?”
She shook her head, looking as if she were close to tears. “No.” She stopped, hesitated and then pressed her lips to his for a second. “You’re perfect,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “But that’s why I have to go.”
He felt her tears on his cheek and cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Under Her Skin Page 2