Under Her Skin

by Michelle Love

  It was a perfect night: the flight, the meal, and now here he was making love with her, away from the gossips in Como, away from his responsibilities. She brought that out in him, or she had over the last few days, and he had to remind himself that they really didn’t know anything about each other. She had finally told him her name, and he knew enough to realize that was a big step for her.

  He wouldn’t be the man who pressured her, especially after what she had been through in her young life. All he wanted to do was be with her, acutely aware that this was a complete one-eighty shift in his whole philosophy. The last three days had been a revelation to him.

  Later, when she fell asleep, he slipped out of bed and snagged his phone from his jacket. Closing the bedroom door, he went into the living room of the suite and called Pete. “Hey, buddy, did I wake you up?”

  Peter chuckled. “No, Turo. What’s up?”

  Arturo sighed. “I got trouble.”

  “What? What happened? Did you something stupid, Turo?”

  “Maybe. It’s a girl, Peter. I’m in love.”

  Chapter Eight

  Arturo, I’m the one. I’m the one who smashed your dream. I’m the one who outbid you, bought the Patrizzi apartment. I knew you were bidding, and I went all out to beat you. I’m the one.

  Hero kept going through what she would say as she dressed the next morning. She had intended to tell Arturo when they woke, but he had kissed her so sweetly, and his eyes had been so full of…love? That’s what it had looked like, and she had been silenced. They had made love tenderly at first, and then, as Arturo started to goof around, they fucked in every room in the suite, laughing and playing, Arturo chasing her around the rooms until she gave up.

  Then, when his cock was buried deep inside her, she couldn’t think of anything else but him, his body, his smile, his mouth on hers. He would switch from tender to almost rough as he took her, but she gave as good as she got, tugging on his hair, biting his nipples, digging her nails into his back and his butt hard until he moaned. As they showered together, they compared battle scars: the grazes and bruises on each other from their lovemaking. He fucked her in the shower, easily holding her up against cold tile as his cock drove in and out of her swollen and sore cunt.

  Her thighs ached, her breasts tingled, and her heart felt as if it had unfurled in her chest. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t ruin this perfect time with this beautiful man. She would keep her secret for a little while longer.

  She felt his arms snake around her waist, and his hand slip beneath her dress to stroke her belly. “Hey.”

  She leaned back into him, turning her head to kiss his mouth. “Hey.”

  Arturo gazed down at her, his eyes serious. “Is it wrong that I don’t want this to end?”

  Her stomach dropped. “This?”

  “This trip, this city, with you.”

  She turned in his arms and locked hers around his waist. He nuzzled her nose with his own. “Hero…”

  The way he whispered her name made it sound like the most bewitching sound in the world. “Arturo…I have something to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  She swallowed. “I…” Tell him. Get it over with now. Offer to give him the apartment. Beg him to forgive you. “I…used to be married.”

  Arturo’s eyes were sympathetic. “Would you be mad if I told you I knew?”

  That stopped her. “What?” What the hell? Did he have a private detective on her? Did he already know about the apartment?

  Arturo’s arms tightened around her. “I see what you’re thinking, and I swear, just the results of a Google search. I was curious.”

  Hero breathed out. Okay, that was normal at the beginning of modern relationships, right? But you didn’t think of finding out about his story like that, did you? “Okay, that’s fine. Then you know.”

  “About your husband and daughter. I do, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am, my darling. Come sit. Let’s really talk. I’ve ordered breakfast.”

  Over breakfast she told him about Tom and Beth, and to her surprise, it was easy to talk to him, and it felt good to really reminisce honestly about her grief, her love for Tom, and her darling Beth, her light.

  “She really was the most amazing kid,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I know every mom says that but, my God, I couldn’t believe this incredible little creature came from me.”

  “Do you have a photo?”

  She dug around in her purse and brought out two photos. One was just of Beth, yelling a banshee cry into the camera, grinning wildly. The other was all three of them: Tom encompassing his family in his arms as they smiled, not at the camera but at each other.

  Arturo studied them both. “Wow. Wow. She looks just like you.”

  Hero felt a lump in her throat when Arturo used the present tense. “She…does.” The tears escaped then, and she began to sob. Arturo folded her in his arms and just held her until she cried herself out.

  When she finally pulled away, she felt lighter and surprisingly unembarrassed. Arturo smiled at her and stroked the back of his fingers down her face. “Sweet one, your daughter will always be with you. And your husband…” He looked back at the photo of Tom, and for a second, Hero couldn’t read his expression. “He looks like a great guy.”

  “He was. He was my best friend.” She sighed. “It was just…everything changed on a dime, you know? One second we were in the car singing pop songs and the next minute… gone. So final.” She looked away for a moment until he turned her face gently back to his.

  “I’m glad you told me. I want to know you, Hero.”

  Hero squeezed his hand. “What about you?”

  “Me? You know me. My reputation precedes me.”

  “Arturo.”

  He shrugged. “There has been no one special in my life for years.”

  She looked at him curiously. “So, there was someone, once?”

  The pained look on his face was so fleeting that she wondered if she’d imagined it, but then he was talking again, and she dismissed it.

  “I’m a walking cliché, Hero,” he said bluntly. “I’m arrogant as hell, and I sleep around. Slept around. Three days ago, I met the woman that one day I hope to marry.”

  That floored her…and frightened her. “Arturo…a marriage is more than great sex.”

  “I know. Or rather, I don’t, but I hope to find out.” He held her gaze steadily. Hero felt her heart beating way too hard against her ribs, and she got up.

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  Arturo caught her as she moved away and made her look into his eyes. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, Hero. I’m in this…are you in this with me?”

  She had no idea how to answer him.

  Back in Como, he took her back to her hotel. Kissing her goodbye, he cupped her face in his hands. “Tonight? Dinner?”

  Hero hesitated. “Can I take a rain check tonight? I just have some stuff I need to figure out.”

  Arturo didn’t seem fazed. “Of course, my darling. You have my cell phone number if you change your mind.”

  Hero took the stairs to her room, wanting to take her time. God, what was she going to do? She had fallen for him so entirely that even the thought of him finding out about the apartment made her feel sick. Should she put it back up for auction and take a hit on the price? She could sell it to him anonymously, maybe.

  The thing was…she loved the apartment. Ever since she’d walked into it that first day—was it really only four days ago?—she had known it was her haven. Her heart was telling her that Arturo was worth giving it up; her head was telling her not to be foolish. Stick to her plan. A gorgeous man wasn’t worth giving it up for.

  Was he?

  Shoot. Hero sighed as she opened the door to her room, then froze. Three more envelopes on the floor. She grabbed them and ran back down to the reception. She asked to see the security guard after the receptionist denied that any of her staff delivered the letters.


  “Do you have CCTV?”

  “I’m afraid it is currently out of order, Signorina.” He looked at the envelopes in her hand curiously. “What is in the notes?”

  Hero stared at him and then shook her head. “Never mind.”

  She stalked back upstairs, but before she locked herself in, she checked in every part of the room. She was alone. She double-locked the door and sat on the bed, the envelopes laid out in front of her. After a moment, she ripped the first one open.

  Whore.

  “Charming.” She steeled herself for the next one.

  Dead woman walking.

  “Oh, fuck off.” It helped a little to ridicule the note. She opened the third. There was no note, but two photographs fell out. Hero frowned, but she bent to pick them up. As she studied them, she gave a gasp of horror.

  The first showed a woman: cowed, terrified, and screaming. Her dark hair was covering most of her face, but Hero could see the resemblance to herself immediately. The second photo was even more horrifying. The same woman was obviously dead, covered in blood, the hilt of a knife protruding from her stomach.

  “Jesus.” Hero didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the horror in front of her, but eventually, uncurling her stiff legs, she went back down to reception, feeling as if all her blood had frozen in her veins. She asked them to call the police.

  When two officers arrived at the hotel, she calmly handed them the notes and simply said, “Someone wants to kill me. And I have no idea why.”

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Hero got another message, this time phoned through to reception and of an altogether more pleasant kind. George Galiano was inviting her to have lunch with him.

  Hero considered. She didn’t want to get into the middle of anything between Arturo and George, but the more allies she had in this town, the better.

  She called him back and agreed to meet him at the restaurant. “I can’t wait,” he said in a warm voice. Hero promised herself she could make it clear that it was just lunch as friends.

  Until then, she had a few hours to kill, and she spent it arranging furniture for her apartment to be delivered by the end of the week. Now that it was officially hers, she was antsy to move in and be less vulnerable. She arranged for locks to be fitted to the windows, even as unlikely as it was that anyone could scale up to that height, and a deadbolt fixed to the door. It would be her little fortress. She noticed that the other apartments had just started getting renovated for individual sale, and Hero was glad that there would be plenty of construction workers around should anything happen.

  God, you sound paranoid. But the vicious, utterly random threats had affected her more than she wanted to admit. The polizia had been sympathetic, but they told her there was nothing much they could do unless she were actually harmed.

  “Do you know who that woman is?”

  They’d studied the photographs and exchanged loaded looks, but both swore blind they didn’t know who she was. “It’s probably some hoax,” the kindly lead officer said. “Some people just like to frighten a woman on her own.”

  They made it sound like she should expect this kind of thing, being on her own. Hero’s feminist hackles went up, and she gathered up the notes and photos, and thanked them stiffly before turning away. She almost dared someone to attack her as she walked back through the lobby.

  Come at me…

  Her fear had turned to anger now, and she stalked past the hotel’s security guard without acknowledging him.

  George Galiano was waiting for her, sitting at one of the restaurant’s outside tables, smoking a cigarette with a glass of red wine in front of him. He stood when she approached and kissed both of her cheeks. “You look beautiful, Miss Donati. Please, join me.”

  Over a lunch of fresh crab salad, he asked her about her plans for the apartment.

  “To be honest, Mr. Galiano, I just want a haven. I’ve arranged for it to be furnished, of course, but beyond that, I hadn’t thought.”

  “Well, I know some good interior designers, should you require them.” He paused. “I see Bachi has already begun to remodel the other apartments.”

  “He owns them all, then?”

  George nodded, a nasty gleam in his eyes. “As I told you, you pissed him off royally by beating him to that last one. Bachi has dreams, I think, of owning every major hotel in this region, maybe even in Italy. His plans are, like him, ridiculously conceited.”

  “I think it’s healthy to have ambition,” Haven said carefully.

  George smirked. “You are very generous, Miss Donati.”

  “Hero, please.”

  “Hero. Such a pretty name. Tell me, Hero…has Arturo’s legendary prowess in the bedroom been exaggerated?”

  Ugh. Hero looked at him steadily. “If anything, it’s been underplayed.”

  But George laughed. “Fair enough. I meant no offense. I only asked because I wanted to see how loyal you were to him.”

  “I’m as loyal as I would be to any…friend. I’ve been here less than a week, Mr. Galiano, I have no interest in being drawn into disputes between the two of you.”

  “Understood.” His smile faded, and he sighed. “For my part, I wish I could understand why we drifted apart, how it got so awkward between us.”

  Hero’s curiosity got the better of her. “You mentioned a woman you both loved before.”

  He nodded. “Flavia. She died twenty years ago now. She was a beautiful woman, like yourself, but that beauty was to be her downfall.”

  “How so?”

  George’s eyes were haunted. “She was murdered, stabbed to death. They never caught her killer.”

  The brief look on Arturo’s face suddenly flashed in front of her eyes, followed by the images of the woman in the picture Hero had received earlier, and she went cold.

  “Stabbed?”

  George nodded. “Multiple times. She never stood a chance. It devastated the town, myself and Arturo the most. I think neither of us has been the same since. Of course, Arturo was her lover at the time, and so the general consensus was that he was the only one suffering.” He shook his head. “But I sound like a bitter man.”

  The realization that Arturo had also lost someone he dearly loved in some way cemented the connection between them even further. Suddenly Hero had to admit it to herself—she was falling hard for him, in more ways than between the sheets. It now seemed impossible to avoid coming clean to him about the apartment and trying to make it right.

  “Mr. Galiano, thank you for lunch, but I have to go now.”

  George stood as she did and kissed her cheek, lingering perhaps a beat too long for her comfort. He took her hands, searching her eyes. “Please know, Hero…Arturo is not your only option. Please be careful. He is not who he says he is.”

  Hero pulled her hands away, her expression steely. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Galiano.”

  Creep. Hero bid him goodbye and got out of there, much to her relief. Not my only option. Ugh, the arrogance of the man.

  She felt the need to connect with someone from back home and so, as she walked to her new apartment, she called Imelda, getting only her voicemail. “Melly…I’m just touching base. Call me back. I need to hear your voice.” She gave a small chuckle as she ended the call. She’d never said that to her sister…ever. Funny how distance changed relationships. Hero stuck her phone back into her bag and carried on towards the Patrizzi.

  Peter’s face was blank with disappointment. “You don’t like it.”

  He and Arturo were at an old rundown hotel on the north shore of the lake. Peter had seen it last minute and had been sure Arturo would go for it. It had an old-world rustic charm as well as a fantastic terrace overlooking the lake. A stone pergola draped in the most glorious wisteria led to lush gardens of azalea, camellia, and jasmine conveying beautiful scent along the breeze. The hotel itself had been abandoned for so long that vines had snaked their way into the interior, giving the whole place a strange but organic post-apoca
lyptic feel.

  Peter had fallen in love with it at first sight, but he could tell from Arturo’s expression that his friend felt differently. He sighed. “So, no?”

  Arturo turned to him, and Peter felt a shock run through him. He’d been wrong…Arturo’s eyes were shining. “It’s incredible…but not for a hotel. God, Peter…”

  Peter was confused. “So, let me get this right, you don’t want it for a hotel, but you love it?”

  “For a home, Pete. For a family home.”

  “A family home?” Peter echoed in confusion. “For whom?”

  Arturo laughed. “For me, of course. For the family I intend to have in the future.” He didn’t say with whom, but Peter knew this expression of old.

  “Turo…you’ve known her for less than a week.” Peter stared at his old friend in astonishment. Arturo was known for being impulsive when it came to absolutely everything except relationships. In that particular area, he could always be trusted to love ’em and leave ’em. “A week,” Peter repeated. “What makes her any different, Turo?”

  Arturo shrugged. “You need to meet her, Peter, and then you’ll understand. She’s bright and funny and beautiful and I’m crazy about her.”

  “So crazy you’re imagining your future estate together already? This isn’t you,” Peter said, “you’re obviously having some sort of…God, I don’t know, but you need to slow down.”

  “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t. At all. Wanting to screw her isn’t the same as love, Arturo. I don’t need to tell you that.”

  “It’s not that. If it were that, I’d be over it already. But she’s…look, I’m going to call her and arrange for you two to meet. Then you’ll see.”

  Peter was about to protest, but Arturo had already pulled out his phone. Peter watched the smile spread over Arturo’s face as the woman answered his call.