Innocent in the Billionaire's Bed

by Clare Connelly

  And for some reason that angered him now.

  He paused at the steps that led to the deck. They were timber, built from one of the trees that covered the island.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, her green eyes, almond in shape, moving across the frame of the hut.

  ‘Where we’ll be staying.’

  Where we’ll be staying? Her heart skidded against her breastbone. Surely he’d meant Where you’ll be staying? Though he spoke English fluently, his voice was accented. It wasn’t inconceivable that he’d made a mistake.

  Because this place was definitely not going to accommodate the two of them.

  He moved ahead of her and she followed.

  ‘It was built around fifty years ago,’ he said as he shouldered the door inwards. It groaned a little. It was just wire pressed against an ornate wrought-iron pattern. There was no actual door.

  The heat of the day hadn’t managed to penetrate the thick walls. It was cool and dark. A hallway—quite wide, given the size of the building—went all the way to the back of the home, though at the rear, she glimpsed a sofa. There was more light there, too.

  ‘Your bedroom.’ He nodded towards a room as they swept past. She had only a brief impression of a narrow single bed and a bookshelf. He nodded to another door. ‘My bedroom.’

  Her heart thumped harder.

  ‘Bathroom.’

  She peered in as they walked past. It was simple, but clean. It smelled of him. She caught the masculine scent as they walked past and her stomach squeezed.

  ‘And the kitchen.’

  It was also simple, but charmingly so, with a thick timber bench, a window that overlooked the beach, a small fridge and a stove. There was a table with four chairs, and across the room a sofa and an armchair. Another larger window framed a different perspective of the beach.

  ‘Your...your bedroom is...opposite mine?’ The words were almost a whisper and she shivered.

  ‘Surely you didn’t think we’d be sharing?’ he prompted, enjoying the blush that spread across her face and the way her nipples stretched visibly against the wet fabric of her skin-tight dress.

  ‘Of course not,’ Tilly snapped, before remembering that she was Cressida, and Cressida would never have taken offence at such a suggestion. She would have purred right back that he shouldn’t rule anything out... ‘I just didn’t realise we’d be staying in the same house.’

  His smile was laced with sardonic amusement. ‘It’s the only house on the island,’ he said. ‘Didn’t your father tell you?’

  She shook her head, but questions were floating through her mind...suspicions. Shortly after Cressida had said there’d be servants she’d said that Tilly would be left to her own devices. She’d made it sound like a glamorous beach retreat awaited.

  Had she known that Rio Mastrangelo would be literally shacking up with her? Had she wisely decided to keep that titbit to herself, knowing that Matilda would have found it impossible to go along with such an elaborate deception in close quarters with a man like him?

  ‘He must have,’ Tilly said with a shrug, as though it didn’t matter, but inside she was fuming.

  If she hadn’t desperately needed that thirty thousand pounds, how she would have loved to tell Cressida to go to hell!

  Only she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. For, as much as the heiress drove her absolutely crazy, Tilly felt sorry for her. And the longer Tilly worked for Art and felt the warmth of his affection, the more she saw him disapprove of Cressida and ruminate on her lack of intelligence, skills and focus, and the more guilt Tilly felt—and more pressure too.

  This was the first time Cressida had ever asked Tilly for more than an easy favour, though. And certainly the first time she’d outright lied to her! This wasn’t going to a film premiere dressed to the nines, or slipping out of a top-notch restaurant early to divert the paparazzi’s focus. This was a whole week in close quarters with a gorgeous stranger.

  ‘And you forgot?’ he responded with a droll inflection.

  ‘There were a lot of instructions.’ She forced herself back to the present, pushing aside the sticky question of just what Cressida had kept to herself to get Tilly on board with this deception. Were there any more surprises in store for her?

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as don’t fall out of boats.’ The snappy response was watered down by a spontaneous smile. ‘Mind if I get changed?’

  Yes, he wanted to say. He liked watching her in this dress. Seeing the way it clung to her was flooding his body with desire—desire he wouldn’t indulge with her, of course.

  Yet he hadn’t been himself since hearing of his father’s death. His libido—something he liked to give free rein to, often—had taken a hit in recent times. Feeling his body stir to life was good. It was nice. He revelled in the sensation of anticipation, knowing that relief would be worth the wait.

  He wouldn’t give in to temptation with Cressida—that would be foolish. But once he left the island he’d call Anita or Sophie, or one of the other women always happy to join him in bed and rediscover some very pleasurable habits.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ he said, with a shrug that was the personification of nonchalance.

  She nodded, her eyes not meeting his. He was still holding her bag and he made no attempt to hand it over. She crossed the tiled floor until she was within arm’s reach. At this distance she could see the flecks of black that marked his grey eyes, and she caught more of that enticingly masculine fragrance.

  ‘I’ll need some dry clothes,’ she prompted, a smile tickling her full lips as she nodded towards the duffle.

  He unhooked the bag from his shoulder and passed it to her. She reached for it without looking downwards and her fingers curved over his.

  It was like being bitten by a snake.

  She immediately released her grip on the bag and he did likewise, so that it dropped with a thump to the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said breathlessly, as though it had somehow been her fault rather than an involuntary reaction to the spark of electric shock that had travelled through her fingertips and flooded her entire body.

  ‘What for?’ he murmured, reaching down for the bag.

  Her frown was spontaneous. Neither Tilly nor Cressida were prone to inane, babbling apologies. ‘I don’t know.’

  His laugh tickled her overstretched nerve-endings; it was a deep, throaty sound and she imagined his voice would be husky like that when he was driven by other emotions. A charge of awareness surprised her and she felt her nipples strain hard against the fabric of her bra.

  His eyes dropped to them and his lips flickered in a droll smile of sardonic appreciation. ‘Go and get changed, Cressida,’ he said, dismissing her.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to challenge him, Or what? when he replied, ‘Before it’s too late.’

  Too late? A frisson of awareness pulsed through her, teasing her spine and making her shiver.

  She took the bag from him and moved quickly down the hallway towards the bedroom he’d marked as hers.

  Too late for what?

  Her mind pushed away the most obvious reading of the statement—that there was some inevitability that they were running from. It was a silly interpretation, no doubt fuelled by her propensity to read far too many romance novels.

  She kept her head ducked until she reached the door he’d indicated would lead to her own accommodation.

  Her first assessment had been right.

  There was a small bed, a bookshelf, and a hat rack near a high, small window that had geraniums in a window box, creeping halfway up the glass in an enthusiastic display of clustered red.

  There was a mirror too, and she caught her reflection and moaned audibly. She looked... She might as well be naked. The fabric of her dress had turned a dark green and it hugged her tightly, moulding her breasts, her stomach, her bottom, and clinging in a V to her womanhood.

  Her fingers shook as she went to remove it quickly, stripping it off her shoulders
and pushing it from her body. The sight of her bra and G-string wasn’t any better. Angrily she discarded them, until she was naked, still wet, but not caring.

  Her phone was in the side pocket of her bag and she lifted it out. The picture of her and Jack smiled at her when she activated it, and for a moment she felt her stomach swoop in relief. He would be okay. She’d made sure of it. This week was a small price to pay for his safety. What the hell had he been thinking?

  She swiped her phone to life and flicked up the emails.

  An error message appeared. With a frown, she realised there was no internet. No signal whatsoever, in fact.

  A grim sense of being completely and utterly alone with Rio Mastrangelo sent a shiver down her spine.

  How could Cressida do this to her? The more Tilly thought about it, the more convinced she was that Cressida had lied. But why? What could be so important that she’d orchestrate this deception? She obviously hadn’t wanted to risk Tilly saying no—which she would have, had she known about this tiny shack and the drop-dead gorgeous billionaire only a wall away. Damn her!

  Well, this would be the end of it. Once she got back to London she’d tell Cressida that their arrangement was at an end.

  She ripped at the zip of the bag, pulling it roughly and lifting out another dress. But it was low at the front, and she didn’t want to wear anything that might feed into the idea Rio had of her.

  Cressida Wyndham, with her fake breasts, ready smile and casual attitude to life in general and sex specifically, would have been working out how to seduce the ruthless tycoon... But Tilly wanted no part of the man.

  Did she?

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘ARE YOU HUNGRY?’

  He didn’t look up as she entered; Tilly hadn’t even realised he’d heard her.

  ‘Not really.’

  She paused inside the doorframe, studying him surreptitiously from behind hooded eyes. She caught the moment he lifted his head, saw his eyes running over her figure, his face giving nothing away. She’d have loved to pull on a baggy shirt and jeans, but she’d only packed frothy dresses and bikinis. She’d chosen the most conservative of the dresses—a dark blue linen that fell to her knees.

  Wary of distracting him when he was in the middle of working, she gnawed on her lip for a moment. Then, ‘My phone doesn’t work here.’

  That caught his attention. He flicked a brief glance at her. ‘No. There’s no cell tower. No infrastructure of any nature.’

  She nodded, but one side of her mouth quirked downwards at the corner. ‘What do you do in an emergency?’

  ‘What kind of emergency?’ he prompted curiously.

  ‘Um...any kind. A band of marauding pirates storming the beach, or any angry flock of seagulls pecking their way across the sand...’

  His smile was unexpected—and so was its effect. Her tummy filled with frantic butterflies; her skin dotted with goosebumps.

  ‘You don’t think I could defend you against a band of pirates?’

  She arched a brow. ‘I think you have an inflated sense of your physical abilities.’

  He arched a brow. ‘A theory I’m willing to disprove at any time,’ he promised darkly.

  And now the butterflies went into overdrive, fluttering down to her knees and making them wobbly.

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said, the words stiffened by disapproval. ‘What if there’s a fire, or you break your leg or something?’

  ‘I have a satellite phone.’ He shrugged.

  ‘But what about emails?’

  ‘I can connect to it for internet access,’ he said. ‘It’s slow as hell, but it gets the job done.’

  ‘Electricity? Water?’

  ‘Generator. Tank.’

  Her mind was busy processing that. ‘Whoever built this really wanted to be off the grid.’

  ‘Not a lot of options on a deserted island,’ he pointed out, with a pragmatism that annoyed her.

  ‘I don’t know... It seems like a post-apocalyptic bolthole.’

  Or the perfect love-nest for a cheat and liar, Rio amended silently. How many women had Piero brought here over the years? Whispering sweet nothings about Prim’amore, promising a future he had no intention of providing.

  ‘Do you need to use the phone?’ he asked belatedly, drawing his attention back to her original query.

  Fantasies of calling Cressida and unloading on her were clouds Tilly would never catch. Of course she could do no such thing. Besides, Cressida had said she was ‘going to ground’ until the wedding—that she didn’t want to be seen or heard by anyone for the week, and that included turning her cell phone off.

  Tilly shook her head, a distracted smile flickering across her lips. ‘I thought I’d go exploring.’

  He stood, and ran a hand through his hair. His shirt lifted, revealing an inch of tanned flat abdomen. She looked away as though she’d been burned.

  ‘You know I only have a week, and Art is... Daddy is,’ she corrected quickly, ‘keen to hear what I think of the place.’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’ His voice was low and husky and her body reacted instantly, her nipples straining against the fabric of her dress, her eyes widening. And he saw. She just knew he was aware of the effect he was having.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She shook her head with an attempt at professional detachment. ‘I can find my own way.’

  His face wore a slow, sardonic grin. ‘Just like you were fine to get off the boat?’

  She huffed. ‘That’s not very gentlemanly of you.’

  ‘What gave you the impression I’m a gentleman?’ he queried softly, moving closer so that she found thoughts difficult to string together.

  ‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘But I really will be fine. I’m just going to walk along the beach today. If I get lost, I’ll turn back. Even I should be able to navigate my way around an island without coming to grief.’

  ‘Still,’ he said, wondering in the back of his mind why he was arguing with her. ‘I’m here to show you around.’

  She nodded, lifting her gaze to his face thoughtfully. She caught a flicker of emotion in his eyes that she didn’t understand. ‘Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘Because it’s a big island and you could get lost.’

  ‘No, I mean why you? You must have people who could sell an island for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ His mouth was a grim slash in his face.

  ‘So? Aren’t you too busy to act as tour guide?’

  Rio thought of the paperwork cluttering his desk in Rome and shook his head. Contracts for the high-rise in Manhattan. The lease for the Canadian mall. The purchase offer he’d made on a mine in Australia.

  It could wait. Keeping the invasive tabloid press away from his private life was priority number one. He’d spent the last five years making sure his parentage wasn’t revealed, and he wasn’t going to let the truth come out now. Involving more people than necessary in this deal was a sure-fire way to invite public attention.

  ‘Yes.’

  Why had he decided that distraction was the best way to get her off the scent and stop her questions? He couldn’t have said, but he moved closer, noting with interest the way her pupils darkened.

  ‘But I don’t really like the idea of you drowning in my ocean. Or tumbling off a cliff on my land.’

  ‘Your ocean? Your land? Someone’s got a bit of a God complex, haven’t they?’

  His laugh was deep; it resonated right through her.

  ‘Until your father signs on the dotted line, that is the truth of the matter.’

  She tilted her head to one side, lost in thought. ‘I don’t know if I believe anyone truly owns an island like this.’

  ‘I have a piece of paper that would beg to differ.’

  She waved her hand through the air distractedly. ‘Yes, yes—legally. But don’t you think...?’ She left the sentence unfinished as she realised what she’d been about to say. Discussing her personal philosophies wasn’t part of the job. And, essentially, she was on Prim’amore to wor
k.

  She’d been paid—and paid a small fortune. Now she had to uphold her end of the bargain.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted, but Tilly had zipped away from their conversation.

  ‘Well,’ she said, injecting her voice with the same sense of entitlement she’d personally been on the receiving end of any time Cressida had called and asked for a favour, ‘if you really want to waste your time playing sales agent, then let’s go.’

  He arched a brow, but if he was surprised by her pronouncement he didn’t otherwise show it.

  Tilly did a pretty good Cressida huff as she strode down the corridor and pushed the door to the cottage open. But the moment she stepped on to the small deck she froze, a gasp escaping her mouth.

  He followed, almost bumping into her. ‘Problem?’

  She shook her head, her eyes wide as they took in the sheer beauty of the spot. He watched her, and understood the wonderment in her face. Hadn’t he felt a similar sense of incredulity when he’d first arrived?

  ‘It is heaven on earth, mi amore.’

  His mother had been confused at the end. She’d slipped in and out of her past just as a dolphin rippled over the surface of the ocean, and most of her memories had revolved around him. Piero. The bastard who’d broken her heart and left her pregnant and destitute.

  ‘It is as if God left a small piece of heaven just for us to find and enjoy.’

  His expression was grim as he studied the horizon, seeing it as Cressida was. The ocean was immaculate. A deep turquoise colour disturbed only by the gentle cresting of waves. The sky was a blanket of deep blue, the sun an orb of white, high in the sky.

  ‘I feel like we’re the only ones on earth,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘I hadn’t expected the island to be so...’

  He waited, curious as to how she would choose to describe it.

  ‘It’s not just beautiful,’ she said, searching for words. ‘It’s...magical.’

  ‘Magical?’ he repeated derisively, ignoring how close the description was to his mother’s first impression.

  The amusement in his tone was enough to drag her back to the present. ‘Yes.’ She forced a cynical smile to her face. ‘At least that’s what Daddy will be hoping hordes of tourists think.’