Kimberly had spent the evening clinging to her new husband and hadn’t bothered to introduce Orla to any of the other guests. Orla had been about to return to her room, knowing that no one would miss her presence at the party, certainly not her mother. But she’d felt an odd, prickling sensation between her shoulder-blades that had compelled her to turn her head and look across the room.
Her eyes had been riveted on the man who had taken her breath away earlier in the day when she had arrived at Villa Romano with some of her mother’s girlfriends from London. As she’d climbed out of the taxi her attention had been drawn to the swimming pool that could be seen from the driveway, and she had watched the gorgeous hunk who had stepped out of the pool and raked his hands through his wet hair. His honed, muscular body had not gone unnoticed by her mother’s friends, but Orla hadn’t admitted to them that she was sexually inexperienced and had not understood most of their lewd comments as they’d speculated on his prowess as a lover.
‘He’s Giuseppe’s son,’ Kimberly had explained when she’d sauntered down the steps of the villa and greeted her friends with a great deal of air-kissing before casting a critical glance at Orla’s jeans and tee shirt. ‘Torre is a sexy beast, but he’s so arrogant the way he looks down his nose at me as if I belong in the gutter. I guess he’s mad because now that I’m married to his father I’ll inherit all Giuseppe’s money when he dies.’
At the party that evening Orla had stared at Torre Romano and supposed that he was her stepbrother. But that thought along with every other had flown from her mind when Torre had trapped her gaze and she’d felt scalding heat inside her as if an electrical current had shot through her body. She’d watched him stride across the room towards her, and the feral expression on his hard-boned face had warned her to turn and run.
It was a pity she had not listened to her instincts that day, Orla thought grimly. She picked at her plate of ricotta ravioli that had been served for a first course but her appetite was still poor after her recent gastric upset—although she suspected that Torre’s brooding presence opposite her was responsible for the knot of tension in her stomach.
Around the table the conversation was mainly in Italian and Orla was heartened that she could follow most of what was said. She had learned Italian at school and had practised speaking it during her visits to Villa Romano while her mother had lived there. Now she hoped that being fluent in the language might help persuade Giuseppe to give her a job.
‘You’re very quiet, Orla.’ Torre’s deep-timbred voice jolted her from her thoughts and she looked up to find him watching her from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Now that she’d had time to get over the initial impact of seeing him again she was able to study him more objectively, but unfortunately he was no less devastating. His cream shirt was open at the throat, and the sight of his darkly tanned skin and a few black chest hairs made the knot in her stomach tighten. He looked relaxed—the exact opposite of how she felt—and when he’d laughed at something Giuseppe had said a few moments ago the sound had made Orla think of molten honey.
He was waiting for her to reply. She quickly glanced at Jules for moral support and saw that he was deep in conversation with Giuseppe. ‘I’m tired after the journey,’ she said diffidently.
Torre’s brows rose. ‘It is a two-and-a-half-hour flight from London to Naples. I can’t imagine you found the journey that arduous.’
His sarcasm stung. ‘I didn’t realise that I’m supposed to entertain you,’ she said tightly. ‘What do you want me to talk about?’
The gleam in his eyes told her that she had fallen straight into the trap he had set. Her temper fizzed and she felt a strong urge to fling the contents of the water jug at his smug face. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she tried to rationalise her response to him.
It was a long time since she had felt angry. She had learned that the only way to deal with David’s explosive temper had been to remain calm and try to mollify him. On the one occasion when she had attempted to stick up for herself he had physically assaulted her. Unconsciously she lifted her hand and ran her fingers over the scar above her eyebrow where a ring that David had been wearing had cut deep into her skin when he’d hit her. The wound had bled heavily and had required her to visit the accident and emergency department at the local hospital so that it could be stitched. Across the table she saw Torre’s eyes follow the movement of her hand and she quickly lowered it to her lap.
‘Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself? Eight years ago I recall that we did not spend very much time talking,’ he drawled.
Orla silently cursed her fair skin when she felt heat spread across her cheeks. Images flashed into her mind, of Torre sprawled on a bed, his body a symphony of sleek golden skin and honed muscles. When he had pulled her down on top of him, she’d marvelled at how hard his body had felt against her soft, feminine curves. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight of his arousal had made her apprehensive at first, but then he had kissed her and her doubts had been swept away by the onslaught of his fierce passion.
She swallowed hard, determined not to respond to his taunts. ‘What do you want to know?’
He shrugged his wide shoulders but Orla wasn’t fooled by his casual air. His eyes were focused intently on her in the way that a panther might watch its prey before springing to make a kill. ‘What do you do for a living?’
Her heart sank as she wondered if Torre had read the stories that had appeared in some sections of the English press after she’d ended her marriage. She’d had to wait until she had lived apart from David for two years before the divorce proceedings had gone ahead. A month ago the decree absolute had been granted, but her relief that she was finally free from her abusive husband had turned to shocked dismay when the tabloids had labelled her a greedy gold-digger who had demanded and won a huge financial settlement. Public support had been very much for David, while comparisons had been drawn between Orla and her four-times-married mother, who had made a career out of marrying and divorcing rich men.
She stared at Torre and wished she could confound him by telling him that she had a successful career. It had been Giuseppe who had first inspired her interest in engineering, and eight years ago when she had started university she had switched from a maths degree to study civil engineering. She had found that designing and being involved in the construction process of roads, bridges and other vital infrastructure might not be a glamorous job but it allowed her to be creative and innovative with an opportunity to make real changes to people’s lives. A trip to Africa organised by her university to take part in the construction of a fresh water supply and sanitation facilities in a rural area of Sierra Leone had reinforced her decision to become an engineer.
But her greatest regret was that she had not finished her degree. She had met David Keegan halfway through her final year of studying, and part of the course had involved her being sent on placements to civil engineering projects to gain practical experience. David had disliked her working in a predominantly male environment. In hindsight she could see that he had revealed signs of his obsessive and jealous nature before their wedding in Las Vegas three months after they had met in a bar where she had worked as a waitress to supplement her student grant.
She’d been flattered by the attention from a good-looking sports star and her romance with David had been a whirlwind affair. After they had married he had persuaded her to drop out of university so that she could travel with him when he played international matches with the England cricket team.
Orla smiled at the waiter who had replaced her uneaten starter with a plate of seafood risotto. Unfortunately her appetite hadn’t improved and her thoughts were still on the past.
It had always been her intention to go back to university to finish her studies and qualify as a civil engineer but by the end of her marriage her self-confidence had been in tatters. She’d left with nothing but a few of her clothes, none of which had been bought with David’s money. Earning an income had
been vital, but her only work experience was bar work or as an office assistant during her gap year after she’d left school.
The additional worry about her mother’s medical bills had prompted her to take an intensive secretarial course, after which she had been offered a job as a secretary with a construction company, Mayall’s. Her knowledge of civil engineering had proved useful and she had quickly been promoted to the role of PA to the company’s director. However, she had been fired from her job when she’d had to take an extended period of time off to rush to her mother’s hospital bedside in America. Since then she had been turned down for every job she’d applied for, and now her financial situation was at crisis point and her self-confidence had taken another battering.
Eight years ago Torre’s rejection had made her feel worthless. He was still waiting now for her to reply to his question. ‘I assume you do work,’ he drawled, ‘unless your living costs are funded by someone else.’
Orla looked across the table at him. He was so handsome that he made her heart clench, so arrogantly self-assured that her brief spurt of determination to stick up for herself withered and died. ‘I don’t have a job currently,’ she said flatly.
His eyes gleamed like cold steel. ‘And yet Giuseppe mentioned that you live in a highly sought-after area of London. How can you afford to live at an address in Chelsea when you do not work?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ she said coolly. She had not told Giuseppe that she’d sold the luxurious apartment he had given her mother as part of the divorce settlement so that she could pay off some of Kimberly’s debts.
Deep down, Orla was shaking at her temerity in answering Torre back, and she tensed, waiting for him to lose his temper as David had invariably done if she had ever disagreed with him. But he said nothing, and she could almost believe that she had seen a flicker of reluctant respect in his eyes.
The discovery that her mother had taken out a mortgage on the Chelsea apartment had been another blow. She had hoped to use the money from the sale to cover Kimberley’s medical expenses at a hospital in Chicago where she had been receiving treatment ever since she had suffered a stroke that had almost killed her. But there was no point explaining the situation to Torre. He had made it clear that he despised her mother and Orla knew he would not feel any sympathy.
Jules finished his conversation with Giuseppe and turned his head towards her. ‘You haven’t eaten much. Are you feeling unwell again? That was a nasty virus you contracted last week.’
Jules was such a good friend. Orla gave him a grateful smile. ‘I’m fine.’
Against her will, her eyes darted to Torre and his sardonic expression infuriated her. But Jules seemed oblivious to the simmering tension. He glanced across the table at Torre. ‘You and Orla must have a lot to catch up on after eight years.’
‘I was interested to know what job Orla does but she has informed me that she doesn’t work,’ Torre said drily.
‘I hope she explained that what happened with her previous employer was not her fault.’ Jules quickly sprang to her defence. He turned to Giuseppe. ‘Orla is a very good secretary and she is ideally suitable for the position of PA to the audit manager of ARC UK, but her application was rejected by the managing director, Richard Fraser. I am certain that Orla would be an asset to the company if you would give her a chance to prove her worth.’
Orla felt uncomfortable when Giuseppe gave her a shrewd look. ‘It is not a chairman’s role to interfere with decisions made by senior executives, except in rare circumstances,’ he murmured. ‘I like Richard Fraser and respect his judgement. That said, I would like to help you, Orla. You are my stepdaughter and I am delighted that you wish to work for the company. But I am no longer in charge of ARC. I intend to make a formal announcement and give a press statement at the company’s centenary party that I am stepping down from my role as joint Chairman and CEO in favour of my son. I began the legal process of handing the company over to Torre a few weeks ago while I was in hospital, suffering from pneumonia. My illness forced me to accept that I am getting older, and it is time for a younger man with more energy and new ideas to lead ARC into the future.’
Around the table everyone turned their heads to look at Giuseppe when he rose to his feet and picked up his wine glass. ‘I would like to propose a toast to Torre. I am certain that under his leadership ARC will continue to flourish and expand.’
There was a scrape of chairs on the stone terrace as everyone stood up and raised their glasses. Orla murmured her congratulations, but her heart had plummeted when Giuseppe had made his announcement. She had let herself believe that she would be able to persuade her stepfather to give her a job at ARC UK. But Giuseppe, who had only ever been kind to her, had handed the company over to his son and heir—and Torre was as friendly towards her as a rattlesnake.
When everyone had resumed their seats, Jules leaned across the table and spoke to Torre. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would intervene on Orla’s behalf and tell Richard Fraser to offer her the job she applied for. If you read her CV you will see that she has the right qualifications.’
‘I cannot promise anything. Recruitment is dealt with by HR,’ Torre said smoothly. ‘But I suppose I can spare five minutes to look at Orla’s CV.’
She wanted to tell him not to bother. It would save them both time because she was damned sure that Torre would not give her a job. She didn’t even want to be a PA. She did not enjoy office work but it was the only thing she was qualified to do. Even if she found the confidence to go back to university for the final year of her degree in civil engineering, she could not afford the fees or the lack of income while she studied. She had to have a job so that she could pay her mother’s medical expenses, and she couldn’t risk throwing away the tiny chance that Torre might employ her.
‘I assume you have your CV with you?’ he said.
‘Yes.’ She fished in her handbag and took out the document. Torre reached across the table to take it from her and their hands brushed. It had only been a fleeting touch of his skin against hers, but Orla caught her breath.
His mouth curled in a cynical smile that made her feel suddenly furious. What right did he have to look at her as if she had crawled out from beneath a rock? Her only crime had been to sleep with him. She had naively mistaken lust for something deeper, but love was an illusion, she thought bleakly. Eight years ago Torre had only wanted her body, but she had been a foolish eighteen-year-old and for one magical night she had believed in love at first sight. A few years later she had thought she loved David but he had treated her badly.
Once again her eyes were drawn to Torre and she found him watching her with an indefinable expression in his steel-grey gaze that sent confused signals down to the molten core of her, right there between her legs, so that she pressed her trembling thighs together. He knew, damn him, she thought as shame swept in a hot tide across her cheeks. He knew that she was fighting her awareness of him. Something in his smouldering gaze made her think that he was remembering how he had almost kissed her when he had found her alone on the driveway.
‘Meet me in the library in twenty minutes to discuss your CV,’ he said abruptly as he rose to his feet. ‘If you can convince me that you have skills that would be useful to the company I will consider passing your folder over to HR.’
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement but at least he hadn’t dismissed her outright. ‘Thank you.’ She tensed when Jules placed his hand over hers where it was lying on the tablecloth.
‘I promised you that everything would be all right, didn’t I, chérie?’
Orla was conscious that Torre’s eyes had narrowed and she flushed guiltily even though she had done nothing to feel guilty about. She wanted to snatch her hand back, certain that she hadn’t imagined a possessive note in Jules’s voice which left her feeling confused. It had been a mistake to come to Villa Romano, she thought as she watched Torre stride away. She had a sense of foreboding, a feeling that she was set on a dangerous path and
there was no going back.
CHAPTER THREE
TORRE WAS AWARE of the moment Orla entered the library even though his back was facing the door and she made no sound. His skin tightened as he discerned the subtle scent of her perfume; a light, floral fragrance with notes of jasmine and something elusive that reminded him of a sultry, summer’s night a long time ago.
Once, when his father had still been married to Kimberly, he’d arrived at Villa Romano from a business trip and learned that he had missed Orla by an hour. She had been in Amalfi to visit her mother but had left to catch a flight back to England. Torre had assured himself that he had no desire to meet Orla again. But when he had walked into the library—where, according to his father, Orla had preferred to spend most of her time, instead of lying on a sunbed by the pool and flicking through gossip magazines, which invariably was how her mother had occupied herself—he had inhaled the faint, lingering scent of her perfume and his body had clenched hard.
Now, years after that incident, he was once again standing in the library and his senses were tantalised by Orla’s perfume. Thank God he hadn’t kissed her earlier, Torre thought grimly. He could not rationalise the crazy impulse he’d felt to bundle her into his car and whisk her away to his house in Ravello.
He had admitted to himself that he had been mildly curious to see her again after so many years. But when he had found her standing next to his car he’d been unprepared for the fierce hunger that had clawed like a wild beast inside him as she’d turned around, a slender figure in a muted green dress made of a silky material that had caressed her small, high breasts and the soft curves of her hips. Her wide-brimmed hat had shaded her face, and her eyes had been hidden behind her sunglasses. The overall effect had been one of understated elegance, and in the sultry heat of an Italian summer’s day she had looked as deliciously cool and refined as gin and tonic with ice, and as fragrant as an English rose.
Hired for Romano's Pleasure Page 3