CHAPTER FIVE
ORLA CLIMBED OUT of the pool and walked over to where Jules was lying on a sun lounger. Usually she found that swimming allowed her to clear her mind. She had lost count of how many laps of the pool she had swum, but all that hard physical exercise had been in vain because Torre still dominated her thoughts.
The late afternoon sun blazed down from a cloudless sky and she moved a lounger into the shade of a parasol. ‘I remember a few years ago Giuseppe told me that Torre had become engaged,’ she said to Jules, trying to sound casual. ‘Why didn’t he marry his fiancée?’
Jules put down the book he had been reading. ‘He was engaged to a beautiful Italian girl called Marisa Valetti but she called off the wedding. Torre never said why she’d decided not to marry him, but it’s my belief that he has never got over Marisa. Giuseppe is always on at Torre to find a wife and produce an heir, but although he has plenty of mistresses he doesn’t appear to be interested in settling down.’
After a moment Jules said diffidently, ‘Did something happen between you and Torre years ago?’
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘I noticed that he kept looking at you during lunch as if he is interested in you.’
Orla hesitated. She had wondered if Torre might have told his stepbrother about how she had behaved like a slut when they had met years ago, but Jules clearly knew nothing of her night of shame.
Jules had been his usual friendly self while they had spent the afternoon lazing by the pool and he hadn’t given any indication that he was in love with her. It had been Torre who had put the idea into her head, probably because he wanted to spoil her friendship with Jules. Torre had made it plain that he did not trust her motives, she thought grimly.
‘Eight years ago Torre despised my mother for being a gold-digger who had married his father for money, and his opinion of me was no better.’
‘Why did he think badly of you? You had no influence on your mother’s behaviour.’
‘I suppose I was tainted by association,’ Orla said flatly. In fact, she had often wondered why Torre had been so furious when he’d discovered that she was Kimberly’s daughter. He had accused her of deliberately deceiving him. But the truth was that he had taken her breath away at the party when he’d walked across the room towards her, his eyes fixed on her face and a starkly possessive expression on his chiselled features. Her blood had thundered in her veins. She’d been unable to think and her tongue had tied itself in knots when he had halted in front of her.
Memories crowded her mind and she gave up trying to hold them back. She stretched out on the lounger and her mind flew back to that day...
* * *
Torre held out his hand. He was so tall—Orla guessed he must be three or four inches over six feet—and she had to tilt her head to look at his face.
‘We have not had the pleasure of meeting before,’ he said in a voice as rich and decadent as molten chocolate. ‘I’m Torre Romano.’
He clasped her hand in his and she noted how pale her fingers were in contrast to his olive-gold skin. His dark tan suggested that he must spend a lot of time outside. The pads of his fingertips felt rough against her skin, and his broad shoulders and the defined musculature of his chest and abdomen visible through his fine white silk shirt were another sign that he did a physically demanding job. Orla remembered that her mother had said that Torre was a civil engineer.
He still retained his hold of her hand and she felt electricity shoot through her fingers and up her arm. ‘And you are?’ he murmured.
‘Orla... Orla Brogan.’
‘Orla,’ he said softly. His husky accent made her name sound like a caress. ‘You are English, I think, but I haven’t heard that name before.’
‘My father was Irish and he gave me his mother’s name.’ She flushed, feeling gauche. She had no idea why she’d told Torre such a personal fact. Her name was a precious link to the man she had loved more than anyone.
‘You spoke of your father in the past tense. Does that mean...’
‘He died when I was a child.’
‘I understand how devastating it is to lose a parent,’ he said gently. ‘My mother died when I was six.’
She sensed he was surprised that he had spoken of his loss, and she wondered if he missed his mother as much as she still missed her father. But then Torre smiled and her head spun. ‘Your father gave you a beautiful name, Or-la.’ His accent elongated the first syllable. ‘It is almost as beautiful as you.’
Was he flirting with her? She didn’t know how to respond. Nothing had prepared her for a man like Torre—stunningly handsome, sexy and self-assured, he was a million miles away from the few boyfriends she’d dated. She knew that at nearly nineteen and still a virgin she was a late developer compared to most of her friends but she’d had an unsettled childhood, constantly moving around Europe as her mother flitted between lovers. Orla was determined that she did not want to rely on a man to keep her, like Kimberley had always done. Instead she focused on studying for her exams to get to university and had little time or interest in boyfriends.
But she was overwhelmed by Torre. He filled her senses and evoked a longing in her that she did not fully understand but it frightened her with its intensity. She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he subtly tightened his hold on her fingers and stroked his thumb over the pulse that was going crazy in her wrist.
‘Your glass is empty. Can I get you another drink?’
She glanced across the room to where her mother’s friends, who had been on the same flight as her from London to Italy, were attracting attention as they teetered on their high heels, almost falling out of their low-cut dresses. They had been drinking champagne all afternoon while they’d helped Kimberly to get ready for the party and Orla had been dispatched on numerous errands.
She looked back at Torre. ‘Actually, I was just about to go up to my room.’
He looked surprised. ‘I did not realise that you are staying here at Villa Romano. How haven’t I seen you before now?’
‘I only arrived today, and I’ve been busy running around after Kimberly.’ Ever since she was a young child Orla had been encouraged to use her mother’s first name rather than call her ‘Mum’.
Torre’s face darkened at the mention of Kimberly. ‘Oh, you are one of her retinue of assistants, are you? I had the pleasure of meeting my new stepmother earlier,’ he said sardonically. ‘God knows why my father has married an avaricious trollop like Kimberly Connaught. It’s quite obvious that she married him for his money. I can spot a gold-digger when I meet one.’ His voice was heavy with cynicism.
‘I...’ Orla hesitated, afraid that if she told him Kimberly was her mother he might feel embarrassed that he had been rude about her. And in truth she was embarrassed by her mother.
He smiled again and she forgot everything as she stared at him and thought how unbelievably gorgeous he was.
‘Don’t go,’ he murmured. ‘Will you dance with me?’
He led her from the crowded room outside to the terrace where music drifted through the open French doors. She went helplessly into his arms and when he drew her against his big, hard body she could not disguise the tremor that ran through her. His grey eyes were soft, like woodsmoke, as he muttered something in Italian. She stared back at him, unable to move, unable to deny him when he bent his head towards her and claimed her mouth.
His kiss was like nothing she had ever experienced before. And there in the moonlight, beneath a velvet night sky pinpricked with diamond stars, he exploded in her heart. There was no other way to describe the fierce connection she felt with him.
He lifted his mouth from hers and smiled at her low moan of protest. ‘I think you must be a witch disguised as an angel, Orla,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Will you come with me?’
She did not even ask where he was taking her when he drove her away from Villa Romano. The twisting road climbed higher and higher until he stopped the car outside a quaint old farmho
use that seemed to cling to the edge of the cliff. Far below, the huge white orb of the moon was reflected on the sea.
‘One day I plan to build myself a new, modern villa here,’ Torre said when he took her hand and led her into the farmhouse. But she barely noticed her surroundings. She was blinded by him, made dizzy by his masculine beauty, and she was shaken by her reaction to him. For the first time in her life she felt the burning heat of desire, and he must have seen something in her eyes; an invitation, a hunger that was reflected in his smoke-soft grey gaze so that when he drew her towards him, she leaned against him and made no demur when he swept her up into his arms and carried her up the narrow staircase to his bedroom...
* * *
‘Orla, you’re not asleep, are you? I...want to talk to you about something.’
Jules’s voice pulled Orla from the past and she opened her eyes to find him looking at her. He seemed strangely tense, she noted.
‘Talk to me about what?’
He did not reply and when she followed his gaze across the pool terrace she saw Giuseppe walk across the tiled floor and sit down at a table shaded by a parasol. Torre accompanied his father, and Orla’s heart missed a beat when he looked over at her. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses but she sensed that his gaze roamed over her green one-piece swimsuit as if he were mentally stripping her.
She was suddenly supremely aware of her body. Her breasts felt heavy and she did not need to glance down to know that the hard points of her nipples were visible beneath her clingy swimsuit. The sun felt hot on her back and her hair, which she had tied in a long braid, felt heavy lying across one shoulder. She could not stop herself from staring at Torre and once again her mind was flooded with memories...
* * *
She had borrowed a dress from her mother to wear to the party, after Kimberly had said she couldn’t wear her jeans when the other guests would be dressed in haute couture. Most of Kimberly’s clothes had been too revealing for Orla’s taste, but she’d found one dress of deep green silk with narrow shoulder straps and a slim skirt that fell to just above her knees. She’d twisted her hair into a loose chignon, and refused her mother’s offer of high-heeled sandals in favour of her own flat ballet pumps. Kimberly had also lent her a pair of emerald earrings that had apparently been a gift to her from Giuseppe, but Orla had been so afraid of losing one that she’d taken them off and put them in her evening purse.
She had never taken much interest in her appearance before, but when Torre set her down on her feet in his bedroom and simply looked at her as if he could hardly believe she was real, she felt a heady sense of feminine triumph. Slowly he drew the straps of her dress down her arms and bared her breasts. The harsh sound of his breath catching in his throat made something tug hard in the pit of her stomach. ‘You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,’ he said hoarsely.
She trembled then, made weak by the desire that turned his eyes to molten silver. And when he touched her, stroked his hands over her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, the sensations he created were so exquisite that she shivered. ‘Bellissima,’ he murmured, before he bent his head and closed his lips around one straining nipple. The thin cry she gave was drowned out by the thunder of her heart as she went willingly to his bed.
* * *
‘Orla.’ Once again Jules’s voice jerked Orla back to the present. ‘Damn. It will have to wait until later,’ he muttered.
She frowned. ‘What will have to wait?’
‘The conversation I was hoping to have with you.’ He looked at her closely. ‘Are you feeling all right? Your face is very pink.’
Orla was burning up, as memories of the night she had spent with Torre years ago collided with the reality that he was sitting a few feet away from her. She dared not look over at him again, but some sixth sense told her that he was as aware of her as she was of him.
‘I’m hot,’ she said, jumping up from the lounger. ‘I’m going to have another swim.’
She ran across to the pool and dived in. The water was cold on her heated skin and she welcomed the sting of it as she swam length after length in an effort to alleviate the shameful flood of desire that made every muscle in her body ache. When she was finally exhausted she floated on her back for a while, delaying getting out of the pool in the hope that Torre might leave. But when she climbed up the steps, her heart sank as she saw that Jules had moved to sit at the table with his stepfather and stepbrother.
It would seem rude if she did not join them, but first she dragged a towel around her shoulders to hide her body’s traitorous response to Torre before she walked over to join the men. Unfortunately the only vacant chair was next to Torre, and Jules and Giuseppe, who were sitting at the other side of the table, were deep in conversation.
‘You are like a little fish,’ Torre murmured when she sat down beside him.
She tensed as his sensual voice evoked a molten heat inside her. Somehow she managed to reply coolly, ‘Covered in scales, you mean?’
His mouth crooked in a quick smile—almost as if he couldn’t help himself. ‘You know I didn’t mean that. Your skin is silky smooth.’ He stretched out his hand and stroked his fingers over her thigh. It was the lightest touch and barely lasted more than a few seconds, but Orla felt as though he had branded her and she couldn’t control the betraying tremor that ran through her.
She glanced at Jules and Giuseppe. There was no reason for her to feel relieved that they hadn’t noticed what had just happened. Nothing had happened, she told herself frustratedly. Torre teased her because he knew he would get a reaction from her. Thank God the towel she’d wrapped around her hid her painfully hard nipples, which were chafing against the wet material of her swimsuit.
‘You are a strong swimmer despite your slight build,’ he commented.
‘When I was younger I belonged to a swimming club and I competed at district and national championships. I’d have loved to carry on training and perhaps even competed at Olympic level.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Torre sounded genuinely curious.
She shrugged. ‘My mother’s husband at the time had an indoor swimming pool in his house where I used to train. But after Kimberly left Roger Connaught for a Spanish lover, we moved to Madrid and then she had another boyfriend somewhere else—I don’t remember where—but there wasn’t an opportunity for me to join a swimming club because we moved around a lot.’
‘How is your mother these days?’ Giuseppe had finished talking to Jules and overheard Orla’s remark. ‘I am surprised that I have not seen photos of Kimberly or read about her in the newspapers recently,’ he said somewhat drily.
Orla pictured her mother the last time she had visited her at the hospital in Chicago. Kimberly had been painfully thin and fragile following the devastating stroke which had had life-changing consequences. Orla had never been close to her mother but she could not help but feel desperately sorry for her situation. Kimberly’s hospital bills were mounting daily, but Orla did not want to admit in front of Torre that her mother had long since spent the generous divorce settlement Giuseppe had given her. Neither would she ask Giuseppe for money to help pay for Kimberly’s medical expenses. Her hope that Giuseppe might give her a job had been dashed now that Torre was in charge of ARC.
‘Kimberly is in America at the moment,’ she said noncommittally.
‘How about you, Orla?’ Giuseppe looked from her to his son. ‘Torre, I understand that the job Orla applied for at ARC UK is no longer available. Are there any other positions within the company that might be suitable for her?’
‘As a matter of fact, there is.’
Orla swung her startled gaze to Torre, frantically telling herself not to get her hopes up. There wouldn’t really be a job. He was playing mind games with her.
‘The role I have in mind is only temporary, but I’ll view it as a trial and if you do well I might be able to find you a permanent position at ARC,’ Torre told her smoothly. ‘You will be working directly
for me as my general assistant, and your first task will be to accompany me on a business trip to Dubai.’
‘Surely you already have a PA?’ She tried to hide her disappointment. He was the most senior executive in the company after Giuseppe, and soon to become CEO, and he was bound to have a personal assistant. She’d known that Torre would not seriously offer her a job.
‘I have an excellent PA called Elaine—who is English, coincidentally. Elaine is based at ARC’s headquarters in Rome, but she has a five-year-old son and an Italian husband and her family commitments mean that she does not travel abroad with me,’ he explained.
‘I also employ an assistant called Renzo who works from my office in Naples and accompanies me when I visit construction projects in Italy and abroad. In his spare time Renzo is a keen cyclist, but he recently fell off his bike during a race and sustained multiple fractures, meaning that he will be off work for two months. The Dubai trip is primarily so that I can attend the official opening of a skyscraper that ARC was commissioned to build. It will be a prestigious event with worldwide press coverage, and I anticipate it will be a good opportunity to promote the company and secure new commissions.
‘Your experience as PA to the director of a building company will be useful, and you have already demonstrated that you have a good understanding of the construction industry.’
Orla searched Torre’s face for signs that he was amusing himself by pretending to get her hopes up, and she wondered if he could sense her panic when it dawned on her that he was actually serious about her working for him as his assistant.
‘We’ll fly out tomorrow. You’ll need an evening gown to wear to the evening reception but you can shop for a dress and anything else you need when we arrive in Dubai. I’ll fill you in on everything you’ll need to know during the flight.’ His brows rose when Orla stared at him in stunned silence. ‘Any questions?’
Hired for Romano's Pleasure Page 6