Innocent in the Italian's Possession

by Janette Kenny

  “You should have foregone this bit of shopping,” she said as Stefano escorted her to the sleek silver car that had attracted a small crowd. “The delay will make you late for your business meeting.”

  “It’s nothing that can’t be made up in driving time,” he said as he helped her into the butter-soft leather passenger seat and then quickly slid behind the wheel.

  The thought of racing to their destination sent alarm zinging along her nerves. But as the car sped along the highway, she found herself enjoying the view of the islands strung into the Ligurian Sea like emeralds floating on the foam-edged blue waters.

  She supposed to any passerby they looked like a couple out enjoying the evening. But that was just an illusion.

  There was nothing casual about her being with Stefano tonight. This was pure business. The question was where would the night end? With her free of his hold, or more firmly caught in his grasp?

  She instinctively lifted a hand to her neck, a gesture that had become habit when she was anxious. But toying with the necklace would only draw attention to her nervousness and Stefano would surely use that to his advantage.

  Her hand fluttered back to her lap. “Did you say your company offices are in Livorno?”

  “The offices and the shipyard,” he said. “The hull on Canto Di Mare’s new thirty-five meter yacht is finished and waiting for my approval.”

  “Another hulking superyacht to crowd the Mediterranean?”

  He laughed, a rich baritone that had the power to soothe her tense nerves. “I see you have adopted my father’s view on big pleasure ships.”

  “We held much the same beliefs,” she admitted.

  “Such as?”

  “More of the wealthy should put their money to better use than on sating their own selfish pleasures.” She glanced his way and noted the tightening of his artfully sculpted lips and narrowing of his mesmerizing eyes. “Or on the proliferation of unnecessary diversions.”

  Despite the warm breeze riffling her hair and caressing her skin, she felt the chill as he closed off from her. She’d clearly struck a raw nerve by bringing up money.

  “Not all miliadario have a philanthropic heart.”

  “More is the pity.” When she thought of how much good just a portion of that extravagance would do, she grew angry.

  “I suppose you discussed this issue with my father?” he asked, the bite in his tone hinting his anger was rising as well.

  “I didn’t have to,” she said.

  “Meaning?”

  “Your father is a generous, caring man,” she said instead, and that truth seemed to make him all the more angry.

  Gemma turned her attention to the harbor and managed to draw air into her lungs. Very few fishing boats could be seen amid the staggering array of yachts and trawlers.

  The old way of life was nearly gone, and with it she feared a good deal of those compassionate values were disappearing as well. The same could be said for the good men like her father and Cesare, too.

  She had felt comfortable with Cesare from the start. He had been the friend she could talk with about her deepest fears. He listened. He applauded her bravery and her compassion.

  She loved him. Respected him. She’d do all she could to protect him.

  But who would protect her from Stefano Marinetti and his smoldering sensuality?

  Stefano pulled his car into a slot and tossed her a teasing look that was at odds with his earlier pique. His rapier fire switch in emotions kept her on edge. That was likely just what he wanted to do.

  After all, she was a very small fish in a big sea and he was the whale who could swallow her whole.

  “We have much to do in a short period of time,” he said as he unfolded his long, lean form from the car then collected the bags the designer had given him.

  He must expect her to change clothes here. What she wouldn’t give for a shower!

  “I assume you have a list you wish me to attend to,” she said as she quit the car, not about to wait for him to open her door.

  The deep crease between his eyes hinted he disliked her independence. “Most of the daily duties have been seen to by my staff here. All that is left for you to do is retrieve messages and see to the necessary correspondence.”

  Typical secretarial duties that anyone could have seen to during the day, including a temp. It hadn’t been necessary for him to drag her along. No, there was another reason why he’d monopolized her time. She feared it had something to do with Cesare and her part in his life.

  If he’d only spent time with his dear father these past years he wouldn’t be left in the dark now! But he’d made his decision to leave the family business and the division cost Cesare untold grief for he’d lost not just one child but two. One had been the result of an accident. The other had been an intentional separation from the family—a split that was nearly unheard of in Italy.

  Here sons and often daughters carried on the family tradition generation after generation. It had been the way for her family, with Emilio taking over their papa’s fishing business while she would one day inherit the old inn in Manarolo.

  This passing of power was how it should have been with Stefano Marinetti. When his brother died, he should have assumed that role within the company.

  But he’d walked out on his father.

  He’d shunned tradition and his famiglia.

  And what did that say about the man who held his family in so little regard?

  He was self-absorbed. Stefano seemed to care for one thing—himself.

  Now he was in charge of Marinetti. He’d likely change a company that was steeped in tradition. All to leave his indelible mark.

  If not for her promise to Cesare, she’d leave now. But she was honor bound to stay. She couldn’t trust Stefano with Rachel’s care, not for a moment.

  With her gown slung over one broad shoulder, he guided her into the new building that was open and spacious. Of course it would look larger since it was past hours and the employees had gone home for the day.

  She gave the workstations they passed an enviable glance. New computers, new phones and ergonomic chairs that screamed comfort. But then Stefano had the money to splurge on such niceties.

  Cesare had a desperately ill child to provide for. He had obligations to his family. He didn’t put money before honor!

  Gemma stared out of the expansive stretch of glass windows at the sea and sighed. How different things would be if Stefano was as caring and passionate about life and family as his father was.

  She would’ve found him irresistible. She may actually have given in to the desire that simmered between them, only because she would’ve found it impossible to say no.

  If he was like Cesare, it would be oh so easy to fall in love with him.

  But he wasn’t like his father.

  Stefano was an arrogant aristocrat. No, make that an arrogant, selfish aristocrat.

  Men like him didn’t marry poor working girls like her. They made them their mistresses.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head and bit back a bitter laugh over her errant thoughts. “I am tired. It’s been a long day.” A long trying day in his company.

  “It is far from over.” He pushed into an elegantly appointed suite that was clearly his domain and draped the garment bag over a leather sofa. “If you wish to freshen up before you dress, my bagno privata is through that door.”

  She flicked a glance in that direction and nodded before admiring the vista afforded from the windows again. “The view is fabulous.”

  He shrugged off her observation. “It is never boring.”

  How typical of the playboy who tired of things far too quickly! She trailed him across the room and through a door, anxious for him to conclude his business here.

  For she’d not be able to breathe easy until she’d satisfied that first payment on the awful loan she’d been forced to admit to. Once that was over, she’d be nothing more than his secretary until Ce
sare returned.

  He entered a smaller yet still spacious room where an elegant teak desk sat with an equally gorgeous view of the harbor.

  “My personal assistant’s office.” He pointed to an inbox overflowing with envelopes. “Please sort through these and bring me the ones that need my immediate attention.”

  She looked at the pile that likely had accumulated for over a week. “Of course.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  With that he was off, his long legs carrying his lean, enticing form through the door and out of sight.

  Gemma gave the stack of correspondence a glance. It was thrice the size she handled for Cesare every day, but at least the time would pass quickly.

  But before she tackled this task, she wanted to shower and be ready to leave when Stefano returned.

  She walked the length of his office en route to the bagno. Again she was struck with the Spartan elegance surrounding her.

  A colorful Laurus Murano vase here. An Alberto Sughi oil there. And the furnishings…They were classic and high quality.

  It didn’t dawn on her that she and Stefano had similar tastes until she made to flip the lock to ensure privacy. There was none, just a simple catch on the bathroom door.

  She hesitated, torn between refreshing herself with a shower and risking being caught in the nude by Stefano.

  Gemma bit her lower lip and checked her watch. He wouldn’t return for nearly thirty minutes. She’d be done way before then.

  Without giving herself time to change her mind, she undressed and stepped into la doccia which was certainly large enough for two.

  Standing in the shower with warm water pelting her tired body was a refreshing break after a tense day. She did not want to think of Stefano, yet even as warm water pelted her tense muscles she imagined his gaze caressing her. Probing magnetic eyes that could adore and scold in turn.

  It annoyed her that thoughts of him invaded her private moments. Couldn’t she block him from her mind at all?

  She stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a thick, thirsty towel that swallowed her. These had to have been specially ordered for Stefano’s big frame, and just thinking of him stripped to the skin and wet left her trembling with want.

  How could she possibly desire a man she didn’t respect?

  A brisk toweling and she quickly donned her new teal dress. She hated that he’d purchased it, but she loved the design. She’d never owned anything this exquisite.

  How could something so simple be so sensual? She didn’t know and surely didn’t wish to project that aura around Stefano.

  She’d repay him for the gown, even though it would take time. She would not be beholden to him.

  Gemma quit the bathing room to find Stefano lounging in the doorway. His hot gaze roamed the length of her slowly, pausing at her mouth, her breasts and the juncture of the thighs.

  Desire speared low in her belly, more intense than she’d ever felt before. She tightened her hold on the door, knowing she should look away but finding it impossible to tear her gaze from his magnetic stare.

  Even the air was charged with an energy that make her skin sizzle and burn as if she’d brushed too close to the sun.

  This was lust. Bold. Sensual. Tempting.

  Oh, so very tempting.

  And dangerous.

  Stefano Marinetti was the embodiment of seductive Italian males that one read about, only on a pinnacle above the others. This was the primo playboy who always had a bevy of woman lusting after him.

  She’d quickly learned that he’d refined flirting to a fine art. He could adore every inch of the woman he was with and make her feel as if she were the most desired woman in the world. As if she were the only woman in the world for him.

  He was the kind of man young girls dreamed about, and the one that mammas and papas feared.

  He’d take what he wanted from a woman, and toss her aside when he tired of her.

  “Bella. You take my breath away.”

  “Thank you,” she said, finding it difficult to breathe normally around him. “But I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

  “Not in the least.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that statement. In true Italian form, he could argue fiercely one moment and revert into the flirt the next.

  Now that was an image she didn’t wish to conjure up about him. But the idea was in her head and growing stronger, thanks to the sensual energy that crackled in the air, leaving her tingling from head to toe.

  “I am a lucky man to have you as my dinner companion tonight,” he said.

  How could he make a business dinner sound intimate? A business dinner that was a step above blackmail for her? How could he for a moment make her forget the dire importance of this night to her future?

  “Shouldn’t we be leaving for Viareggio?”

  “There is something I must do first, something I have wanted to do since we met.”

  Stefano pushed away from the doorway and crossed to her with the grace of a jungle cat on the prowl, all sleek muscle and feral energy.

  This time there was no doubt he made love to her with his eyes. There was no doubt that she saw her own needs reflected in the smoldering depths of his own.

  “What would that be?” she managed to ask, holding her ground because she simply couldn’t force her feet to move.

  He reached for her, threading the fingers of both hands through her hair to curve over her scalp. The move was as much an anchor as a caress. She knew he meant to kiss her.

  Though her mind was screaming at her to run, her body was instinctively bowing into his.

  “No,” she breathed, a feeble refusal at best, but she found it difficult to do more as his mouth swept down to hers.

  Not surprising, he didn’t listen to her.

  That first crush of his mouth on hers sent new sensations rocketing through her. She swayed, certain she’d have crumbled if he hadn’t been holding her close.

  Dio mio! He kissed her with a ravenous intensity that thrilled and terrified her, for she knew if he unleashed his sensual appetite on her she’d be powerless to stop him.

  More, she’d be powerless to stop herself from surrendering to the promise in his kiss, his touch. In the strong arms that held her fast.

  She slammed both hands against Stefano’s broad chest to end this madness. But instead of pushing him away as she’d intended, her palms lost their purchase on his silken shirt.

  “Bella,” he breathed, holding her fast and deepening the kiss.

  Her splayed fingers pressed against the breadth of his chest. He was so big. So powerful.

  Touching him was like touching the sun. Sizzling, erotic heat spiraled through her.

  She’d surely burn to a crisp if she stayed too close. But her attempt to push him away was feeble at best. She couldn’t think of anything but the intense pleasure engulfing her.

  A low groan rumbled from him. He pulled her flush against his body without a break in the kiss that was now singing through her senses with the passion of an aria.

  She wasn’t a neophyte to kissing, but she’d waited all her life to have a man make love to her with his mouth like this. This slow dueling of tongues and adoration of lips. Unchained. Earthy. Passionate.

  She was awash in a froth of longing with him the center of her universe, the sun that fired her blood. Her arms slipped around him as if to anchor him close now.

  Not that she needed to.

  One of his hands cradled her head while the other made a long, leisurely caress that was so seductively gentle it brought tears to her eyes. She’d never been touched so emotionally before. It thrilled and terrified her, and like a moth to the flame she kept inching closer for more.

  And he gave her more. Not in a bold push as she’d expected but a more languid exploration of her mouth and body—an adoration really.

  His lips sipped at the corner of her mouth before he lifted his head. She groaned in protest of the k
iss ending too soon and looked up into his eyes.

  The glimmer of desire was fading, replaced by a harder glint that smacked of mockery. Suddenly she was all too aware of standing in his embrace, her breasts pressed to his chest, her belly flush with the flat planes of his abdomen, and the hard evidence of his desire pulsing between them.

  “I want fare l’amore and so you do,” he said, gently pushing her from him and gliding a finger down her flushed cheek. “But we must return to Viareggio and our appointed dinner. Later, hmm?”

  It took a moment for her dazed brain to register what he was implying. She scrambled out of his reach, hating his cool assumption that she was his for the taking now. Hating herself even more for letting this situation spiral out of control.

  “No, not later,” she said. “Not ever.”

  The mouth that had moved with sensuous intent on hers thinned to a hard line. The amorous glint in his eyes died, replaced with a flash of annoyance before narrowing on her.

  “We will see,” he said.

  She shook her head in answer, for it was pointless to argue with him.

  He was a playboy, arrogantly sure of his prowess and blessed with a beautiful face and physique of the gods. He was rich and sought after and likely believed every woman he met would gladly crawl into his bed.

  She’d been too awed by the sensations he’d wrought to consider he’d take her eagerness to kiss him as a sign that she wanted more. But what did she really know about seduction?

  Stefano shrugged into a suit jacket, looking for all the world like a demanding tycoon again. “We must leave now.”

  “Of course.”

  She suffered his hand at the small of her back as he guided her out of the building. She certainly didn’t want to feel this burning pull toward him, but she couldn’t squash it, either.

  Yes, the sooner they got this business over with, the sooner she and Stefano could settle into a suitable work arrangement as secretary and boss.

  Then she’d count the days until Cesare returned to the helm and Stefano was nothing more than a memory.

  CHAPTER FIVE