AN HOUR later, Stefano pulled to the curb of the restaurant and set the brake. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He shouldn’t have let his hands learn the contour of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips.
He damned sure shouldn’t have enjoyed every second she’d been in his arms. But he had, and the only thing that soothed his pride was the fact she’d become as lost in the moment as he.
Now she sat as far from him as possible and stared pensively out the window, quiet and withdrawn, as if bitten by guilt for nearly succumbing to lust. It made the drive back to Viareggio overly long.
But then he was not of a mood to engage in chitchat, either. His own lack of control vexed him. He’d not been the one to stop. She had.
Her body had instinctively reacted to his, pressed to his and moving in a most delicious rhythm of desire. She couldn’t deny that!
But she’d come to her senses first. He’d become so intoxicated by a woman’s taste and texture that he’d lost focus. He would’ve taken her right then and there.
Her refusal to engage in an affair with him was a jab to his ego. For her withdrawal wasn’t part of the game of pursuit, the age-old attack and parry ritual of courtship that heightened desire.
This was a firm no.
Something far stronger than lust kept her from succumbing to passion. Loyalty to Cesare Marinetti?
He slid her a glance. Did she believe that when his father recovered they would resume their affair? Did she think because his papa was widowed now that she could assert herself into the role of his wife?
The very idea was galling, for this situation with Gemma smacked of another woman who’d had designs on gaining the lion’s share of Marinetti Shipyard.
Before his sister-in-law had got her claws into his brother, she’d been Stefano’s lover at university. He’d never thought to introduce her to his family. But that holiday she’d been alone with nowhere to go.
Bringing her home had been the decent thing to do. She had seen it as the opportunity to better her lot in life.
Once she had realized that Stefano’s brother was the heir, it had taken her merely a week or two at the most to seduce his brother.
Her deceit had taught him a valuable lesson, for though he hadn’t lost his heart to her, he’d certainly lost his head.
But she was far from done with Stefano.
From that point on she’d succeeded in driving a wedge between him and his brother. That had been the major reason he’d left Marinetti Shipyard. He couldn’t tolerate being around her and deal with her lies. He wouldn’t suffer his brother’s distrust of him in business or being around his conniving wife.
His mamma knew the truth, and he suspected his papa did, too, but neither brought it up.
Their new daughter-in-law quickly got with child. The next heir to the shipyard. The first Marinetti grandson which both his parents had doted on.
It had been easier for Stefano to strike out on his own than to cause more strife in his own family. He made his mark and set his own dream for a new shipping company into motion.
But even after the tragic accident that took his brother’s, sister-in-law’s and nephew’s lives he couldn’t return to Marinetti. His father still scoffed at his innovations, and refused to compromise.
Yet here he was, thrust into the role of manager. Forced to contend with another scheming woman who had designs on Marinetti Shipyard.
Did Gemma hope to take his mamma’s place?
It was a possibility Stefano couldn’t ignore for she’d managed to gain a small fortune in a short amount of time. But the stress of keeping up with a young lover and hiding his affair from his wife—no, the world!—had damned near killed his father.
With his mamma dead, there was nothing to stop his papa from easing his grief in Gemma’s arms. Nothing but Stefano.
He couldn’t tolerate his father making Miss Cardone his wife. He couldn’t see his mamma’s memory dishonored so. He’d not stand by while another gold-digger bled a Marinetti dry!
He’d turned his back the last time. He wouldn’t make that mistake again!
Stefano climbed from behind the wheel and nodded to the waiting attendant. A few lights flashed from the line of trim poplars at the side.
He immediately schooled his features, though any damage would already be done. He’d caught the attention of the paparazzi who had staked out the restaurant in hopes that a celebrity would happen by tonight. They typically chose an image that conveyed the greatest emotion and slapped some idiotic caption on it.
The media hounds were a nuisance he’d learned to live with. But Gemma and his father had smoothly evaded any limelight on their trysts to Milan.
Of course up until his mamma’s untimely death, his parents had been free of the paparazzi for ten years. His insides twisted at the memory.
The deaths of his brother and his family had drawn the gossips in hoards and had driven his parents into hiding.
Stefano remembered well how the journalists had camped out on the edge of their property, waiting for the chance to capture their grief. Vultures, all of them.
Since then Stefano had done all in his power to evade publicity as well. Thankfully time had tempered his animosity.
But this business with Gemma had his old resentment bubbling to the surface again. She was the opposite of his sister-in-law in looks and disposition yet was just as cunning and manipulative.
Gemma had awakened passionately fierce emotions in him that he’d vowed never to fall victim to again! Yet hadn’t he done just that when he’d kissed her in his office?
He was not above seducing her to satisfy his lust, but he would not surrender his pride or his head to her.
He wouldn’t let history repeat itself!
Stefano rounded the Alpha Romeo with quick angry strides as an attendant helped Gemma get out. More lights flashed from the perimeter and people on the sidewalk stopped to see what celebrity was dining here tonight.
Gemma cast a frantic glance his way and for a moment he almost felt pity for her. Almost.
He offered his arm out of duty and she latched on to it. Though he had zero respect for her duplicity, he was man enough to admit she was a beautiful, desirable woman. Even without the attention of the paparazzi, heads would have turned toward her.
Sì, their pictures would grace the gossip rags tomorrow. Speculation would be ripe of the identity of his dinner companion.
It was just a matter of time before someone recognized her as his father’s secretary. Then the gossips would question if this was a business dinner, or something more intimate.
“Buonasera, Signor Marinetti!” the host said as Stefano pressed his fingers to Gemma’s slender back to guide her to the podium. “Your private room is ready.”
“Grazie!”
He knew she was a schemer and manipulator, yet his body quickened whenever he touched her. He should be imagining her slaving to repay what she’d stolen instead of picturing her lounging on a bed with her arms reaching for him.
Damning his inability to douse his lust where she was concerned, he hurried her along in the host’s wake down an intimately lighted hall. The telling stiffening of her back proved she was eager to break contact with him as well.
Could she be fighting her own desires? Or was she simply playing hard to get so his indomitable male pride would goad him to pursue her?
She could end up married to his father!
No, he wouldn’t let that happen.
He’d take her first, make her his paramour and make damn sure the world knew it. That was the only way that his father would see her for what she truly was.
His father was old school. He saw no harm in engaging in an affair, but he’d never tolerate his wife or lover doing the same.
The private dining room held just the right ambiance of subdued light and serenate violino drifting in from the main room. It was an area perfectly suited for a lover’s tryst.
Or the cutting business he intended to
finalize tonight.
He smiled and seated Gemma to his right, confident he was in control of the woman and the situation drawing near.
The waiter bustled in, the lines of his broad face carved in a deep smile. “Buonasera, signor and signora. Che cosa volete da bere?”
“Barolo, ten or twelve years old,” Stefano said.
“Excellent choice, signor.” The waiter smiled at Gemma. “Signora?”
“A crodino, please,” Gemma said.
She ordered a bevande analcoliche at this time of night? “Is there another wine or apertif you would prefer?” Stefano asked. “Perhaps a bellini?”
She shook her head. “I rarely drink alcohol.”
But there were occasions, he was sure. So why not share a celebratory drink with him now?
Perhaps there was another reason why she hesitated to imbibe. Perhaps vino loosened her inhibitions. Perhaps she feared she’d lose the tenuous control she’d managed to maintain since they’d left Canto Di Mare.
Perhaps she was remembering the passion that had flared between them when they’d kissed. When his hands had glided over her body. When he’d pulled her close and let her feel the hard evidence of his desire.
Stefano felt the first stirrings of desire in his groin. He usually had far more self-control than that around women, yet with Gemma it seemed nonexistent. Had she had that same effect on his papa?
Likely so. While the old man grew indulgent from his vino, she’d kept her wits by drinking an orange fizz. She’d remained in control while his papa slowly lost his!
Just remembering her role in his father’s life gouged his anger up another notch. But his anger was equally aimed at himself this time.
If only his mamma had told Stefano of her suspicions months ago perhaps a lot of grief and lost revenue could have been avoided.
He would have spoken with his father.
Yes, they would have argued fiercely, for no man cares to admit he was a fool over a woman—even a hot-blooded Italian who lives to love women. If his father would’ve realized what Gemma was after, she wouldn’t have dipped so deeply into Cesare Marinetti’s pockets.
But Stefano had removed himself from his father’s business before his brother’s death. And afterward? Nothing had changed his father’s view of the world. Nothing had opened his eyes to the pollution he was leaving the future generation to clean up.
After Davide’s funeral, his father had taken Stefano aside. “Are you ready to give up playing inventor of eccentric ships and return to the family shipyard?”
That fierce Marinetti pride had kept Stefano from asking his papa if he’d needed or wanted his help. Pride and deep involvement launching a new class of eco-friendly seagoing vessels, he amended.
“No,” he’d said, and walked out of his papa’s life again.
He refused to return to Marinetti Shipyard and be nothing more than a figurehead. He refused to assume his brother’s role and be groomed to one day take over the shipyard. He refused to give up his dream now that it was within his grasp.
He’d never been able to see eye to eye with his papa regarding business. Neither of them would bend.
A damned shame it had taken another death for his papa to finally ask for his help. Still nothing had changed.
His father had placed the business in his hands but had insisted that any major changes be discussed with him first. He’d agreed only because he hadn’t wished to cause his father undo stress in his condition.
But vengeance simmered in him as he thought of being near the woman who’d come between his father and mamma. He’d known he’d make her pay for all the hell she’d put his mamma through.
That alone was reason enough for Stefano to despise Gemma Cardone. While forcing Gemma to repay every euro she’d conned out of his father was just punishment, it would take years for her to do so even with the plump salary she drew as Cesare’s personal secretary.
No, he had to get her out of his father’s life for good. The only way to do that was to make her his paramour!
Stefano set his menu aside and studied the little schemer in the mellow candlelight. She looked pale and vulnerable as she stared at the menu, like a waif washed ashore and in need of a protector.
Yes, no wonder his father had fallen under her spell. Now it was time to turn the tables on her.
“They are noted for their calamari,” Stefano said in a conversational tone that he used to put adversaries at ease. “But of course feel free to order whatever you wish.”
“I couldn’t do such a meal justice,” she said.
A typical excuse from women who were obsessed with maintaining a model’s figure. All they wanted was a bit of cajoling so they wouldn’t feel guilty about indulging!
Not that Gemma had to fret about gaining weight. She was edging toward the painfully thin side already.
“A bit of antipasto will awaken your appetite,” he said. “Perhaps zuppa as your primo.”
“Please, I’m really not hungry.”
First her refusal to drink alcohol and now her lost appetite. Was she playing some game to dupe him, or was she beset by an increased case of nerves?
The waiter arrived with his wine and a glass bicchere holding her orange fizz. He served the lady first, then he gently poured a dram of wine in Stefano’s glass and stepped back to dutifully wait his approval.
Stefano noted the bouquet had a slightly spicy, sweet fragrance much like the one Gemma wore. He frowned, annoyed that comparison came to mind. With effort he concentrated on his opinion of the vino.
“Signor?” the waiter asked.
Stefano pushed thoughts of Gemma aside and gave a clipped nod of approval. “Delizioso.”
The waiter smiled and proceeded to rattle off the house specials. “What would the lady like?”
“Un insalata e bruchetta,” Gemma said.
Stefano tapped the menu on the table. “You must have more than that.” Before she could protest, Stefano ordered antipasto and calamari for two. “My mamma always maintained that they serve the best dolce.”
She wet her lips and he knew she was tempted. “I shouldn’t.”
Ah, but she wanted dessert.
He found her willpower annoying and admirable.
“How is Cesare today?” she asked.
She gave the impression she was as delicate as the crystal stem of the glass he clutched in his hand. But he knew there was steel in her spine. Not enough, though.
He could snap the wineglass as easily as he would break her. Mio Dio, right now he wanted to do both!
Soon, he told himself. He’d satisfy his revenge soon.
He waited to reply as the waiter bustled in with the platter of antipasto and then left them to their privacy. Those few moments seemed to make her more anxious.
“Papa is stable and resting,” he said.
A slight smile touched her mouth, but her expansive sigh relayed her relief and drew his attention to the quick rise and fall of her bosom. “I’ve been worried.”
More likely she was concerned about her future role in his papa’s life! He speared shrimp, smoked tuna and vegetables onto his plate and let his anger ebb again. Her cushy lifestyle was crashing to an end around her, whether she realized it or not.
What did she value above all else?
By her own admission she’d invested a lot of money in her family’s inn in Manarolo—an inn that she held half ownership in. As he was aware exactly how much money she’d gained from his father, the refurbished inn must rival a five-star hotel on the Riviera!
Still, he found it interesting that she’d put up her shares as collateral on her loan. Even with improvements, he couldn’t imagine her assets would come close to covering his father’s loss, but if she and her family relied on the income from the inn, he could yank that security blanket out from under her.
“Tell me more about your family’s inn on Manarolo.”
Genuine excitement lit her eyes and he knew he was on the right track. “It’s a wond
erful old house nearly five hundred years old. At least half of that time it’s been in our family.”
“Your mother’s family?” he asked as he passed the antipasto to her and insisted she eat.
“No, my papa’s.” She picked a pitiful few items off the platter—no wonder she was skin and bones! “The inn had passed from generation to generation to the oldest girl, but all Nonna had was Papa. So when Mamma gave birth to me, Nonna gave me half of the inn and let Mamma manage it for me. But when she died, it was up to Nonna to see to the inn and care for my brother, Emilio, and me while Papa fished.”
It was an arrangement he’d heard of with other working class Italians. Though he was curious about her mother’s death at such a young age, he didn’t wish to discuss the subject. Perhaps his own mamma’s untimely death was still too fresh on his mind.
“Your nonna continues to manage the inn then?” he asked, knowing full well Gemma couldn’t have done so the past year because she’d been busy bilking his father out of thousands of euros.
“With my sister-in-law’s help.”
He popped a succulent shrimp in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He could have her past more thoroughly investigated, but that would take time. His patience had nearly run its course.
“What of your brother?” he asked. “Does he and his wife own the other half of the inn?”
“No,” she said, the denial swift and firm. “Emilio inherited Papa’s fishing business but decided to move it to La Spezia. He said it made good sense to base the business there where he’d be bringing in his day’s catch, and he didn’t mind taking the train from Manarolo each morning.”
Did she honestly believe that?
In the short time he’d had to look into Gemma Cardone’s past, he’d discovered her brother strove to live the life of a playboy. His frequent visits to the Monte Carlo gaming tables were well-known, as was his debatable talent at poker.
The question was where had her brother come by his original bankroll?
Stefano doubted it was from fishing.
He suspected Gemma had fed her brother’s gambling habit with the money she’d gained from Cesare in hopes of doubling her family’s fortune. But had he been successful?
Innocent in the Italian's Possession Page 7