by Kat Walters
Isabella followed Alessandro out of the car, a new sense of relief filling her body. The air felt heavy and warm. A few more weeks and it would be too warm, but now it felt good, familiar even. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. Rome. Home. Her heart clenched suddenly, and her eyes snapped open. Alessandro was waiting for her, barely concealed impatience on his face. Impatience and something else in those black eyes. He waved a hand towards the entrance, and she quickly walked ahead.
Did Alessandro know about her past? Did he realize she was half-Italian? Isabella didn't think so. He would have been more discreet with some of those business calls had he realized she spoke Italian. She liked having that little weapon. She felt like she needed it. She needed something to protect herself from this man. A cynical smile flitted across her face. It occurred to her that she featured so low on his radar that he hadn't bothered to find out anything about her. She should be insulted, but it was probably for the best. The less he noticed her, the safer she would be. It was like living with Henry all over again.
Isabella glanced around her. The building was crumbling but elegant in a way that only truly old, beautiful buildings could be. Marble floors wound up a spiraling marble staircase. All of this graced by a large chandelier suspended from far above. The doorman stood beside the lift holding the door open for them. After glancing quickly at Alessandro, she stepped inside. He followed, and the doors closed. Isabella swallowed nervously. Why did this lift feel so much more intimate than the limousine? He stood facing her with his back to the doors. Isabella didn't have to look up to know he was watching her. She felt it. His gaze was a searing brand on her skin.
She kept her head bowed.
She would not look up.
Do not engage the enemy, she thought, and then she wanted to giggle. She pressed her lips firmly together to stop the impulse. She didn't need to see him, though, to be aware of him. His scent wrapped itself around her. His heat burned her. Isabella kept her eyes firmly on his chest and hoped that he couldn't read her thoughts. He had a gorgeous chest, but that wasn't her primary reason for looking there. If she didn't tilt her head back, if she didn't raise her eyes, then she couldn't look into his. She didn't want to look Alessandro in the eye. She didn't want to look at him at all. Liar. Her eyes strayed down to his hand hanging loosely at his side. Beautiful hands. The realization exasperated her. Was anything about this man not beautiful? Could he not have one flaw? Was that too much to ask for? He's cold and arrogant. Those are flaws. That thought comforted her, nearly made her smile in triumph.
The lift doors opened, and he turned, leading the way into an elegant living room. She found herself distracted, looking around in admiration. It was a private lift, she realized suddenly, servicing only his apartment. His London apartment had been so modern she had expected the same here in Rome. But this was nothing like that. It was beautiful and warm. It was a home. The original marble floors were graced with beautiful rugs. Antiques sat alongside modern furnishings. The colors gold, emerald green, and lapis lazuli imbued the room with subtle luxury. It was luxurious but not ostentatious. It was a work of interior design art, and she loved it.
Isabella was still turning around, gawking, at everything, when she became aware of someone else in the room. An elegant blonde in a figure-hugging black dress and lips the color of fresh blood rose from the couch to greet them. She sashayed across the room in a manner that directed the eye to the curve of her luscious hips.
Why was she surprised? This was Alessandro DeLaurentis. There was always a woman in his life. The blonde was stunningly beautiful with the body of an underwear model. She probably was an underwear model, Isabella thought cynically, with a wry twist to her lips. Once again, she couldn't resist drawing comparisons between Alessandro and her father. It was possible she wasn't being fair to Alessandro but…if the shoe fits.
Isabella watched from the sidelines as, with an elegant flick of her head, the woman sent her silky blonde hair falling down her back and stepped closer to Alessandro. Sparing Isabella only the briefest, most dismissive of glances, she then draped her arms around Alessandro's neck and purred. Literally. Isabella bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
"Welcome home, darling." As she pressed her body up against his, Isabella looked down, her face flushing with embarrassment. She really didn't want to see this.
"Who's the nun, Alessandro?" The woman's laugh was brittle, grating on Isabella's already frayed nerves and her eyes snapped up in time to catch the sharp, assessing look the woman gave her. Strangely it was Alessandro's dismissive glance that hurt more. With an absent wave of his hand in Isabella's direction, he shrugged himself out of the woman's clutches.
"My new PA." He strode further into the living room, removing his jacket, tossing it across the back of the couch. "What are you doing here, Camille?"
Camille laughed again, flirtatiously. "Are you not happy to see me?" She pouted. "I wanted to surprise you." She stepped closer again and slowly walked her fingers up his chest, managing simultaneously and rudely to completely ignore Isabella.
Isabella silently cursed her father. Again. If Henry had only done the right thing and paid for Childsworth, she wouldn't be here. She could feel her blush still burning her cheeks and wished she had it in her to brazen this out. To stare them down with icy confidence, but Isabella couldn't even fool herself with that one. She certainly wouldn't be able to fool them. She hated Alessandro at that moment. Hated him for making her stand here and watch this exchange between him and his lover.
"Mouse!" Alessandro snapped, breaking through her thoughts. Her eyes shot up to meet his. Her embarrassment fled on hearing that hated nickname. He was clearly irritable, but she glared right back at him, all her inhibitions forgotten. "Come with me," he said coldly, his eyes simmering with anger as fierce as her own.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The anger heated up and turned into something else, something that scared her. Are you sure about that, Izzy? Camille's delighted laughter broke the connection. Isabella flinched, and she tore her eyes away from Alessandro to look at the other woman.
"Mouse?" Camille asked, her eyes raking Isabella from head to toe. She laughed again before turning back to Alessandro with a dismissive sniff in Isabella's direction. "Do hurry, darling. We have reservations at Luca's new restaurant. Everybody is talking about it. At first, when I called, they said no, but of course, I used your name," she shrugged shamelessly. "Your name opens all doors," she said breezily, her bright red lips arching up into a wide smile.
Isabella moved her gaze back to Alessandro and her breath caught in her chest as she watched his face. His jaw tightened, and his lips straightened into a tight, severe line. Although his arms hung loosely at his side, his hands were clenched into tight fists. Then, before her eyes, he deliberately flexed his fingers out as though willing himself to relax. Through all of this, Camille smiled, oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Isabella's eyes skittered back to Alessandro expectantly, but he was still, one foot poised on the bottom step. He inhaled sharply, and Isabella was sure he meant to make a sharp retort, but then his jaw relaxed, and she heard a soft sigh escape his lips.
"He is my brother, Camille. He would not refuse me."
"The beauty of having a celebrity chef in the family," Camille uttered with undisguised relish, still unaware of how angry Alessandro was.
Isabella watched in fascination, her eyes darting back and forth between them.
"Mouse?" Alessandro's voice was more weary now than impatient, and her eyes shot back to his.
"Yes, run along, little mouse. Scamper, scamper." Camille's laughter followed them up the stairs, and Isabella sighed. Horrible woman. She was perfect for him. But then she felt guilty for even thinking that. No, she wouldn't wish Camille on anyone.
Alessandro stopped beside an open door.
"Your room. My housekeeper, Maria, has prepared a meal for you." He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. The gesture almost had
her feeling sorry for him. Almost. "Please eat. You are hungry?" Isabella nodded, realizing she was. "You will like Maria," he added. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then he stopped. His face took on that severe expression she remembered from London. "My day starts at six. I will expect you to be ready by eight." He turned and walked down the passage. No niceties. No good wishes and I hope you'll be very comfortable here.
Isabella pushed the door closed with a wry expression on her face. She leaned against it for a minute and tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. Her eyes closed, she leaned her forehead against the wood, it was cool against her skin, and it soothed her flushed cheeks. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly before opening her eyes again. This was her life for the next two months. It was time she accepted that. With brisk resignation, she turned her gaze on the room and then stopped in amazement. Her eyes widened, and a fleeting smile slipped across her face and then was gone. Remember why you're here, Izzy. Do not allow yourself to be seduced by this life.
A large canopied bed took pride of place, and an antique chaise longe covered in soft yellow silk sat beside the window. A matching armchair snuggled into the corner, and an armoire graced the wall on the right. Rococo-style furniture and soft feminine colors blended well with a turquoise and gold Persian rug flung across the parquet floor.
It was not the sort of room she would have expected from a man like Alessandro. She shook her head in amazement but couldn't help the rueful grin that crossed her face. She really needed to stop judging Alessandro, and… she needed to stop thinking she knew him. She might have devoured every newspaper and gossip article on the man, but that didn't mean she knew him.
Isabella walked across the room, and kneeling on the chaise longe, she pushed open the window, soaking up the sounds and smells of nighttime Rome. It felt good to be back. Isabella leaned out the window, looking down to the cobbled street below them. She was just in time to catch a flash of golden hair slipping into the back of a limousine. Alessandro stood beside the open door with the phone pressed to his ear. Isabella smirked; at least it wasn't just her! What a horrible date he must be, always on the phone like that. She sighed, who was she kidding? She had no doubt that when Alessandro chose to turn on the charm… Stop. There's no point even thinking about it.
Isabella was about to slip inside when Alessandro turned. He glanced up at her window. She froze as he saw her but only for a second. She jumped back with a sudden gasp. Oh no! He'd caught her spying on them. Her heart was beating erratically, again. She placed a hand on her chest and closed her eyes, feeling the frantic beating beneath her fingers. She'd been made more aware of her heartbeat in the last twenty-four hours than she had at any other time in her life. Isabella dropped her head into her hands and gave a little moan. A moan that turned into a rueful laugh. She really should have more sense.
Chapter 2
Alessandro loosened his tie, slipping it over his neck and discarding it on the back of the couch. He perched there thoughtfully for just a minute before giving his head a shake. When had he grown so pensive? It was not in his nature to be so thoughtful. With a sigh, he undid the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. He was exhausted. He only hoped he didn't look as tired as he felt.
But why? That was the part that was bothering him. He'd been working hard for months now but no harder than usual. No. This exhaustion wasn't about work. Since he was sixteen, Alessandro had been working towards one goal. Revenge. Every day for the last seventeen years, he had dreamt of this revenge, and now…
Was that it? He felt rudderless. Even Luca had seen it in him, once Alessandro had apologized for gate crashing his restaurant. Alessandro shook his head again with that same rueful expression on his face. How like Camille to be so thoughtless. Luca had enough to worry about with the launch of this latest restaurant. He didn't need the added stress of juggling tables on an already overbooked night.
Camille was determined. He gave her that. Alessandro smiled and shook his head, they'd ended their relationship six months ago, but she still managed to turn up when it suited her. She was between lovers at the moment, looking for some company while in Rome. An arrangement that would have worked for him before… before what?
Before he got everything he wanted. The total ruin of Henry Sullivan. Camille had been rude to the Sullivan woman. He should have said something to her, apologized. Alessandro frowned. What was it about that woman that got under his skin, made him care? She was Henry Sullivan's daughter!
Alessandro glanced at his watch as he climbed the stairs. Midnight. He rolled his neck, eased the tension in his shoulders. He had never been so pleased to get away from someone as he had tonight. Camille. She was a beautiful woman, but tonight she had left him cold. The entire night his thoughts had drifted back to this apartment. It all still felt a little surreal. Henry Sullivan's daughter was here in his home. She was asleep in one of his beds. She was asleep, wasn't she? Alessandro stopped in the passage outside her door, frowned as he heard noises within. There was no light shining beneath the door, but she was definitely moving around in there. What was she doing? Curiosity getting the better of him, he knocked.
No answer. The noise continued, a thudding and tapping followed by silence and then another thud on the wooden floors. Was she jumping? Unable to stop himself, he slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open with his fingertips, peering inside. The lights were off, but the shutters were thrown open, and lamps from the street cast splashes of light across the floor. She had rolled the rug up and pushed it to the side along with some of the furniture. She was dancing. She had earphones in, and an iPod strapped to her waist. Her eyes were closed, and her long auburn hair hung loose down her back, strands falling across her face as she moved.
Alessandro blinked. He couldn't have been more shocked if he'd found her conducting an ancient druid ritual. Was this the same woman he had left only a few hours ago? The woman with the severe hairdo and the ugly suits? He sucked in a breath as he watched her. She was mesmerizing. Sensual, passionate…raw. She danced with complete abandon, the music so loud in her ears it was no wonder she hadn't heard him knocking.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. Even dressed in an old grey t-shirt that hung loosely over baggy pants, she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Alessandro tensed in shock as he witnessed the look of ecstasy that crossed her face. She couldn't have been more exposed at that moment if she'd been standing naked before him. It was a punch to the gut that left him feeling breathless and shaky. Everything she was feeling was there on her face, raw passion and pain. He wasn't used to it. Alessandro didn't know women who were vulnerable like that, women who felt with such intensity. He didn't let himself know women like that. For a reason.
Her eyes snapped open, and she froze, one hand remained poised above her head in suspended motion until it fell limp to her side. A look of horror replaced the ecstasy he'd only just witnessed. She scrabbled to get the earphones off, and her breathing was loud now in the quiet of the room.
"I did knock," he said quietly, aware of the tension building between them. He could feel her vulnerability. It suffocated him. It made him angry. At himself for bringing her here. At her for making him feel – what? Raw and exposed. Almost as if everything she'd felt while dancing had seeped into him. Her pain had crept under his own skin.
"What are you doing here?" Isabella stuttered. She placed a hand on her chest as though she could somehow control her racing heart. It was beating so loud she was sure she would never hear his answer.
Not that it mattered. Her chest heaved, rising and falling as she tried to suck air into her lungs. If she didn't pull herself together, she was going to have a full-blown panic attack, and that hadn't happened to her in years. Why was Alessandro looking at her like that?
"I live here," his voice was silky smooth, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Maria said you'd be gone for the night," she faltered, pulling the iPod from her w
aist, throwing it onto the nearest chair. He hadn't moved, but she was scared to look away. She didn't trust the look in his eyes. He was dangerous tonight. Restless and angry.
"Next time, I'll be sure to inform Maria of my plans before I return home."
There was that dangerous smile again, playing around his mouth, around his lips. They were sensuous lips. She still couldn't get enough air into her lungs, but she couldn't drag her eyes away from his mouth either. How was it possible for a smile to look so dangerous? He was moving. Her eyes skittered back to his.
"What… what do you want?"
Alessandro stopped in front of her, so close she had to tilt her head up to look at him. She fell again into those black eyes, the sensation so much more intense now than before. His eyes narrowed, assessing her coolly and the look in them snapped her back to herself. What was she doing mooning all over him?
His hand reached out slowly. He brushed a strand of her hair back, tucked it behind her ear. The intimacy of the gesture startled her. It stung. Her mother was the only other person who had ever done that. She whipped her head away from his hand. The memory of her mother was so cutting it made her angry.
"Why are you here?" Alessandro asked quietly, his eyes intense on her face.
"I, you, we… made a deal." She felt awkward. She knew she was blushing again, but she didn't know how to stop the rising color that was surely staining her cheeks red.
"Are you in the habit of selling yourself to your father's business associates?" He answered her shocked gasp with a cold smile, and his hand reached lazily for a strand of her hair. He twirled it around one long finger as he waited for her answer. Isabella gulped, he was so close, and his scent was…all over her, everywhere. It made her feel light-headed and breathless. The silence lengthened. With that one finger, he gave a little tug and spineless wretch that she was, she stepped closer to him. She could feel him now, his shirt brushing against her chest.