Bought by Her Italian Boss

by Dani Collins

  * * *

  “Do you need the address for my flat?” Gwyn asked the driver as they slid into the car the next morning.

  “I have it, thank you,” the driver assured her as he closed her door for her.

  The air was fresh, the sun shining and the children had both hugged her at the door. Nevertheless, Gwyn’s good mood took a dip when Vittorio made no protest against her going home.

  She wasn’t about to ask him what he had planned for her, though. She had lain awake a long time last night considering her options. Her life wasn’t over, she had concluded. It just needed to be re-envisioned.

  As Vito flicked through messages on his tablet, she took a firm grip on the future she had outlined for herself. She opened her social media accounts and started removing objectionable posts. Dear Lord there were some nasty people out there. Some thought she was a harlot, others offered to do lewd things to her...

  She didn’t realize she was making noises like she was being roundly beaten in a boxing ring until Vito asked sharply, “What are you reading?”

  “I want to connect with a headhunter to start searching out a position for when this is over.” She winced as an invitation to hook up flashed into her eyes with a photo that couldn’t be deleted fast enough. “I have to clean up my news feeds first, before potential employers look them over. It’s a minefield.”

  “You don’t,” he growled, reaching across to click off her phone. “Plumbers exist to clean up sewage. I’ve already assigned you a PR assistant. She’ll meet with you this afternoon and scrub all of this.”

  The last thing she wanted was to accept more generosity from him, but she was too grateful to refuse.

  “And I’ll see that you have a suitable position when the time comes so don’t put out feelers for a job yet. It sends the wrong message.”

  “What does ‘suitable’ mean?”

  “Something equivalent or better to the position you had, so you’re not set back in your career. I’ve discussed it with Paolo and you’ll receive a glowing recommendation, a severance package and a settlement for the damage caused by our leaving you in the position of working with Jensen despite having him under investigation. We’ve agreed that if we had removed you when we became suspicious, the photos wouldn’t have happened, so we’ll be accepting responsibility for that. We’ll work out the exact details once we have Jensen on the ropes.”

  She blinked, stunned. Inside her chest, her heart rose like the sun from behind dark mountains, beaming light through her whole being. Lightness. The weight of being mistrusted lifted and something like hope dawned in her for the first time since she’d walked into Nadine’s office and seen those photos.

  “You believe me?” The words were very tentative. She could barely take it in.

  “I do.” His expression was grave, but there was a hard light in his eyes, not hostile, but daunting. It leaned even more impact to his words as he said, “These actions against you will not go unpunished.”

  She didn’t fear him in that moment, but she recognized that he was a man to be feared.

  And she was so relieved to have him on her side, so touched that he believed her, she grew teary and had to look away, unable to even voice a heartfelt, Thank you.

  “But for now your occupation is ‘mistress.’”

  She flung her head around to confront him. “Did you say that to make me angry?”

  He didn’t glance up from flicking the screen on his tablet. “I said it because it’s true.”

  “Oh, well, pray tell, what are the duties of that position? Does it come with benefits?” Shut up, Gwyn.

  He took his time letting her regret that impulsive outburst, slowly lifting his attention to scan her expression while a faint smile played around his lips.

  “Amusing me is your primary function,” he said, adding a sardonic, “Check.”

  Then he had the audacity to let his gaze take a leisurely tour down her new top. It was a simple low-necked, peach-colored silk with a pleat at her cleavage. Not particularly sexy, but he seemed to look right through it, making her breasts feel heavy and her nipples tight. She found herself pressing her jeans-clad thighs together as a throb hit where he’d caressed her in this very backseat yesterday.

  “We’ve covered the benefits,” he added. “And that you may take advantage of them as often as you see fit.”

  “And this is supposed to fill up my nine-to-five?” she shot back, trying to cover her pulsing response, flicking her glance at the closed privacy screen while she willed her fierce blush to recede.

  “I can’t make love to you all day, cara. I have responsibilities.”

  She tried to send him a disgusted glare, but anticipation curled through her despite herself, melting her insides and turning her on. Yes, his low voice and sexy promise made her hot, curse him.

  “Did you relive it last night?” he asked in a low tone of lusty pleasure. “I did. I wanted you to come to me, so I could feel you fall apart like that again. Under me this time.”

  Her stomach swooped and she turned her face to the window, trying to hide that she had toyed with the idea of going to him. She had ached with desire and had had to fight against the urge.

  “I need to find healthier ways to deal with my situation than cheap sexual gratification,” she said.

  “Stop calling it cheap.” His voice lashed with quick anger, making all the hairs rise on her body.

  Now who was angry and who was laughing? She looked back at him and let him see her smug delight in getting a rise out of him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with mock regret. “This is becoming quite expensive for you, isn’t it? Because if you won’t let me get a real job, you’ll have to cover the lease on my flat.” It was a childish jab and promptly fell flat.

  “That’s already in the works.”

  Her smarmy grin fell away.

  He smiled at having drawn the wind from her sails. “I’ve had mistresses before,” he added calmly, sobering a few degrees as he added, “Never one who has moved in with me, but we have a message to broadcast. I’ve assigned you an assistant. She’ll send you our calendar shortly.”

  Moved in? Our calendar?

  “I thought I was going back to my flat.” She glanced toward the driver who had said he had her address.

  “To get your passport and any other personal items you don’t want to leave for the movers. Am I speaking English? Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “When did I agree to move in with you? Do I get my own room?”

  “Do you want one?” he asked, sounding oh-so-reasonable against her high pitch of disbelief, but the knowing slant to his half-closed lids made the question not just annoying, but far too rhetorical.

  She didn’t know how to be sophisticated and blasé about agreeing to be his lover. She was still fighting the longing to. Deep down, however, she knew she wanted to go to bed with him, and very likely would, which was the most aggravating part of it all.

  Thankfully her phone buzzed. She glanced to see her new assistant was loading her calendar.

  Gwyn scanned through, seeing that she had legal meetings, appointments with her PR assistant, stylists, boutiques—

  “A spa?” she said sharply to Vito.

  “All the women in my family frequent it. Don’t worry. It’s secure.”

  Luncheons, dinners—

  “Berlin?”

  “I have meetings.” He shrugged.

  London, Paris, back to Milan then three stops in Asia.

  “What am I doing while you’re working in all these places?” she asked, mind whirling.

  “You’ll have a security detail. Do whatever you want. Shop, visit the museums. You won’t have as much time as you think. I’ll need you at my side quite often.”

  She spent the rest of the drive answering questions for her assistant: Did she have any special dietary requirements or allergies? Any requests for products to have on hand at Vito’s apartment or while she traveled? Was she due for any de
ntal or medical appointments that should be scheduled? What about prescription refills?

  More birth control pills? Was that what she was asking, Gwyn wondered with mild hysteria?

  When they arrived in the city, they went straight to her building where a handful of photographers quickly snapped to attention from slouching on scooters and hovering on stoops. Vito’s security guards kept them at a respectful distance and movers arrived shortly after Gwyn entered her flat.

  The place was untouched, her plate with toast crumbs from a few days ago still sitting by the sink, but everything had changed. Not just her life, but there was something in her that was changing. She was a self-sufficient person, didn’t want to look to Vito to rescue her like some kind of damsel needing a white knight, but as he gave instructions and spoke to her landlord to assure him the crowds at the entrance to the building would cease now that she was leaving, she felt grateful to have him on her side.

  She hated feeling weak and managed and powerless, but if someone else was stealing control of her life, she was glad the rudder had wound up in his unerring hands.

  She trusted him, she realized. It was a weird sort of trust. He could and probably would hurt her, but he wasn’t making any false promises not to. He wouldn’t lie to her, even if the truth was harsh and unpalatable.

  His governance over her world proved very advantageous when she made her statement to the police, too. Had she been merely a midlevel bank employee with no connections or legal team behind her, her complaint probably wouldn’t have been such a priority, but she was assured charges against her masseuse would be forthcoming.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. There was a very short press conference announcing the birth of Paolo’s son, Vito’s assumption of his cousin’s position for the next few weeks and he confirmed rumors that a formal internal investigation had been launched against an unnamed, but high profile account.

  “For privacy and legal reasons, we can’t expound on that,” Vito said.

  Then he sent a look to Gwyn that said everything his mouth did not. His expression spoke of regret and guardianship and the suppressed anger of a warrior who must wait for the war. Which might have been a bit of overacting for the cameras, but she thought it had its seeds in what he had said earlier about Jensen not going unpunished.

  And she was touched all over again.

  The press conference had been held at a hotel where Vito was due to meet with various heads of the bank’s branches before attending a mixer with those same people, their spouses and an exclusive list of their top-tier investors.

  “It was scheduled a year ago, long before any of this hit the fan,” he said, sending her to a penthouse suite with an entourage who coached her on everything from staying on message—The investigation is ongoing. I can’t comment.—to how to lengthen her lashes most effectively.

  She was mentally and emotionally exhausted when they all finally left her alone, seriously wishing she could go to bed instead of having to go out.

  Then Vito materialized from the second bedroom like a freshly groomed panther, his black tuxedo a second skin, the white of his pleated shirt and bow tie a blaze that set off his swarthy skin tone, hollow cheeks and straight black brows. His hair, just a shade too long to be a conservative business cut, gave him the perfect balance between decadent playboy and powerful executive.

  His silk pocket square exactly matched the reflective, lake blue of her gown.

  She’d never worn anything so elegant or daring, with its strapless bodice and low back. The sweep of the skirt was gathered in loose edges, forming a slit over her left leg, and was ruched together with a sparkling broach on her hip, making her feel graceful and sexy at once.

  She felt sensual. Beautiful. And, as she stood looking at the beautiful man before her, she felt for the first time like she was his match.

  Vito was trying to make it to the end of a trying day. He understood the concerns of those around him, the questioning of his choice in female companionship, but he couldn’t understand why he was so angered by all of it. He kept telling himself it was the bank he wanted to defend. To protect.

  But it was Gwyn. He wanted to sweep a sword through the air to cut down all this resistance against his being with her.

  And this was why.

  She stood before him like a water deity, wearing that swirl of river blue and sapphires that gleamed like bubbles against her neck and ears. Her hair was caught in a low knot against the back of her neck, wisps framing her introspective expression, mysterious and enthralling.

  She was a prize, a weapon, an illicit substance. She was something he wanted. Badly.

  His libido was becoming a monster, first hooked by spending nearly every moment with her for the past forty-eight hours, then feeling her absence as he’d pushed her to the sidelines to weather attacks from close quarters.

  It had left him keyed up, mood balanced on a knife’s edge, the outlaw in him looking to ignore any sort of rules or propriety and simply take her, make her his. This wasn’t the first time he’d chafed against the constraints he placed upon himself, but he always maintained this veneer of civility painted onto him by the family who had kept him alive, safe and living within the law.

  She didn’t want cheap gratification, he reminded himself, and heard Paolo again. If she’s a victim, don’t make her more of one. He kept remembering that look in her eye as they’d played house for an hour with Paolo’s children. If only the world understood how laughable it was to think she was inferior to him.

  “You look nice,” he said gruffly, trying not to let the vision she made break the shackles controlling him. He moved to hold the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She made a noise that might have been one of injury and muttered, “That’s what she said,” as she passed him into the hall.

  “What did you just say?” he asked tightly.

  Gwyn grappled her feelings back into their box, telling herself to quit taking his lack of real interest in her as a slight.

  “It’s just something people say. One of those online memes,” she said, striding purposefully beside him toward the elevator. “Why are you so grouchy?”

  The hotel was pure opulence, the carpets cushioning each step, the rail dripping leafy plants in terraced layers down to the lobby forty stories below.

  He pressed the call button for the elevator and said, “I’m not.”

  She glanced around, saw they were alone and said, “You know, we may not have much, but I thought we had honesty. If you don’t want to tell me, say it’s none of my business. But don’t lie.”

  His gaze widened at her audacity, making her swallow. But honestly. She was doing everything she was told, letting him treat her like a puppet after she’d already been misused. What else did he want from her?

  The elevator arrived and an older couple stepped off, leaving them to enter the empty car alone, replacing what might have been an air of relaxed camaraderie with a charged energy that bounced off the refined walls.

  At least it wasn’t one of those glass boxes that made you feel airsick as you descended. It was red velvet and had mirrored panels split by a flat rectangle of gold for a handrail. A chipper, understated soft shoe drifted from the speakers, sounding incongruous.

  “If you must have the truth, cara, I’ve been warned several times today that our relationship is ill-advised,” he said, stabbing at a floor number, then thumbing hard into the door close button. “I know they’re right, but I don’t care. I want you, anyway. If we’d stayed in the room, I would have kept you there.”

  “Really?” she derided. “I thought I just asked you not to lie to me? Because you’ve never once acted like you wanted anything to do with me.”

  “Ha!” He punched the side of his fist into the red emergency button, stalling the elevator with a jar and a short buzz, making her stagger and reach for the rail. “The very fact that you can’t read the signs tells me how ill-suited you are for an affair. But, just so we’re crystal
clear, cara, I don’t care about that, either. I want you.”

  She couldn’t look away from him, fascinated by the way his gold-brown eyes shot glittering shards of bronze.

  He stepped closer, setting one hand then the other on the wall next to her head, leaning in. “I wanted you when you smiled across the lobby and you were already under suspicion, so I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I wanted you when I looked at this...” His boiling metal gaze slid down her front, scalding her. “And I knew every other man in the world was looking at you, too.” His gaze flashed up, bright and piercing. “I want to kill each and every one of them,” he added tightly. “Especially Jensen.”

  Her knuckle bumped his side and she realized her hand had lifted of its own volition, moving to press against her chest and keep her heart inside its cage. It slammed hard and fast.

  He looked at her splayed fingers. “Scared?”

  “I honestly didn’t think you...” Her voice trailed off as his expression hardened with accusation.

  “How could you not know? You look at me constantly. I feel it. How could you not be aware that I’m watching you, too?” He picked up her hand and pressed it to his own chest, where his heart punched against her palm. “You felt this in the car, when just my touch made you scream with pleasure. How could you not know it’s the same for me?”

  Emotion pressed at the backs of her eyes and thickened her throat.

  He watched her struggle to swallow and cupped his hand under her jaw, palm against her throbbing artery, thumb caressing the hollow below her ear.

  “The only thing holding me back, mia bella, is your indecision. Have you made up your mind yet? Do you want cheap, physical gratification?” The bitterness in his tone scraped at something in her, making her squirm in a kind of guilt.

  She had hurt him with that? She searched his eyes, the windows into his soul. “What else would it be?” she asked in a near whisper.

  His lips hardened and his brow lowered in consternation. “I don’t know. But it would be a hell of a lot more than that.”

  She lifted her hand to the side of his face, drew him in and pressed a kiss of apology onto his mouth. It was perfect and sweet and healing.