The Italian's Vengeful Seduction

by Bella Frances

  He was deep. Grand Canyon deep. And there were no signs in that house or anywhere else of any woman softening him up.

  Outside there was the sound of the boot being closed.

  He paced around and opened the driver’s door, slid his big frame inside, filling the air with that sense of command. Certainty. There wasn’t anything to worry about—he had it covered. He had your back. Whether you wanted him to or not.

  He turned to her.

  ‘All set?’

  He looked at her. Winked at her. He plugged the key in the slot and grabbed the back of her headrest while he reversed the car out onto the street.

  ‘Sorry that took so long. I’ve got a couple of deals going down and I like to have all angles covered—no surprises.’ He swung the car round. ‘Hate surprises,’ he added. ‘But then you know that.’

  He laughed a little as he put his foot to the floor and the car shot off along the empty highway. The sun was setting on a warm, clear day. Ahead the ocean rolled and dragged, and behind them the city limbered up for another night of parties and fun.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Ravenous,’ she answered, clearing her throat and working her face out from its frown.

  ‘Great—let’s say we head north-east. Be good to check out one of my new places—if you don’t mind mixing some business with pleasure?’

  He looked round, eyebrow raised.

  ‘This is pleasure?’ she said. ‘For the record, I’m in no hurry to get back to Montauk. At all. Not sure if you got that particular memo.’

  ‘I got one from your mom, saying you’d be a good little girl. Did she copy you into that?’ he asked.

  And the flash of teeth and the crinkled eyes and the irritating, outrageous handsomeness of the man made her frown loosen completely and her smile begin to show.

  ‘Matter of fact I was the one who suggested she send it.’

  ‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Great to be on the same page at last.’

  ‘Is that the page where you’re in such a great mood because you’re heading back to Montauk like the sheriff with his bounty? You know the whole town is just going to love that? I can see the headlines now.’

  ‘I’m sure the town will make of it what it wants to. The last thing I worry about is what other people think. So, the place I have in mind,’ he said, completely changing the subject, ‘is Valentino’s—a new fine dining restaurant. It’s been set up in a winery I bought a few years back. I’ve heard great things about the chef they hired, but I’ve never eaten there. It might be something to take up as a franchise to Montauk—you know, when I buy back Sant’Angelo’s.’

  That was news.

  ‘You’re buying back the Meadows? Wow. Marco—that’s great. I mean... I know how much the place meant to you.’

  He nodded, stared straight ahead.

  ‘Yeah. That’s what the meeting tomorrow is for. Keep it under your hat for now. Deal’s not set in stone yet.’

  She got it. No wonder he was so focused on getting there.

  ‘I see. Well. No wonder you’re in a good mood. I really hope you pull it off.’

  The car rolled on. The city’s glow faded behind them as they turned inland.

  ‘There’s no alternative. That house has been in my family for generations. It should never have been lost. But it was. Well—you know all about it.’

  Stacey smoothed a crease from her leggings. She did know all about it, of course. She knew about his dad and his mom and their problems. She knew about the businesses going, the land going and finally the house itself. She knew because she’d been with him through the worst of it.

  She’d been right by his side the night he’d got the news that his mother had left the ten-thousand-dollar-a-week rehab clinic and vanished off to New Mexico with some guy she’d met. The clinic that Marco had funded himself, with the last of his grandfather’s inheritance. At least his father hadn’t been around to hear the news. He’d checked out of town and checked out of life. Oh, yes—Marco had had it tough back then.

  And then she’d added to the mess by letting him think she’d been fooling around.

  ‘Marco,’ she began, ‘you know back then—’

  But he put his hand up. ‘I don’t dwell on “back then”, Stacey. I got away from “back then” as quickly as I could.’

  She opened her mouth. ‘But there’s stuff that maybe we should talk about...’

  ‘I don’t see the point. What point is there in dragging up the past? It’s passed. Gone.’

  She swallowed. It was the biggest regret of her life. She had to get it out in the open—if only to exorcise the ghosts.

  ‘That night, Marco—when you asked me if I’d...’

  ‘Stacey—l don’t want to go there. None of that matters now. Maybe it did at the time, but not now. We’ve both moved on. You’re...where you are. And I’m not who I was back then. I was a stupid kid. Messed up.’

  She rubbed again at the crease in the leather. Looked at his hands on the steering wheel—his easy grip. Looked at his thighs—muscled, splayed open. Every inch of him telegraphed calm possession. What would he care now if Stacey Jackson had slept around or not? It wasn’t as if she’d fallen out of Decker’s Casino wearing a nun’s habit. She’d been cast as the town tramp the last time she’d seen him and she’d looked even worse when she’d landed on his hood. First looks could be deceiving—but twice?

  ‘Getting Sant’Angelo’s back is what it’s all about for me now. Back from Chisholm Financial—bunch of sharks.’

  The sudden edge to his voice made her turn sharply.

  ‘Yeah. Maybe I do sound bitter. I am. About them. But, hey...’

  He lifted his hand from the wheel and touched hers. Squeezed it, held her fingers in his warm, sure grip.

  ‘We’re not going to waste our breath on that. We’re going to head into Valentino’s and sink some oysters and some Chardonnay. Or whatever Chef Luigi has got on offer.’

  He still sounded bitter. Just a trace. But now wasn’t the time to set out all the twists and turns of their teenage relationship. She’d find another moment—maybe.

  ‘I’m not the biggest fan of oysters.’

  ‘Or shark,’ he added, smiling as he let go of her hand and put his on the steering wheel again. ‘Or any other kind of fish, as I recall. Bit of a drawback in the world’s best fishing town, if you ask me. But then I’m biased. Okay, here we are—there should be something to suit you here.’

  She looked at the huge sign that declared they were entering the Borsatto Estates Winery and Hotel and Valentino’s Restaurant. The tyres crackled on the gravel drive as he nosed the car right up to the entrance. A valet appeared, held open the car door and beamed a smile as he helped her out.

  In seconds Marco was at her side, his hand carefully in the small of her back, easing her forward. Doors opened before them and people almost bowed when they saw them. It felt—welcoming. It felt warm and lovely.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked her as they were seated at the best table, screened by a semi-circular glass-beaded curtain, subtly lit and discreetly tucked away in a corner.

  Stacey waited until the waiter had draped a linen napkin on her lap before she spoke. ‘It’s amazing, Marco. I mean, it must feel incredible that all this is yours.’

  He brushed it off. ‘I guess—but nothing compares to how it’s going to feel after tomorrow. When I know I’ve got the deeds to the house. When I’m finally free of anything to do with Chisholm Financial.’

  Stacey lifted a glass of ice-cold water to her mouth and sipped.

  ‘Yeah, I can buy that. Is it still a family business? Don’t tell me that weird kid Preston has anything to do with them?’

  Marco raised an eyebrow and nodded.

  ‘The very same. Weird kid all grown up. At least the old man is out of the picture. I don’t know if I could have handled negotiating with him. Son of a bitch.’

  Stacey watched as Marco put his own water glass down carefully. Too carefully. As if
he’d rather hurl it through the air and smash it against the wall. He drew his fingers back and bunched them—not quite into a fist, but curled with tension nonetheless.

  ‘Don’t tell me all those years of therapy didn’t crack that particular nut?’

  Marco caught her attempt to lighten the tone and smiled absently.

  ‘The only thing that will crack that nut is walking back through the doors of Sant’Angelo’s knowing its mine. I’m way past imagining kicking old man’s Chisholm’s butt off my property—the way he did me. Though I’ve got to admit the thought of it kept me going for years.’

  She got it. Saw it clearly now. Everybody needed their engine and this was his. She had launched herself out of there like a rocket and he was coming back like a homing pigeon. They were so completely different! It wasn’t just their social backgrounds—they wanted totally different things from life. They would never have made it work.

  She ought to accept that now. He clearly had. She’d outright accused him twice of being hot for her and he’d given her two outright denials. What more did she need—a sworn statement under oath?

  So she’d been imagining his interest. She had to have been or he would have acted on it by now. Knowing that should make her feel better, she supposed. She could relax. She didn’t need to play any games. But no matter how you dressed it up it was rejection, pure and simple. She wasn’t used to it, and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that it kind of hurt.

  She lifted her glass again and sipped.

  ‘I’m going to check out the kitchen. Say hi to the new guy. You okay to wait here?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, glad of a moment on her own.

  She drank some more water and closed the menu, slid it away and looked around. The place was packed, though it was so elegantly and cleverly designed that the atmosphere was calm and quiet and hushed.

  People were glancing at her enviously. And for the first time since she could remember she didn’t scowl or turn away. She smiled back at them—at total strangers. Usually she stared through people, sometimes worse. But being here with Marco she felt a sense that everything was going to be all right falling over her. She’d forgotten what it was like not to have any battles to fight. And it was kind of nice.

  Nothing like the way she’d felt working at Decker’s. The tension she hadn’t even realised she’d been feeling. Always waiting for Bruce to explode at somebody. Always on guard in case he tried to get fresh with her. Always on the lookout for some trouble to come her way.

  Bruce. She clenched her eyes closed. Marco hadn’t gone into detail with her about what had happened and she didn’t want to know. It was enough to know that she had put all that behind her.

  She had, hadn’t she? She didn’t need to go back to that kind of life. Once she got to Montauk she could regroup, take some time, find something that she actually wanted to do.

  She could help her mom make things for the house, the way she’d used to. She was good at needlepoint. She was artistic, had a good eye. Maybe she could find some way to make a living doing that kind of work, instead of helping people gamble away all their money. Where was the honour in that?

  Where was the honour in sitting here playing make-believe with Marco Borsatto? She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even his friend. She was the concussed albatross hanging round his neck. As soon as he could offload her he would. Of course he would. Job done. Tick. Another medal for his chest—another jewel in his hero’s crown.

  She didn’t really need to play this game. She could think of better things to do than spend even five seconds in Montauk. Okay, so he’d promised her mom, but as long as she turned up on Sunday she could get out of the rest of the prison sentence, surely? It didn’t matter a damn that she was wearing Gucci—she still had no job and she still had to service a twenty grand debt. It didn’t matter if it was the Bank of Borsatto or the Bank of America at the end of the day.

  She was fooling herself thinking this was any more than some twisted version of Pass the Parcel.

  Stacey stood, shoved herself back from the table and lifted her purse. They weren’t that far from Atlantic City. She could—She could...

  She started walking, eyes fixed straight ahead on the door. To her left a hostess was seating a couple, to her right a sommelier proudly displayed a bottle of wine to upturned, interested faces.

  She took a left along the dark, wood panelled corridor. Saw glass doors and the driveway beyond. Once outside she could figure out her options. She always did.

  She reached out for the handle.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Marco. Low, commanding tones. She paused midstep.

  ‘It’s getting boring, honey.’

  He was right at her back, his hand placed firmly on her waist. His voice whispered lightly at her ear as he tugged her back into the restaurant.

  ‘About to make a run for it? What do I need to do to keep you by my side? Do you want me to handcuff you?’

  ‘What I want you to do is let me get on with my own life. I’m fine. I don’t need a nursemaid.’

  ‘I’m not your nursemaid. But I am responsible. I thought that was clear—but maybe I’m not talking your language.’

  He came right up behind her, an inch from her body. She felt his heat, his lips at her earlobe, his breath on her neck. She swallowed—felt the fever return.

  He kept her walking—but not into the restaurant. Body on body he moved them along the dark hallway. Ahead of them were double swing doors, the bright lights and the crashes and cries of the kitchen. Above them was the dark wooden swirl of a banister winding upstairs. A lone velvet chair marked the edge of an alcove and there, with a tug that caught the breath in her throat, he stopped. He pulled her around, backed her up and braced his hands on the wall around her. He stepped close and covered her body with his. Every part of them touched. Legs, chests, faces. Darts of pleasure ricocheted through her. Desire clenched deep in her core. She burned for him.

  ‘Marco—please.’

  He pushed closer.

  ‘Everybody is bending over backwards to make sure you’re okay. Running after you...worrying about you. And you can’t even sit down and wait for two goddamn minutes without deciding things aren’t good enough.’

  She opened her mouth to explain.

  He put his hand up to silence her.

  ‘I’m all out of patience, Stacey. All out of words. But I know one way to keep you subdued, don’t I?’

  She stared into his eyes. Laid-back and easygoing had gone. The Marco in front of her right now was total dominant male. Ten years flashed back. How many times had he kissed her into submission? How many times had she longed for them to take that extra step? But he hadn’t made the move. And she had never been so bold. But theirs had been the best chemistry she’d ever known. She ached to rekindle it now.

  ‘Yes...’ she whispered.

  And with that he closed his mouth over hers. Fiercely, relentlessly, ruthlessly he kissed her. He opened her mouth as wide as he wanted and plundered it with his tongue. He ground himself into her and grabbed handfuls of her hair as he pressed her further back against the wall.

  Stacey’s throat closed over a gasp. She tugged at his head, threaded her fingers through his hair and took her fill. She kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his brow. Her face was wet with his mouth and she couldn’t stop it. That ten-year tide had swelled up and all she could do was go with the flow.

  He grabbed her leg and heaved it round his waist as he ground deeper against her.

  ‘You go nowhere unless I tell you.’

  She clung to his shirt, bit at his lip. Her leg slid down and he grabbed it back up, held it with one hand. His other hand moved from her jaw to her breast.

  ‘Understand?’ he growled, squeezing it and moulding it.

  She gloried in the sensations, the waves of pleasure that coursed and rolled through her body. More—she wanted more. She wanted to pleasure him as much as he pleasured her.


  She knew how to enflame him even more. She looked him dead in the eye. ‘Nobody orders me around. Not even you, Marco Borsatto.’

  He pulled her other leg round him, scooped his arms behind her shoulders and worked her body so that her most sensitive area was pressed right against him. She threw her head back into the cradle of his hand.

  ‘Is that right?’ he asked, kissing her cheeks, her ear, her neck.

  She rubbed herself against him. He thumbed her nipples. She looked down to where they had hardened to buds through the silk of her tunic. She looked into his face—flushed and wide-eyed and determined.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘That’s right. You want to take this outside?’

  He stopped. He laughed—a deep crackle of a laugh—kissed her deeply, buried his head in her neck.

  ‘You got off lightly that time, Jackson.’

  They stood panting, smiling.

  She slid down and stood toe to toe with him, looked up at him.

  He ran his hands through her hair, smoothed it down and held her jaw.

  ‘But I’m serious. You’re on my watch and you’ll do what you’re told.’

  ‘And I’m serious too. I say what happens to me—nobody else.’

  ‘We can talk about that.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I won’t run off. But I don’t have time to waste. I need to get a job. I don’t live like this—I don’t wear Gucci and slurp champagne. I’ve got to start looking for a job. So, unless you know of anyone hiring in Montauk, I’d rather cut my losses and head to New York. I promise I’ll be back on Sunday to meet my mom.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘You need to be looked after.’

  ‘Come on, Marco—I’m fine. I’m resilient. Look at me—I landed on the hood of your car and bounced! How resilient is that?’

  ‘You still haven’t got it, have you? I am responsible for you and I don’t shirk my responsibilities.’

  She opened her mouth. He put his finger on it.

  ‘And, that aside, I’m enjoying your company. I’d like it if you’d stay around a bit longer. Stay around until after this deal is closed.’