The Italian's Vengeful Seduction

by Bella Frances

  He was exhausted. And damn happy.

  A slender redhead that he vaguely remembered from some party in New York—a photographer, or something in advertising...he couldn’t remember which—looked as if she wanted a private party later on.

  He looked her up and down. For a moment. She was very pretty, vivacious. Everyone seemed to like her. And he was totally uninterested.

  ‘I don’t think everyone’s enjoying themselves, no,’ said Dante. ‘Not yet, at least.’ He nodded at the redhead. ‘Interested? Would that raise a smile?’

  ‘Not my type,’ said Marco, turning his back and checking his phone again. No calls, no messages. He slipped it back in his pocket.

  Dante laughed. ‘No kidding?’ he said. ‘Though on the plus side at least you know you have a type now. That’s progress.’

  Marco reached for a beer and took a long, deep drink. Dante had let the whole thing lie. Until now. But he could feel it bubbling to the surface. And he wasn’t ready to go there. Bile began to rise in his throat.

  ‘Heard anything?’ asked Dante.

  He took another swig. Here it came.

  ‘Nope,’ he said, folding his arms across his body and resting the beer bottle at the crook of his elbow.

  He looked around again. Same old gingham-clothed tables, same old wooden furniture, same old Betty’s. Locals, visitors, nobodies and people who thought they were somebodies. He’d got a buzz out of this place for years, but tonight the magic just didn’t seem to be working.

  ‘Are you going to leave it at that?’

  ‘Absolutely. Who needs all that drama in their life?’

  ‘Marco, what exactly are we talking about, here?’

  He took another swig. It was beginning to make him feel sick.

  ‘We’re talking about me feeling normal—whatever that is—for the first time since I saw her bringing the whole of Atlantic City to a halt. We’re talking, since you’re asking, about me waking up in the morning on Planet Earth and not being caught up in the intergalactic tailspin of that woman. I might have flown right round the world in less than a week, but now I finally get to feel grounded.’

  ‘Ah. Right. You mean Stacey. I get it.’

  Marco turned around, felt his jaw tense and his teeth ache even more than they did already.

  ‘What did you think we were talking about?’

  Dante looked past his shoulder. He beamed one of his big stupid grins and winked at someone. Marco bunched his fists.

  ‘Dial it down, man,’ said Dante. ‘I thought we were talking about the architects’ drawings for your house. I thought since that’s always been your life’s ambition you would be keen to get it all signed off and the work started. But I get it—I do. Partying is important. And having your life back the way you want it is important too.’

  ‘Damn right it is.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to be great when it’s all finished. What size is the place again? Biggest house on Long Island, right? You’re going to have such a great time there. No one to bother you. You can have parties every night in different rooms. All the girls. Gonna be amazing.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yeah...’

  They stood in Betty’s, silently swigging their beers, staring at the crowd of girls who always followed them. Really attractive girls—models, actresses, singers. Marco scanned the faces that were turned to them like a field of sunflowers. Expectant, waiting for him to go over and strike up conversation. Waiting for ever.

  ‘Yeah. Bachelor’s paradise.’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Bet you can’t wait to get started.’

  ‘Counting down the seconds.’

  ‘What’s holding you back, then? Have you had a look in here tonight?’

  Marco put his beer down carefully. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what Dante was up to. ‘Go on. Spit it out.’

  ‘Okay. Seems to me that your ten-year wait wasn’t so much about a house as about a woman.’

  ‘I was not burning a candle for Stacey Jackson. It was luck that had her landing on my car. Bad luck. If I’d never seen her again I couldn’t have cared less.’

  ‘You call that bad luck? You’ve just had the biggest piece of real estate fall in your lap, courtesy of her. Even more—it was Borsatto real estate. That’s huge—immense. Anyone in your shoes should be dancing on the table right now, but you’re crying into your beer over your bad luck?’

  ‘I’m not crying into my beer at all. I’m having a great time.’

  ‘My mistake. But it looks to me like you’re angry with the world.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I know that I never saw you act the way you did around a woman the way you did around her last week. I’ve never seen any woman affect you the way she did. It was quite something.’

  ‘If I was acting weird it was stress. Over the deal.’

  ‘Was it? Looked a hell of a lot more like jealousy to me—but maybe that was the angle I was sitting at.’

  ‘I don’t have a jealous bone in my body. I made sure that got amputated the last time she made a fool of me.’

  ‘Ah...’ Dante chuckled and turned himself right around. He nodded his head slowly and a big smile crept over his face.

  Marco, his eyes still trained on the party, observed him from the corner of his eye.

  ‘Right. She made a fool of you. She made a fool of you?’

  Marco swallowed down on the ball of anger that lodged in his chest. ‘Yeah—when we were kids. She made a damn fool of me. And I respected her!’

  He could hear his voice rise. He had to get a handle on himself. Just the mention of her name and he could feel his blood surge.

  He took a breath, quietened his voice. ‘I set myself boundaries with her because I thought she was—special. All the time she was playing me for a fool. There were other guys... It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘Seems like it matters a hell of a lot. You sound sore, man.’

  ‘I’m not sore. Just disappointed. I mean I was disappointed—back then. All I could think was what did they have that I didn’t? Was it because I’d lost all my money? I thought she was the one person who really didn’t give a damn. About money or cars or land or houses or any of that. Turned out I was wrong. And I still haven’t figured out what was in it for her this time around—getting Chisholm to sell. But there has to have been some kind of payback.’

  ‘I don’t know either, but now is your chance to find out. Why don’t you ask her?’

  Marco twisted his head to follow the direction of Dante’s gaze. He looked down the length of the table—ice buckets, wine and water glasses, bottles of beer and bourbon, baskets of fried chicken and crab claws, French fries and bread, girls and boys and smiles and laughter—and there, at the end, highlighted in the doorway, tall and proud and beautiful, stood Stacey.

  The carnival atmosphere was soon replaced by a series of nudges and whispers and faces turning this way and that. Marco turned to face her. Dante lifted his arm to her in a wave, blew her a kiss and then beckoned a welcome.

  Stacey stood. She didn’t move. She just looked at every one of the faces in turn and finally at Marco.

  Then she stepped into the room—away from the frame that the door had lent her. She walked as she always did. A slow prowl, her chin dipped and the haughty air. She paused for a moment as she neared their table.

  Marco saw that down at the end of the table were a whole bunch of people she probably knew. Girls from school. He’d seen this scene before.

  ‘Easy does it,’ he said under his breath.

  He watched as she trained her eyes along the twin rows of faces, a half-smile playing at her lips, until finally she got to him.

  He took a step towards her.

  ‘Good luck,’ he heard Dante whisper from behind him.

  She continued her prowl, right up to him, and then stopped.

  ‘Party, Marco?’ she said, the little smile widening as she cast her arm out in a ge
sture towards the clutter of their celebration.

  ‘Thanks to you. Yes.’

  She made a face as if to say, You’re welcome. ‘So the deal went through after all?’

  Marco nodded. ‘Yes. It’s incredible. And at the price I offered. I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘Good. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Stacey?’

  ‘What?’ she said, gazing at him.

  She looked different. It was exactly a week since he’d left her in his suite, standing there in her silk nightdress, looking at him with those eyes, expecting more than he could offer.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  She didn’t look as if she felt much like talking.

  He tried again. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘And leave your party? When you’re all having such fun?’

  He looked over her shoulder. People were getting on with it. The redhead was flitting about, camera in hand. So she was a photographer after all.

  ‘I didn’t come here to join your party. So, no—thanks all the same. Hi, there, Dante,’ she said as he raised his hand at her, beamed and then turned himself away and got on with his drink.

  ‘I see. But you came back at least. It’s good to see you.’

  She continued to ignore him, instead glancing round at the faces who looked back at her.

  ‘That’s quite the A-list crowd you’ve got following you now.’

  ‘I couldn’t give a damn about them, Stacey. Where did you go?’

  ‘After you ordered me to leave, you mean?’ She swivelled her head back to face him. ‘Where did I go? I left.’

  Marco stared at that face. Her eyes gave nothing away. Nothing. They were just two indigo pools. She blinked and continued to look at him. She was being deliberately belligerent. And he was struck by the need to kiss it right out of her.

  The spark that always flared between them ignited with sudden force. He wanted her in the way he knew he always would. He wanted to taste her and touch her and feel her soft, hot flesh under his. He wanted to hold her very essence in his hands and make her submit to him. Over and over.

  He reached out and put his fingers around her elbow, tugged her towards him.

  She held on to the back of the chair she stood beside and refused to budge. Her jaw tightened and her eyes suddenly flashed to life.

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t think what there is left to say.’

  ‘Stacey, we have a lot to discuss, and I would like to do it in private.’

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ she said. ‘But you had your chance. Anyway, I’m not here to see you.’

  She turned her head, as if looking for someone.

  ‘Are you here on a date?’

  He spun round, looking. There were guys everywhere—staring at her. Despite the fact that there were two Hollywood actresses and at least one Vogue cover girl, Stacey Jackson pulled more looks than all of them.

  ‘You really are incredibly insecure around me, aren’t you?’ she said, shaking her head and laughing.

  Marco felt the last bubble of self-restraint pop in his head. The passion she brought out in him overflowed. She shouldn’t be acting like this.

  ‘You still haven’t learned any manners.’

  ‘You’ve probably got a point there, but you’re the last person I’d go to for lessons.’

  He leaned in closer, aware of the interest of the people close at hand.

  ‘You know that if this wasn’t such a public place I’d throw you over my shoulder and march you outside—take you somewhere to really teach you respect.’

  Her lashes swept closed for a moment, and he was struck by the incredible beauty of the line of each eye. But when she opened them to him they were filled with the fire he knew so well.

  ‘You’ve tried that. All you taught me was a little bit more about myself. And a lot more about you.’

  He stepped closer again. He was ablaze with the need to touch her. She was like some kind of lifeblood he had to feel flowing through his veins. She was everything he wanted in a woman. Whatever deal she’d struck with Preston, he’d knock it out of the park.

  He gripped her jaw—didn’t give a damn who was watching now. He let his fingers caress her skin, his thumb stroke her lip.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.

  She put her hand on his. ‘We have the most amazing sexual chemistry. We could have taken it further—that’s all I’m saying.’

  She turned her head into the palm of his hand as it still held her cheek. She pressed a kiss against his hand, closed her eyes.

  ‘What are you talking about—could have?’ He pulled his hand from her face, circled her arm and tugged her closer still.

  At that she seemed to puff herself up.

  ‘Could have. It’s not that hard to understand.’

  ‘Stacey. Whatever you want—’

  He looked around. The beaming flower faces were still mostly trained in their direction. Dante had sat down and was deep in conversation with the redheaded photographer.

  He huddled in closer. ‘Whatever kind of deal you’ve struck with Preston...’

  ‘Deal I’ve struck with Preston?’ she repeated, frowning. ‘How could I strike a deal with Preston? Number one—I haven’t got anything to deal with, and number two—I can’t stand the guy.’

  ‘Come on, Stacey. We didn’t leave on good terms. Yet you “convinced” Preston to sell. For what? What was it you hoped to get out of it? All I’m saying is that I’ll...’

  He looked at her, watching as the confusion in her eyes gave way to understanding. And suddenly his heart pounded in his throat. He got it.

  ‘Stacey, I assumed you’d pitched in with Preston. I thought maybe he’d—he’d given you an offer you couldn’t refuse...’

  She closed her eyes. She bowed her head.

  ‘If I hadn’t heard you say those words myself I don’t think I’d have believed them.’

  She lifted her chin. Shook her head.

  ‘But you did. You said them.’

  ‘Stacey, I’m sorry—I just couldn’t see why you would still want to help out after what happened.’

  ‘Wow... You think you know a guy and then...’

  ‘Look, all I know is that one minute he was turning me on a spit and the next he was practically shoving the keys at me. And on his way to meet you. To take you to dinner to say thanks. What was I supposed to think?’

  ‘I don’t know, Marco, I really don’t. Maybe that old friends can do one another a good turn without there being a dirty motive?’

  She stepped back from him, shaking her head as if she still couldn’t really believe her ears.

  ‘For your information, my motive was that even though it hadn’t worked out between us we still had enough history for me to think that if all it took from me was a phone call, it was worth it to get you back something you wanted so badly.’

  ‘Stacey. You’ve got to understand that—’

  ‘I think we’re through, Marco. I don’t think I want to gather any more history with you. And just so we’re clear—I’ve got a job here.’

  She unbuttoned her jacket and he saw she was wearing the yellow gingham dress that was Betty’s uniform.

  ‘And I’ll be living on-site while I lease out the house. My mother’s moving to Canada. She’s signed our house over to me and I’ve decided to stay. You might...’ She nodded at the crowd, who were getting louder and more stupid with each passing second. ‘You might want to find someplace else to hang out.’

  She brushed past him and went up to the owner, who just happened to be his cousin. He watched as Mario embraced her warmly and then took her off down the hallway to his office.

  ‘What the hell just happened there?’

  Dante had appeared at his side. He put his hand on Marco’s shoulder.

  ‘I gotta hand it to you—you couldn’t have played that worse if you’d tried. Shame,’ he said as he slapped his back. ‘I was be
tting on you two making it to the next round. But she won. Hands-down. And I wouldn’t get up, if I were you. That was a knockout.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  STACEY CLOSED THE door on the last customers and locked it. She straightened the tablecloth on the console table in the vestibule and turned off the lamp. She walked back into the restaurant and began to stack chairs, making a mental note to order more upholstery fabric. Maybe even change the look. Nothing too different, but the place could do with a refresh.

  In the kitchen she could hear voices and the muffled sounds of the kitchen porters putting away the dishes and clearing up before the whole thing started all over again tomorrow. Tomorrow was Sunday, still high season, and the place would be packed out from doors opening at ten until doors closing at midnight.

  Betty’s was an institution, for visitors and locals alike. Sometimes she even hung out there herself when she wasn’t working. But it was to be her first full Sunday off since starting back here all those weeks ago, and she was going to make the most of it.

  She was going to get up early, put on her old jeans and get some more work done on the new place. She’d already done the kitchen and the bedroom, the hallway and porch. She’d weeded the driveway and repointed the stones that marked off the flowerbeds and then replanted them.

  Who’d have believed that in the space of a month she’d own two properties in Montauk? When the craft shop couple had got in touch with her mother to ask if she wanted to buy she’d called Stacey right away. So technically it was a joint mortgage, but Toronto John was one of the good guys, and he had helped them get a low-rate deal.

  He was one of the good guys, all right. He was the best. She’d never known her mom happier. He adored her—that was clear. But more than that he respected her.

  She poured herself a decaf and sat down to count the money. It had been a busy day and it was the first time she’d stopped in hours. Her legs were sore and her back was sore. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes, then put her feet down flat on the tiled floor.

  It felt so good.

  It wasn’t just her work ethic—she’d always been a worker—it was the fact that she was now living in her own place and getting things done in her own time, on her own terms. She knew that the owner, Mario, prized her no-nonsense attitude and that he trusted her implicitly. She also knew that he was thinking of selling up.