Blackmailed into the Italian’s Bed

by Miranda Lee

  ‘You work too hard, Jordan.’

  ‘I enjoy my work, Chad.’ More than enjoyed. She’d feel totally empty without it.

  ‘Have you thought about what I asked you the other night?’

  Jordan’s chest tightened. She’d known he’d get round to this sooner or later.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘And?’

  This was it: the moment of truth. Did she have the courage of her convictions? Or was she going to weaken and let Gino keep spoiling things for her?

  She had a choice. She could pine over a relationship which had been doomed from the start. Or she could choose a new relationship which had everything going for it.

  Okay, not quite everything. But everything that mattered. Great sex was not the be all and end all, she reasoned. Besides, it wasn’t that Chad was a hopeless lover. He certainly wasn’t. The problem—if there was one—lay in her own responses. Gino had somehow programmed her not to respond totally to any other man. He, and he alone, could make her lose her head and lose control. Last night had proved that.

  But this phenomenon only occurred when he was around. He wasn’t around now. He would never be around again.

  The time had come to stop hiding behind her illogical passion for a man who, by his own admission, would never marry her. Next year she would be thirty. In ten years she’d be forty.

  Time to make a decision.

  ‘Yes, Chad,’ she said firmly. ‘I will marry you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GINO was on the top floor of his latest skyscraper construction-in-progress, making his way carefully along a not-too-wide girder, when his cellphone rang. He waited till he reached the relative safety of a corner before fishing it out of his pocket.

  ‘Gino Bortelli,’ he said, one arm wrapped securely around a post. The breeze was quite strong up that high.

  ‘What is this I hear about you breaking up with Claudia?’ came his mother’s highly accented voice.

  Gino smothered a sigh. The grapevine in the Italian community was very fast and usually accurate.

  ‘It’s no big deal, Mum. She wasn’t right for me, and I wasn’t right for her. We agreed to go our separate ways.’

  ‘That is not the way I hear it, Gino. Claudia is very upset with you.’

  Very upset that she wasn’t marrying into the Bortelli money would be more like it.

  Gino had been astounded at how vicious Claudia had become when he’d told her it was over between them. Suddenly she’d shown her true colours, using quite obscene language which everyone in the restaurant had heard. There’d been no hint of a broken heart, just ambition thwarted. After she’d flounced out all the other patrons in the place had stared at him, making Gino wish he’d chosen to break up with her in a more discreet and private place.

  That had been last Sunday—two days ago. In hindsight, he was surprised it had taken his mother this long to find out. Maybe he should have told her himself. But since returning to Melbourne on Saturday he hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with his family.

  It was because of them that he’d had to leave Jordan in the first place. And he’d not been able to go back for her. They’d sucked him emotionally dry till he no longer wanted get married and have children. The last ten years had been filled with nothing but unending responsibility and pressure, with him putting his mother’s and sisters’ needs first, never his own.

  But enough was enough.

  ‘Claudia was more in love with my money than she was with me, Mum,’ he said firmly. ‘Trust me on that. Look, I can’t stay and chat. I’m working.’

  His mother sighed. ‘You work too hard, Gino. You should take some time off.’

  ‘Maybe I will. But not today.’

  ‘Before you go, did you decide what you were going to do with that derelict site in Sydney? The one Papa bought all those years ago?’

  ‘Everything’s underway. It’s going to be a twenty-storey tower with apartments on the top ten floors, office space on the lower ten, shops on the ground floor, and parking underneath. I signed the contract with the architect last Friday.’

  ‘That is good, Gino. Papa would be pleased.’

  ‘How can he be pleased about anything, Mum, when he’s dead?’

  ‘Gino! How can you say such a wicked thing? Have you no faith? Your papa is watching over us from heaven. He would be very proud of you.’

  Gino shook his head. There was no arguing with his mother’s faith. So he didn’t bother.

  ‘He would be even prouder,’ she added, ‘if you married and carried on the Bortelli name.’

  ‘I am still only thirty-six, Mum. I have plenty of time for that yet. Look, I have to go.’

  ‘Will you be coming to dinner next Sunday?’

  His mother held a big family get-together on the last Sunday of every month. Gino usually attended. He liked playing with his nieces and nephews. But he hated the thought of being bombarded by questions over why Claudia wasn’t with him.

  ‘I can’t, Mum. Sorry. I have to go to Sydney to meet up with this architect. He wants to show me some preliminary plans.’

  Not true. But his mother wasn’t to know that. Still, he would have to go somewhere. Maybe to the snow? He liked skiing, and there was still some good snow in the ski-fields. He’d tire himself out every day and make sure he fell asleep each night the moment his head hit the pillow.

  He hadn’t slept well since returning from Sydney, his mind constantly tormented with what ifs.

  What if he hadn’t made that foolish promise to his father?

  What if he’d been able to go back for Jordan without feeling lousy?

  What if he’d told her the truth about himself before they’d gone up to his hotel room last Friday night?

  This last what if was easily answered: he’d been too aroused to delay, or to risk Jordan rejecting him after his explanations.

  His need for her had transcended common-sense.

  Was he still in love with her? he wondered. Or did he just want to escape with her again, as he had all those years ago?

  She’d claimed she’d never forgotten him.

  Gino believed her.

  How could either of them forget the fantasy life they’d lived together, such an erotically charged existence, full of passion and pleasure? But underneath all the sex had been true affection. He hadn’t just used Jordan, he’d truly cared for her—and she for him.

  But they were different people now. She was more cynical and less trusting. And he was…well, he was trapped by his previous deceptions.

  And yet he would give anything, do anything, to be with her like that again.

  ‘You should spend more time with your family, Gino,’ his mother chided.

  Gino’s teeth clenched down hard in his jaw, the cords in his neck standing out. ‘I have to go, Mum. Ciao.’

  He grimaced as he hung up, the Italian word for goodbye reminding him of the last time he’d heard it. On Jordan’s lips, as she swept out of the hotel room. And out of his life.

  His life…

  Gino glanced down at the city spread out below him. He was on top of the world so to speak. On top of the world financially as well as professionally. He had more money than he would ever need, a fancy penthouse and a fancy car: a Ferrari, no less.

  As for Bortelli Constructions…Although it had already been a well-known building company when he’d taken it over, under his guiding hand the company had gone from strength to strength, gaining an enviable reputation for reliability and quality. His hard work and astute business decisions had made every member of the Bortelli family millionaires several times over, and he himself was close to becoming a billionaire.

  But such successes counted for nothing if you weren’t happy.

  Jordan’s various accusations and taunts still haunted him.

  Perhaps because they were true. Technically, he had lied and cheated. But he wasn’t the coward she thought he was.

  He did know what he wanted.

  Her.r />
  But what was the point in pursuing her when she would not welcome his attentions?

  Gino could see no way of her getting Jordan to spend time with him—short of kidnapping her and imprisoning her in some secluded place with him.

  That idea had some appeal as a male fantasy.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the adult Jordan being one of those female hostages who would ever feel kindly towards her captor. When she’d stood naked in front of him and told him he’d never see her like that again he’d believed her.

  Gino sighed, then headed for the steel cage which would carry him down to the ground again. It was knock-off time in the building trade. Not so for the boss, however, who had to go back to his office in the city and make sure the administrative wheels of Bortelli Constructions were kept turning.

  Half an hour later his hard hat had been discarded and he was sitting behind his desk, a strong mug of coffee on his right and a load of correspondence in front of him. The clock on the wall was just ticking over to five when he picked up an envelope marked ‘Personal’, which his secretary hadn’t opened.

  Gino winced at the thought that it might be hate-mail from Claudia.

  No, he decided as he ripped open the envelope. She wouldn’t write. She’d e-mail or text message him. Girls like Claudia never put pen to paper these days.

  Gino found himself staring down at a gold-embossed sheet of paper.

  It was an invitation from Stedley & Parkinson.

  Mr Frank Jones, the senior partner of the Sydney branch, was inviting Mr Gino Bortelli—and partner—to a new client dinner on the following Saturday evening in their boardroom. The arrival time was seven-thirty, the dress black tie. His RSVP was required by Friday; an e-mail address was provided for his reply.

  Gino stared at the invitation for a good twenty seconds without drawing a breath. Then he gulped in some much needed air before letting it out with a long, slow sigh.

  Fate, it seemed, had stepped in to give him one last chance with Jordan.

  For surely the star of Stedley & Parkinson’s litigation section would have recently gained a new client or two? If so, she would probably be obliged to attend this dinner.

  Gino’s heart raced with the thought of seeing Jordan again—especially in a situation where she could not think he was deliberately stalking her. Their running into each other again would appear to be sheer coincidence. Which, in a way, it would be.

  He wouldn’t be taking a partner, of course. He no longer had a partner. Not that he would have taken Claudia anywhere near Jordan.

  Gino wondered if Adrian had received an invitation.

  No, probably not. Adrian had told him he’d used Stedley and Parkinson’s for legal work before. Which meant he wouldn’t be a new client.

  Still, it was likely that he’d been to such a dinner before, giving him first-hand knowledge of what kind of a do this was, and especially who attended from Stedley & Parkinson.

  Reaching for his cellphone, Gino looked up the menu of numbers he kept in there, located Adrian’s number and punched it in.

  ‘Adrian Palmer,’ Adrian answered straight away.

  Although one of Australia’s most up-and-coming young architects, Adrian didn’t use a secretary, or a proper office. He worked out of his high-rise apartment, situated in the middle of Sydney’s CBD.

  ‘Hi, Adrian. Gino Bortelli here.’

  ‘Gino! I was just working on the plans for your building. I think you’re going to be seriously pleased.’

  ‘That’s great, Adrian. Look, I’ve received an invitation in the mail from Stedley & Parkinson.’

  ‘For one of their new client dinners, I presume?’

  ‘Yes. Have you ever been to one?’

  ‘Yep—last month, actually. They have these dinners once a month. You should go, Gino. The food’s always great, and so is the wine. Of course that means you’ll have to fly up. But it’s tax-deductible.’

  ‘It says black tie. That’s a bit formal for a dinner in a boardroom, isn’t it?’

  ‘That would have come down from Mr Stedley, the American owner. He’s Ivy League and one of the country-club brigade over there in the States. He’s a strong believer in social networking. Encourages his employees to socialise together, too.’

  ‘You sound like you’ve met this guy. Don’t tell me he flies over from the States to attend?’

  ‘Nope. Met his son, though. Chad Stedley. He’s doing a stint out here in the Sydney office. They sat me next to him at this dinner. Quite a talker. Got the story of his life between courses. Had a gorgeous-looking girlfriend. Another of their lawyers—Jordan something-or-other.’

  Gino’s heart screeched to a halt even whilst his head whirled. Jordan had said there was no special man in her life. Yet a month ago she’d been this Chad Stedley’s girlfriend?

  There seemed only two solutions to this conundrum. She’d either broken up with Stedley since then. A possibility, given the difficult nature of relationships these days. Or she’d lied last Friday night. Which didn’t seem possible. Jordan had a real thing about lying.

  ‘Jordan Gray?’ Gino said.

  ‘Yep. That was her name. You know her, do you?’

  ‘I used to.’

  ‘No kidding? An old girlfriend?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘In that case you should think twice before bringing your current girlfriend along. You know what women are like. And that Jordan’s a real looker.’

  ‘Haven’t got a current girlfriend,’ Gino admitted. ‘I was thinking of going alone.’

  ‘I see. Well, I wouldn’t count on your getting together again with this Jordan, if I were you,’ Adrian advised drily. ‘I gathered from the Stedley son and heir that an engagement was just around the corner.’

  ‘An engagement!’ Gino exclaimed, before he could think better of it.

  ‘Yep. If that thought upsets you, then perhaps you shouldn’t go at all.’

  Upset him?

  Already a tidal wave of fury was building up on his horizon. If Jordan had lied to him…

  A boyfriend was bad enough. But if she’d willingly had sex with him, then gone home to her fiancé, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it.

  ‘No, no,’ Gino said with pretend nonchalance. ‘No sweat. It’s been years since Jordan and I were an item. But I wouldn’t mind seeing her again, having a chat about old times.’

  Plus a chat about very recent times, Gino vowed darkly. Namely last Friday night.

  ‘In that case be discreet. Chad Stedley came across as the controlling type. He might not like his girl’s ex showing up in her life again.’

  ‘He sounds delightful.’

  ‘He’s super-rich.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Women will put up with a lot to marry a super-rich guy.’

  ‘Is that the voice of experience talking?’

  ‘Hell, no. I’m rich, but not super-rich. Yet. Still, you must have come across a few gold-digging types. The Bortellis were listed as one the richest one hundred Australian families last year.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Gino said. ‘You looked us up?’

  ‘I always like to know who I’m doing business with, Gino. I steer well clear of the entrepreneurial type who has to borrow squillions, or relies on selling off the plan for his cashflow.’

  ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘If you do come to Sydney you could drop by and have a look at my preliminary plans.’

  ‘I haven’t decided whether I’ll come yet. I might go to the snow instead.’

  ‘That might be a wiser course of action.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gino said slowly ‘It might.’

  But Gino wasn’t feeling wise.

  If Jordan had lied to him…

  There was only one way to find out in advance of Saturday night. He would put Confidential Investigations back on the job. That gave them three and a half days to find out i
f Jordan had broken up with this Chad Stedley or not.

  More than enough time, he would imagine. He would also see if they could find out if Jordan would be attending this dinner.

  At the same time he would send an e-mail to the RSVP address, accepting Mr Frank Jones’s invitation to the dinner.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JORDAN reluctantly went through the motions of getting ready: same little black dress as last time, same shoes and jewellery.

  Her hair she didn’t have to do, thank goodness. She’d been to the hairdressers that morning, and had it shampooed and gently blowdried, giving her slightly wayward waves some control, but not straightening them too much. Her make-up took her less than ten minutes: just foundation, a touch of blusher, lipgloss and two coats of mascara.

  Jordan rarely wore much make-up. Never had.

  By half-past six she was ready—or as ready as she was ever going to be. Her taxi had been booked for seven, which left thirty minutes to do what? Watch half of an hour-long television show? Or have a glass of white wine and try to relax?

  The second option won, hands down.

  There was an already opened bottle of reisling in the door of her fridge—a fruity, slightly sweet wine, which Chad would have despised, but which Jordan liked. She poured herself a small glass and carried it through her living room, heading for her front balcony.

  Jordan slid back the glass door, giving a small shiver as she stepped into the cool evening air. Fortunately it wasn’t too windy, the sea breeze quite gentle. Darkness had fallen some time back, the lights giving a magical quality to Sydney’s two most famous icons, which were both visible from her seventh-floor apartment. The bridge on her right looked like a huge jewelled coat-hanger, whilst across the harbour the sailed roof of the Opera House resembled the set from a sci-fi movie.

  Jordan sighed as she leant against the railing and sipped her wine, her mind swiftly distracted from the lovely view to the evening ahead.

  She didn’t want to go to this month’s new client dinner.

  But she simply couldn’t get out of it. Not unless she had a very good reason.