Blackmailed into the Italian’s Bed

by Miranda Lee

  ‘Thank you for saying that. But I won’t be back. If things don’t work out with Gino I’m going overseas for a while. I might get a job in London. My dad was born in England, so I’m allowed.’

  ‘This is goodbye, then?

  Jordan hesitated. She’d never been the kind of girl who kept in touch with old friends. When she moved on, she moved on.

  After her original affair with Gino, and then her mother’s death, she’d become a loner, through and through.

  ‘I’ll keep in touch,’ she heard herself say. ‘I promise.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE moment he saw her walking through the arrivals gate Gino wanted to rush over and throw his arms around her.

  Instead, he just waved, smiled, and walked slowly towards her.

  She didn’t smile back, her eyes coolish as they flicked over him.

  ‘Hi, there,’ he said, whilst privately wondering if she was having second thoughts.

  ‘Hi,’ she returned.

  ‘Had a good flight?’

  ‘So-so.’

  Gino did his best to ignore her less than joyous attitude. But it wasn’t easy.

  ‘I have a car waiting outside,’ he said. ‘Let’s go get your luggage. Do you have much?’

  ‘Just one case. I hope I’ve brought enough warm things. I nearly died when the pilot said the outside temperature here was twelve degrees.’

  His eyes travelled over her black trouser suit, which looked a bit on the thin side. Okay for an office, but not up to Melbourne on a rainy winter’s day. ‘It is still pretty cold down here, and wet. But my place is temperature-controlled.’

  He made small talk with her whilst they waited next to the carousel, asking how her resignation had gone and if there’d been any trouble.

  None, apparently.

  But her body language remained tense, and negative.

  Hopefully, she’d relax once she saw that he’d meant what he’d said about there being no sex this week, just companionship.

  Gino had worried that it would be almost impossible for him to keep his hands off her. But nothing was too great a sacrifice, he realised as he stood beside her, if it meant convincing Jordan he was sincere.

  ‘That’s mine,’ she said, pointing to a medium-sized black bag.

  He swept it up with ease, smiling at her as they began to walk towards the exit. ‘You do travel light.’

  Still she didn’t smile, her lovely face taut, her eyes not happy. ‘I don’t own a lot of clothes.’

  ‘We’ll go buy you some nice new things tomorrow. Melbourne is, after all, the fashion capital of Australia.’

  ‘First you criticise my apartment,’ she snapped. ‘Now my clothes.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with your clothes,’ he lied. ‘But black is definitely not your colour.’

  ‘I don’t want you to buy me any clothes,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Fine. I just thought you might enjoy it. Most women enjoy clothes-shopping—especially when someone else is paying.’

  Jordan ground to a halt, her blue eyes flashing at him. ‘I am not most women. And I am not your mistress. Yet. If and when I agree to such a role in your life, then you can tart me up for your pleasure. Till then, you will take me as I am.’

  His black eyes flashed back at her. ‘I thought I wasn’t supposed to take you at all.’

  Colour zoomed into her cheeks. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I can’t say that I do. When I offered to take you clothes-shopping my intention was not to dress you up for my pleasure but to remind you that you are a beautiful woman who looks her best in feminine clothes. You seem to have forgotten that somewhere along the way.’

  ‘I did tell you that I’d changed.’

  ‘Not for the better, it seems.’

  ‘I didn’t come all this way to argue with you.’

  ‘No kidding. You were ready for a fight the moment you got off that plane.’

  His accusation took Jordan aback. But she quickly realised he was right. Her mental boxing gloves had come up the moment she set eyes on him, looking superb in a sleek grey business suit, with matching overcoat and a scarf slung elegantly around his neck. Suddenly she’d felt dowdy and out of her depth. She’d been more comfortable with the Gino of ten years ago, the one who’d worn jeans and T-shirts and spoken with an Italian accent.

  The Gino of today was too slick for her, and too clever by half. He could even out-argue her, which was not an easy thing to do.

  ‘I should not have come,’ she said wretchedly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be fine once I get you home and get a couple of glasses of wine into you. I’ll even cook you dinner like I used to. Would you like that?’

  She blinked, then stared at him. ‘You still cook?’

  ‘Not all that often these days. But I will, for you.’

  Gino wanted to whoop for joy when she finally smiled.

  ‘Could I pick the meal?’

  ‘Only if you promise to let me take you clothes-shopping tomorrow.’

  Her head tipped charmingly to one side, her blue eyes dancing at him. ‘The Gino of ten years ago was not as good a negotiator as you.’

  ‘I didn’t need to be. Though you took a good bit of persuading at times. You’ve always had a stubborn streak, Jordan.’

  ‘And you’ve always had an inflated ego.’

  ‘Good God—she’s doing it again. I refuse to talk to you any more, woman,’ he said, picking up the suitcase with his right hand and clasping her arm with his left. ‘There will be total silence from this moment, till I get you safely in my car and on the way home.’

  ‘You don’t need to impress me, Gino,’ were her first words after that. He’d just helped into the back of a white limousine.

  ‘There’s every need,’ he replied. ‘I want you to know that you won’t lose financially by not marrying Stedley.’

  Jordan gave him a startled glance. ‘It might have escaped your attention, but I make a very good living as a lawyer. There is no mortgage on my apartment. And I have a very nice car in my garage.’

  ‘But a pathetic wardrobe.’

  ‘Now who’s trying to pick a fight?’

  Gino grinned. ‘I just had to get that in again.’

  ‘What makes you such an expert in female fashion, anyway?’

  ‘I have six sisters.’

  ‘Six!’

  ‘Yep: two older and four younger. They’re all clothes-mad. So is my mother. Mum always dragged me along on when she went shopping. Dad refused to go, and she wanted a male opinion she could trust.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your big family all those years ago?’ Jordan asked him. ‘Why did you let me think your were an only child?’

  Gino knew he had to make her understand why he’d lied to her. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like being the only son in an Italian household?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I was my father’s son and heir—the one who would take over the business when he retired or died. As far back as I remember, my father lectured me on my duty and my responsibility towards the family. If anything happened to him, I was to be the provider and the protector. There was no question about my doing anything else with my life except becoming an engineer, like him. At the same time I was encouraged to hold strong to my Italian roots and culture. That was why I was sent back to the university in Rome. I stayed with an aunt and uncle there till I graduated, living and breathing the Italian way of life. My aunt continually introduced me to Italian girls of suitable marriage age. I’m sure she thought they were all sweet little virgins. But they weren’t. Not a single one.’

  ‘I see,’ Jordan said, looking thoughtful.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. They were all very nice, very attractive girls. But I didn’t fall in love with any of them. I certainly didn’t want to marry any of them, although I could have had my pick. By the time I finished my four-year stint over there I w
as very homesick for Australia, and totally fed up with all things Italian. I might have been born in Rome, but I’d moved to Australia when I was one. Australia was my country and my home. I was also sick of always being introduced as Giovanni Bortelli’s son. I never knew if people liked me for myself, or because of my father. When I finally came home, and my father wanted me to go straight into the business with him, I rebelled. I’d had enough, I told him. I needed some space—needed to be free for a while from the pressure of being his son. He reluctantly agreed to give me a year to do just that. Probably because he could see if he didn’t I would just take off and never come back. I refused to tell him where I was going, but I did finally tell my mother. Not where I was living, but where I was working. That’s how she knew where to contact me when Dad becameill.’

  Gino picked up Jordan’s hand within both of his. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ he said sincerely. ‘But I know I did. I was just an overgrown boy, Jordan, masquerading as a man. I was selfish and totally self-centred. I like to think I’m a real man now, capable of compassion and caring for others. I won’t hurt you again. I promise.’

  Jordan wanted to believe him. She did believe him, actually. Or she believed his good intentions. But he would hurt her again. History was bound to repeat itself, as it always did.

  His Italian family was still a huge obstacle to their finding happiness together, as was that deathbed promise to his father. Gino was never going to go against that promise and marry her.

  But none of that seemed to matter when Gino was holding her hand and looking deep into her eyes, the way he was doing right at that moment.

  ‘It’s all right, Gino,’ she said softly. ‘I understand what happened ten years ago. And I forgive you.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.’

  ‘Does your mother know about me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you going to tell her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today, if you want me to.’

  ‘No. No, I don’t want you to do that. Not yet.’

  She turned her head to gaze through the passenger window.

  It had begun to rain outside—a soft, gentle drizzle.

  ‘I’ve never been to Melbourne before,’ she said at last.

  ‘You’ll like it.’

  She turned back to face him. ‘How can you be sure?’

  He smiled. ‘Because I live here.’

  She had to laugh. ‘You’re an arrogant devil.’

  ‘Confident. Not arrogant.’

  ‘What’s in a word?’

  ‘You’re a lawyer. You should know there’s a lot of difference between confident and arrogant.’

  ‘How would you describe me?’

  ‘How many words can I use?’

  ‘As many as you need. What did you think of me the first night we met.’

  ‘Mmm. My first impression was that you were beautiful.’

  ‘Gee, don’t get too deep on me.’

  Gino grinned. ‘The male perspective on first meeting a female is inevitably shallow. It’s a hormonal thing. But by the end of the night I knew you were also intelligent, hard-working and kind.’

  ‘Flatterer.’

  ‘I haven’t finished. After I moved in with you I swiftly discovered you possessed a unique combination of qualities. Sweetly innocent, yet capable of great sensuality. Strong-willed and stubborn on occasion, but mostly soft and giving. What impressed me the most, however, was your loyalty. I always knew that your love was mine. I never worried that you would ever look at any other man. Not while you were with me.’

  His last compliment choked her up. In truth there’d never been another man for her, even after he’d left her. Which was why she was here, sacrificing everything just to be with him.

  ‘And now, Gino? What am I now?’

  ‘You’re still you, Jordan,’ he said gently. ‘Underneath.’

  ‘Underneath what?’

  ‘Underneath the rather formidable façade you’ve developed over the years. You’re still a compassionate, caring woman, Jordan. I could hear that in your voice when you told me about the Johnson case. But being a lawyer has also made you cynical.’

  ‘It’s impossible not to become a cynical. The things I’ve seen, Gino, and heard. People are rotten.’

  ‘No. Some people are rotten, Jordan. Lots of people are good. Don’t let the minority colour your view of life. I know that that insurance company did the wrong thing by your father. But revenge, whilst temporarily satisfying, can prove to be self-destructive in the long run. Frankly, I think it’s high time for you to give the law a break.’

  ‘That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I meant for longer than a week.’

  Jordan knew what he meant. He wanted her to stay with him, live with him. Become his de facto wife.

  But Jordan wanted to be his real wife.

  ‘Let’s just take one day at a time, Gino.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said equably. ‘I can do that.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘I love your place, Gino.’

  Gino glanced up from his cooking with a wry smile on his face.

  ‘You’re just saying that.’

  ‘No, no. I mean it.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too eclectic? And cluttered?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Jordan could see now why he’d hated her apartment so much.

  Gino’s penthouse was as far removed from minimalist as one could get. Everywhere there was colour and warmth.

  The walls were all painted a soft, creamy yellow, most of the floors were covered in a deep jade-green carpet, and the furniture was a mad mixture of modern and antique—which probably shouldn’t have gone together but somehow did. There were cushions of every hue and fabric dotted about the living rooms, plus lots of ornaments, and more photos in frames than she’d ever seen.

  The kitchen was huge, and mostly wooden, even the benchtops. A rich wood—probably cedar. The splash-backs were beaten copper, the appliances stainless steel, the floor covered in multicoloured slate. Every imaginable kitchen utensil hung from copper pipes running overhead, put there because Gino said he hated hunting through drawers for things. There was a central island with a sink and a stove, on which Gino was currently cooking the most delicious Bolognese sauce Jordan had ever tasted. He’d cooked it for her every Saturday night during the time they’d lived together.

  A secret recipe, he’d once claimed.

  Its smell was enough to make anyone’s tastebuds water.

  ‘More wine?’ Gino asked, putting down his wooden spoon and lifting the bottle of red which he’d opened earlier.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ she said, even as she held out her near empty glass.

  ‘Why shouldn’t you?’

  ‘You know what I’m like when I drink.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said as he refilled her glass. ‘I won’t let you have your wicked way with me.’

  ‘You won’t?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I meant what I said, Jordan. I need to prove to you that there’s more than just sex between us. Hopefully, by Friday, you’ll be convinced.’

  ‘Friday? That’s not a week. That’s only four days.’

  He shrugged, then grinned. ‘I figured four days was about my limit with you under my roof.’

  By Thursday evening, Gino was definitely at his limit.

  Not that they hadn’t spent a wonderful few days together. Gino had taken the week off work and spent every waking moment with Jordan. They’d gone shopping together, with Jordan giving in and letting him buy her some lovely feminine clothes. They’d lunched out, but had stayed in each evening, with Jordan very happy for him to cook for her. Afterwards, they’d watched television together, or just sat and talked.

  Gino had talked more in the last few days than he had in years, holding back nothing in telling Jordan all about his life and his family.

  What
he hadn’t done was make love to her.

  Sleeping had become increasingly difficult each night. Not just because of sexual frustration, but because of the frustration associated with their future together. He wanted to ask Jordan to marry him. But how could he without being tormented? He wished to goodness he’d never made such a stupid promise to his father. But of course he hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time.

  Now he was trapped in a situation which seemed to have no solution. Not one which Jordan would feel happy with. She was at an age where she wanted marriage and motherhood.

  To offer her a de facto relationship was a second-rate compromise.

  At the same time there was no question of letting her go. Gino had done that once. He was not about to do it again.

  He loved this woman. And he wanted her like crazy.

  Maybe it was time to stop talking and show her how much.

  ‘I hope this tastes as good as it smells,’ Jordan said, as she carried a steaming dish into the dining room.

  By Thursday, she’d decided it was her turn to cook.

  Cooking was not her forte, but she’d become competent enough over the years, though her repertoire of recipes was limited. She’d sensibly stuck to a tried and true favourite of hers, a Thai-style stir-fry with hokkien noodles, and chosen a Margaret River white wine to go with it. She’d even set the dining table, though their other evening meals had been consumed very casually, either at the breakfast bar or in front of the television.

  A search of the many kitchen cupboards had uncovered a wide array of placemats, serviettes, glassware and crockery. She’d chosen yellow placemats and serviettes, plain crystal goblets, and white crockery with yellow flowers on it.

  Gino didn’t say a word as she put the serving dish onto the mat in the middle of the table—which was not like him at all. Come to think of it, he hadn’t sat at the breakfast bar whilst she’d cooked, either, making the excuse that he’d wanted to watch the news on television.

  Something wasn’t right, Jordan realised with a rush of foreboding. Yet she couldn’t think what: they’d been so happy together this week.

  ‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ she said, as she sat down opposite him and flicked out her serviette.