The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage: An Italian Billionaire Romance (Italian Billionaire Christmas Brides Book 2)

by Mollie Mathews

  Oh, God. Not him!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He checked his watch then caught her stare as he lifted his head and gave her a faint grin. Mortified at being caught showing interest in him again Alex promptly stared out the window. With any luck she was wrong. He would be seated at the other end of the restaurant and pass right by.

  'Miss Spencer?' enquired the familiar honey-textured voice, barely masking mock amusement.

  Crap! It had to be him. Other than the waiter, nobody else knew her name. Horror quaked through her body.

  Taking a slow, deliberate sip of water to settle her nerves she lifted her gaze coolly toward him. 'I'm sorry, but this isn’t a good time,’ she said, injecting her voice with as much composure as she could summon. ‘I’m waiting for...’

  'I'm the man you've been waiting for.' His magnetic green eyes shone with captivating intensity, sending her heart rate soaring. A cheeky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth sounded a warning—he thought he could charm his way around her to get what he wanted. Irritation coiled through her chest, awakening parts of her personality that she hadn't been aware existed—like the desire to wipe that superior smile from his annoyingly handsome face. He was teasing her. Flirting with her. Playing with her.

  ‘Waiting for you?' she fired. 'I can assure you I've never waited for any man.’

  His strong chiseled jaw, softened into boyish dimples, leaving Alex with the distinct impression he found her indignation refreshing.

  'My name is Rossi. Vitaliano Rossi.' A surge of energy sparked between them as his hand reached to shake hers. His fingers tightened around hand, not too tightly to cause pain, but with calculated firmness designed to send the message that he, not she, would be in control.

  Alex took not a small degree of pleasure in reciprocating the firmness of his clasp. Disturbingly, a thrill quaked through her. Contrasting with his immaculately manicured fingers his palm had the powerful texture of a man who could karate chop a thousand Samurai to defend her honor. Against her will she found herself desiring his protection.

  His gaze sharpened on hers as though studying every nano movement in her face.

  A quivery feeling of traitorous feminine weakness coursed through her veins as he grinned with the easy confidence of a man used to disarming his opponents with his handsome looks and innate power. She slipped her trembling hand from his grasp.

  'Vitaliano Rossi.' He repeated, his voice lifting as though posing a question he demanded she answer.

  What was she missing? Alex patiently waited to be offered further explanation.

  'I expect the name means something to you.' He said at last, in a tone richly marinated in cynicism.

  'Vitaliano Rossi?' Alex shook her head. 'No. I'm afraid not. Should it?'

  His sage eyes turned icy green.

  'But then I'm not from New Zealand,’ she offered.

  She sensed the satisfaction that brought a thin smile to his roguish face.

  'So that's the problem.'

  Something in his tone led her to believe he felt he had solved a riddle. 'Excuse me?'

  'May I?' he swept broad sensual fingers toward the chair opposite her. Not waiting to be invited he sat and regarded her with speculative interest.

  ‘I must confess I was anticipating someone much older.' Alex said, too quickly.

  ‘Me also, but you are a pleasant surprise.'

  Alex shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Suddenly she felt incredibly rattled. All her planning, all her preparation was going out the window. Her neck might have turned the color of tamarillos under the intensity of his stare, her mind addled by his movie-star good looks, but the imperative need to ensure the man seated opposite her was in no doubt that he would not flirt his way into her submission, only intensified. She had to disabuse him of the notion fast. What she didn’t know yet was how.

  He ordered a Peroni beer from the hovering waiter, and returned his attention to her.

  'I'm curious, Ms Spender—' His sensual brows quirked as though struggling to maintain the pleasantries.

  ‘Spencer. My name is Alexandra Spencer.'

  ‘Scuse. My mistake.' He flashed a charming smile but his eyes remained unmoved. ‘How does someone so young come to acquire such an important work?’

  Hang on a minute. She was supposed to be asking the questions, Alex thought as he began mining her for information. It was obviously a tactical move to get the upper hand

  'So you are American?' he said, detecting her cultivated accent. He returned to his earlier comment when his interrogation efforts failed. 'Is that the problem with my offer?'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'Clearly the currency differential concerns you. It makes no difference to me whether I offer five million New Zealand dollars or five million US dollars. Consider it changed.'

  Alex bit back a surge of disbelief. His initial offer of five million had just tripled! And he didn't even flinch. Her fingers traced the beveled edges of the gold locket her father had left her, as she forced her face to remain impassive.

  'Of course I realize in the current climate of money laundering that transferring large sums of money internationally can be problematic. I have vast assets for this sort of thing. We can work around that.'

  ‘And who is we?' Alex asked.

  Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. 'You and I, Miss Spencer, are we.'

  An uncomfortable silence tugged at the space between them. She burned with the memory of the way he had looked at her last night, and his enigmatic aloofness added fuel to the fire. "What do you want?" her mother had asked when she left New York. For a wild, reckless moment Alex wondered if she would ever want a man like him.

  She smiled as her gaze drifted to his sensuous lips. It would certainly be interesting to find out. Alex’s imagination carried her momentarily away from the seriousness of her quest, filling her mind with visions of Vitaliano Rossi taking her in his strong arms and lowering his hard, purposeful mouth to her lips. She imagined with not a small amount of pleasure the shock on her mother's face if she returned home with him on her arm—no longer the spinster she always told her she would be. Priceless! Shocking! Scandalous! She forced herself upright in her chair. Totally ridiculous!

  'Aren't we here to discuss business?' Vitaliano said, forcing her attention to the only reason their paths had crossed.

  'Of course,' she replied drily. His relentless focus on his quest shouldn’t have hurt, but irrationally it did. She had always been a magnet for self-obsessed men who were totally consumed about business and cared not a scrap for her. But so long as she was in possession of something he wanted she would enjoy being the center of attention and making him wait.

  As much as he was dangerous, he was also fascinating. A chameleon, in equal parts as charming as he was determined to claim what she possessed, and she was beginning to relish the challenge of discovering the truth beneath his enigmatic façade.

  She smiled to herself. She would enjoy her time with him, perhaps even play a little, but he was not going to find her an easy conquest. She met his gaze with equal directness. 'I would like to know more about the size of your assets,' Alex forced the urge to laugh at her recklessness. 'Your vast assets—'

  She left her unfinished sentence dangling as she took a slow, deliberate sip of water. She slid her finger up and down the smooth stem of the glass, enjoying every scintillating moment as he stared at her with wide, glittering eyes.

  ‘—for working around international currency problems,' she finally added.

  The dangerous gleam receded. 'My company has international connections, Miss Spencer,' he said matter-of-factly. 'Now that we have established geography is not a barrier I take it we can conclude this transaction?'

  '’Not so fast Mr Rossi. Let’s savor this moment. Perhaps you have heard of the slow food movement?' she asked as the waiter placed the menus in front of them.

  Her question held his attention.

  Alex explained the phenomenon and then added, 'You
may like to go quickly, but I would prefer it if you could go slowly. I lose interest if it's over too soon.'

  His flint-hard gaze didn't shift from her face. 'How refreshing. Something else we have in common,' he said, taking her in with a long sultry stare as the waiter returned to take their order.

  ‘Prego. Va bene. We'll have the grilled market fish with the coconut and lemongrass risotto. And Crème Brûlée to follow. Grazie.’

  Good choice, Alex thought happily as Vitaliano dismissed the waiter.

  She steered the conversation back to what she really wanted to know, probing him with questions about his art collection and to her surprise spent the next 30 minutes being thoroughly absorbed by his knowledge of the art world.

  The waiter returned and placed their lunch before them. She lifted her knife and fork and cut into the her fish. 'Would you mind telling me first what business you are in, Mr Rossi?'

  'I dig things out of the ground,' he said with sardonic amusement.

  'That must be profitable,' she said, sweeping her gaze over his pricey watch caked in bazillions of diamonds.' But what kind of things?'

  His eyes mimicked her interest. 'The kind of things that beautiful women like yourself worship. Miss Spencer.'

  Flatter, she thought, not buying a word of what he said. She'd never thought herself particularly beautiful and warned herself to be extra vigilant. He was obviously an experienced seducer who thought she was some bimbo fortune hunter who he could charm into submission.

  'And just what do I worship, Mr Rossi?'

  'Gold.' He studied her and seemed surprised by her still, steady, emotionless gaze. His body had the stillness of a wild animal whose every sense was alert, suspicious and untrusting.

  'The Gold Ridge mine yields the finest gold in the world.'

  The Gold Ridge mine in Central Otago!

  Alex jolted upright. Her grilled Blue Cod nearly hurtled out of her mouth. She clamped her hand over her lips. Her free hand trembled as she reached for her glass of water to wash down the fish lodged in her throat. But she wasn't concentrating and knocked it over, sending a fast-moving puddle toward Vitali's lap.

  Suddenly two people clad in electric blue and shocking yellow jumpsuits hurled past the window and plummeted to the ground below. Alex screamed and jumped from her chair.

  Vitaliano regarded Alex with intensity as blood drained from her face.

  'Has anyone told you you're hyper-sensitive,' Vitaliano said, grabbing his napkin and mopping water from his groin. 'Sky jumpers. Perfectly normal tourist madness.’

  People pay hundreds of dollars for the privilege of scaring themselves witless. She knew that. But she was speechless. Refreshingly he hadn't shouted at her for making such a scene. She'd given up counting the number of times she'd been criticized for her sensitivity, yelled at, made to feel ashamed, told to toughen up. But then nothing about him was normal. Everything was hyper-crazy.

  Adrenaline lapped through her veins, fueled by the shock of the bodies hurling from the sky, and intensified by what Vitali had revealed. What were the odds? Her father had been a geologist and had spent many years in Central Otago. She had read about The Gold Ridge Mine when she travelled the length and breadth of New Zealand during her first search a year ago.

  But it had been established in the nineties, long after her father had moved to Northland's sunny Kerikeri. She had dismissed any connection when she had visited the area last year. The timing seemed off. But maybe she was wrong. How long did it take to establish a mine after gold deposits had been found? And why would her father leave if he'd found gold? It didn't make sense. And what link did Vitaliano Rossi have to her father's past?

  Unable to form any words, her gaze froze on his crotch as he dabbed at the puddle of water.

  ‘What precisely do you want, Miss Spencer?’ Vitaliano Rossi pushed.'

  She fixed her gaze more appropriately on her lunch.

  ‘You wanted to discuss my proposal, non? Va bene. Let's discuss it.’ He swept his hand before her. ‘Ladies before gentlemen.'

  Alex hesitated, if she told him precisely what she wanted she might never discover the real reason underlying his obsessive determination to own the painting—and obsession it had to be. Why else would he be prepared to pay such an extraordinarily ridiculous amount of money?

  He could easily tell her the first lot of nonsense that came into his head. Finesse was required. And while manipulation was something she despised most in people, what choice did she have? Wasn’t he playing the same card? As far as this matter was concerned, she would be just as masterful at playing the winning hand as Vitaliano Rossi.

  Even if he had nothing to tell her, Alex wanted her curiosity satisfied about his motives. She had not forgotten his strong reaction to the painting last night. It had completely killed his interest in her. Not that she wanted his interest, she lied to herself, but he certainly had some explaining to do.

  She hadn't liked the cynical remark he had just made, either—including her among the most beautiful women who valued gold above all else. How dare he devalue her? He didn't even know her. The arrogance of the man, she fumed, realizing with growing uneasiness that she found him maddingly attractive.

  But how dare he attempt to placate her, manipulate her, lie to her? She was no catwalk model. Her mother was the only beauty in the Spencer family. No doubt she had inherited her father's quirky looks. Which was further reason to find out more about the man from whom she had inherited half her genes.

  For now, though, it was better not to reveal too much—not even that she was one woman who could not be bought. Not for five million New Zealand dollars, or even five billion euros or whatever other currency he peddled. He would find that out soon enough.

  'To tell the truth, Mr Rossi, I'm not sure I want to sell you Lost Love,' she said flatly. 'I really don't understand why you want the painting. You're offering me such a ridiculous amount. It just doesn't feel right to take your money.'

  His shoulders tensed and she was left with the strong sense that he didn’t believe her. There was no longer the slightest spark of amusement or any hint of flirtatious invitation in the green eyes that bored into her. It was as though a steel wall had slammed between them.

  'I like it. I want it.' His eyes were hard and purposeful as though he were playing her at her game of detached emotion. He leaned forward, anchoring his elbows to the table, and clasped his large powerful hands. 'At the price I'm offering it will make this the New Zealand art world’s “Purchase of The Year.” All publicity is good publicity when it comes to appreciating an asset.'

  She held his gaze, trying to probe behind the words. Her natural tendency was to trust people but this was no low-stake interaction. The words on their own would have been somewhat convincing but something about the way his voice pitched, the way he never expanded his answers, the way his lips almost unperceptively twitched as he regarded her cooly, warned her he was not telling the truth.

  ‘What can I tell you—I’m obsessive. I buy paintings like Kim Kardashian buys clothes,' he raised a flint-hard gaze.' As a woman, surely you can understand that.'

  Alex bit back a retort. She didn't give a toss about clothes. 'Other than your interest in fashion I still don't know why this painting in particular interests you.'

  'It may sound absurdly sentimental, but I want Lost Love to go to a good home,’ she said. ‘Somewhere it can be appreciated by someone who truly cares.’ This man obviously was either secretive about his passions, or an unfeeling, obsessive collector, impatient to conclude the deal, she decided looking at his impassive face. But she, like any good gambler, needed to play a good hand to seal the deal and lead the conversation towards what she wanted to know.

  ‘For this reason I need to understand why you want to buy the painting so desperately,' she said. ‘If I’m honest, my preference is for it to remain on permanent public display so that others, regardless of whether they have money or not, may enjoy Lost Love.’ It wasn't untrue. Alex felt fierc
ely protective of the painting, something about it evoked her own deep sense of loneliness and she would rather die than see her father's painting entombed in a billionaire’s vault.

  'I don't analyze why I like something It either grabs me or it doesn't.' he bit.

  'You misunderstand me, Mr Rossi,' she retorted. She matched his penetrating gaze, noticing a hard light flicker in his eyes telling her that something she’d said had rattled his composure. She was not the only one who could see beyond her opponent’s aloof façade, slicing beyond well-cultivated masks.

  'It's not a question of money. That will not influence my decision. It's a question of motivation. At the risk of repeating myself, unless you tell me why you really want the painting, you have no chance of acquiring Lost Love. Let me leave you in no doubt, Mr Rossi, on this matter I will not budge. Take it or leave it.'

  His head jerked back almost undetectably. But Alex saw it. She knew she had just played a wild card, made a throw on the gambling table that Vitaliano, with all his wealth, had not betted on. And she had surprised him. She lifted her glass and sipped the fizzling water as he weighed her words, thankful that, unlike her thundering heart, this time her hands were steady.

  A faint sardonic smile curved his sensuous lips. 'Perhaps, "Miss Why," you can tell me why you're so determined to kill this deal?'

  Alex felt her face blanche. 'I'm afraid the information is confidential.'

  Vitaliano sat back down, and regarded her with curiosity behind guarded green eyes. He pressed the corners of the napkin to his mouth, then placed it on the table. 'It seems our talks have reached a stale mate.' He pushed back his chair and folded the napkin with methodical precision into a steeple and placed it on the table between them.

  'Allow me to apologize.’ he said, rubbing his face as though erasing a memory. ‘I’ve rushed you. It seems, Miss Spencer that with more time we may understand each other's motives a little better. Until then, as a sign of good faith, I'd appreciate it if the painting was withdrawn from the exhibition for the next twenty-four hours.'