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

by Mollie Mathews

  The request struck Alex as unusual. First the incredible offer that had forced Clive Gacos' hand last night; then, the insistence on meeting with her as early as possible. Now, he was playing for time. Just why, when the painting was not listed for sale, did Vitali Rossi want the painting out of the gallery so badly? The answer shot from Alex's mind.

  He wanted it hidden!

  He couldn't stand to have it on public exhibition. That was his motivation. It wasn't so much a need to possess, but an urgent need to remove it from public scrutiny. He had revealed his hand without realizing. Yet there was still the all-elusive, "Why?"

  'I'm sorry, Mr Rossi,’ she said, ‘But I can't do that. Not unless you tell me why you want it withdrawn.' Alex kept her voice calm and unemotional, but the rush pounded through her now. Finally, within her grasp—the truth. 'I demand exclusivity.'

  'I'm afraid it's not good enough,' Alex insisted.

  He shook his head in an exasperated fashion, and then looked up as the group of Korean's pressed against the table, pushing their camera at Vitaliano expectantly. Throwing Alex a derisive look he rose to his feet. Alex found herself smiling as she watched him tousle the hair of a young boy, then scoop him up against his powerful chest and place the child in his mother's arms. He took the camera and waited patiently while the group assembled for a photo.

  'Say “Kiwi”,' he commanded, pulling silly faces at them to break through their stiff, over-posed facades. If there was a sexier sound than the husky Italian timbre of his voice she’d never heard it.

  What a contradiction he was, she mused as the group left the restaurant, and Vitaliano sat back down. One minute, ruthlessly driven, the next charmingly disarming, then adoringly humorous and sentimental. But who was he really? What secrets did he hide? What lengths would he go to conceal the truth?

  His brows furrowed. 'I give you my reasons. You won't accept them. What more do you want? Silence swelled between them, then he turned to her and gave her an indulgent smile. 'Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot.' He said, shifting tack. 'I can't help but wonder if I offended you at the gallery last night?'

  The unexpected reference threw Alex into confusion. 'Offended me? Absolutely not.’ she answered weakly.

  His eyes narrowed with a laser-like intensity. ‘I realize these sorts of negotiations can be stressful.' He clicked his fingers in the air, and summoned the waiter. 'Champagne with lunch might loosen things up.’

  Lubricate her into compliance more like, she thought as he asked for a bottle of the restaurant's most expensive Champagne. When he turned back to Alex, his green eyes glittered with a sea of suggestive possibilities.

  ‘Please, call me Vitiali.' He regarded her with an amusing expression for several moments. 'You really are tantalizingly beautiful. But I dare say you've been told that many times.'

  Beautiful? Nope, she could categorically swear it was a term that was never applied to her. Who did he think he was kidding? Did he seriously think she was the sort of woman her could schmooze with champagne and gratuitous charm into compliance? No doubt with his combination of scorching looks and blistering wealth he was used to getting his way. But if he thought she could be won over by a bit of disingenuous seduction, he was wrong.

  'The real beauty, Mr Rossi,’ she said deciding to keep her distance from him by keeping to the formality of using his surname, ‘and the one I can't help but wonder if you find more interesting than me, is the woman in the painting.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  His eyes narrowed, but not before she saw a flash of fire blister across them. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was it disappeared behind a shield of feigned nonchalance ‘Si. You are very perceptive. I admire that in a woman. I find it quite intriguing the way a random face has been integrated with the background. An artistic tour-de-force.' he said smoothly.

  Too smoothly.

  ‘I place a high value on originality,’ he said, regarding her with far too hypnotic eyes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. That's one of the reasons I wanted to buy it,' he added pointedly. 'So unlike any of Jimmie Gold's many other works.'

  Alex knew this was true, but he was still hiding something. And now, more than ever, she knew discovering the woman whose likeness her father has immortalised on canvas held the key to discovering her past.

  Effervescent bubbles caught the light as the champagne arrived and was poured into glasses. Vitali Rossi lifted his in a toast. 'To a better understanding between us,' he said with a smile that sent bubbles fizzing in her traitorous heart.

  He was do damned, annoyingly and magnetically attractive. Alex struggled to fend off his strongly masculine sex appeal. She could not afford to let him get to her. Nor did she need a waste-of-time fling. Besides, she knew better than anyone the person inside was more important than an attractive exterior.

  Determined to keep her mind clear, she took only the smallest sip of champagne. Even so the tiny sparkles glittering from the glass sent her mind spinning. Or was it because the revolving restaurant had just completed its 360-degree spin, bringing them directly in front of Rangitoto Island? Whatever it was she was grateful when their dessert was served immediately afterwards.

  She reviewed the situation as she tapped her spoon on her desert and broke through the hard glaze of caramelized custard. Vitali Rossi was not going to be trapped into saying anything he didn't want to say. He was too sharp, too clever, and far too guarded to allow himself to be led beyond where he wanted to go.

  But she had learnt something.

  He wanted the painting out of the exhibition.

  It couldn't be the scene of The Remarkables that concerned him so much. It had to be the woman's face. And that meant it was recognizable. Not only recognizable, but it was of some very real and urgent significance to him that was not be recognized by anyone else.

  Why else would he have said the woman was random? Now that she knew who he was, Alex figured it would be easier to find out who the woman was and what link she had to her father. But was the mysterious woman alive and would she be any more forthcoming than Vitaliano Rossi?

  'How long have you owned the painting?' he asked.

  She glanced up sharply. But there was only a mildly quizzical look on his face. ‘Not long.'

  'I noticed in the catalogue that the artist died last year. Did you acquire the painting before or after his death?'

  'After,' Alex answered softly, her voice catching as she spoke. Was it time now to reveal that the artist was her father? The information was so deeply personal she rarely spoke of it, and sharing it now with a virtual stranger didn't feel natural. No one in her family ever listened to her, so why would he? Besides she wasn't sure if that information would draw more openness from Vitali Rossi, or close him tighter. Somehow it seemed more poignant, more pertinent, more prudent to keep her thoughts private. It made her less vulnerable.

  'Then you haven't had it very long,' he commented, and again Alex sensed his satisfaction in her reply. The artist was dead, and his secrets buried with him. That was what Vitali Rossi thought. More importantly, she sensed, it's what he needed, desired, wanted to be true. If she jolted him now with her relationship to Jimmie Goldie, it might thrust him out of his self-satisfaction, but it wouldn't take him long to ascertain her ignorance on the all-important meaning of the painting.

  'No, not long,' she prevaricated. 'But I'm not inclined to let it go—if that's what you're getting at. It has...a personal value...to me.' Alex studied him carefully as she added. 'I wondered if perhaps it had a personal significance to you also—over and above collecting.’

  He pasted an indulgent smile on his lips. 'I only saw it for the first time last night, Miss Spencer. I want it. That's as personal as I ever feel about anything.'

  'I see,' she murmured, and went on eating, He wasn't going to crack. She had to apply more pressure, and there was only one way to do that.

  She didn't drink any more champagne. She noticed he didn't touch his glass either. He didn't return to the subject of the
painting. He asked her how much she had seen of New Zealand, what she liked and disliked—a pleasantly innocuous conversation peppered by a flattering interest in her. Alex didn't believe in that interest for a moment. She merely played along with it until lunch was over. The whole thing was going nowhere. She needed to cut out now or she would never find out what she wanted. It was a big dead-end. She stood up and offered her hand.

  'It's been fascinating meeting you, Mr Rossi. Thank you for your time.'

  His nostrils flared as he rose from his chair, a tight, wary look flashing across his face as he took her hand. He held it firmly. 'A pleasure, Miss Spencer. I assume you'll be instructing your agent to go ahead with the deal.'

  'I'm sorry.’ She pasted a blank expression on her face, masking her fear that he may simply shrug and walk away. ‘I’ve decided not to sell.'

  But she needn't have worried. He was hooked all right! His fingers almost crushed hers. A bitter cynicism hardened his eyes. 'I don't like games and I like being played with even less. If it's more money you want, you have only to name your price.'

  She held his gaze steadily, without so much of a flicker of movement on her face. 'Mr Rossi, I learnt to live without people and their money a long time ago. Now, if you would please release my hand we can both get on with our lives.'

  His fingers locked around her hand like manacles then let go. 'Why did you agree to meet me at all?’ he growled. His eyes flashed dangerously and his mouth hardened into a rigid line. He looked like a volcano on the cusp of eruption. Yet she knew he was a man who never ceded control.

  Alex didn't flinch. 'To discuss the painting, as we agreed.' she answered with nonchalant, calm, logic. 'I'm afraid, Mr Rossi, you've left me unsatisfied. I'm no closer to learning the real reason you want Lost Love. Should you decide to enlighten me—emphasis on enlightenment—you know how to contact me. The deadline is close of day today. I do hate to leave matters hanging.'

  Her legs trembling and her stomach churning, Alex picked up her bag. 'Thank you for taking the trouble to meet with me personally.'

  She marched toward the lift, wanting to avoid the escalating conflict and anxious to end the encounter before he unleashed his full wrath.

  Undoubtedly failing to get what he wanted was a totally foreign experience. Alex could not help grinning to herself over that little triumph. It lent a heady exhilaration to every step. He had dismissed her last night. She had well and truly returned the compliment. They were even.

  But why didn't she feel even more triumphant?

  Her hand trembled as she pushed the button. As the door sprung open she stepped into it quickly, worried he may follow her. The last thing she wanted was to be locked into a confined space with him again. Who knows what tactics he would deploy to try and weaken her resolve. The doors closed sharply, but she had one brief view of Vitaliano Rossi before he was shut out.

  Smouldering eyes surveyed her. He hadn't moved. And he didn't look the least bit defeated. In fact, Alex felt a most discomfiting sensation of danger, as if she had aroused a wild warrior that would not rest until he had tasted her defeat. Whether it was the painting he wanted or the woman that possessed it, she didn’t know. And she wasn’t about to hang around to find out.

  She tried to shrug off the feelings of foreboding as the lift descended to street-level, but she was forcefully reminded her first impressions of him last night—a man who let nothing stand in his way.

  Her heart pounded as she walked quickly through the foyer and asked the doorman to hail a taxi, anxious to get away fast.

  'Where to?' he asked.

  The door closed, the doorman already stepping back out of hearing range. 'The waterfront,' she said breathlessly

  A ferry ride on Auckland Harbour seemed like a good way to calm her shattered nerves. Any ferry would do. So long as she was safely out of reach. Who knows how he would now react. What she did know is that for the first time in her life she was playing with danger.

  And it was intoxicating.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Think possible blackmailing gold-digger. Vitaliano clenched the sides of his iPhone in his left hand and with a firm finger scrolled through the photographs. He lifted his hand from the screen as though the images of Alexandra Spencer burned his fingertips. The shots taken by his private investigator had just been emailed through, and he bent his head to study them more intensely. He caught his breath as he took in the eclectic array of images of her. In all of them she had wild tumbles of irresistible curls, crumpled clothes that had probably never seen an iron. And she frequently had a camera in her hand—all set in a variety of foreign settings. Who was she really? What was her true essence?

  In the photos, she’d looked innocent and naïve, albeit slightly disheveled. Whereas in the flesh, the overwhelming impression was of scintillating elegance, sensual refinement and freshness emphasized by provocatively full lips, sculptured cheekbones and wide dazzlingly blue feline eyes.

  Had she already played him, feigning her fear of heights, knowing full well who he was, determined to what she wanted? If so she had made her first move with tantalizing skill, managing to look both innocent and seductive, her body fluttering in vulnerability, seeking his protective embrace. But now that he knew that she was the one who possessed the painting there was every possibility that her sensual, innocent vulnerability was a façade. A well-honed lie. Why else would she be so secretive?

  Oh, she was good. But she would soon learn that he was better.

  Beautiful, sexy and twenty-five-years old, there was every possibility Alexandra Spencer had decided on a career as an extortionist. If he had to throw more money at her to possess the painting and hide it from prying public eyes, he would. Even though it would go against his principles, he would do it to protect his family from scandal.

  Ignoring an unwelcome itch of desire, he focused on the photos again with the keen brain and ferocious concentration which had propelled his luxury jewelry emporium into Europe’s most exclusive brand. Only with him at the helm had the remote Central Otago gold mine in New Zealand transformed into one of the world’s largest and most desirable suppliers of gold.

  As he studied the photos again, for a moment he was transfixed by a feral response to the way the sunlight in one of the images, with The Great Sphinx of Egypt in the distance, summoned gold flames from her rippling blonde hair. Although tall like the statuesque models he fleetingly dated, she was built on more voluptuous lines, and her skin gleamed alabaster, rather than horrid sun-bed gold.

  Vitaliano liked a girl with curves in all the womanly places, including rounded soft breasts he could cup in his hands, enjoying their sensuous fullness. Oh, she was a beauty all right—even if she didn’t seem aware of it, he thought recalling the delectable blush that warmed her face when he’d complimented her. But this artful coyness was no doubt another of her tricks.

  His mood darkening, Vitaliano pressed the phone to his ear when the call he’d been waiting for finally arrived, ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘The American’s are very tight-lipped,’ the investigator he’d employed said wearily. ‘Nobody I talked to was at all forthcoming.’

  Vitali's brows shot up. ‘I thought they ate gossip with The New York Times and their bagels.’

  ‘Her mother was extremely protective of her. Dare I say…secretive.’

  Secretive.

  Vitali recalled how she had lifted her glass to her mouth, looking as innocent as a female panther sipping water beside a lake of gazelles. Alarmed by the pagan hunger stirring from its three-year self-imposed hiatus he ruthlessly bent his attention to the investigator.

  ‘So, what you are telling me, Mr. Berclossi is that despite me paying you considerably more than your normal fee, you have come up with nothing. Niente. Nulla. Zero.’

  ‘Perhaps with more time…’ he protested.

  Vitali glanced at his oversized gold Rolex. ‘More time, Mr. Berclossi is something you don’t have.’ Annoyance grated his throat. He’d already
paid him three times what the job was worth. It was a bitter confirmation of what he already knew—the deeper your pockets, the more they tried to mine your gold.

  Trust no one.

  If he wanted a job done expertly he had to do it alone. Fending for himself in boarding school in London where he was dumped as a young boy, had taught him self-sufficiency, and this was his only trust-worthy companion.

  Vitali glanced down at the street below, his eyes narrowing with the predatory precision of a falcon as Alex, “the mystery woman”, tumbled into a waiting cab at the foot of the Sky Tower, and wondered how best to play his strategy. Whatever happened she must never learn the real reason he wanted the painting destroyed.

  Ignoring an unwelcome kick of desire, he focused on her with the keen brain and critical eye that had propelled his gemstone consortium onto the world stage. An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his lips as Alex wound the window of the cab down and looked directly at him as though scenting his scheme.

  Droning in his ear like the distant engine of a helicopter hovering through the skies, the investigator’s voice punctured his thoughts.

  ‘I did discover something,’ the private-eye said, his voice aching for Vitaliano’s approval. ‘She’s super smart. Her mother did make quite a point about her academic achievements. Although I was left with the distinct impression she regretted that her daughter did not make the most of her opportunities.’

  So, that was it. Maybe she hoped to force that opportunity by extracting money from a total stranger, Vitali thought cynically. He bit down on his jaw, summoning the ragged remnants of his self-control. It would take more than a seasoned provocateur to tempt him to empty his pockets of his considerable wealth. Alexandra Spencer would quickly find out that Vitali Rossi wasn’t going to be her ticket to a better life.