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

by Mollie Mathews

  One way or another he would acquire Lost Love.

  Outraged and somewhat bewildered by her refusal to accept the staggering sum he had offered, he took pleasure in knowing she would quickly find herself outplayed. Of all the forms of deceit, blackmail was the most despicable.

  Tension jack-knifed through his body as he glanced down at a photo of Alex at a place he immediately recognized as his ancestral home Isola Bella, near Milan in Lago Maggiore. Surrounded by the beautiful, world acclaimed garden, like Eve, her face beckoned with beguiling seductiveness. Two could play her game. He would take her to the edge and find out just how far she would go to win her little ruse. And while he was immersing himself in her sensual pleasures he’d find out just how much she already knew about his family.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alex strolled along the quay checking ferry destinations and timetables. She glanced at her watch. The ferry to Waiheke Island was leaving in five minutes. Impulsively she made her decision. She purchased her ticket and dashed on board. She would distract herself by taking some photos and think about penning a travel article.

  The trip across the harbor was magical. The ferry went at a snail’s pace slowing her quaking heart. She sat on the top deck under the azure sky and inhaled the fresh sea air, sighing with relief as the imposing spire of Auckland’s sky tower gradually receded into the distance.

  Alex managed to push Vitali Rossi out of her mind for a while as her eyes absorbed the gentle blue of the sea. Pretty yachts, their white sails splayed by the warm breeze, glided by like swans. Swans mate for life, she recalled. Would she ever meet a man she trusted enough to love her forever? A man who would accept her for who she was—independent, strong-willed, obsessive. She pushed the silly romantic notion firmly aside. She liked her independence. The last things she needed were the games, the drama, the wondering—the heartbreak.

  Vitali Rossi's words rippled into her mind—“You are tantalisingly beautiful.” Did he truly believe that? She never thought of herself as beautiful. Her mother often criticized that Alex’s skin was flawless now that those “hideous scars had been lasered.” Her face was now perfect, but never had she, nor anyone else said she was beautiful. And whenever she looked in a mirror all she saw was the miracle of the skin treatment she had endured.

  She swept her eyes along the battle ships as the ferry drew alongside the navy base at Devonport to pick up passengers. The steely grey battle ships instantly reminded her of Vitali Rossi, with his cold, indifferent façade, his heart impenetrable, steeled against attack. Perhaps Auckland Harbour was not such a good way to distract herself from the man she had fled.

  Would Vitali be thinking of her? Of course he wouldn’t. He was impervious to the hot flushes he incited, and he’d made his interests perfectly clear. The only thing he cared for was possessing the painting. He was not the kind of man who would accept defeat. He would fire all his cannons, launch indefinite rockets, rain his ammunition upon her until she submitted.

  Whatever assault he planned Alex was not going to back down until she knew the truth. Vitali Rossi knew something crucial and whatever it was he was determined it remain a secret. It was obviously very, very important. Somehow she would have to extract a confession from him. But what ammunition did she have? She could tell him the truth. That it was her father who had painted Lost Love. But somehow she doubted that revealing her hand would prompt Vitali into lowering his defences and telling her what she wanted to know. So, that left what? To do what women in the French resistance also did—seduce him into confessing?

  A gentle breeze raked through her hair as the ferry set sail from the Devonport Naval base again. Alex closed her eyes imagining as she did so that Vitali was Zephyrus, the God of Wind in one of her favorite paintings by Botticelli, Primavera. Her heart quickened as she surrendered to the fantasy swelling in her mind, feeling his strong, searching fingers comb her hair, lift a curl from her cheeks, and his head bend toward her, as his lips fluttered tiny kisses down her cheeks.

  It had been years since a man had held her, and never had a man loved her with the fervent passion her mind now fantasized over. A fervent passion she knew instinctively that her man of steel possessed. A fervent passion locked deep in his heart. Barely detectable on the surface other than the way he had looked at her that first night they’d met at her father’s exhibition—his eyes claiming her and marking her as his own.

  Ridiculous. Absurd. Laughable. He wasn’t her man, any more than she was his woman.

  Alex opened her eyes and drew a sobering breath of air. She was being dangerously reckless. Her vivid imagination projecting upon him something that didn’t exist. She didn’t want to think of Vitali Rossi, or the power of his imagined attraction.

  Life had taught her that self-reliance was more valuable than gold. Her heart once broken, would never be possessed. Not by someone so devoid of emotion. He could never love her.

  A tiny fishing boat, dwarfed by the vastness of the ocean, bobbed in the middle of the sea. To Vitali she was just as insignificant. A tiny speck on his horizon. A woman he could overthrow and then abandon to his all-important acquisitions. He was an alchemist; capable of inciting emotions she considered buried and dead. Nevertheless, they had to be ignored. Not only ignored, but scrupulously hidden. She had no delusions. If she showed any weakness, he would exploit it mercilessly.

  She drew herself upright. She would not allow him to prevent her getting what she so desperately sought. She would take control, ride at the helm and captain her ship. And Vitali Rossi would ride along beside her. No man would have control over her again. She would be his equal or nothing.

  But what if…?

  What If Vitali Rossi gave her the chance to be his lover?

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was late afternoon by the time Alex got back to her hotel. The red light on the phone was flashing. She was disappointed it was only a message from Clive Gacos asking her to call. She decided not to return his call. She didn’t want any hassling about the deal. While there was no word from Vitali Rossi yet, Alex felt certain he would make contact before the day was over.

  She knew instinctively that the Vitali Rossi's of this world didn’t take kindly to losing a deal. And certainly not this one! When his response came, the pressure would be intense, and she had to be ready to cope with it. If nothing else, she intended to earn his respect.

  He rang at precisely five-thirty. Her heart fluttered at the sound of his accented testosterone-laden voice.

  He commanded wasting no time in getting to the point.

  ‘Buona Sera Miss Spencer. Share dinner with me tonight.’

  Alex was disconcerted to find her pulse racing. Did she stimulate Vitali Rossi in the same irrational way he stimulated her? Two opposingly-charged people fusing like chemical compounds? Perhaps this was his subtle intent—his way of disarming her with his European dominance and driven composure.

  Perish the thought. This kind of thinking was decidedly dangerous. She had to focus and find out what he knew about the painting before…well, before anything else.

  ‘Fine! There’s a champagne-bar beside the restaurant –’ Perhaps alcohol would ply the information from his lips.

  ‘You barely tasted a drop this morning,’ he said drily. ‘Do you think it worthwhile, mia Tesoro?’

  Mia Tesoro. His treasure. Her traitorous body thrilled to the intimate endearment, but Alex was in no doubt he was referring to the painting he was so determined to possess. ‘Neither did you,’ she reminded him.

  His laugh was a low, throaty purr. ‘One should never revisit the places where one has tasted defeat. I shall choose the venue this time. I’ll call for you at seven, Miss Spencer. I look forward to meeting you again.’

  Vitali hung up before she could ask where he meant to take her, but wherever it was she felt pleased—the battle lines were re-joined.

  Alex took a shower and spent a long time washing her hair. She blow-dried it, then flattened her maddening curls with the st
raightening tongs into shiny smoothness. She looked through her limited travel wardrobe and decided on the beige lace dress. With slimming side panels in contrasting cream silk, it was made of a soft, silky, uncrushable fabric—flattering, uber-comfortable, and dressy enough to cover most social situations.

  The dress included a long red sash which could be tied around the waist or hung around the hips. Alex decided it would be unwise to accentuate her feminine curves tonight, and chose to tie back her hair with it and let the ends dangle down her back. She slipped her feet into sensible nude low-heeled shoes, then applied her makeup—a light dusting of mascara and beige-pink lipstick. No jewelry. No perfume. No seduction. Tonight was strictly business. And the deadline she had imposed on Vitaliano ran out at midnight. So something had to be concluded by then.

  At precisely seven o’clock a firm knock rattled her door. Alex paused to pick up her cream clutch bag, took a deep, calming breath of lavender oil and placed the scented tissue under her bra-strap and opened the door. She held her breath, catching the whoosh of air in her lungs threatening to expel through her mouth in a noisy gust.

  He looked so devastatingly lead-man handsome that Alex felt as though she had been speared by one of cupid’s arrows. Vitali Rossi was dressed in an immaculately tailored black dinner suit, and crisp white shirt with an emerald green tie which set off his impossible-to-resist-eyes.

  It was just as well she had disciplined herself not to show any obvious reaction to people long ago, because when he smiled his devilishly handsome grin it was extremely hard to keep a straight, unresponsive face. She allowed herself a small, polite smile.

  ‘Beige suits you, mia cara’ he said. ‘Most woman look a washout— but you,’he said, his gaze lingering over her with unabashed directness, ‘You look a knock-out.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her nerves in tangled knots.

  He held out his arm, and after a brief hesitation Alex took it and they walked down the corridor to the lifts. Beneath the smooth, silky fibre of his jacket-sleeve his muscled forearm was granite-hard. Alex noticed that the top of her head was level with his mouth. Which put him a couple of inches taller than six feet.

  ‘You didn’t say where we were going for dinner,’ she remarked questioningly as they rode down the hotel lifts to street-level.

  His mouth quirked teasingly. ‘We’re not. I decided on somewhere uniquely special. I think you owe me one surprise.’

  Owe him one surprise? Once again he was talking in riddles, but Alex decided to play his game of puzzles. His elegant suit suggested a high-class private eating establishment so she decided she had no need to worry about being alone with him. Besides, she had her credit card in her purse for a taxi if she wanted to leave.

  She was surprised to see he had not driven a car. Instead a very sleek panther-black limo pulled up to the curb. Instead of stating a destination, Vitali settled back beside her claiming her attention with conversation.

  ‘Did you have a pleasant day?’ he asked in the deep velvety voice that caressed every cell of her body.

  ‘Yes. Very relaxing,’ she replied, feeling anything but relaxed as his leg grazed hers. She fixed her gaze on the passing cityscape, instead of the powerful expanse of his sprawling legs, noting that the limo was heading down towards the waterfront.

  ‘Didn’t you do anything exciting?’

  She slanted him a dry look. ‘I went for a ferry ride and looked at the battle ships.’

  He gave the low, throaty laugh which was somehow very sexy. ‘And what did the navy say to you, tesoro?’

  ‘Something about keep your opponents close,’ she said, then regretted the retort when he did not laugh. He was altogether too coolly confident and self-contained for her peace of mind.

  ‘I don’t believe in attacking anything,’ he said seriously. Alex noticed the olive color of his face blanch. ‘In fact, I don’t believe in killing anything. Or anyone.’

  Something about the graveness of his tone tore through her. She felt as though she had been both given a warning and reprimanded, but decided that was silly. Besides she would not give him the power to unsettle her.

  ‘How did you spend your day?’ she asked, diverting his attention.

  ‘I took your advice and thought about your terms.’

  She darted a glance at him and found him smiling at her. ‘I hope your thoughts were fruitful,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Not exactly. More like seeds in the wind. But we’ll see where they blow tonight, mia cara’

  Something glinted in his eyes and Alex once more felt a frisson of danger run down her spine. She tried to dismiss it, but it didn’t help when the limo pulled up outside a majestic glass and steel skyscraper. Vitali Rossi was out and opening her door before Alex had time to ask questions. She’d barely placed her sensible shoes on the sidewalk when he grasped her elbow and steered her towards the huge glass entrance doors.

  From inside a security guard moved to unlock them and hold one open. ‘Good evening, Mr Rossi,’ he greeted politely.

  ‘Grazie, Daniel. Buona sera,’ Vitali returned, leading Alex to a lift which he opened with his voice activated command.

  Alex didn’t want to step inside when the doors opened, yet she couldn’t afford to show hesitation. He would take it as weakness. There was only one button to press, level 33, and at Vitali Rossi's command the lift sped upwards. Either they were going a to a very exclusive night-spot at the top of the building, or she was being hijacked Alex decided, and did her utmost to keep calm.

  She had to get her mind steeled to handle this encounter to the best of her ability. But fear was mounting in her. There was no easy smile softening the determined set of his mouth now. She had no idea how Vitali Rossi was going to open the assault, but he obviously had something on his mind.

  When she was ushered into a luxurious penthouse apartment with expansive open plan living and floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic 180 degree views of Auckland Harbour Alex felt exposed.

  And stupid.

  The wolf had brought her straight to his den, and she, fool that she was, now walked right into his trap.

  Of course he wouldn’t want other people around. This way he could control the progress of their negotiations. Assuming of course that was his intent. Alex felt a discomforting surge of heat tingle over her skin. Perhaps he intended to seduce her instead. Her response to it was obvious. She had to display complete unconcern.

  ‘What a beautiful place!’ she said, moving across the spacious lounge-room to the windows. ‘You certainly do yourself proud.’ He was a collector, she noted taking in the apartments crisp, clean interior—the hard edge to the stark-white walls softened only by his art collection.

  He collects women as he collects paintings. Uses them as he pleases and then moves onto the next acquisition. On that point Alex was certain, yet despite her discomfort, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be taken by such a man. To feel the raw power of his body moving over her, surging inside her, touching her in secret, intimate places no one else had discovered. A hot shiver snaked through her.

  ‘You have a formidable collection,’ she said, hoping he didn’t notice the hot flush crawling up her neck.

  ‘I work very hard for what I have, Miss Spencer,’ He said, a sharp edge to his voice. ‘It would be extremely wise of you not to overlook that factor in your calculations.’

  Alex slanted him a mocking look. ‘Work is the arena of life to men like you, Mr Rossi. No, I didn’t overlook that,’ she added quietly, and turned her gaze back to the view. ‘I wonder how often you stop to enjoy what you have?’

  He was reflected quite clearly in the window and Alex watched him surreptitiously. He stood his back so rigid she could almost detect the force of his control. What on earth was rattling him?

  The muscles along his jawline tightened.

  Alex smiled to herself. Body language could be very revealing, particularly when a person thought himself unobserved. She sensed that whatev
er he said next would be very important, and she concentrated hard on listening to every nuance of meaning in his words.

  ‘The point in question is…what are you after? What do you want?’ He bit out the words, still grimly controlling himself.

  Alex didn’t reply. There was something else on his mind…something he was almost bursting to say…and she wanted him to say it. Yet when it came, what he said was so surprising that she would never have been prepared for it. His mouth curled and he delivered the words with hard, stinging mockery. ‘And why the deception?’

  ‘Let’s go straight to the heart of the matter, Miss Spencer. Only it’s not Miss Spencer, is it? It’s Miss Carr. The daughter of Jimmie Goldie—or should I say, Ted Carr.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alex felt a hot flush of anxiety. It was such a direct hit, it rendered her defenceless. He had taken the surprise element from her and used it himself, accusing her of the thing she detested most—untruthfulness, but that needn’t work against her. Not if she kept her wits. She turned slowly keeping her blue eyes clear and steady.

  ‘You have been busy—I’m impressed…to find that out in one day.’ She almost added that it had taken her a lifetime to get that critical piece of information, but she held her tongue, hoping to hear what it meant to him.

  ‘It wasn’t too difficult to prise the information from Clive Gacos.’ His grim expression was mercilessly hard. ‘Money is a powerful lubricant. You should have given him clearer instructions to keep your real identity a secret.’

  She shrugged. ‘There was no point to it. I was going to tell you anyway. I have nothing to hide. Sooner or later.’ I wonder if the same can be said for you?

  ‘Of course you were,’ he said, sardonically, ‘now that I have unmasked your deceit. You must have been pleased with yourself last night at the opening when you lured me into your trap. It was a brilliant strategy and perfectly executed. And this morning—oh, that little encounter in the elevator—sheer brilliance. You dragged me right in. But you’re not an innocent maiden in need of rescue are you? Tonight…’ His eyes gleamed with unrelenting satisfaction. ‘Tonight we are going to get this thing settled. One way or another. Once and for all. Until death do we part!’