Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire

by Susan Stephens

  Tonight was shaping up to be the most extreme form of torture he’d ever known. He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. He was determined to make her feel at ease, relaxation being a prerequisite for seduction.

  He employed the best chefs in Rome and the food was delicious. Cassandra ate little at first, but he tempted her until she met his gaze and grinned. After that she relaxed enough to steal titbits from his plate. And she was charming to his guests. He’d never had a dining companion like her before. They usually took their lead from him— waiting for him to initiate a conversation or to introduce them to one of the other guests. Cassandra simply spread her natural charm about, and everyone, from the starchiest diplomat to the snootiest aristocrat, soon fell under her spell.

  ‘You’ve hardly eaten anything,’ she pointed out towards the end of the meal.

  ‘I’ve been too busy watching you,’ he admitted.

  Her cheeks flushed red, and then she turned to answer a question from the guest on her other side.

  Marco was looking at her in a way that made her body yearn for more than a bath and a good night’s sleep. His eyes were so wicked and confident that it was becoming hard to remember why she was here, which was to be a seat-filler and not his companion. From mud to magnificent, she mused wryly as she surveyed the glittering throng. It still seemed incredible that one minute she had been in the garden and the next she was here—

  ‘Would you like to dance?’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him stupidly.

  ‘I said would you like to dance?’ Marco repeated. ‘More specifically, would you like to dance with me?’

  Dance with Marco di Fivizzano? Was he mad? She had two left feet and a sense of rhythm to rival a rhino’s. She had to quickly change her expression when she realised that she was staring at him open-mouthed as if he had suggested they have sex on the table.

  ‘You do dance?’ he pressed.

  ‘I have been known to.’ But on her own—most likely jigging along to the latest hit tune. This kind of dancing, though—the up close and very personal variety—she wasn’t very good at that at all.

  ‘We’re the only people left at the table,’ Marco pointed out, glancing around.

  ‘And you’re worried that people will talk if you don’t dance with me?’

  His lips slanted as he raised a brow.

  Okay, so Marco wasn’t worried what people thought, but maybe she was. She was happy to help out by chatting to his interesting guests, but anything more than that... She glanced down a table lit by legions of candles that cast a warm glow over the glittering crystal and silver. What was she doing here in Marco di Fivizzano’s fabulous penthouse in the best part of Rome?

  What would her mother think about it?

  That she was holding a candle to the devil?

  She felt a stab of pain, realising that she’d been too young when her mother had died to have a clue what she’d say.

  ‘Just say yes,’ Marco advised, standing up.

  As he broke into her thoughts, she looked up blankly. If she remained seated, people would notice, and this event was for charity. So she stood and walked as if in a dream as Marco led her towards the dance floor. Anticipating his touch was stealing the breath from her lungs. When he actually touched her, she knew she might faint.

  Don’t be so ridiculous, she told herself firmly as he drew her into his arms. It was the most amazing feeling... But she had to look on this as a job with perks, and nothing more.

  ‘Relax.’ He laughed softly in her ear, making a tingle race down her spine as he added, ‘I can’t dance with a board.’

  ‘And I can’t dance with you at all. I did warn you.’ She definitely couldn’t—shouldn’t be dancing with a man who made her feel like this. She was bound to trip over her dress or step on his feet—

  ‘I’ll lead,’ he murmured, as if there was any doubt.

  The next moment her body was moulded to his—her body had a mind of its own, as she’d noticed since arriving in Tuscany, but it wasn’t long before the music wooed her. Marco wooed her. Pressing her close against his iron-hard frame, he seduced her into dancing with him, while the melody soothed her, reminding her of so many happy days in Tuscany. It wasn’t hard to dance with him at all. The Italian music was just so beguiling. It had a charm all its own...

  * * *

  ‘You’re a good dancer,’ he said.

  No one was more surprised than she was by that comment, but when he added, ‘You should dance more,’ he sent tremors of excitement racing through her.

  But then she reasoned, who was she going to dance with—and where? Marco surely didn’t mean she could dance with him—on what occasion? But what could possibly compare with this? She would never dance with another man again, because it could only be a disappointment after Marco.

  This was turning into a magical night, and a magical occasion, and she was going to make the most of it, because she knew deep down that it would never happen again.

  And then one of the sponsors asked if he could cut in. Marco stopped dancing and smiled. ‘It would be ungracious of me to keep you all to myself,’ he explained. ‘Do you mind if I allow the ambassador to dance with you?’

  ‘You? Allow?’ she queried softly, out of the ambassador’s hearing, she thought, but the ambassador had overheard, and he laughed.

  ‘It appears that this young woman knows you, Marco. And quite right, my dear. It’s up to you to choose your partner,’ he added, smiling at her warmly.

  ‘Then I would love to dance with you,’ she said as she slipped out of Marco’s arms.

  When she started dancing with the ambassador, she noticed Marco watching her. It might not be sensible, but she liked that he was watching her.

  * * *

  He had grudgingly—very grudgingly—given way to the ambassador. He missed having Cassandra in his arms. He missed the warmth of her soft body pressed up close to his.

  He was paying the woman to be here, he reminded himself. He should not mistake this for anything more—though there was nothing to stop him enjoying her company while they were in Rome.

  He could tolerate the older man dancing with her, but when one of the younger sponsors tried to cut in, he returned to the dance floor and reclaimed her.

  ‘Excuse us, Ambassador. I’m sure you’ll understand.’ He didn’t care if the man understood or not. Cassandra was coming with him. ‘The auction is about to start soon. Cassandra?’ he prompted.

  She looked daggers at him, though she was charm personified to the ambassador, who was a courtly old man and hadn’t deserved his rough treatment. ‘I apologise for denying you the company of this young woman,’ he felt bound to add, brought to book by the piercing stare of his assistant gardener. He had to do some serious thinking on that front, but as the auction was about to start...

  ‘I quite understand,’ the ambassador told him, with a look that said he did—absolutely. ‘I’ll see you again someday, my dear, I hope.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ she said, with what even he had to admit was a lovely smile.

  ‘There are some wonderful things in the auction,’ Cassandra told him with enthusiasm as soon as they were seated back at the table.

  Of course, he thought. All the items on sale were unique and extremely valuable, in order to raise as much money as possible for the charity.

  ‘Have you seen something you like?’ Placing a bid was the least he could do when she had worked so hard to charm his guests.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ she said.

  ‘Tell me,’ he prompted indulgently.

  ‘It’s that lovely sketch of a dachshund puppy—the Hockney? In my fantasies, I imagine taking it home for my godmother as a gift. Don’t worry,’ she said before he had chance to say a word. ‘I know they fetch tens of thousands, hundred
s, probably—maybe millions by now—but it doesn’t cost to dream.’

  They both knew that works by the artist David Hockney could go for a fortune. All the auction lots would go for fabulous amounts of money, their value further increased by the fact that they were being sold for charity. Part of him wanted Cassandra to bid—he’d cover any amount she went to. But what would that say to the watching world?

  Surprising himself, he covered her hand with his, as if to reassure her. Tender gestures were not his thing, but there was something about Cassandra...

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE BIDDING WAS over and everyone had left the table. Most of the charming older people had left, Cass discovered when she scanned the glamorous main salon. The networking she’d planned to do wasn’t so easy when the people who were left behind didn’t want to talk to her, and those who had gone were too nice to touch up for a job. She had just wanted to talk to them and enjoy their company.

  Spotting Marco across the room, she thought now might be a good time to ask him to introduce her round. But, contrary to his earlier, sympathetic manner, when she had lusted after the Hockney sketch, his back was like a wall against her when she turned up, as if he regretted his brief display of almost being human, and was once again the aloof billionaire, untouchable and cold.

  She hovered for a little while, uncertain. People moved around her as if she weren’t there... She wished she wasn’t there. This was a world she had avoided and had no desire to become part of again—a world where people said one thing and did another.

  She moved into the shadows of a corner where she could observe, without being observed, and that was how, in a brief lull in the general conversation, she heard Marco say, ‘That girl in the blue dress, sitting next to me at dinner? She’s no one.’

  Shock chilled her, but what he’d said was true. She wasn’t anyone—not compared to all these rich and influential people. She was an amateur gardener—an enthusiast who had taken a summer vacation job on Marco di Fivizzano’s country estate. When she returned home, she would be back stacking shelves at another supermarket.

  Hearing Marco say what he had was actually a welcome wake-up call. She had nothing in common with anyone here. She must have been mad to think she could network.

  But then her fiery nature kicked in. What he’d said was true, but he shouldn’t have said it to another guest. How would Marco like it if she had dismissed him like that?

  Working her anger out, she kept on moving around his guests without stopping to talk to anyone. She’d lost her confidence to speak to anyone, thanks to him. Finally, locking herself in the bathroom, she stared at the face of a stranger in the mirror—a woman with false eyelashes and rouged cheeks...an actress playing a part.

  Exactly. She was playing a part. And therefore she could do this. Even if she was no one, on a scale of ambassador to prince, she could still hold her head high and go back to the party to do exactly what she’d been paid for.

  And that was what she did. She guessed that the same driver who had brought her here would take her back to the hotel, and meanwhile, as the last guests began to think about leaving, she set about doing what she could to tidy up. She had always felt compelled to tidy up, maybe because the last time she had seen her mother alive, her mother had been stumbling about amidst the squalor of spilled ashtrays, discarded needles and upended champagne bottles. Since then Cass could never leave the debris of the night before until the next morning.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  She froze as Marco roared at her. And then she fired up. His manner was insufferable. Why had he paid her to come here at all? She was a member of his staff, and she saw no reason why she couldn’t make a start on tidying up.

  ‘Leave it!’ he insisted. He was at her side in a couple of strides. ‘I have staff to do this.’

  ‘Are you going to make them work through the night?’ she demanded, shaking his hand from her arm.

  ‘Of course not,’ he exploded.

  The last thing he had expected was for her to answer back, Cass suspected as they glared at each other.

  ‘My staff will be here in the morning,’ Marco informed her brusquely.

  And meanwhile they were alone...the last guest had left. And so far there was no sign of Marco’s driver.

  ‘What are you so angry about, Cassandra?’

  She wasn’t angry. She had just realised the compromising position she had put herself in. ‘You think you can insult me and I won’t feel anything?’

  ‘Insult you? What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘You,’ she fired back. ‘You talk about your staff as if they’re robots programmed to obey. You promised to introduce me round. You said it would be a great opportunity for me to network, and I thought so too, but you ignored me all night. I’m not sure why I’m here at all.’

  ‘There were plenty of opportunities for you to network. It was up to you to take them. Everyone was here.’

  ‘Everyone in your world,’ she pointed out, ‘and though I’m usually quite good at chatting to people and introducing myself, they just didn’t want to know. An introduction from you would have broken the ice...’ She paused. ‘Or was it that you didn’t want anyone to know you had brought your lowly gardener to the party?’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. What about the ambassador? You were talking to him. The embassy has beautiful gardens. There was an opportunity for you right there.’

  ‘I was chatting to the ambassador because I wanted to talk to him. He was a really interesting man. Should I have taken advantage of that? Was I supposed to ingratiate myself with him for no better reason than to persuade him to give me a job?’

  ‘Why not?’ Marco demanded with a dismissive gesture. ‘That’s what networking is all about.’

  ‘In that instance, it would have been calculating, and not very nice.’

  ‘That’s your opinion.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘It’s possible to be too nice, Cassandra.’

  ‘Is it? Is it really? I had no idea there was such a thing as being too nice. I liked the ambassador. We got on well together, and I had no thought of using him for networking, as you suggest.’

  ‘He could have given you a glimpse into another world—’

  ‘As you can?’ she flashed. ‘Maybe I don’t want to see what’s in that other world—maybe I already know. You’ve got no idea, have you, Marco? You live such a privileged life you don’t have a clue what it’s like to be on the outside, looking in.’

  ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth,’ he assured her tensely. ‘I know exactly how that feels.’

  ‘Do you?’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘Do you also know how it feels to be described as a nobody?’

  Marco’s expression blackened ‘Who said that?’

  ‘You did!’ she flung back at him. ‘Is that how you think of everyone who works for you? Are we all nobodies?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I heard you say it.’ And when Marco looked at her blankly, she spelled it out for him. ‘When one of your guests asked you about me, you said I was no one.’

  ‘Ah...’ Marco nodded his head. ‘Let me explain. The man I was talking to was a major fundraiser for my charity. He’s always on the lookout for new sponsors, as he should be—’

  ‘And, of course, I’m no use to him. I couldn’t do anything practical to help your charity, could I, Marco? And what can you do? Write another cheque?’

  She had a point, he conceded. ‘I’m sure you could do a lot for my charity, and if my shorthand way of telling a fundraiser that he was wasting his time asking you for money has offended you, I apologise. Maybe you shouldn’t be so touchy.’

  She shrugged. Her face was burning. Maybe she had overreacted.

  ‘I ag
ree that I’m no one where the funding side of your charity is concerned, but I could do other things apart from giving money. I could give my time, for instance.’

  ‘I have no doubt of it,’ Marco said, and then he surprised her with the hint of a smile.

  It was the fact that they came from two such different worlds that was at the heart of her anger, Cass realised. Marco’s world frightened her because she’d had experience of it, and, however many years ago it had been, there were some memories that never faded.

  And Marco? Sometimes, when he relaxed like this and showed her a warmer, more caring side, she knew that his pain cut as deep as hers—he was just better at hiding it. They had never really talked, so she didn’t know what lay behind Marco’s armour. Why would they talk? She was paid to do a job. She was his gardener, briefly on an outing to help him. She was a place-filler, a puppet. ‘You must think I’m stupid, overreacting like that...’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said firmly.

  ‘But I am naïve enough to allow you to dress me up like a doll, and then expect you to be interested enough to spend all evening with me.’

  ‘You are an extremely forthright woman,’ he remarked with amusement in his eyes.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she agreed.

  ‘You did well tonight.’

  ‘Are you mocking me now?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘No,’ Marco murmured, the faint smile still in place. ‘I’m very grateful to you. I can’t think of anyone who could have pulled this off with such style and grace at such short notice. I’m only sorry I didn’t make more effort to...break the ice for you, as you put it. I do know that society here can be very hard to break into.’

  Cass slanted a rueful smile. ‘And, I suppose, in fairness, your guests hadn’t come here tonight to interview staff for their gardens.’

  ‘I should have thought of that,’ Marco admitted.

  ‘And so should I.’

  ‘Then we both got carried away.’

  His eyes were deeply unsettling as they stared steadily into hers.

  ‘Yes, we did,’ she said.