by Annie West
Pain clutched at her chest. She told herself she shouldn’t care but the ache remained, spurring her anger.
‘No, trust a fashion designer to tell how much clothes cost.’ She sucked in a slow breath. ‘Speaking of money, I hope the charity is going to get its payment out of this?’
‘You’re afraid I don’t have the cash to cover your exorbitant purchase price?’
A ripple of atavistic fear coursed through her at the sheer smugness in his tone. As if he really had bought her, to do with as he pleased.
‘I know you’ve got the cash.’ But unlike most of the other people she knew, Gennaro De Laurentis didn’t usually splash it about just for the sake of showing off his wealth. Going out with him she’d been as likely to find herself in a tiny back street café that served divine coffee and sweets, or on some deserted beach, where they could concentrate solely on each other, as at some ultra-trendy club.
She’d loved that. The unpredictability. The new experiences they’d shared. The sense their time together was about them, not about being seen.
Except it hadn’t been about that at all, had it? Anguish filled her.
Mentally Chiara shook herself. How could she think back fondly to those times when all the while he’d been cleverly using her? She stiffened in her seat. ‘I might not be sharing a meal with Signor Fabbri but you can’t duck out of paying.’
‘Oh, they’ll get their payment, cara.’ His low-voiced endearment was a lethal caress. Her breasts tightened and she cursed the fact her body still responded though her mind knew him for a cold-blooded fraud. ‘I’ve bought you and I intend to get my money’s worth. The deal still stands.’
No mistaking the darkly proprietorial satisfaction of his tone.
Chiara shuddered. It was too much, even for a woman pretending not to be fazed. The worst of it was her anger masked trepidation at this sudden, shocking turn of events.
‘You haven’t bought me.’ Chiara paused, forcing the thread of dismay from her voice. She refused to let him see any hint of nerves despite the flock of sparrows wheeling and fluttering inside. ‘The auction was merely for my company over dinner.’
‘And I’m looking forward to that immensely.’
His complacent tone irked her.
‘Well, in that case, Signor De Laurentis, I suggest you turn the car around. You’re driving in the wrong direction for the restaurant.’
Not that she intended sitting across from him at a dining table. Once out of this car she’d be on her way, as far from him as she could get. How dare he dupe her like this? No doubt he was laughing over her gullibility just as he’d laughed at her innocence in falling for his lies.
To her horror, heat pricked her eyes. She swung her face towards the side window, the city streets a blur. Her mouth twisted. She wouldn’t let him best her. She wouldn’t!
‘We’re not dining there.’ His voice was soft, as if he’d sensed her turmoil. She swallowed hard, hating the taste of disappointment clogging her mouth.
‘Then where?’ His response did nothing to allay her alarm.
‘Somewhere private.’
Chiara closed her eyes. She was tired, she was upset. She didn’t have the stamina to face this, face him tonight. She didn’t want to be alone with Gennaro De Laurentis. Especially since the last few minutes had showed she wasn’t yet immune to him.
‘Chiara?’ Ridiculous to think she heard concern in that deep voice.
‘I don’t want to be private with you.’ From deep within she dredged the hatred that had bloomed out of shock and distress when he’d hurt her so badly. ‘The rules of the auction specified a public place—’
‘Stuff the rules.’ He put his foot down, surging through another set of lights and heading for the autostrada.
‘You’re going out of town.’ By a miracle Chiara kept her voice even as the buildings whipped by. She wasn’t scared Gennaro would hurt her physically, never that. But it struck her suddenly that no-one except his co-conspirator had a clue where she was. The realisation was disturbing. Always she managed her own life. Even when they’d been lovers their meetings had been mutually agreed, fitting in with both their busy schedules.
‘Yes.’
She gripped the soft leather of her seat with tense fingers, realising she didn’t know this route. Had she ever felt so powerless?
‘Where out of town?’ Her voice took on the cool tone she’d learned in her youth when bothered by the press. It was perfect for masking insecurities.
‘Somewhere we can talk.’
‘Talk?’ What had they to talk about? Surely it had all been said in Rome.
‘Unless there’s something else you’d rather do with me in private, princess?’ His voice was pitched deep enough to reverberate through her belly, making her recall how impressively, how tenderly, he’d made love to her.
How she’d been taken in by him.
‘There is, as a matter of fact.’
She sensed him dart a sideways stare her way. The powerful car shuddered for just a second as his grip changed on the steering wheel.
‘And what’s that?’ She caught the tension in his voice, as if he actually cared. Instantly Chiara dismissed the notion. It was an illusion.
‘I’d like-’ she turned to look at him, reminding herself how he’d abused her trust ‘–to make you hurt. Badly.’
His bark of laughter surprised her. ‘That’s one thing I’ll say for you, princess. You’re not predictable.’
‘Stop calling me that,’ she ground out.
He shrugged and she dragged her gaze back to the view rather than watch the fluid movement of those broad shoulders. She’d always loved the latent strength of his powerful body, honed to perfection by years of hard labour on building sites. Even now he ran his own construction company, Gennaro was hands-on when he had the chance.
Hands-on.
Gennaro gave the phrase a whole new meaning. Chiara forced down the memory of his callused touch, so surprisingly gentle, tracking over her bare skin, drawing responses so intense they almost scared her.
Determinedly she stared at the view. They’d left the city behind. The car picked up speed.
‘We’re heading east.’ Where were they going?
‘Brava, princess.’
‘I said I don’t like that being called that.’ It reminded her too much of the fawning hangers-on she and Fabrizio seemed to attract because of their family name. For years she’d searched for friends who cared about her, not her pedigree. She thought she’d found that in Gennaro. She shook her head. Well, it wasn’t her pedigree he’d been interested in, she thought bitterly, just her link to her brother.
‘My apologies, cara.’
She folded her arms across her chest, hating the way his endearment melted a little of the frost deep inside. It was that frost that helped her keep her chin up in this horrible, unbelievable situation.
‘You realise that you have no right to take me anywhere?’
Silence.
‘You may think you’ve bought my time because of the ridiculous amount of money you put down—’
‘Ridiculous perhaps, but necessary. You’re a hard woman to get near.’
It was Chiara’s turn to shrug. ‘My friends don’t have any trouble.’ Ice dripped from each syllable. She’d cut Gennaro from her life when she discovered what he’d done. That his “caring” was solely so he could get information about her brother’s next commercial venture. No true friend, much less a lover, would behave as he had.
She paused, but he said nothing. Why should he? Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t her friendship or approval. He’d destroyed any chance of regaining those well before today.
Chiara refused to let herself wonder what it was he wanted from her. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good if he had to resort to kidnap. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and she smoothed her hands over them, trying to get warm.
Instantly he leaned forward to adjust the air.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, you
know.’ His voice was grave, just as if he’d read the fear churning inside her.
But there was more than one way of inflicting pain. It wasn’t her physical self Chiara feared for. It was her heart. Already Gennaro De Laurentis had left a gaping hole in it.
‘I want you to stop the car at the next service centre and let me out.’
Silence.
Was any man more infuriating? ‘I agreed to dinner in a public restaurant. This.’ She waved a hand at the luxury car speeding through the gathering gloom. ‘This wasn’t in the agreement.’
‘So sue me.’ Gennaro’s silky tone stoked her anger.
‘You think I won’t?’ She snapped out the words. ‘You think I’ll just sit back and let you drive me off into the night who knows where?’ Her voice rose. ‘This is abduction. It’s a criminal offence.’
‘Only if you complain about it to the police.’
‘You can’t seriously believe I won’t.’
Again that shrug. ‘Maybe I can persuade you not to.’
Chiara was so incensed she felt she’d explode. ‘You think you’re so persuasive I’ll forget about you hijacking me? You’ve got to be kidding!’ The man had an ego the size of Lake Como.
‘I think despite your bluster you still have a soft spot for me.’ He sounded appallingly sure of himself. ‘I always could persuade you.’
The awful thing was he spoke the truth. He had been able to persuade her – into his bed, into enjoying herself with him when she should have devoted herself to the serious business of establishing her career.
Into trusting him with information she shouldn’t have shared.
Chiara spluttered in frustration at his arrogance. She wanted to slap him. But he was driving at speed.
She wanted to shout and threaten but she knew it wouldn’t dent his ego.
She wanted to throw something.
She sent him a coruscating glare. ‘That was before I knew who and what you are.’
Deliberately she turned her shoulder and stared out the window.
CHAPTER THREE
‘We’re going east then north.’ The words were soft but Chiara could have sworn they were spoken through gritted teeth.
Good. He deserved to suffer too.
She parted her lips to ask where exactly he was taking her then thought better of it. She’d find out soon enough and the less she conversed with Gennaro De Laurentis, the better for her sanity.
She was furious with him. Shocked and anxious.
Yet at the same time a small unregenerate part of her felt… excited to be with him again. There was a sizzle in her blood she hadn’t felt since she’d left him, an effervescence that didn’t bode well for her self-control.
‘You’re not going to ask where in the north?’ He paused. ‘You’re going to play childish games and not talk?’
Chiara’s lips twitched but she stopped herself just in time from blurting out that he was the one playing games.
Silence for several more kilometres.
Despite the turmoil of her emotions, she sank back further into the moulded seat. The last hint of fear was dissolving now. This was too much like the evenings she’d spent with Gennaro when he’d driven them out of Rome at the end of the week for a passionate lovers’ retreat.
Hurt dragged at her belly. She’d been so incandescently happy. She’d thought nothing could destroy that.
‘We’re going to the Alto Adige.’
Chiara’s head swung round. ‘That’s ridiculous. It’s hours away.’ It was Italy’s northernmost region, right up on the border with Austria and Switzerland. It was also one of the most remote places she knew, with the stark, beautiful Dolomite Mountains making travel slow between tiny mountain villages and ski resorts.
‘You can spare me the time – for old times’ sake.’
‘I don’t owe you anything.’
‘Except dinner. I paid for the privilege, remember?’ His voice was a honed blade.
‘You’re taking me to the Alps for dinner?’
‘Why not? At least we’ll be alone to talk.’
Chiara shivered. She didn’t want to be alone with Gennaro. This close she breathed in his spicy, unique scent, like tangerines and cloves and hot, hard male.
She was afraid of that part of her that still craved him. How long before she was completely free of him?
‘Why there?’ But she could guess the answer. It was where he’d grown up. When he was a toddler his father died and his mother took him and his brothers back to her family in the north. To a tiny, distant village where some curious ancient mountain language was still the mother tongue and Italian was learnt in school. It had all sounded exotic and charming.
Now it sounded isolated.
‘I’ve been working there, building a ski resort. It’s a beautiful place and—’
‘Let me guess, you thought I’d enjoy the view? At night?’ Chiara’s voice was ice-cold.
She glanced at the car’s illuminated clock, telling herself whatever he was up to, she’d cope. Hadn’t she coped with the shattering of her illusions, the crumbling of her dreams? The recollection put steel in her voice. ‘We’ll arrive in time for a midnight snack, not dinner, so I sincerely hope the meal is worth waiting for. You can wake me when we get there. By that time I’ll be ready to eat. Despite the company.’
She shifted, turning away ostentatiously and letting her head flop against the head rest.
It was only in part an act. Stress and exhaustion were taking their toll. Every muscle ached with tension and her head throbbed.
Chiara shut her eyes, telling herself when she woke she’d find the energy to escape.
*
The headlights swung across the pale grey stone wall of another hairpin bend then up over the deserted mountainside. The lights of the last town shone below in the valley. Up here was solitude, and in winter, some of the best skiing Gennaro knew. For now though, the steep slope was covered in grass, the snow retreating to higher altitudes.
These mountains were as familiar to him as his city apartment. He’d grown up here. Learning to climb on the craggy bulk of jagged mountain looming straight ahead. Picking up a hammer and nails for the first time as he helped his uncle repair the ancient family home down in the valley. Kissing his first girl at a local summer celebration.
He slung a look at Chiara. She was still curled away from him, blocking him out even in sleep.
Pain jabbed his chest and his breath hissed as if from a puncture wound.
Had he been wrong to force her to come with him?
Had he just made the biggest mistake of his life?
No. You made that when you let pride get in the way of common sense. When you refused to explain and expected her simply to trust you.
Had it really been too much to ask?
His mouth twisted. Clearly it had.
He’d thought she knew him. That they’d built a relationship different from anything he’d ever shared with a woman.
He’d even started thinking about the future with Chiara! That was a complete first. One that had terrified as much as it excited him.
Rumour had it that permanency and the De Laurentis brothers didn’t go together, at least as far as women were concerned. And yet he’d thought—
He shook his head, remembering Luca’s teasing over the woman he’d kept so secret, so apart from the rest of his life.
But had Chiara felt the same? Clearly not.
One glitch. One tiny problem and suddenly she was rounding on him, accusing him of theft, of betrayal, attacking his honour.
When the chips were down, Miss High and Mighty Armati hadn’t been able to forget the social gap between them. She’d rubbed his nose in it as if he were gutter trash instead of a proud man who’d built himself up from unassuming beginnings. As if he and his family couldn’t be trusted because they were born poor.
That still lashed his pride. He’d never known such fury as when she’d flung those accusations.
He spun the
wheel round another hairpin bend, taking it too fast then instinctively compensating, slowing the powerful car, his heart hammering.
This wasn’t a road for careless driving. He’d seen too many accidents caused by people who believed testosterone equated to good driving skills.
Besides, he had Chiara with him. He couldn’t risk hurting her.
A weight settled on his shoulders, stretching down his arms to his hands clenched tight on the wheel. He’d gambled outrageously tonight, staking his reputation on what some would call a wild scheme. That Chiara wouldn’t storm into the nearest police station when it was all over and have him locked up for kidnap and coercion.
Not that any man in Italy would convict him.
But the potential repercussions might have stopped another man. Repercussions for his reputation, his business, and his brothers.
Gennaro hoped, for his family’s sake, as well as his own, that he knew Chiara as well as he thought he did.
*
‘We’re here.’
Something brushed across her skin, a soft touch or a zephyr of air, and Chiara stirred.
‘Time to get out,’ the voice insisted and this time she jerked fully awake, her fogged brain recognising that deep, husky-edged voice.
Gennaro.
Shock and longing slammed her back in the seat and she opened her eyes to find him looming over her, the car door open. He reached out a hand and, for an instant, hovering on that brink between dream and reality, she almost took it.
Till she remembered.
‘I may be just a spoiled blue-blood.’ That acid taunt still jangled her nerves. ‘And a mere fashion designer.’ She lifted her chin and glared up into his shadowed face. ‘But I’m perfectly capable of getting out of a car.’
Was that a hiss of indrawn breath? Surely not. It would take far more than that to land a blow on Gennaro De Laurentis and his overweening ego.
Finally he moved back. Chiara told herself she was pleased.
Then she looked past him and gasped.
She hadn’t expected a city. She hadn’t expected anything to rival Milan’s best restaurant. But she had at least expected a town.
