Bought by the Italian

by Annie West

  And from the forecourt that grumbling roar.

  He leapt from the bed.

  His sports car, all that streamlined, lethal power, was juddering in response to inexpert handling. Worse, it was heading for the road.

  His heart lurched sickeningly. Was Chiara so desperate to get away, she’d risk her neck in a car she couldn’t drive? On that of all roads?

  In an instant he was out on the balcony, shouting her name. But the engine drowned his voice. Desperation and fear clawed at him.

  Spinning on one foot he raced inside, scooping up trousers on his way out the door.

  He had to stop her.

  *

  Chiara’s hands stuck to the wheel, her fingers stiff and aching from the stress of bringing the super car down the mountain. The road was smooth and paved but those curves were treacherous for someone struggling to control this powerful engine.

  There’d been one heart-in-mouth moment when her wheels had slid in the gravel at the side of the road, above the precipitous drop. She’d thought it would be the end of her.

  But she’d managed. She was doing it!

  Already she was halfway down to the valley. Soon she’d be back in civilisation. She could return to her own world. To the city, her friends, her busy schedule.

  So why was her heart like a lead weight in her chest?

  She should be triumphant. She’d engineered her own rescue. She’d escaped Gennaro and his abduction. She’d proven she was no easy victim.

  Chiara jammed her foot on the brake, felt the big car buck and belatedly remembered the clutch. With a shaking hand she switched off the ignition and set the handbrake. The sudden silence was loud after the throb of the engine.

  Just ahead the first stand of trees, dark and imposing, stirred in the slight breeze. Overhead a lone bird soared. Below in the valley she saw sunlight glint on a moving car heading out of a tiny village of old-style wooden houses.

  She told herself she should move off the road. But there was no pull-over spot. Besides, the road seemed just for the unfinished resort. There was no traffic.

  Her mind busied itself with all those thoughts, but no matter how she tried Chiara couldn’t block the one, nagging idea that had stopped her in her tracks.

  She was running. Again.

  Wasn’t that what Gennaro had accused her of last night?

  Wasn’t that what she’d done in Rome when she’d confronted him and he’d refused even to discuss the possibility he’d passed on information about Fabrizio’s plans to his brother?

  It was definitely what she’d done when she’d refused to take Gennaro’s calls or open his messages. When, for the first time ever, she’d used her brother’s professional security team to isolate her from any contact.

  She sagged back in her seat, dragging shaking hands from the wheel.

  Lately she’d felt like a prisoner, hemmed in by the protection she’d used to keep her safe from Gennaro’s attempts to see her. It was only yesterday, travelling alone to Milan, that she’d felt for the first time free, like herself again.

  It said something that she’d taken such steps to hide herself, didn’t it?

  What was she scared of?

  Being hurt even more than she had been? It didn’t seem possible.

  She swallowed hard, the movement a convulsive grating as if over shattered glass.

  She was scared to admit she’d fallen in love with Gennaro De Laurentis and that even the possibility he’d used her hadn’t destroyed her feelings.

  I didn’t do it, you know.

  Last night, for the first time, he’d denied betraying her confidence, betraying her.

  Her heart had leapt at his words but she’d refused to soften. If he’d been innocent then he would have told her all those weeks ago. An innocent man would.

  And yet…

  She shook her head, unable to marshal her whirling thoughts. She didn’t know what to believe, what to think. All she knew was that she felt like her heart was breaking all over again. Because she’d turned her back on him, running at the first chance she’d got.

  It was time she stopped running. Time to confront Gennaro and have this out once and for all. Even if she came out emotionally bruised, at least she’d know she’d done everything she could.

  Setting her teeth, Chiara reached for the ignition. How she’d turn this car around and back up the mountain she didn’t know exactly. But she’d find a way.

  Movement caught her eye. A tumbling dark mass hurtling down the grassy slope above her. She just had time to register the fact when it, he, was on the road, slamming into the parked car.

  ‘Gennaro?’ Chiara wrenched open the door, then remembered she still wore a seatbelt. The catch almost defeated her damp, clumsy hands but finally she was free, stumbling out the door.

  Hard hands grabbed her and tugged her against an even harder, hot body. He was panting, his heart hammering. His torso was bare and slick with sweat and yet she’d never wanted to be anywhere as much as she wanted to be here in the sunlight in the arms of the man she loved.

  Did that make her weak?

  She didn’t care. She was where she belonged.

  ‘Are you all right?’ She could feel him shaking all over, yet he stood tall, his arms around her, locking her to him. He wore trousers but no shirt and she pressed closer, revelling in his embrace.

  ‘Should be asking you that,’ he gasped, his breath ruffling her hair, his chest rising and falling with the force of a massive piston.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Sure? That car…’ His hands ran up and down her back as if checking for injuries.

  Chiara didn’t move. Instead she inhaled the scent of him, all hot, masculine spice and sunshine.

  He shifted and toes touched hers. She looked down.

  ‘You’re barefoot?’ Not just barefoot but bleeding. Scratches crisscrossed his instep.

  ‘No time for shoes.’ Still his chest worked like bellows. No wonder, since he’d sprinted downhill, shortcutting the car.

  Chiara shook her head. The slope was ridiculously steep. ‘Have you got a death wish? You could have been killed, racing down here like that.’

  She reared back as much as she could in his iron hold. His hair was rumpled, his nostrils flared. There was a graze along one cheek and another over his collarbone. ‘Let me look at you.’

  He didn’t shift or loosen his hold.

  ‘Gennaro! You’re injured. Let me see.’

  One corner of his mouth curled up. ‘You care.’

  ‘Of course I care!’ She’d never stopped caring, even when she hated him. ‘Now let me look at you. Have you got a first aid kit in this rocket of yours?’

  ‘Rocket?’ His smile grew and Chiara felt something vital melt inside. ‘Not with you driving. That’s the only reason I managed to catch you.’

  ‘Why did you?’ Suddenly the sense of lightness faded. She slammed into reality with a thump. ‘You thought I’d crash the car and you didn’t want my death on your conscience?’

  When he’d shot down the mountain, ignoring the danger, hope had soared. For surely only a man who cared would be so reckless of his own neck. But what if she was wrong?

  His hand brushed the hair from her cheek then lingered, stroking. His eyes darkened, holding hers captive.

  ‘I’ve never been so frightened in my life as watching you drive away.’

  ‘I’m a good driver!’

  ‘Yes.’ His look was sombre. ‘But you’ve got no experience of a car like this, or these roads. And you were upset.’ He paused. ‘That was my fault. I shouldn’t have done what I did.’

  There was something in his voice she hadn’t heard before. Could this be the same man who’d frozen her out when she’d sought reassurance in Rome?

  ‘What? You shouldn’t have made love to me?’ Despite what she’d said last night about it being just sex, it had felt like making love. It always had, with Gennaro.

  ‘Never that, tesoro.’ His thumb stroked her mouth
and a pulse of awareness passed between them. She pressed her hands to his chest, revelling in his strength.

  He drew a mighty breath. ‘I shouldn’t have forced you to come with me. I scared you and, stupid as it seems to admit it now, I hadn’t thought about that in all my clever planning.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have tried to cut you out of my life the way I did.’

  His dark eyebrows soared.

  She shrugged. ‘You’re not the only one with regrets.’ She hesitated then went on in a rush. ‘That’s why I stopped the car. I realised I needed to come back and… talk.’

  He looked down at her as if she spoke a foreign language. ‘Talk?’

  ‘Yes, talk. I was about to turn the car around and head back up to the resort.’

  Chiara couldn’t remember ever seeing Gennaro at a loss for words. He might consider himself a simple builder at heart, despite his commercial success, but he had charm and easy confidence in abundance. He could wrap any woman around his little finger.

  ‘You were going to turn the car? Here?’ He surveyed the road, the blind curve ahead, the minimal space, and grew pale. ‘That settles it,’ he said finally. ‘I’m driving.’

  She nodded, ignoring the way her pulse knocked at the prospect of them finally talking this out. This could be the last time she saw him. She forced herself to sound matter of fact. ‘Okay. As soon as we’re back at the resort I’ll check your injuries.’

  ‘No. Not there. Down to the town.’

  Chiara frowned. ‘Why?’ He’d gone to all this trouble to get her alone. Kidnapping her! Now he wanted to take her into a town?

  ‘I did wrong last night. Abducting you, bringing you all the way up here, so you felt vulnerable, in my power. I shouldn’t have done it.’

  Perversely there was a tiny part of her that had revelled in the sheer outrageousness of his actions. A part of her that had thrilled to his desperate need to get her to himself.

  ‘We’re going to talk this through. Sensibly and properly. But somewhere you’re comfortable. With other people, a phone if you want it.’

  He was handing her the power to leave him if she chose. She read determination and something that looked like fear in his expression. Her silly heart tumbled over and she put her hand in his.

  ‘So long as there’s decent coffee too.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chiara slipped into the seat opposite Gennaro, feeling self-conscious.

  In jeans and a melon-coloured cotton sweater she was perfectly respectable, albeit far more casual that usual. She’d been grateful for the change of clothes, and the soft leather flats with their cute bows were a relief after her stilettos.

  She looked fine. She fitted right in at this pleasant, little outdoor café. She tilted her chin up, drinking in the warmth of the sun, trying to reinstate her usual air of unconcern.

  Yet she still felt that faint burning blush. She’d worn it ever since Gennaro persuaded the owner of the small boutique around the corner to open early so she could buy some clothes.

  Chiara had stood there as the woman’s sweeping gaze took in not just Chiara’s rumpled evening wear, but Gennaro’s bare chest and feet. He’d looked raffish and outrageously handsome and utterly unconcerned, charming the woman with that devastating grin. Then the woman had shaken her head, tsked and smiled and said something in that incomprehensible local dialect as she opened the doors and waved Chiara inside.

  Now, fully clothed, even with new underwear – the heat in her cheeks deepened, remembering the boutique owner’s silently arched brows at that purchase – she was ready to face Gennaro.

  But the way he watched her was too unsettling. It made the nerves in her stomach swoop and circle like eagles riding the mountain thermals.

  ‘What? Why are you staring?’ Chiara sat straighter, trying not to gawk back at the man who, in a newly acquired dark blue T-shirt, looked rough-hewn and gorgeous. He stole her breath.

  ‘You’re so beautiful.’ He leaned over and took her hand, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her palm that sent shivery delight right through her. ‘I want to eat you all up,’ he murmured, his breath a hot haze on her flesh. ‘The question is where to begin.’ His eyes glinted and Chiara felt herself melt.

  He did it so easily, distracting her. But she couldn’t afford to let him this time. This time they had to talk.

  She tugged her hand free, ignoring Gennaro’s frown, just as the waiter came with the coffee Gennaro had ordered.

  To break the intensity of the moment she sipped her coffee and leaned back in her chair. ‘Perfect. Strong and sweet. You remembered.’

  ‘Of course. I remember everything about you.’

  Her eyes snapped to his.

  Gone was his teasing humour. Suddenly Gennaro looked more sombre than she’d ever seen him. In the daylight tiny lines fanned the corners of his eyes and there were grooves etched around his mouth. He looked hard and a little fierce and – worried?

  He didn’t look at all like the arrogant man who’d kidnapped her or seduced her into pleasure just a few hours ago.

  He looked tired, she realised. And tense.

  ‘You didn’t do it, did you?’

  He met her stare with an unblinking look.

  ‘The information I let slip about Fabrizio finding a rundown palazzo perfect for refurbishment as a luxury hotel. You didn’t tell your brother the details, did you?’

  ‘How do you know?’ His eyes gave nothing away, yet she knew in her bones she was right.

  She slumped back in her seat, suddenly exhausted. ‘You told me. Last night, remember?’

  Why hadn’t she listened then? Because she’d been too caught up in righteous indignation to listen?

  ‘Does it make a difference what I say?’

  ‘Of course it does.’ She put her cup down with a click, but cradled it in her hands, as if its warmth could counteract the chill filling her.

  One sleek dark eyebrow rose. ‘Are you saying you believe me? The man you walked out on? The man who abducted you?’

  There was no sneer in his expression. Just curiosity. She was grateful for that.

  ‘Last night you said you hated me.’ His voice dropped to a pitch that made her belly squeeze. Was that pain she heard?

  ‘Last night I was lashing out. Besides, you deserved it.’

  Gennaro held her gaze then nodded slowly. ‘I did. I shouldn’t have put you through that.’ His face looked drawn. ‘When I realised I’d made you so desperate you’d take your life in your hands in my car…’

  Chiara found herself leaning forward, her hand on his forearm. It was strong and sinewy, warm, and the hairs tickled her palm. He felt real and solid.

  She didn’t want to let him go.

  ‘I wasn’t in any danger.’ Well, not too much. ‘And it was my own fault for racing off rather than facing you.’ Chiara swallowed. ‘I was a coward.’ She stopped, choking down pain. ‘Again. I ran from you before.’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’

  Stunned, she lifted her head.

  ‘I behaved like a lout. A self-absorbed kid, demanding that you trust me without even bothering to deny the allegation.’

  Chiara frowned.

  Gennaro closed his hand over hers, sandwiching it between his warm flesh. ‘My brother Luca says the way I behaved towards you—’

  ‘You’ve spoken to him about me?’

  ‘Of course. I needed to find out what had happened.’ He paused, his expression unusually sombre. ‘Luca thinks I behaved badly.’ Gennaro’s mouth tilted in a twisted smile. ‘That’s the polite version.’

  ‘Your brother thinks that?’

  Despite his stern features, Gennaro’s eyes twinkled. ‘He’s not the antichrist, you know. He’s a decent man and a clever one, despite being your brother’s arch rival. And I can tell you he was furious I’d let you walk out the door believing the De Laurentis family engaged in industrial espionage.’

  Gennaro’s rueful expression made her wonder exactly what hi
s brother had said. But that wasn’t the point. The point was he’d just confirmed again that he was innocent.

  ‘But why did you?’ She leaned forward, as if proximity would help her understand. ‘You must have known I’d believe you if you denied it.’

  ‘Must I?’ He sighed and dropped his gaze to their joined hands, to the spot where his thumb stroked hers, eliciting a new sort of tension in her body.

  He looked so miserable, so unlike his usual assured self, she felt something inside her crumble.

  ‘Yes. You must.’ Chiara stopped, then realised that again she was playing safe. Playing the coward. Until these last three weeks she’d have said she was strong, resourceful and yes, brave, when she needed to be. At least she’d been that while pursuing her career. But in her private life it was another matter.

  She drew herself up. ‘I love you, Gennaro.’

  At her softly spoken words his eyes widened and he sat straighter, his grip on her hand hard. He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him.

  ‘No. Let me finish. If I don’t get this out now I might never do it.’ She bit her lips when they began to tremble. This felt too much like walking on a tightrope between two mountain peaks. With a rising wind buffeting her. ‘I’ve never been in love before and I was caught up in the excitement of it.’

  Gennaro’s eyes glinted and she tried not to wonder if he’d shared that feeling.

  ‘I’d hoped you might begin to feel the same about me but I didn’t know how to find out. Not without laying myself bare by telling you how I felt. And I’d learned to be cautious.’ She hesitated, wondering how to explain. ‘You were right about Fabrizio and me coming from a different world to you. But it’s not all champagne and caviar. We both learned early that a lot of people are only interested in us because of the family name, our money or supposed power.’

  ‘Someone hurt you.’ It was a low growl that lifted the hairs at her nape. It sounded like he wanted to damage whoever had done that. The notion gave her hope, she felt it tremble into life deep inside.

  She shrugged stiffly. ‘It was a long time ago and it taught me not to judge at face value.’