Under Her Skin

by Michelle Love

  Arturo felt an ache in his chest. He didn’t want this night to end, didn’t want her to go away from him. “At least let me drive you back home.”

  She hesitated, those dark brown eyes wary but then nodded. “Thank you.”

  They didn’t speak as he drove her back to her hotel, but Arturo held her hand, and she didn’t pull away. At her hotel, he walked her to the door. “Can I call you?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Tonight has been…a revelation. Please, let’s leave it as perfect as it has been.”

  Unhappy, he took her in his arms and kissed her. “I will never forget you. If you change your mind…my name is Arturo Bachi. Everyone here knows me. You only have to call.”

  She kissed him again, lingering as if to memorize the feel of his lips against hers. “Goodbye, Arturo Bachi. I’ll never forget you either.”

  Reluctantly, he let her go, watching her walk into the hotel and out of his life. He got back into the car and felt utterly bereft, even—he was astonished to find—a little heartbroken. She was the most amazing, sensual woman, and he wanted to know everything about her—and never let her go. He hadn’t felt like this since Flavia…and maybe not even then. Guilt crept in, but he couldn’t deny his feelings. His white dress girl, his ‘Beatrice’ had woken something in him he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.

  Arturo shook himself and started the car. As he drew away from the hotel, every meter he drove further away from her hurt more. But she had been clear—it wasn’t meant to be.

  “Fuck it,” he said miserably, and pressed down hard on the gas pedal.

  He’d seen the girl at the auction, and his breath had been taken away. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Flavia…but no, this girl was petite and curvy, whereas Flavia had been tall and willowy, and although he hated to admit it, this girl was even more achingly beautiful than Flavia.

  He’d been absorbed in the auction at the time and hadn’t seen her slip away. Imagine his surprise when he’d followed Arturo through the streets of the town and watched as they’d found each other.

  Following Arturo’s Mercedes, he watched them go into the Villa Bachi, saw Arturo’s bedroom light go on. They were fucking. Of course, they were. There wasn’t a woman in Como that Arturo hadn’t fucked; why would this girl be any different?

  Because she was a newcomer. He could tell by the way she walked through the town, studying everything as if it were new. He wondered if she had family close or friends. When Arturo had driven her back to her hotel, he followed her into the hotel, heard her ask the receptionist for the key to Room 45.

  Room 45. That was good to know. He wondered how long she was staying, how much time he had to carry out his plan.

  He so wanted to see Arturo’s face when they called him to tell him his beautiful one-night stand was dead. To see his grief when they told him she’d been killed in the exact same way as his beloved Flavia twenty years ago.

  Chapter Five

  “Where the hell are you?” Imelda’s already strident voice echoed through the speakerphone in Hero’s room. Hero, dressing, rolled her eyes.

  “What do you care, Melly? You told me to go off by myself.”

  “I didn’t mean it, you know that. God, Hero, we’ve been worried sick.”

  Hero had to raise her own voice to make Imelda listen. “I’m in Italy. Lake Como.”

  There was a pause on the end of the line, and when Imelda spoke again, her voice was calmer. “Oh. Good.”

  “I’m doing what you told me, going ‘Wild’ like Reese Witherspoon, but instead of hiking, I’m hanging out with the Clooneys. Satisfied?”

  “You’ve met George and Amal?”

  “No, doofus, I’m just saying. I picked a place on the map, and it’s here.” She paused for effect. “I bought an apartment.”

  “What?”

  Hero was smugly satisfied with her sister’s stunned response. “Tell me you just did a comedy jaw-drop, Melly. Please tell me you did that.”

  “Stop messing around, Hero. Did you really buy a house, or are you just yanking my chain again?”

  Hero sighed. “No, I really did. I think I pissed off some rich muckety-muck who had his eye on it, too. I outbid him.” That rich muckety-muck, by the way, Imelda, whose cock drilled me to his bed last night and whose kiss I can’t stop thinking about.

  Again, Imelda was silent. Hero, tugging on her socks, listened to the sound of her sister’s breathing. “Mel?”

  “Well,” her sister’s voice was softer now, “that’s very positive. Nesting. Making a home. What are you going to do there?”

  “Read, write, paint, enjoy the view, eat everything in sight, get as fat as all get-out.”

  “All good things.”

  Hero’s eyebrows shot up. Usually, if Mel saw Hero had put on even a pound, she had her in the gym before she did anything else. “Lots of carbs, Mel.”

  “I know you’re just trying to make me crazy, but seriously, I think this will be good for you.”

  Another long silence. “You know, you could always come visit, Melly.”

  Hero waited for her sister’s response and was surprised when she said, “You know what, Hero? I might just take you up on that.”

  Hero was stunned. She and Imelda had never been close, never been the sort of—adoptive—siblings who hugged each other or visited regularly. Imelda’s visits had been even less since Beth died, although she still managed to harangue Hero by phone regularly. Hero felt a strange shift in their relationship now.

  “You are always welcome, Melly. Always.”

  Her sister cleared her throat. “I’ll call you soon. Don’t disappear again.”

  And the phone went dead. “And goodbye to you, too.” Hero dumped her phone in her bag. Today she was going to spend all day out of the hotel, not because she had any particular place to go, but because she was terrified that Arturo Bachi would turn up at the hotel to find her—and she didn’t have the strength to resist him.

  She closed her eyes now and relived the previous night: his hands on her body, his lips against her skin, his huge cock thrusting ever deeper inside her…she shivered with pleasure. That the man was an expert in bed was undeniable; he knew exactly what she liked without even asking, her body completely under his control. She could get lost in those eyes of his…

  “Stop it.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath in, pushing all thoughts of Arturo away. She knew men like him. Arrogant, rich, thinking they could buy anything they wanted. Yes, he’d clearly wanted her, and yes, he’d had her—but only because she had wanted him, too, at least for a night.

  Those wild, dark curls, that hard body…

  “Nope, nope. Nope.” Besides, when he found out it was she who’d outbid him at the auction, he’d certainly lose any desire to be friendly towards her.

  Hero pulled on her Chuck Taylors and grabbed her purse, strapping it across her body, and grabbed the room key. She would go out, find somewhere to buy art supplies, and have a look around for furniture for the apartment.

  She would not, she told herself, not think of Arturo Bachi for one more second. She wouldn’t. She really wouldn’t…

  Arturo found himself preoccupied as he sat in a meeting with Peter and the board members. He kept thinking of her soft hair, her pink lips, the fresh scent of her skin, the way her clit tasted in his mouth…

  Peter nudged him. “Turo? What do you think?”

  “Of what?”

  Peter glared at him. “Ludo is making a proposal.”

  Arturo looked apologetically at the older man. “Ludo, forgive me, I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”

  Ludo, an old friend of Arturo’s father, smiled kindly at him. “The hotel. I’m proposing we renovate the apartments in the Villa Patrizzi and then sell them as separate units. We should see some profit, and then we can use that to seek out another property to turn into the hotel.”

  Arturo shook his head. “No. I want the Patrizzi. We need to get that apar
tment.”

  Peter sighed. “Turo…we simply do not have the budget to buy the purchaser out.”

  “Mio Dio!” Arturo exclaimed in frustration. “It’s only five million! I’ll put it in myself.”

  “No.”

  Arturo narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “And you’ll stop me how?”

  Peter met his friend’s gaze steadily. “I can’t. But if that happens…I’m gone. Turo, I mean it. This is not what this conglomerate agreed to. We all put in the same amount of cash; we all take the same risks; we all reap the same rewards. That agreement is watertight. Five million for one apartment is nonsense, and we don’t have to make the same mistake as that buyer. What Ludo is proposing is the best way forward.”

  Arturo sat in silence before glancing around the room. He could tell the others agreed with Peter, and he knew his best friend was right. Still…

  “Fine. I’ll begin the search for some new premises.”

  He saw Peter visibly relax. Good. Let him think he’d won.

  But Arturo knew in his bones, Villa Patrizzi would one day be the site of his dream hotel. If the apartment’s buyer wouldn’t sell to him, then there were other ways to force them to sell or to quit the place.

  Arturo hid a smile. He was going to make their life hell—and his business partners were going to help do that, whether they knew it or not.

  Hero was aware of the man gazing at her as she sat outside the café. She shot a look at him, and he smiled at her, friendly and warm. She looked away, and then sighed as she saw him out of the corner of her eye, get up to approach her.

  Just leave me alone.

  But she had been raised to be polite, and when he was by her side, she looked up and gave him a pleasant smile. “Hello.”

  “Bueno giorno, signorina. George Galiano.”

  She shook the offered hand. “Hero Donati.”

  George indicated the other seat at her table. “May I sit for a moment?”

  Hero stifled a sigh and nodded. “Please.”

  He was tall, not as tall as Arturo, but broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. His brown hair was short and neatly styled, his beard trimmed and shaped. His dark brown eyes searched hers. “I hope you don’t think I’m intruding, but I believe I saw you at the auction yesterday. For the Patrizzi apartment?”

  “Yes, I was there.”

  George chuckled lightly. “It was quite the scandal. That apartment was expected to go to Arturo Bachi. We all expected it to go to him, but then, as you saw, a mysterious buyer swooped in and snapped it up. After the auction, I saw you going into the auctioneer’s office. Coincidence, yes?”

  Hero sipped her coffee. “Mr. Galiano, do you have a question you want to ask me?”

  “You bought the apartment.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t see how it was his business, but she wasn’t going to lie.

  George’s handsome face split with a wide grin. “Then, Miss Donati, I owe you a drink.”

  That stumped her. “I take it you and Mr. Bachi are not friends?”

  “Not any longer. Excuse me.” He addressed the nearby waiter. “Could we have some champagne?”

  George Galiano was charming to be certain, but Hero wouldn’t trust him in any situation. Still, as far as a pleasant acquaintance went, he was certainly easy on the eye and amusing to talk to. His rancor towards Arturo, she discovered, went deep.

  “We were friends,” he said, “a long time ago.” He sighed, regretfully. “We were in the unfortunate position of being in love with the same woman, and it didn’t end well for any of us.”

  “So, now you hate each other?”

  “For my part, it isn’t hate. Only too much has passed between us for us ever to go back.”

  Hero felt a little uncomfortable. “But you’re glad he lost the apartment?”

  “Call me petty, but yes. Arturo has had too much influence in this town for far too long. It was time he was taken down a peg or two.”

  “That’s not why I bought the apartment. I had no idea Arturo Bachi even existed before yesterday.” Although I sure found out who he was last night…

  A giggle bubbled up, and she hurriedly covered it with a cough. George didn’t seem to notice. “So, you are staying in our lovely town?” he asked.

  “For the foreseeable future, yes.”

  He smiled. “Then perhaps you would allow me to show you around sometime?”

  Hero hesitated, then nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Good.” He drained his champagne and reaching for her hand, kissed the back of it. “If you will excuse me, lovely lady, I have a meeting to get to. It was good to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  Hero watched him walk away, getting into a chrome-clad Bentley. Flashy. That was the sense she got from him, and although Arturo also flaunted his wealth, Hero got the impression that he was a little less…what? Ostentatious?

  She sighed. Who cared? It wasn’t as if she had any reason to be involved with either of these men anymore. She drained her coffee, left her untouched champagne on the table, and rose to walk around the town.

  She had absolutely no idea of the effect she had on men, he decided. He walked a few yards behind her with other people strolling between them, but he could see male heads turning as she passed by. Her long hair was pulled up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and her outfit was an obviously well-loved, fraying T-shirt and blue jeans that clung to her shapely hips and legs. She was stunning.

  Flavia had been equally beautiful, but far younger—only eighteen—when he’d killed her.

  He still remembered everything about that night and how perfectly he planned it. It was a costume party at the Villa Charlotte. She’d agreed to meet him outside at the gate leading to the lake. She had been dressed as a wood nymph, her dress floating around her and her beauty enhanced by the moonlight. The perfect ‘O’ of her mouth as he slid the knife into her. The horror and pain in her eyes. He’d held her as she bled out in his arms.

  Ssh, ssh, my pretty one. It’s all over now…

  She hadn’t spoken, but the ‘Why?’ was in her eyes.

  Because you loved him…

  Her eyes closed for the last time as the last of her blood pumped from the many stab wounds, and he had quietly set her adrift on the lake, looking like Ophelia: her body soaked in her blood, her hair streaming about her head.

  Damn it. His cock was hard again. Control, he told himself sharply. It’d been twenty years since Flavia, and now it was time to remind Arturo Bachi that anytime he dared to fall in love, he would lose everything until one day he’d get the message.

  He had no idea if Arturo would fall in love with this new girl, but he sensed that something was different about her—something special. He hoped Arturo would fall in love with this beautiful woman.

  Because it would make it so much more satisfying when he killed her.

  Chapter Six

  As she was drying off after her shower, Hero heard a soft knock on the door and knew instinctively who it was. She’d been imagining him as she’d stood in the steamy heat, picturing his hard, naked body wrapped around her from behind…

  Wrapping the towel around herself, she walked over to the door and asked, “Who is it?”

  “Arturo, principessa. Forgive me. I couldn’t stay away.”

  Smiling, Hero opened the door and looked up at him. “Hello again.” He was wearing a navy sweater and blue jeans and looked boyish and beautiful.

  For a second, she just stared at him, then stood aside to let him in. As he moved past her, she closed the door behind him and then deliberately let her towel drop. Arturo groaned.

  “Bellissimo…” He dropped to his knees and gripped her hips, pulling her directly into him, and Hero went willingly. “Bella, bella, bella.”

  His low voice reverberated against her clit, and she moaned softly as his tongue lashed around it. There was something so erotic about being naked while he was still dressed. Arturo tumbled her to the bed, pushed her knees to her chest
, hooking her ankles over his shoulders, and took his time to go down on her. His fingers bit into the flesh of her thighs, his tongue was relentless as he brought her to orgasm, leaving her breathless and panting.

  His mouth moved up to find her nipples as he unzipped his fly. She helped him free his cock, stroking the length of it before guiding him inside. God, she wanted him so badly. She clung to him as they fucked, each thrust harder and more ferocious. They were clawing at each other like animals, the bed shifting under their movements, the headboard banging relentlessly on the wall, but neither cared.

  Their need for each other was feral. Arturo fucked her into the most glorious orgasm of her life, and Hero screamed out his name, again and again, delirious with pleasure. He fucked her again on the floor, then once more in the shower, and when he came, he pumped thick creamy cum deep inside her belly, and she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest.

  They didn’t speak. Their lovemaking went on into the early hours, and by the time he kissed her goodbye, she was exhausted but satisfied. She almost asked him to stay but knew it would be a mistake.

  Still, when he pressed his lips to hers and whispered, “Tomorrow?” she nodded, knowing she would need her fix of him again.

  It was only later, when she was alone, that she realized they’d forgotten to use a condom.

  Arturo drove home, smiling. God, she was intoxicating, and now he knew her name. Hero. Hero Donati. No wonder she’d been bemused when he’d named them ‘Beatrice and Benedict’ from Much Ado About Nothing. He’d been so close to the truth, only one character away. He hated leaving her at the hotel; he wanted her in his bed always, but he knew he had to tread carefully. She was clearly a flight risk.

  At home, he opened his laptop and typed her name into the search engine. Nothing. He added ‘Chicago’ and pressed Enter. He would have missed the entry entirely if he hadn’t scrolled down the page. A death notice.

  Thomas and Beth Lambert, beloved husband and daughter of Hero D. Lambert. Funeral to be held at St. Maria of Sacred Heart, Thursday, 5th January. No flowers, please. Donations to Chicago Children’s Hospital.