Under Her Skin

by Michelle Love

  A shock ran through Arturo. She had been married? Had a child? Reeling with the shock, he searched further until he found the newspaper report.

  Father and Daughter Killed in Horror Smash.

  Chicago: A father and daughter were killed Christmas Eve when a drunken driver crashed into their Toyota in heavy snow at Kenosha. Schoolteacher Thomas Lambert, 30, and his three-year-old daughter, Beth, were fatally injured, with the child pronounced dead at the scene. Mr. and Mrs. Lambert were transported to the nearest emergency room where Mr. Lambert died five days after the crash. His wife, Hero Lambert, 26, remains in a coma in critical condition. The driver’s blood alcohol content was found to be five times the legal limit.

  A drunk driver. In one second, Hero’s life was destroyed. Arturo felt sick and a little guilty for invading her privacy. If she had wanted him to know…

  No. He just wouldn’t tell her what he knew; that was best for now. If his plan to seduce her worked, then he would let her tell him in her own time.

  He closed his eyes. The thought of Hero, lying in the wreck of a car, screaming for her lost husband, her darling daughter, made his chest hurt.

  She looks so much like Flavia…is that the reason? He shook his head, sighing, and closed the laptop. Comparing the two women would not help matters.

  He went to bed, hoping to get a couple of hours of sleep before he had to go to work, but his dreams were troubled with an image of Flavia’s dead body floating away from him, and his Hero, his lovely Hero, being stabbed to death in front of him by Flavia’s killer.

  In a foul mood because of his nightmares, Arturo went into his office, stalking down the hallway right past his assistant’s desk without saying anything.

  “Peter called.” Marcella followed him into his office, used to ignoring his moods. “He says he’s found a few promising options for the new hotel. He wants to know if you just want to put the Patrizzi apartments straight back on the market as is or go ahead with the refurbishments.”

  Arturo sat down heavily in his chair. “Tell Pete to call me, please. I want to refurb the whole place. Might as well make some profit off it.”

  “Thank you. By the way…good morning.”

  Arturo did smile then. “Good morning, Marcella.”

  “Grouch.”

  “You’re fired.”

  Marcella grinned. “Want coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Well, you know where the coffee pot is.”

  Arturo laughed. American-born Marcella had worked with him for years and had been his confidante and his friend—almost his sister. When he got too arrogant, she would just stare at him, do the pencil-tapping thing, until he backed down. She told him to fuck off to his face when he was rude to her; she brought him hot tea and pastries when he was down.

  “Marcie…can I ask you something?”

  Marcella, who was halfway out of the door, stopped and studied him. “Work or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure.”

  “Ooh, gossip. Ask away.” She flopped into the chair opposite him and crossed her long legs.

  Arturo cleared his throat. “I met someone.”

  Marcella’s eyes opened wide. “No. Way.”

  Arturo held up his hands to forestall her excitement. “It’s complicated.”

  Marcella sighed. “When isn’t it with you? Did you fuck her yet?”

  Arturo looked away sheepishly.

  “Turo.” Marcella stretched out his name, berating him. “Woo a girl first. I know that monster in your pants has a mind of its own, but jeez…” She laughed but then looked at him, her eyes serious. “Do you like her?”

  “I do. But I don’t even know her—rather, she doesn’t want me to know anything. I…might have gleaned some facts on my own.”

  “Stalker.”

  “I don’t want to invade her privacy or overstep her boundaries. But I did find out something pretty major about her. Should I tell her that I know?”

  Marcella shook her head. “No. That would freak her out, believe me. We women live in a world where any…invasion…however well-meaning or sweet…could mean something bad. Something like violence. So, no, Arturo, don’t tell her. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

  “Thanks, Marcie.”

  “Who is she?”

  “That,” he said, nodding, “is what I intend to find out.”

  Three things happened in a very short space of time that morning. Hero found a pharmacy and bought a box of condoms. They’d left it unsaid, but if Arturo turned up at her door again tonight, she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She considered a pregnancy test, but it was way too soon for that. Of course, she would have to find a doctor to test for STDs, and she berated herself. How stupid was she to have risked her health for a quick—albeit spectacular—fuck?

  The second thing was her realtor called and told her the paperwork for the apartment had gone through. “Congratulations. You can move in whenever you want.”

  Hero thanked her and told her she’d be in to pick up the keys that afternoon. “I hear you’ve pissed off Arturo Bachi,” the realtor said with a chuckle. “Good. He deserves it.”

  Hero swallowed hard. “You know him?”

  “Oh, I know him. He might pretend not to know me, but I know him.”

  So, Arturo had slept with her realtor. Great. Hero thanked her again and ended the call. What the hell was she doing? She had been in town less than a week, and already she had screwed one of the biggest man-whores around.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and she found that her guilt over ‘betraying’ Tom’s memory grew less and less. He’d want her to be happy, right? It didn’t mean Hero didn’t miss her husband every single moment, because she did. But moving to Italy was supposed to be a new beginning in every way.

  Hero pushed all thoughts aside and went to the art shop she had found on her travels yesterday. The store was empty except for the proprietor, a young woman about Hero’s age, whose tightly curled hair was piled on top of her head. She grinned at Hero. “Hello again. Couldn’t stay away?”

  Hero smiled at her. The woman had an English accent, and her name badge read Fliss. She was small, tinier even than Hero, and she wore a 50s-style tea dress with pink flamingos on a turquoise background. Hero liked her immediately.

  “I was window-shopping yesterday. Today I’m intending to spend money.”

  Fliss laughed. “Good to hear. What are you looking for?”

  “Everything.”

  Over the next hour, Fliss showed her around the store, and Hero immersed herself in picking out fat, round pastels in every color, a set of professional watercolor half-pans, and pencils in every hardness. She and Fliss talked about their mutual love of art—like Hero, Fliss was the product of art college.

  “I was doing my doctorate, but that’s on hold for the moment.” Hero told her, and Fliss looked interested.

  “Listen, it’s been a while since I got to talk about art like the geek I am. I’m closing for lunch in ten. Want to grab a bite to eat?”

  Hero smiled. “I’d love that.”

  Fliss took her to a small trattoria down a small alley. “This is one of Como’s best-kept secrets,” she said in a low voice. “The tourists don’t know about it. It’s cheap, but my God, the food is so, so good. I recommend the rabbit stew with polenta.”

  Over lunch—and Hero took Fliss’s advice and almost swooned when she put the first delicious bite into her mouth—they shared their stories.

  Fliss had moved to Lake Como after a school trip when she was young. “I swore that I would do everything in my power to be able to live here. I got lucky. My parents are reasonably well-off and gave me my first capital to start my business. When I told them I wanted to bring it over here, their first reaction was, “Oh, great, when can we visit?”

  Hero smiled, feeling a little envious. “Have you got any siblings?”

  “Three brothers, all older, all a major pain in my arse. They’re all scientists
. Can you believe it? But,” and she leaned forward conspiratorially, “I was the only one to graduate with first-class honors.”

  Hero laughed. For the first time in forever, she felt like more than a jaded twenty-eight-year-old who had already been a wife, a mother, and a widow. For once, she felt…relaxed.

  “Damn, look at that man.”

  Hero blinked and turned towards where Fliss was looking. A man was dumping an armful of papers onto a stand, and Arturo Bachi’s face was on the front of each one. Hero’s Italian was good enough to read the headline. “Bachi Upset at Patrizzi Sale!”

  Whoops. She turned back to Fliss who was eyeing Arturo’s picture with lustful glee. “Do you know him?”

  Fliss shook her head. “No, but I hear stories. He’s quite the wonder schlong.”

  Hero felt her face burn, and Fliss saw her expression. “You okay?”

  “I’m good. Listen, I’ve had a great time. Can we do this again?”

  Fliss grinned. “You bet.”

  They swapped numbers, and Hero found her way to her realtor’s office. With a swell of excitement, she picked up the keys to her new home.

  “Now, you know it’s not furnished, right?” her realtor reminded her.

  Hero nodded. “I know. I won’t actually be living there until my furniture is delivered, so if you need me and my cellphone is off, please call the hotel.”

  She was shaking as she walked up to the top floor and paused before unlocking the door. Had she done the right thing spending all that money? Why had she been so determined to beat Arturo? Had it been just her attempt to show she still had some control over her life?

  Hero took a deep breath, opened the door, and all her doubts fell away.

  She was home.

  Chapter Seven

  Arturo called her this time.

  “I thought I’d do things properly for a change,” he chuckled. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  Hero, walking back from the Patrizzi, smiled. “I’d love to. Where did you have in mind?”

  “It’s a surprise. Wear something slinky…and easy to take off.”

  She was still laughing when they said goodbye. Whether she admitted it or not, Arturo Bachi wasn’t just a spectacular lover, he had a sense of fun, too, that she found appealing. She wondered if he would be very angry if she told him the truth about the apartment.

  Feigning ignorance wasn’t an option. The fact he wanted the apartment was well-known, even to her after only ten minutes spent at the auction house that day. No, she would have to come clean, give him her reasons why she bought the place and paid such an outrageous sum for it.

  Dang it. As much as she hated lying to him, she also didn’t want this to end. She craved his body—he was like a heady mix of sugar and heroin in her system.

  Walking back to the hotel, still a block away, she became aware that there was no one else on the street. The evening was dark with a cool breeze blowing up from the lake. As she walked, she heard the echo of footsteps behind her, and her gut twisted a little in apprehension. She stole a look behind her. A few steps behind her, a man, tall and broad-shouldered, followed. He was in shadow. It was probably nothing, but Hero slowed her pace and then stopped.

  The man behind her stopped. Oh, shit…he was following her. She turned to face him. “What do you want?”

  A second later, she regretted stopping when she saw a flash of steel in his hand. Oh God no… Hero turned and took flight towards the people she could see milling about in the town square.

  With relief, she darted into the hotel, breathless as she asked for her key. The receptionist gave her a strange look, but Hero just shook her head. It was just a mugger, she thought to herself. But she was shaken.

  She pushed open the door to her room, and at first, she didn’t notice the envelope that must have been pushed under her door. When she did, she picked it up off the carpet, opened it and read,

  You look beautiful today. It’s a pity I’m going to kill you.

  She dropped the letter as if it were scalding hot. What the actual hell? She sat on the edge of the bed, shaking. Who wanted to kill her? She was new in town for chrissakes, and the only person she could have any beef with would be…

  No. She refused to believe Arturo Bachi was capable of hurting anyone, much less her. If he’d wanted to kill her, he would have done it that first night when no one had seen him take her home. He could have killed her, dumped her body in the lake, and gone on about his day. No.

  But who else could it be? She didn’t know anyone else—and she was pretty sure Fliss wasn’t a crazy killer. Besides, the guy that followed her just now was huge. That made her feel sick. There was no way she’d be able to fight back against a killer that size. She tried to control her trembling in order to get dressed. She slipped into a lilac dress and fastened a gold chain around her neck, but she moved automatically, not really focusing on her appearance.

  For the first time, she wondered if she had done the right thing by coming here. It just didn’t make sense that someone had targeted her so quickly.

  In the car with Arturo an hour later, she studied him carefully. “Where are we going?”

  Arturo grinned over at her, and she could see no malice in his eyes. “A surprise.”

  His smile made her belly quiver, but her nerves were still frayed, and he seemed to notice. He reached over and took her hand. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment and then said, “Hero. My name is Hero.”

  Arturo grinned sheepishly. “I know. I admit I saw the key card holder with your name written on it. Not Beatrice.”

  So, he was honest. Did it mean he was innocent? He was the only person who would have reason to hate her, and yet he was so caring, his eyes so full of desire for her.

  He drove them to a small compound where a helicopter waited. Arturo helped Hero out of the car and then led her to the aircraft, still grinning and not telling her where they were going. He got into the pilot’s seat, and Hero had to admit that she was impressed.

  It also made her feel better that plenty of people had seen them take off together. Witnesses.

  Stop it. He’s done nothing wrong. Hero pulled in a deep lungful of air and tried to relax. Arturo reached over and stroked her face. “Okay?”

  She nodded and turned her head to press her lips against his palm. Arturo smiled, leaning over to kiss her mouth.

  The helicopter ride was exhilarating, and when they began to see city lights beneath them, Arturo said, “Milan. I thought you should see it at night.”

  A thrill went through her. Milan…she’d never been to the city and now as he landed the craft on top of a hotel, she felt as if she were walking in a dream.

  The restaurant was exclusive and expensive, and they were led to a private booth in the back. “I thought we could talk without people listening in,” Arturo said, bending to kiss her cheek. He was holding her hand, his fingers entwined in hers, and Hero felt a warmth surge through her. There was no way he was that good an actor to fake this affection. No way.

  They sat side-by-side in the booth, and after the waiter took their order, Arturo put his arm around her and drew her closer. “That dress, the color is incredible next to your skin.” He drew the back of his finger down her cheek.

  He picked up her necklace, trailing his fingers along the chain, then letting them drift down her torso to her belly. Hero gave a tiny moan of desire. Arturo nuzzled her neck, “Sweet Hero…I have a suite booked at the Mandarin Oriental. I would be delighted if you would stay the night with me there. No pressure. One word from you and I’ll cancel the room. Will you stay?”

  Hero nodded, lost in his eyes. “Yes,” she said in a scratchy voice, husky with an almost feral desire for him—and because she knew without a doubt that it would be their last night together. She wanted to have this last night to remember being in his arms, being fucked by him, because she knew one thing for sure: she was falling for him and that meant she had to tell him the t
ruth.

  And after that, she was certain Arturo would want nothing more to do with her. The thought of that was killing her.

  Arturo opened the door of the suite and stepped back to allow Hero in. God, she was so beautiful he could cry, but ever since dinner, where neither of them ate very much, she had been quiet. Was she nervous about staying with him? He hoped not.

  Locking the door behind him, he went to where she stood staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Milan. The back of her dress was cut low revealing a heavenly expanse of honey-colored skin, and he trailed his finger down her spine. “You are perfect,” he whispered, then pressed his lips to her bare shoulder. Hero reached around and cupped his cock in her hand, stroking him through his pants. He pulled at the tied halter of her dress, and the garment slithered to the floor. She wore no bra; her full, ripe breasts were perky, the nipples small and dark red. He moved so he could take each one in his mouth in turn, teasing each until it was rock hard. Hero stroked his hair as he did, both of them moving slowly and savoring each moment. He slid his hand between her legs and caressed her through her damp panties.

  “You’re wet.”

  “For you,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “Always for you.”

  He had to have her then, her words spurring the animal in him to erupt. He swept her onto the bed and stripped his own clothes off, swiftly rolling a condom down over his engorged, almost painfully hard cock and thrusting into her. Hero wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her fingernails digging into his buttocks as she pulled him deeper and harder. Arturo kissed her with such ferocity he could taste blood, his hand moving to pin one of hers over her head. She came over and over as they fucked, and she begged him to never stop.

  He locked his elbows, gazing down into her eyes. “Don’t worry, my precious Hero, I’ll never stop…never…” He thrust hard as he came, groaning her name, taking her mouth hungrily. “You’re so beautiful, so lovely, bella, bella bella…” He knew, without a doubt, that he was in trouble, that he could easily fall in love with this woman, and if he did…God, his heart was still so fragile, so fearful that someone would take her away from him. He felt that dread so keenly tonight, but he didn’t know why.