by Abby Green
Gianni’s hands moved over her languorously, sensually, heightening every nerve ending in her body. He put his mouth near her ear and drawled, ‘I think, bella, that we’ll have to agree to disagree. You see, I think you will be very good at this sex thing.’
Keelin jerked her head back but it was too late. Just as she realised what Gianni intended and as he pressed her even closer, his head swooped and his mouth covered hers.
Keelin had been kissed before. Plenty of times. She’d become something of an expert in her teens, having perfected the art of kissing and going so far with boys without going further—until that traumatic night when she’d realised just how close she’d skirted to the edges of danger in a bid to seek male attention.
But Gianni was no lanky twenty-year-old testosterone-fuelled guy. He was all man. In his virile prime. And Keelin had no defences.
She was pressed so hard into his body that she could feel every taut sinew and hard muscle. His mouth on hers was firm, but demanding. Hard. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and without even being really conscious of what she was doing her mouth opened to him.
And then Gianni dominated her with sensual ease. His tongue swept in, stroking hers roughly, eliciting a response that made her legs weak, and hot sensations eddy between her legs. Her lower gut tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before.
That finally sent some kind of awareness to her brain and Keelin pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide, staring into pools of dark brown.
Gianni’s face was all stark lines and an unsmiling mouth. Keelin’s lips tingled and felt swollen.
‘I think it’s time to leave, cara, don’t you?’
He didn’t wait for an answer; he just took his arms from around her and led her off the dance floor, taking her hand when people crushed around them. The music had changed to fast again and Keelin felt humiliated to imagine how they’d looked standing in the middle of energetically dancing couples while Gianni had demonstrated his easy dominance.
Everything in her chafed at that and when they got back up to the seating area she pulled her hand free. A girl was approaching with her short gold jacket and Gianni took it and held it out, for all the world the solicitous fiancé who was eager to get to a more private location.
Keelin had half a mind to stalk out and made a minute move but Gianni was blocking her way, as if reading her mind. She glared at him and he stared back.
With the utmost reluctance she put her arms in the jacket and let him settle it on her shoulders. Was it her imagination or was his slightly heavy-handed touch a warning?
When she turned again he had her clutch bag. She took it, just as he reached for her other hand again. But just like that kiss hadn’t been a lover’s kiss, his touch now was not gentle. It was an exercise in proving his strength and will.
And all she could think about was how she’d arched closer to him and let her tongue slip into his own mouth to explore all that heat and his intoxicating male taste. Humiliation burned her again; the minute he’d touched her she should have been flouncing off the dance floor, not pressing closer to him like a needy little kitten.
A sleek chauffeur-driven car was waiting outside the entrance to the nightclub. There was also a crowd of baying paparazzi. They started snapping as soon as Gianni appeared and he brought Keelin protectively forward with his arm around her, turning her into him so she was shielded.
The feel of all that taut musculature scrambled her brain cells again and he was saying something indistinct in Italian just before he all but pushed her into the back of the car and the door slammed. Before she had time to formulate a thought, Gianni was sliding in the other side and the car was pulling away.
Trapped.
Keelin was breathing hard. She looked at Gianni and there was ice in his expression. Her belly sank.
And then he said with more than a hint of steel, ‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’
* * *
Gianni did not like to admit that he could still feel the imprint of Keelin’s lush curves against his body from when he’d pulled her close on the dance floor. He’d meant it as an exercise in getting her away from that sweaty-handed creep, but all it had done was fire up his libido so much that he’d been sporting his first unwarranted erection in public since he was an oversexed teenager.
Dio. She should be turning him off with her over-the-top persona, but all he wanted to do was rip off that jumpsuit and get his hands on her naked curves. He could barely keep his gaze from roving over the firm swells of those generous breasts and those ridiculously long legs. He dragged his brain back from the edge.
‘Well?’
She was all but curled into the door, looking at him as if he had two heads. And then she blinked, and straightened her shoulders. And pouted.
‘I was having a good time, you know.’
Gianni curbed a grimace at her sulky tone. It was perfectly pitched and she could very well still be fooling him with it, if he didn’t know better. A sense of humiliation made him smart again.
‘Yes,’ he said dryly. ‘You looked like it with Federico Prezzi, one of Rome’s most notorious porn kings.’
She couldn’t disguise her instantaneous look of shock and disgust, but before she could manufacture some other false response Gianni put up a hand. ‘Look, you might be happy to continue this ridiculous charade, but frankly, I’ve better things to be doing than hauling my fiancée out of nightclubs at three a.m.’
Her eyes went wide and wounded. ‘Charade? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Gianni snorted. They were pulling up outside the sleekly exclusive Harrington Hotel for the second time that night and he got out to open Keelin’s door when being polite was the last thing on his mind. Especially when he saw a flash of one long bare leg through the slit in her jumpsuit as she got out.
He took her arm and all but marched her into the hotel. When they were in the lift she pulled free and looked at him accusingly. ‘There’s no need to manhandle me.’
Her big green eyes shone suspiciously and even though Gianni knew it was an act, he had to steel something inside of him, which only made his irritation levels rise further.
‘I don’t know why you’re being such a grouch. I just wanted to have some fun. I love clubbing.’
I love clubbing. Something sparked in Gianni’s brain. It was one of his pet hates. He could actually remember filling out one of those asinine ten questions for some weekend newspaper review magazine and that had been one of his answers. In fact, every single little thing about Keelin seemed to be perfectly pitched to annoy him or rub him up the wrong way.
The lift doors opened and, feeling very grim now, he took Keelin’s arm again. He opened the door to her suite and let her go to precede him into the room. He hated to admit it but he knew that if he stayed and forced this conversation now, he might not be able to resist touching her because his anger and that feeling of having been made a fool of was pushing him to the limits of his control.
And that was enough to make him want to retreat. His father hadn’t been able to control himself and Gianni had always had a very deep fear that he’d inherited his weakness. Not that he’d be violent, but that something of this rawness inside him might not be contained. He didn’t want Keelin to see that part of him.
And he still didn’t know enough. Yet.
She rounded on him with an injured expression on her face but before she could say anything Gianni folded his arms. ‘Basta!’ Enough.
‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, Keelin, but it’s about as fake as the tan on that delectable body. I have an important meeting in the morning, early, so I’m not prepared to sit up all night and drag a confession out of you. When I see you tomorrow I expect to meet the real Keelin O’Connor.’
His gaze dropped down, taking in overtanned flesh and a blingy ou
tfit more suited to Studio 54’s heyday. ‘And you can put that card I gave you to use and find some more suitable clothes to wear.’
Keelin’s mouth opened, eyes wide, and Gianni cut her off. ‘Save it for the morning, cara. Buonanotte.’
He turned at the door to see a decidedly mutinous look on her face now, eyes sparking with the intelligence he’d caught a glimpse of in his apartment. Unexpectedly he felt a flare of excitement to recognise that a part of him relished getting to know this woman.
‘And don’t even think of trying to pull any more cute stunts. You make one move out of this hotel room and I’ll know about it in seconds.’
She sputtered indignantly, ‘You can’t do—’
But he’d closed the door.
* * *
Keelin was left looking at a blank space. For a long moment she stood in shock and then the pain of her feet in the heels impinged and she kicked them off angrily. He knew. He had somehow figured it out.
A sense of panic warred with relief that she didn’t have to put on this elaborate act any more. And also trepidation, to know that she’d have to face that man as herself. She went into the bathroom, looked at her reflection in the artfully lit mirror over the enormous sink. Her eyes were wide and bright. Cheeks flushed. Her gaze dropped and she sucked in a breath to see the stark outline of her nipples pressing against the flimsy silk of her jumpsuit.
She could recall all too easily how she’d wanted to rub them against Gianni’s chest in the club, to assuage the burning ache. Dammit. Once again she felt that vulnerability to know that he had a unique effect on her, cutting right through her defences. She wasn’t prepared for this unprecedented physical reaction to him. It was as if when he touched her something fused in her brain.
She was afraid of Gianni’s effect on her, that if he kissed her again she wouldn’t be able to protect herself in time. And that he might make her feel as powerless as she had when—
She closed her eyes against the memories and sucked in a deep breath.
This was why she’d avoided any kind of intimacy before now, in spite of the picture she’d painted to Gianni. She assured herself resolutely that he wouldn’t be kissing her again because she’d do whatever it took to persuade him that this union was wrong.
* * *
When Keelin woke the following morning after a fitful sleep, she felt a wave of optimism—perhaps she was wrong and Gianni just suspected something? Galvanised by the thought that all was not lost, she dressed again with inappropriate zeal in a figure-hugging red dress, and made her way to the entrance of the hotel, determined to go shopping again as if nothing had happened and hope for the best.
But when she got to the door, a tall dark familiar figure was waiting for her. She cursed silently as he approached her and took her arm before bending and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her heart spasmed.
He pulled back and she looked at him. He smiled but his eyes were hard. ‘Buongiorno, cara. So nice of you to come down and meet me.’
‘But I wasn’t, I was—’
But Gianni wasn’t listening. He was all but frog-marching her out of the hotel to where his sleek chauffeur-driven car was waiting. She was in the back of the car and he was on the other side in a louche sprawl before she could get her breath and register that they were moving away from the hotel.
Keelin had given in to the bitter tang of defeat. He knew.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, feeling mutinous.
‘My apartment. We need to talk.’
Keelin looked out of her window, refusing to so much as glance in his direction for the duration of the journey, furiously trying to think of what he might say. And how much did he know? The fact that he might know of her degree made her feel inordinately exposed. Old and familiar urges rose. To rebel. To run. But she couldn’t. She had to be smart and roll with the punches and ensure that no matter what happened she’d come out on top and her father would be forced to acknowledge her role in their family’s company. Solo. Not married.
A memory of when she’d been about eleven years old sprang into her head. She’d been with her paternal grandfather in one of the O’Connor Foods factories. It had been a very rare visit—usually she was never taken to the factories. Huge articulated lorries had been peeling away, out of the forecourt, on their way across Europe with foods, and her father was standing in the middle, like the conductor of an orchestra.
She’d been mesmerised by all this industry and the family legend that it had all originated from one field and a herd of cattle in the west of Ireland.
In her mind at that moment she’d made the connection between her father’s obsession with work and his lack of obsession with her. She’d turned to her grandfather and said excitedly, ‘When I grow up I want to work with Daddy.’
Her grandfather had looked at her with disappointment lining his old face and had bent down to her level and said very clearly, ‘That won’t ever happen, Keelin. If you had a brother, maybe—’
Even now, she could remember the awful hollowing-out sensation, and the feeling of guilt, that she wasn’t enough, because she was a girl. She’d looked out over the forecourt again and had realised that, because of her, all of this would cease to exist some day. And that’s when she’d vowed to do everything she could to show her father that she could be enough.
‘We’re here.’
Keelin blinked and looked to see the by-now-familiar building. A sense of déjà vu assailed her as Gianni got out and came around to let her out. She felt silly, trussed up like some kind of over-the-top reality-TV star.
She pettily refused to take his hand of help and got out herself, less elegantly than she would have liked. He just shrugged minutely and led the way into his building.
The elevator felt even more claustrophobic this time, because now she knew what it felt like to be in Gianni’s arms, his mouth on hers. That hard body pressing against hers. Her face was flaming by the time the lift came to a stop and she almost fell out in her haste to put some space between them.
It was almost a relief to step into his palatial apartment again and she quickly moved over to one of the windows, dreading what was coming.
Reluctantly she turned to look at Gianni and he was stern and formidable. Distant. Perhaps she could convince him to see sense? A small voice somewhere laughed at that. Facing up to the unpalatable suspicion that he would not rest until he knew everything, Keelin steeled herself and said bluntly, ‘I don’t want to marry you.’
His expression didn’t change but she saw a flash of something in those dark eyes. ‘Did it occur to you to say this when we met first and I gave you the opportunity instead of putting on the elaborate act?’
She flushed as his gaze narrowed on her. He came closer and Keelin could sense the tension reaching out to touch her like the sharp end of a nail across her skin. This was a man who didn’t appreciate being messed with. And she’d been like a mouse teasing a lion for the past two days.
She lifted her chin and avoided answering that question directly. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve been inconvenienced, but I have no intention of marrying you.’
Gianni was grim. ‘And would you care to explain why you didn’t walk away when your father proposed this arrangement?’
Not really. Keelin swallowed and crossed her arms defensively. There was no way she could physically move past Gianni. He seemed to take up all the space in the room. Hell. Eventually, with the utmost reluctance, she said, ‘If I walk away, then my father will effectively disown me.’
The prickle of exposure to have said that out loud made her irritated now. She didn’t want to feel any vulnerability here in front of this man.
Gianni mirrored her, folding his arms across his chest, making the muscles of his arms stand out against the cloth of his suit.
‘Need I point out that by marrying me you�
�ll become obscenely wealthy?’
Keelin flushed, angry to be so aware of him. ‘It’s not about the money.’
He arched a brow. ‘Could have fooled me. You spent a small fortune yesterday.’
She felt slightly sick to think of it now. ‘That was just part of...’ She faltered and stopped. ‘I can send the clothes back.’
His voice was cooler than the Arctic. ‘Don’t worry, my assistants are already in the process of doing that. So this was your grand plan? To try and convince me that you were entirely unsuitable?’
Some of Keelin’s anger drained away. ‘In a nutshell, yes.’ She felt supremely foolish now to have underestimated Gianni so much.
He snorted derisively. ‘You thought that if you could make me believe you were the total opposite of what I wanted, then I’d show you the door?’
Keelin looked at him, determined not to let him intimidate her. ‘You have to admit it, you had doubts.’
As if Gianni Delucca would admit such a thing. And then he took the wind out of her sails, saying, ‘You’re not the only one who did some digging.’
Keelin’s stomach dropped. She’d been afraid of this but tried to brazen it out, unconsciously tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘And?’
His gaze became speculative. ‘Surprisingly enough in spite of your teenage fits of rebellion no photographic evidence showed up of you behaving as the vacuous socialite you’d have me believe you are.
‘What did turn up,’ he continued, ‘was evidence of a model student in college, recently graduating with flying colours.’
Once again the memory stung of all her friends celebrating with their adoring families while she’d had no one there for her. The momentary self-pity mocked her and added a bitter twinge to her voice. ‘Don’t let that fool you, Gianni, it served a purpose. If I’m to take over my family business some day I’m not so arrogant as to assume I don’t need any preparation.’
Another derisive-sounding snort. ‘You take over O’Connor’s? A global company?’
Keelin saw red. ‘Just because I’m a woman—’
