‘What do you think —’ she started.
He laid a finger on her lips. She knew logically she should protest but Antonio seemed to have taken command of her mind and her body.
‘Sienna, relax,’ he said in a low voice that demanded attention. ‘You’ll have to get used to me touching you. Put your arms around me.’
This was crazy. The whole plan – mental. She should reconsider. Instead she slid her arms about his body. The coolness of his shirt vanished as her body pressed against his warmth. She tried to remain rigid, but melted into his body, hopelessly lost to his power. She closed her eyes as her heart skipped beat after beat.
‘I assume this is acceptable, yes?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she managed to whisper. She fought the desire to run her hands down his back. To touch him more.
‘And of course we will be required to kiss.’
She tensed. Her body responded far too readily to this situation. She needed to regain control.
She needed to think.
She needed to remember this man could take her hotel with the flick of a pen.
She wriggled free from his embrace and put as much distance between them as her office allowed. ‘I’m sure we can manage when the time comes,’ she said in her best professional voice.
‘I’m sure we can,’ he said, his voice lethal.
Those dark eyes followed her every move. She felt like a bunny in the headlights, powerless against an oncoming force.
‘I’ll have my lawyer prepare the contract this afternoon and courier it over for you to review,’ he said.
‘Fine.’ She needed to get him out of her office so she could think.
‘I propose the marriage term be for one year. After that we’ll apply for a divorce.’
‘Yes . . . of course . . . divorce.’ The words tumbled out.
‘Obviously the contract will include a prenuptial agreement that ensures our assets remain our own and we have no rights to each other’s property.’
‘Of course.’ She took a step towards the door.
He picked up his briefcase. ‘I’ll see you in Venice in three weeks.’
Her head snapped up. An icy chill engulfed her.
‘Three weeks?’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I can’t leave here in three weeks.’
‘You’ll have to. I’m on a tight timeframe.’
‘What about the hotel?’ she said, spreading her hands wide. ‘I do run this place, you know.’ She didn’t care about the rising irritation in her voice. How dare he think she could disappear off to Italy? Did he have no idea the place would fall apart without her?
‘Don’t worry, I’ll have my best man here by tomorrow. You’ll have plenty of time to hand over.’
‘I don’t want some lackey coming in here —’
‘I’m sending Brad Hindmarsh.’
Her jaw dropped. Antonio’s second-in-charge, the man who’d won every hotelier award in the business. Even a veteran hotelier like her father idolised the man. Perhaps Brad could reignite her father’s passion for the hotel.
‘Brad can manage things for the next few months,’ he said.
‘Few months?’ So much time in Italy . . . with Antonio. She’d shaken his hand but hadn’t even begun to think through the implications.
‘Yes, that should do it initially.’
‘Right, of course.’ Everything was far from right.
Antonio glanced at his watch. Clearly he wanted to leave. A few minutes ago she’d have given anything to remove him from her office but now she needed him. Needed his guidance.
‘It would be best to get things wrapped up today,’ he continued, oblivious to her plight. ‘There’s some planning to be done.’
‘Yes.’ She wondered if he knew at that moment she could barely string words together. Cross with herself, she tried to focus. ‘Yes, lots to be done.’ Could she sound any more inane?
He looked at her closely and held out his hand. ‘Until Venice,’ he said.
She took his hand. He pulled her close, landed a light kiss on each cheek and left. Heat burned in her face. Was that satisfaction that glowed in his eyes? Was she just another in a series of women who gave him what he wanted?
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his retreating figure. He walked to the lift, hit a button and waited. Would he turn? The lift opened, he entered and pressed the down button. Then his eyes were upon her. In the few seconds before the lift closed it was as though he’d looked into her very soul.
When the doors blocked him from view she dropped into the visitor’s chair, put her elbows on her thighs, lowered her head into her hands and closed her eyes. Half an hour ago she’d been about to lose the Plaza. She’d prayed for a miracle. But Antonio Moretti didn’t look or operate like an angel. Her eyes flicked open.
No, she’d made a pact with the devil.
‘Oh no.’
Sienna caught a glimpse of herself in the glass as she emerged from the aeroplane. Even though Antonio had booked her a first-class ticket, she felt as though she’d been dragged through a bush backwards. She’d forgotten to pack a brush, and the comb the flight attendant supplied hadn’t made a dent on her bird’s nest of hair. She’d spilt coffee down her suit and had to change into the tracksuit she’d planned to sleep in.
Dragging her fingers through her hair, she joined the queue for passport control. Nothing a nice hot bath wouldn’t fix. Thank goodness Antonio wasn’t meeting her at the airport – he’d said he’d send a car to take her to the hotel.
She quickly passed through customs and into the arrivals hall . . . and chaos. Rapid-fire Italian all around her, people everywhere and nothing seemed organised. She smiled and turned slowly in a full circle. She’d finally made it to Europe and already loved it. She’d never felt so alive. Maybe it had something to do with flying first class. She still couldn’t believe such luxury existed forty thousand feet above the ground.
‘Ciao, bella,’ a young man said, smiling broadly as his eyes lingered just a little too long. Ah, Italy. Just as she’d always imagined.
A camera flash caught her eye. Then another and another. A pack of photographers hovered in a crowd that moved slowly in her direction.
Sienna stood on tippy toes. How exciting. Just arrived and already she’d see someone famous.
The pack broke and Antonio surged towards her. The fury in his eyes wiped away her tentative smile. Camera flashes blinded her. She held her hands to shield her face. Why was . . .?
The realisation hit her just as Antonio wound his arms around her. With him, she was front-page news. Terror slid across her skin.
Antonio bent his head close to her ear. ‘What are you wearing?’ he hissed.
Her whole body stiffened as he kissed her. His lips were hard and cold.
‘Sorry everyone, we have to go,’ he announced to the pack surrounding them.
Within a few seconds she found herself in the gloom of the back seat of a limousine. Cameras pressed up against the glass and continued their ferocious attack. She held up her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding flashes. Antonio barked out instructions and the limo pulled away from the kerb. He looked behind and instructed the driver to lose the tailing journalists.
Sienna felt like a scolded schoolgirl but she was also angry. She’d left her life to fly to the other side of the world and this was how he greeted her.
‘I think we’ve lost them.’ Antonio directed his comment to the driver and then turned his eyes to her. She tried to hold his gaze but his dark expression made it difficult.
‘Didn’t you read the contract?’ he demanded.
Of course she’d read the contract. Fear attacked her nerve endings. She hadn’t let the family lawyer read it, as she’d been sure he’d have tried to talk her out of such a ludicrous proposal. What had she missed?
‘Of course I read it,’ she said.
‘Then you would know you need to be presentable at all times. This —’ he waved his hand at he
r dull tracksuit, ‘— does not comply.’
She straightened in her seat. ‘I’ve been on a plane for twenty-four hours. What did you expect?’ She could explain about the spilt coffee, but why bother?
‘I expect you to be presentable at all times. The ticket was for first class. What did you do? Cash it in?’
Even as exhausted as she felt, anger rose in her like a wave. ‘I didn’t know you were going to meet me with half the world’s press. You said a car would collect me.’
‘I had a tip-off someone leaked your arrival to the press. I didn’t want you to face that pack alone.’
He’d been trying to protect her? Some of the anger dissipated but she wasn’t about to let him get away with how he’d spoken to her. ‘Next time you change the plans, perhaps you could let me know,’ she said.
‘No need,’ he said. ‘I’ll manage anything that comes our way.’
‘Not that you care, but I’m hardly going to spend money on clothes,’ she said. ‘I have a loan to pay off.’
Antonio rummaged in his pocket for his mobile phone and punched a few buttons. Sienna listened to him organising her a credit card in rapid Italian. He snapped the phone shut.
‘A credit card will be delivered this afternoon to the hotel,’ he said. ‘You can buy anything you need.’
Anything she needed. How about a million-dollar paint job, new furniture in three hundred rooms and smart wiring for the Plaza conference floor? The card probably had no limit, so why not go for the entire ten-million-dollar refurbishment? But she wouldn’t use the card unless absolutely necessary. She didn’t want to be indebted any further to this man.
‘Money doesn’t solve every problem, you know.’ She knew she sounded petulant. She didn’t have the energy for anger any more. Antonio clearly regretted his choice of convenient bride and he obviously didn’t trust her. How on earth were they going to convince anyone the marriage was authentic?
They drove onto a bridge. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.
‘This is Ponte della Liberta, the only bridge from the mainland to Venice.’
She looked ahead. Venice. She drew in a sharp breath. All the pictures she’d devoured in books and on the internet hadn’t prepared her for the sheer beauty of the fabled city.
Antonio peered at her. ‘You like it?’ he asked.
‘All my life I’ve dreamt of living in Europe, immersing myself in the history and culture.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ he asked.
She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t talk about her mother’s death and her father’s spiral into all-consuming grief. That she’d shelved her plans in order to save the family hotel.
‘The Plaza’s a family business,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m part of that family.’
‘And family’s important to you,’ he said.
She frowned. What a strange thing to say. ‘Of course.’
The driver announced their arrival as they pulled into a warehouse and parked.
‘Now – by boat,’ Antonio announced as he opened the car door.
Sienna inhaled the salt air, the damp and the history. A sense of freedom and opportunity swept over her.
Antonio led her past row after row of luxury cars. The building must be a valet-parking facility for the rich. When they broke into the sunshine, the city lay before her. Across the wind-swept Grand Canal was a row of the famous pastel mansions: pink, baby blue, pale jade; the faded magnificence of a bygone era of opulence and power. She climbed aboard a luxury cruiser featuring the Moretti emblem and felt the intensity of Antonio’s eyes upon her.
‘Your first trip to Venice?’ he asked.
‘My first trip out of Australia.’
‘Really?’ He sounded shocked.
‘The hotel. It makes it hard to get away. When we did go on holiday, we only went a couple of hours away so we could come back if there were any problems.’
‘Sounds like a sheltered existence.’
At first she felt annoyed, then thought about his comment. She shrugged. ‘I suppose it was.’
And is. She’d been trapped by those beige walls and the endless stream of guests. But she knew that life often blocked the path of dreams. The hotel was as essential to her family as air was for life. That’s how she’d been brought up and that’s how she must continue.
‘Ponte della Costituzione, the Calatrava Bridge,’ she said as they cruised beneath its controversial steel spans. ‘Were you for or against it?’
‘For, of course,’ he said, as if there could be no other view. ‘Venice has been at the forefront of technological development for centuries. I don’t see why that should stop. And I don’t subscribe to the belief that Venice is a living museum.’
‘Not everything has to be bigger, newer, shinier, to be good.’
‘Everything does not need to be old, decayed and antiquated to be valuable.’
As Sienna turned back to the brilliance before her, she wondered if she and Antonio had anything in common. She drank in the wonder of the city. Ponte degli Scalzi loomed into view. The icons kept coming.
‘Ca’ Rezzonico.’ She sighed. ‘This is probably one of my favourites.’
Antonio’s brow furrowed. ‘If you’ve never been here, how can it be your favourite?’
‘I studied Venetian architecture during my undergrad degree.’
‘You have a degree?’
‘Yes, architecture. Look.’ She pointed. ‘See how the architects broke with tradition? The facades feature a less cluttered style but still capture a baroque richness.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve passed this building hundreds of times and never noticed,’ he said, peering at the building, then back at her. ‘I had no idea you’d studied architecture.’
She looked at him squarely. ‘I think it’s safe to say there’s lots about me you don’t know.’
He looked at her for such a long time she felt relieved when the Rialto Bridge came into view and she could ooh and aah at its magnificence.
‘Here we are,’ Antonio announced.
Sienna gazed up at an ochre-coloured building. A few centimetres of water covered the ground floor, pontoons providing a walkway into the building.
‘You live here?’
‘No,’ he said, as he led the way into the gloomy building.
He stepped from the pontoon onto an ornate staircase. The splendour of the building increased as they ascended. The interior looked simply surreal.
‘What is this place?’ she asked.
‘You’ll see,’ he said, as he pushed the button on an elaborate intercom on the wall near a huge wooden door.
The door flew open.
‘Signor Moretti. Welcome. Welcome.’ An immaculately dressed young man held open the door. ‘Mario is putting the final touches to —’
‘Thank you,’ Antonio said, stepping past the man into the most luxurious studio Sienna had ever seen. Lush gowns of every fabric and colour were crammed onto racks lining the sides of the room.
An older man glided towards them. Sienna felt her eyes widen. Mario Sabatini, the hottest thing in women’s couture, shook Antonio’s hand.
‘Benvenuto,’ he said.
Sienna wished she could disappear. She smoothed down her cheap tracksuit. How could Antonio have brought her here dressed like this?
‘As you can see, we need assistance,’ Antonio said in Italian as if she weren’t present.
Mario’s gaze travelled slowly over her from head to toe. Stupidly she took a small step behind Antonio. Mario took her hand and drew her towards him, his piercing blue eyes taking her in.
‘Signorina . . . wonderful . . . to meet you,’ he said in hesitant English.
He let her hand slip from his and walked around her. ‘Beautiful hair.’ He spoke in Italian. His hands pinned her on either side of her waist. ‘Hourglass with height.’ Then he stood before her and leant in close. ‘Wide-set eyes and full lips.’
He stepped back, his eyes travelling the length of her body several ti
mes. ‘Get those clothes off her and burn them,’ Mario declared dramatically to his assistant. ‘Antonio, how could you let her wander about in those rags?’
‘Excuse me,’ Sienna interrupted in Italian. ‘A simple wash and these clothes are fine, thank you.’
A delicious silence followed as the three men stared at her.
‘You speak Italian?’ Antonio finally said.
‘Of course.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
Mario had the decency to look abashed. Antonio laughed. ‘Aren’t you full of surprises?’ he said.
Full of differences, more like. Their worlds couldn’t be more disparate. His world revolved around insane wealth, beautiful women and international business. Her world featured hard work, the Plaza and her family. Her heart sank. The contract clearly stated that if their deception failed, the deal was null and void. Her arrival at the airport had been a disaster. He’d arrived looking incredible with the world’s media lapping at his feet. She’d turned up in a ten-year-old tracksuit like some naive tourist. It had brought into sharp focus the gulf that existed between them.
Even with new clothes, who would ever believe Antonio had fallen for such a nobody?
Antonio snapped his phone closed. How much longer would Mario take? He knew Sienna needed a whole new wardrobe, but two hours! He pushed himself up from the plush sofa.
Damn it, surely they were done by now. Of course he could leave and let the driver escort Sienna back to the hotel, but he didn’t want any more mistakes. The plan needed to work. Must work. The Villa Paradiso must be his. Once it fell into the hands of Fondo Ambiente he’d be powerless.
He paced the room. Could Sienna carry it off? He pictured her arrival at the airport and winced. He should have been more specific. He should have ensured she’d had a suitable wardrobe before she left Melbourne.
The chug of a water taxi drew him to the window. He gazed down the Grand Canal to the Rialto Bridge. Tourists poured over its ornate stone ramps. He’d been across and under that bridge so many times, he didn’t even notice it. He frowned. He’d been born in Venice but he realised he really knew very little of its incredible history. Sienna’s awe opened his eyes to the beauty all around him. It made him feel . . .
Sweet Seduction Page 3
