The Italian's Virgin Acquisition

by Michelle Conder

  ‘You are,’ he asserted softly. ‘But I agree.’ He sat down in the corner chair and tugged on the belt of her robe. ‘We have done enough talking.’ He kissed a trail down her midline and turned her to face the railing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I’m going to show you how you make me feel. Bend forward, bella,’ he crooned in her ear, placing her hands on the balustrading. ‘And don’t let go.’

  * * *

  Hours later Sebastiano jolted awake; the only sound in the room was Poppy’s soft breathing as she lay beside him. Carefully, he turned his head to confirm that she was sleeping. She was, her soft curves pressed into his side, her kiss-swollen lips parted, her silky hair spread out on the pillow.

  Their love-making this time had been different from the other times. Less intense, but somehow more powerful. If that was even possible.

  He adjusted the bedcovers over her shoulder and she nestled deeper against him. He smiled and slid his hand over her thigh. Her skin felt like silk beneath his rougher fingertips. She sighed, a whisper of a sound that feathered across his chest. He contemplated waking her up, kissing her brow, her cheeks, the little dimple beside her mouth. She was so responsive to his touch he could already imagine her turning towards him, arching against him, giving him one of those tiny whimpers he loved so much.

  Dio, this was supposed to have been just one more night. Not that either of them had stipulated as much—but, regardless, he had thought that was all it would be and now, if he was honest, he wanted more. The irony of which was not lost on him.

  And somewhere in his psyche he must have known this would happen because on the flight to Venice he had decided to put as much distance between them as possible.

  Si, Castiglione, you tried really hard.

  Annoyed with himself, he gently extracted his arm from beneath Poppy’s neck and headed for the shower.

  Damn it, he had tried. Only she had worn him down.

  By breathing?

  He hit the shower mixer and hot water jetted out over his tense body.

  The thing was that opening up about his parents the previous night had made him feel vulnerable. Somehow she milked information out of him like a zookeeper getting venom from a snake. If he wasn’t careful he’d be depleted before he knew it.

  And what about her story on the terrace? Por Dio, he was still reeling from that, and he wanted to hunt down the animal who had jumped her and beat him to a pulp. Her experiences in life were far worse than anything he had been forced to face yet she didn’t seem to feel sorry for herself the way he sometimes did.

  He shoved his head under a water jet.

  What had started out one-hundred-percent fake had at some point during the weekend shifted to being only fifty-percent fake. And that fifty percent was all on her side. Because once he’d taken her into his bed it had become real for him, and now he didn’t want it to end.

  Not yet anyway.

  And why should it? They weren’t hurting anyone. They weren’t breaking any laws. What they were doing was working this attraction out of their systems until it was no longer there.

  A slow, satisfied smile broke across his face and he felt lighter as he towelled himself off. More in control. He padded out into the bedroom. Working this attraction out of their systems made complete sense.

  ‘Rise and shine, sleepy head. The Guggenheim awaits.’

  Poppy groaned and covered her head with a pillow. ‘If you’ve seen one painting, you’ve seen them all.’

  Sebastiano grinned. ‘Sacrilegious, intern! Picasso is rolling over in his grave about now.’

  ‘Picasso could be skywriting outside our window and I wouldn’t care,’ she grumbled.

  Laughing softly, he lifted the pillow from her head and bent to kiss her.

  Had he ever felt this happy?

  Yes, he thought as a feather-stroke of unease raised the hair along his forearms. His grin faded. He’d felt this happy when he’d been a child. Blindingly, blissfully happy, and completely unaware of how easily all that could be lost with one bad decision.

  * * *

  By the time Sebastiano’s jet touched down in Naples it was late and Poppy’s joy at the day had morphed into something mellower. Giuseppe’s smiling limo driver greeted them and put his foot down as he whisked them through the dusky evening towards Villa Castiglione.

  A soft, dreamy smile curved her lips as her mind drifted over the afternoon they had shared in Venice: eating pizza beneath a shop awning to dodge the rain, checking out the Guggenheim and visiting the island of Murano where she had bought two small glass figurines, one for her brother and one for Maryann. Sebastiano had also bought her a tiny bluebird he’d said was the exact colour of her eyes when she was happy.

  It had all been so perfect. So wonderfully normal she had quite forgotten that it wasn’t. Had Sebastiano forgotten too? Did he feel any of the things she did?

  She glanced at his carved profile. Being with him was like a dream, a dream she never wanted to wake up from. But the closer they got to the Villa, the closer they got to flying home to London, and the real world. The real world where yet again she would be required to be stoic and move on when things didn’t work out as she hoped.

  Memories of past homes she and Simon had stayed at crowded in on her. Not all of them had been bad. Some had seemed almost promising but in the end even those families hadn’t wanted them. Not long term.

  Feeling her stomach pitch Poppy pressed her hand to her abdomen. Sebastiano noticed.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ she murmured, staring at their hands as he linked their fingers together.

  The fact was she would follow Sebastiano’s lead on this. She would collect the things they had left at the villa the day before, say goodbye when he dropped her at her front door, maybe shake his hand, thank him for everything and—Oh God, the third wish...

  She had nearly forgotten about the third wish.

  Her throat tightened. She had already decided to let that go. How could she not when she loved him so much? Because, yes, she did love him, she acknowledged with a sigh. What was the point in denying it to herself any longer?

  But she had a sneaking suspicion that Sebastiano wouldn’t let her off the hook about that last wish so easily. He wasn’t a man who left his debts unpaid, another thing that made him so lovable.

  But what could she ask for when he was the only thing she wanted? The one thing she couldn’t have because, even though he had said he wanted her, even though they had shared another night together, nothing had really changed between them. She was still Poppy Connolly, the daughter of a drug user, and he was still Sebastiano Castiglione, descendent of a royal household. Their getting together would be like Zeus pairing up with a Hyde Park squirrel!

  ‘Look at the colour of the sea,’ she said, wanting to distract herself. ‘It’s almost black in this light.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And those houses.’ She crinkled her nose. ‘Maintenance must be really difficult, seeing as how they’re built so close together. Do you think—? Hey!’

  Suddenly she felt his hands on her waist. ‘I want to see you in London.’

  His roughly spoken words startled her and she must have stared at him a full minute before responding, elation sending a wave of emotion through her whole body. ‘Did I just hear you right?’

  ‘Si. Our relationship might have started out fake, but it’s not fake any more.’ He flashed her a quick smile, his eyes searing her with a blaze of heat. ‘Why end things prematurely when we don’t have to?’

  Reeling from his request, and his warm hands either side of her waist, a laugh welled up inside her. What had started out as fake for her had turned real in a very short space of time too.

  Very real.

  But continue to see him in London? A niggle in the back of her mind stopped her from jumping at the idea and throwing her hands around his neck. A niggle that warned her that if something was
too good to be true then it usually was.

  ‘But how do we make it work?’ she asked, easing back from him. ‘I have so little free time as it is. And...’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘Between our two schedules we’d never get to see each other.’

  ‘I’ll make it work.’

  Poppy rolled her eyes at his confident tone. ‘But how? Give me the logistics.’

  ‘The logistics, Miss Connolly?’ He smiled and kissed her. ‘The logistics are that I’m going to get you a new place. Somewhere I’m a little less likely to lose a wheel whenever I visit.’

  ‘A new place?’

  ‘And you can quit your night job. I’ll give you an allowance I think you’ll find more than generous.’

  ‘An allowance?’

  He smiled indulgently. ‘That’s right. Your new role is to be exclusively mine.’

  A lump formed in Poppy’s throat. ‘You’re doing that earth-moving thing again,’ she said thickly, unable to take in everything he was saying.

  ‘Not yet I’m not.’ He nuzzled kisses along her neck. ‘But give me time.’

  She laughed. ‘Sebastiano, be serious.’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious.’ His smile was panther-like. ‘Say yes.’

  The car pulled up smoothly outside the villa and Poppy stared at it absently. Her mind was foggy and, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she said the only thing in her head to say. ‘Yes, but—’

  Before she could voice her objections about the apartment and the allowance Sebastiano kissed her soundly, rendering the thinking part of her brain obsolete.

  * * *

  Sebastiano poured more wine in Poppy’s glass as she recounted their trip to Venice, to the delight of his transfixed grandparents. They couldn’t get enough of Poppy. It was as if she had cast a spell over all of them. Even Lukas had been taken by her, and Eleanore had texted him earlier in the day asking for Poppy’s number so they could catch up when she was next in London.

  If he wasn’t careful, Sebastiano thought bemusedly, she would become a permanent fixture in his life without him even noticing it.

  A cool sense of disquiet brushed over his skin like a spider’s web and he swept it aside.

  Poppy already knew that he didn’t do permanent and, after all, it wasn’t his apartment he intended to set her up in.

  He grinned as he recalled her shocked face when he had suggested it. All those claims about him not being her type—in the end she had jumped at the chance to sleep with him, as he had her, and she certainly hadn’t put the brakes on things since then, despite her claim that sleeping with him had been a mistake. That had surprised him a little, but hell, who was he to complain?

  He slowly twirled the wine in his glass and glanced across at her. She’d worn another one of the outfits he’d provided for her and he loved seeing her wearing his clothes. He loved seeing her smiling as she was now, her eyes sparkly like the bluebird he hadn’t been able to resist getting her on Murano.

  His grandmother was talking and he tuned back in before his nonno accused him of daydreaming.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Poppy murmured carefully.

  Sebastiano frowned, catching her guilty look. He raised an eyebrow. What would be lovely?

  She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘I know Simon would love to meet you both too. And Maryann. And I can cook lunch if you like?’

  She was going to cook lunch for his grandparents?

  Sebastiano’s eyebrow rose higher. What on earth was she talking about?

  This wasn’t supposed to be a long-term arrangement; he hoped she realised that. He was happy to set her up in an apartment, visit her whenever he wanted, but as to the rest—as to her playing domestic goddess for his family... And what about her family? He hadn’t even thought about meeting them.

  And how exactly was he going to call in on her with her brother hanging around? How would that look to a young teenager? ‘Yes, hello, I’ve just come over to make love to your sister.’

  If some guy had tried that with Nicolette, he’d have floored him.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead, a sick feeling clawing at his stomach. And why had Poppy jumped at the chance to move into an apartment?

  Little Miss I Like Paying My Own Bills hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash when he’d told her. It was almost as if she had been waiting for him to offer it.

  He frowned. Had he been taken in by a slick operator? Had he, a man who’d had women try every trick in the book to turn his head, fallen for the oldest one of all? The one who played hard to get?

  ‘Sebastiano, you’ve gone pale,’ his grandmother said.

  Sebastiano carefully put down his knife and fork. ‘Si; scusa, Nonna.’ He pushed back from the table. ‘Poppy and I have to leave.’

  * * *

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Poppy nearly rolled her eyes at her own stupid question. Was the sky blue? Was the Arctic cold? Yes, but not as cold as Sebastiano’s expression as he stood before her with his hands on his hips.

  ‘Why did my grandparents say they were coming to London?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Why did you offer to cook them lunch?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’ She laughed nervously, not understanding where this was headed. ‘I’m a terrible cook but when they said they were coming to visit it just popped out.’

  His dark brows climbed his forehead. ‘It just popped out?’

  ‘Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?’ She frowned. ‘What would you have had me say? That I wouldn’t have them over?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I just—I just wasn’t expecting it.’

  Poppy gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Why wasn’t he taking her in his arms? Why wasn’t he kissing her? ‘And?’

  He paced away from her and stared out of the window. ‘And what?’

  ‘And what else is wrong?’ Suddenly her heart felt heavy instead of light. ‘Are you regretting telling me that you want to continue our relationship? Is that why you’ve gone all broody?’

  ‘I haven’t gone all broody.’

  ‘Yes you have. And you were very quiet at dinner and now you can barely look at me.’

  ‘You’re exaggerating,’ he said with a small laugh. ‘And what happened to “Bastian”?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You called me Bastian in Venice.’

  Well, she’d felt closer to him in Venice. The man in front of her now was the one who had greeted her yesterday morning after regretting the night before. The polite stranger. Poppy felt her stomach roil again. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. You were also very quick to jump at my offer to set you up in an apartment. Is that the place you were imagining cooking for my grandparents?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said evenly, suddenly understanding what was motivating Sebastiano’s strange behaviour. ‘I pictured a lovely galley kitchen with slate tiles and, eh, oak cabinets.’ Poppy wracked her brain for what else an expensive kitchen would have as hurt and outrage roiled inside her stomach. She had thought—she had imagined—that he had fallen for her too. ‘And a stainless steel splashback,’ she finished with a belligerent flourish.

  ‘Really?’

  Sebastiano had come to a stop in front of her and Poppy wanted to hit him for not being able to see that she was hurting. That she wasn’t the kind of person he was silently accusing her of being. Hit him and rail at him for hurting her so much. For making her believe in fairy tales again. ‘Yes.’ She tilted her chin up, unable to stop herself. ‘And then I thought we’d retire to the living area and have wine on the marble terrace overlooking St Paul’s Cathedral. You are intending to get me an apartment overlooking St Paul’s Cathedral, aren’t you?’

  ‘Poppy?’

  ‘Yes, Bastian?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He crossed the room and put his arms around her. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

  Poppy careful
ly stepped out of his embrace. ‘No, you shouldn’t have.’

  He frowned as she moved toward the bedroom. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To pack,’ she said wearily. Anywhere really where he wouldn’t see the tears glittering behind her eyes.

  ‘You’re angry.’

  ‘Yes. But it’s with myself, so don’t worry about it. I’m the one who should have known better.’

  ‘Poppy, listen.’ He grabbed her again and swung her around to face him. ‘You can hardly blame me for thinking what I just did. You said yourself that this is like a fairy tale. You wanted me to pinch you, remember?’

  ‘I remember.’ She gave him a smile but everything inside her had already closed down and moved on. Now all she had to do was fetch her bags. ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Don’t be unreasonable about this.’

  Poppy threw her own clothes into her duffle bag, hurt now morphing into anger. Don’t be unreasonable?

  ‘I mean, you were the one who came into my office that Sunday morning in your sexy jeans and tight sweater and telling my grandfather you could handle me. Can you really blame me if I briefly wondered if you had been hoping something like this would happen?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said blithely. ‘In fact, you’re right. I was hoping your grandfather would walk in and think we were a couple so we could pretend to be one, and eventually you would fall in love with me so we could live happily ever after in a penthouse in the sky. A great plan don’t you think?’

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘I’m sorry. I was wrong to say what I did.’

  ‘Yes you were.’ She stood before him, her duffle bag in her hand. ‘But you thought it and the truth is...’ Poppy swallowed heavily. ‘The truth is you don’t want more from me than a temporary affair anyway. So in the end it’s irrelevant.’

  He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Are you saying you do?’

  ‘No.’ She stared at him. His words, his very aloofness, confirmed everything she already knew. He didn’t want her. Not really. Not in the way she wanted him. ‘But I will ask for my third wish.’

  His gaze turned wary. ‘What is it?’

  ‘That we never see each other again.’