Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  “Most of what you see comes from the island. The stones, the wood.”

  She nodded. “It looks like it’s meant to be here.”

  He smiled at her. “I think so, too.”

  “You didn’t build it?”

  “No.” He took her hand in his, pulling her towards the house. “The previous owners of the island did.” For a moment, his face creased into something approaching a frown, but he smoothed it away again.

  “Who did you buy the island from?”

  He looked down at her and for a moment, she wondered if he wasn’t going to answer. But his smile was rueful, his eyes flicking back to the face. “It was part of a merger.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I bought a company. This was one of the holdings.”

  She frowned. “I can’t imagine it would have been easy to part with. For the previous owner, I mean.”

  He stiffened almost imperceptibly beside her. “No.” He expelled a sigh. “It wasn’t. Unfortunately, he’d made a series of bad investments during the GFC. He was grateful to have someone with enough cash to get him out of trouble.”

  They took the timber steps towards the entrance of the house.

  “You’ve built yourself quite the empire,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Si.”

  “How did you get to be so good at what you do?”

  He paused by the front door, looking down at her for several moments. “I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  She laughed. “There has to be more to it.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I learned to read people early on in life.” He paused, but she didn’t speak; she felt certain he was trying to work out what to say next. She held her breath, hoping he’d keep speaking. “I told you my parents were drug addicts,” he murmured, “but that’s such a sanitised way of describing it.”

  Sympathy shifted inside of her.

  “They were wraiths. Ghouls.”

  She jerked her gaze to his, a look of non-comprehension in her face.

  “They would have sold me to the devil for a fix.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

  “They were junkies, plain and simple. Their life was ruled by getting high. They did whatever they could to score. Half the time they were mad with withdrawal, and the rest they were so wasted they couldn’t stand up.”

  Out of nowhere, tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “When they were withdrawing, they were… unpredictable. I learned very young how to read them, how to understand which version of my mother and father I was going to deal with that day. I learned to know if I needed to stay scarce.”

  She pressed her hand to his chest, her fingers splayed wide, her eyes on her nails rather than looking into his – knowing she’d see the little boy he’d been in and want to weep for him. “Did they hit you?”

  He didn’t answer, so she did eventually look up at him. His jaw was clenched, his expression grim.

  “Benedetto?”

  When his eyes met hers, she felt that same searing resentment in them she’d known earlier. Her stomach dropped. He didn’t need to answer. She understood. She pushed up onto the tips of her toes and did the one thing she could think of to make him smile. She kissed him, just lightly, a kiss of reassurance and promise.

  “They were not violent people, but the drugs turned them into monsters.” His eyes ghosted with the terrors of his past. “They were monsters.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight to her body. He was stiff in her arms, like a pillar of concrete.

  “Still,” he made an effort to lighten his tone. “If I hadn’t known that kind of upbringing, perhaps I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

  “You think?” She lifted her face to his, and her heart broke for him all over again.

  He flexed his jaw. “I was desperate to escape.”

  “So you applied for scholarships?”

  He nodded.

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Oh, Ben…” Tears made it hard to see straight. “And you got accepted?”

  “Yes. But my parents wouldn’t sign the form.” He shook his head. “They were withdrawing. It wasn’t pleasant.” He lifted a hand, running it over her hair, his eyes following the gesture. “But when I was twelve, I found another place.”

  “And they let you go?”

  “No. I forged their signatures and left without a backwards glance.”

  The coldness of his tone filled her veins with blood. She had no doubt he was telling the truth.

  “Do you ever see them now?”

  If it was possible, his body grew even more tense. “My father overdosed a year after I left home. My mother two months after him. Looking back, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

  “God,” she pressed her forehead to his chest, pain filling her. “You should never have had to live with that.”

  “No,” he shrugged. “But we cannot choose what life we are given. It’s up to us to make the best of it, no?”

  She nodded, her eyes finding his, her heart trebling its beat at the same time the world seemed to slow right down, moving in unbelievably slow motion.

  “I’m glad you had Jack and Veronica,” she said, her smile weak.

  He returned it, but it was similarly forced. “Come and see the house, cara, and let us have no more talk of depressing things.”

  He could watch her all day. As they went from room to room, her eyes widened with delight, so that he began to lay down a fantasy for moving her to this island, to this house, for bringing both her and Freddie here to live. They’d need to hire another nanny at some point, though. He was getting impatient with having to share Cleopatra. The housekeeper had been able to take over Alfredo duties for today, but it was only one day, and Benedetto was greedy for so much more.

  “This is your room?” She asked teasingly, as she hovered on the threshold of his room. The floor was polished timber, and the windows expansive, framing a perfect view of the sparkling sea beyond them. The centrepiece of the room was the bed – a super king, with white linen and a bedhead made of wrought iron. Out of nowhere, he imagined her body against the sheets, her wrists bound to the intricate pattern of the ironwork, and his body grew hard, his cock throbbing against the fabric of his pants.

  “When I’m here.”

  She moved deeper into the space, studying it thoughtfully, then spun to face him, a teasing smile hovering on her lips. “Which is how often?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Whenever I feel like it.”

  “It’s very secluded.”

  “That suits me.”

  She laughed, the sound like music. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  He moved to the window, staring out at the water, and for no reason he could think of, found himself elaborating. “When the news hit the papers, about Melinda,” he hated even saying her name now, hated saying it to Cleopatra but for some reason, felt she had a right to know this. “I came here.”

  Silence, and then, the soft padding of her feet across the floor boards. “That makes sense.” Her voice was right behind him.

  “I needed to get away.”

  Her hands curved over his shoulders. He closed his eyes, imprinting this moment into his memory. Her touch was heavenly. “And here you could be completely alone.”

  “Mmm,” he agreed. “Except when Jack and Veronica decided to wrench me out of my self-induced state of pity.”

  She smiled against his back.

  “I would have come here after they died, too, and God knows how long I would then have stayed.”

  Her fingers traced invisible circles on his shoulders. “But there was Alfredo.”

  “I’m glad he had you.”

  His lips twisted in a grim smile. “I wasn’t. I resented him then.”

  Her fingers paused in their exploration.

  “You don’
t now?”

  Something flicked inside him. “No. Not at all.”

  She smiled again. He felt the gesture and turned slowly, wrapping his arms around her. His past was like an iceberg, visible but so far away, surrounded by the waters that Cleopatra had brought to his life.

  “Do you want to stay here a while?”

  She lifted both brows, her lips parting. “Here on the island?”

  He dipped his head in agreement.

  “We can stay a bit longer but we should be home before night fall.”

  “I meant,” he caught her chin and lifted it, holding her gaze with his. “Do you want to stay here a few nights? Just you and me, this island, no clothes, no intrusions…”

  She swept her eyes shut, temptation obvious on her features. But she shook her head. “I don’t think Alfredo would like that very much.”

  A flash of impatience shimmied inside of him. “You need to hire someone.”

  She shook her head again. “I am someone.”

  “Yes, but I am growing less and less patient with having to share you with my godson.”

  Pleasure brought pink to her cheeks. “He’s the reason we’re married,” she reminded him. The words jarred a little, because though she was technically right, he no longer thought of her in that capacity. He wondered if he ever really had?

  “Nonetheless,” he growled. “He takes too much of your time.”

  Her laugh was husky and sensual. “Then let’s make a deal,” she prompted, her fingers lifting to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, so painstakingly slowly, that he wanted to push her hands aside and rip his own damned shirt over his head.

  “Go on.”

  “In the day, Freddie is my priority.”

  He wanted to disagree instantly. She lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips with a smile hovering on her lips. “But every night…”

  She let the sentence fade into nothing.

  He finished it for her. “Every night, you are mine,” he said gruffly, probing her eyes.

  “Yes.” A hooded nod. “Completely.”

  He groaned, because it was so good, so much what he wanted. But also, nowhere near enough. “And now, cara?”

  She pushed at his shirt impatiently. He caught her hands, holding them steady, his eyes determined.

  “Now?” Her breathing was ragged, her mind clearly distracted.

  “We will be home before dark but tell me right now that for the rest of the afternoon, you are mine to pleasure and tease, to torment with desire…”

  She groaned, a sound from low in her throat like an animal’s roar and it called to him, demanding response.

  “Tell me you want that,” he demanded, scanning her face.

  “Yes,” she tilted her head back and he dropped his head so he could flick her pulse point with his tongue. She moaned and his body jerked like it had been electrified. He had never wanted another woman in this way. She was a curse in his bloodstream, and there was no exorcism that could ever cure him of that.

  “Promise me you are mine,” he demanded. And in contrast to her slow removal of his shirt, he reached for her buttons and pulled, tearing the fabric in two with a loud noise.

  Her only response was to groan, her eyes fluttering shut, her body surrendering to his. She was wearing a bra, pale lace. He flicked it undone and dropped it to the floor beside them, removing the rest of her clothes with the same determined impatience until she stood naked, her body as beautiful as he remembered, her body the stuff of all of his dreams.

  He held her hips, staring down at her, and words jerked through him, phrases he couldn’t catch, feelings he couldn’t name. He wanted to have sex with her. He needed to have sex with her.

  “I want you more than I knew it was possible to want a woman.”

  Her smile lit up his world. “Then please, do something about it.”

  His eyes flared at her invitation. They’d been together often, but somehow, this was different. Here on his island, where he’d never brought another soul, possessing her felt layered with something extra.

  Refusing to contemplate that, he spun them around, so she was facing the stunning view at the window, and he was at her back. It took him seconds to push his own trousers down, to liberate his arousal and plunge himself deep into her womanhood. His hand coaxed her forward, so she was bent a little at the hips, her arm pressed against the window, as he pleasured her from behind. He gave his hands free rein of her body, one tormenting her clit just as he’d promised he would, the other teasing her breasts until she was whimpering and wild with the promise of what was to come.

  And all the while he drove himself into her, taking her again and again, making her his in a way that filled him with adrenaline and pride, with satisfaction and pleasure.

  Making her his in a way neither of them would ever forget.

  12

  “I have to go to Seattle.” Two weeks after they got back from the island, Benedetto regarded Cleopatra over the top of his newspaper, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment longer than necessary.

  He was doing that a lot.

  Staring at his wife.

  Watching her.

  Thinking about her when he was at work.

  The situation was better than he could have hoped. He’d been looking for a live in-child minder, someone who wouldn’t quit on Alfredo, and he’d found not only that, but also, the perfect lover, a woman who was so in synch with him, so completely on his page, a woman he never seemed to stop wanting. It was the best of all worlds, because there was no emotional complication, no possibility of entangled feelings or hurt.

  They’d been clear on that score, making sure their marriage was neatly boxed away into certain categories.

  It was perfect.

  So why did he resent the fact he had to go to Seattle? He had to travel often – in fact, he’d been curtailing that lately, preferring to be here in Rome. It made sense that he’d want to make sure things were going smoothly with Cleopatra and Freddie – but everything there was exceptional. He’d seen that again and again. She loved him. And Freddie loved Cleopatra – they were quite the pair.

  He could leave without worrying.

  So why was he hesitating?

  “Oh?” She sipped her coffee, her expression bland.

  This was another habit he’d developed – not going into the office until lunch time. He stayed until Alfredo woke from his nap, and despite the fact he was pretty permanently sleeping in Cleopatra’s room now, his body wrapped around hers all night, he took every opportunity he could get to drag her back to bed, or the sofa, or the dining table… yes, it was the perfect arrangement. A practical marriage, with no emotions, and sex on tap.

  He grinned suddenly, extending his toe beneath the table, his foot pressing to hers.

  She smiled back at him and desire stretched through him.

  “How long will you be away?”

  The words were calm, unbothered. He ignored the sense of surprise at that. What had he expected? Tears? Ridiculous. This was exactly why their marriage worked. She got it.

  “A few days. Not long. I have a few tests to oversee – I should have done them six months ago, but Alfredo’s arrival made it almost impossible to focus on my work as I should have.”

  She nodded, sipping her coffee again.

  “You could come with me?” Where the hell had that come from? This was a work trip. His Seattle penthouse was hardly set up for a child.

  “No, that’s fine,” she shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep Freddie in his routines here a while longer.”

  Disappointment sharpened in his gut. Dissatisfaction, too. He ignored both. “Good.” His nod was abrupt. “Can I bring anything back for you?”

  “A space needle poster,” she teased, shaking her head. “Just don’t be too long.” She stood then, moving around to his side of the table, sitting on his lap. His whole body jerked in response. He’d never known this kind of physical desire before. It didn’t matter how
often they were together, he wanted her always.

  And she was always ready for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck now, her smile reaching all the way into her eyes, so he couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Three nights,” he promised. “Max.”

  Things didn’t go smoothly in Seattle. On his seventh night, he felt like he was going to punch something or someone. He’d made a serious mistake in not bringing Cleopatra with him.

  He missed her.

  He ached for her.

  His whole body was in a state of torment, desire flooding through him. He needed her.

  He reached for his phone, mentally doing the calculations in the time zone differences. It was late in Italy. Too late to call?

  He typed out a text instead.

  Hoping to finish up tomorrow. How are you?

  He sent it, wincing a little at the prosaic nature of his message. Why couldn’t he type what he wanted? Because he had no idea what to say. That he couldn’t sleep for dreaming X-rated things about his wife? Hardly the stuff of romance.

  The thought pulled him up way short.

  Romance?

  Why should he care about that? They weren’t dating. He wasn’t trying to ‘romance’ his wife.

  He liked sleeping with her, that was all. He’d become used to it, to her.

  We miss you.

  We miss you. We. Freddie. His heart did a funny little lurch as he thought of his godson, and then of Cleopatra. It was like he’d woken up and suddenly had a family. Every bone in his body railed against that.

  It was just make believe. Nothing about this was real.

  Freddie had been thrust upon him, God how he wished that hadn’t been the case. Jack and Veronica deserved to see their little boy grow up, they deserved to be a part of his life. But they’d passed away, and Freddie had become his responsibility.