Claimed by the Italian: Virgin: Wedded at the Italian's Convenience / Count Giovanni's Virgin / The Italian's Unwilling Wife

‘There’s every need,’ he countered grimly, penetrating eyes sweeping with barely veiled distaste over her scraped-back hair and down to her scruffy trainers.

‘Madre is not simple-minded. She would never believe I plan to marry a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp,’ he condemned toughly, determined not to be swayed by the momentary flash of hurt in those clear grey eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped, as if she were trying to hide herself in that awful thing she wore above a pair of trousers that wouldn’t look out of place on a farm labourer.

‘I don’t mean to be unkind.’ The words, softly spoken, came out of nowhere. Took him by surprise. He breathed in deeply, got himself back on track and continued with chilling bite. ‘I do know what I’m doing—believe me. To that end I’ve arranged for a personal shopper to call for you at my London address at ten tomorrow morning. She has carte blanche to kit you out in the kind of clothes Madre will expect to see on the woman I’ve chosen to be my wife. Similarly, an appointment has been made for you with a top hairstylist.’ He swept up the phone, dismissing her. ‘Whatever else you have to do today, be ready to leave at five. You can see yourself out.’ And he began to key in numbers.

So here she was, in the guestroom of Paolo’s spacious London penthouse apartment, ears pinned back for the sound of his arrival, with her hair expertly styled into a sleek jaw-length bob, two horrendously expensive suitcases packed with horrendously expensive designer gear which had been virtually forced on her at the side of the bed, and his jibe about her looking like a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp still rankling.

What woman would go out made-up to the nines and wearing her best gear to walk a big unruly dog, wash floors and clean windows and stuff? Or were the women who entered the rarefied atmosphere of his life always perfectly groomed, elegantly attired—looking decorative their only justification for taking up space on the planet? Probably!

Her heart jumped as her straining ears caught the sound of footfalls. He’d arrived.

It was a big apartment, all polished hardwood floors, stark white walls and the minimum of furniture. Leather and steel stuff, nothing in the way of softness. Not at all homey—like the man himself.

Her heart-rate quickened as she heard him draw closer. He was pausing outside her room now.

A tap on the door.

She resisted the impulse to scramble beneath the feather-light duvet and pretend to be asleep, because she wasn’t a coward and he was only human.

She watched him enter. Formidably handsome, dressed in a dark grey business suit, he was every inch the incredibly wealthy banker—one of the world’s movers and shakers. She had to remind herself he was also a heartless womaniser who only had to flick a finger to have the world’s most beautiful females flocking, each and every one of them believing she could hold his interest for longer than the last, each and every one of them getting the elbow when coming up against his low boredom threshold. And his boredom was utterly inevitable according to Penny Fleming, who should know.

‘Madonna diavola! Do you have to look like a terrified rabbit?’ Broad shoulders rigid, he strode into the room. If his supposed future wife was going to look as if the devil himself had come to get her every time she saw him, then the deception that was necessary to his mother’s continued good progress was dead in the water!

She’d wondered if he would notice her new hairstyle and comment. Of course he hadn’t. All he’d noticed about her was her resemblance to a rabbit! ‘You spook me!’ she confessed on a mumble, pulling the edges of the swamping bathrobe she’d found in the en suite bathroom closer together.

‘I? In what way?’

He looked genuinely puzzled, brows drawing together above those spectacular golden eyes, so she told him. ‘You’re like a steamroller squashing an ant. You want something. You get it. Never mind the objections of lesser beings! Feeling like an ant in your way is not fun.’

His expressive mouth twisted wryly. ‘I see.’

Not used to tiptoeing around the finer feelings of his employees, because they were paid handsomely to perform their duties and were well used to jumping when he said jump, he had seen no reason to treat Lily Frome any differently.

She—or her charity—was being paid to act the part of his fiancée for a short while, which, logically, made her his employee. But her reaction to him told him he was going to have to tread more carefully in what he could now see was a delicate situation. He must get her on board or the deception would fall flat on its face.

‘I’ll have to take care to make a detour around any ant that gets in my way.’

His slow smile was pure magic. Lily shivered. She hated the way he could affect her but, annoyingly, she didn’t seem able to do anything about it.

On the whole it was better for her equilibrium when he simply barked out his orders and dismissed her, she decided wretchedly. And when he asked, ‘Have you eaten?’ all she could do was dumbly shake her head.

‘Good.’ That heartbreaker smile flashed again. ‘I’ve ordered takeaway.’ He advanced, held out his hand. ‘Come.’

Looking pointedly away from that outstretched hand, because the temptation to slide her own into its lean, strong warmth was really intense, Lily muttered, ‘Not hungry,’ just as her empty stomach gave a betraying growl of protest. ‘And I’m not dressed,’ she added for good measure.

Carefully holding onto his patience, Paolo countered, smooth as cream, ‘Come as you are. It’s not a party! Besides, we need to talk. We’ve an early start, so it’s now or never, because I shall have to work on the flight out.’

He would think she was behaving ridiculously, Lily conceded. And she was. Ignoring his hand, she slid her legs out of the bed and made sure she was decently covered by the huge bathrobe. Lifting the skirts so she didn’t trip over the trailing length, she followed him out of the room and gave herself a pep talk.

Theirs was a business arrangement—a shady business arrangement, she reminded herself forcefully. She’d agreed to go along with it despite her reservations, so it was time she started to behave like an adult around him. They would have to talk things over—she certainly needed to know if the part-timers had proven willing to take over her work while she was away—and she was going to have to make herself stop having these attacks of juvenile silliness every time she looked at him.

Trouble was, he had the sort of magnetic sex appeal she had never encountered before, and that, combined with his staggering male beauty, was potent stuff. But she could discount that. Of course she could. Hormones and lust. What she knew of his character was more than enough to put those two evils back in their boxes.

As they approached the glass-topped table in the dining area, a uniformed waiter appeared from the clinically sterile kitchen. Another followed, pushing a trolley, and the table was already laid with silverware and sparkling crystal.

Lily’s eyes widened. This was Paolo’s idea of a takeaway?

The sudden and hastily suppressed urge to giggle made her feel as if her lungs were about to burst. For her, a takeaway was a rare treat consisting of cod and chips in a warm, greasy package, or foil cartons of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice from the local Chinese restaurant.

This—giant prawns with a delicate lemon sauce, slices of meltingly tender venison on a bed of wild mushrooms, a syllabub to die for—was obviously a wealthy man’s idea of a takeaway!

Too busy enjoying every mouthful, and reflecting on how the other half lived, Lily forgot the deceitful part she was expected to play during the coming two weeks for long enough to relax and ask, ‘Why champagne?’ She’d only tasted it once before, at a friend’s wedding, and hadn’t liked it. So this had to be something special because she’d already got through two glasses.

‘To celebrate the start of—’ He’d been about to say Our hopefully brief association but, recalling her rather thin skin, substituted ‘Of our mutually satisfactory business arrangement.’

He was leaning back in his seat and his eyes were gleaming in an almost sultry way, she registered, with a strange and unwelcome inner flutter, coming straight back down to earth with a thump.

She put her champagne flute down on the table with a clatter. ‘I don’t feel like celebrating. Not when our so-called business arrangement is based on a whopping lie.’

‘A white lie aimed to please a frail elderly lady,’ he reminded her, careful not to snap, as was his inclination when his judgement was questioned. ‘And you might be interested to hear that a certain Kate Johnson will be in place at the charity by the end of the month. She will take care of fundraising and day-to-day organisation. She has impeccable references, having worked as a fundraiser for a well-known charity based in Birmingham. Also, substantial funds have been placed in the charity’s account,’ he completed with cool precision.

The slightest dip of his head brought the waiter gliding forward to receive his instruction that coffee would be taken in the living room.

Squashed again, Lily recognised, as he escorted her through. The slightest hint of criticism flattened as he rolled over her with his reminders of what Life Begins would be gaining at his no doubt vast expense.

‘May I suggest,’ he drawled, as he watched with concealed amusement as she tried to perch on the edge of the slippery surface of the leather sofa and control the wayward swamping folds of the vastly over-large robe she was wearing, ‘that for the next two weeks we pull together, not in different directions? As far as my mother is concerned we are engaged to be married. She will expect us to behave as lovers—and I hope you will try—but if you can’t manage that you must act as if I am at the very least your friend and not your enemy.’

Lily’s face flamed. Act as if they were lovers? The very thought made her heart beat so fast she was sure it would leap out of her chest. He could take that preposterous suggestion and bury it deep in the nearest dustbin!

Thankfully, she was spared the need to give an immediate answer by the arrival of the coffee tray and Paolo’s final dismissal of the waiter.

Stealing a look at him from beneath tangled lashes, she felt her tummy flip alarmingly. It was so unfair! Just look at him—every inch the powerful alpha male, sophisticated, breathtakingly wealthy and staggeringly good to look at. Sexy. In spades. She could have coped much better if he’d been fat and bald with the sex appeal of a frog!

Clamorous warning bells had rung at the prospect of even pretending to be his lover. For him it would be tongue-in-cheek play-acting, but for her it would be too dangerous to contemplate.

Even before the waiter had closed the door behind him, she blurted, ‘This scam you’ve dreamed up can’t work! For a start, friends don’t trample on each other, treat each other as if their opinions are worthless. So it will be really difficult to pretend you’re my friend!’

He’d taken a chair on the opposite side of the low coffee table. He poured dark, hot coffee into small gold-rimmed cups, his movements deft and economical, and conceded, ‘I see your point. However, now matters are arranged, everything smoothly in place, it will be different—I promise.’

In all areas of his life, business and personal, he made decisions and acted on them, allowing nothing to get in his way. Using persuasion to counter an objecting voice was unusual for him, but with so much at stake he had to grit his teeth, keep his temper, and try.

He smiled. The slow, sexy smile that dazzled her eyes and set her pulses racing.

‘If you have an opinion, and it is valid, it will be listened to.’

Big of him! ‘Does there always have to be a caveat?’ She accepted the cup he offered. Whatever opinion she offered he was bound to say it wasn’t valid!

‘Scusi!’ He flashed her a disarming grin and relaxed back in his chair. When she wasn’t regarding him as the devil incarnate she could be amusing company. Come to think of it, he might enjoy moulding this stubborn, unremarkable scrap of female opposition to his will. Brilliant eyes assessed her thoroughly. Maybe she wasn’t quite as unremarkable as he’d thought. ‘The new hairstyle suits you perfectly. Pretty.’

He caught the surprise in those big grey eyes before she looked quickly away, her pale skin pinkening, and to his own amazement he found he felt ashamed of himself. He hadn’t been treating her like a human being with feelings that could be hurt—or completely squashed, as she’d accused.

Her hands—delicate, fine-boned, small hands, he noted for the first time—were unsteady as she replaced her cup on its saucer. And, realising it was time to quit while he was ahead, he said gently, ‘Goodnight, Lily. It’s late and we have an early start. Sleep well.’

He watched with veiled satisfaction as she scrambled to her feet and exited in swamping folds of out-of-control bathrobe.

Tread softly, a little gentle flattery, and the next two weeks would be sailed through with no problems at all.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SHE boarded the Venini private jet, with Paolo’s hand lightly insistent on the small of her back—a reminder, as if she needed one, that it was now far too late to back out—Lily felt seriously light-headed. Partly nerves at the prospect of what lay ahead of her—her role in a distasteful deception—and partly, she had to be honest, because Paolo was being nice to her.

She’d gone to bed with his compliment about her new hairstyle throbbing in her ears and heating her skin, totally amazed that he had actually noticed something positive about her appearance.

She could have got over that, of course she could, but then the way his eyes had registered stunned approval when she’d presented herself early this morning, wearing the wickedly expensive cream-coloured linen suit and heeled sandals that she’d selected to travel in from the clothes that had been picked out for her, had really knocked her for six.

Especially when he’d moved right up to her and tilted her chin, producing a clean white handkerchief and gently wiping away the scarlet lipstick she’d taken such pains to apply.

At the touch of his cool, lean fingers, the gentle movement of the fabric against her lips, every sane thought had flown right out of her head.

His eyes, veiled by thick dark lashes, had been intent on what he was doing, his beautiful mouth just slightly smiling, and every inch of her suddenly tense body had craved to move closer to the dominating male strength of his. She had nearly fainted with the urgent throbbing of every cell in her body when he’d run a finger softly over her parted lips and imparted, in a tone that was thicker and deeper than she had heard before, ‘You have a lovely mouth. Soft and incredibly lush. Pink and inviting. It’s a sin to cover it with screaming scarlet.’

‘Inviting.’ What did that mean? That he’d wanted to kiss her? Her heart had begun to pound and clatter; her breathing had grown ragged.

She’d gulped.

With a feeble effort, which he could have stayed with the tip of one finger, she had forced herself to twist away from the sheer temptation of him.

Of course he hadn’t wanted to kiss her! As if! It was completely obvious what he’d been doing.

She could pinpoint exactly when he had started to treat her like a living, breathing female. Right after she’d told him she couldn’t even begin to treat him as if he were a friend when all he did was trample on her.

Paolo Venini was turning on the charm solely in the hope of making her more compliant—she could see straight through him!

Even so, her tummy muscles clenched now as he leaned over and fastened her seat belt for her. She could see every pore of his olive-toned skin, the darkly shadowed jawline, the gleam of those brilliant eyes. She breathed in the mineral tang of the aftershave he used and felt giddy.

He was so dangerous!

But only if she allowed him to be, she reminded herself sternly. And she wouldn’t! She could be strong enough to ignore all that overcharged sexual charisma.

As the plane taxied down the runway she consoled herself with that heartening thought, and when they were airborne, made haste to release her seat belt to stop him moving up close and doing it for her. When he half turned in his seat, angled towards her, she was as proud as if she had just won an Olympic medal when she managed casually, coolly, ‘You said you wanted to work. Please go ahead. I’m not about to disturb you and hurl objections at you at this late stage.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

Warmth in his voice—a smile, even. Nerves prickling, Lily kept staring straight ahead. Looking at him always caused her problems.

Her profile was a delight. Long lashes veiling those big grey eyes, neat nose just slightly pinched around the nostrils, lush lips clamped together. A sign of her apprehension? Compassion stirred within him for the first time. She didn’t like the situation he’d dragooned her into, and it was up to him to try to smooth the way for her.

There had been other firsts, too, he recognised in retrospect. Like noticing the flattering new hairstyle that framed her kittenish face. And then this morning he’d been actually stunned by a woman’s appearance—something that had never happened before. Without the workmanlike trousers and shapeless tops the skinny kid had been revealed as a delightful pocket-sized Venus. The expertly tailored suit she had chosen to wear to travel in skimming small but perfectly formed breasts, emphasising a tiny, tiny waist and showing off the very female curve of her hips.

A glow of what could only be pride in his achievement coursed heatedly through his veins. He had brought about this startling transformation, and Madre would have no trouble believing that this was the woman he had chosen to be his wife.

Faint colour touching his slanting cheekbones, he reached into an inner pocket. Her head was turned away. She was staring out at the clouds. He touched her arm and she stiffened. Wary. Like a kitten who didn’t know where the next kick was coming from.

His strong, dark features clenched. Madre di Dio! Had he, through the force of his character, treated her so badly? Things would have to change. His parent was strongly moralistic, sheltered, strictly reared, and she deplored what she called the laxness of the younger generation, but even she would expect a newly engaged couple to touch each other!

‘Lily.’ Her name, falling softly from his lips, gained her attention. She turned, her eyes wide. He took her hand and felt her tense. ‘Wear this.’ As he slid the ring onto her wedding finger Lily flinched, a shiver running right down her rigid spine and back up again as he imparted warmly, ‘It has been passed down through generations of Venini brides. Madre will expect to see you wearing it.’

The diamond was simply huge, set in antique gold and surrounded by cabochon-cut sapphires. A fabulously expensive prop for a horribly cheap deception! Everything inside her rebelled afresh.

Firmly dismissing the frisson she’d experienced when the mind-bogglingly handsome and wickedly sexy Paolo Venini had placed the ring on her finger, she cast around for some objection he would go for—because her real one would cut no ice with a man who didn’t appear to have a conscience and always thought he was right.

‘It’s much too big. I can’t wear it. I’d only lose it, and it’s got to be worth a fortune,’ she got out as she attempted to remove the ring which symbolised their sham engagement.

His large, lean hands closed over hers. ‘I’ll have it made smaller.’ Like the rest of her, her hands were tiny, her fingers long and slender. Amazingly, feeling them beneath his own much larger hands made him feel quite urgently protective.

‘You can’t do that,’ Lily pointed out blithely, doing her utmost to ignore the way his skin burned against hers. ‘I know you don’t want to marry right now. But one day you will. And then you’ll have to have it altered back again, to fit a bigger finger.’

Incisive golden eyes held hers, his sensual mouth curving as he countered teasingly. ‘I would never marry a woman with fat fingers! Wear it for the time being. Once she has seen it on your finger I’ll tell my mother it has to be altered. I know what I’m doing, believe me.’

He still held her hand. When she tried to pull away his grip merely tightened. Rivers of sensation racing through her made her feel weirdly distracted, and she struggled to focus before she finally managed earnestly, ‘I don’t think you do—know what you’re doing. Not really. Think about it. How long can an engagement last? A couple of years? Ten? Some time you’re going to have to tell her the whole thing’s off. Then how will she feel? Really disappointed because her hopes of seeing you settled and giving her grandchildren have come to nothing!’

He withdrew his hand. Lily felt the coldness settle over him, and his features were bleak as he incised brittly, ‘I would be overjoyed if I believed that Madre had two years left to her.’ Turning away, he reached for the briefcase that held his work, completely dismissing her and the conversation.

But Lily, once her easily touched sympathies had been engaged, wasn’t prepared to accept his dismissal. The poor man was dreadfully worried about his mother, and despite the successful outcome of her operation he was still of the opinion that she wouldn’t survive very long. Wriggling round in her seat to face him squarely, she said gently, ‘You love your mother very much, don’t you?’

‘Naturally.’ The word held a bite.

So the hard nut did have a soft centre. Prepared to explore the phenomenon, to understand him better and forgive his sin of coercion, she pressed, ‘And you’d do anything to make her happy?’

‘That is what this is all about.’ Briefcase abandoned, he slewed round to face her, his eyes derisive. ‘Don’t tell me you’d forgotten? You can’t imagine I’m going through this charade for the pleasure of your company!’

As soon as the words were out Paolo regretted them. She looked as if she had just received a slap in the face. But he had spoken the absolute truth, and if her feelings were hurt, tough. He was not in the habit of stepping softly around the feelings of employees who were being paid handsomely to do as he required—and Lily Frome and her charity were being paid far more handsomely than most.

With a slight shrug of wide, immaculately suited shoulders, Paolo lifted the briefcase again and settled down to work.

Apart from explaining that for the duration of her recuperation his mother was staying with her nurse and companion at the family villa in the hills beyond Florence, Paolo remained silent as he drove a sleek Ferrari through the unspoiled Tuscan countryside.

She might as well be invisible, Lily decided, and told herself she didn’t care. Being ignored was absolutely better than when he was being nice, because when he complimented her, smiled at her or took her hand she, to her shame, went all gooey inside, and promptly forgot what a manipulative creep he was. He might have a slightly redeeming soft spot where his parent was concerned, but beneath that stunning packaging he was mostly just bad-tempered, impatient, arrogant and devoid of conscience. He might have a brilliant brain when it came to business, but he was happy to ride roughshod over the feelings of those he considered to be his inferiors.

That assessment planted firmly in her mind, she told herself that she had to remember that Life Begins would benefit immensely from his funding. Her great-aunt would sleep easier, and she, when this was over, would work hard and try to forget the part she had played in the charity’s salvation.

As for the next two weeks—well, she would get through it as best she could. And maybe, if she presented herself as the sort of woman Signora Venini wouldn’t welcome into her family, the poor thing wouldn’t be at all upset when her hateful son told her the engagement was off! She’d be mightily relieved!