Untamed Italians: Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Italian Tycoon, Secret Son / Italian Marriage: In Name Only
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His muscles tensed and blood pooled in his groin just at the thought of pressing her back on his desk and making love with her. He curled his fingers into fists and pressed the knuckles into the wood, vexed that his body was still not listening to his brain where she was concerned.
Perhaps he’d be wise to sever all ties with Gemma Cardone now. He could certainly afford to replace his papa’s lost fortune.
He’d be free of this temptation and could devote his attention to the shipyard.
But a swift dismissal would let her off scot-free to practice her duplicity on another victim. Word would quickly spread that Cesare and Stefano Marinetti were easy marks.
No, he had to make an example of her. He had to venerate his mamma’s cry for vengeance. He couldn’t let Gemma Cardone get away with such duplicity.
His gaze narrowed on the mistress who seemed too damned poised.
Sì, too much pride and honor was at stake to sweep this nasty business under the rug. He had to publicly ruin this little schemer. The sooner, the better.
Stefano waved a hand at the chair before his desk, impatient to get this unpleasantness finished. She hesitated in the doorway a heartbeat before quickly crossing the room.
His pulse began racing as his gaze lingered on the brief skirt that hugged her thighs and showcased long, elegant legs that could cling to a man’s flanks as they writhed in the throes of passion. Maledizione! He didn’t want to think of seducing her.
He damned sure didn’t want to think of her doing the same to his papa. That image sent anger bolting through him with the burning intensity of a lightning strike.
Damn seductive gold-digger.
Damned beautiful gold-digger.
As soon as she was seated, he began. “I want to know what business my father and you conducted in Milan for the past nine months.”
She went still as death, fixing those expressive blue eyes on him again. Her small fingers tightened around the edge of her notepad and her back stiffened, as if ready to defend something that wasn’t defendable. “That is between me and your father.”
“Not anymore,” he said, gaining satisfaction in watching her glare at him as if he were in the wrong—the guilty always tried to divert attention away from themselves. “I hold majority shares in Marinetti Shipyard. The profits and debts are now mine to manage.”
She blinked and the steel in her spine seemed to bow, as if burdened by that news. “Are you actually taking over your papa’s company?”
“My plans are not open to discussion,” he said. “We were discussing your role in my father’s life.”
The color drained from her face. “I told you I’m his personal secretary.”
He snorted. She must think him as gullible as his papa.
“Were you aware that my father is nearly bankrupt?” he said.
Her face turned as white as marble. “I—I knew he was having financial difficulties of late.”
“Yet you continued to take thousands of euros from him every month, even though he could ill afford such lavish gifts.”
“It wasn’t a gift.” She pressed her lips together and downed her head, convincing him of her guilt but not her remorse.
“Then what was it, Miss Cardone? Payment for services rendered?”
Her head snapped up and her eyes sparked with indignation and some other emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “How dare you think that I— That Cesare and I were more than friends.”
“Do not lie to me, Miss Cardone.”
“I’m telling you the truth. Cesare is a dear friend and my employer. Nothing more.”
He pressed his palms on the desk when he longed to grasp her narrow shoulders and shake the truth from her. “Where the hell did the money go? You certainly haven’t spent it on designer clothes or a fancy apartment.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve seen the small flat you live in and rent.” He snorted. “You don’t even own a car. Look at me!” he commanded when she looked away. “I want the truth. Why was my father giving you thousands of euros every month on top of your salary?”
She trembled the slightest bit, like a hare cornered by the wolf. “It was a loan.”
“A loan,” he repeated, and she bobbed her head.
It was a lie. He was sure of it. But he didn’t hold any hope that she’d divulge her secrets. Not yet anyway.
“What are the terms of your loan?” he asked, forcing a lighter tone with her now.
She blinked and her soft mouth parted slightly. Could it be she hadn’t thought that for every loan there was an agreement of repayment?
She shifted uneasily on the chair and looked everywhere but at him. “It was interest free for the first nine months, so I’ve not actually made a payment. Cesare agreed that I could wait until the inn was making a modest profit.”
This time it was his turn to frown, for his hasty investigation of her revealed she was the daughter of a fisherman from Cinque Terre. Her only family was a grandmother who lived in Manarolo, and a brother who had a weakness for gambling.
He’d been unaware that she owned property, but the fact it was a business raised his suspicions.
“What inn?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.
“My family’s inn in Manarolo.” Her eyes blazed with such passion that his own anger cooled for a heartbeat. “It has been in my family for generations, passing from mother to daughter. Since my mamma died long ago, my nonna and I own it. But it was falling into disrepair. I’ve refurbished much of it with the money Cesare loaned me. It is beginning to do quite well with tourists.”
As well it should, since she’d likely poured a small fortune into the restoration of it. Money that was drained from his father’s business!
“Your nine months are up,” he said. “Where is your contract so I may review the loan details?”
“Cesare and I had a verbal agreement. He never got around to deciding on a monthly cost I could afford.”
“Then I must remedy that for my father,” he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing a damning flush steal over her pale cheeks. “I’ll have Umberto draw up the papers. Can we agree on payment in full within three months with the first installment due the first of the month?”
Her lush lips thinned and he saw a second’s uncertainty flicker in her eyes. “Yes, of course.”
She agreed far too quickly. More than likely she’d been salting the excess money away. Possibly she’d invested it and could pay back the loan in due time.
But there was the possibility she thought to disappear and then he’d be cheated of his vengeance.
He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold her to their agreement and he knew of only one thing she seemed to prize above everything.
“For collateral, I’ll hold your half of the inn until the loan is repaid in full,” he said.
“No!” The worry lines deepening on her brow proved she didn’t like that idea at all.
“Do you have something else you can put up in its place? Something of similar value?”
“No, nothing,” she said.
“Then we have a deal?”
“Yes,” she said, though it was more a hiss.
Though Stefano Marinetti prided himself on being a passionate lover, he excelled at coming out on top in any business transaction he entered into.
This was cold, hard business.
Still, his fingers curled around hers, gauging the strength of the delicate bones and admiring the texture of her silken skin. If he was a brutal man, he could crush her hand as surely as he intended to crush her future with Marinetti.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and dropped a kiss on the back of her smooth, small hand. Her gasp echoed in the stillness and vibrated over his skin in a featherlight caress. He felt her telltale tremble before she jerked her hand away, seeming as shaken by her reaction as he was.
“You surprise me, Miss Cardone. I expected a more—” he paused to let his gaze touch the tense curve of her mouth, the too rapid rise and fall of her breasts, then back to her tempting mouth again “—personal deal from you.”
“What could be more personal than me placing my family’s inn up as a guarantee on my loan?”
He sent her a heated smile that deepened her blush. “You. But it is just as well you didn’t make such an offer for I would have refused your favors.” In fact he’d looked forward to doing just that so she’d know he couldn’t be beguiled. So she’d know he was in charge here—in business and in seduction!
Her expressive eyes flared with the fire of anger. “You’re vile.”
He smiled, for he’d been called far worse. “I simply play to win in all things. Should you fail to make your first payment, I will seize your family’s inn.”
Then she’d regret the day she set out to deceive his father. Then he’d have the satisfaction of hurting her like she’d hurt his mother.
“You shall have the first payment before the month is out,” she said.
“I should hope so, bella, since this is the first of the month,” he said, and saw genuine shock register in her eyes. “Today is the due date for your first payment.”
“No! It can’t be.”
“I assure you it is. You have until midnight tonight to meet the terms of the loan or forfeit your collateral. Do not bother to ask for an extension or alteration to the terms for the answer will be no. Remember that, Miss Cardone.”
CHAPTER THREE
THERE was little chance she’d ever forget that Mr. Arrogant was in total charge of his father’s company. And her?
Only temporarily.
“That’s less than twelve hours away,” she said, fighting the panic that left her trembling inside.
He gave another lazy shrug. “You’ve owed a first payment for months. Are you conceding defeat?”
“Not at all. I’ll have the money by tonight.”
Gemma just wished she felt half as sure as she let on.
She had a little money put back and hoped her brother could loan her the rest. It shouldn’t be a problem as he’d told her countless times of late that he’d had excellent luck at sea with his fishing business.
But even after that deadline was met, another one loomed in thirty days. And another after that. What a nightmare she’d entered into!
She couldn’t continue borrowing money from her family. No, her only recourse would be to take out a loan at the bank. At least then she could get more favorable terms. At least then she wouldn’t be subjected to Stefano Marinetti’s lurid suggestions.
There was no time like the present to appeal to Cesare’s banker, either. Being indebted to Stefano was simply too stressful for her. Being in the same room with him was nearly more than she could bear.
Since Signora Marinetti’s funeral when she’d first seen Stefano across the crowded room, she’d had trouble tearing her gaze away from the man whose bearing commanded her full attention. She’d known he’d bring trouble and change.
She just hadn’t dreamed it would touch her so personally. She hated the power he exerted over her as much as she hated the untenable position she was in.
“Your ability to meet the deadline deserves celebration,” he said, his voice a rich blend of arrogance and sensuality that whispered over her senses like silk on skin.
“That isn’t necessary.” Or wanted.
The less she was in his company the better.
He lounged back in his chair and stroked his lower lip with one long, blunt finger, the gesture masculinely contemplative and sexy as hell. “I insist.”
“Fine,” she said when this arrangement was anything but. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked in her most bland business tone, a contradiction to the riot of emotions going on inside her.
“No, bella, that is all,” he said.
She stiffened at the endearment, for it was just a phrase to him. Just a toss of words that meant nothing. He likely used it to charm women all the time.
And Stefano Marinetti certainly knew how to flirt!
She marched across the room on legs that trembled, refusing to give in to the urge to run from the man. He’d enjoy seeing her distress, her fear. She’d deny him both.
It was imperative that she maintain her dignity and go about her duties as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if her entire future didn’t depend on her meeting this damnable deadline at midnight.
“One more thing,” Stefano said the second she’d reached the door and freedom, the velvet timbre in his voice ensnaring her as tightly as a mariner’s net. “Make dinner reservations for us at Gervasio.”
“I already have dinner plans.”
“Cancel them,” he said in an obnoxiously imperial tone.
Everything was happening too fast as it was and quickly spiraling out of her control.
She wasted no time leaving the confines of his office where every breath she drew brought the taste of him to her tongue and the clean, spicy scent of him filled her head. The fact that he expected she would prostitute herself infuriated her. But then he believed she was more than his father’s personal secretary.
And she could only defend herself so far without revealing Cesare’s secret. Dear God, could this get any worse?
Her gaze flicked to the clock and her insides knotted. It wasn’t even close to noon and she already felt as if she’d put in a full day’s work. She’d be a jumble of nerves well before the deadline tonight.
She took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. Dinner with Stefano at Gervasio. At one time she’d have looked forward to dining in the elite restaurant. But now it loomed as the place where she stood to lose everything, including her pride.
But what choice did she have but to go through with this mad plan?
The money that Cesare withdrew every month was for Rachel’s care. But she couldn’t tell Stefano that. She couldn’t trust him to do what was right for the little girl.
So she’d blurted out that the money was a loan for the inn. Her inn. And now he’d set his eye on her half of that!
If only she could tell him the truth. But Stefano had abandoned his family before in their time of need. He seemed to possess no concept of family. He didn’t seem to care for anything but money and power.
Now he was taking charge of his father’s company and would certainly change Marinetti forever. Her heart ached for Cesare for he’d lost his wife, his health and now control of his own company.
In regards to Rachel, Cesare didn’t have any other family he could trust with her care. Nobody but her.
Their bond was so strong. So unshakable. She’d do anything for Cesare. Anything for Rachel. Anything.
Which is why she’d agreed to Stefano’s terms. If Cesare didn’t trust his son to ensure Rachel continued to receive the best care, then neither could she. Take care of Rachel until I am able to do so again, Cesare had told her.
But when would Cesare return? How could she possibly satisfy that staggering loan every month? And the bigger question, how would Cesare continue to care for Rachel if he was indeed close to bankruptcy?
He couldn’t, which meant that, too, passed to her.
With a curse, she crossed to her desk and phoned her brother. Since her association with Cesare and her move to Viareggio, she’d rarely seen Emilio.
Though they’d spoken on the phone, even that was difficult to arrange for her brother was at sea for long stretches of time, often out of range of his mobile. That must be the case now for the phone rang and rang.
She hung up and thought it ironic that she was contacting him to beg for a loan. How the tables had turned!
Two years ago it was her brother who was constantly asking her for money. Neither she nor her papa had realized then that Emilio had adopted the Machiavellian lifestyle.
His reckless gambling had caused their papa untold grief for years. But after the last bout of rehabilitation, her brother had finally settled down and married.
After their father’s death, Emilio had taken great interest in the shipping business he’d inherited. His wife helped Nonna with the reopening of the inn and day-to-day management.
Why, her brother had boasted that the money she’d sent home to refurbish the inn had made a tremendous difference in their lives. She could hardly wait to see the changes made to the old inn, but her obligations to Cesare had prevented her from visiting all these months.
Now because of her promise to Cesare, she could lose half of the inn she’d struggled to save. Without pausing to consider the ramifications, she phoned Cesare’s banker.
As expected, the man was more interested in Cesare’s health than her business, but she managed to gain his promise that he’d assess the market value of the refurbished inn and get back to her on the particulars of a long-term loan. It was a good start, and she’d have thirty days to finalize the details.
Just thinking of the sum left her light-headed. She cradled her head in her hands and fought off a wave of stress-induced nausea. She’d never get out of debt!
But bringing Rachel’s image to mind was all it took to convince her she was doing the right thing. Never mind it was the only thing she could do and keep her word.
The intercom came to life and she swallowed a startled squawk.
This wasn’t the short zing that Cesare often used to alert her. No, the intercom made a continual buzz like a swarm of angry bees, a sound made possible only if a finger was held on the button to make a noise she couldn’t ignore. And God knew she wanted to ignore Stefano at this moment.
“Yes,” she answered when the buzzing finally stopped and she could respond.
“I will be meeting with the yard supervisors, managers and assistants throughout the day,” Stefano said. “Alert me when the first employee arrives.”
“Of course,” she said, relieved to know she’d be spared his company.
“I have ordered appetizers for the meeting,” he said. “Send the caterer in the minute he arrives.”
“I will,” she said with gritted teeth, and moments later she did just that.
The caterer had no more than left when the production supervisor strode in. Treating the workers to appetizers was a generous touch and she didn’t want to think of Stefano as generous, not when he was being anything but with her.
Gemma shoved thoughts of Stefano’s smile and imposing demeanor and heated gazes from her mind. The man had commanded far too much of her time. And wasn’t that an ingenious ploy of the playboy billionaire to keep her off balance?
She grabbed the chance alone to ring her brother again. But like before, Emilio didn’t answer then or any of the times she tried during the next four hours while Marinetti managers and assistants took their individual meetings with Stefano.
Frustration nipped along her nerves as she tried to contact her brother one last time. If she couldn’t reach him and secure the money for that first installment, she’d lose the inn!
Just when she feared all was lost, Emilio answered with his typically effervescent, “Ciao!”
Relief that she’d finally caught him left her trembling and she got a two-handed grip on the phone. “I’ve been trying all afternoon to reach you. Were you out to sea?”
A long pause pulsed over the line. “Sì, I was out. Is something wrong?”
She nearly laughed, for the list was too long to go into, even if she was so inclined. Less was more, she told herself.
“How has business been?”
Emilio cursed, but it was the vehemence in his voice more than the words that gave her new cause for worry. “I have had bad luck. You know how it is.”
She did know, for there had been times when their papa had barely managed to put food on their table due to a poor day’s catch. It had been worse after their mamma died and their papa had seemed so alone and adrift.
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten,” she said, and screwed up her courage to do the thing she’d never done. “Emilio, I have a loan that is due and I can’t pay it. I need your help in this, and I will repay you in full in a month. Maybe less.”
And she would somehow, even though she’d supported her brother and his wife while he struggled to pick up the reins of their father’s fishing business. She’d never asked for recompense. Never. Surely her brother would help her now.
“When is your loan due?” he asked.
“Tonight,” she said. “Can you manage it?”
Again, another long, uncomfortable pause that did nothing to ease Gemma’s doubts.
“Sì. I’ll bring you the cash, but it may be late,” Emilio said. “Okay?”
“Yes, fine. The deadline is midnight.” She bit her lip, debating where to meet her brother for the exchange. There was really only one option. “I’m dining with Stefano at Gervasio at ten. If you can’t make it by eleven, please call.”
“I’ll meet you there around that time,” he said just as bells sounded in the background—bells that she associated with casino jackpots going off.
“Emilio, are you gambling again?” she asked, gripping the phone like a lifeline, but he’d already hung up.
Worry seeped into her bones like a cold mist rolling in off a winter sea. Were those casino bells? Had her brother reverted to the vice that had nearly destroyed him before?
No, she must be mistaken. He’d been fishing. Perhaps what she’d heard were the chime of bells on nearby ships. Yes, that had to be it.
All would be well. Emilio would lend her the money for the first loan, and she’d secure the rest from the banker. Perhaps once Cesare recovered from surgery he could lift this burden from her. And if he didn’t recover?
A chill swept through her blood and left her trembling. She had promised Cesare that she’d hold his secret and she would. She’d promised she’d take care of his daughter while he was unable to. But she hadn’t thought she’d have to come up with the money that Cesare had used for his daughter’s care each month!
It was a staggering sum, simply because Cesare insisted on the finest for Rachel. And Gemma couldn’t deny her, either. The child had been through so much pain in her short life.
If only Stefano put family first like his father did. But he’d been in charge less than a day and had already changed many things. She’d heard the department heads grumbling to themselves as they left his office.
No, she had no choice but to shoulder this alone.
“Did you take lunch?” Stefano asked.
She nearly jumped out of her skin to discover he stood right behind her. Realizing he was that close had her whole system going haywire again.
“No,” she said, tidying her already neat desk to keep her hands busy. “The time got away from me.”
He said nothing for the longest time, just stood behind her chair. She was intimately aware of each breath he took. Of the spicy scent that was subtle yet powerful all the same.
“Come and take a letter,” he said, laying a hand on the back of her chair and just barely grazing her spine with his thumb.
That’s all it took for a bolt of energy to hum through her and send her senses reeling again. She lurched to her feet and out of his reach, not caring if her aversion to him was obvious.
His hot gaze snared her for a moment and she flushed at the amusement dancing in those dark, fathomless eyes. My God, nothing got past this man. Nothing!
She grabbed her notepad and marched into his office, eager to take her dictation or notes and get the hell out of here when she was keenly aware of him as a man. And how could she be anything but?
He’d removed his jacket at some point and rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt. She didn’t want to notice that his forearms were muscled and generously sprinkled with black hair. She certainly didn’t wish to appreciate the male power and beauty of his physique, but it was impossible not to.
She damned her gaze for returning to—no, for lingering on—the wedge of hair visible at the open V of his shirt. Was his chest hair soft? The muscles firm? The deep olive skin hot and smooth?
Again, she was reminded of the hard-muscled gods. Stefano could certainly have been a noble model. And when he chose to turn on the charm, he simply took her breath away.