The Sicilian's Defiant Virgin

CHAPTER TWO

HIS FATHER ONLY confided in him when he wanted something, Luca reflected as he parked up outside the exclusive London club. They had never been close. Never would be close. Luca had built his own life, far away from the family compound, where he’d grown up behind razor wire with guards patrolling the grounds, with their automatic weapons ostentatiously cocked.

Tipping the valet to park his car, he pulled on his jacket, brushed back his hair, and shot his cuffs. Black diamond links glittered at his wrists. This was his London look, the passport that gained him entry to even the most exclusive Members Only club. As he approached the entrance, the door swung wide to welcome him. His first impression of the upmarket gambling den was that it was as dreary as his father’s study. Subtle lighting set the mood, and, though he doubted the glass was bulletproof, the deep shadow still reminded him of a fortress home he preferred to forget.

‘Are you here for the auction, sir?’ the smiling hostess asked, putting on her best smile.

‘Apologies,’ he said, glancing down. ‘My mind was elsewhere. An auction?’ he queried.

‘For charity, sir—to support those with head injuries, and those who care for them, or who are bereaved.’ She risked a broader smile as she gained in confidence. ‘Don’t think it’s a depressing night—it’s anything but. It’s a riot in there—I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’

He doubted that. He handed her a high-value note. ‘For your trouble,’ he said.

‘Have a good evening, sir—’

He doubted that too.

It took him a moment to adjust his gaze. If the entrance to the club was poorly lit, the interior was positively Stygian. None of the gambling tables was in operation and everyone’s attention was fixed on the brilliantly lit stage, where a skimpily dressed girl, clad in a satin swimsuit with cock-eyed rabbit ears balanced precariously on top of her head, was gyrating to the pounding music, while punters called out bids to an excessively excitable MC.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked a waiter hurrying past with a tray of drinks.

The man followed his glance to the stage. ‘Dinner for two with Ms Bunny up there is on offer.’

‘Thank you.’ He slipped him a twenty, and then leaned back against a pillar to watch.

He understood at once why there was such interest in this particular lot. Ms Bunny had something unique about her—almost enough to make him smile. It wasn’t that she was so good at what she was doing, but that she was so utterly hopeless, and that she couldn’t have cared less. She had good humour in plenty, but no sense of rhythm, and even less idea of how to walk elegantly in her high-heel shoes. She was throwing herself about in a way that made him want to take off his jacket to shield her from the baying crowd—but at least they were on her side, he noticed, glancing around. His attention returned to the stage.

She felt his interest and their stares connected briefly. A raised brow told him that a rescue attempt would not be appreciated.

There was fire beneath that costume, and it was enough to hold him to the end of her act. She was attractive, but not showy or flashy, however hard she was trying to appear so. The punters were wolf-whistling and stamping their feet for more by now, which she gladly gave them. Spotting the maître d’, he remembered the reason for his mission and reluctantly pulled away from the pillar so he could ask if a Ms Jennifer Sanderson worked at the club.

‘Jen’s a waitress,’ the maître d’ confirmed. ‘But not tonight,’ he added, glancing at the stage. He leaned in close to make himself heard above the noise. ‘For one night only, Jen’s taking part in the charity auction. It’s a cause very close to her heart,’ he added, piquing Luca’s interest. ‘That’s her up on the stage now,’ he enthused. ‘Sensational, isn’t she? I’ve only seen Jen in her server’s uniform before, or in jeans. It’s surprising what a difference a pair of ears can make.’

It wasn’t her ears Luca was looking at.

And his plan had just folded. Dealing with a mouse was one thing, but from the way she was handling the audience at the club he doubted Ms Jennifer Sanderson was even close to the pushover his father had imagined. She’d got all the hard-bitten punters in the casino eating out of the palm of her hand. The more she gambolled around the stage, sending herself up, the more the audience loved her. In another life she could have been an entertainer. The maître d’ was spot on. She was sensational, but Jennifer Sanderson was as much a mouse as Luca.

* * *

Jen couldn’t believe how high the bidding was going. ‘Keep it up,’ Tess advised in the loudest stage whisper ever from the wings.

Turning her back to the audience, Jen stuck out her rump and wiggled her powder-puff tail so enthusiastically it encouraged a fresh round of bidding from the crowd.

‘I thought you were supposed to be a feminist,’ Jen chastised Tess when she finally sashayed off stage to thunderous applause.

‘I’m happy to leave my principles at the door when ten thousand is in the bag for the charity,’ Tess exclaimed.

‘Ten thousand!’ Jen hugged her friend excitedly. ‘I was so busy wiggling I wasn’t listening to the bidding. Who on earth paid that much to have dinner with me?’

‘Someone who doesn’t mess around?’ Tess suggested, pressing her lips together as she shrugged. ‘Time to get your Miss Prim on, and start serving those hungry diners,’ she added. ‘They’ll need something to settle them down after the excitement you’ve given them.’

Jen hurried off with a wide grin on her face. She couldn’t wait to release her straining body from the too-tight costume. One thing that could be said for the club was that no two days were the same. She loved her job. If she didn’t work here, she wouldn’t hear the stories she did. Some of the customers were lonely, and only gambled to while away their lonely nights, they told her. Jen thought that, for at least some of the members, gambling was an illness, but she’d always been a good listener and credited the customers at the club with saving her when Lyddie had been fatally injured in a cycling accident. Talking to people, and having a routine to cling onto, had helped Jen to climb back from a dark hole of grief. The volunteers from the charity had told her that shutting herself away was the worst thing she could do. She had to get out and start living again for her sister’s sake. Life was precious and she shouldn’t waste a moment of it. They were right, hence her outrageous outfit tonight. She would do anything she could to support them after what they’d done for her.

Having exchanged the sexy satin suit for the sombre black and white uniform she wore as a server, Jen squeezed her way through the customers clustered around the bar.

‘Excuse me—’ She inhaled sharply as a man barred her way.

Jen’s body reacted violently with approval. Too tanned and fit to be a regular at the club, he was tall, dark and swarthy, with thick, wavy black hair, and an unwavering stare. Lean and muscular, he was ferociously commanding. Maybe he was someone important. He certainly had shedloads of presence, but there was something about him that made her shiver inwardly.

He was brutally masculine. That had to be it, Jen reasoned. And she thought she knew him from somewhere. He’d been leaning against a pillar watching her dance tonight, and they’d exchanged a couple of glances—his interested, hers a warning to keep off the grass. But now she could see him close up, she wondered if she’d seen him before at the club.

‘I’d appreciate having a word with you in private,’ he said.

‘Me?’ She had been glancing round for Tess, thinking an important visitor would ask for the manager.

‘Yes, you. Alone.’

He might be the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but a private interview wasn’t going to happen. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to work.’

He didn’t take well to her flat-out refusal. As one sweeping ebony brow rose in disapproval she was already looking for a member of the security staff.

‘You won’t need them,’ he said, as if he could read her mind. ‘I don’t mean you any harm.’

‘I should hope not,’ she said, forcing a laugh into her voice. ‘Sorry, but I really do have to go now.’ She stared past him towards the restaurant, but he remained like a roadblock in her way.

‘I’ve paid a lot of money to have dinner with you.’

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, remembering the ten thousand. And now she remembered why he was familiar to her.

She raised a brow as his bold stare swept over her, heating every part of her on the way. ‘You’re Italian, aren’t you?’ she said.

His eyes warmed briefly. ‘Sicilian, to be exact.’

That was right. She’d got it now. ‘Very glamorous,’ she said distractedly as she thought what this might mean.

‘Hardly,’ he said.

But arrogant, she thought. Meanwhile, her body was going crazy. He exuded pheromones like room haze. Celibacy had become a habit Jen had seen no reason to break. She was certainly paying for those years of denial now.

He frowned as he angled his stubble-shaded chin to stare down at her. ‘What makes you think Sicilians are glamorous?’

‘Oh, you know...’ She waved her hand airily. ‘Sicily seems such a glamorous destination—the fabulous scenery on the island, the emerald-green sea, the sandy beaches, the Godfather—’

‘That’s a fantasy,’ he cut in.

‘I do know that. Look, is there anything else I can do for you before I go to work?’

‘Yes. Confirm our dinner date,’ he said.

‘Well, I’m afraid it can’t be tonight. I’m really sorry, but I’m sure we can work something out.’ She hoped he’d take the hint and move on—arrange something with Tess, or with Jay-Dee. He didn’t move. He remained squarely in her way. ‘You could speak to the casino manager, Tess, about your prize. She’s right over there by the door.’ She turned and pointed.

‘I’d rather talk to you,’ he said in a way that made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand erect.

There was no give in him at all, and he had paid a lot of money that would go to Jen’s favourite charity. She mustn’t do anything to jeopardise that.

‘Just a few moments of your time,’ he said with a faint smile that couldn’t rub out her first impression that he looked like a pirate on a raid, though he’d shaved recently and she wasn’t sure if pirates had access to razors. Nor did they wear custom-made suits, she thought, though with those shoulders she doubted he could buy anything off the peg.

‘Something amusing you?’

‘I’m just a little tense,’ she admitted, drunk on the faintest hint of his exclusive cologne. ‘I’m going to be late for work.’

‘Surely, they’ll forgive you this once? You have been otherwise occupied.’

‘And now the auction’s over, and we’re short-handed tonight.’

‘Pity.’

His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, and his stare was warm on her face. But...from the collar of his handmade shirt, to the tip of his highly polished shoes he radiated money, power, and success. So why was an affluent, good-looking Sicilian prepared to fork out ten thousand for a date with a waitress? Surely he could take his pick from a long line of society beauties? Or did he just have a big, charitable heart, and had happened to call in at the club by chance?

She was getting a bad feeling about this.

He reminded her of Raoul Tebaldi, a compulsive gambler Jen had come to know at the club. Everyone knew that Raoul was the son of a man who had been a notorious gangster in his day, but Jen had come to like the quiet Sicilian. She’d lost her sister, and Raoul was estranged from his family. The distance from his brother had hurt him most of all, because they had been close when they were young. This sense of loss had given them a bond, and they’d become close. Jen had looked forward to seeing Raoul each night at the club, but he hadn’t been around for quite some time. A pang of dread struck her now, at the thought that something might have happened to Raoul, but, seeing the maître d’ beckoning to her out of the corner of her eye, she knew she had to cut this short.

‘I promise we’ll have dinner another night,’ she assured the Sicilian stranger.

‘I can’t wait long,’ he said.

Jen’s heart leapt in her chest, though she told herself sensibly that what he meant was that he would be leaving London soon, and not that he was impatient to see her.

‘I won’t let you down,’ she promised.

His narrowed eyes suggested she’d better not. ‘Let’s make our dinner at a time and a place of my choosing,’ he suggested. ‘And then it will be a surprise.’

‘It should be here,’ she said. ‘That’s what you’ve paid for.’

‘So long as we make a date before I leave,’ he conceded, not wanting to put her off by appearing harsh.

‘I’m sure that will be possible,’ she said.

The girl was either as innocent as she looked, or she was a very good actress. Neither possibility could explain Raoul’s actions. Innocence had hardly been his younger brother’s area of expertise, and if she had somehow manipulated Raoul, she could be trouble. As his father had predicted, the tragedy hadn’t made the international news, so he doubted she knew his brother was dead. He couldn’t be certain if Raoul had shared the contents of his will with her, but he would find out.

‘You’ll enjoy the food here,’ she said. ‘And you’ll eat free.’

If ten thousand could be called free, he thought as the balance tipped in favour of her innocence. ‘Eat here?’ he said, frowning.

‘Why not?’ she said, turning her face up to him in a way that made his senses stir.

He had accompanied her to the fringes of the restaurant, but the casino was too strong a reminder of everything he’d got wrong where his brother was concerned. He wanted to leave so he couldn’t see Raoul drinking too much at the bar, or throwing his money away at the tables. He had loved his brother deeply, and had longed for them to be reunited, but Raoul had pushed him away. And now it was too late.

‘You won’t be disappointed,’ she said, misreading his expression. ‘The chefs are excellent.’

‘But you might like a change,’ he said. ‘You can go anywhere—and I do mean anywhere in the world.’

Jen was stunned. The man was wealthy enough to pay a fortune to have dinner with her for some reason, and now he was suggesting she should leap on board his billionaire bandwagon and go with him to places unknown. How stupid would she have to be to do that?

Her heart disagreed and raced with excitement. Her body wasn’t much help. It looked to casting off years of celibacy with unbounded enthusiasm. Thankfully, she had more sense. He could have any woman he wanted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a date. It was time to get real.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said politely, ‘but as we’ve never met before, I’m sure you’ll understand if I tell you that I’d feel safer here.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ he asked.

There was amusement in his eyes. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said.

And then, with the charity at the forefront of her mind, she suggested, ‘How about seven’ o clock tomorrow evening, here? Before the club gets busy,’ she explained. ‘Would that suit you?’ Whether it did or not, that was her best and final offer.

‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ he said.

There was another suspicious glow in his eyes. ‘Good. So am I—and now I really do have to go.’

‘Of course,’ he said, turning.

She still stared at him admiringly as he walked away, transfixed by his long, lean legs, and muscular back view. It was only when he had completely disappeared from sight she realised that they hadn’t even introduced themselves. So, was he related to Raoul Tebaldi, or not?

He must have put something down on paper when he bought the auction lot, Jen reasoned. No one parted with that type of money without attaching a name to it.

‘Something wrong?’

She turned to see Tess, the casino manager, staring at her with concern. Tess’s sixth sense where staff were concerned was unbeatable.

‘He wasn’t bothering you, was he?’ Tess demanded as she followed Jen’s stare to the door.

‘No. He wanted to have that dinner tonight, and as we’re short-handed I told him that I couldn’t do that. Did he remind you of someone?’ she added, frowning. ‘Do you remember Raoul, that lonely man who used to play the tables until he had no money left?’

Tess shrugged. ‘I see thousands of men come through here every year. None of them hold my attention for long, unless they complain about something. Why do you ask?’

Jen shrugged. ‘No reason. And I’m probably wrong. Anyway, I do feel better having laid down some ground rules.’

‘I would have done that for you,’ Tess insisted. ‘You only had to ask.’

‘I can handle men like him,’ Jen assured Tess with more confidence than she felt. ‘I wouldn’t deserve a job here if I couldn’t...’

‘But?’ Tess queried, picking up on Jen’s hesitation.

‘But he struck me as a man who doesn’t play by the rules,’ Jen said thoughtfully.

‘Unless he writes them?’ Tess suggested.

Jen hummed. She didn’t want to burden Tess with her concerns, and it was no use brooding on them. Work would take her mind off the mystery man—she hoped.

* * *

It was a relief to leave the club. He dragged on the chilly London air as if it were the purest oxygen. He felt as if his head had been under water for the past half-hour. He blamed himself for not stopping Raoul’s downslide sooner. He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind to his brother’s troubles, or that things had got so bad.

Raoul’s debts were eye-watering. He’d paid them off, dealing with an expressionless man behind a grill at the club, and then he made his donation to the charity. Next he had to unpick the story of a woman who’d just become an unlikely heiress to a fortune she knew nothing about. He had made no final decision about Jennifer Sanderson. She appealed to him with her bold challenges and her curvaceous body. It was all too easy to imagine her clinging to his arms in the throes of passion. That might not be what he was here for, but it was the thought he carried with him from the club.

CHAPTER THREE

‘DID THAT MAN I was talking to hand over the money for the auction lot?’ Jen asked Tess as casually as she could at the end of the night.

‘All ten thousand,’ Tess confirmed. ‘And he paid off his brother’s gambling debts.’

‘His brother?’

‘Raoul Tebaldi.’

A shiver raced down Jen’s spine at the thought that, just as she had suspected, the Sicilian stranger was Raoul’s brother. Raoul had confided in her that he was on a downward spiral, and only wished he were still close to his brother. ‘If only I could confide in Luca as I used to when we were young,’ he’d said with such longing in his eyes.

Luca...

‘I don’t know anything more about the guy who bought the dinner with you,’ Tess admitted. ‘My best guess is, he’ll be back to collect what he’s paid for. He didn’t strike me as the type to cut and run.’

‘Worse luck,’ Jen said, only half joking.

‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Tess demanded, shooting Jen a shrewd look. ‘It isn’t every day a man walks into the club and pays a fortune to have dinner with you—especially not one who looks like that.’

‘Which is exactly why I’m so suspicious,’ Jen confessed. ‘Surely, I’m hardly his type.’

‘He’s a generous guy with plenty of money,’ Tess argued. ‘Why read any more into it than that? My job here is to keep everyone happy and make sure things run smoothly, while yours is to make everyone feel welcome—and no more than that. You hit the right balance beautifully, Jen, which is why you’re so popular.’

All Jen could think was, what had happened to Raoul? She didn’t have a good feeling about it. The coincidence of his brother buying time with her was just too strong. Why had he done that? What did he want? Had Raoul mentioned her to Luca? That seemed unlikely. Was it possible that while she’d been getting on with her life, another tragedy had been unfolding?

* * *

Friday morning, aka almost the weekend, and Jen was settling in to her day job. Officially, according to her employment records, she was a part-time student studying to be a gemologist, working in central London on day release from college, so she could gain hands-on experience of working with precious stones. In reality, she went to college three days a week, and the rest of the time she was gofer and tea lady to the distinguished ladies and gentlemen of the board at Smithers & Worseley Auction House, London

‘The buyer’s request is quite straightforward,’ the chairman of the prestigious house had just announced.

Staring down his aquiline nose through gold half-moon glasses, Melvyn Worseley Esquire proceeded to explain: ‘Don Tebaldi, our venerable client from Sicily—some of you may have heard of him?’

Sicily? Jen was now fully alert.

The chairman gave a dramatic pause, during which a chorus of critical hums rang out around the boardroom table. Everyone knew the reputation of the infamous Don Tebaldi, a man supposedly retired, but in the world he inhabited did anyone ever really retire? That was the unspoken question.

‘Has requested that a member of our staff shall hand-carry the Emperor’s Diamond to Sicily, where that same member of staff will create an exhibition of Don Tebaldi’s private collection, having as its centrepiece the notorious stone.’

‘Relieving Don Tebaldi of the need to touch the stone,’ one director commented with a scornful laugh. ‘He might be an old gangster, but he’s just as afraid of its supposed curse as everyone else.’

The chairman paused to allow the laughter to die down. ‘His son, Signor Luca Tebaldi—’

Jen’s head shot up. Luca Tebaldi! The man she’d met at the club.

‘Will be organising security,’ the chairman continued, ‘for both the courier of the gem, and the gem itself.’ He looked straight at Jen. ‘Am I correct in thinking that you passed the module for presenting an exhibition with a certificate of excellence, Jennifer?’