He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he expected, but he hadn’t expected that. His belief in her meant something to her. It made him realize exactly how much power he had over her and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it.
Since when did he not embrace power? He loved it!
But he was suddenly confronted with how vulnerable she was. To all the men in her life, but especially to him, right now. It slapped at his conscience, made him think again about her saying he would protect his father. The joke was on her. His real mother had been light-years ahead of his father in social status, belonging to the Donatelli banking clan. His father had been on the bottom of society’s spectrum. A criminal of the vilest order.
He had cold-bloodedly seduced her with an eye to his own gain.
What are you doing, Vito? he chided himself.
He was protecting the bank, he reminded himself. And his blood was decidedly hot when Gwyn’s hand was in his own.
He strolled her through the late morning sun, ignoring the cameras, entering every boutique on the promenade and refusing to leave without making a purchase.
But for a woman who only needed to act enamored to get herself out of trouble, she did a lousy job of it. She wasn’t outright defiant. No, her resistance was subtle enough to give credence to what she had said earlier about not wanting to look like a gold digger. She needed cajoling to enter a change room, pulled a face at the prices and frowned at the growing number of bags he was having sent back to the yacht club.
It was beyond his experience. Every woman he knew enjoyed being spoiled this way, whether sisters, mother or lovers. He had been raised to be chivalrous, and not only owned a sizable number of shares in the bank, but investing was his living. He made more money in a day than he could spend in a week. This was pocket change.
He began taking special care, looking for items that were particularly flattering to her, complimenting her, trying to soften that spine and coax a smile of pleasure out of her. Why couldn’t she relax and see the fun in this?
A motorcycle jacket with a faux fur collar and narrow sleeves that capped the tops of her hands to her knuckles looked genuinely delightful on her. He stood behind her as she eyed it in the mirror.
“It suits you. Makes you look as tough as you are,” he said.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “You do this a lot, don’t you? I honestly didn’t see you as the kind of guy who had to buy his women.”
She might as well have butted that hard head of hers back into his lip and nose. He tightened his hands on her shoulders to freeze her in place.
Her gaze met his again and she saw the danger there, stilling, hand on the zipper of the jacket.
“Be very careful what you say to me, cara.”
“You want those vultures out there to believe this,” she said with a small toss of her head to the front of the store, where music was blaring so loudly they could barely hear each other even back here. “I don’t have to. Or does your ego demand that I fall for you for real?”
Once again she had him thinking about a powerful man exploiting a vulnerable young woman.
That wasn’t what this was.
She moved the zipper an inch then shrugged his hands off her shoulders. “Buy it if you think I should have it. I don’t care.”
The hell of it was, he believed her.
* * *
Gwyn watched cute sundresses and silk scarves, two hats and a designer bag that cost the earth all go into colorful boutique bags. Vito told her they’d buy evening gowns in Milan—for what?—but insisted she get trendy jeans, cocktail skirts and flirty tops, lingerie that she flatly refused to let him watch her try on and shoes. Dear Lord, the shoes.
Deep in her most covetous, most materialistic heart, she adored Italian-made shoes. She’d been saving up for a pair, browsing regularly as she debated whether to be practical and buy something she might wear often or ridiculously capricious and own something that would sit in a box in her closet, to be worn on only a few special occasions.
Vito bought her six pairs of very chic, very expensive day shoes and completely dismissed them as, “They’ll do for now.” More, he assured her, would be purchased with the gowns in the city.
She might have protested, but he was already angry with her. That moment at the mirror had made her tremble inside, he’d looked so lethal. At the same time, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her physically. It was her heart, her own ego and self-confidence that were in peril.
Especially because, despite her nastiness, he didn’t let up on his solicitude. They walked from store to store and paparazzi swarmed around them, clicking and flashing and capturing every murmur and expression. One called something particularly disgusting and she flinched.