Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

She gave the ever-patient saleswoman a beatific smile. ‘This is the one.’

* * *

Leo eased the Maserati to a stop in the gravel courtyard outside the Santinos’ palatial mountainside villa. Behind him a long queue of taxis, luxury cars and black-windowed limousines stretched into the distance. Valets swarmed like worker ants on a sugar trail, keeping the line moving as guests poured from the vehicles and watchful dark-suited security men oversaw the hustle of activity.

He glanced at Helena, sitting silent in the passenger seat, but her face was angled away and he couldn’t gauge her reaction.

He liked the way she’d styled her hair tonight, her glossy curls piled high on her head, a few random ringlets left loose to float around her face. He didn’t like that all he could think about was how it would feel to pull out the pins and watch those silky tresses spill over his hands...his sheets...his thighs...

He killed the engine. ‘Are you ready for this?’

Her head swung around, her blue eyes inscrutable under their canopy of dark lashes. ‘Yes. Are you?’

He smiled at the challenge in her voice. ‘Always.’ He fired off a wink that earned him a frown, then climbed out, grabbed his suit jacket from the back seat and shrugged it on.

On the other side a valet opened Helena’s door and she stepped out, a swathe of rich burgundy silk cascading like wine-infused water down her body. She smiled, and the kid’s face split into a goofy grin that lasted all of three seconds—until he met Leo’s dark stare.

‘One scratch,’ he warned in Italian, handing over his key, ‘and I will find you.’

The young man nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if jerked by an unseen string, and Leo eyeballed him until he disappeared into the driver’s seat.

The vehicle purred to life and Helena froze, her eyes widening. ‘The gift!’ She whirled and tapped on the side window as the car started to move. When it stopped she pulled open the back door and reached into the footwell.

Behind her Leo dug his fingers into his palms. Did his damnedest not to notice how the sheer dress clung to her hips and buttocks below her naked back. An exercise in futility, no less. He’d have to be blind not to notice all that smooth ivory skin. Those beautiful curves.

Dio.

He should have let her wear the black dress. It might remind him of a nun’s habit, but at least his thoughts wouldn’t be steeped in sin.

She turned and stilled, the gift-wrapped antique silver Tiffany bowl clutched in her hands. ‘You can stop looking at me like that.’

&nb

sp; Like what? Like he wanted to slide her dress up her thighs and bend her over the hood of his Maserati? He unfurled his hands. Tried to blank his expression. Hell, was he that transparent?

‘I’m not going to screw this up, so you can wipe that frown off your face,’ she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. ‘Here—’ she thrust the gift at him ‘—you take this. It’s your gift.’

And a detail he’d have overlooked if she hadn’t asked him earlier in the day what he’d bought the Santinos. Normally his PA took care of such things, but Gina had had a family emergency on Tuesday and he’d told her to take the rest of the week off work. He’d cursed at the oversight, but Helena had promptly set about finding something suitable—and pricey, he’d noted when handing over his credit card. Funny... Once she’d overcome her reluctance to choosing a dress she’d warmed noticeably to the idea of spending his money.

Inside, a waiter took the gift, offered them wine and guided them through a long piano hall doubling as a ballroom and outside to the uppermost of three sprawling terraces. A floodlit swimming pool dominated the middle tier and in the distance, beyond the landscaped grounds, the lights of Rome winked like fallen stars under a purpling sky, painting a view of the ancient city that might have been impressive—breathtaking, even—had the flash and dazzle of the party guests crowding the travertine terraces not eclipsed the panorama beyond.

‘Oh, my.’ Helena stood beside him, one hand resting in the crook of his arm, the other cradling a glass of ruby-red wine. ‘It’s very...um...’

Leo dragged his gaze from the landscape back to the glittering assemblage before them. ‘Flamboyant?’ He didn’t bother hushing his voice. The music piped into every corner of the grounds, mixed with the babble of a hundred conversations and the chiming of crystal and laughter, made discretion unnecessary.

‘That’s one description.’

‘You can think of others?’

‘Mmm... Nothing as polite. You should have told me I’d need my sunglasses.’

Her wry humour extracted a grin from him. ‘We Italians know how to do bling, si?’

After a short silence she squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you.’

He looked down at her. ‘For what?’

‘For not letting me wear that “boring” black dress.’