The Italian's Ruthless Seduction

If he had any sense he would stop thinking about Bella and do just that.

He laughed at himself as he collected his shoes and socks and started putting them on. For when had he ever been able to stop thinking of Bella once she’d entered his head?

Maybe, if she’d remained a nobody, living a quiet life back in Australia, Sergio might have been able to forget her. But no. Fate hadn’t been that kind. After winning a high-profile talent quest on Australian television shortly before Dolores asked his father for a divorce, Bella had gone on to become a famous leading lady in musical theatre, starring in shows all over the world, most on Broadway, but some of them in London. Her exquisitely beautiful face had been everywhere at one time. On television. The sides of buses. On billboards. Sergio had resisted going to see her on stage, knowing that watching her perform in person would only fuel the overwhelming desire that she’d once inspired in him, the memory of which he still struggled with.

But once again, fate hadn’t been kind, Jeremy dragging him along one night about three years ago to a Royal Variety Performance where Bella—unbeknownst to Sergio—had been one of the guest performers. What agony it had been, sitting there watching her sing and dance.

But even worse had been to come that night, with Jeremy informing him after the curtain had finally gone down that he’d received an invite to the after-concert party at the Soho Hotel. Sergio could have refused to accompany him, but a perverse curiosity had overridden his first instinct, which was to go home to his new Canary Wharf apartment and get blind drunk. Instead, he’d gone to the party where Bella had waltzed in on the arm of her latest lover, a handsome French actor of dubious talent with a reputation as a womaniser. What a brilliant-looking couple they’d made, her exquisite blonde beauty the perfect foil for the Frenchman’s dark good looks, Bella dressed in an ethereal white evening gown whilst he was all in black; a devil to her angel. Sergio had watched her for ages from a distance, watched her and wanted her, his jealousy fierce whenever the Frenchman had touched her. Which had been often.

Sergio no longer had a clear memory of what he’d said to her when she’d finally spotted him across the room, leaving the leech for a moment to come over and speak privately to him. He would not have been rude. That was not his way, his father having instilled politeness and manners into him from a young age. No doubt he’d said something complimentary about her performance. What he could recall, however, was the wicked cruelty of his erection as he’d watched her mouth move to say he knew not what. Never before or since had he felt anything like it, her physical closeness causing his unrequited desire for her to flare to a point almost impossible to control.

But control it, he had, conversing with her for a short while till her obsequiously possessive lover had come over and drawn her away. It was only after Sergio had arrived home and was safely alone in his bedroom that he’d given vent to his explosive emotions, smashing his fist through the bathroom door, breaking two fingers in the process, after which he’d plunged himself into a cold shower and wept like a baby.

It had taken several weeks for his hand to heal, and for him to find some perspective about his self-destructive feelings for Bella. Talking to Alex and Jeremy had helped, though their advice had been typical.

‘What you need, mate,’ Alex had said, ‘is to get laid more often.’

‘She’s probably not that great in bed, anyway,’ Jeremy had added. ‘Alex is right. There’s plenty more fish in the sea. Throw the net out a bit more, bro.’

Which he had, for a while, having sex with more women in the next month than he had for years. All of them had been one-night stands. All of them blondes with blue eyes, pretty faces and very nice figures.

In the end, however, such a lifestyle had not sat well with Sergio. So he’d found himself Cynthia, an attractive divorcee who had been very good in bed and hadn’t minded that he didn’t love her. Gradually, Bella had slipped to the back of his mind, where she stayed. Most of the time.

Still, when he’d heard via Alex that Bella had broken up with the French actor, Sergio hadn’t been able to deny feeling some satisfaction. He hadn’t felt quite so happy when he’d found out she’d taken up with a Russian oligarch who’d made billions out of oil and natural gas, investing his fortune in a string of luxury hotels. The Russian had, again according to Alex, a reputation as a notorious ladies’ man with a penchant for celebrity blondes, usually supermodels or actresses. Sergio had shaken his head in dismay over this. Because it wasn’t the first time Bella had taken up with a man of dubious reputation. Aside from the French actor, her list of previous lovers included a rock star with a drug problem and an Argentinian polo player who changed girlfriends as often as his horses. None of these relationships had lasted. But the gossip rags had had a field day during every one of these affairs, and afterwards.