Back In The Italian's Bed

It’s love at first sight for Jenna when charismatic hotelier Fabrizio Armati sweeps her off her feet in Venice. That chance encounter sparks a sizzling affair that lasts until she discovers Fabrizio sees her as no more than a convenient, expendable mistress. Then her world falls apart.

Six months later Jenna tells herself she’s moved on. Until Fabrizio walks into a meeting to find her working for his greatest rival. She’s about to discover just how far he’ll go to get her back in his bed.

When revenge turns to passion, will surrender be on his terms, or hers?

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Annie West

ISBN: 978-0-9960958-1-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever, including information storage and or retrieval systems, without the express written permission from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

‘WELCOME, SIGNOR ARMATI.’

Fabrizio strode past the bowing lawyer and into the conference room of his Rome headquarters. His eyes locked with those of his rival on the far side of the vast table.

Luca De Laurentis. The man had been snapping at his heels for years and just twelve months ago had beaten him to the lucrative Palermo deal. He’d been a thorn in Fabrizio’s side for too long.

Satisfaction stirred. At last their cat and mouse game neared its end and he, Fabrizio Armati, would emerge the victor. He tasted triumph on his tongue. After the trying six months he’d had, the promise of success had never been so sweet.

‘De Laurentis.’ He nodded, noting the glint in his competitor’s eye, as if ready for battle. Much good it would do him. Fabrizio’s team had the deal sewn up to his complete satisfaction. He intended to leave the room with everything he wanted.

‘Armati.’ De Laurentis inclined his head and settled in his seat, surrounded by dark-suited minions.

Fabrizio took the chair reserved for him at the head of his own entourage and leaned back, ready to enjoy himself.

It was as his chief lawyer opened the sheaf of contracts on the table that Fabrizio felt a ripple of disquiet, a feather of awareness along his nape. The blood in his veins tingled. His nostrils flared as if scenting some half-forgotten fragrance. His skin tightened.

Slowly, casually, he turned from the papers and swept his gaze over the opposition ranks. Half-familiar faces were already frowning over the latest proposals. Grey hair, balding heads, De Laurentis’s carefully groomed dark hair, more forgettable faces and then, at the back, half-obscured by the men in front, a face he’d never forget.

Jenna MacDonald.

His shuffle of the papers before him cloaked a swift intake of breath.

The ripple of disquiet became a sizzle of pure fire, searing through his blood and igniting a fury he’d barely managed to contain in twenty-six weeks.

Twenty-six weeks since he’d seen her.

Six months since he’d opened that trite little note.

One hundred and eighty-two days since he’d left her sleeping in his bed, her hair catching the dawn light like gold caught the sun.

Fabrizio’s lip curled in a snarl of indignation. Never in his life had he counted the days with a woman. But he knew precisely how long he’d been
without
Jenna MacDonald.

She was the only woman in thirty-three years to walk away from him.

Maledizione!
To find her here of all places, after he’d sent his investigators overseas to locate her!

He firmed his mouth into a hard line. What game was this?

He took in her sleek hair, pulled back from her exquisite face. Those siren’s lips in glossy carmine. The charcoal jacket that plunged low over a silky cream camisole. The way her throat worked as she swallowed.

Fabrizio’s eyes narrowed as he saw her pulse flutter. She was nervous.

So she damned well should be! She was lucky he didn’t stalk over there and haul her out into the open rather than let her skulk among De Laurentis’s yes men.

As if sensing his stare, her eyes flicked up and caught on his. The impact of that aquamarine gaze carved a familiar hollow through his chest.

Fury, he assured himself.

Anger at her betrayal.

Righteous affront at being left by his lover without explanation.

He
was the one who decided when a relationship was over.

The buzzing in his ears resolved into a conversation that slowed as one face after another turned to him, eyes expectant. He blinked and tried to make sense of what De Laurentis said, aware of the other man’s curiosity.

Ruthlessly Fabrizio sliced his gaze from hers and focused on the business at hand. If De Laurentis had any idea of using Jenna MacDonald to distract him, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, her presence incited a bloodlust for victory unlike any he’d known.

Fabrizio let his lips curve in a lethal smile and delivered his first salvo.

Fortunately he was the only one in the crowded room aware that he gave the crucial negotiations just half his attention. The other half lingered over plans for his faithless ex-lover.

THE NEGOTIATIONS PASSED in a blur for Jenna.

Concentrating on the rapid-fire back and forth exchange was beyond her, despite her now excellent Italian. She refused to blush at the memory of how it came to be so good. To gain fluency in a language, they said you should take a native speaker as a lover.

Her throat closed over a shocking surge of hysterical laughter as she watched the man on the other side of the table effortlessly dominate the proceedings. She hadn’t taken Fabrizio as a lover. He’d taken her.

One chance look across the crowded café in Saint Mark’s Square.

One hour of conversation with a black-haired stranger over minuscule coffee cups and delicious sweet pastries. She’d been oblivious of tourists and pigeons and everything but the hot silver of his eyes and the approving curve of his thin, sculpted lips as he coaxed her into conversation.

One afternoon letting him guide her through
his
Venice, to secret places few tourists ever saw, from crumbling, ancient beauty to modern luxury, the taste of delicious seafood and the sensation of the sea breeze in her hair as they watched the sun set in a fiery glow.

One evening of fairy-tale perfection that had made her feel like Cinderella finding her prince. Except there’d been no running away at midnight. Instead there’d been a night of seduction, passion, bliss, unlike anything she’d ever known.

One night was all it had taken for her to lose her heart and put her career plans on hold now her internship at a plush Venetian hotel was over.

One night had led to another and another, until she was installed in Fabrizio Armati’s Roman palazzo as his lover.

No, not his lover. He’d finally made that cruelly clear. His
mistress
. His disposable mistress, not good enough to claim a place in his rarefied world.

The pain of that rejection had cleaved her heart. Alone in the world, she’d poured everything of herself into their relationship, believing she’d found her soul mate.

Jenna blinked, trying to focus on the intense discussion around her rather than the slash of raw pain through her middle. She’d been primed for this meeting, though surprised at her inclusion among the corporate lawyers and strategists.

‘It’s agreed, then,’ her boss, Luca De Laurentis, said. ‘We’ll meet again once the amendments are drafted. In the meantime I look forward to a personal inspection of the Florentine property before we sign.’

She breathed a sigh of relief, realising the negotiations hadn’t required her input after all. Tension wound her so tight, she wasn’t sure she’d have found her voice.

‘As I look forward to viewing the Amalfi estate.’ A flash of bright steel pinioned her as Fabrizio’s eyes narrowed on her across the room. Immediately Jenna lifted her chin. He had no hold over her. If she told herself often enough, she might even come to believe it.

Chairs scraped back and everyone stood. Everyone except Fabrizio. Jenna yanked her gaze away, refusing to give in to temptation and watch him. She grabbed her briefcase and turned with her colleagues towards the door.

‘One last thing.’ That familiar voice cut like a honed blade through soft flesh. ‘I have limited time available. I’ll have a briefing on the Villa Bellini now before my site visit.’

‘As you wish. Ms MacDonald can provide all the details you need.’ Luca De Laurentis caught Jenna’s eye and smiled. ‘Jenna, come and see me in my office when you’ve finished with Signor Armati.’

Finished with Signor Armati.

Jenna gritted her teeth, wishing she had finished with him once and for all.

She pasted on a smile for Signor De Laurentis. ‘Of course, sir.’

Slowly the room emptied. She was aware of Fabrizio indicating that his staff should go too. And still she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. It took all the willpower she had to stand her ground. Six months and still her heart wrenched at the sight of him.

Finally she mastered herself, placing her briefcase on the gleaming table. It snicked open and she pulled out her neat précis of the Villa’s details as well as her tablet, ready to answer every question about the gracious old hotel.

When there was nothing else to distract her she took a deep breath and lifted her head, only to fall into that molten pewter stare that once had so effortlessly bewitched her.

Now it held no softness, just the threat of retribution.

‘THE VILLA BELLINI is a remarkable old hotel, as I’m sure you’re aware.’ Jenna planted her damp palms on the table and spoke to a point just over Fabrizio’s shoulder. ‘It’s maintained market share despite economic uncertainties that impacted on tourism performance elsewhere.’

Silence.

She paused and glanced down at her carefully prepared information. Not that she needed it. As relieving manager of the hotel, she knew this by heart.

‘What, in particular, did you want to know about the Villa?’

Again that brooding silence. Was it imagination or did she really feel Fabrizio’s gaze slide down from her face to her cleavage? Her breasts tingled and seemed to swell and she sucked in a furtive breath, willing herself not to react.

‘We could start,’ he said at last, his voice ringing in accusation, ‘with why you ran from me like a thief in the night.’

Jenna’s head jerked up. ‘Hardly a thief.’ She raised her brows, remembering the wardrobe of sexy, couture dresses she’d left behind, the jewelled sandals, dainty evening bags and slinky bikinis. Especially the bikinis. Fabrizio had enjoyed those so much. Heat flared anew beneath her skin as her head filled with a memory of the pair of them entwined by the pool, Fabrizio deftly peeling away a bikini he’d bought her. It was made entirely of string and gilt beads.

He shrugged and she kept her face on his deep red tie rather than the rise and dip of those broad shoulders.

‘You ran without a word.’

‘I did not run!’ She met his eyes and a jolt of adrenaline shot through her, tingling right to her soles in her black patent stiletto-heeled shoes. ‘And I left you a note.’

‘An email.’ His mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘What way is that to end a relationship?’

‘Is that what you called it? A relationship? How cosy that sounds.’ It was Jenna’s turn to curl her lip. Ice frosted her blood as she recalled how he’d dismissed her and all they’d shared with such easy contempt. ‘As far as I’m concerned, an email was entirely appropriate to end our
arrangement
.’

Fabrizio’s eyes narrowed to slits but she refused to back down.

‘An email that said nothing except that you’d decided to leave.’ A pulse ticked in his jaw and Jenna felt a moment’s triumph that she’d made Fabrizio Armati
feel
something. Even anger was a step up from simple sexual desire.

Jenna straightened, smoothing her clammy palms down her pencil skirt. His eyes followed the movement and she quickly grasped her hands behind her back, unnerved that he should knock her off balance so easily.

She’d spent the meeting with her gaze locked on his arrogant, beautiful face, eagerly memorising details already imprinted on her brain. His heavy-lidded eyes that made her think of the sultry passion they’d shared. The groove at one corner of his mouth that deepened when he smiled. The tiny, jagged scar on his chin that he’d acquired in a childhood accident.