Her Mediterranean Playboy (2 page)

A
LLY
had not long returned to Rome from her trip, having settled her twin sister into the quiet sanctuary of the clinic in Switzerland, when the doorbell of her sister’s rented apartment sounded. She had come back there to do a rudimentary clean-up, knowing Alex would be out of town for possibly weeks if not months on end, and had decided a refrigerator clean-out was probably a good idea, not to mention a load or two of washing and a bed linen change before she arranged to travel back to Zurich.

What she hadn’t expected to find was a rather nasty eviction notice and a demand for six weeks’ rent in arrears, with a letter written in Italian that looked as if it was from a lawyer. But what Ally couldn’t understand was why her sister had neglected to pay the rent, for as she was folding Alex’s clothes in the bedroom she had come across a large amount of money, tied in neat bundles and placed inside a jacket pocket. Uncertain of what to do with such a sum, Ally had placed it in her handbag until she could consult her sister.

The doorbell rang again, this time with a little more force, so Ally pushed the papers and the rest of her sister’s unpaid bills to one side and, giving the newly made-up bed a quick straighten, made her way to the front door. She opened it to find a tall, dark-haired man standing there, his stance autocratic and his gaze very determined as it locked down on hers.

‘Mrs Alexandra Sharpe?’

Ally stared back at the bottomless brown eyes boring down
into hers and felt a shiver of apprehension shimmy up her spine. ‘Look…if it’s about the rent I can explain—’

He slanted one dark eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t tell me you have forgotten me already?’ he said. ‘I know we only met the once, but surely I am not that forgettable?’

‘Um…I…Um…’ Ally was at a loss for words.

‘Perhaps I should refresh your memory?’ he said with a contemptuous set to his mouth. ‘You gatecrashed a business function my brother-in-law Rocco Montano and I attended three weeks ago. Your behaviour created quite a stir. Had I known then what I know now I would have personally evicted you from the premises, instead of engaging Security to do it for me.’

Ally stared at him with wide eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should tell him who she was or go along with his assumption that she was Alex. She suddenly felt as if she was on a set of delicately balanced scales. A tilt one way could clear away the confusion; the other could cause catastrophic results…

Or would it?

Once the thought had blossomed in her brain she couldn’t quite get rid of it. Had Alex ever mentioned to her lover about having an identical twin? she wondered.

She stared at the man’s classically handsome features as her heart did a hopscotch routine in her chest. ‘You seem sort of vaguely familiar,’ she said, to fill the silence.

‘May I come in?’ he asked, although Ally felt it was more of a command than a request.

She opened the door and he moved past her before she could balance the scales of reason in her scrambled brain.

He was very tall, towering over her five foot eight height, and he had long legs and broad shoulders which were a perfect hanger for the Italian designed suit he was wearing. His neither long nor short casually styled black hair was as glossy as a raven’s wing, brushed backwards—although not willingly, it seemed, as a thick strand seemed to fall forward across his forehead almost every time he moved. One of his hands moved upwards to shove it back, the action so automatic Ally couldn’t help feeling it was almost unconscious. He probably did it a hundred times a day and didn’t realise.

His eyes were a brownish black, fringed with thick sooty lashes that acted like a screen over his fathomless gaze as it collided with hers. He was the most strikingly handsome man she had ever met. He exuded power and male potency from every olive-toned pore of his body. His mouth was full and sensual, his blade of a nose distinctly Roman. However, his strongly chiselled jaw had a hint of stubborn arrogance about it, as if he liked his own way and did everything he could to achieve it.

‘My name, in case you have forgotten, is Vittorio Vassallo,’ he said. ‘But I think I do not need to tell you why I am here,
sì
?’

Ally felt her skin involuntarily tighten at the sound of that deep velvet-toned voice, its clear-cut diction indicating English was not his preferred tongue even though he spoke it fluently, as if he had been educated abroad. Oxford or Cambridge, she guessed. His name rang a tiny bell at the back of her brain. On the flight over from Sydney she had read an article about a high-flying Italian billionaire fund manager who had a reputation as an international playboy. Looking at him now, Ally could see why women all over the world fell over themselves to be his mistress.

‘Um…now is not really a good time…’ she faltered.

He hooked one dark brow upwards in a derisory arc. ‘You have another commitment right now?’

She rolled her lips together before moistening them with the tip of her tongue. ‘Um…no, but I don’t see what possible reason you could have for being here.’

‘Do you not?’ The dark brow was still slanted upwards, the black-brown gaze unwavering as it held hers.

Ally knew she should probably tell him who she was. Now was the time, before things went any further, but for some reason she felt compelled to find out why he was here before she revealed her identity. She wanted to know what he had planned to say to her sister. What would it hurt to step into her sister’s shoes for the next few minutes? Besides, his imperious stance annoyed her. He was looking down at her as if she was a guttersnipe, and that really irked her. Her sister was suffering a mental illness. She did not deserve to be ridiculed or threatened, or at least not while Ally could prevent it. Besides, she wanted to
know if he knew what had gone on between his brother-in-law and Alex, and it seemed this was as good a way as any.

‘I have no idea why you are here,’ she said, in a deliberately haughty tone.

A mocking smile tilted his mouth. ‘Rocco warned me you liked to play the dumb blonde role,’ he said. ‘But that is how you get men to do what you want, is it not? You woo them with those dark blue bedroom eyes and that delectable body of yours. No wonder you have the reputation you have. Few men would be able to resist what you have on offer.’

Ally felt a tinge of pink seep into her cheeks. It was almost laughable, the picture he had painted of her, but she let the charade continue a little longer. She figured it would be worth it to eventually throw his misplaced assumptions back in his supercilious face. She was even starting to enjoy herself. What a shock he would get when he found out he had singled out the wrong target for his disgusting vilification.

She tilted her hip in a provocative fashion and batted her eyelashes at him. ‘So what do you think I have on offer, Mr Vassallo?’ she asked.

She watched as his dark and disconcertingly penetrating gaze roved her form from head to foot, slowly, deliberately lingering over the baby blue top that snugly outlined the curves of her breasts, going down over her trim waist and slim jean-clad thighs before returning to her face, all without saying a single word.

Ally had never felt more acutely aware of her body. She felt as if he had reached out and touched her all over with his long tanned fingers. Every curve, every pleasure point and every secret place felt invaded by his commanding physical presence. Every fine hair on her body lifted, and her skin crawled with a prickly sensation. Her stomach began to dip and dive erratically as her senses were set alight by the slow burn of his dark gaze as it drifted over her in that annoyingly indolent fashion. Her breasts started to swell and tingle beneath the light cotton of her top, and her breathing was choppy, her chest rising and falling like a damaged set of bellows, making her feel light-headed and terrifyingly out of her depth.

She suddenly realised there was a photograph on the wall unit behind him. If he turned around he would see how he was being played for a fool. It was one she had given her sister after their twenty-fourth birthday last year, just before Alex had flown to London. Ally had set the camera on remote control and captured them smiling, with their arms wrapped around each other. She remembered Alex had commented at the time how they must have done exactly that in their mother’s womb, curled up like little angels waiting to be summoned to earth. It had been such a happy night of celebrating, just the two of them. Ally had thought back then—was it only a few months ago?—that her sister was finally on the road to recovery.

Her upper lip broke out in tiny beads of perspiration; she could feel nervous moisture trickling down between her shoulderblades as the silence stretched and stretched like a crevasse being prised apart with giant mechanical jaws.

‘Um…would you like a drink?’ She said the first thing that popped into her mind.

His brows moved together and he cocked his head at a suspicious angle. ‘A drink?’

‘Yes,’ she said over-brightly, carefully back-stepping towards the kitchen, hoping he would take the hint and follow her. ‘I was just about to get one myself. It’s very hot for September, don’t you think?’

‘It is usually still quite hot at this time of year,’ he answered, still watching her closely. ‘It will not cool down for another week or two at the very least.’

Ally went to the meagre pantry and took out a container of long-life orange juice, trying to control the slight tremble of her hands as she did so. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have any ice,’ she said, turning to face him again. ‘I’ve just been cleaning out the fridge.’

His dark eyes were like twin drills as they bored into hers. ‘Are you going away somewhere?’

She pasted a tight smile on her face. ‘I’m just doing a bit of a spring clean—out with the old and in with the new, that sort of thing.’

Ally watched as his eyes swept over the small galley kitchen
with its tired appliances. ‘Have you lived in this apartment long?’ he asked, bringing his gaze back to hers.

‘Er…a few weeks,’ she said, shifting her gaze to pour two glasses of juice. Some of it, in spite of her efforts to control the tremble of her hands, splashed onto the bench. ‘I’d like to move to something a little more convenient, but rents are high in the nicer areas.’ She handed him a glass of juice. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment? I think I can hear one of the taps dripping in the bathroom. It does that now and again.’

‘Would you like me to fix it for you?’

Ally stared at him in thinly disguised horror. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last she had expected. He was a billionaire. He probably wouldn’t recognise a spanner or a wrench if he was hit over the head with one. But then he wasn’t a plumber any more than she had a leaky tap, she reminded herself wryly. ‘Er…no, there’s really nothing wrong with it,’ she said, trying not to sound as flustered as she felt. ‘It’s just that I didn’t turn if off hard enough when I heard the doorbell. I won’t be a minute.’

Vittorio took a sip of the room-temperature reconstituted orange juice and grimaced. He thought longingly of his own orange groves on the hills behind his Positano holiday villa, where his housekeeper squeezed fresh fruit daily when he was in residence.

He put the glass down on the chipped counter and cast his gaze around once more. It was no wonder Alex Sharpe was looking for a meal ticket. Her flat was tiny and in desperate need of a makeover. The curtains at the kitchen window were faded and grease-splattered, and the linoleum on the floor was buckled and cracked in places. From what he had seen of the small sitting room the carpet was an out-of-date swirly pattern that would have been at home in the seventies. The furniture too was of a similar design and vintage.

But it was no wonder his weak and womanising brother-in-law had fallen under her spell, he thought. She was lethally attractive. Even dressed as she was in faded jeans, and with her silver-blonde hair in a haphazard knot on top of her head and no make-up on, she was temptation personified. She oozed sensuality. It was in every curve of her body: the long elegant limbs,
the delightfully ripe globes of her breasts, the tiny waist and the sexy flare of her hips. Her mouth was blood-red, not from lipstick but from the inbuilt passion she exuded from every fragrant pore of her body. He had smelt the seductive musk and heady fragrance of jasmine clinging to her golden skin as soon as she had opened the door. It had not only filled his nostrils, it had filled his head, and upended his thoughts until he’d had trouble recalling his mission.

He smiled to himself as he thought of his plan to divert the press’s attention from Rocco in order to protect his sister Chiara. It was going to be much easier than he had expected. Mrs Alex Sharpe was just the sort of woman who would jump at the chance to improve her circumstances.

Besides, he wasn’t going to give her a choice.

Ally rushed through the rest of the flat and grabbed the few photos her sister had displayed and hid them in her suitcase under the bed. She took a couple of steadying breaths and made her way back out to the kitchen. Vittorio Vassallo turned when she came in, his dark gaze meshing with hers.

‘Mrs Sharpe—’ he began.

‘Ally,’ she said, mentally cringing at the thought of being addressed by the name of her sister’s violent ex-husband. ‘I prefer to be called Ally, if you don’t mind.’

‘My brother-in-law always referred to you as Alexandra or Alex,’ he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Ally wrestled with herself to hold his penetrating gaze. ‘You said your name is Vittorio,’ she countered. ‘That seems rather a mouthful. What do your friends and family call you?’

‘Vito,’ he answered. ‘But only very close friends and immediate family members call me that.’

‘So, Mr Vassallo,’ she said giving him a cool little smile, ‘how can I be of assistance to you?’

His expression was imperious, condescending almost, which infuriated Ally even further. ‘I am here about my car,’ he said.

Ally looked at him blankly, her heart starting to kick against her sternum in alarm. ‘Your c-car?’

His eyes burned into hers. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The car you scraped all over with a key or a nail file, causing several thousand euros worth of damage. It was not my brother-in-law’s, as you thought, but mine. I expect you to pay for it.’