The Italian's Future Bride (2 page)

 Did he want to know?

 His eyes cooled and hardened. No, he didn’t, he answered his own question. Expensive tarts in expensive dresses were ten-a-Euro to buy in this room. He did not need to buy his women. And this one was more the type for the guy who was approaching her from behind right now and eyeing her up and down as if she was his next tasty snack.

 And tasty said it, he found himself reluctantly admitting as he ran a glance down her front until he reached the place where those two fabulous legs came together.

 Was the hair at her crotch the same pale gold colour as the hair on her head?

 He shifted again, was vaguely aware of Daniella talking into his shirt but didn’t hear what she said. That damn inconvenient thing called sexual curiosity was trying to take him over, heating him up like a pot coming to the boil.

 The blonde stiffened, tugging his gaze back to her face to clash with the shocked look in her eyes. He realised then that she knew what he had been thinking, her pearly-white skin suffused with heat.

 Feeling the spark too,cara ? his glinting eyes mocked her. Well hard damn luck because I am not buying.

 The approaching man had reached her—a tall fair haired good-looking guy who stepped right in behind her and ran his fingers up her bare arms to her shoulders, then bent to murmur something in her ear.

 She quivered—Raffaelle saw it happen. As she slowly blinked her eyes and turned her head sideways so she was no longer looking at him, he watched her sumptuous pink mouth tilt into a smile.

 She turns on for any man, he observed grimly.

 ‘Hi,’ Rachel said, still stinging at the way Raffaelle Villani had just looked at her as if she was a sex object put on show to be bought.

 ‘Hi to you too,’ Mark returned. ‘No luck with the appeal approach?’

 ‘Look at him,’ she sighed, glancing back at Mr Villani who was now in the process of curving the clinging dark-haired woman beneath the crook of his arm.

 What was he, six-three—six four? Rachel found herself giving him a thorough once-over. He had a great pair of shoulders inside the black dinner suit he was wearing, and a mean pair of long powerful legs. His bright white dress shirt gave the honey-gold tones of his skin at his throat a warm, tight, healthy glow that annoyingly made the tip of her tongue grow moist.

 He was supposed to be a fantastic athlete, so Elise had said. Watching him as he began guiding the dark-haired woman through the doors which led to the hotel foyer, Rachel could see why. He moved with loose-limbed grace, languid and supple but firm. If you stripped him down to a pair of running shorts she would be prepared to bet you wouldn’t see a single ripple of unwanted flesh.

 Marital status: single. Age: thirty three. Loves snow-skiing and water-skiing. Owns his own sexy powerboat which he races at the weekend when he has the time. Owns homes in London, Paris, Monaco and, of course, his native Milan. Plus a huge private skiing lodge inside the very prestigious Gigante Park, where he likes to his spend part of his winters refining his no doubt amazing skills on the ski slopes. Inherited his wealth from his heavyweight banking family, then went on to triple that fortune with shrewd investments which pushed him and the Villani name right to the top of the rich list.

 He was, in other words, a tall, dark, very good looking, veryrich Italian male with a sinful amount of sex appeal and all the conceit and arrogance that came with such an impressive pedigree.

 It was no wonder he’d cut her out without giving her a chance to explain herself. A man like him was just too darn precious about his own status as the most eligible catch on the block to think of questioning if a woman might want to approach him for any reason other than to latch on to his great body and his lovely money.

 Well, Mr Villani, Rachel told his elegant back. Self-obsessed millionaires are ten-a-penny these days. You only have to look around this room to see that.

 But men of honour were a very rare breed indeed.

 ‘I thought Elise said he was only into blondes,’ she said to Mark. ‘But you can’t put a hair between him and that black-haired female, so what chance did I have of getting in there?’

 ‘You idiot,’ Mark said. ‘Don’t you know who the brunette is? That’s his flighty stepsister, Daniella Leeson of Leeson Hotels fame. She’s about to marry his best friend and that other hotel heavy, Gino Rossi—Don’t you ever read any of the stuff I print?’

 Rachel gave a slow shake of her head, still watching Raffaelle Villani as he paused in the foyer, framed like a masterpiece between the two open doors. He was helping his stepsister on with her coat now—all care and attention.

 Gorgeous face in profile, honesty forced her to admit. With fantastic high cheekbones and black eyelashes so luxurious she could see even from this far away, how they hovered like sexy dark shadows just above those golden cheeks.

 When he’d done with the coat he turned his stepsister round and lifted her chin with a gentle finger, then smiled as he murmured something to make her smile back at him.

 So he possessed killer charm too, when he wanted to unleash it, Rachel saw, and did not like the stinging flutter she felt suddenly attack the lining of her lower stomach.

 Was this the side of him he’d used on Elise to make the silly fool risk her marriage for him? The way Elise told it, he had done all the chasing while she’d tried to keep him at arm’s length.

 No chance, Rachel denounced. There was no way any woman could hold this man at arm’s length if he did not want to be held there. It was no wonder that poor Elise had dropped like a shot duck into his hands.

 ‘I’ve ruined everything,’ she murmured dully. ‘Look, they’re leaving.’

 ‘The hell you have,’ Mark said brusquely. ‘We can’t let Elise down after all of this planning. I can still rescue this.’

 Grabbing one of her hands, he began pulling her towards the foyer.

 ‘The trouble with you, Rachel, is you insisted on trying the wrong tack on him then blew it. This time you do it the way we planned it, okay? So listen,’ instructed the man who got his highs hunting down and catching the rich and famous at their worst. ‘I’m going to grab the lovely Daniella’s attention. All you have to do is to move in on him the moment I move in on her. I can give you ten seconds at most, so don’t hang around and, for God’s sake, don’t let yourself think! This will be our last chance.’

 Their last chance…

 They’d reached the foyer by now and Mark’s instructions were playing across her tense chest muscles like sharp hammering throbs. Raffaelle Villani and his stepsister were already turning towards the main exit doors.

 ‘Hey—Miss Leeson!’ Mark called out. ‘Where’s your future husband tonight?’

 Daniella Leeson paused, then turned on the delicate heels of her shoes, saw Mark with a camera already up at his face and switched on a false smile.

 ‘He’s…’

 ‘Get going,’ Mark muttered sideways at Rachel.

 As if in a dream Rachel let Mark’s urgency take her over. Her legs felt like jelly as she moved in. Raffaelle Villani was only just turning to watch his stepsister pose for the hated paparazzi so he didn’t see Rachel coming at him from one side. Stepping right in front of him and without daring to think, she threw her arms up and clasped his face between her fingers, then stretched up on tiptoe and crushed her mouth against his.

 She didn’t know which of them was the more shocked as heat hit her body like mega-watt high voltage. His grunt of surprise vibrated against her lips. Lights flashed, her skin burned, her fingertips tingled where they pressed against his warm satin tight skin.

 Seconds. It took too many seconds for his brain to relay to Raffaelle what was happening and by then her mouth was fusing hot against his. His hands leapt up—it was automatic to close them around a small waist with the intention of pushing her away.

 A camera flashed.

 He pulled his mouth free, found himself staring down at the same blonde who’d approached earlier.‘Madre de Dio . What do you think you are doing?’ he raked out.

 The flash hit him again. She was staring up at him, all big blue apologetic eyes and smudged pink lipstick and her fingers had shifted from his face to the back of his neck.

 ‘Sorry,’ she whispered breathlessly. ‘But you left me with no other choice.’

 She began to pull away. The camera was still flashing. Instead of aiding her withdrawal, Raffaelle tightened his grip on her waist and made her stay exactly where she was.

 He was blindingly, blisteringly furious. ‘No choice about what?’ he bit down at her.

 She wriggled against him in an effort to free herself. What happened next made her breath catch and he knew why it did. She was plastered against him like a second layer of skin and the extra physical pressure had brought their lower bodies into contact.

 ‘Dio,’ he cursed again.

 ‘Oh, God,’ Rachel echoed. ‘Y-you—you’re…’

 ‘I don’t need you to tell me what I already know!’ he raked out. ‘I just need an explanation as to what the hell you think you are trying to pull off with this!’

 ‘I…’

 ‘Okay kiddo, let’s go.’

 Let’s go…Raffaelle lifted his eyes to the photographer, wondered why he hadn’t noticed the camera dangling round his neck before. Then answered his own question with a twist of his mouth. He had been too busy looking at her to notice him in any detail.

 ‘Some set-up,’ he gritted.

 ‘Please let me go now.’ She tugged at his iron grip on her waist.

 ‘Not even if you decide to faint,’ he incised, sparks flying from his eyes as he watched Daniella turn towards them and her eyes give a startled blink.

 Indeed, he agreed with her surprised expression. The photographer was already shooting out of the door.

 ‘You,’ he raked at his attacker, ‘are coming with me to explain yourself.’

 Without giving her a chance to protest, he reached up to yank her claws out of his neck, then let go of one hand and used the other to begin hauling her towards the exit.

 ‘Raffaelle—!’A bewildered Daniella called his name as she hurried after them.

 Outside a cool breeze hit his angry face.

 Just angry—? He was bloody blindingly livid. His instincts must be dulling for him to get caught out like this.

 ‘Please…’ the blonde pleaded.

 ‘Be silent,’ he snapped out and his hand tightened its grip on her wrist. He felt her wince; he didn’t care. Dino, his chauffeur, drew his limo up at the kerb and climbed out of the car.

 Raffaelle strode towards it with his captive almost tripping up behind him on her flimsy sparkling spindle-heeled shoes. ‘Grab a cab and take Miss Leeson home,’ he instructed his driver.

 ‘But—Raffaelle—?’ his stepsister wailed in protest.

 He ignored her. He ignored everyone, including the blonde who was still desperately trying to get free. Opening the front passenger door to the limo, he tried to propel her inside.

 She dug her heels in. ‘I’m not—’

 He picked her up and bodily put her into the car. When she tried to get out again, her mouth opening wide with the intention of screaming for help, he bent swiftly and smothered the sound with his mouth.

 He didn’t take pleasure from hard angry kisses, he told himself, particularly when he’d just been hit on by a woman who deserved a slap not a kiss. However the kiss gave him a hell of a lot more satisfaction, especially when her muffled scream rolled around his mouth and sent his tongue chasing it.

 She quivered. She tasted of champagne and pink lipstick.

 By the time he yanked his mouth away again she’d sunk into trembling shock.

 ‘Now, listen to me,’ he incised as he locked the seat belt around her. ‘I don’t know how much your partner in crime was paying you to pull off that stunt, but in case you did not notice, he was not the only sleaze-gathering scum working the room back there. The pack has scented a story and is about to descend on us.’

 On that hard warning he straightened, slammed the car door shut, then strode round to the other side while Rachel twisted her head to stare dazedly at the press pack gathering at the main hotel doors. By the time she’d absorbed all of that, Raffaelle Villani had folded himself into the driver’s seat next to her—a lean, dark, hard-muscled male with aggression bouncing off him.

 His chauffeur had left the engine running. He snaked out a hand and threw the car into drive. They took off with a jerk just as the press pack tumbled over each other with their cameras flashing. Rachel watched as the whole debacle played out like a comic strip. Even his stepsister had her part to play. She was standing by the kerb staring after them while the chauffeur was politely trying to urge her into the back of a black cab.

 Mark was nowhere.

 Thanks, Mark, Rachel thought helplessly, visualising her darling half-brother rushing off to file his scoop without giving a second thought to what he had left her to face!

 Rachel flicked a scared glance at the man sitting beside her, then shivered. If murder had a look to it then he was wearing it.

 ‘Please stop the car so I can get out,’ she begged and didn’t even care that she was begging.

 He didn’t answer. Lips clamped together, he sent the car shooting out into the main stream of traffic. Several car horns blared in protest at his pushy arrogance. He ignored those too.

 ‘Look, I know you’re angry,’ she allowed shakily. ‘And I know that you have every right to be, but—’

 ‘Grazie.’

 ‘This is kidnap!’

 ‘So sue me,’ he gritted. ‘That could be fun.’

 Fun—? Rachel trembled and shivered as she sat tensely beside him. None of this had beenfun from the moment she’d allowed Elise and Mark to talk her into it. One minute she’d been perfectly content, hiding away in Devon nursing her broken heart, the next minute she’d found herself staying up here in London with her half-sister and being embroiled in her complicated love-life!

 ‘It w-wasn’t what you think—’

 ‘You don’t know what I’m thinking.’

 ‘I amnot being paid to—’

 ‘Hit on me?’ he offered when those very same words dried in her throat. ‘It is a relief to know I still have some natural pulling power then.’