Delucca's Marriage Contract
ABBY GREEN
MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR…Giancarlo Delucca has one aim – to go global. Even if it means marrying the O’Connor heiress to secure the contract.Keelin O’Connor wants a place on the board – and no part in this business ‘arrangement’! Gianni may have vowed to seduce his wayward bride, but Keelin is fighting him every step down the aisle.Happily ever after was never part of the bargain, but Gianni finds himself intrigued by Keelin’s feisty defiance. And suddenly he’s determined to turn the beautiful Irish redhead’s ‘I don’t’ into an ‘I do’!Welcome to The Chatsfield, Rome!
Gianni’s mouth twisted. ‘You might not want this situation but you want me, as much as I want you.’
The air seemed to throb and shimmer between them with heat and tension, and Gianni stared at her for such a long moment that Keelin almost begged him to stop, but then he lifted his hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. He looked at her again, coolness in his eyes now. ‘A stylist and beauty team are on their way here to get you ready for the party. I’ll be back later to pick you up.’
Clearly nothing she’d said had made one dent in his bid to secure this deal with her father; he was steamrollering ahead and taking her with him.
She put her hands on her hips, aware of the little betraying tremor. ‘Now wait just a minute, if you think that I’m going to just—’
The words died in her throat when Gianni stalked closer, a look of dangerous intent on his face. It didn’t scare Keelin that he might kiss her again, it excited her. But he didn’t.
‘This marriage is happening, Keelin. Now more than ever. And if you don’t start washing off that persona you’ve been playing with for the last forty-eight hours, then I’ll be more than happy to take you to the shower to help you. So what’s it to be?’
Delucca’s
Marriage
Contract
Abby Green
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and television industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications, but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors. Since discovering a guide to writing romance one day, she decided to capitalise on her long-time love for Mills & Boon
romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.
She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories. You can e-mail her at abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk (mailto:abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk).
This is for Paul Gallant, my Canadian pen pal since we worked waiting tables together in Dublin’s Temple Bar (pre stag/hen party era) in 1990. It’s been a pleasure communicating in the old-fashioned way with you. Here’s to many more years of Irish/Canadian dispatches. x
Contents
Cover (#ubed20229-43ab-52d3-9384-c70661b3dcf2)
Introduction (#u5700e170-842c-5308-b0d2-7a881bb5a21b)
The Chatsfield (#u33fe32a8-845c-5413-89ba-03fd2cd8f27b)
Title Page (#u145b7406-a3b4-5e17-94e7-9cb55d6b06d0)
About the Author (#u833d9134-e0e2-56bf-b8bf-bb7219f2ad7d)
Dedication (#ue4a42d1a-e575-5f53-b5c3-4fff4ef72a9f)
Harrington Family Tree (#u2c12d617-125d-5a37-9850-11a59ab28a98)
Chatsfield Family Tree (#u70b90d17-785d-503d-9514-64178d1874c7)
PROLOGUE (#uad958fc9-2b19-5ca4-82b2-a8d9c6ee7e21)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubc8b68cc-cefa-5256-bbb1-1c72fe3cbf5e)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubb8a8bb7-133b-51c7-b6f8-95ff5ddca5b3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u94af0cb9-c1b2-5bd1-8d89-13b729b2ff05)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome Ms Green (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome Mr. Delucca (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_03301dcc-4a6f-5cb7-80c0-9a43b8861003)
‘THAT’S THE DEAL, Delucca, take it or leave it. I don’t think I need to tell you that if you leave it the O’Connor brand won’t be affected.’
Giancarlo Delucca gritted his jaw at the arrogant tone. The unspoken insinuation from the older Irish man wasn’t subtle: But the Delucca brand might languish in European shopping aisles for years before making it globally.
Gianni, still reeling slightly, looked at Liam O’Connor, who sat in a leather chair with his back to the impressive view of Dublin’s financial district.
‘And what does your daughter think of this proposed arranged marriage?’
O’Connor’s grey eyes narrowed, and there was a barely perceptible tightening around his mouth. ‘Keelin is loyal to the family business.’
Gianni responded with a hint of incredulity. ‘Loyal enough to agree to a marriage of convenience?’
Suddenly feeling agitated, Gianni didn’t wait for a reply and went to stand at one of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from running them impatiently through his hair—a bad habit. He felt claustrophobic. Marriage. That word called up all sorts of dark images and bad memories. He’d only ever seen the worst a marriage had to offer so he’d vowed never to take that route himself. But the unpalatable fact was that he needed this merger with the vastly successful O’Connor Foods brand to break into the more lucrative global market, and namely, America.
That would take him away from the bitter memories of his childhood and young adulthood. It would civilise the Delucca name, make him invulnerable, and in time no one would ever remember that Delucca had once been one of the Mafia’s most notorious names.
O’Connor’s voice came from behind him. ‘Keelin is a beautiful woman. Well educated. She’ll be an asset on your arm as you move forward and expand.’
Gianni’s mouth tightened as the kind of domestic scenario he hadn’t ever envisaged took root in his mind, much to his disgust. He didn’t want O’Connor to see the myriad emotions he was feeling in his eyes, so didn’t turn around. ‘You think that I can’t find a wife of my own choosing?’ Not that he’d contemplated it!
Liam O’Connor laughed dryly. ‘Delucca, I have no doubt that you could click your fingers and find a wife in seconds. Your reputation—’
Gianni swung around then, cutting the other man off. He forced his voice to sound calm when inside he felt hot, irritated. ‘Be very careful, O’Connor.’
The other man stood up from behind his desk and came around it. He was tall and imposing. Handsome, with a head of thick silver hair. The older alpha male squaring up to the younger one, even if Gianni was taller, younger and infinitely more handsome than O’Connor ever had been. Gianni knew all about alpha males; he’d squared up to the most alpha of them all: his father.
O’Connor spoke bluntly. ‘No other company can give you the instant sheen of respectability that we can, merely by association. If we merge, people trust our name enough to automatically trust you. Your products will be on shelves across the world within months. I am offering you the chance to prove your commitment to both your brand and your family name. You don’t need me to tell you that the people you will be dealing with will be more likely to put their trust and investment in a family man.’
Again the unspoken rang as loudly as a bell in the room: And in someone who didn’t have links to the underworld, or who had the damaging reputation of a playboy. Damn him. O’Connor was right. So how badly did he want this? Badly enough to embark on a union he’d never wished for? For the sake of a deal? Social acceptance? Professional respectability?
But it’s the deal of a lifetime, whispered a little voice.
Wanting to assert his position more, Gianni pointed out, ‘That may very well be the case but don’t forget that your own business will be reinvigorated by a new association with a luxury Italian brand of products, the first merger of its kind.’
O’Connor inclined his head with a spark in his eyes. He obviously didn’t like to be reminded that his motives weren’t exactly altruistic.
And then Gianni asked abruptly, ‘Why is it so important to you that marriage to your daughter is part of the deal?’
The spark in O’Connor’s eyes was quickly veiled as he said easily, ‘She’s our only child and heir. I’m an old-fashioned man, Delucca. I want her future to be secure, and through her and you, we keep our name alive.’
Gianni felt a niggle of suspicion but then something caught his peripheral vision and he looked past O’Connor to where a group of framed photos were hung on a wall. He walked over. There were pictures of O’Connor with various celebrities, including two American presidents, and then presumably his wife—an attractive woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.
And below them all was an image of a young woman on a horse, head back and wide generous mouth open, clearly laughing. Slim shoulders. A snug T-shirt hugged generous firm breasts. He could just make out a narrow waist, gently flaring hips. Taut thighs. She was stunningly beautiful. Almond-shaped green eyes, lighter than her mother’s. Vibrant red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Pale skin with flushed rosy cheeks. Freckles.
Something deep in Gianni’s gut clenched at her unadorned beauty. Even though she wasn’t remotely his type.
He barely picked up on the faintly smug tone in O’Connor’s voice when the man said, ‘That’s my daughter, Keelin. So have you come to a decision?’
Gianni didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to. They both knew the answer.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8e859e02-2faa-54cf-a2f1-96cb211cf667)
KEELIN O’CONNOR SURVEYED the lavishly decorated hotel room in the exclusive Harrington Hotel in Rome. Almost nothing was visible because glossy shopping bags covered every surface. As a shopping novice, she hoped she’d gone far enough, not really knowing what constituted gross levels of consumerism beyond what she saw on some trashy reality-TV programmes of the rich and famous.
Her fiancé—who also happened to be a complete stranger—was due any minute and she hated that the palms of her hands were sweaty with nerves when her blood still boiled with anger and humiliation at what her father expected her to do.
‘You can’t be serious.’ She’d looked at her father two weeks ago and battled a very familiar sense of angry futility.
Liam O’Connor’s expression was as hard as flint. ‘I am.’
Keelin had spoken slowly as if to make sure she wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare. ‘You’ve sold me off in some marriage deal to a complete stranger—’
Her father slashed a hand through the air. ‘It is not like that. Giancarlo Delucca is one of Italy’s most innovative entrepreneurs. Italian food and wine exports are booming and in the space of only three years the Delucca name has gained respect all over Europe, not to mention tripled its profits, which is unheard of at the moment.’
‘So what the hell does that have to do with me?’
Her tall father had put his hands on his desk and leant forward. ‘What it has to do with you, my girl, is everything. I want a merger with this man to secure the future of O’Connor Foods and as my daughter you are part of the deal.’
Keelin’s hands curled to fists but she’d barely noticed her nails digging into soft skin. ‘This is archaic.’
Her father straightened up and said scathingly, ‘Don’t be so naive. This is about business. Giancarlo Delucca is a young man, and good-looking. Rich. Any woman would be delighted to have him as her husband.’
Keelin had responded bitterly. ‘Any woman, perhaps, with about two brain cells to rub together.’ She’d ignored her father’s darkening expression and tried to call up the little she knew of Delucca from her overheated brain. ‘Doesn’t he have links to the Mafia?’
Her father replied tautly. ‘His father had links to the Mafia. And he’s dead. That’s all in the past now. Delucca is determined to put it behind him and prove to people that he’s respectable. That’s why he’s willing to marry and settle down.’
Keelin laughed but it sounded strangled and semi-hysterical. ‘Lucky me!’
Liam O’Connor’s grey gaze, so different to Keelin’s own green one, narrowed on her. ‘Haven’t you always wanted me to involve you in the business?’
‘Yes,’ she’d said huskily, emotion a tight ball in her chest to be reminded of how comprehensively she’d been shut out. ‘But as the person who stands to inherit the O’Connor brand. Not as some chattel to be sold off to the highest bidder.’
Her father’s mouth had tightened. ‘You’ve hardly given me the confidence that you can be trusted to inherit anything, Keelin.’
Futile anger rose in a dizzying rush and, terrified emotion might leak out of her eyes, she’d stalked over to the large window which showcased an impressive view of a soaring modern bridge, named after the great playwright Samuel Beckett, over the River Liffey. Dublin had sparkled benignly in the spring sunshine.
But she’d seen none of it. She’d felt only an inner tsunami of pain to be so misunderstood, still. She’d known for ever that she was a disappointment to her parents: to her mother for not being the girlie girl she wanted to show off. And to her father for being a girl, and not a worthier boy. And as soon as Keelin had recognised that as a distinct lack of love, it had seared a need into her psyche to get her father’s attention at all costs, which had manifested in a series of teenage rebellions that had been as futile as they were excruciating to remember now.
And even though she’d matured and left those petty rebellions behind, nothing had really changed. Her parents hadn’t even deigned to come and see her graduate from university recently.
Her own reflection was distorted in the glass-pale face, huge eyes. Red hair. Too red. It had always marked her out as far too easy to pinpoint when there was trouble, unwittingly helping her to act out her pathetic bid for love and attention.
When she’d felt composed enough she’d turned around again. ‘And what about our name? If I marry him it’ll die out anyway!’
Her father had shaken his head. ‘No, it won’t. Delucca has agreed that our name and branding will remain and be passed down to your sons.’
Her sons. With a complete stranger. A gangster.
Her father had walked around the desk to come and stand a few feet away from her, his face softening slightly. Emotion had gripped her again. Was she such a sucker for any sliver of affection that she would fall for this thinly veiled act?
He’d sighed heavily. ‘The truth is that O’Connor Foods is struggling, like almost every other business out there.’
Keelin had frowned; she’d been aware that the company hadn’t been doing as well as in previous years but not badly enough to merit alarm. And how would she really know when she was kept firmly excluded from the inner sanctum? ‘Struggling—how do you mean?’
He’d waved a hand, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Aligning with Delucca will give us the boost we need, and the protection, going forward. And then there’s you. I want to know that your future is secured.’
Keelin hadn’t been fooled for a second that he genuinely cared for her welfare even though a weak part of her yearned for it. She’d taken advantage of his softer stance to try to make him see that she was serious about wanting to be involved. ‘But my future will be secure. I can work with you to help shore up the defences, take the company forward. I’m ready to—’
He’d lifted a hand, any trace of softness disappearing. ‘If you truly want to prove that you can be part of this company in a meaningful way, then this marriage is the only solution, Keelin.’
A tiny flame of hope sputtered out. It mocked the defences she thought she’d honed over years of neglect. She shook her head, a sense of betrayal rising within her. ‘I won’t do it.’
Her father lashed back angrily. ‘I should have known you’d balk when it came to proving the depth of your loyalty. If you walk away from this, you can consider yourself on your own.’
For a moment she’d felt as if he’d punched her in the softest part of her belly. All she wanted was to show her loyalty to her family legacy, and she was finally being offered a chance but in exchange for her personal freedom.
She’d felt sick to think that it had come to this—the ultimate rejection, if she said no. But then, in a blinding flash of inspiration, a scenario had taken shape. A burgeoning sense of hope had filled her as she said slowly, ‘What if we meet and Delucca doesn’t want to marry me?’
Her father waved a hand dismissively. ‘Of course he’ll want to marry you. You’re a beautiful young woman, and you’re bringing with you the opportunity he needs to break into the global market. He won’t let that slip away.’
But Keelin had been barely listening to her father any more, her heart palpitating at the thought of a way out of this crazy scenario without having to burn her bridges entirely. So she’d agreed to meet with Delucca and here she was now, seconds away from that meeting.
She’d exhaustively researched him in the meantime and found that clearly he was obsessed with proving that the persistent rumour of links to the Mafia were just that. In every interview he put the focus on his business concerns and moving forward. He was the epitomy of casual Italian elegance, and to Keelin’s chagrin she hadn’t been able to repress a shiver of awareness when she’d seen his photos. He was darkly gorgeous, masculine. An air of intensity about him. And also danger.
He seemed hell-bent on proving himself to be a million miles removed from the scandals of his father’s life, a man who had been brutally murdered by a rival Mafia faction.
And when it came to lovers he was never pictured with the same stunning woman more than twice. They were all of the same ilk: tall, brunette, sleek and gorgeous. Discreet, and oozing effortless classy style. Which was in keeping with his apparent bid not to draw adverse attention to himself. True, he skirted on the edges of being known as a playboy, but was never photographed behaving badly. And there were no salacious kiss-and-tell stories. So the playboy moniker was pretty benign.
Evidently he didn’t let women get in his way when it came to his ruthless ambition. And respectability and discretion were important to him. So this gave Keelin all the ammunition she needed. A man like that couldn’t want a wife! And she’d decided she needed to make herself over into everything that might possibly repel him from this union.
She’d ended up with an over-the-top trashy caricature of the kind of girl she’d known in her school peer group: rich, privileged, shallow, vain. And hopefully the kind of woman someone like Giancarlo Delucca would run screaming from.
She checked herself now in a nearby mirror—dress: short; long red hair: big; make-up: a lot. She made a face. Her mother would approve wholeheartedly. She spritzed more perfume on, swallowing back a sneeze at the overwhelming fumes.
A peremptory knock came to the hotel room door and Keelin’s belly swooped alarmingly. She wasn’t ready for this, she felt ridiculous. He’d see through her in an instant.
The knock came again, a little sharper. She steeled herself. She had to be ready. This was a fight for her independence and future.
Fixing what she hoped was a bright vacuous smile on her face she walked to the door and opened it. But the smile faltered when she had to lift her eyeline to the hunk in the dark blue suit on the other side.
One thing got through to her shocked brain: no mere picture could have prepared her for Giancarlo Delucca in the flesh.
* * *
Gianni reeled as he tried to take in the woman before him and not suffocate with the wave of noxious perfume that had enveloped him as soon as she’d opened the door.
His first impression was excess and everything in him recoiled from it. Lots of vibrant red hair, lots of make-up and a tight sleeveless bandeau dress that was eye-wateringly short, showing off acres of suspiciously tanned-looking skin, and an abundant amount of equally faux-tanned cleavage.
The woman in front of him didn’t remotely resemble the picture he’d seen in O’Connor’s office. Anger pierced him to think he’d been deceived. And rendered speechless for a moment, a state he was not used to, they just stared at each other.
And then the perfume seemed to dissipate mercifully, bringing some oxygen to his brain, restoring his faculties. He pushed the anger down, telling himself he was being too hasty.
Just as he thought that, he saw the gold necklace nestling close to that upsurge of cleavage. Joined-together looping letters spelled out K-e-e-l-i-n. Diamonds twinkled from either end.
His last lover had favoured nothing more obvious than tiny diamond stud earrings. But he forced himself to look at his potential future wife, smile and say smoothly, ‘Miss O’Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Giancarlo Delucca, welcome to Italy.’
She blinked, smiled and stepped back. ‘Please excuse me. I just got back from doing some shopping near the Via del Corso.’
Gianni walked into the room, aware that even though she was in spindly high heels, she’d be tall without them. About five foot eight, he guessed. A dart of awareness pierced him, surprising him.
He heard the door click behind him and he had the most bizarre urge to turn around and escape. Fast. He pushed it down. He’d agreed to this cold-blooded agreement for lots of reasons, but also because he’d decided that he could handle a marriage that was a business transaction, not an emotional or romantic endeavour.
He steeled himself and turned to face Keelin again. For a second something about her over-the-top look felt slightly off but he got distracted by those unbelievably long legs and that impressive cleavage. Dio. He’d expected fresh-faced natural beauty. An intelligent refined woman, not a tarted-up society girl.
Keelin waved an arm to indicate the hundreds of luxe bags and gushed, ‘Thank you so much for the welcome gift of the credit card, such a thoughtful gesture. Shopping in Rome is my absolute favourite. It’s made me feel right at home.’
She glanced up from under her lashes in a way that set his teeth on edge, even as he realised that under all that smoky eye make-up her eyes were as huge and stunning as he might have expected. A kind of mossy green he’d never seen before.
‘I’m afraid I saw the word trousseau and I got a little excited. They’re delivering the rest tomorrow.’
‘The rest?’ He blanched at that, eyes widening slightly.
‘Oh, yes.’ She trilled a little laugh. ‘This is just a few things to keep me going.
‘Actually—’ she looked around speculatively and bit her lip ‘—the Harrington Hotel is a beautiful hotel, Mr Delucca, but I’m used to a little more space. At The Chatsfield, for instance, they’re so wonderful about storing shopping.’
Gianni bit down the distaste—he’d chosen this hotel because of its hushed discreet exclusivity. The Chatsfield’s opulent luxuriousness tended to attract more attention, which Gianni instinctively shied away from.
‘Anyway,’ Keelin said brightly, drawing Gianni’s attention back to her, ‘this is fine for now, and I just heard a rumour that Sheikh Zayn and Sophie Parsons might be staying here.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Did you see the pictures of their wedding? So glamorous and romantic. I’d love to catch a glimpse of them.’
No, Gianni thought grimly. He hadn’t seen pictures of some society wedding. However, it rang a bell and he did recall something now about James Chatsfield hitting the headlines again for living up to his playboy reputation in some exclusive ski resort, which was just another reason to prefer the discretion of The Harrington.
Keelin was smiling at him guilelessly. She looked sweet but vacant. And for the first time Gianni felt something inside him tighten in rejection of a wife who would be little more than a glossy appendage on the end of his arm. Even though that’s what he’d told himself he’d be happy with for the sake of a deal.
Before he could formulate another sentence though, Keelin had moved over to a small table with an ice bucket on top. As she bent forward slightly Gianni couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the lean lines of her body. She was slim and toned, yet as undeniably curvy as she’d been in the photo. That at least hadn’t lied.
The swell of her breast against the taut material of the dress made heat pulse in his groin. It confounded him. His head rejected everything about this woman but his body was running to a different beat. A much more visceral one.
Keelin was pouring the sparkling golden liquid into a glass. She turned back to him and said brightly, ‘Champers?’
Gianni noticed that she had full lips and the slightest overbite, an anomaly that made him think of carnal things, like how her mouth would look wrapped around—
‘I love champagne, a little weakness of mine, I’m afraid.’
She was thrusting a full glass at him and breaking apart the completely unwelcome X-rated image before he could respond. Gianni took it and watched as she turned to put the bottle back, the tight black sheath of her designer dress stretching over those curves again, teasing him.
When she turned back, his eyes tracked to her breasts and she caught him looking, but before he could lambast himself for this completely unsuave behaviour, she was saying excitedly, ‘Do you like the look? I love Italian designers.’
She held up her glass and smiled brightly. ‘Cheers, Mr Delucca.’
Gianni forced down the sense of things veering out of his control to see that wide smile caked in so much lipstick. He held up his glass too. He would not be deterred by some bad taste and heavy make-up. Or by the fact that the photo he’d seen must have been taken when she was sixteen.
All this woman needed was a little finessing. He would hire an expert stylist to make her over. Already he was imagining what she might look like without that dreadful tan job and make-up. In a dress that flowed over her curves.
He felt as if some measure of control was returning for the first time since she’d opened the suite door. He smiled. ‘Please call me Gianni.’
For a second he thought he saw a flash of something like panic in those huge eyes but it disappeared and she frowned, a small line marring the otherwise smooth perfection of her forehead. ‘But isn’t your name Giancarlo?’
Her Irish accent mangled his name charmingly. ‘I prefer Gianni.’
She shrugged and smiled before throwing back at least half a glass of the champagne in one go. ‘Gianni, it is then.’
She reached for the bottle again to refill her glass and a memory of his drunk father exploded into his head. Angry and unsettled at that intrusive and unwelcome image because it reminded him of so much more, Gianni put his glass down on a nearby table.
She looked at him, surprised, and he said abruptly, ‘I’m afraid I can’t indulge. I just came to see how you were settling in. Needless to say we have lots to talk about.’
She looked at him blankly for a moment before what he said seemed to register and then she let out a slightly embarrassed giggle. ‘Oh, you mean the wedding. Of course, silly me. Yes, lots to talk about.’
She threw back more champagne and the action alternately annoyed and aroused him. His recent sense of being in control eroding slightly. ‘We’ll meet downstairs in the bar at seven-thirty?’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Fab, can’t wait.’
Gianni pulled a card out of his inside pocket and handed it to her; for a moment she did that blank thing again before taking it.
He quashed the flash of irritation and explained, ‘Those are my private numbers in case you need to contact me in the meantime.’
She looked at him and smiled and for a second lust rose again to drown out all of the very mixed things Gianni was feeling. This meeting had definitely been surreal and disturbing in a way he hadn’t expected.
He backed away, determined not to allow the sense of disappointment to rise. ‘Till later, Keelin. I look forward to getting to know you.’ He had to quash the uncharitable thought that there wasn’t much more to know.
She tipped her glass towards him and some champagne sloshed out onto the stunning carpet but she was oblivious. ‘Ciao.’ She giggled, ‘See? I’m already practically fluent.’
Gianni smiled but it was hard. He let himself out of the suite and took the lift back to the lobby and strode back out to this waiting car. The sense of relief was enormous. But he refused to be dissuaded by the fact that his evidently not very bright fiancée had apparently spent what looked to him to be the national debt of a small country in the space of a few hours. He’d given her the credit card after all, as a little sweetener. So, she was a shopaholic? What woman wasn’t? He just needed to guide her in a more tasteful direction.
As his car moved off smoothly into the Rome traffic, a muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn’t mind the prospect of making over his fiancée; after all, style was something that had to be learned. He knew because he’d done it. But the image of her knocking back the champagne stuck in his craw; the thought of her hostessing a private dinner party filled with VIPs made his skin go clammy with panic.
He thought then of the women he’d chosen as lovers—their impeccable taste and style. Their ability to seamlessly blend into any social environment without drawing adverse attention to themselves, or him. Keelin was like a vivid bird of paradise in comparison, and not in a good way. It made him nervous. He was under so much scrutiny because of his father that he’d made it part of his life’s ambition to never give anyone an excuse to say, Like father like son.
He needed to project an air of unimpeachability and stability, so people would trust him professionally. His early life had been a litany of violence, fear and ugliness. Gianni forced himself to take a deep breath. Keelin was not of that world. She was just a bit garish. He could handle this, handle her. He would have to, because marrying her meant a fast track to that respectability and acceptability he craved.
Gianni made a terse call to his assistants instructing them to make sure that a table had been booked for dinner that evening. He sighed and told himself that he was not dissuaded from his course just because his fiancée appeared all too coarse.
* * *
Keelin paced in the hotel suite, agitation making her movements jerky. She angrily kicked off the too-high shoes and opened another window to try and get rid of the noxious stench of perfume. As soon as Gianni had left she’d tipped the remaining contents of the glasses and bottle down the sink. She’d normally never touch the stuff, because it gave her thumping headaches and she could feel one brewing now.
She felt silly all over again, like a child playing dress-up, even though it was something she’d never indulged in because she’d been too busy adoringly trailing her father and looking for the smallest sliver of attention.
Also, she had not been prepared for the physicality of Gianni Delucca, or that he would have such an effect on her. It was disconcerting to say the least. She recalled the way his dark gaze had rested on her breasts and how a flash of heat had bloomed in her solar plexus. It had almost knocked her off her feet with its force.
She’d put blinkers on where men were concerned for a long time, after a traumatic incident in her last year of secondary level school. She’d allowed herself to be vulnerable one time too many in a bid to seek the kind of male attention she’d been starved of from her father and it had resulted in a nightmare scenario that had shocked her out of her teenage angst and rebellion, and forced her to grow up overnight.
And until now no one had managed to make her feel remotely interested...but one look at Gianni and a slumbering part of her had woken right up.
She struggled to refocus and not think about her disturbing reaction to him—had she at least helped to convince him that she was a dizzy, overindulged, spoilt, shopaholic heiress with nothing between her ears except which celebrities might be staying in the hotel? The fact that she’d pulled that nugget of information from a headline she’d seen recently was a pure fluke.
She hoped it was doing the trick, and yet her act felt tawdry and flimsy now. She itched to get out of the too-tight dress and back into her favourite jeans and shirt, hair pulled messily into a knot on top of her head. She also longed to get out and see some of Rome’s best known sights but unfortunately she couldn’t play the part of herself right now. The stakes were too high.
For a long time Keelin had been weak enough to believe that a man’s love and attention could fill the aching chasm in her soul, until she’d realised that it was only herself she could rely on for that sustenance, and that any such notions had been borne out of the lack of love her parents, and father in particular, had shown her. Freud would have analysed her in seconds, she’d been so pathetically transparent.
She’d come to understand that her focus had to be on concrete things like staking her claim on her family business—not wishy-washy notions that the unconditional love of a man would heal something that had broken a long time ago.
She assured herself she could do this. Gianni Delucca, and his disturbing brand of masculinity and fathomless dark eyes that had watched her far too carefully, was not going to deter her from her path.
* * *
That evening Gianni looked at his watch impatiently. Keelin was late, over half an hour late to be precise. For someone who was a stickler for punctuality, this grated on his still-jangling nerves. He’d never waited for a woman in his life. And he really did not relish overhearing the bar staff discussing rumours about a merger between the Harrington and the Chatsfield hotels. The last thing he wanted was a blaze of publicity to accompany this wedding. He was about to take out his mobile when he heard a hush descend on the exclusive Harrington Hotel bar and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled just before he looked up.
Keelin stood silhouetted in the doorway. Every head turned towards her. Gianni’s eyes felt like they might explode out of his skull with a mixture of horror and unwelcome desire. He’d thought her dress earlier was short, but what she wore now would have made it look like a nun’s habit. Her legs were completely bare, all the way up to where her modesty was just about preserved by the multicoloured lamé material of her dress. If it could even be called that.
A dress that skimmed out over womanly hips, dipping in to her small waist before curving sinuously over perfect breasts, tantalisingly visible in the open V that showed her flesh from neck to navel. The whole apparatus seemed to be precariously held in place by a gold hoop necklace that showed off her bare shoulders and arms.
That glorious red hair was bigger than it had been earlier, tousled and falling down behind her shoulders. Gianni was stunned. In shock. She looked like a call girl, but he felt the sharp kick of a lust so powerful it shocked him. Even as he was vowing that she would never, ever, appear in public with him again dressed like this.
And then that green, heavily made-up gaze settled on him and she raised an arm and called across the muted dimly lit bar, ‘There you are!’
Gianni winced and hated himself for it, as those long legs ate up the luxuriously carpeted distance and every head swivelled to follow her leonine progress. Dio. He’d seen more clothes on a Las Vegas showgirl. Even if she did move with an innately sensual grace that made his lust kick even more, confounding him. Was he really so rough underneath the respectable sheen he’d acquired that he appreciated this?
She reached him and stopped, her feet strapped into insanely delicate and ornate-looking gold high-heeled sandals. She obviously misread his interest and lifted one foot and said chummily as if he really cared, ‘Just off the catwalk.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Like, this is ridiculous. I could happily live and shop here for ever.’
Then she looked at him and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes widening comically before she said, ‘I can’t believe I just said that! That’s exactly what I’ll be doing when we get married!’
Gianni was conscious of people looking and whispering and felt the prickle of that public scrutiny. And the need to get away from it. Which is what Keelin O’Connor should be helping him with, along with the kudos of joining forces with O’Connor Foods.
Angry that she was putting doubts in his mind again, Gianni took her elbow and said tightly, ‘We should go, they’re waiting for us in the restaurant.’
He gritted his jaw as a wave of that noxious perfume assaulted his nostrils again. Keelin was resisting ever so slightly and he looked at her. She made a small pout. ‘Not even time for a weensy glass of prosecco?’
She gushed, ‘I love prosecco, it’s my new favourite drink. I had it in the spa this afternoon while I was getting my nails done.’
She shoved her hand under his nose then and waggled her fingers, showing off blood-red talons with a diamanté sparkle in the center of each one. His stomach lurched.
‘You like?’
Gianni swallowed a sense of doom and took advantage of her momentary distraction to keep moving. ‘They’re fantastic.’
As they walked out of the bar and across the marbled lobby, Gianni noticed a few men almost get whiplash, their heads jerked so hard when they saw Keelin. To his disgust, he felt a very uncharacteristic urge to go and snarl at every one of those men to keep their gazes on their own women.
Keelin was chattering away, blissfully unaware, ‘...and I’m sorry I was late but I saw the most divine ruby necklace that would set off the peach resort dress I bought today, and then they had this thing on the Discovery channel about dogs—’ She gripped his arm just as the maître d’ of the restaurant caught his eye and ushered him in.
Gianni stopped and looked at her impatiently. ‘Yes?’
She was gazing up at him, wide green eyes hopeful. ‘Can we have a dog, please? I’ve always wanted a dog and Daddy never let me have one because he said I wasn’t responsible enough.’
Her lower lip trembled. Cristo, was she about to cry? Gianni felt a clawing sense of claustrophobia, desperation. He dragged in a breath and reassured himself she was just excited and overwhelmed. It had been a mistake to give her the credit card; clearly she couldn’t be trusted with unlimited funds. They’d talk over dinner and she wouldn’t be as silly as he feared she was. She couldn’t be.
‘We’ll discuss it, okay?’
Her green eyes shone with hope and gratitude, bright with unshed tears. ‘Thank you, Gianni, so much. I know we’re going to be really happy together. Daddy promised you’d take care of me, just like he has.’
Gianni didn’t have time to let that last little bombshell land because the maître d’ was leading them to the table. Daddy promised you’d take care of me? She was looking at him like a father figure? When he was looking at her and feeling a powerful mix of desire and disgust? Now he was freaked out on top of everything else.
An hour later, Gianni was also very much in doubt that any kind of happiness lay on the horizon. Irritation perhaps. Now that definitely featured. But he schooled his features and affected nothing but extreme interest in his fiancée, who he suspected could make an Olympic sport out of chattering inanely without drawing breath.
When she did pause to draw breath for one moment, Gianni took advantage and put up a hand to stop her next monologue about the way she felt reality-TV shows were so true to life.
‘Keelin, we need to talk about this marriage.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_048bbfe4-6a9e-5670-9470-98af250848ec)
KEELIN WAS ACTUALLY relieved that Gianni had cut her off. She’d been ready to scream and had just been wondering what the hell she could witter on about next. But now she registered what he’d just said and suddenly air was in short supply. She forced a bright vacuous smile. ‘Okay.’
He looked at her and she felt acutely self-conscious in the ridiculous outfit she was wearing. Her skin felt tight, sensitive. She was aware of her bare breasts brushing against the material of her dress or the material that called itself a dress. Her nipples were as hard as bullets and Keelin’s frustration mounted.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I won’t lie. I want this deal with your father and if that means marrying you, then I’m willing to do it, but I’m not such an ogre that I’ll force someone into a marriage they don’t want.’
The fact that he was actually being reasonable barely impacted. Keelin thought fast. If she fessed up now, then Gianni would walk away but tell her father that she’d called it off. And her father would never give her a chance to prove herself. It would be seen as one more rebellion, even though she’d stopped rebelling long ago.
No. She needed it to look like Gianni had rejected her, and at least that way she’d have proved her devotion to the company and her father would have to give her a chance.
Crossing everything she could, Keelin said breathily, ‘My father loves me and I know he would only choose someone he really respected and trusted to marry me.’ She widened her eyes. ‘I only want what’s best for O’Connor Foods and if I can help Daddy by doing this, then I’m happy.’ She almost choked on the word Daddy.
Gianni’s face was utterly expressionless and it made Keelin nervous. She couldn’t read him. Was she overacting? Underacting?
He spoke slowly. ‘You need to know this will only ever be a marriage born out of a business arrangement. This will never be about hearts and flowers, Keelin. Any children will be heirs to both our family legacies, keeping the names alive. That’s why we’re doing this. And if you think you can live with those circumstances, then I’ll be happy to let your father know we’ll marry in two weeks.’
Gianni’s words resonated deep inside her. This will never be about hearts and flowers. The thought of falling in love with a ruthless businessman like Gianni made Keelin go cold all over. It would be the worst kind of repetition of a lesson she’d already learnt too well. It would never happen. She felt vulnerable just thinking about it and repressed a shudder.
She pushed that revelation down deep and giggled girlishly. ‘After the way you’ve been looking after me already? I just know I’m going to love it here.’
A muscle in his jaw popped slightly at that and Keelin felt a rush of satisfaction. He couldn’t be as sanguine as he looked. He would have a breaking point as to what kind of a wife he’d accept and she intended to find it.
Gianni put down his napkin. ‘Very well then, I’ll let your father know the good news.’
Keelin was already relishing the chance to get out of this man’s disturbing orbit so she could think of her next move, but then he said, ‘I have something for you.’
She looked at him, and then at the small velvet box he’d taken out of his jacket pocket. Damn. A ring.
Gianni opened the box and Keelin was almost dazzled by a huge square-cut diamond. It was a beautiful ring but not remotely original. Impersonal. Which was fitting. So why did something deep inside her feel ever so slightly disappointed at this evidence of Gianni’s lack of consideration. She should be rejoicing!
‘It’s lovely.’ She commented dutifully, and with what she hoped was a suitably dazzled smile.
‘See if it fits.’ Gianni plucked it out of the box and held it out.
Keelin slid the glittering ring onto her finger. It fit like a glove. As if the universe was conspiring with Gianni and her father to trap her. She dutifully moved her hand this way and that and thought to herself how far removed it was from the kind of ring she’d choose for herself.
Gianni was looking at his watch now and Keelin had a clear sense that she and the ring were on a checklist of things to do and she didn’t like the old sensation of resentment that surged up like bile.
He looked back at her. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’d like to get some rest. I’ll call the wedding planner in the morning to arrange a meeting.’
Keelin smiled sweetly and let Gianni guide her back out of the hotel restaurant even as she realised that she needed to up her game if she was going to really ruffle this man’s incredible sense of complacency.
He turned to her at the lifts and smiled and for a second Keelin forgot everything as she registered his sheer charisma and good looks. The lift doors opened and he held them back while she stepped in. His scent wound around her, making her feel a little hazy.
‘Buonanotte, Keelin. Till tomorrow.’
She smiled when she wanted to grimace, hating his effect on her. ‘Goodnight, Gianni.’
The lift doors closed on that far too distracting and darkly handsome face and Keelin sagged back against the mirrored wall. Delucca was about to learn that the meek and biddable wife he believed he’d acquired was anything but. And why did that suddenly feel like such an uphill battle?
For all of his apparent civility, Keelin had seen something hard in the depths of those dark eyes. Something immovable. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tangle with it, no matter how determined she was.
* * *
It was the following evening before Keelin got to see Gianni again. He’d called her that morning and made his apologies but something had come up and he was going to be unavoidably detained in meetings all day.
Keelin had sweetly said not to worry about it. She was used to that treatment and couldn’t let it get to her now. It wasn’t as if she was actually going to have to deal with it after all.
In any case she had been busy all day, too, with the enthusiastic wedding planner and very obsequious Harrington Hotel PR manager. She’d almost felt sorry for them both, knowing that she was likely to make this wedding more infamous than famous.
Keelin checked her reflection in the mirror now and grimaced. She was wearing a glittery all-in-one black jumpsuit, complete with gold belt and slits up the side of each leg, visible when she walked. Together with vertiginous heels and copious amounts of gold jewellery, she was blingtastic.
When the knock came on her suite door she took a deep breath, not liking the flutters in her belly at the thought of seeing Gianni again. What was that about?
She opened the door and her hand tightened around the knob reflexively. He was even more devastating than she remembered. A dark shadow of stubble on his jaw. Shirt and tie, dark suit. A picture of casual Italian elegance yet with a masculine edge that was all too raw.
‘Buonasera, Keelin, are you ready?’
Keelin nodded and noticed that his eyes dropped over her attire but he didn’t compliment her. Because he couldn’t bring himself to? She hoped so, because she guessed with another kind of woman compliments would roll off his tongue. A rogue part of her shivered to think of standing before him in something far more her, and wanting his compliments. On the way down to the lobby he apologised again for being detained and she waved it aside, smiling. ‘Please don’t worry. I had a hectic day too.’
As he led her out of the hotel, she managed to keep up an inconsequential but hopefully very annoying chatter about all the minutiae of the wedding preparations, knowing how men in general detested anything like that.
She was still chattering while Gianni led her outside to a low-slung silver bullet of a sports car and then started again as soon as he sat into the driver’s seat. Only the flicker of that muscle in his jaw told her she was hitting any kind of mark.
When she was drawing breath for another round of the most uninteresting conversation ever, Gianni interjected smoothly, ‘I thought you might like to have dinner at my apartment? I have a view overlooking the Colosseum.’
Dammit. Those flutters were back at the prospect of being alone with this man. She made a small pout. ‘I do love to people-watch but I suppose we have lots to discuss.’
He slid her a dark glance—and was that a hint of irritation she could see around his mouth? She hoped so.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘we do have lots to talk about. I thought a quieter location might be more suitable.’
In any other instance Keelin would have appreciated his consideration but not now. But was she already going so far that he was reluctant to show her off in public? That had to be a good thing. It wasn’t long before they were pulling up outside a formidable-looking building. Very old, but with an interesting architectural twist of lots of glass. Keelin liked it and found herself asking without thinking, ‘Is this where you live?’
Gianni nodded as he parked the car with effortlessly sexy skill. ‘It houses my offices too. I own the whole building.’
Keelin watched, a little dumbfounded by his admission, as he unfolded his tall powerful frame from the car and came around to her side to let her out. She had to put out a hand for his help and when his strong fingers closed around hers she felt the blood pulse between her legs.
No! Everything in her rejected this attraction.
He drew her up and they were so close they were almost touching. Keelin saw his eyes track down to the top of her jumpsuit and saw them flare. Panic gripped her. She was meant to be turning him off, not on. And that went for herself too.
Something resolute crossed his face as if he was fighting a similar battle in his own head. He stepped back and let her hand go. Keelin’s blood was pumping so fast that she felt a little light-headed.
A doorman opened the door for them and Gianni introduced him as Lorenzo. Keelin smiled politely, and then they were ascending in the lift and the confined steel box was doing little to make her less aware of him. He seemed to take up a ridiculous amount of space.
When the doors slid open, there was a small plush corridor and Gianni was opening the door into the most stunning apartment Keelin had ever seen. She tried not to be impressed, to affect a blasé response, but it was a challenge not to let her jaw drop.
It was enormous, obviously the length and width of the building. Open plan but broken up by seriously luxurious discreet furnishings. Everything from the art on the walls to the rugs on the floors was perfectly pitched and placed. Seriously impressive.
She’d been facing away from Gianni and now he walked around in front of her. She quickly schooled her features into something more disinterested and said, ‘This is your only home in Rome?’
Gianni nodded. ‘What did you expect, cara? A palatial villa on one of Rome’s most exclusive hills overlooking gardens that belonged to emperors?’
Keelin made a small shrug and said, ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect.’ Hoping to project disappointment.
Gianni said dryly, ‘I do also own a villa in Umbria.’
Keelin feigned delight. ‘I believe it’s beautiful there.’
‘It is. I expect it’s where you’ll spend a lot of time once we’re married, but of course you’ll be welcome in the city whenever you need diversion.’
Gianni walked over to a phone, saying, ‘I’ll call the chef and let him know we’re ready to eat.’
It was just as well he was facing away from her because Keelin was glaring at his back. He expected that she’d be happy to be farmed out to some crumbling Italian villa so that he could get on with his own, obviously far more important, life?
Maybe he saw her out there with a brood of dark-haired sons, grooming them to be the perfect heirs. For a second though, Keelin’s anger was pierced by something very scary to think of a miniature Gianni running around.
She crushed that image ruthlessly. This is exactly what her parents had done. Left her alone in their cavernous house for long months at a time. It was time to push Gianni off his complacent perch.
Within seconds of him making the call, discreet staff were preparing the dining room and he led her into the glass-walled space. Keelin did her best not to notice the stunning decor and assured herself she wouldn’t be coming here for diversions.
Staff opened some champagne and she pushed down the queasiness, saying brightly, ‘We should probably discuss the important stuff, like children.’
Gianni looked at her, cheeks flaring slightly with colour—because she was talking about this in front of his staff? He waited until they were alone and he lifted his glass of sparkling wine. ‘You want to discuss that now?’
Keelin took a sip of the champagne and tried not to let her aversion to it show on her face. When she put her glass down she tried to look serious. ‘Better now than never.’
She leant forward a little and said conspiratorially, ‘Honestly? I didn’t imagine even contemplating children until I’m in my thirties. But obviously in light of this engagement I’ve been thinking about it.’
She bit her lip as if this pained her to say. ‘To be perfectly frank, the idea of labour and being pregnant is a serious downer. But I’d be open to adopting.’
She sat back again and elaborated as their starters were delivered. ‘A friend of mine adopted a baby from Africa and she’s so cute! All the big designers have kids’ collections now, and naturally she has a nanny to take care of the day-to-day stuff.’
‘You mean the child rearing.’
Keelin took a bite of food and pretended to be distracted. ‘What? Oh, yes, that’s what I mean.’
She risked a glance and Gianni was looking at her with a hard expression and Keelin feigned surprise and put her fork down. ‘Oh, had you intended on having children, for real? Like, your own?’
His jaw was tight, he wasn’t touching his food. ‘Call me old-fashioned but yes, I had anticipated having children of my own.’
Keelin’s anger flared again at the way he’d obviously decided he’d have no problem with children resulting from a cold and clinical union. She forced her irritation down and said pseudo-sympathetically, ‘And you’d imagined your wife bringing them up in the villa?’
‘Something like that. My mother was my main carer, not a nanny.’
Keelin rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky you. I had a veritable parade of nannies.’ She made a faint grimace. ‘I wasn’t the easiest child apparently, but I’m sure it’s not hereditary.’
Gianni seemed prepared to let that little nugget go and frowned. ‘Where was your mother?’
Keelin pushed down the old bitterness and said airily as if it hadn’t mattered a jot, ‘Oh, you know, with Daddy on trips, or away on holidays, or shopping. I was in boarding school most of the time.’
She looked at him after eating more of her starter and washing it down with champagne. ‘You should probably hear it from me that I was expelled from four schools, including my last one, a finishing school in Switzerland.’
Gianni hadn’t touched his starter and when the staff returned he let them take it. His eyes were hooded, dangerous. ‘Hear it from you?’
Keelin shrugged. ‘In case the papers pick up on it when they find out we’re getting married.’
Gianni went rigid. He hadn’t thought about that. ‘You were expelled from all your schools?’
Keelin pouted. ‘Well, not all. Not my primary one. Just the later ones, you know how teenage rebellion is.’
She continued chummily, ‘But I can see how good that discipline was for me so I’d be a big advocate of boarding school—the earlier, the better. There are lots of great schools in Ireland.’
* * *
Gianni fought down the urge to stand up and pace up and down. Keelin was not painting a good picture, and dammit, he hated feeling as if he was being made a fool of. Her father hadn’t hinted at any of this. She was practically a delinquent! And yet she’d be only too happy to send any children they had down the same route! He’d always thought of boarding schools as upper-class nonsense.
Once again he forced himself to remain civil. ‘May I ask what your transgressions were?’
Keelin ticked off her fingers. ‘Being caught in a local bar, smoking, being caught with boys in the dorm, running away...’
Gianni felt disgust rise, not because they were serious crimes since they weren’t especially, but he hated that evidence of someone from a life of privilege taking it so much for granted, exuding a kind of supercilious confidence that said she could do whatever she liked and get away with it.
And clearly she had the idea that her life would be going in the same direction as her mother’s—that of leaving the care of her children to strangers or to a school. And they wouldn’t even be their own children if she had her way! This conversation was also making a completely hitherto unexplored sense of protectiveness at the thought of a child of his own rise up within him.
It was too much. Gianni was feeling seriously claustrophobic. But then the main course arrived and he absently picked a suitable wine to go with the meat. Only to see Keelin wrinkle up her nose and say, ‘I’ll stick to the champagne, if that’s okay. I can’t abide wine.’
Gianni took a deep calming breath and tried not to dwell on that image of Keelin at important functions insisting on champagne when everyone else was drinking wine. He made a gesture to the chef’s waiter and said urbanely, ‘Of course, have what you like.’
Blissfully, for a moment as they ate, there was silence. And once Keelin wasn’t talking and saying anything that was guaranteed to wind him up, he became uncomfortably aware of her.
In spite of the bling jewellery, big hair, lots of make-up and fake tan, she was clearly a beauty. Those eyes, especially when she widened them, threatened to distract him every time. And those lush lips. And the curves underneath the provocative silk of the jumpsuit, not to mention the flash of long shapely legs every time she moved. One thing was very clear—his body would marry this woman in a second, his head though was another matter.
When their plates had been cleared, Gianni’s eyes narrowed on Keelin. For a moment she wasn’t looking at him, or looking vacant, or chattering nonsensically, and he had the strangest notion that this was all some kind of elaborate—what? Was she deliberately sending him crazy? Making him doubt himself? Maybe he was being too hasty? Surely they could talk about these things, and if they had children, then perhaps she could be persuaded that a nanny was sufficient, and not necessarily a boarding school in the remote reaches of Ireland?
But just then she looked at him again, and a small frown marred her smooth forehead. ‘There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.’
Gianni tried not to let his eyes drop to the voluptuous swell of her breasts. ‘Yes?’
Keelin looked exceedingly uncomfortable; a faint blush stained her cheeks. ‘I wanted to talk to you about sex.’
Gianni blanched a little. Had he been so obvious?
‘You see,’ she said hesitantly, ‘the thing is that it’s not for me.’
Gianni reacted on a deeply primal level. The strength of the rejection he felt at that statement was surprising. ‘Not for you?’
Keelin shook her head and looked pained. ‘No. It’s just—I hate it, to be honest.’
She shuddered delicately. ‘All that fuss over nothing. All that sweatiness and bodily fluids. Ugh.’
She must have seen something on his face because she said with a kind of dawning comprehension, ‘You didn’t expect me to be innocent, did you? Because I’ve been with, like, tons of guys. Which is how I know I hate it.’
She just wouldn’t want to be with him? The thought was like a red flag to a highly sexed male like Gianni. His jaw clenched. ‘Of course I didn’t expect you to be innocent.’
She continued in a conversational tone, ‘I’ve thought about this a lot and while I’m not willing to have sex, I don’t mind if you want to, you know, keep a mistress. You see,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that’s really why I’d prefer to adopt.’
She sighed a big sigh of relief and smiled, as if she hadn’t just landed a bomb between them. ‘I’m glad I got that out there. I was worried.’
Then she put her hand on his and said, ‘You’re a good listener, Gianni. I’m so lucky to be marrying you.’
Her smile almost dazzled him. He was beginning to feel slightly ill. And then that anger surged again to think of her father giving him an impression of a mature, intelligent woman. He took his hand out from under hers, not liking how those cool fingers had felt on his skin.
He put down his napkin, finally tipping over the edge of his patience. ‘I have no intention of taking a mistress during our marriage and I refuse to partake in the dubious exploitation of children and babies from third-world countries.’
He leant forward and tried to ignore those widening luminous green eyes. ‘And as for sex? Maybe you don’t like it because you haven’t been doing it right?’
He had a sudden urge to take Keelin’s face between his hands and stop that mouth from saying any more in the most effective way possible. His blood was pumping and he was afraid he might say something he’d regret, so he stood up abruptly. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment?’
Gianni barely waited for an answer; he strode out of the room, cursing the day Liam O’Connor had added the condition of a marriage of convenience to their contract.
He found himself pacing in his study, no less calm now that a few walls separated him and Keelin O’Connor. He could almost see her vacuous look of surprise.
Merda!
The woman was insufferable. The prospect of marrying her was unconscionable. She didn’t want children? And any children they did have or adopt she wanted to put in some stuffy boarding school? And she didn’t like sex? Well, right now, he had no desire to prove her wrong no matter how rogue his physical reactions to her were. He cursed again.
He took his mobile out of his pocket and dialled. As soon as his friend answered he instructed him curtly to do some digging into Keelin O’Connor. Something he should have done from the very start, instead of taking her father’s word that she would make him the perfect wife and partner as they went forward in business together.
He’d been so caught up with work and clearing his schedule for the merger and the wedding that he’d told himself he’d give Keelin the benefit of meeting her face to face to get to know her. He felt wrong-footed now.
He also had that persistent niggling sensation that something was amiss and he didn’t like not knowing what it was. He wanted to go back into the dining room and tell Keelin that he’d made a mistake but even now something was stopping him. The prospect of letting the deal of a lifetime go. Wasn’t there some way he could handle her? Women were usually the least of his worries!
But when Gianni did go back, something made him stop in his tracks just where he could see through a crack in the doorway to the room beyond. Keelin was looking around surreptitiously before pouring the contents of her champagne glass into a nearby plant. He kept watching, feeling a rush of shock and anger along with something else—a kind of relief, as he saw Keelin check her watch and sigh heavily.
A mix of irritation, boredom and weariness crossed her face. Nothing close to the vaguely surprised expression when he’d walked out moments ago. She could be a different person.
Gianni was glad he’d just called his friend, because it was no longer a niggling suspicion that something was off about his fiancée’s behaviour. It was a fact and he was determined to play her at her own game until he knew exactly what was going on.
* * *
About two hours later Gianni was standing back at the window of his study in his Rome apartment. He’d just seen Keelin back to her hotel, more distracted than he cared to admit by her wide pouting mouth and slightly tipsy demeanour. When he’d returned to the dining room she’d smiled brightly at him and for a second he’d almost wondered if he’d imagined what he’d seen through the crack in the door.
But then, when he’d put his hand over hers, and promised that he would do his utmost to make their marriage work, he’d seen the panic flare in her eyes.
And now he burned with anger. No one took him by surprise. His life had been full enough of surprises and danger already. He’d carefully cultivated an existence that was as far removed from all that as possible.
But Keelin O’Connor had almost taken him in. A second conversation with his friend Davide just now had told him enough to know for sure that she’d been playing him.
For one thing, his supposedly vacuous fiancée had recently graduated from one of Dublin’s most prestigious universities with the highest marks in her class, and a degree in business and economics. Not a degree in reality-TV trends, or the retail industry.
His mobile rang then and he answered curtly. His expression darkened as he bit out, ‘Which club?’
Gianni terminated the call and picked up the jacket he’d discarded earlier, his face grim. Anger turned to rage. Apparently his tipsy dizzy fiancée was not done with her sham act for the evening; she was now in one of Rome’s most exclusive nightclubs making a spectacle of herself on the dance floor while paparazzi congregated outside, tipped off that Giancarlo Delucca’s new fiancée was inside.
And tipped off by whom exactly? Gianni suspected he already knew exactly who and now he wanted to know why she was going to these lengths.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0a3210f6-e282-5fa6-b063-a223b4f34838)
THE FLESHY SWEATY man grabbed Keelin around her waist and she put her hands on his to dislodge them, while trying to make it look like she wasn’t really gritting her teeth. The idea of tipping off the paparazzi had seemed like a great idea about an hour ago after she’d sobered up with a few stiff coffees in her hotel room.
She’d had the strangest sensation after Gianni had returned to the dining room that he’d been looking at her with some kind of suspicion and it had been enough to galvanise her to pull out all the stops in her bid to deter him.
She forced another rictus grin at the dozen or so new best friends she’d made when she’d arrived at a VIP table and bought a round of champagne for everyone, courtesy of her fiancé’s black credit card.
Just when she was about to recoil in disgust because the man’s hot breath was getting closer and closer to her neck, his hands were removed and he was gone. To be replaced by someone infinitely taller, darker and more gorgeous.
Gianni. And just like that, her heart tripped.
She barely registered that he’d taken off his tie and his shirt was open at the top, giving him a rakish appeal. He came close and slid a hand around the back of her neck under her hair, tugging her shocked body towards him. He hadn’t touched her intimately up to now. Keelin had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself and could feel nothing but steel-hard pecs.
Between her legs pulsed. She was so stunned to see him and be touching him that she could only look up into eyes so dark they were black.
‘Cara,’ he said, low and seductive, ‘you really should have told me you wanted to go out after dinner. I would have taken you.’
‘I—’ Keelin stopped, her voice rusty. Not working properly. All of her usual inhibitions around men were dissolving away. Somehow he seemed to be able to reach right inside her, bypassing any rational consideration. Without even being aware of what she was doing her hands were spreading out over his chest as if to touch more of him. His smell was intoxicating, decadent and spicy. Very male.
She focused with effort. ‘I didn’t think you’d be into it.’
Gianni shook his head and smiled as if at some private joke. ‘Bella, I’m into anything you’re into. Now let’s dance.’
He took Keelin’s hand in an iron grip as he tugged her behind him to the dance floor. She felt sick, her legs wobbly in her high heels as she tried to assimilate this information and wonder how the hell Gianni had known where she was? Then she remembered tipping off the paparazzi and had her answer. No doubt Rome was full of people who would report back to him.
And without the fog of champagne clouding her judgement—she’d stuck to water since she’d arrived—she sensed an edgy tension coming from him. His hand on hers was hot and large. Experimentally she tried to pull away but his hold tightened. They got to the dance floor and the music worked against Keelin when it became slow and sexy, couples moving into sinuous embraces.
She was aware of people around them looking and whispering. This was not what she’d planned. At all. She’d planned on being all but carried out of the club, for maximum adverse news coverage.
But now Gianni was spreading his hands on her hips, and pulling her close, a wicked smile making his sensual mouth curve. But when she dragged her gaze up, there was something hard in his eyes. Keelin wobbled, and that suspicion returned. It was too huge to contemplate that he’d seen through her—so, weakly, she didn’t.
She kept her hands firmly between them even though a very rogue part of her was seriously tempted to melt against him and twine them around his neck. Gianni moved a hand down to leave it resting uncomfortably close to the swell of her buttocks. Keelin’s skin prickled into goosebumps of awareness.
He started to move in time to the music, their bodies fitting together far too well for Keelin’s liking. Gianni’s hand moved lower and Keelin’s breath came quicker as he subtly pressed her hips into his even more. When she felt the hardness of his thick arousal against her belly her feet stopped and heat climbed up over her chest to her face. It was shocking. Shockingly exciting. And what was even more shocking was that her immediate reaction wasn’t one of repulsion or fear.
Far too late Keelin tried to push him back a little. She was aware of how scantily dressed she was. The flimsy barrier of her silk jumpsuit affording no protection against his lean and aroused body.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his. They were definitely hard now, and assessing. Panic flared. Keelin tried to put some space between them when all her body seemed to want to do was press even closer, imprint herself on him. Shocked at her reaction and angry now, remembering her agenda, she hissed, ‘I told you, I’m not into this kind of thing.’
Gianni, not remotely fazed, queried with a raised brow, ‘What? The sex thing?’
The music was low and throbbing, colluding with Keelin’s heartbeat and body. She felt hot, flustered and out of her depth.
‘Yes,’ she hissed again.
Gianni’s hands moved over her languorously, sensually, heightening every nerve ending in her body. He put his mouth near her ear and drawled, ‘I think, bella, that we’ll have to agree to disagree. You see, I think you will be very good at this sex thing.’
Keelin jerked her head back but it was too late. Just as she realised what Gianni intended and as he pressed her even closer, his head swooped and his mouth covered hers.
Keelin had been kissed before. Plenty of times. She’d become something of an expert in her teens, having perfected the art of kissing and going so far with boys without going further—until that traumatic night when she’d realised just how close she’d skirted to the edges of danger in a bid to seek male attention.
But Gianni was no lanky twenty-year-old testosterone-fuelled guy. He was all man. In his virile prime. And Keelin had no defences.
She was pressed so hard into his body that she could feel every taut sinew and hard muscle. His mouth on hers was firm, but demanding. Hard. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and without even being really conscious of what she was doing her mouth opened to him.
And then Gianni dominated her with sensual ease. His tongue swept in, stroking hers roughly, eliciting a response that made her legs weak, and hot sensations eddy between her legs. Her lower gut tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before.
That finally sent some kind of awareness to her brain and Keelin pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide, staring into pools of dark brown.
Gianni’s face was all stark lines and an unsmiling mouth. Keelin’s lips tingled and felt swollen.
‘I think it’s time to leave, cara,don’t you?’
He didn’t wait for an answer; he just took his arms from around her and led her off the dance floor, taking her hand when people crushed around them. The music had changed to fast again and Keelin felt humiliated to imagine how they’d looked standing in the middle of energetically dancing couples while Gianni had demonstrated his easy dominance.
Everything in her chafed at that and when they got back up to the seating area she pulled her hand free. A girl was approaching with her short gold jacket and Gianni took it and held it out, for all the world the solicitous fiancé who was eager to get to a more private location.
Keelin had half a mind to stalk out and made a minute move but Gianni was blocking her way, as if reading her mind. She glared at him and he stared back.
With the utmost reluctance she put her arms in the jacket and let him settle it on her shoulders. Was it her imagination or was his slightly heavy-handed touch a warning?
When she turned again he had her clutch bag. She took it, just as he reached for her other hand again. But just like that kiss hadn’t been a lover’s kiss, his touch now was not gentle. It was an exercise in proving his strength and will.
And all she could think about was how she’d arched closer to him and let her tongue slip into his own mouth to explore all that heat and his intoxicating male taste. Humiliation burned her again; the minute he’d touched her she should have been flouncing off the dance floor, not pressing closer to him like a needy little kitten.
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