Making over the Billionaire (an Italian Connection Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (13 page)

He rolled them over so that she was on top and he was sitting up. With their gazes locked and every sweat-sheened muscle rigid and pulsing, they moved together in intense, perfect rhythm. His hands gripped her hips, hers clung to his shoulders. The tension built with each rocking thrust. She was lost in his dark gaze, so melded to him it was as if they’d become one in mind and body. And heart. The tension built and became unbearable. Then the wave peaked and crashed over her and she dissolved, turning to nothing but pure pleasure. With their bodies still trembling and clinging to each other he rolled them onto their sides. She was utterly spent, her orgasm so cataclysmic there was nothing left for aftershocks.

For a long time she lay there, just listening to the sound of his breath in her ear and his heart against hers. Gradually the bubble enclosing them became permeable to outside sensory input. The subliminal hum of the generator, the rumpled bed linen, distant music on another yacht, the scent of gardenia from the bouquet on the coffee table, a scratch on Giorgio’s back where she’d dug her nails in.

He drew back a little, still inside her, and kissed softly on her swollen lips. Her gaze held his. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to break the fragile cocoon surrounding them, keeping them as one, in a stretching moment of stillness. Somewhere out there was a busy world that would claim him all too soon. But for right now, in this perfect moment at the end of a perfect day, he was hers. He didn’t speak either, as if speech would diminish the moment.

She touched his face lightly, tracing his winged, black eyebrow out to his temple where a vein ran beneath olive skin, curving back along the high ridge of his cheekbone, up across his strong nose and down to the deep bow in his sculpted upper lip. He captured the tip of her finger, sucked it briefly, and then let it go on its journey along the bottom lip to the slight cleft in his chin and up the steep angle of his jaw. He had a classic face. She’d seen his likeness all over Rome in marble statues hundreds of years old. And yet he was unique in every tiny detail. As she studied him, he looked so somber that she smiled.

He touched the uplifted corner of her mouth. “What’s funny?”

“You are.” He wasn’t, really, but the most awesome orgasm of her entire life had left her filled with a bubbling, jubilant euphoria.

“I am not.” His mild outrage made her laugh. That galvanized him into action. He tickled her under her armpits, making her squirm and squeal.

She tried to escape by rolling off the bed. He leaped after her and flung her back onto the bed, pinning her down to tickle her some more. “Uncle!” Breathless, she tried to fight back but collapsed into giggles. “Stop, I mean it. No, really.”

He hovered over her on all fours, his expression mock stern. “Am I funny now?”

Another attack of the giggles overtook her. “You’re hysterical.”

He growled and kissed her a hard smack on the lips then rolled onto his back next to her. Idly he pulled her discarded bra out from under him and was going to toss it onto a chair when he switched on the lamp next to the bed to examine it more closely. “Did you really sew this yourself?”

“I sew all the lingerie myself.”

He got up and went to a drawer in his desk and brought out a magnifying glass. Coming back to the lamp he examined the garment more closely. “Aha!”

Layla lay back on the pillows, lazily watching him with a smile on her face. “What?”

“The stitches are amazingly tiny and exactly the same size. They’re also perfectly evenly spaced but the odd one is just a fraction of a millimeter out of alignment. You would never notice with the naked eye.”

“Oh, dear. I’ll have to try harder,” she said, amused.

“No, I’m relieved. I was beginning to think either you’d done this on a machine or else you were a machine.” He turned around and subjected her to the same close scrutiny he’d just given her bra strap. “You are very impressive.”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” she said. “Precision sewing is the one perfect thing in my messy world.”

He came back to bed and stretched out beside her to run his fingers through her hair. “Why is your world so messy?”

“Not my world. Me.” She looked into his eyes, only inches away. It was going to be hard to say goodbye. “Emotionally messy. I tend to fall in love with inappropriate men.”

“Like Richard.”

Layla gave a small smile. She’d meant Giorgio. “Yeah, like Richard.”

“What else is messy in your life?”

“Let’s see.” She frowned, thinking. “I already told you I never finished college. I forget to pay bills. I can play the piano by ear, but I can’t form a marketing program for my designs.”

“Marketing is easy.” And lying there, naked, he reeled off half a dozen things she should be doing but wouldn’t have thought of on her own.

“That’s amazing. I should write that all down before I forget.” She sat up. “Have you got a pen?”

“Relax, I’ll email it to you.” He pushed her gently back down to the pillow. “With your talent you should be able to get a contract with another fashion house.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she said, instantly deflating. Even though he thought her work was amazing he wouldn’t break his code and give her a contract. She waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “I’ve had offers before but they all want me to lower my standards in some way, like not hand stitching all the garments to cut costs.”

“There’s a simple solution—form your own company.”

“I would but I’ve used up all my resources. I can’t afford to subsidize myself any longer.” She played with the curly hair on his chest. “What would you do if Tina just went ahead and put me under contract on her own?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “She couldn’t. She, Francesca, and Angela don’t have the authority to make major decisions without a meeting of the board of which I am head. Every decision has to be okayed by me.”

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Clearly Tina had been too optimistic when she’d promised her a contract. Unless she’d never really been serious about that… “Not even if it’s a decision that affects only her part of the business?”

“There’s no such thing. Every part of the Borlenghi empire has repercussions for the rest of us. If she takes a loss as a result of a bad investment or hiring the wrong person then the corporation suffers. I have ultimate control. That’s why the Borlenghi Group is so strong.”

“What if something were to happen to you?” Layla asked. “Who would be in charge then?”

A small frown appeared as he apparently tried to get his head around a world where he wasn’t Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders. “Tina is next in line. You’re right, it’s a worry, especially with Fabio on the scene. I need to amend the corporation’s constitution to insert posthumous directives for my successors.”

“Oh my God!” Layla threw herself backward on the bed, arms outstretched. “You’re a freaking dictator. Napoleon Bonaparte has nothing on you.”

“I’m good at being in charge,” he said. “And I like it.”

“You work too hard.”

“Sometimes,” he conceded. “But that’s the price I willingly pay for being the head of a global empire.”

He looked like an emperor, even naked on a rumpled bed, with his raven hair tousled and his eyes dark with desire and fatigue and the relentless workings of his mind.

She couldn’t change him. No one could. His spirit was too strong for ordinary mortals like her. Oh, she might soften him a little, get him to take a day off now and then, but fundamentally he was who he was, and he always would be. Proud, capricious, mostly benevolent, but ruthless when he needed to be. Passionate, generous and with a vision that saw far beyond the horizon. He was misguided about his control of the company but only out of the best of intentions.

“I have a question for you,” Giorgio said. “Why did you put all your hope into the House of Borlenghi? You are someone who does her homework. You must have known we don’t hire foreigners.”

“I like what the House of Borlenghi stands for. Quality. Tradition. Stability.”

“The very things I’m fighting to preserve by keeping the company all Italian. Not that your lingerie isn’t of excellent quality. It’s fine enough to be part of the atelier. It’s just not the right provenance.” He paused. “By not considering other fashion houses I think you set yourself up to fail.”

“Why would I do that?” Layla asked. “After all the work I put into this, all the money…” She fell silent, thinking of all the hours she’d poured over Internet articles on all the Borlenghis. The photos of them holidaying together, the stories of how they helped each other, and celebrated every holiday together. She’d fallen in love with the whole damn family. Maybe she really was a crazy stalker lady.

She’d never thought she would actually get to know them. Now that she had, it was going to be very hard to leave. She would miss Giorgio the most but also Tina. His other sisters were awesome and from what she’d read his mom, Isabella, seemed pretty cool, too.

“Family,” she said quietly. “That’s what I like about the House of Borlenghi. I like the way you’re a team, the way you work together and play together. I don’t want to work for a big impersonal corporation.”

“Now you know the truth behind the façade,” Giorgio said bitterly.

“It’s not a façade,” Layla said. “You guys have your differences. You’re passionate people so you get excited and go over the top. But you love each other. And you look out for each other.”

He hesitated. “You could stay in Rome. I could give you a business loan, get you set up.”

She stilled, not quite sure what he was suggesting. ”I have no money left. Zilch. Nada. I couldn’t repay you for, like, decades. Why would you give me a loan?”

His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth and back to her eyes. “I wonder what we might be like together if neither of us had an agenda. If we were together because we wanted to be. I could rent an apartment for you.”

Oh, God, she was so tempted. It was almost everything she’d wanted, bar a contract with the House of Borlenghi. But what he was offering was for her to be his mistress. Until she was earning money—
if
she earned money—she would be completely dependent upon him, subject to his good will and his whims.
Under his control
.

She wanted more than that. She wanted his love. The scenario he was suggesting was a trifle to him. For her, it meant abandoning her whole life and acting on the whim of someone who didn’t love her. Who maybe couldn’t love
her
.

“Thank you,” she said. “Your offer is extremely generous. But I can’t accept. I have to go back to Seattle.”

He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Why,
cara
?”

She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch. Their fling was as hot as the blazing Italian sun and as brief as her flirtation with the Rome fashion scene. Soon it would be over as quickly as it had begun.

She was falling in love with him, intensely and irrevocably, despite his controlling ways. How could this have happened
again
?

The difference was, what she felt for Giorgio was a million times stronger than her feelings for Richard. Oh, she didn’t believe Giorgio would try to stifle her career ambitions, but he would find some other way to make her conform to his wishes.

Her heart would probably be broken forever because there was no chance Giorgio would love her back, not in any way that would make her happy. He was wedded already—to his drive to do what he thought was right. Gods didn’t settle down in domestic harmony. They plundered and moved on. All she would have when she left Rome for Seattle would be memories of a few magical days.

“What is it?” He crawled across the bed to sit beside her and stroke her hair back from her face. “You look sad all of a sudden. What are you thinking?”

“I’m fine.” She wanted their last night together to be joyful, not sad. Rolling on top of him, she wriggled until her hips fit perfectly against his. “Are we going to talk all night or are we making a run for the Guinness Book of World Records?”

Instantly he hardened beneath her. She squirmed in pleasure, brushing aside the grief she was already feeling at their imminent parting. Nothing could be allowed to spoil their last night together.

Chapter Thirteen

Giorgio woke with the sun shining through the curtains over the porthole. Layla’s richly hued red hair spread across the pillow next to his. She breathed slowly and deeply, still asleep, her naked body curled beneath the tangled white sheet.

Lightly, he brushed a stray hair off her cheek. She was so beautiful. In only a few days she’d gotten under his skin in a way no other woman ever had, not even Paola, to whom he’d been married for five years.

In a few days she would leave Italy. How was he going to let her go? Yet he must. Her home was in Seattle. Of course she would want to go back there. Unless, he allowed Tina to give her a contract. She would visit Rome regularly then, maybe even live there part time.

But he couldn’t make an exception to the rules merely for his personal pleasure. He would lose his family’s respect and that of his employees. Layla had accused him of being a dictator.
Someone
had to be the guiding force. He was that man. His position as head of the family and the business was his destiny, both a boon and a curse.

His marriage had foundered because the company had to come first. He didn’t want to fail Layla the way he’d failed Paola, although Layla was different. She had her own ambitions and would understand more than Paola, who only wanted the luxurious lifestyle and not the hard work that went into achieving it. But Layla wanted a more balanced life. She deserved a man who could spend time with her.

He would have more time if he did as everyone wanted and divested authority to his sisters. But they didn’t have the experience he did, or the overarching knowledge he’d built up over years of attending to every detail.

And Tina’s liaison with Fabio sent shivers down his back. If she could be so blind as to fall for such a creep then what did that say about her judgment in other arenas?

Angela and Francesca were even younger, twenty-three and twenty-four respectively. They knew their businesses but little about the company as a whole.

No, it wouldn’t work.

Maybe in time, but not now. Not in a time frame that would help Layla. He had no choice but to let her go. It was for her own good.

Her eyes opened, dazzlingly blue. Smiling, she leaned up to kiss him and the sheet slipped down, revealing her bare breasts. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He’d almost forgotten he turned twenty-nine today. He caressed her and dipped his head to draw her nipple into his mouth. To his satisfaction, it turned rosy and peaked, glistening with moisture. His morning erection turned harder, and he nuzzled her neck. “My mother and sisters will arrive soon. They like to get here early.”

“Then I suggest we don’t waste time talking about world affairs,” she murmured, sliding beneath him.

“I like the way you think.” Last night had been hot, wild, and passionate. This morning, he made love to her slow and lazily, taking time to build her arousal, noting what made her bite her lip or close her eyes and gasp with pleasure. He took inventory of everything, from the way her eyes darkened when he slid inside her to how her hips moved with his in perfect rhythm. When she was gone, he wanted to be able to remember every detail of their time together.

The climax wasn’t as explosive as last night but it was just as intense in its own way, subsuming his mind, body, and soul into a powerful unity. He felt her come and kept moving, drawing a second and a third orgasm from her. Her hips lifted and her legs clung, her face slack with bliss as she rode out the aftershocks. Only then did he allow himself to find his own release.

The last thing he remembered before he fell asleep was holding her while she lazily stroked his back. When he awoke again, Layla’s side of the bed was empty and the clock read eleven-thirty a.m. Up on deck, he could hear multiple female voices all talking at once. Mamma and his sisters had arrived.

He shut his eyes against a constriction in his chest. This would be his first birthday on the yacht without Leo and Papa. He’d never returned, hoping that when enough time had elapsed, the pain would ease. Now he understood that he’d only delayed the pain, not eliminated it. There was no way around it. He had to go through the grief. Layla had helped him begin to put his brother’s and father’s death in perspective. He wasn’t quite there but it was a start.

He showered and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, enjoying being casual and comfortable. Somewhere along the line he’d forgotten even that simple pleasure. All credit to Layla for reminding him that it was good to slow down once in a while.

The women were seated beneath the shade sail, sipping on iced drinks and nibbling snacks. Gaily wrapped presents were piled on the table. Mamma was plump and motherly despite her chic white linen and neat chestnut brown chignon and dispensed her opinion volubly. Tina, Francesca, and Angela held forth with equal spirit, their conversation punctuated with gestures and laughter. Layla sat at one end of the table, watching and listening with amused interest.

“
Buongiorno, tutti
.” Giorgio embraced each in greeting, beginning with his mother and ending with Layla. He pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “I apologize for anything my family may have said,” he told her. “They are brazen women who delight in embarrassing me whenever possible.”

“Don’t be silly.” Her eyes danced with laughter, making him wonder what his sisters had said about him. “I’m enjoying your family immensely.”

“Layla has just been telling us how you kidnapped her,” Mamma said.

He caught Layla hiding a smirk behind her hand. “It was hard to convince her to stay for the weekend, but I managed.”

“But where are your manners, Gino?” Mamma scolded good-naturedly. “Sleeping in when you have guests.”

“Yes, that doesn’t sound like you,” Tina continued the mock-attack. “Why weren’t you working?”

“I was tired after a late night.”

All eyes turned to Layla. She put her hands up, laughing. “Hey, don’t blame me. I got up early and went shopping in Naples this morning.”

“Never mind, we’re here to celebrate with Giorgio, so no more scolding,” his mother said. “Now sit down and open your presents. We’ve been waiting ages for you.” She handed him an oblong box wrapped in yellow paper. “This is from me.”

He peeled off the wrapping and lifted the lid. Inside was a platinum and gold sextant, a reminder of his youthful passion for sailing and navigating by the sun and the stars. “
Grazie
, Mamma. It’s very finely made and a noteworthy addition to my collection of nautical instruments.”

“It’s a working machine. For you to use.”

His days of leisurely sailing were a thing of the past, but he didn’t like to burst her bubble. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

From Tina, he received his usual gift, box seat season tickets to the Rome Opera, which he loved but was never able to attend. “
Mille grazie
. You know how I adore the opera.”

Francesca gave him a set of used golf clubs that had clearly once been top of the line. Alas, again it was a game he never found time to play. He raised an eyebrow over the scuffed and worn condition of the clubs.

“They belonged to JFK,” Francesca explained and added pointedly, “they’re still usable, too.”

“John F. Kennedy? That is really special,” Giorgio said. “I’ll treasure them.”

Angela gave him a week at a luxury ski resort in Whistler, including equipment rental and lift tickets. Each gift harked back to shared activities and relaxation with family and friends. It was hard to remember ever having the time for all these things. But he was touched that his family had been so thoughtful in their choices. He should try harder to make time for them. But with his workload it simply wasn’t feasible.

Layla cleared her throat and handed him a soft package. “It’s nothing fancy.”

“I hadn’t expected anything from you. When did you find time to get me a present?”

“This morning, while you were sleeping. Poor baby, you were all tuckered out,” she added with a wink.

He tore open the wrapping with no idea what to expect. He held up a football jersey in pale blue. The Naples team’s home colors. Images of the night of the football match flashed back to him—seeing Antonio after so many years, cheering in the stands like the fanatical fan he was, making love to Layla…

A lump formed in his throat. This was crazy. He didn’t usually get choked up about sentimental things. He tugged his T-shirt off over his head and put on the jersey, standing up to show everyone. “It fits perfectly. All I need is a football.”

“Soccer ball,” she corrected with a smile. “You can wear it to a game when you’re down here next for a break.” His mother and sisters nodded.

“I can see I’m outnumbered and outfoxed,” he said. “However I will be gracious and assure you all that in the next year I will attempt to sail, play golf, go to the opera, slalom down a ski hill in Canada, and attend at least one more football game in Napoli.”

“No ‘attempts,’ Gino. Just do it,” Tina teased.

He made his way around the circle of women, kissing and hugging them. When he came to Layla, instead of a peck on both cheeks he gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth that brought a deep rose blush to her cheeks. Angela gave a whoop, Mamma sighed, and Tina and Francesca exchanged ribald comments.

He straightened, leaving his hand on Layla’s shoulder and glanced at his watch. “It’s time to head out for lunch at Antonio’s restaurant. I’ll let Luigi know we’re ready to go.”

The women left the afterdeck. His mother and Layla went below to their staterooms to freshen up. Angela and Francesca went inside the main cabin. Tina was waiting for him outside on the deck when he returned from the bridge.

“The other girls and I need to talk to you, Gino. About the business.”

“I need to talk to you about Fabio. Where is he? I thought you were bringing him.”

“He’s delayed in Rome. His mother is ill. He’s meeting us at the restaurant,” Tina said. “Angela, Francesca and I—”

He lifted his hand in an impatient gesture. “I’ve told you, Tina, there is no discussion.”

Tina pushed her hands through her hair. “You
have
to talk to us. Layla went to a lot of trouble to—”

He stilled. “To what?”

Tina clamped her mouth shut. “Nothing.”

“No, you were going to say something.” He took a step forward. “Did Layla deliberately get me to stay, not for my birthday celebration as she said, but so that my three darling sisters could ambush me with their demands?”

“Don’t be angry. We all want what’s best for the company. And for you.” Tina gave him a shrewd glance. “Don’t forget,
you
brought Layla to the yacht. That wasn’t in the plan.”

The plan.
Her words were like a blow to his chest. Even though he’d suspected from the first that Layla was collaborating with his sisters, it still pained him to have it confirmed. “What
was
the plan—to conduct your little intervention at her house? You ladies are so transparent. I figured that out within ten minutes of her arriving at my office.”

“Clearly you two have had a good time,” Tina said. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that she deceived me.” He paced away and leaned over the railing, absolutely gutted. In the beginning it hadn’t mattered. That was before they’d laughed together, confided in each other, revealed their vulnerabilities, talked of their dreams and ambitions. Before he’d fallen for her like a seabird plummeting from the sky into the sea…

Before he’d started to care.

He’d given her plenty of opportunities to tell him the truth, but she hadn’t taken them. Instead, she’d stayed on Tina’s good side in the hopes of a contract. Business was more important to Layla than he was. He winced as pain lanced through him. What had he expected, after all? Karma had red hair and blue eyes.

“Gino?” Tina said. “Are you okay?”

With an effort, he pushed the sense of betrayal from his mind. “Speaking of deception…” He pulled his phone out and scrolled through for the photos of Fabio and the model.

“Gino,” Layla interrupted them. Then she saw Tina and hesitated. “Sorry. It can wait.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tina said with a quick glance at him. “We’re finished. I’m going below. See you soon.” She left them and went inside the cabin.

Giorgio regarded Layla coolly, keeping his inner turmoil hidden behind a boardroom mask. He’d known she was working him all along but having it confirmed hurt worse than he’d expected. “So?”

“Sophia just told me it’ll take an hour before we reach Capri.” Layla smiled and slid a hand up his chest. “Do you want to come to my cabin? I have another present for you.”

Even now, knowing for certain she’d been playing him, he was tempted. But he was tired of the game. Were the intimate moments between them genuine? Or was it all false? Was Layla willing to do anything, say anything, just to win a contract? The thought twisted in his gut like a knife.

Keeping his features carefully impassive he perfunctorily squeezed her hand before easing away. “I have work to do in the ship’s office.”

…

Antonio’s restaurant was perched halfway up a steep hill overlooking the marina in Sorrento, a pretty seaside town south of Naples. Layla followed the rest of the lunch party through the dining room with its linen-clad tables, long polished bar, and harbor views, to an outside deck where a long table shaded by market umbrellas had been set amid pots of colorful geraniums. It should have been perfect except that for some reason, Giorgio wasn’t speaking to her.

Isabella presided over the head of the table, seated between Giorgio and Tina. Layla wished she could join Antonio and Lisa at the far end but Francesca and Angela had grabbed those chairs. She hesitated and then took the seat expected of her, next to Giorgio. Tension radiated from him. When her hand accidentally touched his, he pulled away.

She tried to put it out of her mind and enjoy the meal. Platters of antipasti joined the flagons of wine on the table and they feasted on a first course of salami, olives, and marinated vegetables. Italian opera played in the background. Tiny vases of wildflowers dotted the white linen between baskets of crusty bread. Giorgio refused wine and stuck to water. Layla gulped the white wine like it
was
water.