Making over the Billionaire (an Italian Connection Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (3 page)

He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or to shake her. But she was right. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Only a moment ago he’d been so sure he was winning the battle of wits and wills. “You’re impossible.”

“No,
you
are. Tina came to look at my portfolio and samples yesterday after I left your villa. She’s a lot smarter and more knowledgeable about her business than you give her credit for.”

“I know very well how smart my sister is. But you know nothing about how I run my business.” Or his family’s history. Tina had gone off the rails after their father and brother died. Giorgio had pushed his own grief down and kept the family together, kept the business growing. Neither Tina nor his other sisters had invested a fraction of themselves in the business the way he had. He couldn’t relinquish control overnight. He owed it to his father to do what was best for the company and, by extension, for the family.

“I know Tina understands quality workmanship and what her clientele want to buy. Feel this satin.” She reached for his hand and guided his palm to the underside of one full breast. “It’s a special silk blend, extremely soft and smooth. Only I know where to source it.”

His fingers curved involuntarily around her breast and heat fired in his belly. Her body was a trap he couldn’t allow himself fall into. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from touching her.

He glided his fingertips up the bra cup and lightly across the curving top of her bare breast. “There’s no silk as smooth as a woman’s skin.”

Her chest was already flushed from exertion, but now the rosy hue deepened and spread up her neck. Beneath the satin cup, her nipples peaked. He wanted so badly to stroke his thumb over a pebbled nub. Wanted to kiss those slightly parted lips and feel her belly pressed against his rapidly hardening erection…

A noise made him look up. On the other side of the hedge, a gardener was wheeling a barrow, the top of his head visible above the leafy green. Giorgio came to himself with a jolt. He snatched back his hand. What was he thinking, accepting Layla’s blatant invitation to touch her? She had an agenda. And it didn’t coincide with his best interest or the interests of his family or business. He only needed a glance at his watch to remind himself that because of her he wouldn’t have time to finish his run. “I have to go to work.”

“It’s not even eight o’clock. Aren’t you the boss? You can show up any time you want.” Unperturbed, she pulled her tank top back over her head and smoothed out the wrinkles.

“I have a big project that requires my attention.” He started walking back the way they’d come. It would be quicker if he ran, but somehow he couldn’t abandon her after he’d had his hand on her breast. Neither did he stroll leisurely. “You’re here for fashion week. Don’t you have things to do?”

“My agent Renaldo made me an appointment with a French designer at eleven and a fashion show this afternoon.” She did a skip hop to keep up. “Are you going to the House of Borlenghi cocktail party on Thursday?”

“I don’t go to parties.”

“Really? What do you do for fun?”

“I work.”

“That’s so boring.” She glanced up at him. “If you were going I would see you there.”

He was
not
tempted. Sure she was beautiful, sexy, and feisty, and he admired her guts and her single-minded determination to go after what she wanted. In a strange way, she reminded him of himself. But she only wanted to be with him to get to Tina. Since he wasn’t going to ever contract to foreigners it would be pointless to get her hopes up.

“Why do you want to see me again? Do you have some idea that you, a complete stranger, can convince me to change my established business practice and employ you as the first foreigner in the Borlenghi Group?” Her chin went up a notch higher but her silence confirmed he was right. “You’re wasting your time,” he said. “And mine.”

“Oh, well, can’t blame a girl for trying.” They strode along in silence for a few minutes. Then out of the blue, she said, “Tina tells me you have a yacht moored in Naples. That whole area is beautiful—Sorrento, Capri, the Amalfi coast, Positano… You’re so lucky.”

Giorgio stopped and faced her. “Tina’s been trying to get me to the yacht for my birthday. Did she tell you to speak to me about it?”

“No, it’s just that Naples is at the top of my bucket list. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t go.” Her smile was dazzling and seemingly innocent. “Anyway, happy birthday.”

“It’s not until Sunday.” He started walking again at a faster pace; he’d been dawdling without realizing it. They emerged from the entrance gate to the roar of morning rush hour traffic along Corso d’Italia. His car and driver were parked in a loading zone. “Can I drop you back at your place?”

“No, thanks. I feel like walking.”

“In that case, have a good day.” Strangely reluctant to say goodbye, he shook her hand and was tempted to bring it to his lips. “Once again, I wish you luck in securing a contract with an atelier while you’re in Rome.”

“Thanks.” She started to go off in the other direction then paused. “Whether you go to Naples or not, you should definitely take some time off for your birthday. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t need to relax.” Even as he denied it, he felt himself tense up. Damn, Tina
had
been talking about him. His own sister conspiring against him with a complete stranger. He would have to speak to her.

The driver held open the limo door and he climbed in. The solution was simple. He would put Layla out of his mind. No matter how sexy and fun she was, or how much he admired her work ethic, she goaded him in ways that made him uncomfortable. “
Ciao
.”

His car passed her going down the hill toward the city. He turned to look through the one-way glass of the rear window, noting how her arms and hips swayed as she strode along in a carefree manner. His gaze homed in on her breasts moving beneath the tank top. And now he had another question to bother him. Was she wearing matching panties to that outrageous bra?

Chapter Three

Layla scanned the glitterati in the baroque hotel ballroom for Tina Borlenghi, listening with only half an ear to Renaldo’s anecdote of a catwalk wardrobe malfunction.

When Tina threw a party, she went all out. The whole of the European fashion world—editors, buyers, models, designers, photographers, socialites, and celebrities circulated with drinks in their hands. The buzz of conversation rising to the vaulted gilt ceiling vied with the melodic strains of a four-piece chamber orchestra.

Despite her less than satisfying encounter with Giorgio in the park, she clung to the hope that Tina would say her brother had relaxed his policy about Italian-only products for Borlenghi. Or that he would change his mind and come tonight, giving her another opportunity to convince him…

She had to stop thinking about him. About the intense way he looked at her and the brush of his fingers against her breast. She could have sworn he’d been about to kiss her when that gardener had come by, and Giorgio had pulled away.

She’d spent all day constructing elaborate mental conversations that ranged from her calling him out on stupid business practices and overbearing brother issues, to engaging in flirtatious sexy banter. Maybe he was toying with her just like she goaded him at times. He was more than her match, and she couldn’t deny she got a buzz out of sparring with him.

A light hand tapped her shoulder. Layla turned to find his sister, smiling and glamorous, her dark hair upswept above a sparkling diamond necklace and matching earrings. Her flowing ivory gown shimmered under the crystal chandeliers. “Tina, it’s good to see you again. You look fabulous.”

“
Ciao, bella
.” Tina kissed her on both cheeks then stood back to look at her. “I adore your dress. Who is it by?”

“Yours truly. I design a few pieces other than lingerie and swimwear just for myself.” Layla spread the skirt on her cobalt blue sequined dress. Lacy cut outs in the bodice gave glimpses of her breasts and a thigh high slit revealed a slash of skin with every step. “Understated sex bomb is the effect I’m going for. What do you think?”

“I think you’re incredibly talented.” Tina plucked a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. “I had a nightmare last night that you’d signed with a rival house.”

Layla sipped her Bellini cocktail, savoring the fresh peach flavor. “I’ve had some nibbles but nothing I want to commit to, not until I have absolutely no hope of the House of Borlenghi.”

“Well, I haven’t given up on changing Giorgio’s mind. Speaking of my brother…” Tina nudged her with a sly smile. “Did you ‘run into’ him the other day?”

“Literally.” Layla exchanged a smile with Tina, and they both burst into laughter. She felt so at ease with the other woman. Working together would be a dream. “I didn’t mean to, but I made him trip. He almost broke his ankle, poor man.”

“Poof, he’s tough. I bet he just kept running.” Tina flipped her fingers. “What else happened? Tell me everything.”

“He did keep running, unfortunately. Which forced me to run too. I thought I was going to have a freaking heart attack. So I resorted to drastic action.” Layla’s cheeks warmed at the recollection. “I pretended I was hot and took off my top. I was wearing the lime green bra with the black lace trim. At least he got to see more of my work.”

“Genius.” Tina laughed. “I hope he immediately said, oh, we must have that in the House of Borlenghi?”

“I wish! But no.” Layla’s grin deflated.

“What else happened? Did he flirt with you?”

“Nah, he’s made of granite. Just when things were heating up, he decided he had to go to work.” Layla made a face. “It’s kind of weird talking to you about your brother like this.”

“Don’t be silly.” Tina waved. “I hope he’s still a man with red blood flowing in his veins and not a robot who does nothing but work.”

“I managed to insert the yacht and Naples into the conversation, but he brushed that off. If he doesn’t listen to his family telling him to relax a little he’s not going to listen to me.”

“Giorgio’s always worked long hours, but ever since he decided to take the brand global it’s been crazy. He needs to start sharing the workload or one of these days…” Tina mimed a twig snapping.

Layla winced. “All the stress can’t be healthy for him.”

Tina’s gaze shifted and then brightened as she waved across the room. “There’s Fabio.”

A tall blond man with the smooth perfection of a male model was talking to a languid brunette woman with ethereal features and impossibly long limbs. He was too slick for her taste, but Layla said politely, “He’s very handsome.”

“Isn’t he? I’d better go rescue him. He hates hanging out with models.” Tina took a business card out of her evening bag. “Bring your portfolio and samples to the atelier tomorrow morning. I’ll get my head designer’s opinion, and if she loves your designs as much as I think she will, I’ll present a formal case to Giorgio for signing you.”

“Thank you,” Layla clasped Tina’s hand with both of hers. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re interested. Even if nothing comes of it, I appreciate you going to bat for me.”

“I would benefit too,” Tina said. “Not only would I get to add your beautiful lingerie to my collection but I would also change the culture of how the Borlenghis do business.”

“I hope that works out for you.” Although Layla wasn’t optimistic that Giorgio would relinquish power easily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.
Ciao
.” With a quick peck on both cheeks, Tina was gone, a mini-tornado in white satin.

Layla carefully placed Tina’s business card—her golden ticket—into her beaded clutch. When she glanced up she saw Giorgio step out of the crowd into Tina’s path. He looked like a million bucks in his perfectly cut tuxedo and white tie. Make that a billion dollars.

“Layla, there you are.” Renaldo came up from behind and hooked his arm through hers to steer her in the other direction. “I have a clothing manufacturer from Nice I want you to meet.”

“You know I’m hanging out for the House of Borlenghi.” Layla glanced over her shoulder, craning her neck to see a last glimpse of Giorgio. So he’d come, after all.

…

“Tina,” Giorgio put a hand on his sister’s arm, intercepting her before she reached her jerk of a boyfriend. “I need to speak with you.”

“Giorgio!” Tina’s surprised smile lit her face. “If you’re looking for Layla, she’s over there.”

“I’m not looking for Layla.” He led her to an enclave buffered by potted palms, away from the buzz of conversation. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past two days. Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“It’s fashion week. I’ve been run off my feet.” She set her empty champagne flute on a side table. “I was going to call you tomorrow. I want you to meet with my head designer and me about signing Layla.”

“It’s Layla I want to talk to you about,” he said. “She just happened to be running my route through the park yesterday. How did she know I would be there, hmm?”

“Coincidence?” Tina gave an innocent shrug. “The Borghese Gardens are a popular running area, and she likes to run?”

“She’s no runner. She tried to make me believe her balconette bra was a sports bra.”

“Why, Giorgio, I’m impressed you even know what a balconette bra is.” Tina’s eyes sparkled. “Did you notice the beautiful lines of the garment?”

He’d noticed nothing but Layla’s firm, round breasts and the heady scent of her warm skin. And the only reason he knew about balconette bras was because he’d looked it up on the Internet. He’d felt like a pervert but he had to know.

“Don’t side-track me.” He stabbed a finger at Tina. “You told her where to find me. You’re conspiring with her in an attempt to undermine my authority.”

“Conspiring? Don’t be paranoid. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I want to buy her lingerie and swimwear for my collection. And while we’re on the subject, I want you, Francesca, Angela, and me to get together and discuss how the corporation is being run. You’ve got too much on your plate and it’s time we girls had more say.”

“You’ve never been interested in the overall organization before now. You three have been content to run your own businesses and leave the major decisions to me.”

“You stepped into the role after Papa died and just kept going,” Tina said. “We were too young at the time. Now we’re older and the corporation has grown too big for one person. You can’t possibly know the House of Borlenghi as well as I.”

“You see what a narrow perspective you have? You think only about your fashion house, whereas I have a vision for the Borlenghi Group that will take us into the next century. It’s vital that our brand isn’t diluted. You can’t change rules on a whim because you’re taken with Layla.”

“You’re taken with her too, admit it. Or do you just like her lingerie? That would be fine by me.”

Giorgio’s cheeks heated. “I admit nothing of the sort. She is a nuisance, a pest. She keeps turning up at inconvenient times.”

“My cocktail party is her turf as a designer. Yet you, who never go to parties, show up,” Tina said, grinning. “I find that
very
interesting.”

“You wouldn’t answer my calls,” Giorgio said, crossing his arms. “Don’t change the subject. Now isn’t the time for a major policy shift. I’m close to finalizing the deal with Chang Lee. It’s too late to bring you, Angela, and Francesca up to speed in time to have input.”

“Delay the deal.”

“There are too many players involved. That comment just shows how little you know about the situation.”

Tina’s fingers curled into her palms. “Then brief us!”

“After it’s a done deal, we can talk. Meanwhile, don’t fill Layla’s head with promises you can’t keep. Thanks to your encouragement she thinks she can soften me up and I’ll cave. But I won’t.”

“Maybe I’ll sign her anyway. Discovering new talent is part of what fashion week is all about.”

“Do you really want House of Borlenghi designs to be sewn in China?”

Tina paled. “No, of course not.”

“Then trust me. We will do this my way.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. He sometimes felt as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. But his shoulders were broad; he could bear the burden. And he’d brought it on himself.

“Are you okay, Gino?” Her voice softened as she used his childhood name. She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You need to slow down.”

“I will, soon.”

“That’s what you keep saying but you don’t do it. Come to the yacht for your birthday,” she begged. “It would mean so much to Mamma for us all to be together where we had so much fun as a family when we were children.”

Fun—what was that? Those childhood days seemed impossibly far away. “I don’t have time, I keep telling you.”

Tina wrapped her arms around him and hugged tightly. “You don’t need to prove anything. You’re not superhuman. If you don’t make time for family it’s like I’ve lost
two
brothers, not one.” Her voice trembled and her eyes welled. “As if Mamma lost
two
sons.”

He swallowed. It was easy for her to tell him he didn’t have to prove anything, but he had to fill his father’s
and
his brother’s shoes.

A man cleared his throat. He looked up to see Fabio waiting a few feet away. His jaw hardened. Tina eased away and Giorgio let her go reluctantly. “He’s not good enough for you,
cara
. He’s after your money.”

“There you go again. You’re paranoid.” Tina blotted away a tear with her pinkie, kissed him on both cheeks, then turned to Fabio with a brilliant smile.

His hands curled impotently at his side as he watched his sister walk away with the bastard. There was nothing he could do. Hopefully she would come to her senses before she got hurt.

He turned away from the sight of Fabio’s arm around his sister. Now to deal with Layla…

Her bawdy, infectious laugh drew him like a magnet. Layla was a Christmas bauble among wan, stick-thin models. She swayed toward the silver-haired gentleman she was talking to, revealing thigh all the way to her hip. Giorgio held back. He didn’t want to join the crowd milling round her, waiting on her attention. He needed to get her alone.

He hailed a passing waiter. “Bring a bottle of Cristal and two glasses to the terrace,
per favore
.”

The tuxedoed waiter nodded deferentially. “
Si,
Signor
Borlenghi.”

“
Grazie
.” That accomplished, he strode toward Layla. Her companions, seeing him, fell silent and stepped aside.

Her blue-green eyes sparkled with surprise, but she greeted him with a smile. “Hey, I thought you didn’t attend parties.”

He had no time to waste on small talk. Pushing a finger into her curling red hair, he brushed it back and bent his head to speak into her ear. “You are wanted on the terrace.”

Her pupils grew larger, and her lips parted slightly. It would be so tempting to steal a kiss from that lush red mouth… No. He needed to focus.

“I’m busy.” Her up-tilted eyes teased him. “I’ll come out when I get a minute.”

He was used to people jumping when he said jump. For a moment he was mystified, then annoyed. How dare she put him off when he’d already given her more attention than she deserved? Didn’t she want to curry his good favor? Along with his pique was a grudging admiration and yes, amusement. Very few withstood a direct command from Giorgio Borlenghi or weren’t swayed by his wealth and power.

Without another word he strode through the crowd toward the open doorway onto the terrace. The broad, tiled space, dotted with potted palms and statues, was deserted. The glittering lights of the city spread out either side of the Tiber River. A cool breeze off the water swept his heated cheeks as he planted his hands on the stone balustrade.

Would she come to him? He had no idea. Her lack of respect over his position left him uncharacteristically unsure of himself and off balance. His wish for a tête-à-tête with her was about more than warning her off. His hand remembered feeling the silk of her skin, and he needed to touch her again to make sure his memory was correct…