The Flaw In Raffaele's Revenge

‘What are you afraid of, Lily?’

Raffaele’s voice, rough suede, caressed her skin, drawing it to tingling life. Lily’s eyelids flickered, weighted by the desire rolling through her, inexorably growing, clogging every sense. All she knew was the scent and taste of Raffaele, the heat of his breath on her lips, the pulse of longing throbbing within.

‘I’m not afraid,’ she lied.

She was terrified. Thrilled. Exultant. Curious.

Lily felt her hand settle against the muscled plane of his chest. Beneath her palm beat a steady pulse that seemed leisurely compared with her own wildly careering heartbeat. He was real. Not the phantom lover of her dreams. He was one of the most beautiful men on the planet, and she—

She shifted back. ‘This is a mistake.’

He moved with her, his thigh brushing hers. Ripples coursed up her leg to the spot between her thighs where a different pulse beat—needy and quick.

‘No mistake. Admit it, Lily. This feels right.’

His lips touched hers again—once, twice—before settling on her mouth. For a moment he held utterly still. She absorbed the rich, warm scent of his skin, the delicious tang of him on her tongue, the long body hard up against hers and the gentleness of his hand at the back of her head, cradling, tender …

A mighty shudder ran through her—a sigh that made no sound in the whirling ecstasy of the moment. A sigh of surrender as Lily let herself go and for the first time in her life kissed a man.

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at [e-mail] or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

An enormous thank you to dear Abby Green, who heard my plot ideas then asked why I didn’t combine them. I loved our rare chance to talk stories!

And a huge thank you to Franca Poli for your support and patient assistance with your lovely language. Any errors are mine.

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

PROLOGUE

RAFFAELE PETRI POCKETED his credit card and left the waterfront restaurant. Ignoring the stares, he nodded his thanks to the waiter. The service had been excellent, attentive but not fawning, the tip well-earned.

Raffaele hadn’t forgotten how it felt to depend on the goodwill of rich foreigners.

He paused, his eyes adjusting to the sunshine. The sea glittered as it slapped the whiter-than-white yachts. The salt tang was strong on the air and he breathed deep, relishing it after the overpowering perfume of the women who’d tried to catch his attention from the next table.

He sauntered past huge yachts and motor cruisers. The Marmaris waterfront was packed with ostentatious displays of wealth. Just the place to invest, if his research was right, which it always was. This trip to Turkey would be profitable and—

A bray of laughter froze his footsteps. The hoarse, distinctive sound ran up his spine like dancing skeletal fingers, pinching his skin.

Raffaele’s breath rushed in like the snap of a spinnaker in a stiff breeze. The laugh came again, yanking his attention to a towering multistorey cruiser. Sunlight polished the chestnut hair of the man leaning from the upper deck, shouting encouragement at two women on the promenade.

The ground beneath Raffaele’s feet seemed to heave and buckle, mirroring the tumble of his constricting gut. His hands rolled tight as he stared at the florid man waving a champagne glass at the women.

‘Come on up. The bubbly’s on ice.’

Raffaele knew that voice.

Even after twenty-one years he recognised it.

That smug tone, that hoarse laugh, had crept through his nightmares since he was twelve.

He’d given up hope of finding him. He’d never known the man’s name and the slimy villain had disappeared from Genoa faster than a rat leaving a scuttled ship. No one had listened to a skinny twelve-year-old who’d insisted the foreigner with hair the colour of castagne was to blame for Gabriella’s death.

Gabriella...

Fury ignited. The wrath of thwarted retribution, of loathing and grief.

The blast of emotion stunned him.

He’d spent his life perfecting the art of not feeling, not caring for anyone, not trusting, since Gabriella. But now... It took everything he had merely to stand still and take in the scene.

Keenly he catalogued everything, from the guy’s features, grown pudgy with age and self-indulgence, to the name of the cruiser and the fact his staff, neat in white shorts and shirts, spoke English as only natives could. One of them offered to help the women aboard.

Girls, Raffaele amended, not women. Both blonde, both in their teens, though one was made up to look ten years older. Raffa was an expert on make-up and on women.

The Englishman’s tastes hadn’t changed. He still liked them young and blonde.

Bile rose. Raffa’s heart thrashed with the need to climb aboard and deliver justice for Gabriella with his fists. There was no doubt this was the same man.

But Raffa was no longer an impulsive, grieving kid.

Now he had the power to do more than beat the man to a bloody pulp. That thought alone held him back. Even so, it was a battle to rein in his need for instant vengeance.

‘Ciao, bella.’ He strolled forward, curling his mouth in a half smile the camera, and millions of women the world over, loved. Not for a second did he lift his gaze to the middle-aged man above them.

‘Lucy—’ The taller one nudged her companion. ‘Quick. Turn around. He looks like... He couldn’t be...could he?’

Two pairs of eyes widened as he approached. Twin gasps of excitement. The one who’d spoken smiled wide while her companion looked dazed.

Raffa was used to dealing with besotted fans. But instead of a nod of acknowledgement before moving on, he increased the wattage of his smile in an invitation that had never once failed.

The taller girl stepped closer, pulling her friend along, the boat and its owner forgotten. They didn’t even blink as the man above them called agitated instructions for them to come aboard.

‘You look just like Raffaele Petri. I suppose people say that all the time.’ Her voice was breathless and young. Too young for the man on the boat. Or for Raffa. The difference was that with him she’d be safe.

‘That’s because I am Raffaele Petri.’

Twin gasps met the announcement and the smaller girl looked as if she might faint.

‘Are you all right?’

She nodded, goggle-eyed, while her friend dragged out her phone. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course not.’ The world was full of amateur photos of him. ‘I was going to get a coffee.’ He gestured to a street leading away from the waterfront. ‘Care to join me?’

The girls were so busy chattering as they walked that only Raffa heard the Englishman’s abusive yells. He’d been deprived of his afternoon’s amusement.

Soon he’d be deprived of everything that mattered to him.

The Englishman wouldn’t escape again. Justice would be sweet.

This time Raffa’s smile was genuine.

CHAPTER ONE

‘STOP PULLING MY LEG, PETE.’ Lily leaned back from the desk and shifted her grip on the phone. ‘It’s been a long day. You might be just waking up in New York but it’s bedtime in Australia.’

Looking towards the window, she saw the reflection of her office in the glass. Her house was too far from town for street lights and the stars wouldn’t show till she switched off her lamp. She rubbed her stiff neck. Completing this project within deadline and to her own exacting standards had been tough.

‘No joke.’ Pete’s usually laid-back voice with its Canadian accent sounded excited. ‘The boss wants you here and he never jokes about business.’

Lily straightened in her seat, her pulse thudding. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Absolutely. And what the boss wants, the boss makes a policy of getting. You know that.’

‘Except Raffaele Petri isn’t my boss.’ Even saying his name aloud seemed somehow ridiculous. What could she, ordinary Lily Nolan, living in a rundown farmhouse an hour south of Sydney, have in common with Raffaele Petri? ‘He doesn’t know I exist.’

Petri inhabited a stellar plane ordinary mortals only dreamed of or read about in gossip magazines, while she...

Lily dropped the hand she’d lifted to her cheek. She hated that old, nervous gesture.

‘Of course he knows. Why do you think you’ve had so much work from us? He was impressed with your report for the Tahiti deal and asked for you on every one since.’

Lily blinked. She’d never imagined Signor Petri himself reading her research reports. She’d assumed he had other things to do with his time, like indulging himself at the world’s most luxurious fleshpots.

‘That’s fantastic, Pete. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’ Despite her recent success, the size of the loan she’d taken to buy this house and expand the business kept her awake at night. But after years feeling like an outsider she’d been driven by the need to establish her own place in the world, something she’d achieved and could be proud of. Even though it meant moving across the continent from her anxious family. She needed this to turn her life around.

Tight muscles eased. If Signor Petri had personally commented on her work—

‘Excellent. You’ll find the contract in your inbox. It will be great finally putting a face to the voice once you’re working here.’

‘Whoa. Wait a minute.’ Lily shot to her feet. ‘I meant I’m pleased to have what I do valued. That’s all.’ She drove herself to excel and knew her service was first class, but it was reassuring having it confirmed by her most influential customer, especially now she had this mortgage.

‘You don’t want to accept the boss’s offer to work here?’ Pete’s hushed tone made it sound as if she’d refused mankind’s only chance to find a cure for cancer.

‘That’s right.’ The thought of being in a city, surrounded by millions of people, being seen by strangers every day, made her flesh crawl as if she were breaking into hives. She even avoided driving into her small town when possible, opting to have her groceries delivered. Working in New York, constantly facing curious stares, would be a nightmare. It was one thing to be confident about your work and your worth, quite another to run the gauntlet of constant public interest.

‘You’re joking. Who wouldn’t want to work for Raffaele Petri?’

Lily threaded her fingers through her long hair, pushing it from her face. ‘I already work for him, off and on.’ Her contract work for his company had been so lucrative it had made her enormous mortgage possible. The prestige of his name on those regular contracts had convinced even the cautious loans officer. ‘But I’m my own boss. Why would I want to change that?’

Her independence, her ability to control her life, meant everything. Perhaps because her world had been impacted irrevocably by a single, senseless event that had robbed her of so much.

A moment’s silence told her how bizarre her attitude seemed.

‘Let’s see. The kudos for a start. Work for him and you can walk into any job you like. He only employs the best. Then there’s the salary. Read the contract before you reject it, Lily. Chances like this don’t just come along.’

His tone was urgent. But Lily knew what was right for her.

‘Thanks for your interest, Pete. I appreciate it, really I do. But it’s not possible.’ She forked her hand through her hair again, for a millisecond wondering what opportunities she might have pursued if her life had been different. If she were different.

She dropped her hand, disgusted with herself. She couldn’t change the past. Everything she wanted, everything she aspired to, was within her grasp. All she had to do was work towards her goals. Success, security, self-sufficiency. That was what she wanted. Not jostling with commuters or being a drone in a corporation. Or hankering after places she’d never visit.

‘Lily, you can’t have considered. At least think about it.’

‘I have, Pete, but the answer is no. I’m happy here.’

* * *

At first she thought the chirruping noise was the dawn chorus. Each morning magpies and cockatoos greeted the first light. But this was too monotone, too persistent. Groaning, Lily opened her eyes. It was still night.

Pulse thundering, she groped for the phone. No one rang at this time unless it was an emergency.

‘Hello?’ She struggled to sit up, shoving her pillow behind her back.

‘Ms Lily Nolan?’

The pulse that an instant ago had sprinted in her arteries gave a single mighty thump. The deep male voice was foreign, rich and dark like a shot of espresso.

She groped for the bedside light and squinted at her watch. Minutes to midnight. No wonder she felt groggy. She’d only slept half an hour.

‘Who’s speaking?’

‘Raffaele Petri.’

Raffaele Petri!

To her sleep-addled senses that voice sounded like liquid seduction. She frowned and pulled the neck of her sleep shirt closed. Male voices didn’t affect her that way. But then how many sounded like this?

‘Are you still there?’

‘Of course I’m here. I’ve just woken up.’

‘Mi dispiace.’ I’m sorry.

He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded...

Lily shook her head. If it was Raffaele Petri this was business. She couldn’t afford to think about how potently male he sounded. Even if her hormones were dancing at the sound of that deliciously accented voice.

‘Signor Petri—’ She raked her hair from her face, shuffling higher in the bed. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Sign the contract and get here subito.’

Lily choked down her instinctive response. The only place she was going subito, immediately, was back to sleep.

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Nonsense. It’s the only sensible course of action.’

Lily breathed deep, letting the chilly night air fill her lungs as she sought calm. He wasn’t only her client, he was her most important client.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. When you’ve arranged your flight give my assistant the details. He’ll organise for you to be met at the airport.’

This must be how Renaissance Italian princes had sounded. As if every word they spoke was law. Imagine having such confidence you’d always get what you desired.

‘Thank you, but I won’t be contacting Pete.’ She cleared her throat, her voice still husky from sleep. ‘I was very flattered by your offer, Signor Petri, but I prefer working for myself.’

‘You’re turning me down?’ His soft voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Had anyone ever denied Raffaele Petri what he wanted?

Lily’s heart thudded. She was on dangerous ground.

Widely touted as the most beautiful man in the world, he’d become famous as the golden-haired, outrageously handsome face, and body, that had turned designer casual into a style men around the globe aspired to emulate. No doubt he’d had women saying yes all his life.

But he had far more than looks. After leaving modelling he’d defied the critics and proven himself über-successful in business. Wealthy and powerful, Raffaele Petri was clearly used to instant compliance.

‘I’m very flattered by the offer—’

‘But?’ That purr of enquiry barely concealed a razor-sharp edge.

Lily drew in a slow breath. ‘Unfortunately I’m not in a position to accept.’

Silence. Long enough for her to wonder if she’d burned her bridges. Fear skated through her. She needed the work his company sent.

‘What would have to change so you’d be in a position to accept?’

Damn the man. Why couldn’t he just accept no?

‘May I ask instead why you want me?’ For a nanosecond heat surged at the unintentional double meaning of her words. But the idea of Raffaele Petri wanting her for anything other than work was so utterly unbelievable it rapidly faded. ‘I was told you were happy with my research and our current arrangement.’

‘If I were unhappy with your work I wouldn’t offer you a job, Ms Nolan.’ His clipped tones twisted her tension higher. ‘I want you here on my team because you’re the best at what you do. Simple as that.’

The heat suffusing her this time came from gratification.

‘Thank you, Signor Petri. I appreciate your good opinion.’ She’d love to ask about a testimonial but the throbbing silence told her this wasn’t the time. ‘Please know I’ll continue to offer the best possible service.’ She wriggled back against the pillow.

‘That’s not enough.’

‘Sorry?’ What more could he want than her best?

‘I’m starting a significant project.’ He paused. ‘I need my team on hand and bound by the utmost confidentiality.’

Lily stiffened. ‘I hope you’re not implying I’m a security risk. Every contract I accept is completed in strictest confidence. I safeguard my research and my clients.’ She never shared details of clients without permission. Which was why it would have been a coup to have a testimonial from him on her website.

She’d begun as a researcher for a private enquiry firm but the cases got her down. She’d found her niche when she widened her horizons—from staff checks to analyses of businesses and commercial trends. Lately it had been the viability of new ventures or businesses ripe for takeover.

That was where Raffaele Petri came in. The man was like a shark scenting blood before his competitors. Every time she investigated a business for him she’d discovered vulnerabilities and problems. It was the magic of the man that, once he acquired them, he turned those businesses into some of the most successful in the leisure industry, from a glamorous resort in Tahiti to a marina and yacht-building company in Turkey.

‘If I doubted your ability to keep a secret I wouldn’t hire you.’

Lily released a breath, relief rising.

‘But,’ he added, ‘I can’t afford risks. This team will be the best of the best. And it will be in New York. I need you here.’

Pride swelled. Lily had never been needed. Never stood out. Looks, school grades, sport, she’d always been average, never in the limelight until—

Lily shook her head in self-disgust at that old neediness. It was a spill over from her teenage years when she’d felt no one really wanted her, that to her family she was only a burden and a worry. And to her friends an embarrassing, constant reminder of a disaster they’d rather forget. She’d hated that awareness of being included out of duty rather than because her peers wanted her around.

His words made her long to say, Yes, of course, I’ll be in New York tomorrow.

Imagine exploring the Big Apple. Imagine...

She swallowed hard. It wasn’t possible. Facing the curious eyes of all those strangers, seeing them stare in fascination or hurriedly turn away. She wouldn’t put herself through that anymore.

‘I’m used to working with your staff from a distance. I’m sure—’

‘That’s not the way this project will proceed, Ms Nolan.’ His words were staccato, tiny darts pricking her skin. ‘I won’t tolerate failure on this one.’

Lily opened her mouth to say that if his project failed it wouldn’t be down to her.

‘Yes, Ms Nolan? You were saying?’

‘I’m sorry I can’t accommodate you, Signor Petri.’

‘I’ll double the salary. And the bonus on completion.’

Lily’s eyes widened. She’d been curious enough to check the contract and the salary had staggered her. It was more than she’d earn in two years. The thought of four years’ income in one hit was so tempting. It would solve her financial worries...

‘Changing your tune, Ms Nolan? I thought you might.’ That voice was smug now, making her want to hiss her displeasure. At him for thinking she could be bought? Or at herself for being tempted despite knowing it couldn’t happen?

Part of her still hankered after adventure, travel, excitement. But she’d had to push those dreams aside when her life had derailed at fourteen. She’d been robbed of her best friend, her carefree youth, her ‘normal’ life. She’d even missed out on things everyone else took for granted like flirting with boys and dating.

She shook her head, long tresses slipping over her cheeks. Curse the man for stirring longings she’d put behind her years before.

She loved her home, was proud she’d saved enough to be buying it. But it was more than that. Lily needed the security and peace it provided. The sense of refuge.

‘No, Signor Petri. That was the sound of surprise but not agreement.’

‘Interesting, Ms Nolan. Most people would jump at this opportunity. Why aren’t you? A family, is that it? You have a husband and children perhaps?’

‘No! I don’t—’ Lily clamped her lips shut before she blurted out anything else. Instinctively she felt safer keeping her private life private from this man.

‘No family? I thought you sounded a little young for one.’

Lily’s eyebrows arched. At twenty-eight she wasn’t so young. Or was he implying she didn’t sound professional?

Or maybe he’s just winding you up. This man enjoyed playing with her, like a cat with a trapped mouse.

Like a bully wielding his superior power.

Lily’s chin shot up. ‘I suppose age becomes important when one reaches...mature years.’

A little huff of sound reached her over the long distance. A gasp of irritation or, could it be, stifled laughter?

She shouldn’t have said it. The veiled reference to his age, five years her senior, was indiscreet and possibly ruinous. But she refused to sit like a pincushion to be needled.

‘Fortunately I’m not quite in my dotage, Ms Nolan.’

No, he wasn’t. She kept seeing photos of him at glamorous functions. Always with a sophisticated woman on his arm, but never the same one.

‘So if you don’t have a family to tie you there it must be a lover.’ His voice dipped low, like dark treacle rolling through her veins to eddy in her belly. Lily drew her knees up, pressing them to her chest, trying to kill the unsettling sensation.

‘My private life is no concern of yours, Signor Petri.’ Did he hear the wobble of fury in her voice?

‘But it is, Ms Nolan, when it comes between me and what I want.’

‘Then it’s time you discovered you can’t always get what you want.’ The words poured out. ‘I decide when and where I sell my services.’

Lily scrubbed a shaky hand over her face, her chest heaving. This was going from bad to worse. Anger and anxiety curdled her insides. And self-disgust. She needed to stay calm, no matter what the provocation.

‘I assume you don’t normally speak to your clients in that suggestively sexy voice.’ His own voice was far too sultry. ‘It would give them the wrong idea about what services you sell.’