Untamed Italians: Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Italian Tycoon, Secret Son / Italian Marriage: In Name Only

Here sons and often daughters carried on the family tradition generation after generation. It had been the way for her family, with Emilio taking over their papa’s fishing business while she would one day inherit the old inn in Manarolo.

This passing of power was how it should have been with Stefano Marinetti. When his brother died, he should have assumed that role within the company.

But he’d walked out on his father.

He’d shunned tradition and his famiglia.

And what did that say about the man who held his family in so little regard?

He was self-absorbed. Stefano seemed to care for one thing—himself.

Now he was in charge of Marinetti. He’d likely change a company that was steeped in tradition. All to leave his indelible mark.

If not for her promise to Cesare, she’d leave now. But she was honor bound to stay. She couldn’t trust Stefano with Rachel’s care, not for a moment.

With her gown slung over one broad shoulder, he guided her into the new building that was open and spacious. Of course it would look larger since it was past hours and the employees had gone home for the day.

She gave the workstations they passed an enviable glance. New computers, new phones and ergonomic chairs that screamed comfort. But then Stefano had the money to splurge on such niceties.

Cesare had a desperately ill child to provide for. He had obligations to his family. He didn’t put money before honor!

Gemma stared out of the expansive stretch of glass windows at the sea and sighed. How different things would be if Stefano was as caring and passionate about life and family as his father was.

She would’ve found him irresistible. She may actually have given in to the desire that simmered between them, only because she would’ve found it impossible to say no.

If he was like Cesare, it would be oh so easy to fall in love with him.

But he wasn’t like his father.

Stefano was an arrogant aristocrat. No, make that an arrogant, selfish aristocrat.

Men like him didn’t marry poor working girls like her. They made them their mistresses.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head and bit back a bitter laugh over her errant thoughts. “I am tired. It’s been a long day.” A long trying day in his company.

“It is far from over.” He pushed into an elegantly appointed suite that was clearly his domain and draped the garment bag over a leather sofa. “If you wish to freshen up before you dress, my bagno privata is through that door.”

She flicked a glance in that direction and nodded before admiring the vista afforded from the windows again. “The view is fabulous.”

He shrugged off her observation. “It is never boring.”

How typical of the playboy who tired of things far too quickly! She trailed him across the room and through a door, anxious for him to conclude his business here.

For she’d not be able to breathe easy until she’d satisfied that first payment on the awful loan she’d been forced to admit to. Once that was over, she’d be nothing more than his secretary until Cesare returned.

He entered a smaller yet still spacious room where an elegant teak desk sat with an equally gorgeous view of the harbor.

“My personal assistant’s office.” He pointed to an inbox overflowing with envelopes. “Please sort through these and bring me the ones that need my immediate attention.”

She looked at the pile that likely had accumulated for over a week. “Of course.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

With that he was off, his long legs carrying his lean, enticing form through the door and out of sight.

Gemma gave the stack of correspondence a glance. It was thrice the size she handled for Cesare every day, but at least the time would pass quickly.

But before she tackled this task, she wanted to shower and be ready to leave when Stefano returned.

She walked the length of his office en route to the bagno. Again she was struck with the Spartan elegance surrounding her.

A colorful Laurus Murano vase here. An Alberto Sughi oil there.And the furnishings…They were classic and high quality.

It didn’t dawn on her that she and Stefano had similar tastes until she made to flip the lock to ensure privacy. There was none, just a simple catch on the bathroom door.

She hesitated, torn between refreshing herself with a shower and risking being caught in the nude by Stefano.

Gemma bit her lower lip and checked her watch. He wouldn’t return for nearly thirty minutes. She’d be done way before then.

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she undressed and stepped into la doccia which was certainly large enough for two.

Standing in the shower with warm water pelting her tired body was a refreshing break after a tense day. She did not want to think of Stefano, yet even as warm water pelted her tense muscles she imagined his gaze caressing her. Probing magnetic eyes that could adore and scold in turn.

It annoyed her that thoughts of him invaded her private moments. Couldn’t she block him from her mind at all?

She stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a thick, thirsty towel that swallowed her. These had to have been specially ordered for Stefano’s big frame, and just thinking of him stripped to the skin and wet left her trembling with want.

How could she possibly desire a man she didn’t respect?

A brisk toweling and she quickly donned her new teal dress. She hated that he’d purchased it, but she loved the design. She’d never owned anything this exquisite.

How could something so simple be so sensual? She didn’t know and surely didn’t wish to project that aura around Stefano.

She’d repay him for the gown, even though it would take time. She would not be beholden to him.

Gemma quit the bathing room to find Stefano lounging in the doorway. His hot gaze roamed the length of her slowly, pausing at her mouth, her breasts and the juncture of the thighs.

Desire speared low in her belly, more intense than she’d ever felt before. She tightened her hold on the door, knowing she should look away but finding it impossible to tear her gaze from his magnetic stare.

Even the air was charged with an energy that make her skin sizzle and burn as if she’d brushed too close to the sun.

This was lust. Bold. Sensual. Tempting.

Oh, so very tempting.

And dangerous.

Stefano Marinetti was the embodiment of seductive Italian males that one read about, only on a pinnacle above the others. This was the primo playboy who always had a bevy of woman lusting after him.

She’d quickly learned that he’d refined flirting to a fine art. He could adore every inch of the woman he was with and make her feel as if she were the most desired woman in the world. As if she were the only woman in the world for him.

He was the kind of man young girls dreamed about, and the one that mammas and papas feared.

He’d take what he wanted from a woman, and toss her aside when he tired of her.

“Bella. You take my breath away.”

“Thank you,” she said, finding it difficult to breathe normally around him. “But I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“Not in the least.”

She didn’t know what to say to that statement. In true Italian form, he could argue fiercely one moment and revert into the flirt the next.

Now that was an image she didn’t wish to conjure up about him. But the idea was in her head and growing stronger, thanks to the sensual energy that crackled in the air, leaving her tingling from head to toe.

“I am a lucky man to have you as my dinner companion tonight,” he said.

How could he make a business dinner sound intimate? A business dinner that was a step above blackmail for her? How could he for a moment make her forget the dire importance of this night to her future?

“Shouldn’t we be leaving for Viareggio?”

“There is something I must do first, something I have wanted to do since we met.”

Stefano pushed away from the doorway and crossed to her with the grace of a jungle cat on the prowl, all sleek muscle and feral energy.

This time there was no doubt he made love to her with his eyes. There was no doubt that she saw her own needs reflected in the smoldering depths of his own.

“What would that be?” she managed to ask, holding her ground because she simply couldn’t force her feet to move.

He reached for her, threading the fingers of both hands through her hair to curve over her scalp. The move was as much an anchor as a caress. She knew he meant to kiss her.

Though her mind was screaming at her to run, her body was instinctively bowing into his.

“No,” she breathed, a feeble refusal at best, but she found it difficult to do more as his mouth swept down to hers.

Not surprising, he didn’t listen to her.

That first crush of his mouth on hers sent new sensations rocketing through her. She swayed, certain she’d have crumbled if he hadn’t been holding her close.

Dio mio! He kissed her with a ravenous intensity that thrilled and terrified her, for she knew if he unleashed his sensual appetite on her she’d be powerless to stop him.

More, she’d be powerless to stop herself from surrendering to the promise in his kiss, his touch. In the strong arms that held her fast.

She slammed both hands against Stefano’s broad chest to end this madness. But instead of pushing him away as she’d intended, her palms lost their purchase on his silken shirt.

“Bella,” he breathed, holding her fast and deepening the kiss.

Her splayed fingers pressed against the breadth of his chest. He was so big. So powerful.

Touching him was like touching the sun. Sizzling, erotic heat spiraled through her.

She’d surely burn to a crisp if she stayed too close. But her attempt to push him away was feeble at best. She couldn’t think of anything but the intense pleasure engulfing her.

A low groan rumbled from him. He pulled her flush against his body without a break in the kiss that was now singing through her senses with the passion of an aria.

She wasn’t a neophyte to kissing, but she’d waited all her life to have a man make love to her with his mouth like this. This slow dueling of tongues and adoration of lips. Unchained. Earthy. Passionate.

She was awash in a froth of longing with him the center of her universe, the sun that fired her blood. Her arms slipped around him as if to anchor him close now.

Not that she needed to.

One of his hands cradled her head while the other made a long, leisurely caress that was so seductively gentle it brought tears to her eyes. She’d never been touched so emotionally before. It thrilled and terrified her, and like a moth to the flame she kept inching closer for more.

And he gave her more. Not in a bold push as she’d expected but a more languid exploration of her mouth and body—an adoration really.

His lips sipped at the corner of her mouth before he lifted his head. She groaned in protest of the kiss ending too soon and looked up into his eyes.

The glimmer of desire was fading, replaced by a harder glint that smacked of mockery. Suddenly she was all too aware of standing in his embrace, her breasts pressed to his chest, her belly flush with the flat planes of his abdomen, and the hard evidence of his desire pulsing between them.

“I want fare l’amore and so you do,” he said, gently pushing her from him and gliding a finger down her flushed cheek. “But we must return to Viareggio and our appointed dinner. Later, hmm?”

It took a moment for her dazed brain to register what he was implying. She scrambled out of his reach, hating his cool assumption that she was his for the taking now. Hating herself even more for letting this situation spiral out of control.

“No, not later,” she said. “Not ever.”

The mouth that had moved with sensuous intent on hers thinned to a hard line. The amorous glint in his eyes died, replaced with a flash of annoyance before narrowing on her.

“We will see,” he said.

She shook her head in answer, for it was pointless to argue with him.

He was a playboy, arrogantly sure of his prowess and blessed with a beautiful face and physique of the gods. He was rich and sought after and likely believed every woman he met would gladly crawl into his bed.

She’d been too awed by the sensations he’d wrought to consider he’d take her eagerness to kiss him as a sign that she wanted more. But what did she really know about seduction?

Stefano shrugged into a suit jacket, looking for all the world like a demanding tycoon again. “We must leave now.”

“Of course.”

She suffered his hand at the small of her back as he guided her out of the building. She certainly didn’t want to feel this burning pull toward him, but she couldn’t squash it, either.

Yes, the sooner they got this business over with, the sooner she and Stefano could settle into a suitable work arrangement as secretary and boss.

Then she’d count the days until Cesare returned to the helm and Stefano was nothing more than a memory.

CHAPTER FIVE

AN HOUR later, Stefano pulled to the curb of the restaurant and set the brake. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He shouldn’t have let his hands learn the contour of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips.

He damned sure shouldn’t have enjoyed every second she’d been in his arms. But he had, and the only thing that soothed his pride was the fact she’d become as lost in the moment as he.

Now she sat as far from him as possible and stared pensively out the window, quiet and withdrawn, as if bitten by guilt for nearly succumbing to lust. It made the drive back to Viareggio overly long.

But then he was not of a mood to engage in chitchat, either. His own lack of control vexed him. He’d not been the one to stop. She had.

Her body had instinctively reacted to his, pressed to his and moving in a most delicious rhythm of desire. She couldn’t deny that!

But she’d come to her senses first. He’d become so intoxicated by a woman’s taste and texture that he’d lost focus. He would’ve taken her right then and there.

Her refusal to engage in an affair with him was a jab to his ego. For her withdrawal wasn’t part of the game of pursuit, the age-old attack and parry ritual of courtship that heightened desire.

This was a firm no.

Something far stronger than lust kept her from succumbing to passion. Loyalty to Cesare Marinetti?

He slid her a glance. Did she believe that when his father recovered they would resume their affair? Did she think because his papa was widowed now that she could assert herself into the role of his wife?

The very idea was galling, for this situation with Gemma smacked of another woman who’d had designs on gaining the lion’s share of Marinetti Shipyard.

Before his sister-in-law had got her claws into his brother, she’d been Stefano’s lover at university. He’d never thought to introduce her to his family. But that holiday she’d been alone with nowhere to go.

Bringing her home had been the decent thing to do. She had seen it as the opportunity to better her lot in life.

Once she had realized that Stefano’s brother was the heir, it had taken her merely a week or two at the most to seduce his brother.

Her deceit had taught him a valuable lesson, for though he hadn’t lost his heart to her, he’d certainly lost his head.

But she was far from done with Stefano.

From that point on she’d succeeded in driving a wedge between him and his brother. That had been the major reason he’d left Marinetti Shipyard. He couldn’t tolerate being around her and deal with her lies. He wouldn’t suffer his brother’s distrust of him in business or being around his conniving wife.

His mamma knew the truth, and he suspected his papa did, too, but neither brought it up.

Their new daughter-in-law quickly got with child. The next heir to the shipyard. The first Marinetti grandson which both his parents had doted on.

It had been easier for Stefano to strike out on his own than to cause more strife in his own family. He made his mark and set his own dream for a new shipping company into motion.

But even after the tragic accident that took his brother’s, sister-in-law’s and nephew’s lives he couldn’t return to Marinetti. His father still scoffed at his innovations, and refused to compromise.

Yet here he was, thrust into the role of manager. Forced to contend with another scheming woman who had designs on Marinetti Shipyard.

Did Gemma hope to take his mamma’s place?

It was a possibility Stefano couldn’t ignore for she’d managed to gain a small fortune in a short amount of time. But the stress of keeping up with a young lover and hiding his affair from his wife—no, the world!—had damned near killed his father.

With his mamma dead, there was nothing to stop his papa from easing his grief in Gemma’s arms. Nothing but Stefano.

He couldn’t tolerate his father making Miss Cardone his wife. He couldn’t see his mamma’s memory dishonored so. He’d not stand by while another gold-digger bled a Marinetti dry!

He’d turned his back the last time. He wouldn’t make that mistake again!

Stefano climbed from behind the wheel and nodded to the waiting attendant. A few lights flashed from the line of trim poplars at the side.

He immediately schooled his features, though any damage would already be done. He’d caught the attention of the paparazzi who had staked out the restaurant in hopes that a celebrity would happen by tonight. They typically chose an image that conveyed the greatest emotion and slapped some idiotic caption on it.

The media hounds were a nuisance he’d learned to live with. But Gemma and his father had smoothly evaded any limelight on their trysts to Milan.

Of course up until his mamma’s untimely death, his parents had been free of the paparazzi for ten years. His insides twisted at the memory.

The deaths of his brother and his family had drawn the gossips in hoards and had driven his parents into hiding.

Stefano remembered well how the journalists had camped out on the edge of their property, waiting for the chance to capture their grief. Vultures, all of them.

Since then Stefano had done all in his power to evade publicity as well. Thankfully time had tempered his animosity.

But this business with Gemma had his old resentment bubbling to the surface again. She was the opposite of his sister-in-law in looks and disposition yet was just as cunning and manipulative.

Gemma had awakened passionately fierce emotions in him that he’d vowed never to fall victim to again! Yet hadn’t he done just that when he’d kissed her in his office?

He was not above seducing her to satisfy his lust, but he would not surrender his pride or his head to her.

He wouldn’t let history repeat itself!

Stefano rounded the Alpha Romeo with quick angry strides as an attendant helped Gemma get out. More lights flashed from the perimeter and people on the sidewalk stopped to see what celebrity was dining here tonight.

Gemma cast a frantic glance his way and for a moment he almost felt pity for her. Almost.

He offered his arm out of duty and she latched on to it. Though he had zero respect for her duplicity, he was man enough to admit she was a beautiful, desirable woman. Even without the attention of the paparazzi, heads would have turned toward her.

Sì, their pictures would grace the gossip rags tomorrow. Speculation would be ripe of the identity of his dinner companion.

It was just a matter of time before someone recognized her as his father’s secretary. Then the gossips would question if this was a business dinner, or something more intimate.

“Buonasera, Signor Marinetti!” the host said as Stefano pressed his fingers to Gemma’s slender back to guide her to the podium. “Your private room is ready.”

“Grazie!”

He knew she was a schemer and manipulator, yet his body quickened whenever he touched her. He should be imagining her slaving to repay what she’d stolen instead of picturing her lounging on a bed with her arms reaching for him.

Damning his inability to douse his lust where she was concerned, he hurried her along in the host’s wake down an intimately lighted hall. The telling stiffening of her back proved she was eager to break contact with him as well.

Could she be fighting her own desires? Or was she simply playing hard to get so his indomitable male pride would goad him to pursue her?

She could end up married to his father!

No, he wouldn’t let that happen.

He’d take her first, make her his paramour and make damn sure the world knew it. That was the only way that his father would see her for what she truly was.

His father was old school. He saw no harm in engaging in an affair, but he’d never tolerate his wife or lover doing the same.

The private dining room held just the right ambiance of subdued light and serenate violino drifting in from the main room. It was an area perfectly suited for a lover’s tryst.

Or the cutting business he intended to finalize tonight.

He smiled and seated Gemma to his right, confident he was in control of the woman and the situation drawing near.

The waiter bustled in, the lines of his broad face carved in a deep smile. “Buonasera, signor and signora. Che cosa volete da bere?”

“Barolo, ten or twelve years old,” Stefano said.

“Excellent choice, signor.” The waiter smiled at Gemma. “Signora?”

“A crodino, please,” Gemma said.

She ordered a bevande analcoliche at this time of night? “Is there another wine or apertif you would prefer?” Stefano asked. “Perhaps a bellini?”

She shook her head. “I rarely drink alcohol.”

But there were occasions, he was sure. So why not share a celebratory drink with him now?

Perhaps there was another reason why she hesitated to imbibe. Perhaps vino loosened her inhibitions. Perhaps she feared she’d lose the tenuous control she’d managed to maintain since they’d left Canto Di Mare.

Perhaps she was remembering the passion that had flared between them when they’d kissed. When his hands had glided over her body. When he’d pulled her close and let her feel the hard evidence of his desire.

Stefano felt the first stirrings of desire in his groin. He usually had far more self-control than that around women, yet with Gemma it seemed nonexistent. Had she had that same effect on his papa?

Likely so. While the old man grew indulgent from his vino, she’d kept her wits by drinking an orange fizz. She’d remained in control while his papa slowly lost his!

Just remembering her role in his father’s life gouged his anger up another notch. But his anger was equally aimed at himself this time.

If only his mamma had told Stefano of her suspicions months ago perhaps a lot of grief and lost revenue could have been avoided.

He would have spoken with his father.

Yes, they would have argued fiercely, for no man cares to admit he was a fool over a woman—even a hot-blooded Italian who lives to love women. If his father would’ve realized what Gemma was after, she wouldn’t have dipped so deeply into Cesare Marinetti’s pockets.

But Stefano had removed himself from his father’s business before his brother’s death. And afterward? Nothing had changed his father’s view of the world. Nothing had opened his eyes to the pollution he was leaving the future generation to clean up.

After Davide’s funeral, his father had taken Stefano aside. “Are you ready to give up playing inventor of eccentric ships and return to the family shipyard?”