Claimed by the Italian: Virgin: Wedded at the Italian's Convenience / Count Giovanni's Virgin / The Italian's Unwilling Wife

His type. A heavy frown scored his forehead. Tall, blonde, leggy, polished. He’d been briefly engaged to one and almost as briefly married to another. That was before he’d learned the hard way that commitment was for fools. And now the blondes—when he could be bothered—were still tall, eye-worthy, polished and clued-up, taking a casual, sophisticated affair in their leggy stride. Cool, knowing the rules of the game.

Ergo, Lily Frome was not his type! She was tiny. But perfectly formed. She had hair the colour of a toffee apple. She was sweet, caring, not afraid to answer back, open and honest, so disturbed by what he had as good as coerced her into doing that she probably had nightmares every time she went to bed.

Went to bed—He strode into the villa by a side door, slipped up to the first storey by the staff staircase, to avoid meeting anyone, and tried to push the connection between Lily and bed right out of his mind. Mention a casual affair to her and she’d run a mile. Screaming!

Or hit him with the nearest heavy object!

And he, for one, wouldn’t blame her. She was gorgeous, warm-hearted, intrinsically good, and she deserved far, far better than that. She deserved someone who would love her, value and treasure her.

Lily knew she was running around like a headless chicken. A naked headless chicken!

She’d put off having a shower and changing for dinner in the hope of waylaying Paolo on his return. Because she’d known she would explode if she didn’t corner him and make him do something about his poor deluded mother and her talk of weddings!

But half an hour before the appointed time for the formal dinner en famille that Fiora enjoyed so much he still hadn’t arrived. Giving up hope, she’d sprinted into the shower and out again in record time, then scuttled around, pulling on fresh underwear, plucking something in a lovely smoky blue colour out of the wardrobe and dragging it on—only to find that though the front of the dress was modest enough it left most of her back bare down to her waist, leaving her bra straps exposed. And the skirt was as bad—it sort of clipped her bottom before flaring down to her ankles, showing a glaringly obvious panty line.

Muttering something that would have had her great-aunt telling her to wash her mouth out with soap and water, she stripped off to her skin, started to pull the dress on again, then threw it onto the bed, diving for the well-stocked cupboard and throwing garments out, looking for something that wouldn’t show all her underwear.

‘Lily …’ The words that would have had him asking how her day had gone flew out of his head. If there’d been problems then suddenly they weren’t important. He’d walked into her room unannounced, as if he had the right. To find her naked, flushed. Bewildered?

His breath caught. A hard tight knot in his chest. He should apologise, retreat.

He found himself moving forward instead, closing the door behind him. Tugged towards her as if he had no will of his own. She was exquisite. A surge of sexual need swamped him. He stopped breathing.

She should be backing away. Angry. But she wasn’t.

Her tiny bare feet seemed rooted to the carpet. Did she feel, as he did, that this was meant? Fated? That there was nothing either of them could do about it? Always in charge of his own destiny, this was a first for him.

Closer. His eyes found hers and held. Her clear wide gaze made his heart turn over. Her soft lips were parted in unconscious invitation. The delicate pink crests of her perfect creamy breasts peaked in betrayal. Did she burn for him as he burned for her?

One touch of his hand, his unsteady hand, his skin against her skin and there would be no turning back. As he knew his own name he knew that. Her slender body was a siren call. Irresistible.

He dragged a breath into his oxygen-starved lungs. Lily was an innocent. Not his type, not the usual blonde sophisticate who saw good sex as a fair exchange for a few weeks of his attention, fancy restaurants, weekends in Paris, St Tropez, Rome, taking a parting gift of some costly jewel or other with no regrets.

The feeling that he would die before harming Lily, hurting her, overwhelmed him.

Turning, he reached for the control he’d almost lost during the handful of minutes that had passed since he’d walked in on her, reached for a robe flung carelessly over the back of a chair and enclosed her in it as she looked up at him in a way that turned his insides to water.

The backs of his fingers drifted over the warm skin that covered her delicate collarbone as he closed the fabric, and it was almost his undoing. His voice was thicker, more brusque than he’d intended, as he stepped away, putting much needed distance between them, and gave his belated apology, ‘Forgive me. Walking in without your invitation to enter was crass.’ He gave a cursory glance at his wristwatch. ‘Dinner in five minutes. Mamma will be waiting.’ And he left before he could succumb to the heartbreaking confusion in her beautiful eyes.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘I HAVE a lovely surprise for you!’

Fiora had waited until the sea bass had been served by the now silently departing Donatella, and Lily noted with a sinking feeling that her eyes were sparking with excitement.

‘We are to have an engagement party on Friday!’ she announced. ‘The first social gathering we have hosted in over a year! This afternoon I have arranged everything on the telephone.’

‘Have you, now?’ Carla, exotic in a deep scarlet flowing gown that suited her ample figure, patrician features and glossy black hair put in repressively. ‘While my back was turned?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And you don’t think you should have waited until you are strong enough to cope with such excitement and busyness?’

‘Mamma?’ Paolo echoed the companion’s question, and for the first time since entering the dining room Lily looked directly at him, willing him to veto his mother’s insane idea.

In his white dinner jacket he looked exactly what he was—sophisticated, urbane, perfectly at home in his exquisite surroundings. White on white. White walls, long windows where gauzy white drapes fluttered, tall white candles on the table drawing gleaming reflections from the antique silverware, Venetian glass and sparkling china. White blooms in a creamy porcelain bowl gracing the centre of the table.

Lily’s lashes swiftly screened her tortured eyes. Watching him idly toy with the stem of his wine glass, relaxed, his sensual mouth softening even as he raised one strongly marked eyebrow in the direction of his mother, she felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach.

She didn’t think she would ever, ever be able to face him alone again! A raging blush burned her face. The way she’d just stood there, for the second time caught as naked as a newborn, stunned, immobile, watching the slow drift of his golden eyes as he moved towards her, trapped by a fierce sexual tension. It must have seemed to him that she was blatantly inviting him to touch her, make love to her!

Which was exactly what she had been doing, she recognised with searingly painful honesty. She had wanted him so very desperately that her normal sense of modesty and self-respect had departed without a single trace!

But he couldn’t have made his lack of interest any plainer. Apologising for his intrusion and covering her up with that robe. And leaving. A definite thanks, but no thanks! She had never felt so humiliated, so deeply ashamed of herself in her life!

It had taken more courage than she had imagined she possessed to pull on the most sober garment she could find and appear for dinner. Now, she belatedly wished she had taken the coward’s way out—pleaded a headache and buried herself deep beneath the bedclothes, refusing to come out until this nightmare had gone away.

‘Don’t fuss, Paolo!’ Fiora forked a little of the delicious fish. ‘It is to be a small affair only—to mark your betrothal, as is proper. Just your cousins—I know you have no time for them, but I want to show Lily off to what little remains of our family.’ She laid down her cutlery after clearing her plate, welcome evidence of her returning appetite. ‘As for the extra work—what are staff for? It will give me great pleasure to sit back and simply direct operations!’

Once again Lily steeled herself to raise her eyes in Paolo’s direction, swallowing shakily as the impact of his lean male beauty hit her. Tightening her soft pink mouth as her heart clattered against her ribs, she waited for him to put a halt to it all—rule out any idea of an engagement party. After all, he was king of the roost. This was his home, his fake engagement.

But all he said was, ‘Then, provided you don’t overtire yourself, we will humour you, Mamma.’

Paolo heard Lily’s rush of indrawn breath, saw her slender white shoulders—revealed by the black silk slip dress she was wearing—stiffen, before they sagged as she slipped a little lower in her chair, as if she were trying to hide herself under the table.

Poor sweet Lily! An iron band tightened around his heart. He’d put her through one ordeal after another. He would make amends, he vowed silently. He would make things right if it was the last thing he did.

She had looked strained and subdued since she’d joined them. Because of what had happened—almost happened—back in her bedroom?

His body hardened intolerably as mental images flooded his brain.

He felt he had shown quite remarkable restraint in the circumstances. He had been driven wild by need, yet he had done the honourable thing and backed off. Surely she would understand that by doing that and not following his primal instincts it showed he had grown to respect her, admire her and care for her? That he had put her physical and emotional well-being before his own desire to possess her enticingly sexy body?

When she understood that he had respected her innocence, not taken advantage of what she had undoubtedly unknowingly offered, she would begin to respect him too. Would grow to like him and forget how he had manipulated her into a situation he knew she felt deeply uncomfortable about. For some reason it was vitally important.

What was it about Lily Frome that brought out the male protective instinct in him? The need to look good in her eyes? Until now he had never cared how other people saw him.

His brooding golden gaze rested on her, and his heart squeezed painfully inside his chest. That dress made her look so fragile, threw the pallor of her skin into prominence. She looked achingly delicate. Fragile and breakable.

He didn’t want to break her. He wanted to—

Muttering his excuses, he left the table and went to take a long cold shower.

‘Lily said she wanted some fresh air,’ Fiora said in answer to Paolo’s question, not raising her eyes from the lists she was writing, rapidly covering the sheets of paper, underlining some items several times, starring or circling others.

To-do, or Have-done lists for the coming party, he guessed, helping himself to a much-needed cup of unsweetened dark coffee from the pot on her breakfast tray.

His night had been passed in deep thought. His body and mind had thrown up a problem. But, as always, having looked at the problem from all possible angles, he had found the answer.

All he had to do was persuade Lily to reach the same conclusion.

Since his ill-fated disaster of a marriage, and before that his farcical engagement, he had cynically distrusted his judgement where women were concerned. He had found, and subsequently taken it as read, that women would bend over backwards in their haste to fall in with his slightest suggestion because of what was in it for them—being seen with one of Europe’s most eligible unattached men in all the right places, being pampered for as long as his interest lasted, and finally departing from his life in receipt of a handsome pay-off.

But he wasn’t thinking about his usual type here; he was thinking about Lily. And she was so very different. Which was why—

His brow furrowed as Fiora laid aside a sheet of paper, which from where he was standing looked decidedly covered in hieroglyphics, and remarked with a touch of rebuke, ‘The dear girl looked pale and strained. I hope you haven’t done something to upset her.’

‘Of course not.’

The words stung like acid in his mouth. He’d done nothing but upset her since he’d as good as blackmailed her into playing a part she found demeaning and distasteful! He shifted his feet uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to being in the wrong. He didn’t like it.

‘Good. Mind you don’t.’ The glance his mother gave him was admonitory. ‘She is a lovely young woman in all respects, and nothing at all like those dreadful painted harpies you kept getting yourself photographed with—much to my despair!’

Paolo stuffed his hands into the pockets of his off-white chinos. ‘Don’t nag, Mamma.’

‘I am your mother. I shall nag if I wish.’

His long mouth twitched. ‘The days of the harpies are over, I assure you.’ Had been for quite some time now. He had discovered that casual affairs were not only a bore, they left him deeply unsatisfied.

‘I should think so, too! While you’re here I would like your permission to ask my dressmaker to attend. Primarily to create Lily’s wedding gown, but I’d also like him to run up something for me—the mother of the groom must look her best.’

His golden eyes lit with laughter. She was priceless. Her ‘dressmaker’ was one of the most talented and internationally sought-after designers in Italy.

‘As you wish, Mamma.’ He stooped to drop a kiss on her forehead, anxious now to be off and begin to put his plans into operation, but she caught his hand, holding him, her eyes fond, and gazing up at the son who inspired frustration, exasperation, and above all absolute devotion in the maternal heart.

‘As you know, I see that surgeon person in three weeks’ time. I would like you to arrange the marriage for as soon as possible after that.’

He raised her hand to his lips, serious now, his eyes darkening. ‘Only if you have a clean bill of health and the doctor gives you the go-ahead. Not even my desire for the wedding will allow me to let you overtire yourself.’

‘I’ll waltz through the consultation—you’ll see!’ Her smile was radiant. ‘And waltz at your wedding! Now, run along—go to your fiancée.’

But finding Lily was no longer his most pressing priority. Things were moving at breakneck speed. What had started off as a deception to make what he had genuinely believed to be his mother’s last few days happy had turned into something quite different.

Strong white teeth showed in an unrepentant grin as he strode into his study. There were things to arrange before he set about persuading his pretend fiancée to become his real one and agree to be his wife.

Kill two birds with one stone. Assure Mamma’s happiness, her peace of mind, her interest in a bright future, give her the prospect of grandchildren, and at the same time assuage his now deeply felt need to care for Lily, protect her, make love to her, make her his own.

The idea of marrying again didn’t seem as distasteful as it had done. Lily would be a wife he could trust, honest and straightforward—except when he coerced her into betraying her principles. His mouth tightened.

He knew he wanted her permanently in his life. And what he wanted he always got.

Didn’t he?

His mouth set, he lifted the receiver and began, rapid-fire, to punch in numbers.

Feeling light-headed, Lily sat on the herb-strewn grass, drew her legs up, looped her arms around them and dropped her head down onto her knees.

She’d risen early, creeping through the villa like a thief, intent on avoiding Paolo because being anywhere near him with the memory of the way she’d behaved last evening still raw between them was out of the question.

But her conscience had pricked her when she’d met Carla, taking a breakfast tray into Fiora’s room. Paolo’s mother had shown her nothing but warmth and kindness since her arrival. She was a lovely lady, and would only worry when her absence was discovered—an absence Lily was determined would last for several hours.

So, worrying the elderly lady being the last thing she wanted to do, she’d poked her head around the door in Carla’s wake and said, as brightly as she could, ‘Fiora, buongiorno!’ Paolo’s mother had been already up and dressed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, a huge notepad on her lap. ‘As it’s such a lovely morning I thought I’d explore the gardens and maybe grab an hour or two of sunbathing.’ And she’d headed off as quickly as she could.

The beautiful gardens were extensive, with many secluded areas where she could sit in solitude. And even though she was sure Paolo wouldn’t set out to look for her—his abrupt departure from the dining room last night instead of spending the remainder of the evening with her and his mother, as had been his custom, told her that he’d found that bedroom scene deeply distasteful and would want as little to do with her as possible during the remainder of her stay here—she needed to get right away from the villa’s immediate environs for the few hours she desperately needed.

And so when she’d found a wooden door in the high stone perimeter wall she’d pushed it open and found herself out on the open hillside, where she’d sunk down on the grass and scrunched up in a bundle of exhausting emotions, knowing she would need far more than a few hours to get her silly self sorted.

She’d fallen in love with Paolo Venini.

She’d done her best to convince herself that what she felt was nothing more serious than a normal female reaction to a powerfully charismatic and sexy male. Lust. Something that would thankfully and quite rapidly fade when she was no longer constantly in his presence, when all the contact with him she had would be his promised regular and long-distance funding of the charity organiser he’d set in place back in England. A case of out of sight, out of mind.

But he would never be out of her mind. That was the stark, unpalatable truth of it. He would always have a place in her heart, and her heart would ache for him. And her body would cringe with shame whenever she remembered how she’d stood before him, naked and needy.

He had turned his back on her and walked away. After pointedly draping a robe around her, demonstrating his uninterest. And why wouldn’t he walk away? she asked herself brutally. He could grit his teeth and act a part when they were in his mother’s company, for the sake of the deception he had instigated, and he might be highly sexed—one only had to look at the succession of busty blonde bimbos who passed through his life—but skinny, unsophisticated nobodies would leave him cold.

She was just someone he’d paid to play a part. Someone he would never have noticed if he hadn’t had a brainstorm and decided to manufacture a fiancée to ease his mother’s mind, back when it had seemed unlikely she would survive her operation, let alone recover from it. She had to remember that. It would help her recovery from the illness of falling in love. Someone, somewhere had likened it to an illness, hadn’t they?

About to get to her feet and walk off some of her pent-up emotions, Lily tensed, her breath solidifying in her lungs, her pulse going haywire.

She sensed his presence even before he spoke, and her mouth ran dry.

‘Lily, are you hiding?’

Deny it? Pretend that bedroom scene hadn’t happened? Or face it out? A split second to make up her mind.

She lifted her head. Watched the effortlessly graceful way he sank to the ground beside her and mentally cursed his raw sexual magnetism. But she drew on some reserve of courage and gave him the truth, her small features tight. ‘Yes. Hiding. I’m embarrassed about what happened before dinner yesterday, OK? And, if you’re wondering, I don’t normally make no attempt to cover up when a man walks in on me in my birthday suit. Right?’

And, having said her piece, she quickly changed the subject. ‘And I’m mad as blazes at you because you didn’t put a stop to that engagement party nonsense when I’m sure you could have done!’ She saw him smile and turned her head away sharply, biting down on her soft lower lip, because that smile of his was enough to turn the sanest woman into a gibbering wreck.

‘And you have much experience of men surprising you in a state of nakedness?’ His voice was as rich and dark as chocolate.

Lily’s skin quivered. ‘No, of course not!’ Why didn’t he just drop it? Was he cruel enough to be getting a kick out of embarrassing her?

‘I thought not. You are truly an innocent.’

He was sitting so close she could feel his purr of amusement. Or was it more like satisfaction?

Either way, it was one more strike against her! He wouldn’t rate lack of experience highly, much less fall in love with an ‘innocent’ as he had named her. That meant she just had to stop living in cloud-cuckoo land, moping and pining and wishing he would catch the same illness she had come down with! He didn’t even fall in love with the type of woman he bedded—cool, blonde, sexy and knowing. He just used them, grew bored, and tossed them aside! So what chance would she have?

He might laugh at what he would have seen as an attempt to entice him, so it was up to her to show him she had a mind of her own and wasn’t to be sidetracked or poked fun at!

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘And that is?’ he asked, with provocative smoothness, stretching out his long muscular legs, angling his body into hers so that she wanted to move away, right away, but couldn’t make herself.

Hot colour scorched her cheekbones. What was the matter with her? She craved his nearness like an addict craved a fix. She knew how bad it was for her, but she couldn’t make herself get up and put distance between them. She was a hopeless case where he was concerned!

Furious with herself, she grumped at him. ‘That awful engagement party your mother’s busy organising! You must stop her before even more people get drawn into our shameful lies!’

‘Ah, that.’ He touched the side of her face with the backs of his fingers, then withdrew his hand and reached into a pocket to produce a small velvet-covered box.

Her skin still burning from his touch, Lily could only stare transfixed as he slid the dazzling ring onto her wedding finger. ‘A perfect fit now. I told you I’d get it altered.’

The smugness in his voice fired her to blazing anger. ‘I could slap you!’ she hissed, scrambling round so that she was on her knees, facing him. ‘I told you not to mess with the family heirloom when it’s only going to be a stage prop—you stupid, arrogant—’

‘My refreshing Lily!’ Almost lazily he reached forward, hands on her shoulders, pulling her down to his level, one of his legs pinioning hers. ‘You are the first woman to remind me that I am not perfect! The only woman apart from Mamma who has the spirit to argue with me—I like that.’ He dropped the lightest of kisses onto the end of her nose. ‘I like it very much. It reminds me that I am human.’

His nearness, the heat of his body against hers, the scent of his skin, were desperately tantalising, and made her tremble. She loved him so much, and she hated herself for loving him. She just knew that her resolve to keep him firmly at arm’s length was rapidly dwindling, like mist in the heat of the sun, even though she also knew that he was doing what he’d done before. Distracting her to take her mind off her objections to a fake engagement party that he wasn’t going to veto because this further descent into deceit didn’t bother him.

Her body stiffening, where before it had been weakly melding with his, she fisted her hands against his chest and pushed. ‘I’m warning you—if that fake party goes ahead, I won’t be there!’

‘Neither will I, cara.’

Her smooth brow furrowed at that, her hot words swallowed. Was he going to put a stop to it after all? It seemed like it. Gradually her fists unfurled, her palms lying against his chest where she could feel the steady beat of his heart, the heat of his skin beneath the soft fabric of his collarless shirt.