Redemption Of The Untamed Italian

‘And I suppose you know lots of models?’ The words emerged husky and soft, and for some reason she didn’t step back from him, even when it would have made sense to put a little distance between them.

‘A few,’ he confirmed in a way that made her certain he was intentionally under-stating the facts. But then his expression sobered and he was looking at her more intently, concentrating on her features as though committing them to memory. ‘You are tiny. Like a little bird.’

Her lop-sided smile was spontaneous. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.’

He continued to stare at her and her smile dropped. She was conscious of everything: the feeling of her breath in her body, the sound of his, the warmth from his chest, the parting of his lips.

‘Anyway.’ She shifted her eyes towards the door with effort. ‘Laurence will be wondering what’s keeping me.’

Cesare’s expression shifted immediately. ‘On the contrary, I think it is fair to say his entire focus is on whether or not I’m going to save his ass from financial ruin.’

At that, Jemima’s gaze skittered back to Cesare. No one knew about Laurence’s situation. He’d taken great care to hide the parlous state of the fund, particularly given the risky investments he’d been making with other people’s capital. She tried not to think about the fact that he’d drawn her into this mess, nor to wonder whether that made her some kind of accessory. No one was supposed to know. Surely this man, this fascinating, handsome hunk of an Italian tycoon, couldn’t really have any idea as to the full extent of Laurence’s situation?

‘You’re surprised?’ He correctly interpreted the look flitting across her expressive face. Her skin paled, her lips parted, and she stayed resolutely silent—for lack of any certainty about just what to say.

His body shifted, moving ever so slightly closer to hers—by only a matter of degrees, but it was enough. Enough for everything about him to become bigger, stronger and more overpowering and for all the temptations she’d been fighting off to threaten to consume her. ‘Do I strike you as a man who would come to a meeting like this—or to any meeting, for that matter—unprepared?’

‘No.’ The answer was intuitive.

Approval warmed his face and he nodded, just once, not moving his eyes from her face. ‘So you’re, what—bait?’

She frowned, not understanding.

‘Did Laurence think that having you at the table would distract me sufficiently to make me rush into this investment? That I’d put aside common sense and offer to buy into his hedge fund to the tune of half a billion pounds just because the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen happened to be fluttering her lashes at me all evening?’

It wasn’t really a compliment, yet butterflies beat their wings against the sides of her belly. There was an insult in there, or at the very least the hint of condemnation. A need to defend her cousin stiffened her spine. ‘On the contrary, Laurence simply wanted it to feel like a pleasant evening rather than purely business.’

Cesare’s wolf-like smile showed how little he believed that statement. ‘This is business.’ He growled the words out. ‘And I never let anything affect my judgement where business is concerned.’ He moved closer, so now his arm brushed against hers, and she had to suck in a sharp breath of air—which was a mistake, because it tasted of him, all hyper-masculine and citrusy.

‘Although, you have made that hard to remember at times.’

Another compliment buried in a tone that was somehow derisive. She stared up at him, the pale overhead light catching her hair so it shone like threads of precious gold. ‘Have I?’

His expression was droll. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware.’ He lifted a hand, running a finger across her cheek, and she trembled in response. ‘It was an excellent gambit.’ His thumb padded across her lower lip and desire sparked like flames against her sides. ‘I can see why he would think you might win me over.’

‘That wasn’t his intention.’ Her voice came out stiff and cultured, her tone plummy enough to please even her mother.

Cesare’s laugh spread through her veins like warmed caramel. ‘Yes, it was. Perhaps he didn’t inform you of that, but I have no doubt your cousin believed that serving you up on a silver platter would make this deal go through more smoothly.’

‘I’m not being served up, to you or anyone,’ she demurred without moving backwards, even when she knew she had to. ‘I often accompany Laurence on business meetings.’ It wasn’t particularly convincing.

‘Really?’ He lowered his hand to her shoulder, his eyes chasing the gesture, fixating on the exposed flesh there, pale cream with a pearl-like translucence.

‘You find that hard to believe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s hardly your scene, is it?’

‘My scene?’ Her heart threw an extra beat into its rhythm.

‘International supermodel attends dinner meeting regarding finance fund?’

His mockery made her pulse skitter. ‘You think the two are mutually exclusive, Mr Durante?’

‘Call me Cesare.’

She found she couldn’t resist. ‘Cesare.’ His name in her mouth was erotic. She pronounced it as he had, ‘Che-zar-eh’, then swallowed, trying to quell the buzzing that was spreading through her. ‘It doesn’t matter what I call you. It doesn’t change the fact that your opinion is pretty offensive.’

‘Name three of the companies your cousin has stakes in.’

She blinked.

‘Any three. There are twenty-seven in the hedge fund.’

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. ‘I’m not interested in the details.’

‘No, you’re not. And you’re not here to talk business.’

‘You honestly think I’m here as some kind of inducement to you?’

He shrugged. ‘I cannot fathom any other reason for your presence.’

She glared at him, shaking her head. ‘Yeah, well, you’re wrong...’

‘I doubt that.’ His eyes bore into hers and then swept her face. ‘You know, I’ve seen your photo dozens of times. You’re everywhere—on buses, billboards, television. You are beautiful always, but in person you are much more so.’ He frowned, as though he hadn’t intended this to be a compliment. ‘If Laurence thought I would lose my mind and simply agree to sign on the bottom line, then he played an excellent bargaining chip.’ He dropped his head lower so his lips were only inches from hers. ‘I suspect one night with you would be worth half a billion pounds.’

Desire was like a tidal wave crashing over her.

‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she murmured, but didn’t move away.

His lips twisted cynically. ‘I know what the rumours say. I know that you and Clive Angmore had an affair that almost ended his marriage, despite the fact he was in his sixties and you were barely legal.’

Her heart strangled at that familiar accusation. It was surprising how much it hurt coming from Cesare. After all, she’d lived alongside Clive’s lies for a long time—she’d thought she’d developed a thicker skin than this. But hearing Cesare shame her for the supposed affair cut her to the quick.

‘And you blame me for that?’

‘No.’ His eyes were thoughtful. ‘As I said, you were just a teenager.’

If she’d been surprised by the hurt his accusation had caused then his next statement was a balm she also hadn’t expected. ‘Surely you’re too intelligent to believe everything you read in the paper?’

‘Not everything,’ he murmured, the words drugging her with their sensual tone. ‘But I’ve also observed that the old adage “where there’s smoke, there’s fire” is often true.’

She compressed her lips. It bothered her so much that he had clearly bought into all the rumours, was so believing of the image that the press had created of her ‘out of control’ lifestyle.

‘You’re wrong, Mr Durante.’ She deliberately reverted to the use of his formal name. ‘I’m here to support my cousin, and nothing more.’ Her voice wobbled a little, but she was pleased with the coldness of her tone. And now, finally, she side-stepped him, gratefully breathing in Durante-free air.

No, not gratefully. Wistfully. She would have been grateful if she’d stayed exactly where she was, because in a matter of seconds she suspected he’d have been kissing her.

Her mind splintered apart at the very idea and a rush of warmth pooled low in her abdomen.

‘Stop.’ She couldn’t say why she obeyed, but her legs remained perfectly still, unmoving, her face tilted towards his. He was watching her carefully, as though he could peel away her layers and see something deep inside.

‘I came here tonight with a sense of amusement. I am not a man to be baited by a beautiful woman. And yet...’ He lifted his hand to her cheek once more, his eyes roaming her face thoughtfully.

‘And yet?’ Her voice was croaky.

‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.’ He didn’t move but she felt as though his body was touching her, pressing into her, and her stomach twisted into a billion knots.

‘I’m not bait,’ she insisted. If only he knew that her experience with the opposite sex was completely non-existent.

He brushed aside her words with a flash of his eyes. ‘I want you to come home with me tonight.’ Before she could say anything in response, he lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. ‘It will have no bearing on my decision with the hedge fund. Business is business.’

He paused, his eyes devouring her inch by inch. ‘Pleasure is pleasure.’

His finger against her lips moved to outline her Cupid’s bow. ‘Come home with me because you feel what I feel. Come home with me because you’re as fascinated by this as I am.’ He leaned closer so his warm breath buzzed her temple. ‘Come home with me because you want me to make love to you all night long, until your body is exhausted and your voice hoarse from crying my name over and over again.’

She sucked in a sharp breath. Words were beyond her.

‘Come home with me, Jemima.’

Her knees were weak, her pulse insistent. She swallowed but her throat felt thick; everything was out of whack.

She couldn’t seriously be considering this. Cesare Durante was a renowned bachelor, a self-made billionaire who had no time for relationships that lasted more than a few days. She hadn’t needed to run his name through an Internet search to know that—it was an established fact. He wasn’t offering anything except one night—sex.

He obviously bought into the articles in the press, the ones that made it look as if she spent her life getting hammered at parties and sleeping with any guy that moved. She’d lost track of how many fictional relationships she’d been in, secret marriages she’d walked out of, how many times she’d been pregnant, dumped and broken-hearted. How many times in rehab, fighting with other models, all of it preposterous and laughable—except she didn’t often laugh about it. She simply didn’t read the stories any more.

Her manager had hired an exceptional public relations guru who only contacted Jemima when a story wouldn’t die, something Jemima was required to respond to, but otherwise Jemima let the papers run their fictional pieces while she got on with her real life. And that was about as far removed from the public’s perception as it was possible to get. She spent more time with her hands wrangling tulip bulbs than they did any man.

He had the wrong idea about her. He’d be disappointed if he learned she had precisely zero experience in bed. And she didn’t want him to be disappointed in her.

‘I can’t.’ Her reluctance wasn’t faked.

‘You don’t want to?’ he murmured, and now his lips brushed hers so her knees felt as though they were going to collapse beneath her. A soft moan escaped without her intention.

But she did. She wanted to go home with him in a way that should have served as a warning. Her hand lifted of its own accord to wrap around his neck, drawing his head lower, her eyes hitched to his. ‘I don’t even know you,’ she pointed out, but the words were so quiet she might as well not have spoken.

‘You know it would be good,’ he replied simply, and she nodded, because she did. But he had no idea—he couldn’t know what he was getting.

This was crazy. It was utterly mad, yet she felt something inside her tip, and all she could think of was how badly she wanted to do this.

It wasn’t as though she’d planned to remain a virgin. Saying no had become a habit, one she was glad of. She’d seen more than her fair share of heartbreak and hurt amongst the models she worked with, models who slept with photographers only to discover the photographer was married, or sleeping with half a dozen other models.

But Cesare was different. He wasn’t in the fashion industry at all; they’d never have to see each other again. She could sleep with him, lose her virginity, discover a little bit about the whole sex thing and then get on with her life. Truth be told, she was reaching a point where she felt that her virginity required an explanation and it would be nice not to think about that. Yes, it was a burden, and she’d be glad to be rid of it. And at least with Cesare she could be assured of two things: it would be meaningless and it would be good...

There were a thousand reasons not to do this, but none of them as drugging as the reasons to say yes. Even before she’d come face to face with him, she’d been fascinated by the legend of Cesare Durante, curious about the man who, as the stories said, had gone from being the dirt-poor son of an Italian nanny to one of the richest men in the world. He had the Midas touch, and his confidence was its own source of power and attractiveness. But, now that she’d met him, there was so much more to Cesare, so much more that had caught her completely in his thrall, so she found herself nodding slowly, almost without her knowledge.

‘It has nothing do with Laurence.’

His smile was lightly mocking and, damn it, even that she found sexier than she should have. ‘I would hope not.’ He leaned a little closer. ‘I can assure you, he will be the furthest thing from your mind when I make you mine.’

A frown formed on her features, disbelief and uncertainty being swallowed up by a fierce rush of desire. Make you mine. The words held such a promise of possession and intent that she was already craving him, craving this. Tonight would be the night she lost her virginity and, all of a sudden, she could barely wait.

‘I will make you sing, little bird.’ He murmured the words against her ear, so goose bumps spread across her body. ‘Come home with me.’

Common sense was completely submerged by desire, so she nodded, her hooded eyes finding his a second before his lips crushed hers. ‘Yes,’ she agreed into his mouth, though the word was barely necessary. Her hands wrapped around his neck, her body arching to press to his, her agreement evident in every cell of her body. Still, she said it again, partly to convince herself this made sense and also to reassure herself this was really happening. ‘Yes, Cesare. Yes.’

He lifted his head to stare down into her eyes. ‘Words I am going to make you scream soon.’ The grey of his eyes flashed with a silent promise. Her nipples tightened against the soft fabric of her dress and, when he stepped back, his attention dropped to the tell-tale sign of arousal so that heat flashed in her face. ‘You are going to be begging me to take you, and I am going to enjoy that.’

CHAPTER TWO

CESARE EYED THE beautiful model across the table, a tightness in his body that came from the pleasurable spread of anticipation—the certainty that enjoyment was near at hand.

He threw back a measure of the scotch, relishing the depth of its flavour, the aged quality that was full of spice. Cesare liked a good scotch—the finest. There were many things he could do without, many luxuries he could afford but rarely indulged in, because he’d spent much of his life doing without, sacrificing.

But now he liked nice things, he liked them when he wanted them. Scotch. A great meal with a world-class view. Being able to get in his jet and fly wherever he wanted on a whim. And women. He liked women who were beautiful, interesting, experienced and sophisticated. He liked sex without strings, without complications, sex that could entertain him and satisfy him without requiring him to think about a woman once he’d left her bed.

Jemima Woodcroft was undoubtedly all these things and he relished the chance to get to know her body, to pleasure her and delight in her before relegating her to the back of his mind, as he always did with women with whom he spent a night.

His mind ran at its usual frenetic pace as he analysed the deal Laurence was desperately laying before him, but he was conscious of every single movement Jemima made, every shift of her body, flutter of her eyelids, purse of her lips.

Despite the disastrous state of Laurence’s hedge fund, Cesare could see the value in the offering. There was a lot of chaff, but a few of the investments packaged in with the group were substantial. One in particular stood on the brink of making major market inroads, and there was value in that, value in investing at ground level. It was clear that Laurence didn’t understand what cards he held, or he would be shopping around instead of targeting one investor. If Cesare bailed, Laurence would be sunk.

Good. Nothing suited Cesare better than a desperate negotiator. Desperation made people stupid.

Cesare attributed his success in business to three factors. First, he left nothing to chance. He researched his business options aggressively, arming himself with every bit of information he could. Second, he was hungry in a way no amount of wealth could ever remove. Poverty as a child—so spectacularly in contrast to the extreme wealth that had surrounded him at the grand country houses in which his mother had worked—had left Cesare with a feeling that a blazing fire was always right at his heels, chasing him through life in a way that would never ease. True, it had turned him into a workaholic, but he didn’t see any problem with that. Finally, he obeyed his instincts as though his life depended on them.

His instincts told him Jemima was going to be a fantastic lover; he was relishing the prospect of taking her to his bed, despite the fact he usually gave aristocrats a wide enough berth that he could land on the moon.

Still, there was something about her, and it had nothing to do with her cousin’s predicament.

Cesare’s instincts also told him Laurence was beyond desperate. He could smell the panic in the other man, feel it in his every frantic gesture, in the frequent glances he was shooting Jemima’s way, as though half-expecting her to intervene, to say something to help him.

Jemima, though, was silent. Cesare couldn’t have said how she was feeling, or if she was regretting her earlier agreement. She was one of the few people he’d met in his life that he found difficult to read. Her body language was relaxed enough. She was leaning back in her chair, champagne glass resting loosely between her fingertips—the same glass she’d been sitting on all evening—her eyes following Laurence and then Cesare without making any attempt to join in their conversations.

Knowing what was coming next, he was more than ready to put an end to this portion of the night. ‘Fine.’ He nodded, regarding Laurence carefully. ‘You have my interest.’

‘Your interest?’

Cesare had to bite back a smile when he saw how crestfallen the British man was. The only reason he didn’t give vent to his amusement was that Jemima was watching him. He could feel her gaze on his face, and was well aware that she wouldn’t take kindly to him ridiculing Laurence’s expectations. Besides, despite a lifelong hatred for men like Laurence—spoiled, entitled British brats—there was something in Laurence that Cesare could almost have grudgingly come to like.

‘You don’t expect me to sign away five hundred million pounds on the spot, do you?’

‘I just think it’s a really rare opportunity,’ Laurence muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘And you’re getting first option.’

Cesare leaned forward. ‘Let’s not play with one another. I’m getting the only option.’

Laurence’s face glowed pink. ‘No, I happen to have a couple of very cashed-up investors on the hook.’

Now Jemima’s head swivelled towards Laurence and for the first time in at least thirty minutes she slipped up. Cesare saw the consternation that crossed her features and he understood it. Underneath the table, Cesare lightly ran his fingers over her exposed knee, so now her face jerked back to his, her lips parted in that sensual way she had. His cock strained against his trousers. Anticipation drummed against the fabric of his soul.

‘Sure you do.’ Cesare’s grin was tight. ‘Then let me know what they bid and, if I decide I’m still interested, I’ll better it.’

Backed into a corner, Laurence grimaced. ‘You’re my first choice. I know your history. Plus, an investment by you brings a hell of a lot of prestige. Everything you touch turns to gold.’

Cesare heard his words and wondered if he’d ever tire of this. Laurence was exactly the kind of preppy school boy who’d been intent on making Cesare’s life hell for a time, and now he was begging for his kindness, his money, his grace. His chest felt three sizes bigger. He regarded the other man for several seconds, enjoying this experience way more than he should, and then pushed his chair back.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

Laurence stood a few seconds later. ‘You will?’

Cesare dipped his head. ‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’ Laurence was ambivalent. He turned to Jemima, who was still sitting down, lost in thought. Doubt briefly dimmed Cesare’s sense of anticipation because a huge part of his present mood came down to the certainty he would soon be pleasuring this very beautiful woman from head to toe—and everywhere in between.

‘Jemima?’ he murmured, and she raised her eyes to his in consternation.

Laurence frowned. ‘Jem?’

‘I’ve offered your cousin a lift home,’ Cesare inserted smoothly.

‘Oh, but you don’t have to do that.’ Laurence frowned.

‘It’s been agreed.’ Cesare’s tone held warning, a warning any of his rivals would know to listen to. And Laurence heeded it now, choosing instead to address Jemima.

‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble for me to drop you off...’

Cesare was surprised to realise he was holding his breath, awaiting her reply. After what felt like several minutes, but was actually just a few seconds, she stood, placing her still half-full champagne flute on the table.

‘No, really, it’s fine.’ She eyed Cesare, something strange in her expression—trepidation or uncertainty, something he couldn’t quite make sense of. But then she smiled and her whole face lit up, as though an army of firebugs had filled her blood. She glowed from the inside out, and his gut kicked with an unmistakable rush of sensual heat. ‘I’m ready to go.’

In the restaurant, he’d been an impressive specimen, but here in the confines of his luxury car Cesare Durante was like a whole other species. This was madness but she couldn’t summon even an inch of hesitation.

It was one of the pitfalls of her job that she was expected to attend events and parties, and it seemed to go hand in hand with her attendance that she was there to hook up. But she never had. Somehow, seeing such overt sexuality on display had inured her to its effects. Curiosity had been subverted by something approaching prudishness and then, as the years had gone by, embarrassment. Embarrassment about her virginity and what people would say if they knew the truth. And here she was, in the car with a man she found unbearably sexy, and some time tonight she’d lose her innocence... She couldn’t wait.

A hint of anxiety creased through her for a moment when she thought of Laurence. Was there any chance being with Cesare could negatively impact the likelihood of Cesare investing in Laurence’s fund? Surely not? He’d said as much, hadn’t he? Business was business, distinct from pleasure.