His Innocent's Passionate Awakening

Artie slipped her hand into his outstretched one and a zap of electricity shot from her fingers to her core like a lightning bolt. His grip was strong and yet strangely gentle, his fingers long and tanned with a light dusting of dark masculine hair that ran over the backs of his hands and disappeared beneath the cuffs of his business shirt and jacket. Armani, at a guess. And his aftershave an equally intoxicating blend of citrus and spice and sophistication that teased her senses into a stupor.

‘Buongiorno, Signor Ferrantelli.’

Artie aimed for cool politeness but sounded more like a star-struck teen in front of a Hollywood celebrity. She could feel warm colour blooming in her cheeks. Could feel her heart thumping like it was having some sort of medical crisis. Could feel her female hormones responding to his male ones with little tingles and pulses deep within her body.

Let go of his hand!

Her brain gave the command but her hand was trapped in some kind of weird stasis. It was as if her hand had a mind of its own and was enjoying being held by his warm, dry one, thank you very much. Enjoying it so much, she could feel every whorl of his skin as if it were being engraved, branded into hers.

Luca removed his hand from hers but his gaze kept hers tethered. She couldn’t look away if she tried. Magnetic. Enthralling. Mesmerising. His eyes seemed to draw secrets from within her while concealing his own.

‘Firstly, allow me to offer my condolences on the recent passing of your father.’

‘Grazie.’

She stepped back and waved her still-tingling hand in the direction of the sofa. ‘Would you like to sit down? I’ll call Rosa to bring in coffee. How do you take it?’

‘Black and strong.’

Of course you do.

Artie pressed the intercom pad and summoned Rosa, surreptitiously eyeing him while she requested coffee from the housekeeper. Everything about Luca Ferrantelli was strong. Strong, determined jaw. Strong, intelligent eyes. A strong and muscled body that hinted at a man who wasn’t afraid of pushing himself to the limits of endurance. A man who set goals and didn’t let anyone or anything stop him from achieving them.

Artie ended the intercom conversation with Rosa and sat on the nearest sofa, and only then did Luca take the seat opposite. He laid one arm along the back of the sofa in a casually relaxed pose she privately envied. She had to place her hands on the tops of her thighs to stop her knees from trembling. Not from fear but from a strange sense of fizzing excitement. She tried not to stare at his powerfully muscled thighs, his well-formed biceps, the flat plane of his stomach, but her gaze kept drifting over him of its own volition. Drinking in the planes and contours of his face, wondering what was going on behind the screen of his gaze, wondering if his firm lips would soften when he kissed...

Artie blinked and sat up straighter on the sofa, crossing her legs to try and control the wayward urges going on in her lower body. What was wrong with her? He had barely exchanged more than half a dozen words with her and she was undressing him with her eyes. She curled her hands into balls on her lap and fixed a smile on her lips. ‘So, how was your drive from Milan? I hope it didn’t inconvenience you too much to come here?’ Who said she couldn’t do small talk?

Luca’s half-smile and his glittering forest floor eyes made something slip sideways in her stomach. ‘It didn’t inconvenience me at all. But we both know that was your intention, was it not?’

Artie forced herself to hold his penetrating gaze. ‘Signor Ferrantelli, I am not the sort of woman to jump when a man says jump.’

The dark gleam in his eyes intensified and a hot trickle of something liquid spilled deep in her core. ‘You may have no choice, given I now own nine tenths of Castello Mireille, unless you can buy me out within the next twenty-four hours.’ There was a don’t-mess-with-me warning in his tone that made her want to mess with him to see what would happen.

Artie disguised a swallow, her heart picking up its pace. ‘My father’s lawyer informed me of the unusual financial arrangement you made with my father. One wonders why you didn’t buy all of it off him while you had the chance.’

His gaze was unwavering. ‘He was a dying man who deserved some dignity in the last months of his life.’

Artie gave a cynical smile while her blood boiled in her veins and roaring anger bubbled in her chest. ‘Do you expect me to believe you felt some measure of compassion for him? Even while you were systematically taking his home away from him ancient stone by ancient stone?’

Luca didn’t change his casual posture on the sofa but a ripple of tension passed across his features, tightening his jaw, flaring his nose, hardening his eyes. ‘Your father approached me late last year for help. I gave it to him. It was a straightforward business deal. And now I have come to collect on my investment.’

Artie shot up from the sofa as if someone had pressed an ejector switch. She glared at him with the full force of her fury, chest heaving like she had just completed a marathon without training first. ‘You can’t take my home off me. I won’t allow it.’

Luca Ferrantelli’s gaze was diamond-hard. ‘My intention is to give the castello back to you—after a time. And for a price.’

Something heavy landed on the floor of her belly. ‘What price? You must know I can’t possibly raise the necessary funds to pay out the mortgage?’

He held her gaze in a lock that made the backs of her knees tingle. ‘I will erase the debt and give the deeds of the castello back if you agree to be my wife for six months.’

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