The Italian's Vengeful Seduction

Instantly his mood lifted. Instantly he could see blue skies again. He’d been coiled like a spring all day. And there had been no need. Preston Chisholm Junior was going to deliver it all back—just as his father had taken it all away.

Well, well, well. Preston Chisholm. How life turned around. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d been sitting opposite to him in Betty’s, watching him as he watched Stacey wait on tables. The look in his eyes had been predatory. A look that had wound up with him landing a punch on the guy.

Nobody had liked Preston Chisholm back then. And fewer liked him now. Still, as CEO of the bank that both bankrolled and mortgaged half the properties in town, people were cautious in showing it.

Not someone like Stacey, though. She’d still give it to him both barrels. Just like that day when she’d found out that he’d punched Preston because of what he’d said about her. She’d been furious. The same afternoon Preston had practically salivated all over his polo shirt, he’d dragged him by its pristine collar out back and sunk his fist into his stomach.

A great noise had gone up, raising the dust in the car park, and then out had come Stacey in that little yellow dress and white apron the girls wore at Betty’s. Preston had been curled up like a shrimp, bawling like a baby. He had been standing over his handiwork and Stacey had completely overreacted.

Who did he think he was? She could defend her own name, thank you very much. He could mind his own business or go and play the hero for someone else.

Marco smiled at the memory. For about the tenth time today. For all she’d made his stress levels rocket, she’d made him laugh too. All that personality in one perfect package.

He listened to the noises she was making across the hallway. Normally he hated the intrusion of a woman in his home. God knew he’d tried, but he couldn’t get used to it. Moving his stuff, asking for closet space, filling the air with nonsensical chatter. The first day it was fine. It was okay. After a week he’d be finding problems with his offshore businesses that he had to solve personally. After two weeks he’d quit making excuses and get the jewellers on speed dial.

Was he going insane, or was he smiling at the cute little noises Stacey was making?

He might be smiling now, but five seconds together and their sparks would be flying right into a fireworks display that could light up the entire eastern seaboard.

* * *

What a Fortune 500 per cent bore Marco had turned out to be, thought Stacey as she wound her hair in a towel and rubbed some fancy cream into her puffy pink face. She would never have pegged him as vanilla, but that was the only flavour she could scent from him now. His safe suit, his ‘right’ car, his hair trimmed just along his shirt collar line. He probably used shoe trees.

She stepped into the guest bedroom and looked around. Pale walls, wood floors, dark rugs. She’d choke to death in a place like this. It was as sterile as St Bart’s. Nothing with any character except for the prints in the hallway. And her outrageous dress draped across the bed.

She could hardly put that back on.

Not after his strict instruction to cover up.

She wasn’t imagining the chemistry—was she? He was looking. She’d caught him looking a thousand times. But he sure wasn’t acting on it. That was the biggest change of all. He’d never let his class or his money guide his actions before. He’d played it straight down the line. He’d even played it over the line. Defending her honour from the creepy Preston Chisholm. She’d laid into Marco for sticking his nose in, but secretly she’d loved it. He’d been ridiculously overprotective—right in front of the whole crowd. And she’d relished their shock and awe at their poster boy being gallant for white trash Stacey.

But he was playing with a different deck now. He couldn’t have been clearer that he was finding her a turn-off rather than a turn-on. But she was smarter than that. It wasn’t about biology—it was all about class. Turned out he was exactly the same as the Montauk snobs after all.

She couldn’t wait to get out of here and away from every memory of that place.