The Italian's Trophy Mistress

Eyes that had been downcast since that first split second of recognition now flicked wide to meet his head-on. And as that familiar hot excitement permeated her bloodstream she wished she’d kept her eyes firmly on the floor.

Clad in a perfectly tailored light silky grey suit, the crisp white shirt emphasising the olive tones of his skin and the tough, shadowed jawline that was always dark no matter how often he shaved, the dark charcoal of his tie that matched the broody, moody colour of his eyes, he looked exactly what he was—all-sophisticated Italian male, king of the heap, effortlessly in total command of who he was, what he did.

Bianca sucked in a sharp, much-needed gulp of air. The incredible impact of him had hit her with the usual enervating body-blow, making it impossible for her to do anything to deny him entry when he calmly walked past her into the hall.

‘Where?’ he asked succinctly, his narrowed eyes watching her with immovable cool, one dark brow elevating slightly to emphasise his question.

Wordlessly, every inch of her skin quivering beneath the covering of soft dove-grey satin, Bianca led the way to the sitting room at the back of the tall, narrow house, her mind flittering like an intoxicated gnat as she sought reasons for his presence.

To call her names because she’d ended their affair before he’d had time to grow bored with the relationship? That didn’t seem in character. To him and many other men in his position affairs such as theirs had been were ephemeral and easily forgotten.

To beg her to return to him, or to repeat his crazy proposal of marriage? Both seemed unlikely. His Italian pride wouldn’t let him beg.

But if he did, her tired mind panicked, would she be able to resist when she only had to look at him to be swamped by this incredible need?

She really didn’t want this, her weary brain shrieked in protest. To see Cesare again was more than she could handle on top of everything else.

Her boss hadn’t been one bit pleased at her inability to put a time limit on the amount of leave she needed. It was impossible to say how long it would take to find alternative, affordable accommodation and organise the move, somehow persuade a stubborn Helene to seek medical help, convince Jeanne that her presence was essential for a while longer.

Closing the sitting room door behind them, Bianca gave him what she hoped would pass as a look of impatience, desperately trying to keep the revealing mute misery from her eyes.

Cesare Andriotti should have looked out of place, his potent masculinity at odds with Helene’s choice of ultra-feminine decor. But, as always, she thought with grudging admiration, he took control, his surroundings fading into insignificance before the force field of his commanding personality as he gestured her to one of the pair of delicate Edwardian chairs flanking a rosewood tripod table in the window embrasure, before taking his time about seating himself.

His long legs loosely crossed at the ankles, his arms resting on the delicate rosewood supports, his dark head tipped back against the high, velvet-upholstered back of the chair, he looked totally relaxed, only the cold, brilliant glitter of his eyes telling her that, whatever his reason for being here, he meant business.

The silence sizzled with sexual tension, with the stinging expectation of she knew not what. The way he was looking at her now was doing her head in, his incredibly sexy, moody eyes sliding over her as if he was assessing every curve, line and hollow of her lightly clad body, awarding her desirability points out of ten.

Biting her lip, she managed thickly, ‘What do you want, Cesare?’ And in a last-ditch attempt to stamp some of her own authority on this unlooked-for meeting, she added, ‘I honestly don’t have much time; I’ve a lot to get through today.’

And watched her words misfire as he ignored her pathetic attempt to take control and listed smoothly, ‘Your lease runs out shortly and on your salary I doubt you can afford to renew it. Therefore the need to find alternative accommodation is imperative. Not easy, not when one considers the price of property in London, and Helene Sinclair’s liking for the luxuries of this life.’ He steepled his fingers, the tips resting against the sensual curve of his lower lip. ‘Am I not right?’

Gazing at him speechlessly, Bianca felt what little colour she did have drain out of her face. How did he know her mother’s maiden name? Who could have told him that the twenty-five-year lease that had been part of her mother’s divorce settlement was coming to an end?

She had been so careful to keep her personal life, her worries and concerns, out of their relationship. Not because she was ashamed of what her mother was rapidly becoming—falling in love with a wealthy sophisticate who thought it was his right to change his wives as often as he changed his cars had been to blame for the mess Helene was making of her life—but because opening up to Cesare would have made her even more vulnerable than she had been where he was concerned.

Besides, he wouldn’t have been interested in her problems. Theirs had been the sort of affair he was used to, with both partners keeping to the ground rules. No strings, no commitment and certainly no messy soul-baring to bore the socks off him.

Unaffected by her silence, he continued remorselessly, ‘A sought-after and very lovely model in her late teens and early twenties, your mother became used to admiring attention and the rewards of a big salary.’

He tilted her a look that told her he was amused by the way her mouth had fallen open with horrified disbelief at what she was hearing. ‘Of course,’ he opined smoothly, ‘after her marriage to your father she would have become used to a life of idle luxury, the glitter and glamour of the international social scene, where all she had to do was look beautiful and collect the homage of enchanted males. After the divorce,’ he continued with chilling silkiness, ‘she’d long since lost the work ethic. But that didn’t matter, did it? There was a substantial settlement.

‘However—’ his eyes impaled her, a helpless prisoner of his verbal torture ‘—the money drained away. Spent on wild parties, her racketty friends, the endless search for flattery. The excesses worsening during the last few months—places she was discreetly barred from and those she was rather too publicly thrown out of. Helene has more than a few problems.’

Again the infuriating upward drift of one eloquent brow. ‘Need I say more?’

Shaking with shock, everything she’d kept from him out in the open, she felt desperately nauseous. He was gloating over her problems, he just had to be, and in that moment she hated him with a violence that threatened to shatter her completely.

Was this—this utterly hateful gloating—his way of getting back at her for ending their affair, for having the temerity to ignore his dangerously tempting, shock proposal of marriage?

Her body held immobile by the weight of his knowledge, her lips moved with awkward stiffness as she forced out, ‘How the hell do you know all this?’

‘Simple.’ He had the gall to smile; the slow curving of his passionate mouth that had once had the power to enslave her now filled her with a wave of disgust that sent shivers shuddering down her spine. ‘Through a private investigator. Blakely’s the head of his sphere. A phone call, a name, an address, and he came up with a wad of interesting information.’

Anger brought her spine to attention, thrusting her breasts tight against the silky fabric. Flushing, she saw his gaze drop, fastening on the pouting globes, lingering, exactly like a caress.

Determinedly ignoring the way her skin fluttered, the sudden and definitely unwanted pooling of heat at the juncture of her thighs, she said as frostily as she could manage, ‘Well, bully for you! Though I can’t imagine what satisfaction you could hope to gain from digging the dirt on my family.’

‘No?’ His smile was pure menace.

Bianca had heard it said that Cesare Andriotti was the most ruthless bargainer on the planet. She had never seen that side of him before, and now that she had she felt her blood run cold. And her mouth trembled as she listened to the slow, self-assured pace of his next words.

‘I get complete satisfaction. Does that answer your question? You see, cara mia, I have not yet grown tired of our affair, and until I’m sated—I, not you—it will continue.’

‘No!’ The instinctive and vehement repudiation was wrested from her. It wasn’t going to happen! With each day that had passed she had fallen more and more in love with him. Ending their affair had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. To continue with it until he decided to say goodbye and move on would do even more damage to her already battered heart.

‘In return—’ he deliberately ignored the sheer anguish of that single word, steeling himself to discount the wretchedness in her golden eyes, eyes that had once glowed with incandescent pleasure on seeing him ‘—in return I will make your problems go away. I have already spoken to Professor Vaccari. Marco is an expert in the field of the addictive personality and he has agreed to give Helene the counselling she so obviously needs. Also, I will renew the lease on this property so that after two or three months on the island a fit and balanced Helene will have a home to return to.’

‘You can’t!’ Her head was spinning so wildly it was all she could think to say. Even a short-term lease would cost many thousands. It was unthinkable—

‘On the contrary.’ His dark eyes slid to the way she was clutching the arms of her chair, her fingers white with the pressure she was exerting, as if she was desperate to find something real and solid to cling onto. ‘I can do what I want to do. Before, when you shared my bed so willingly, you went against what I wanted. You refused to move in with me, refused my gifts.’

His lips pulled back against his teeth as he remembered. He’d seen her refusals as statements of independence, of distance, and he could barely admit, even to himself, how they’d hurt, how he’d experienced a crazy sense of loneliness. Ridiculous, of course.

‘You can refuse again, naturally. That is your choice. But think about it for a moment,’ he slid in when her eyes widened as they winged to his. ‘Your problems will remain. And do you honestly think Helene will go to her GP and ask for the help she needs? Or isn’t her well-being your first priority?’

Of course it was! How dared he imply otherwise? She loved her mother and felt deeply sorry for her, understanding only too well what had made her the woman she was. Suddenly her eyes stung with tears and she blinked furiously and gritted her teeth to stop her mouth trembling.

Watching her, Cesare felt an iron band tighten around his heart. Was she stubborn enough, so determined to keep him out of her life, that she would refuse to consider his offer?

Was he, for the first time in his life, about to be denied something he’d set his mind on having? The thought that he might lose what he most wanted—Bianca Jay in his life and in his bed for as long as he wanted her there—gave him a hitherto unknown sensation of panic.

He rigorously quelled the feeling he refused to admit to, and his voice was silkily seductive as he brushed his own emotions aside and worked on hers with the skill of a master. ‘Think of an island in the sun, a beautiful villa, expert professional care for Helene. You and I together, staying close by. And we’re good together, you know we are. Keeping your part of the bargain shouldn’t be too much of a problem.’

But it would! He could have no idea how big the problem would be!

It was almost too tempting. To be where she most longed to be, a longing that went far beyond the wonder of feeling the length of his body against the arching eagerness of hers, skin against skin, mouth against mouth, a longing that went so much further, encompassing a need to be loved, a need for the total commitment he obviously couldn’t or wouldn’t give.

Unconsciously she shook her head. That deep longing belonged in the past. She couldn’t want to be loved by a man who would use blackmail to get what he wanted. She wasn’t that crazy, was she? Gathering her wandering thoughts, she forced herself to return to what he had said.

‘You talk about an island, about treatment. Where? For how long?’

She knew her voice sounded flat. Deliberately speaking in a careful monotone was the only way to stop herself railing at the man who had been her lover and who now came in the guise of an enemy. For only an enemy could make demands that would leave her heart in ruins. ‘And how do I know this professor whatever-his-name-is could help my mother?’

It all sounded too far-fetched to be believable. He was playing cruel games, he simply had to be, and how could she ever have imagined herself sinking fathoms deep in love with a man who would stoop to such measures? Nervous energy suddenly coursing through her, Bianca got to her feet and fled to the door, flinging it open. ‘Please go.’

Cesare didn’t move, but his eyes followed her every enticingly fluid movement.

She was angry now, sensationally so, her head flung proudly back on her slender neck, her glorious hair a dark and silky tangle, her eyes flashing amber warnings, her fabulous body taut, every curve lovingly highlighted by the sheen of her flimsy robe. His heart jumped in his chest and his body hardened. He had never wanted her as much as he did at this moment.