The Italian's Trophy Mistress

He ached to take her in his arms, rediscover every inch of her with hot masculine pleasure, to kiss her until neither of them knew where they were, to stamp his brand of ownership on her until she took back the icy statement she’d made on the night of Claudia’s birthday dinner.

It took a supreme act of will-power to get the wayward instincts of his body back under control and an act of cool determination to regain mastery of the situation. Levering himself slowly to his feet, he leant back against the delicate table, his legs crossed at the ankles, his hands deep in his pockets, facing her across the length of the room.

‘In answer to your questions, Professor Vaccari is the best there is. I would not have retained his services for an unspecified length of time had that not been the case. And my island is off the coast of Sicily—a few acres only, but beautiful. The villa will supply all the luxury Helene could want, with the added benefit of being isolated from the temptations of the dubious pleasures of city nightlife. Helene will receive expert and sympathetic counselling, on that you have my word. You and I will be close at hand. You will see her every day to judge her progress back to full health and ensure that she doesn’t feel entirely cut off amongst strangers. And you will come to my bed whenever I call,’ he taunted softly.

Bianca ground her teeth together until her jaw ached. She was seeing a side of Cesare Andriotti she didn’t like at all, a side she had never guessed at during the time she had been slowly but only too surely falling in love with him. Arrogance was too tame a word to describe the way he was backing her into a corner.

Dimly aware of the sound of movement in the main body of the house, the aroma of coffee and toast that meant Jeanne was up and about and making breakfast, she closed the door. Expecting him to take his marching orders had been a futile exercise, and one she was deeply regretting now. It made her look a complete loser.

But she wasn’t a loser, or not completely. She jerked her chin up, levelling him an icy glance down the short length of her elegant nose. ‘To pay for Helene’s treatment I spend my nights in your bed,’ she stated grimly. ‘It seems small recompense for the amount of hard cash you’ll be laying out. Do you think you can just dig into the bottomless Andriotti coffers and buy what you want?’

His eyes gleamed darkly. Dio, he had never paid for a woman in his life, but he would willingly bankrupt himself for this woman to avenge himself for the way she had so insultingly dismissed him from her life.

Drawling deliberately, he countered, ‘It is what people do, I think. See commodities they want and go out and buy them.’

So she was a ‘commodity’ now, was she? she fulminated angrily, then felt her shoulders sag in a draining kind of despair because when it came right down to it that was all she’d ever been to him. Or ever could be. The only anomaly being, in her case, her outright refusal to accept the gifts—the ‘payments’—he’d tried to lavish on her.

Wrapping her arms around her body, she leant back against the door, her eyes closing as she tried to find a way out of this humiliating nightmare. As far as Helene was concerned, what he was suggesting sounded ideal. A luxurious villa on an idyllic island, fresh air, sunshine and someone sympathetic and qualified to help her back to health, back to a sensibly constructive as opposed to a destructive lifestyle.

The only impossible downside would be having to share Cesare’s bed. Not a problem in the past—even now she could feel her body’s response to the memories of how it had been for them—but now being forced into compliance to his will, knowing she was being bought and paid for, a victim of his cruel games, waking every morning to wonder if today would be the day when he told her he had tired of her. Part of her hoping it would be, the other part wanting him to stay with her for ever.

But would sleeping with him for her mother’s sake be a problem? her weary mind slotted in. Her past attempts to get her mother to see her GP had met with total failure. But an Italian island belonging to the wealthy Andriotti family, luxury on tap, a few sessions with the top man in his field would appeal to the part of her that was firmly stuck back in her heyday, the universally envied wife of a handsome millionaire. She would feel special and pampered, not just a number in a long NHS queue.