Bought for the Sicilian Billionaire's Bed

Willow brushed a lock of dead-straight blonde hair out of her eye. ‘You do realise that he’s an international playboy with a reputation as a heartbreaker?’

‘I sort of guessed that for myself.’

‘And that every glossy magazine worth its salt has been trying to gain access to do a feature on him? Jessica, what are you like?’

Jessica shook his head. ‘I didn’t know that—and I don’t care and it’s no good you looking at me that way, Willow. I know you work for one of those glossies and I know you’d love an exclusive, but you’re not getting it via me. Salvatore is my boss—one of the reasons I have that job is because I’m discreet.’

‘But it’s a rubbish job!’

‘Which means I can pay my bills here!’ Jessica retorted, thinking of the steep sum she had to shell out for the tiny boxroom of the three-bedroomed house. But then, unlike Willow and Freya, she wasn’t cushioned by the comfort of family money if her finances ran into real trouble.

‘Perhaps some time you could tell him that your friend would love to do a sympathetic interview and he could even have say on the final copy? I’d be eternally grateful.’ Willow shook her elegant head. ‘And he’s taking you out,’ she said. ‘Unbelievable!’

Jessica could understand her incredulity only too well. Her housemate lived up to her name—she was tall, blonde and stylish and legions of men were always attempting to beat their way to her door. Yet not even Willow had managed to attract a man of Salvatore’s calibre—and here was mousy little Jessica doing just that.

‘It is a bit incredible,’ she admitted.

‘So why has he done it, Jessica?’

Jessica dipped a teabag into a mug of boiling water so that her face was partially hidden. Wouldn’t it be humiliating to have to tell the whole truth—that essentially she was being taken out as some kind of deterrent to other women? Wouldn’t it be acceptable to allow herself the fantasy, just this once—especially as it was just going to be once?

‘I think he just wants company,’ she prevaricated.

‘Yes, but—’

Jessica turned round as suddenly the reality made her heart sting. ‘But what, Willow? You mean what’s a rich bloke like him doing with a poor, plain girl like me?’

‘No, I didn’t—’

‘Yes, you did,’ interrupted Jessica gloomily. ‘And what’s more—you’re right. Don’t you think it was the first thing which occurred to me?’ She walked back into the sitting room and sat down on the battered sofa, her fingers clutching at her steaming mug of tea. How could she have been naïve enough to think about maintaining a fantasy like this for more than a second? Who would ever believe it?

‘These people he’s having dinner with are trying to set him up and he’s fed up with people trying to marry him off,’ she explained. ‘So he’s taking me as a defiant gesture, in the hope that word gets out and they’ll stop trying.’ She saw Willow’s face and knew that further explanation was indeed necessary. ‘And presumably he’d picked me and not someone else more glam because I won’t get any false hopes in my head. Because I know my place and I’ll just accept the evening for what it is.’

‘Is he paying you?’ asked Willow sharply.

Jessica put her mug down with a shaking hand, her cheeks flushing. ‘You’re making me sound like some kind of…of…hooker!’

Willow shook her head. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. But it seems to me that you’re doing him a pretty big favour—so what’s in it for you?’

Jessica bit her lip. Honesty not only made you vulnerable, it also made you weak and in a modern world you needed all the bolstering defences you could get. But suddenly she didn’t care. ‘I just fancy a glimpse into a different kind of life for a change. I’ve certainly been on the outside looking in for long enough. The only trouble is whether I can fit in and what I’m going to wear.’ She looked up at Willow hopefully. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help.’

Willow, who was at least four inches taller and several pounds lighter, smiled. ‘Oh, I think I can help. Don’t worry, Jessica Martin—we’re going to make sure you knock his sizzling Sicilian socks off!’

The next day Jessica skipped lunch so she could leave the office early and spent far too long in the bathroom. She nicked her ankle when she was shaving her legs and her nerves built up as the bathwater grew cold and the sky outside the window darkened.

Under Willow’s critical eye, she must have tried on twenty different outfits before finding one that she felt comfortable enough to wear, automatically rejecting anything too tight or too low because she thought that would make her look cheap.

By the time eight o’clock arrived her hands were shaking with nerves and when the doorbell rang it didn’t surprise her when she heard Willow yelling: ‘I’ll go!’

She sprayed on some perfume, took one final glance in the mirror and went to find her boss, who was standing by their rather tatty velvet sofa talking to Willow. And the moment Jessica looked into the narrowed sapphire eyes she knew that her nerves had been justified. In the office he was distracting enough—but tonight he looked as if he should be carrying a government health warning.

His immaculately cut dinner suit emphasised the long legs and the narrow, sexy hips. He looked expensive, urbane, and so totally out of her league that Jessica’s heart began to race and she felt the hot pin-pricking of nerves at her forehead. Suddenly she felt daunted. What the hell was she going to talk to him about?

‘Hello, Jessica,’ he said softly.

‘H-hello.’

‘You look very…different,’ he said slowly.

‘Well, that’s a relief!’ she said quickly and caught Willow’s warning glance. If she spent the whole night emphasising the differences between them, then the evening was going to be a disaster. ‘Er, thank you,’ she amended.

Salvatore watched while she picked up her coat. The fitted black silk dress was a little conservative, it was true, but he liked that—and it accentuated a figure which was really very good. His eyes narrowed. Very good indeed. Her hair was thick and shiny and it swung in a healthy bell around her neck. She looked better than he had anticipated—though she was still light years away from his normal type.

But wasn’t it strange how your whole opinion of someone could alter in a single moment? Suddenly he was seeing more than the clear grey eyes and the pure skin—now he found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the way the black silk skated so tantalisingly over her pert bottom. His breath was a little unsteady as he took the coat from her and held it open. ‘Here, let me.’

Jessica had grown up in a world where men and women considered themselves equals. No man she knew would ever dream of holding open a door or a coat for her, and as she slid her arms into the garment she thought how stupid it was that such a simple little gesture should be so disarming. Was she imagining the lingering brush of his hands and the corresponding quickening of her heart? Had he meant to touch her like that?

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘My car is outside.’

‘Bye, Salvatore—nice to meet you,’ said Willow, with a megawatt smile. ‘Hope to see you again.’

They walked out to the waiting limousine, but as the driver opened the door Jessica looked up at the Sicilian and his face looked shadowed in the moonlight.

‘Did you…did you tell them you were bringing someone?’

‘I did.’

‘And what did they say?’

Shaking his head, he placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her into the car, suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea after all. Was she too unsophisticated to cope with the evening ahead?

‘It doesn’t matter what they said,’ he said softly as the car pulled away into the traffic. But then she crossed one leg over another and all he could think about was whether the sheer, dark silk which covered her slender legs was tights, or stockings.

Maybe you’ll find out later, taunted a voice inside his head as they drove through the darkened streets, and Salvatore cursed silently and shifted in his seat as unexpected and unwanted desire again began to tug at his senses.

It was just at that point that his phone rang and he pulled it out with a feeling of relief and began to speak.

Jessica stared out of the window as Salvatore spent the entire journey conducting a telephone conversation in rapid Italian, which seemed to magnify her feeling of not belonging. And that feeling only intensified when the car drew up outside an enormous house in Knightsbridge, which looked like something you might see in a film.

‘Oh, my goodness—it’s huge,’ she breathed.

He glanced at her. ‘It’s just a house.’

To him it might be just a house—but to Jessica it was the kind of place for which you’d normally have to pay an admission fee. Inside were uniformed staff who whisked her coat away and someone else who guided them through to the murmuring guests, who all looked up as she followed Salvatore into the glittering room.

She was aware of a blur of names and faces as they were introduced, but Jessica’s overwhelming feeling was that the women looked like birds of paradise in their jewels and bright dresses and that she had been a fool to come in black—because wasn’t that what all the waitresses were wearing?

Their host and hostess were Garth and Amy and there were two other women called Suzy and Clare—neither of whom seemed to be attached to a rather bloodless-looking man named Steve and a wiry individual with light brown hair who introduced himself as Jeremy. And that was it.