Innocent in the Italian's Possession(7)

"That's less than twelve hours away," she said, fighting the panic that left her trembling inside.

He gave another lazy shrug. "You've owed a first payment for months. Are you conceding defeat?"

"Not at all. I'll have the money by tonight."

Gemma just wished she felt half as sure as she let on.

She had a little money put back and hoped her brother could loan her the  rest. It shouldn't be a problem as he'd told her countless times of  late that he'd had excellent luck at sea with his fishing business.

But even after that deadline was met, another one loomed in thirty days.  And another after that. What a nightmare she'd entered into!

She couldn't continue borrowing money from her family. No, her only  recourse would be to take out a loan at the bank. At least then she  could get more favorable terms. At least then she wouldn't be subjected  to Stefano Marinetti's lurid suggestions.

There was no time like the present to appeal to Cesare's banker, either.  Being indebted to Stefano was simply too stressful for her. Being in  the same room with him was nearly more than she could bear.

Since Signora Marinetti's funeral when she'd first seen Stefano across  the crowded room, she'd had trouble tearing her gaze away from the man  whose bearing commanded her full attention. She'd known he'd bring  trouble and change.

She just hadn't dreamed it would touch her so personally. She hated the  power he exerted over her as much as she hated the untenable position  she was in.

"Your ability to meet the deadline deserves celebration," he said, his  voice a rich blend of arrogance and sensuality that whispered over her  senses like silk on skin.

"That isn't necessary." Or wanted.

The less she was in his company the better.

He lounged back in his chair and stroked his lower lip with one long,  blunt finger, the gesture masculinely contemplative and sexy as hell. "I  insist."

"Fine," she said when this arrangement was anything but. "Is there  anything else you need?" she asked in her most bland business tone, a  contradiction to the riot of emotions going on inside her.

"No, bella, that is all," he said.

She stiffened at the endearment, for it was just a phrase to him. Just a  toss of words that meant nothing. He likely used it to charm women all  the time.

And Stefano Marinetti certainly knew how to flirt!

She marched across the room on legs that trembled, refusing to give in  to the urge to run from the man. He'd enjoy seeing her distress, her  fear. She'd deny him both.

It was imperative that she maintain her dignity and go about her duties  as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if her entire future  didn't depend on her meeting this damnable deadline at midnight.

"One more thing," Stefano said the second she'd reached the door and  freedom, the velvet timbre in his voice ensnaring her as tightly as a  mariner's net. "Make dinner reservations for us at Gervasio."

"I already have dinner plans."

"Cancel them," he said in an obnoxiously imperial tone.

Everything was happening too fast as it was and quickly spiraling out of her control.

She wasted no time leaving the confines of his office where every breath  she drew brought the taste of him to her tongue and the clean, spicy  scent of him filled her head. The fact that he expected she would  prostitute herself infuriated her. But then he believed she was more  than his father's personal secretary.

And she could only defend herself so far without revealing Cesare's secret. Dear God, could this get any worse?                       
       
           



       

Her gaze flicked to the clock and her insides knotted. It wasn't even  close to noon and she already felt as if she'd put in a full day's work.  She'd be a jumble of nerves well before the deadline tonight.

She took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. Dinner with Stefano  at Gervasio. At one time she'd have looked forward to dining in the  elite restaurant. But now it loomed as the place where she stood to lose  everything, including her pride.

But what choice did she have but to go through with this mad plan?

The money that Cesare withdrew every month was for Rachel's care. But  she couldn't tell Stefano that. She couldn't trust him to do what was  right for the little girl.

So she'd blurted out that the money was a loan for the inn. Her inn. And now he'd set his eye on her half of that!

If only she could tell him the truth. But Stefano had abandoned his  family before in their time of need. He seemed to possess no concept of  family. He didn't seem to care for anything but money and power.

Now he was taking charge of his father's company and would certainly  change Marinetti forever. Her heart ached for Cesare for he'd lost his  wife, his health and now control of his own company.

In regards to Rachel, Cesare didn't have any other family he could trust with her care. Nobody but her.

Their bond was so strong. So unshakable. She'd do anything for Cesare. Anything for Rachel. Anything.

Which is why she'd agreed to Stefano's terms. If Cesare didn't trust his  son to ensure Rachel continued to receive the best care, then neither  could she. Take care of Rachel until I am able to do so again, Cesare  had told her.

But when would Cesare return? How could she possibly satisfy that  staggering loan every month? And the bigger question, how would Cesare  continue to care for Rachel if he was indeed close to bankruptcy?

He couldn't, which meant that, too, passed to her.

With a curse, she crossed to her desk and phoned her brother. Since her  association with Cesare and her move to Viareggio, she'd rarely seen  Emilio.

Though they'd spoken on the phone, even that was difficult to arrange  for her brother was at sea for long stretches of time, often out of  range of his mobile. That must be the case now for the phone rang and  rang.

She hung up and thought it ironic that she was contacting him to beg for a loan. How the tables had turned!

Two years ago it was her brother who was constantly asking her for  money. Neither she nor her papa had realized then that Emilio had  adopted the Machiavellian lifestyle.

His reckless gambling had caused their papa untold grief for years. But  after the last bout of rehabilitation, her brother had finally settled  down and married.

After their father's death, Emilio had taken great interest in the  shipping business he'd inherited. His wife helped Nonna with the  reopening of the inn and day-to-day management.

Why, her brother had boasted that the money she'd sent home to refurbish  the inn had made a tremendous difference in their lives. She could  hardly wait to see the changes made to the old inn, but her obligations  to Cesare had prevented her from visiting all these months.

Now because of her promise to Cesare, she could lose half of the inn  she'd struggled to save. Without pausing to consider the ramifications,  she phoned Cesare's banker.

As expected, the man was more interested in Cesare's health than her  business, but she managed to gain his promise that he'd assess the  market value of the refurbished inn and get back to her on the  particulars of a long-term loan. It was a good start, and she'd have  thirty days to finalize the details.

Just thinking of the sum left her light-headed. She cradled her head in  her hands and fought off a wave of stress-induced nausea. She'd never  get out of debt!

But bringing Rachel's image to mind was all it took to convince her she  was doing the right thing. Never mind it was the only thing she could do  and keep her word.

The intercom came to life and she swallowed a startled squawk.

This wasn't the short zing that Cesare often used to alert her. No, the  intercom made a continual buzz like a swarm of angry bees, a sound made  possible only if a finger was held on the button to make a noise she  couldn't ignore. And God knew she wanted to ignore Stefano at this  moment.

"Yes," she answered when the buzzing finally stopped and she could respond.

"I will be meeting with the yard supervisors, managers and assistants  throughout the day," Stefano said. "Alert me when the first employee  arrives."

"Of course," she said, relieved to know she'd be spared his company.

"I have ordered appetizers for the meeting," he said. "Send the caterer in the minute he arrives."                       
       
           



       

"I will," she said with gritted teeth, and moments later she did just that.

The caterer had no more than left when the production supervisor strode  in. Treating the workers to appetizers was a generous touch and she  didn't want to think of Stefano as generous, not when he was being  anything but with her.

Gemma shoved thoughts of Stefano's smile and imposing demeanor and  heated gazes from her mind. The man had commanded far too much of her  time. And wasn't that an ingenious ploy of the playboy billionaire to  keep her off balance?