Bought by Her Italian Boss(20)

"You'll have a security detail. Do whatever you want. Shop, visit the  museums. You won't have as much time as you think. I'll need you at my  side quite often."

She spent the rest of the drive answering questions for her assistant:  Did she have any special dietary requirements or allergies? Any requests  for products to have on hand at Vito's apartment or while she traveled?  Was she due for any dental or medical appointments that should be  scheduled? What about prescription refills?

More birth control pills? Was that what she was asking, Gwyn wondered with mild hysteria?

When they arrived in the city, they went straight to her building where a  handful of photographers quickly snapped to attention from slouching on  scooters and hovering on stoops. Vito's security guards kept them at a  respectful distance and movers arrived shortly after Gwyn entered her  flat.

The place was untouched, her plate with toast crumbs from a few days ago  still sitting by the sink, but everything had changed. Not just her  life, but there was something in her that was changing. She was a  self-sufficient person, didn't want to look to Vito to rescue her like  some kind of damsel needing a white knight, but as he gave instructions  and spoke to her landlord to assure him the crowds at the entrance to  the building would cease now that she was leaving, she felt grateful to  have him on her side.

She hated feeling weak and managed and powerless, but if someone else  was stealing control of her life, she was glad the rudder had wound up  in his unerring hands.

She trusted him, she realized. It was a weird sort of trust. He could  and probably would hurt her, but he wasn't making any false promises not  to. He wouldn't lie to her, even if the truth was harsh and  unpalatable.

His governance over her world proved very advantageous when she made her  statement to the police, too. Had she been merely a midlevel bank  employee with no connections or legal team behind her, her complaint  probably wouldn't have been such a priority, but she was assured charges  against her masseuse would be forthcoming.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. There was a very short press  conference announcing the birth of Paolo's son, Vito's assumption of his  cousin's position for the next few weeks and he confirmed rumors that a  formal internal investigation had been launched against an unnamed, but  high profile account.                       
       
           



       

"For privacy and legal reasons, we can't expound on that," Vito said.

Then he sent a look to Gwyn that said everything his mouth did not. His  expression spoke of regret and guardianship and the suppressed anger of a  warrior who must wait for the war. Which might have been a bit of  overacting for the cameras, but she thought it had its seeds in what he  had said earlier about Jensen not going unpunished.

And she was touched all over again.

The press conference had been held at a hotel where Vito was due to meet  with various heads of the bank's branches before attending a mixer with  those same people, their spouses and an exclusive list of their  top-tier investors.

"It was scheduled a year ago, long before any of this hit the fan," he  said, sending her to a penthouse suite with an entourage who coached her  on everything from staying on message-The investigation is ongoing. I  can't comment.-to how to lengthen her lashes most effectively.

She was mentally and emotionally exhausted when they all finally left  her alone, seriously wishing she could go to bed instead of having to go  out.

Then Vito materialized from the second bedroom like a freshly groomed  panther, his black tuxedo a second skin, the white of his pleated shirt  and bow tie a blaze that set off his swarthy skin tone, hollow cheeks  and straight black brows. His hair, just a shade too long to be a  conservative business cut, gave him the perfect balance between decadent  playboy and powerful executive.

His silk pocket square exactly matched the reflective, lake blue of her gown.

She'd never worn anything so elegant or daring, with its strapless  bodice and low back. The sweep of the skirt was gathered in loose edges,  forming a slit over her left leg, and was ruched together with a  sparkling broach on her hip, making her feel graceful and sexy at once.

She felt sensual. Beautiful. And, as she stood looking at the beautiful  man before her, she felt for the first time like she was his match.

Vito was trying to make it to the end of a trying day. He understood the  concerns of those around him, the questioning of his choice in female  companionship, but he couldn't understand why he was so angered by all  of it. He kept telling himself it was the bank he wanted to defend. To  protect.

But it was Gwyn. He wanted to sweep a sword through the air to cut down all this resistance against his being with her.

And this was why.

She stood before him like a water deity, wearing that swirl of river  blue and sapphires that gleamed like bubbles against her neck and ears.  Her hair was caught in a low knot against the back of her neck, wisps  framing her introspective expression, mysterious and enthralling.

She was a prize, a weapon, an illicit substance. She was something he wanted. Badly.

His libido was becoming a monster, first hooked by spending nearly every  moment with her for the past forty-eight hours, then feeling her  absence as he'd pushed her to the sidelines to weather attacks from  close quarters.

It had left him keyed up, mood balanced on a knife's edge, the outlaw in  him looking to ignore any sort of rules or propriety and simply take  her, make her his. This wasn't the first time he'd chafed against the  constraints he placed upon himself, but he always maintained this veneer  of civility painted onto him by the family who had kept him alive, safe  and living within the law.

She didn't want cheap gratification, he reminded himself, and heard  Paolo again. If she's a victim, don't make her more of one. He kept  remembering that look in her eye as they'd played house for an hour with  Paolo's children. If only the world understood how laughable it was to  think she was inferior to him.

"You look nice," he said gruffly, trying not to let the vision she made  break the shackles controlling him. He moved to hold the door. "Let's  get this over with."

She made a noise that might have been one of injury and muttered, "That's what she said," as she passed him into the hall.

"What did you just say?" he asked tightly.

Gwyn grappled her feelings back into their box, telling herself to quit taking his lack of real interest in her as a slight.

"It's just something people say. One of those online memes," she said,  striding purposefully beside him toward the elevator. "Why are you so  grouchy?"

The hotel was pure opulence, the carpets cushioning each step, the rail  dripping leafy plants in terraced layers down to the lobby forty stories  below.

He pressed the call button for the elevator and said, "I'm not."

She glanced around, saw they were alone and said, "You know, we may not  have much, but I thought we had honesty. If you don't want to tell me,  say it's none of my business. But don't lie."                       
       
           



       

His gaze widened at her audacity, making her swallow. But honestly. She  was doing everything she was told, letting him treat her like a puppet  after she'd already been misused. What else did he want from her?

The elevator arrived and an older couple stepped off, leaving them to  enter the empty car alone, replacing what might have been an air of  relaxed camaraderie with a charged energy that bounced off the refined  walls.

At least it wasn't one of those glass boxes that made you feel airsick  as you descended. It was red velvet and had mirrored panels split by a  flat rectangle of gold for a handrail. A chipper, understated soft shoe  drifted from the speakers, sounding incongruous.

"If you must have the truth, cara, I've been warned several times today  that our relationship is ill-advised," he said, stabbing at a floor  number, then thumbing hard into the door close button. "I know they're  right, but I don't care. I want you, anyway. If we'd stayed in the room,  I would have kept you there."

"Really?" she derided. "I thought I just asked you not to lie to me?  Because you've never once acted like you wanted anything to do with me."

"Ha!" He punched the side of his fist into the red emergency button,  stalling the elevator with a jar and a short buzz, making her stagger  and reach for the rail. "The very fact that you can't read the signs  tells me how ill-suited you are for an affair. But, just so we're  crystal clear, cara, I don't care about that, either. I want you."

She couldn't look away from him, fascinated by the way his gold-brown eyes shot glittering shards of bronze.