Bought by Her Italian Boss(8)

But it was temporary. And Vittorio was not extending real sanctuary. They were allied enemies at best.

He wasn't even attracted to her. He thought she was a criminal and a slut.

"Just show me where I can sleep." She was overdue for hugging a pillow and bellyaching into it.

His silence made her look up.

"Paolo is still tied up questioning Fabrizio. His wife has very kindly  offered her wardrobe." He waved toward the stairs. "She has excellent  taste. Let's find something appropriate."

"For?" She glanced down at her business suit, which was a bit creased,  but in surprisingly good shape despite her colossal besmirching.

"Our first public appearance," he replied in an overly patient tone, like he was explaining things to a child.

"You said we just had to wait out the scandal for a few days." A strange  new panic began creeping into her, coming from a source she couldn't  identify.

"Oh, no, cara," he said with a patronizing shake of his head. "I said  that the worst of the scandal should pass in a few days. We are locked  into our lie for a few weeks at least. You don't get seasick, do you?  The wind might come up this evening and the dinner cruise could get  rocky."

* * *

Vito wondered sometimes, when his dispassionate, ruthless streak arose  this strongly, whether his father's genes were poking through the  Donatelli discipline he had so carefully nurtured to contain it.

The mafiosi were known for their loyalty to family, he reasoned. The  ferocity of his allegiance to Paolo and the bank had its seeds in his  DNA. Of course he would do everything and anything to protect both. Of  course he would do whatever was necessary to neutralize the threat  Jensen posed.

Vito was aware of something deeper going on inside him, though. A  pitiless determination to crush Jensen. It was positively primeval and  he wasn't comfortable with it.

He glanced across at the fuel for his suppressed rage and was impacted by intense carnal desire.

Why?

Oh, Gwyn was beautiful. He couldn't deny it, even though she was pale  beneath a light layer of makeup. It had been expertly applied by  Lauren's very trustworthy stylist from Como. Like anyone who worked for  society's high-level players, the stylist knew any sort of indiscretion  meant a loss of more than just one lucrative client. Lauren had sent the  woman "to help a friend." The stylist kept her finger on the pulse of  celebrity gossip. She had recognized Gwyn with a very subtle start, then  grinned and put her at ease so Gwyn had been smiling as she emerged as a  butterfly from the chrysalis of a guest bedroom an hour later.

Her smile had faded when she had found Vito waiting for her. That had  bothered him, making him feel a small kick of guilt, like he was  responsible for her unhappiness.

...targeted by your client with naked photos that will exist in the public eye for the rest of my life...

He had asked her for the name of the spa and had ordered a team to look  into it, wondering if a connection to Jensen might turn up beyond his  wife recommending Gwyn visit it for physiotherapy.

Gwyn could have used something to relax her in that moment, as she'd  stood so stiffly, projecting hostility as she seemed to wait out his  judgment on her appearance.

He could hardly breathe looking at her. She was a vision in a long,  sparkling blue skirt with a high slit and a black, equally glittering  halter top that clung lovingly to the swells of her ample breasts. Her  midriff was bare and her hair loose so her face was squarely framed by  the blunt cut across her brow and the straight fall of rich, mahogany  brown. She wore silver hoop earrings and a dozen thin bangles supplied  by the stylist. Lauren's shoes were a half size too big, but Gwyn's toes  were freshly painted a passionate red.

"You're stunning," he had told her sincerely.

Her hands had grown white where she clutched a small black pocketbook.  Averting her face, she'd said, "Not sure why I bothered when people are  going to look through what I'm wearing."

"Do you need me to tell you you're beautiful either way?"

She flinched. "Took a long look, did you?"

So much resentment. It annoyed him to be lumped in with all the other  voyeurs. He had spent the past hour taking stock of how thoroughly  Jensen was arrowing those images back at the bank, how the world media  was exploiting Gwyn's naked body for ratings. He had looked at  everything but her photographs, deliberately sparing her one more pair  of male eyes and himself the disturbing dual reaction of arousal and  fury.                       
       
           



       

The thought that men around the world were licking their lips in  lascivious heat over her figure was making him grow murderously  affronted.

So he didn't appreciate her goading him.

"They're imprinted on my mind," he said without apology, watching  something tense and disturbed flash across her expression before she  quelled it. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. I don't mean that from a  physical standpoint, but that's true, as well."

She reacted with a startled stare of confused vulnerability.

"That sounds almost kind. Are you practicing? Because there's no one  here to overhear you being nice to me." Her mouth pouted in  consternation, lips possibly trembling a moment before she firmed them.

It struck him that she didn't know he was attracted to her.

He would have laughed if he hadn't been so stunned. Admiration of her  figure was a given. Why did she think she'd been chosen for this  particular form of exploitation?

But there was more. Tendrils of possessiveness had rooted in him during  those first seconds of viewing her pale nudity. A prowling hunger was  growing, urging him to make her aware that he ached to touch her. He  wanted to see the knowledge, the catch of excitement in her gaze. The  exponential increase of passion as it reflected back and forth between  them like parallel mirrors.

He didn't know how he knew it would be like that, he just did.

"You'll have to get used to looking insipidly pleased by my  compliments," he said to disguise his growing need, grasping at her  remark about practicing. "And welcome my touch," he added, giving in to  temptation and letting the backs of his fingers graze the softness of  her bare arm.

Goose bumps immediately rose on her skin and her nipples tightened.

It was such a visceral reaction he experienced an answering pull in his  groin, one that very nearly had him throwing in the towel on his  precious discipline. He had wanted to scoop her up and head straight to  the nearest bedroom. Hell, the floor.

She blushed. Hard. Hurt flashed across her expression. "I'm already a  powerless game piece. Don't make it worse by taunting me with my own  stupid reaction to you." Shame darkened her eyes, but she dared to  threaten him. "Or we will have a very ugly public breakup."

"And a very hot and public reunion    ," he responded fiercely, catching  at the taut tendons in her wrists where she clenched her hands into  fists. Tucking them behind her back, he pulled her in close and slid his  lips along her perfumed neck, eyes almost rolling back into his skull  as male hunger slammed through him. He wanted her. "Because your  reaction to me is exactly what will sell this story of ours. So get used  to revealing it."

Then, because she strained her face away from him, he sucked a tiny love  bite onto her neck where it met her shoulder. Her whole body shuddered  and a sensual moan escaped her. Her hips bucked to press her mons  against his straining erection and lingered to rock with muted need,  teasing both of them.

In that second, they could have both lost it, but he had forced himself  to release her, his grip on his control far too tenuous for his liking.

He was unsurprised by the hatred she flashed at him as she took a  staggering step away from him. She looked stricken. Shocked by her own  reaction. He was unnerved himself. They would tear the skin from each  other's bones if they gave in to this thing between them.

That hatred was good, though. It armed him against making love to her. He was driven, not despicable.

She hadn't spoken to him again, moving to the car like an airman with  jump orders, sitting stiffly, keeping her stoic expression averted.

Everything in him itched to knock through that wall of hostility with  another sample of their amazing chemistry, but he needed time to get  hold of himself first.

The driver slowed to a crawl behind the line releasing rock stars,  socialites, minor royalty and major league players onto the red carpet.

Vito wasn't on the list, but he knew the American actor hosting the  cruise, so he had seized the opportunity to "come out" with Gwyn here.  It was a precursor to an international film festival. The guest list was  not only small and exclusive, but worldly enough that leaked sex tapes  and mug shots were dismissed as "publicity." Nude photos were barely  worth mentioning, as common to a portfolio as head shots.