Chapter 1
HER MIND WAS A MAELSTROM OF memories and fears. A jumble of disparate pieces she could hardly connect. For a moment, she stood there in the sun-drenched penthouse, staring out at the view without seeing any of it.
There was her flight. Her meeting. Her genuine fear that she might never get out of there alive.
The ultimatum she’d been given—the promise that her debt would be erased if she became the mistress of one of the head guys in the money lending operation.
Eighty-five grand is small time for me, darlin’.
A tiny price to pay to have you in my bed.
She’d run. Fear had turned her veins to ice, as she’d realised that the ‘repayment plan’ she’d come to discuss was akin to prostitution, not the legitimate arrangements she’d thought.
A chill ran down her spine even now as she faced up to who she’d borrowed money from.
And then, somehow, she’d…married this guy?
She wanted to laugh. To tell him he was crazy. But even as those words ran through her mind, she saw it.
The bright, turquoise lights of the chapel, the bunch of peonies she’d been holding—though God knew from where. The way her hair had been loose around her shoulders. The way he’d kissed her.
She’d drunk a lot of vodka oranges. They’d been one dollar a pop at the bar around the corner from her dive of a hotel.
She’d figured she could drink just enough to blot out the reality of her situation before high-tailing it to the airport and getting home.
Home, to try to find a way out of this mess. There had to be a way. Didn’t there?
Because she’d sooner die than sell her body for sex. A shudder of revulsion ran through her anew, that had nothing to do with the man opposite.
“It’s not ideal,” he drawled in that spicy, European accent of his.
Another flash of memory. They’d sat side by side at the bar for at least an hour before he’d spoken to her.
Him, in his own world, cradling what looked to be a scotch.
Her, throwing back vodkas and trying to blot her grief and panic.
She couldn’t remember what he’d said, but she did remember the effect his voice had had on her. She’d thought nothing could reach through her stupor and make her feel, certainly not a man. Not after what she’d been through that afternoon.
But maybe that actually explained the strange power he’d held? Maybe in the midst of her darkness and despair, she’d wanted to see something good in someone. To feel less alone.
She’d clung to him.
Hell, she’d married him.
“Married,” she whispered, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t believe it.”
He made a grunting sound of agreement.
“I can take care of it.”
Her eyes widened. She was pretty sure he meant by making the whole thing go away, but she’d already been burned once in the last twenty-four hours, by presuming that people were decent and good. She didn’t intend to make the same mistake twice. “What does that mean?”
“An annulment will be easy enough to get, given the circumstances,” he said darkly, something flickering in his eyes. She bit into her lower lip, nodding quickly.
“Okay, great. What do we need to do?”
“I’ll arrange it. Just give me your details.”
“What details?”
“Address. Phone number.”
She bit into her lower lip. “Why do you need my address?”
“To send you the paperwork.”
“Can’t you email it?”
He stared at her for a beat, and she realised how sketchy she must have seemed. How borderline paranoid. But she had a pretty damn good reason to be, after all.
“How long will it take?” she asked instead, toying with the button of her shirt—his shirt—before realising it had drawn his attention to the swell of her breasts.
Everything clamped up inside of her. Her stomach seemed to compress, her nipples tingled.
She turned her back quickly, sucking in a short breath.
“I don’t know.” Even with her back turned, his voice had the power to reach around and torment her. She squeezed her eyes against that powerful drugging sound. “It is my first annulment. I imagine I can expedite matters.”
“Okay. As in, today?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She turned then. “I’m staying at a motel off the strip.
” Her eyes landed on a notepad and pen, the sort that were supplied with hotels of this calibre.
She stalked across and removed the top piece, carrying it to the kitchen bench, where her coffee sat, half-drunk.
“Here.” She scrawled the address, observing the ‘Di Santis’ logo on the page.
Something blared in her mind. A memory, but she couldn’t quite reach for it.
Before she could drill down into that, there was a buzz at the door. He moved towards it, uncaring for his state of undress, but Ally was definitely not accustomed to being waited on while wearing barely anything. She squawked and padded swiftly into the kitchen, hiding herself around the corner.
She heard murmured voices and a moment later, he returned with a shopping bag. Not a plastic shopping bag, either, but one of those expensive paper bags with corded string handles. She eyed it warily.
“Clothes,” he offered.
“That was quick.”
“There is a boutique in the hotel.”
“Still,” she stared at him, frowning. “The concierge must have hot footed it there as soon as he got off the call with you.”
The man looked at her as though this was not new information, nor particularly interesting. He was clearly loaded.
Hey, maybe he could help erase her debt?
Except, she’d never ask. Of course she wouldn’t.
She’d learned her lesson. Taking money from strangers was an appalling idea.
If she hadn’t been desperate, she never would have gone down that path.
But the operation had been the last chance to save her father’s life; of course she’d had to try it. Even if it had cost an arm and a leg.
She moved towards the man, aware that her legs weren’t quite steady as she crossed the room.
Little wonder—she’d drunk half a bar the night before, and Ally rarely imbibed more than a glass of wine with dinner.
She reached for the bag but it was impossible to take without their fingers brushing, and the second they did, she was back in that tacky chapel, one of his hands on her hip, the other lifting and curling around her cheek, drawing her face to his.
Goosebumps lifted over her skin and her eyes fell to his lips, memories of the way they’d felt against hers warming her blood to boiling point.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, quickly jumping back as though electrocuted.
“You’re welcome, Allegra.”
A shiver ran down her spine once more, and she spun away, hoping to conceal her reaction. There was something about this man that was liquid gold. Sexy, but dangerous, because he made her want to stay. And she couldn’t stay anywhere. Not without putting herself—and others—at risk.
“I won’t be long.”
“There is no rush.” But how could he know the dangerous men who wanted her to succumb to them? The man who had her over a barrel because of life-saving money she’d borrowed without doing her proper research?
All the heat disappeared, leaving her chilled to the core. She slipped from the palatial lounge area without a backwards glance.
He could still smell the lingering scent of her fragrance in the air, minutes after Allegra had left, when his phone rang.
He saw his grandfather’s number and contemplated ignoring the call. But Luca had inherited—amongst other things—his stubborn streak from his grandfather. If he failed to answer the phone, the old man would just keep trying.
With his features bearing a grim mask, he swiped the phone to answer. “Ciao.”
“I see you listened to my advice.”
“I don’t remember you giving advice so much as an ultimatum,” Luca muttered, staring at the door with a frown.
The outfit had transformed Allegra. The concierge had chosen a pair of linen pants and a strappy singlet top, and either the shoes had been included or she’d found her own.
Either way, she’d left his penthouse looking like a beautiful, sophisticated, heaven-sent woman.
“Either way, I’m glad you listened.”
Luca blamed his hangover on the fact it took him a few seconds to join the dots and comprehend the reason for his grandfather’s call.
The photo.
The fact his grandfather’s staff had google alerts set, and would have seen the news as soon as it broke. He was surprised it had taken his grandfather a matter of hours to contact him.
He ground his teeth, biting back the acerbic rejoinder. Not only had he not listened, he intended on ending this marriage as soon as he could.
It was vanilla, he decided. And honey. It reminded him of lazy mornings as a child, by the beach. The water lapping at the shore, the house staff bringing him plates of bread and honey, and salty hard cheese.
He blinked to clear the startling imagery, not wanting to think about his childhood, or Allegra’s distractingly sweet fragrance. He’d noticed it the night before, too, when he’d kissed her at their wedding. It had been her shampoo, he decided.
“Naturally, I will want to meet your bride. She is very beautiful, Luca.”
He drew his focus back to the conversation. “Yes,” he agreed, to the second part of that statement. Allegra was very beautiful. Petite, curvaceous, tanned with enormous blue eyes and pouting pink lips, she was a siren from ancient stories, a vision of a goddess, rather than a woman.
“This weekend?”
“That won’t be possible.”
The old man laughed down the phone. “I suppose even you are entitled to a honeymoon. I’ll give you a week.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his grandfather that in a week’s time, he expected to be well and truly through this diversion.
But his grandfather had already taken Luca’s acceptance as a fait accompli.
“Let’s meet on the island. I’ll organise a reception for you, to celebrate.
It’s been too long since you were at a Di Santis event. You’ve been missed.”