Making over the Billionaire (an Italian Connection Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (11 page)

“It was only temporary,” Layla said defensively, apparently misinterpreting his silence as disgust. “My foster mom did her best, working two jobs to raise my little brother and me. But there was no money for college, and I was desperate to study clothing design. Burlesque paid a hell of a lot better than waitressing.”

“I’m not blaming you,
cara
. I’m sure you were an amazing dancer. I’m just sorry if you were forced by circumstances into doing something you didn’t want to.”

She moved her fingernails in light circles over his back. “I loved the sensuality of the dancing and wearing sexy outfits. But I hated it when my boss made it clear I owed him sexual favors in return for giving me a job. That’s when I quit.”

He was filled with a cold possessive fury. “If I had been there, I would have shown him—with my fists, if necessary—how off limits you were.” He kissed her gently at the corners of her eyes and down her cheek to her mouth. “You said foster mom. Didn’t you have parents?”

“I never knew my dad. My mom had mental health issues. She couldn’t cope with Tom and me.” Layla hesitated. “She died a few years back of an overdose.”

“I’m sorry,” Giorgio said. “And your brother?”

“He was shot down by the Taliban in Afghanistan. Two years, five months, and three weeks ago.” She dashed at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Again, I’m so sorry.” He stroked her hair, not knowing what to say. She’d lost her whole family. It was unutterably sad. “Do you still see your foster mother?”

“She’s gone too.” Layla sniffed and gave him a watery smile. “Louisa was from Rome. That’s one reason I wanted so badly to come to Italy, to see the country she came from. She was wonderful—warm and open-hearted and loving. Tom and I were lucky to live with her for most of our childhood.”

“So you had an Italian mamma. Who would have thought.”

“Hey, does that make me Italian?”

“Ha, ha, no. So you went to college and studied and worked until you could go out on your own.”

Layla turned over onto her back and pointed up at the sky. “Is that the Big Dipper?”

He took her chin between his fingers and turned her face to him. “We were talking about you.”

Her gaze dropped. “I didn’t finish college. After I quit dancing I didn’t have enough money and anyway, they weren’t teaching me what I wanted to know. I had to figure that out myself.”

“I see. How is business for you in Seattle?”

“I’ve won awards for my designs but my product is a luxury item. Not many people can afford to spend their money on silk underwear.” She shrugged unhappily. “I can always go back to designing off-the-rack swim and sleepwear.”

He could see why she was pinning her hopes on Rome fashion week. Preventing Tina from hiring her was the right thing to do for his business, so why did he feel like such a heel?

“Tina will no doubt give you other contacts—” he began.

Layla placed a finger over his mouth. “I don’t want any other fashion house. I did my research and the House of Borlenghi is perfect for me. Why are you so against foreigners? What exactly do you think would happen if one of your thousands of employees wasn’t Italian?”

“It’s not the employee, it’s the product.”

“If I lived and worked in Italy, wouldn’t it be an Italian product?”

“How can you do that?” he asked. “It’s not easy for someone outside the European Union to get a work permit.”

“It can be done if the employer wants you bad enough.”

He wanted her, and badly. But it wasn’t that simple.

When he didn’t say anything, she changed the subject. “What would you do if your deal with Chang goes south?”

“I refuse to contemplate failure,” he said simply. “If things don’t work out I’ll try again, perhaps with someone else in China. I won’t give up.”

“The expansion means a lot to you, then.”

It had meant everything to Leo. His brother had been talking about it that night as they drove to Positano. Giorgio had barely listened. He was more interested in his twenty-first birthday party at a nightclub. But afterward, he’d remembered. He’d spent long nights trying to recall every detail of those last hours with his big brother, every word he’d said.

He rolled off the bed and went to the railing to look out over the sea. Twinkling lights outlined the coast all the way to Amalfi. The quiet, dark night and the soft, warm breeze were made for intimacy, for sharing secrets. Not all, perhaps, but enough for her to understand who he was.

“My father came from a poor family and was very ambitious. He started as a carpenter and moved into making furniture. He built up a thriving business. Gradually he expanded into other areas. His passion was quality, Italian-made goods. When Leo became old enough, he was my father’s right hand man. I was too young and too wild to be trusted with responsibility.”

“Too young and wild to be trusted,” she echoed. “That sounds like one of those family myths that keeps getting repeated for years, meanwhile no one’s noticed that it’s not true anymore.”

Giorgio fell silent. There was some truth in what she said. For eight years, he’d worked his butt off without letting up trying to create a monument to two men whose shoes he would never feel worthy of filling.

“When did your dad pass away?” Layla asked quietly.

“Eight years ago. He was only fifty-five. He died of a heart attack. Three months after my brother died in a car accident.”

“That’s an awful lot of tragedy for one family.” She was silent a moment then she asked, “Was that the same accident you broke your leg in?”

Giorgio nodded. If not for him, his brother and possibly his father would be alive today. His mother had lost her beloved husband and son, his sisters their adored Papa and big brother.

“Where did it happen?” she asked.

“On the road to Positano. It’s a very dangerous, twisty narrow road.” He shook his head. “That’s enough. It’s painful for me to talk about.”

“I can understand that. But I get the impression you blame yourself. That won’t change anything.”

“You don’t fully understand.”

“And you’re not going to explain.” She put up her hands with a sad smile. “Okay, fine. But your sisters and your mother are still alive. They need you to be happy.”

“I am—” Was he happy? Despite the long hours and stress, he’d always thought so. He was fulfilling his father’s and Leo’s dreams. Over time, they’d become his dreams.

“There’s such a thing as working too much,” she added as if she’d read his mind. “You don’t want to die young like your father. Overwork and stress can lead to a heart attack. Admit it, you find it hard to relax.”

He watched the phosphorescent jellyfish glow and pulse in the dark water below. “
Si
, it’s true.”

Today, at the football match, he’d laughed and joked with his friends, ate pizza and beer, cheered for his team, and acted his age instead of ten years older than he really was. He’d enjoyed himself with abandon, not thinking about yesterday or tomorrow, but only this day, this moment. He wouldn’t have experienced that if not for Layla. He could be himself with her, the happy-go-lucky man he used to be. It felt liberating.

“You could let your sisters take on more responsibility—”

He stiffened. Just when he’d begun to think she wanted to stay on the yacht to spend time with him. His hand sliced through the air. “Everything comes back to your desire for a contract with the House of Borlenghi.”

“No.” She rose and put her arms around his waist from behind and laid her head against his back. “Forget that for now. The next couple of days are just about you and me.”

Her warmth seeped from her body into his. Today he’d caught a glimpse of what life could be like if he weren’t so driven. But to deviate from his schedule now would be to jeopardize the whole operation. “What do you mean?”

“Stay on the boat a couple more days. Show me the Blue Grotto and take me snorkeling. Visit your friends Antonio and Lisa.” She paused. “Celebrate your birthday with your family.”

“Why should I trust your motives?” he said. “You told me from the beginning you wanted a contract so badly, and now you act as if you don’t have a care in the world.”

“I care very much about my work and my future,” she protested. “I really want to be part of Tina’s innovative design house, and now that I’m aware you’re going global, the potential is enormous and a contract is even more attractive.”

He turned to face her and stated flatly, “You think you can influence me if we spend more time together.”

“Fat chance of that! Sure, I didn’t want to come to Naples at first but what the hell, it’s been really fun so far, and I may never be back here. I believe in seizing opportunities when they arise.”

“Soften up the CEO,” he said. “It’s not going to work.”

She waved him off. “If you can’t even take three days off, how can you think your life is so good?”

Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. He was sorely tempted to forget his responsibilities and take the time to play with her. But work aside, he also felt uneasy not being able to personally keep closer tabs on Fabio.

Still, it was just a few more days. Layla was fun and sexy. And smart, too smart surely to believe she could change his mind, but brave and enterprising enough to make the attempt.

Like Tina with Fabio, he was infatuated with Layla. And therefore prone to making stupid decisions. But if they left tomorrow he might never see her again. Never make love to her again, or hear her cry his name as she found her pleasure. He might never have a chance to be that man again, the fun-loving guy he once was.

“I’ll stay on one condition.” He whispered his terms in her ear.

She laughed and swatted him on the shoulder. “You’re bad.”

“Will you do it?” His chest felt both full and extraordinarily light, as if he was fizzing with champagne. That was the crux of it he suddenly realized—Layla made him feel joy again.

Her eyes shone with amusement and something else he didn’t dare try to name. “Okay, but not tonight. And I would only do this for you. No one else.”

Since he felt both possessive and protective about her that was exactly what he’d hoped she would say. “Excellent. But we won’t go to the Blue Grotto. That’s for tourists. Instead I’ll show you a secret cave I found in my childhood. It’s so special I never even told Antonio or my sisters.”

Chapter Ten

Layla yawned and stretched, pushing away the tangled bed covers. Thanks to the most awesome sex in her entire life and the gentle rocking motion of the yacht she’d slept like a baby. Rolling over she reached for Giorgio. Gone. Damn. There was nothing like morning sex to wake a girl up.

Brushing away her disappointment, she glanced at the clock. Nearly noon, so it was hardly morning. She hadn’t slept in so long in years.

She rose, showered, and perused the closet of beautiful clothing like a kid in a candy shop. Finally, she picked out a floaty dress in deep blue with flashes of burnt orange that bore the Borlenghi label. Feeling daring, she wore it without a bra. The dress was at once sexy and demure and so light it was like wearing nothing. She slipped on a pair of blue sandals and was about to go up top when she remembered she should check in with Tina.

“Good news,” she said when the other woman picked up. “We’re staying ’til Sunday. We’re having lunch at his friends’ restaurant in Sorrento, Antonio and Lisa. Do you know them?”

“Of course. I’ll give them a call and tell them to expect the rest of the family, as well,” Tina said. “I’ve shown your sketches and samples to my head designer, Maria. She really likes them. It’s just a matter of convincing Giorgio. It sounds like you’re the best person to do that at the moment.”

“We’re having fun, but he’s still adamant about that Italians-only rule.” Layla paced over to a porthole and watched a fishing boat motor slowly past, nets piled in a tangle on the deck. If Giorgio found out she’d conspired against him with his sisters, he would never forgive her.

Did that matter, in the long run? It wasn’t like she lived in Italy. Once she left she would never see him again. That thought brought a pang she quickly pushed away. Even if she were lucky enough to get a contract with the House of Borlenghi all future dealings would be with Tina.

She would miss Giorgio, though. No, she would miss the sex. She wasn’t going to let her emotions cloud her ability to get ahead. “You haven’t said anything to your brother, have you, about our agreement?”

“I haven’t spoken to him at all since you two arrived on the yacht. And I wouldn’t dare tell him about our little scheme. Are you kidding? He’d be furious.”

“Good. Just make sure you don’t.”

“What are your plans for today?” Tina asked.

“Swimming in some special cave Giorgio knows.” Layla paused. “He said you went to an industry party last night. Did Fabio enjoy it? I imagine that’s right up his alley too.”

“He didn’t arrive until nearly midnight. His mother was sick and he had to go see her.” Her voice warmed. “He made it up to me afterward, though.”

“I’ll bet he did,” Layla said, relieved to hear Tina so happy. “Your brother thinks you shouldn’t trust him, but I told him you would know if anything was wrong.”

“Oh! He’s got to get off my back.” Tina paused and spoke to someone in the background. “Excuse me, but my driver is here. I’ll see you Sunday.
Ciao
.”

Layla clicked off her phone. Today she would make Giorgio forget his role as head of the Borlenghi household. And it was going to be her pleasure.

The dining table on the shaded after deck was laid with two pristine place settings. Giorgio’s cell phone lay on the snowy linen tablecloth, but he hadn’t eaten yet. Layla started on the fresh fruit plate, spearing a slice of juicy papaya.

Matteo appeared with the coffee pot. “What would you like for breakfast? Or would you prefer lunch instead?”

“Could I have an omelet, please.” She reached for a slice of lime to squeeze over the fresh fruit. A plump croissant peeked at her from the basket of pastries. “Where’s
Signor
Borlenghi this morning?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.” Matteo poured her a cup of steaming coffee and bowed slightly. “I’ll place your order with the chef.”

She was about to bite into the luscious papaya when a splash at the stern made her put her fork down. Giorgio appeared, climbing up the transom like a god of the sea, water streaming off his broad, tanned shoulders and down his long, muscled legs. He held a mesh diving bag in which an octopus slithered and writhed. A snorkel and mask was pushed up on his head and a spear gun dangled from his other hand.

“Good morning.” He put his bag in a bucket of water on the deck then he called into the cabin. “Matteo, come and take my catch to the kitchen.”

She blinked in amazement at the transformation from stressed-out businessman to holidaying snorkeler. “Who are you, and what have you done with Giorgio Borlenghi?”

“I’ve had an excellent night, a morning swim, and now I’m looking forward to spending the day with a beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t I be happy?” He grabbed a towel from a stack near the cabin door and cursorily rubbed himself down. Still dripping from his hair, he leaned over and kissed her, his lips salty and cool from the ocean. Drops fell on her arm, the linen tablecloth, her papaya, but she leaned up into the kiss, enjoying his special taste.

He eased back and, draping the towel over his chair, sat. With a smile in his voice, he asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you.” She slipped her foot out of her sandal and ran her toes up his damp calf. “And you?”

“Like a baby.” He picked the papaya off her plate and, smiling at her squeak of protest, ate it. “I feel wonderful.” Matteo came out to get the octopus and Giorgio said something to him in Italian.

“You’re going to eat that thing for breakfast?” Layla asked.

“Of course. You haven’t lived until you’ve had chargrilled octopus fresh from the Mediterranean.” He filled his own plate with fruit and pastries. “I can’t wait to show you my special places. The color of the water in my cave is even more spectacular than the Blue Grotto.” He kissed his fingers to his lips. “
Belissimo
. You will love it.”

“I can’t wait.” She shook her head, smiling at his exuberant good humor.

He tore off a piece of croissant and spread it with apricot jam. “Why are you staring?”

“I’m fascinated with the new you.” She got herself another piece of papaya. “Tell me about yourself. I’m not sure you need my help to relax, but I’ve made it my mission, so I’m going to do it.”

Below, the engines started up. At the bow, two crewmembers were hoisting the anchor. At the stern, sailors untied the lines from the bollards on the wharf. With a bit of shouting and a whole lot of hand gestures, they were soon moving away from the dock.

“So,” she prompted him. “You haven’t answered my question.”

He shrugged. “You’re an enterprising woman. I’m sure long before you came to Rome you Googled and found out everything there is to know about me.”

Layla waved a hand. “I’m not interested in where you were born or how much you’re worth. I want fun facts! What’s the one thing you couldn’t bear to live without? Who is your all time favorite movie star? What book would you take to a desert island?”

“Ah, fun. You put me at a disadvantage. Hm.” Tapping a finger against his jaw, he pondered that. “Sex, Sophia Loren, and Sonnets from the Portuguese.”

“Love poetry, seriously? That’s interesting.”

“I was kidding about the poetry.” He smiled his wicked smile. “Sex isn’t interesting?”

“All men would say they can’t live without sex.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be like all men,” he said, smiling. “I’ll have to change my answer.”

“Or else be more specific,” she replied with a wicked grin. “What type of sex can’t you live without?”

Before he could answer, Matteo returned bearing a sizzling platter of marinated, chargrilled octopus surrounded by quartered lemons. He cleared a space for it on the table between them and served them each a portion of the succulent seafood.

“I’ll show you later,” Giorgio said to her with a wink as Matteo took the empty platter and left.

“Give me a hint.” She gingerly took a bite of the meltingly tender octopus and moaned in appreciation.

“I like to be in charge.” He tucked in to his catch with gusto.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she mocked. “That is so two centuries ago. Or very modern, I’m not sure which. Personally, I prefer more give and take.”

His eyes narrowed with a sexy glint. “You’re not the type of woman to take a challenge to your independence lying down, so to speak.”

“That goes without saying. But what I meant was, I
give
pleasure and then
take
full advantage of a man’s…” She inched her toes up his inner thigh and pressed her foot into his crotch, relishing his heat and hardness. “…appreciation.”

He stroked the back of her knee. “I’ve heard that some women prefer chocolate to sex.”

“That depends on the quality of the chocolate and the quality of the sex. Now both at the same time…” She closed her eyes in simulated ecstasy. “Strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. And a man with a talented tongue. Yum.”

“You’re making me hungry,” Giorgio growled.

His cell phone rang.

“Don’t answer it.” With a sultry smile, she massaged him with her foot.

The ringing continued. He glanced at the caller ID. “It’s the private investigator. This could be important.”

“The world can get by without you for a couple of days.”

His hand hovered then abruptly, then he turned off the phone. “You’re right. I’m on holiday. What can happen in two days?”

“Good for you.” She dropped her foot and leaned over to kiss him hard on the mouth. “Now let’s play.”

…

Layla sat in the bow of the small motor boat, her heart in her mouth as Giorgio navigated the rough waters near the cliff. White foam surged against the rocks with every wave. The boat pitched so hard that the outboard engine lifted out of the sea briefly, and water poured in over the side. She picked up a small bucket and bailed. No wonder his sisters didn’t know about this cave. A person had to be crazy—or wildly daring—to venture into this dangerous spot. Right now Giorgio was both.

Just when she thought they would be dashed to pieces on the rocks, the boat slipped behind an outcrop into calm water. It rocked a few more times and stabilized. Ahead was a low arch in the rock wall.

“Get down low.” Giorgio cut the engine then bent double as the boat glided beneath the archway into the grotto.

Layla’s eyes widened as the rock skimmed past inches above her nose. Once inside the cave, she sat up with a gasp. The sea was lit from below, bathing everything in a brilliant, otherworldly blue glow. “Wow, where does this amazing color come from?”

“Like the Blue Grotto, beneath the water there’s another, larger passage to the sea,” Giorgio said. “The light comes into the cave and is filtered up through the water, turning it a brilliant blue. Put your hand in the water.”

She plunged her hand into the cool liquid and her fingers glowed blue. “It’s so beautiful. And no one else knows about this place?”

“Not to my knowledge. Not many would be game to make the journey inside.”

“And you’ve never brought anyone else here? Not even your wife?” He shook his head. Layla went quiet as the import of that washed over her. “Why me?”

“I don’t really know.” At that moment he looked younger. Still handsome and virile but somehow more open. “It just feels right. I…wanted to share it with you.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m honored.” The moment stretched as they gazed at each other, his words silently echoing around the rock walls as wavelets lapped at the sides of the boat.

Then he grinned and picked up the oars and began to row. “Just so you don’t feel like you’ve missed out on anything, this is what the boatmen do in the Blue Grotto.” He began singing
Volare
in Italian, in mellow bass notes. It could have been cheesy, but after his tacit admission that she was special to him, his singing was thrilling. Layla trailed her fingers through the azure water and watched his face, playful and tender as he serenaded her.

“Do you want to swim?” he asked when the song ended.

“I didn’t wear my bikini.”

“We’re alone. We can go skinny dipping.”

“Why not?” She pulled her dress off over her head and tugged her panties off before slipping over the side of the boat into the cool blue water. Giorgio stripped down and joined her. They swam to the far end of the cavern and circled back again. Treading water, Layla turned to face Giorgio. “This is magic. I’m so glad you kidnapped me.”

“I am too,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have come to Naples or here if it weren’t for you. I’m seeing this area through new eyes, and what I see is a paradise.” He took her in his arms and kissed her as their legs tangled in the water. One hand cupping her bottom, he used the other to caress and mold her breast, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Layla ran her hands over his back. His butt muscles flexed and contracted with every languid kick. Giorgio took her by the hips, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders. He was big and hard, and she was wet and more than ready for him.

“Hang on,” he said and moved over to the boat. Releasing her, he leaned in and got a condom out of his shorts pocket. When he was sheathed she floated into his arms again and he slid home. Layla’s breath shortened as she moved her hips in small, intense thrusts in tandem with his. Cool water lapped at her heated cheeks. Her breasts floated, the nipples just above the water. He dipped his head and took one peaked bud in his mouth, biting gently then sucking and pulling as he expertly moved against her. His hand slipped between them and he found her clitoris, circling it while his tongue circled her nipple. Like a wave, her orgasm surged over her and she clung, blissed out, to Giorgio, her face pressed into his wet shoulder. While she was still riding the crest of that sexual wave, he pumped hard once, twice, three times and stifled his groan in her hair.

Then he was kissing her all over her face. She couldn’t stop smiling. “Making love in a grotto was a first for me. You’re a bad influence,
Signor
Borlenghi,” she teased.

“You only have yourself to blame,” he taunted gently. “I was content to stay in my office and work. You coaxed me out to lunch. It’s entirely your fault.”