The Italian's Vengeful Seduction. Bella Frances

A little more flavoursome.’ She licked her lips.

      He looked away. Anything but be faced by the curve of almost completely bare breast that he could now see so clearly as she lifted her arm up to touch the frame. He had to get her the hell out of his sight.

      ‘Thanks. We’ll eat at seven. I suggest you shower and make a few calls. Or walk about quietly. Or something. And do me a favour—don’t lie down and fall asleep. I don’t want to add to the drama.’

      She opened her mouth to give him another smart remark but he put his hand up, turned his head to the side.

      ‘And another favour? Get some damn clothes on. It’s three in the afternoon, for God’s sake. The time for putting it all out on display is well past.’

      Her face, already tense and tearstained, turned away. Silence fell around the bitter words he’d just thrown. From the glass roof above daylight flooded in, landing around her outline for all the world as if she was an angel in a chapel.

      A woman less like an angel he had never met, but in that moment he felt angry—with himself. And as she stood there, regarding him, she almost looked ephemeral. It stopped him dead in his thoughts. Stacey Jackson was the one who’d got away. She was the one who’d shaped his view of women for ever. She was both his adolescent fantasy and the rock it had perished on. And he was damned if he would fall under her spell again.

      He took the few steps up the corridor past her, shaking his head.

      ‘I’m going to be busy for the next hour or so. Just try—try not to get into any trouble. Okay?’

      He made it to his study, shut the door and breathed.

      Three paces across the room and he turned on the huge monitor. Instantly his emails appeared. He scanned them, looking for the one he knew was on its way. And there it was. From the realtor representing Chisholm Financial Management.

      Marco leaned down on the desk and grabbed at the mouse, sliding it quickly to bring it to life. He clicked on it. Words appeared.

      The door sounded across the hall. Good—she was inside, out of sight and out of mind. He skimmed the email. Yep, the offer had been acknowledged. And everything was in order. It was all coming together perfectly.

      There was the sound of the shower starting up. Great. That would keep her busy for a while. Give him time to fully digest this. Adrenaline was flooding his body. He was closer than he’d ever thought possible.

      Instantly his mood lifted. Instantly he could see blue skies again. He’d been coiled like a spring all day. And there had been no need. Preston Chisholm Junior was going to deliver it all back—just as his father had taken it all away.

      Well, well, well. Preston Chisholm. How life turned around. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d been sitting opposite to him in Betty’s, watching him as he watched Stacey wait on tables. The look in his eyes had been predatory. A look that had wound up with him landing a punch on the guy.

      Nobody had liked Preston Chisholm back then. And fewer liked him now. Still, as CEO of the bank that both bankrolled and mortgaged half the properties in town, people were cautious in showing it.

      Not someone like Stacey, though. She’d still give it to him both barrels. Just like that day when she’d found out that he’d punched Preston because of what he’d said about her. She’d been furious. The same afternoon Preston had practically salivated all over his polo shirt, he’d dragged him by its pristine collar out back and sunk his fist into his stomach.

      A great noise had gone up, raising the dust in the car park, and then out had come Stacey in that little yellow dress and white apron the girls wore at Betty’s. Preston had been curled up like a shrimp, bawling like a baby. He had been standing over his handiwork and Stacey had completely overreacted.

      Who did he think he was? She could defend her own name, thank you very much. He could mind his own business or go and play the hero for someone else.

      Marco smiled at the memory. For about the tenth time today. For all she’d made his stress levels rocket, she’d made him laugh too. All that personality in one perfect package.

      He listened to the noises she was making across the hallway. Normally he hated the intrusion of a woman in his home. God knew he’d tried, but he couldn’t get used to it. Moving his stuff, asking for closet space, filling the air with nonsensical chatter. The first day it was fine. It was okay. After a week he’d be finding problems with his offshore businesses that he had to solve personally. After two weeks he’d quit making excuses and get the jewellers on speed dial.

      Was he going insane, or was he smiling at the cute little noises Stacey was making?

      He might be smiling now, but five seconds together and their sparks would be flying right into a fireworks display that could light up the entire eastern seaboard.

      * * *

      What a Fortune 500 per cent bore Marco had turned out to be, thought Stacey as she wound her hair in a towel and rubbed some fancy cream into her puffy pink face. She would never have pegged him as vanilla, but that was the only flavour she could scent from him now. His safe suit, his ‘right’ car, his hair trimmed just along his shirt collar line. He probably used shoe trees.

      She stepped into the guest bedroom and looked around. Pale walls, wood floors, dark rugs. She’d choke to death in a place like this. It was as sterile as St Bart’s. Nothing with any character except for the prints in the hallway. And her outrageous dress draped across the bed.

      She could hardly put that back on.

      Not after his strict instruction to cover up.

      She wasn’t imagining the chemistry—was she? He was looking. She’d caught him looking a thousand times. But he sure wasn’t acting on it. That was the biggest change of all. He’d never let his class or his money guide his actions before. He’d played it straight down the line. He’d even played it over the line. Defending her honour from the creepy Preston Chisholm. She’d laid into Marco for sticking his nose in, but secretly she’d loved it. He’d been ridiculously overprotective—right in front of the whole crowd. And she’d relished their shock and awe at their poster boy being gallant for white trash Stacey.

      But he was playing with a different deck now. He couldn’t have been clearer that he was finding her a turn-off rather than a turn-on. But she was smarter than that. It wasn’t about biology—it was all about class. Turned out he was exactly the same as the Montauk snobs after all.

      She couldn’t wait to get out of here and away from every memory of that place.