Hired For Romano's Pleasure

CHAPTER TWO

‘I THOUGHT YOU were going to meet me inside, Orla.’

The sound of Jules’s voice catapulted Orla back to her senses and with a gasp she jerked away from Torre. So much for her plan to act cool around him, she thought derisively. Within moments of meeting him again she had practically thrown herself at him. Thankfully Jules’s interruption had stopped her from making a fool of herself.

‘I couldn’t find the housekeeper to ask where we will be sleeping so I left our cases in the guest cloakroom for now,’ Jules said. ‘Hello, Torre.’ He shook hands with his stepbrother. ‘It’s good to see you.’

To Orla’s surprise, Jules draped his arm around her shoulders. She knew it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, yet there was something oddly possessive about the way he drew her close against his side. She glanced at Torre and saw that his eyes had narrowed and his mouth had flattened into a thin line. For a few seconds his expression was unguarded, but perhaps she imagined that he looked furious because he smiled at Jules.

‘It’s good to see you, too,’ Torre said evenly. ‘Cousin Claudio and his family have arrived on a surprise visit, and as the other guest rooms at Villa Romano are being used, I told Giuseppe that you and Orla can stay at my house in Ravello.’

‘No.’ Orla flushed when she realised that she had spoken out loud. ‘What I meant is thank you for your offer, but there won’t be room for both of us to stay at your little cottage. I’ll go to a local hotel.’

The idea of returning to the place where she had lost her virginity to Torre was unbearable. She did not want to be reminded of how he had undressed her in the moonlight before laying her down on his bed. The night she had spent in his arms had felt like a beautiful dream but the next morning it had turned into a nightmare.

In her mind she heard the icy condemnation in his voice as he had demanded to know why she hadn’t told him that she was the daughter of his father’s whore. ‘Were you hoping to persuade me to marry you, in the same way that Kimberly connived to get my father to take leave of his good sense and marry her? I can see the attraction of mother and daughter both getting their greedy hands on the Romano fortune.’ His cold contempt had sliced through Orla’s heart.

He had looked cynical when she’d frantically denied that she had deliberately kept her identity a secret from him. Her stumbling explanation that she had her father’s surname, Brogan, but Kimberly used the name of another of her ex-husbands had made Torre even more furious. He had ripped away the sheet that she had wrapped around her, and his eyes had blazed with fury as he’d stared at her naked body and the tell-tale red marks on her breasts and thighs caused by the rough stubble of his beard.

‘You sacrificed your innocence in vain, cara,’ he had told her. ‘My father has made himself a laughing stock by marrying an obvious gold-digger, but I have no intention of making the same mistake.’

Orla was jolted from her painful memories when Torre spoke again. ‘I demolished the old cottage a few years ago and built a much larger house in its place. There is plenty of room at Casa Elisabetta. I doubt you’ll find that any of the hotels on the Amalfi Coast have vacant rooms at the height of the summer season.’

‘That’s true,’ Jules said. ‘It’s always busy here at this time of year.’ He smiled at Orla. ‘You’ll like Ravello. It’s a pretty little town and the views over the bay are fantastic.’

There was nothing she could do but agree to the new sleeping arrangements with quiet dignity, even though she wanted to stamp her feet like a toddler having a tantrum and refuse to go within a million miles of Torre’s home. Even if she could find a hotel room, she would not be able to afford it, Orla acknowledged dismally. She was at the top of her overdraft limit and had maxed out her credit cards, paying for flights between London and Chicago to visit her mother.

‘Good, that’s settled.’ Torre lifted his wrist to look at his watch and Orla’s eyes were drawn to the black hairs that covered his muscular forearms. He was intensely masculine and so gorgeous that her stomach muscles clenched. She could not help wondering what would have happened if Jules had not interrupted them a few minutes ago. She was sure that Torre had been about to kiss her, and she tried to reassure herself that her common sense would have prevailed, and she would not have let him. Her eyes met his and she felt embarrassed that he had caught her staring at him. He gave her a mocking smile. ‘We should go and find Giuseppe. Lunch is being served on the terrace.’

He walked behind her and Jules as they made their way along the gravel path that curved around the side of the house. Orla felt Torre’s eyes burning into her back and she was suddenly conscious of how her dress clung to her bottom a little too lovingly. She had never noticed until now how the silky material felt sensuous against her thighs when she moved. Warmth curled through her and she was mortified when she felt a molten sensation between her legs.

She pulled away from Jules so that his arm fell from her shoulders. ‘I’m not used to this heat,’ she muttered as an excuse. ‘I’m burning up.’

The path led round to the rear of the villa where a wide terrace was roofed by a wooden pergola covered in vines. The leaves formed a green canopy that provided shade from the fierce heat of the midday sun, and the vines were covered with clusters of green grapes that were starting to turn purple in colour as they began to ripen.

Orla counted twelve people sitting at the long trestle table. Giuseppe stood up to greet her. ‘Benvenuto, Orla. Welcome to Villa Romano. It has been too long since you last visited,’ he said as he kissed her on both cheeks. He turned to Jules. ‘Why have you waited so long to bring Orla back to Amalfi?’

Giuseppe began to introduce Orla to the members of his extended family. She smiled politely as she shook hands with his various relatives, but she was puzzled by his comment. Why had he expected Jules to bring her to Villa Romano before now? Giuseppe knew that she and Jules were friends but she felt an inexplicable sense of disquiet as she recalled the strangely secretive look that had passed between the two men. It was as if a situation was unfolding that she knew nothing about and yet she was in some way involved.

Her new sunglasses were pinching the bridge of her nose and she took them off and slipped them into her handbag before pulling off her straw hat so that her hair tumbled down her back. From behind her she heard a muffled growl and when she turned her head, her glance crashed into Torre’s hard-as-steel gaze. Once again something tugged in the pit of her stomach. She felt dizzy. But this time she could not blame the bright intensity of the sun for the scalding heat that raced like molten lava through her veins.

She tore her eyes from him, but not before she’d seen his sardonic expression as he watched Jules put his hand on her waist to usher her over to two vacant seats at the table.

Forget Torre, Orla commanded herself. But it was impossible when he walked around to the other side of the table and sat down directly opposite her. A waiter offered her a choice of wine to drink with the meal but she opted for water instead. She had picked up an unpleasant vomiting virus a few days before coming to Amalfi and although the sickness had thankfully stopped, her stomach still felt delicate. In fact, she rarely drank alcohol but she ruefully acknowledged that the idea of slipping into a drunken stupor where she would not notice Torre, much less imagine his darkly tanned hands on her body, seemed infinitely preferable to staring at the tablecloth.

Memories from eight years ago crowded her mind. Her mother had acted like a newly crowned queen following her secret wedding to Giuseppe, Orla remembered. At the party the guest list had mainly comprised Giuseppe’s cosmopolitan friends from across Europe. Most people had spoken English, and Orla had overheard their mocking comments speculating that Kimberly had married one of the richest men in Italy for his money. She had felt embarrassed but thankfully no one had taken any notice of her or seemed aware that she was Kimberly Connaught’s daughter.

Kimberly had spent the evening clinging to her new husband and hadn’t bothered to introduce Orla to any of the other guests. Orla had been about to return to her room, knowing that no one would miss her presence at the party, certainly not her mother. But she’d felt an odd, prickling sensation between her shoulder-blades that had compelled her to turn her head and look across the room.

Her eyes had been riveted on the man who had taken her breath away earlier in the day when she had arrived at Villa Romano with some of her mother’s girlfriends from London. As she’d climbed out of the taxi her attention had been drawn to the swimming pool that could be seen from the driveway, and she had watched the gorgeous hunk who had stepped out of the pool and raked his hands through his wet hair. His honed, muscular body had not gone unnoticed by her mother’s friends, but Orla hadn’t admitted to them that she was sexually inexperienced and had not understood most of their lewd comments as they’d speculated on his prowess as a lover.

‘He’s Giuseppe’s son,’ Kimberly had explained when she’d sauntered down the steps of the villa and greeted her friends with a great deal of air-kissing before casting a critical glance at Orla’s jeans and tee shirt. ‘Torre is a sexy beast, but he’s so arrogant the way he looks down his nose at me as if I belong in the gutter. I guess he’s mad because now that I’m married to his father I’ll inherit all Giuseppe’s money when he dies.’

At the party that evening Orla had stared at Torre Romano and supposed that he was her stepbrother. But that thought along with every other had flown from her mind when Torre had trapped her gaze and she’d felt scalding heat inside her as if an electrical current had shot through her body. She’d watched him stride across the room towards her, and the feral expression on his hard-boned face had warned her to turn and run.

It was a pity she had not listened to her instincts that day, Orla thought grimly. She picked at her plate of ricotta ravioli that had been served for a first course but her appetite was still poor after her recent gastric upset—although she suspected that Torre’s brooding presence opposite her was responsible for the knot of tension in her stomach.

Around the table the conversation was mainly in Italian and Orla was heartened that she could follow most of what was said. She had learned Italian at school and had practised speaking it during her visits to Villa Romano while her mother had lived there. Now she hoped that being fluent in the language might help persuade Giuseppe to give her a job.

‘You’re very quiet, Orla.’ Torre’s deep-timbred voice jolted her from her thoughts and she looked up to find him watching her from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Now that she’d had time to get over the initial impact of seeing him again she was able to study him more objectively, but unfortunately he was no less devastating. His cream shirt was open at the throat, and the sight of his darkly tanned skin and a few black chest hairs made the knot in her stomach tighten. He looked relaxed—the exact opposite of how she felt—and when he’d laughed at something Giuseppe had said a few moments ago the sound had made Orla think of molten honey.

He was waiting for her to reply. She quickly glanced at Jules for moral support and saw that he was deep in conversation with Giuseppe. ‘I’m tired after the journey,’ she said diffidently.

Torre’s brows rose. ‘It is a two-and-a-half-hour flight from London to Naples. I can’t imagine you found the journey that arduous.’

His sarcasm stung. ‘I didn’t realise that I’m supposed to entertain you,’ she said tightly. ‘What do you want me to talk about?’

The gleam in his eyes told her that she had fallen straight into the trap he had set. Her temper fizzed and she felt a strong urge to fling the contents of the water jug at his smug face. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she tried to rationalise her response to him.

It was a long time since she had felt angry. She had learned that the only way to deal with David’s explosive temper had been to remain calm and try to mollify him. On the one occasion when she had attempted to stick up for herself he had physically assaulted her. Unconsciously she lifted her hand and ran her fingers over the scar above her eyebrow where a ring that David had been wearing had cut deep into her skin when he’d hit her. The wound had bled heavily and had required her to visit the accident and emergency department at the local hospital so that it could be stitched. Across the table she saw Torre’s eyes follow the movement of her hand and she quickly lowered it to her lap.

‘Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself? Eight years ago I recall that we did not spend very much time talking,’ he drawled.

Orla silently cursed her fair skin when she felt heat spread across her cheeks. Images flashed into her mind, of Torre sprawled on a bed, his body a symphony of sleek golden skin and honed muscles. When he had pulled her down on top of him, she’d marvelled at how hard his body had felt against her soft, feminine curves. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight of his arousal had made her apprehensive at first, but then he had kissed her and her doubts had been swept away by the onslaught of his fierce passion.

She swallowed hard, determined not to respond to his taunts. ‘What do you want to know?’

He shrugged his wide shoulders but Orla wasn’t fooled by his casual air. His eyes were focused intently on her in the way that a panther might watch its prey before springing to make a kill. ‘What do you do for a living?’

Her heart sank as she wondered if Torre had read the stories that had appeared in some sections of the English press after she’d ended her marriage. She’d had to wait until she had lived apart from David for two years before the divorce proceedings had gone ahead. A month ago the decree absolute had been granted, but her relief that she was finally free from her abusive husband had turned to shocked dismay when the tabloids had labelled her a greedy gold-digger who had demanded and won a huge financial settlement. Public support had been very much for David, while comparisons had been drawn between Orla and her four-times-married mother, who had made a career out of marrying and divorcing rich men.

She stared at Torre and wished she could confound him by telling him that she had a successful career. It had been Giuseppe who had first inspired her interest in engineering, and eight years ago when she had started university she had switched from a maths degree to study civil engineering. She had found that designing and being involved in the construction process of roads, bridges and other vital infrastructure might not be a glamorous job but it allowed her to be creative and innovative with an opportunity to make real changes to people’s lives. A trip to Africa organised by her university to take part in the construction of a fresh water supply and sanitation facilities in a rural area of Sierra Leone had reinforced her decision to become an engineer.

But her greatest regret was that she had not finished her degree. She had met David Keegan halfway through her final year of studying, and part of the course had involved her being sent on placements to civil engineering projects to gain practical experience. David had disliked her working in a predominantly male environment. In hindsight she could see that he had revealed signs of his obsessive and jealous nature before their wedding in Las Vegas three months after they had met in a bar where she had worked as a waitress to supplement her student grant.

She’d been flattered by the attention from a good-looking sports star and her romance with David had been a whirlwind affair. After they had married he had persuaded her to drop out of university so that she could travel with him when he played international matches with the England cricket team.

Orla smiled at the waiter who had replaced her uneaten starter with a plate of seafood risotto. Unfortunately her appetite hadn’t improved and her thoughts were still on the past.

It had always been her intention to go back to university to finish her studies and qualify as a civil engineer but by the end of her marriage her self-confidence had been in tatters. She’d left with nothing but a few of her clothes, none of which had been bought with David’s money. Earning an income had been vital, but her only work experience was bar work or as an office assistant during her gap year after she’d left school.

The additional worry about her mother’s medical bills had prompted her to take an intensive secretarial course, after which she had been offered a job as a secretary with a construction company, Mayall’s. Her knowledge of civil engineering had proved useful and she had quickly been promoted to the role of PA to the company’s director. However, she had been fired from her job when she’d had to take an extended period of time off to rush to her mother’s hospital bedside in America. Since then she had been turned down for every job she’d applied for, and now her financial situation was at crisis point and her self-confidence had taken another battering.

Eight years ago Torre’s rejection had made her feel worthless. He was still waiting now for her to reply to his question. ‘I assume you do work,’ he drawled, ‘unless your living costs are funded by someone else.’

Orla looked across the table at him. He was so handsome that he made her heart clench, so arrogantly self-assured that her brief spurt of determination to stick up for herself withered and died. ‘I don’t have a job currently,’ she said flatly.

His eyes gleamed like cold steel. ‘And yet Giuseppe mentioned that you live in a highly sought-after area of London. How can you afford to live at an address in Chelsea when you do not work?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ she said coolly. She had not told Giuseppe that she’d sold the luxurious apartment he had given her mother as part of the divorce settlement so that she could pay off some of Kimberly’s debts.

Deep down, Orla was shaking at her temerity in answering Torre back, and she tensed, waiting for him to lose his temper as David had invariably done if she had ever disagreed with him. But he said nothing, and she could almost believe that she had seen a flicker of reluctant respect in his eyes.

The discovery that her mother had taken out a mortgage on the Chelsea apartment had been another blow. She had hoped to use the money from the sale to cover Kimberley’s medical expenses at a hospital in Chicago where she had been receiving treatment ever since she had suffered a stroke that had almost killed her. But there was no point explaining the situation to Torre. He had made it clear that he despised her mother and Orla knew he would not feel any sympathy.