The Italian's Virgin Acquisition

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‘Think about it, Poppy,’ he said, his soft tone and the use of her first name lending the moment an intimacy she didn’t want to feel. ‘Three wishes. Anything you want. If they are within my power to grant them, they are yours.’

She blinked in an attempt to shake off the spell he was subtly weaving around her. Three wishes did seem strangely more palatable than a cold, hard lump of cash, though she didn’t know why it should, because in the end it would amount to the same thing.

He leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, a predator sensing weakness and homing in on the kill. ‘People marry for money and status all the time. This is merely a weekend away. Nothing more.’

But it felt like more to her. She had never thought of herself as someone who could be bought. Not when so many of her foster families had taken her and Simon in for the government grants they would collect, rather than wanting to offer them a secure home.

‘Come on, Poppy,’ he urged. ‘Tell me something you’ve longed for lately.’

Love. Companionship.

She frowned. Where had that come from? She had her career to work towards. That was more important than a transitory state such as love.

‘New shoes.’ Distracted as she was by her own thoughts and his persuasive tone, she said the first thing that came into her head.

‘New shoes?’ A sexy grin crept across his face. ‘Done. Name the designer and you can have a wardrobe full.’

‘Nike, I think.’

‘Nike?’

‘Size ten.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘Yes. Do you have a problem with that?’

‘Okay, okay. Fine. Nike trainers. What else?’

‘I don’t know...’ Suddenly her thoughts veered to Maryann. In particular to the issue of her needing a ground-floor flat. Like Poppy, she lived hand to mouth, and Poppy knew her lovely neighbour was scared about what the future held for her now.

‘A new apartment,’ she said, waiting for her boss to laugh and tell her she was dreaming.

‘Now you’re speaking my language,’ he said, confidence oozing from every pore. ‘A penthouse, no doubt. How many bedrooms?’

‘It can’t be a penthouse, they’re on the top floor.’

‘I’m well aware of where a penthouse is located,’ he said. ‘I own several.’

Poppy was so deep in thought she barely heard him. ‘It has to be on the ground floor. And near Brixton.’

‘Brixton?’

‘Yes. Maryann is really attached to Brixton.’

‘Maryann?’

‘My neighbour.’ The more she thought about it, the more she warmed to the idea. ‘And it should be near a park and the tube. Maryann likes to go into Stratford most Saturday afternoons. Her husband is buried there.’

‘Right.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. Give the details to HR.’

‘I’m not giving the details to HR!’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘It will completely ruin my professional reputation before I’ve even got one.’

‘Fine, send me an email. But what does your neighbour have to do with this anyway?’

‘The apartment is for her.’

‘I thought it was for you.’

‘She needs it more than I do.’

He looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown two heads. ‘Okay, fine, whatever. And the last one?’

Poppy stared at him, realising too late that in negotiating with him she was entering into a deal she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to make. A deal with the devil. ‘I...eh... I don’t have a third.’ Mostly because her brain had now turned to mush.

‘Nothing for yourself?’

Those first two were for her. For her peace of mind. She shook her head, trying to clear her thinking. What was she doing even considering this?

‘No need to stress,’ he said, once more reading her correctly. ‘When you think of it, you let me know. In the meantime we will leave for Italy at the end of the week.’

‘I don’t have a passport!’

‘I’ll take care of it. And Poppy?’

She raised troubled eyes to his. ‘Yes?’

He came around his desk all lean, hard, muscular grace. ‘Thank you.’

He held out his hand and guided her to her feet. Poppy felt a tingling sensation light up her arm at his touch, distracting her. ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘The end of the week? That’s too soon. I can’t get organised by then.’ Meaning that she couldn’t organise care for Simon by then.

‘You’ll have to. That’s when my grandparents are holding their anniversary party.’

‘Anniversary party?’ Her stomach pitched alarmingly. ‘This gig just gets better and better.’

‘My grandparents are very important to me. Please remember that.’

‘So how can you lie to them so easily?’ she asked, hoping to see some faint trace of humanity in him.

He shrugged, giving her nothing. ‘I see this more as an opportunity to get an outcome that is long overdue.’

‘You running your family business.’ Him making even more money.

‘Yes.’

He really was a shark, Poppy thought, a shark who swam around in shallow waters. What was she doing getting mixed up in this? ‘Can’t you tell them we broke up and take one of those breathtaking blondes you apparently date instead?’

‘No.’ His jaw hardened. ‘My grandfather has it in his head that you are “the one” for me, and no blonde, no matter how breathtaking, will cut it.’

What didn’t cut it for Poppy was how attracted she was to him. He was a shining example of how little taste her hormones truly had when it came to choosing men. ‘Don’t you find this all a bit deceptive?’ she pleaded.

Sebastiano’s lids came down to shutter his gaze. ‘Your point?’

‘My point is that you don’t seem to care.’

She wasn’t sure she’d kept the distaste from her voice when he scowled. ‘What I care about right now is taking over CE.’

‘So you believe that the end justifies the means?’

‘When it fits.’

Just like the well-dressed louse who had picked her up. But this wasn’t the same thing, was it? She had her wits about her this time. And this man was granting her three wishes, not trying to take something from her.

‘Poppy?’

She bit her bottom lip, and, when her eye finally lifted to his, his were softer. ‘I can see this is not as easy for you as I thought it would be—but my grandfather needs to retire. If him believing I am in love with you achieves that, then I’m willing to bend the truth a little.’

Poppy’s eyebrows rose. ‘A little?’

He smiled. ‘A lot.’

Something in his tone told her that the deception wasn’t as easy for him as he made out. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was just the fact that she could already see the expression on Simon’s face when he received his new trainers—not to mention Maryann’s delight when she learned she would be moving into a ground-floor flat beside a park—but Poppy found herself oddly compelled to agree. ‘Okay.’ She released a long, drawn-out breath. ‘I’ll do it.’

He gave her a faintly mocking smile. ‘That face is not going to convince anyone you think I’m the love of your life.’

‘That’s because I feel sick,’ she said.

As sick as she used to feel whenever the social worker would turn up and tell her that she and Simon were moving on to yet another family. She had that same dreadful sense that her life was headed over a cliff and she had no idea if the landing would be soft or hard, experience warning her to prepare for the worst.

Sebastiano shook his head. ‘I’m not sure you’re actually real.’

Poppy grimaced. ‘Well, that makes two of us, because I’m not sure you are either. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my head around a presentation for Mr Adams. Oh, and feel free to change your mind about all this. I won’t be sorry.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

* * *

Long after the building had emptied for the day, Sebastiano sat in his office, staring across at Big Ben but not really seeing it. He couldn’t quite believe he had just coerced a woman into posing as his fake lover, or how difficult it had been to get her to agree.

Honestly, he’d expected the whole process to take no more than five minutes. Offer her a large sum of money and count the seconds until she said yes. When Poppy had baulked he had initially believed she’d been holding out for more money. No surprise there. What had been a surprise was how hard he’d had to work to convince her, and how heated his blood had become in the process. He knew it was just ego, but still the whole time she had been resisting him that voice in his head had said, Take her! and Now! with predictable consistency.