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Valentina should have been focusing on the task at hand—the first day of the Corretti Cup—but her mind kept veering off track back to the other evening and the excruciating humiliation of having Gio reject her because she was a virgin.
Even now, hot tears pricked her eyes and to counteract the weak emotion she stabbed a fork with unnecessary zeal into a piece of pork. She felt so conflicted...the hate she’d always felt for Gio was disturbingly elusive now. She wanted to think of his rejection, hold that to her like a cold justification, but she kept thinking about what he’d told her.
He’d ripped apart a huge part of her defence around him by revealing what he’d gone through after Mario’s death.
And then he’d taken her in his arms...and Valentina had turned into a complete stranger. She’d begged him to kiss her, to make love to her. Self-disgust filled her now. Few men would turn that down...and Gio had merely proved himself as susceptible to a warm willing body as the next man. What he hadn’t counted on was her unwelcome innocence.
The hurt that seized her in the pit of her belly reminded Valentina that his rejection had cut far deeper than she wanted to acknowledge.
Stabbing the pork viciously again, Valentina told herself that he’d done her a favour by not sleeping with her. Her conscience pricked her to think of the emotional fall-out if she had slept with him and for the first time she considered the rogue idea that perhaps he’d done it out of some moral sense of integrity.
One thing was certain: there was no way that Valentina was ever going to allow him to make her feel so vulnerable or exposed again.
‘Val?’
Valentina looked up feeling a little dazed to see her assistant Sara, who was eyeing the very overpierced piece of pork warily.
‘Yes?’
Sara looked up. ‘I, ah, just checked the main buffet tent and it’s all moving like clockwork. No one is waiting for their food.’
Valentina forced a smile and her mind back to the task at hand with effort. ‘Thanks, Sara, I’ll go and check the VIP tent. You can start to organise the canapés for the drinks reception later.’
As Valentina hurried off she forced all thoughts of Gio out of her head but then she suddenly caught a glimpse of him in the distance and instantly all efforts to put him out of her head were reduced to naught. She cursed loudly.
* * *
‘You look stunning tonight.’
The tiny hairs rose all over Valentina’s body and her breath automatically quickened and her heart missed a beat. She looked up from where she was running a pen down the list of VIP names to see Gio standing in front of her, ludicrously handsome in his black tuxedo. He’d changed since she’d caught that sighting of him earlier. His normally unruly hair was tamed into some kind of order, making him look even more debonair.
She’d been burningly aware of him since he’d walked into the huge and lavishly decorated marquee about an hour before but to her relief he’d been on the other side of the room, talking to people. Mainly a steady stream of women which had aroused very dark and disturbing feelings inside her. But now he was here. And she couldn’t breathe.
Somehow she found the wherewithal to breathe in and said coolly, ‘It’s the only formal dress I have—I didn’t have time to go shopping.’
Gio’s dark eyes ran over her from where she’d put her hair up in a simple high knot, down over the black structured dress with its flared skirt and a pair of peep-toe black shoes. She was markedly dressed down compared to all the other women in the room who were dripping in jewels and dressed in the latest slinky silky fashions. Which was only appropriate, she’d told herself, hating that she felt somehow less.
Despite the vivid recall of the other night and her lingering sense of humiliation and anger, Valentina felt hot colour seeping up her chest when face to face with Gio again and the memory of how she’d slapped him. She’d never hit another human being in her life. The compulsion to apologise was suddenly acute. Her emotions had betrayed her and she didn’t want him to think she still felt so volatile. Avoiding his eyes, she said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry...about hitting you.’
‘I deserved it.’
Gio’s quick answer had her looking up to see him put a hand to his jaw as if to test it. Her belly clenched when she noticed a tiny scar high on his cheekbone. Had she done that? Treacherously her intent to be cool dissolved. ‘Did I really hurt you?’
Gio’s mouth curled up on one side, making Valentina’s insides feel curiously liquid.
‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of your right hook.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, her voice sounding frigid as she tried to disguise her emotions.
Just then a petite and very groomed dark-haired woman came up to Gio’s side and he dipped his head to listen to what she had to say. The woman blushed prettily and something dark pierced Valentina’s composure to see this evidence of another woman finding him attractive. Attractive? a snide voice in her head mocked—he stood head and shoulders above every other man in the room and she knew it.
The woman had moved away and Gio was looking at her. Valentina realised her hands were curled to fists and she consciously relaxed them.
Gio was saying smoothly, ‘If you’ll excuse me—my mother’s father is looking for a recommendation for tomorrow’s race.’
Valentina nodded her head vigorously, and Gio mocked softly but with an undefinable light in his eyes, ‘You don’t have to look so pleased to see me go.’
He walked away and Valentina couldn’t help recalling the bleakness she’d seen the other evening, the way Gio had called himself worthless. He seemed to her to strike a poignantly lone figure amongst the teeming crowd.
To Valentina’s relief she was kept too busy after that to think about Gio or where he was. And much later when she came up for air, he seemed to be firmly ensconced on the other side of the tent with the last of the guests. She was supervising the start of the clear-up. The jazz band that had been playing were putting their instruments away. Franco, her other assistant, came up to her and said, ‘Why don’t you take off? I’ll make sure this is all done. You’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
Valentina smiled at her assistant ruefully and pointed out, ‘So do you.’
But just then she saw Gio look over to where she was, and he stood up, before threading his way through the small tables with his easy leonine grace. Flutters of sensation erupted in her belly and she felt very vulnerable when she remembered the volatile mix of emotions this man had aroused earlier. He was getting closer. Her smile faded and she blurted out to Franco, ‘Actually, I’d really appreciate that if you don’t mind.’
Franco was assuring her it was fine but Valentina was already halfway out of the marquee and didn’t look back to see how Gio’s expression darkened to one of thunder as he took in her escape.
Gio stopped dead in the middle of the tent and watched as Valentina’s slim back disappeared through the doorway. He cursed softly at his impulse to snatch her back. What was he going to do? Demand she wait until every last person had left? She’d been working more tirelessly than almost anyone else involved in the Cup and had made the first day a resounding success. More than one person had come to him to ask him who was doing the catering. The champagne reception had gone without a hitch. Her staff were more than capable of dealing with the clean-up.
He ran a hand through his hair and cursed again. The truth was, he had no interest in talking to her about the day, or business. He only wanted her. He’d thought earlier that something had softened between them when she’d apologised for hitting him. She’d looked genuinely contrite. But her words from that night came back to him now, ringing in his ears: Don’t touch me again. Ever.
She’d just been polite and professional. That was all.
It didn’t help that all evening he’d been acutely aware of her as she’d greeted guests at the door, a wide smile on her face. She’d stood out from the other women who looked like ridiculous birds of paradise—overdone and over-made-up—with the simplest of black dresses which had highlighted her slender figure. The V-neck design had allowed tantalising glimpses of her smooth pale cleavage and Gio had had to battle against the images of her bared breasts, nipples wet from his tongue, racing through his head at the least opportune moments.
An acquaintance, a renowned French playboy, had asked him earlier, ‘Who is the stunning woman greeting us this evening?’
Gio had all but snarled at him, ‘She’s not available.’ The intensity of emotion he’d felt as it had coursed through his blood had blindsided him. He’d wanted to grab the man by the neck and throw him out. As it was he’d watched him with an eagle eye all night.
His mouth tightened. Valentina might desire him but she would never allow him close again. And if he had a shred of conscience, he wouldn’t touch her again. The problem was, Gio didn’t think his conscience was strong enough to overcome the physical craving racing through his blood, or the possessiveness he felt.
* * *
The following afternoon Valentina went back to her rooms to change for the second evening’s champagne reception. The second day had passed off as successfully as the first, so far, and she was finally allowing herself to relax a little. She’d even managed to stop for a moment earlier, while checking one of the corporate boxes, and had got swept up in the spine-tingling finish of the main race of the day.
The sheer scale of the event and amounts of money being bet and won made her eyes boggle. She’d never seen such luxe wealth in her life. And amongst all the excess had been Gio—surveying everything and everyone around him. More than once she’d seen him dip his head discreetly to one of his staff who would rush off and avert a potential crisis or situation. But what had struck her again more than anything was how alone he’d looked, and how that had made her feel.
One of her very first memories was of playing outside her father’s workshop at the palazzo while Mario helped him inside, and watching the lone figure of a young Gio as he’d watched his father’s stable hands exercise the horses on their gallops.
Just a couple of hours ago as she’d stood in the background with a tray of empty glasses, Valentina had had to suppress the almost overwhelming urge to put down her tray and go up to him and slip her hand into his. She’d found herself imagining him looking down at her and smiling back...and squeezing her hand.
The tray of glasses had been shaking in her hands before she’d come to her senses and rushed off again. And now as she let herself into her rooms she shook her head. What was wrong with her? Why was her mind taking such flights of fancy? She had to admit that her virulent anger had become something else, but it was not tender. No matter how many times that soft emotion seemed to be taking her unawares.
When Valentina had put down her bag and was in the centre of her room she noticed the clothes through the open bedroom door. She went in to see that there were two floor-length evening dresses and one shorter cocktail-length dress in clear protective covers hanging off the doors of her wardrobe. Lined up below were three pairs of shoes all colour coded to go with the dresses. Laid out on her bed she could see more bags and on her dresser she could see jewellery boxes.
Stunned, she walked closer. The dresses were gorgeous, the stuff of fantasy. One was dark red, another royal blue and the cocktail dress was strapless and black with a beaded lace overlay that made it sparkle.
She backed away and saw the boxes on the bed. Feeling a sense of dread she opened one and lifted back gold tissue paper to see the wispiest, most delicate underwear she’d ever seen in her life. Hurriedly she closed it back up again.
It was only then that she noticed the white square of paper with a typewritten message near the biggest box..
Valentina, I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of ordering you some dresses. You’d mentioned that you hadn’t had time to shop....
At the bottom of the note there was just a simple G.
First of all Valentina felt the predictable rise of hot rage—how dared Gio presume to buy her clothes? But then the note was so impersonal—he hadn’t even written it by hand. He must have got his secretary to type it out.
Then her cheeks got hot with embarrassment. Had he thought she looked completely out of place last night in her chain-store dress? He’d told her she looked stunning but the truth was that he’d probably offered up that platitude to every woman there. She’d never catered for such a prestigious event before; she’d never had to dress up.
She saw her dress now, hanging where she’d left it last night on the back of the bedroom door, and it looked unbearably shabby and worn next to these designer concoctions of perfection. Her embarrassment levels went up a notch. Gio evidently didn’t want her showing him up with his important guests and friends.
For a second intense vulnerability hit Valentina when she entertained the notion of putting one of these dresses on, and seeing Gio’s reaction to her. Would he want her then? In spite of her unwelcome virginity? Did she want to seduce him?
Humiliation, never far, made hot colour seep up into her face and rebellion fired her blood as she ignored the beautiful creations and resolutely pulled on her own dress and shoes. Valentina pushed down the voice telling her she was being ridiculously childish and when she was ready she left her room to go back to work.
* * *
It was some hours later before Valentina felt the familiar tingle of awareness. Much to her chagrin, she’d just dropped a pen from nerveless fingers for about the tenth time that evening and was bending down to pick it up.
His impeccably polished shoes came into her line of vision and she sucked in a deep fortifying breath before straightening up.
Her mouth dried. Tonight Gio was wearing a white shirt and that white bow tie. It was slightly askew as if he’d been pulling at it impatiently, giving him a rakish air. Faint stubble lined his jaw. Valentina struggled to find her equilibrium, hating that he’d caught her before she had a chance to compose herself. And then she thought of the typed note and the dresses, and forced ice into her veins.
She hitched up her chin and said in her coolest voice, ‘You didn’t have to go to the trouble of sending someone out to buy me dresses. If you’d told me what was required I could have taken an hour to go out and buy something myself.’
Gio’s eyes flashed with displeasure. ‘The idea was that you choose one to wear tonight.’
Valentina welcomed the surge of anger and glanced around to make sure no one was near before hissing at him, ‘I’m not one of your mistresses, Gio.’
Gio opened his mouth to respond but suddenly they were interrupted by one of his aides, who Valentina dimly recognised as working on the equestrian side of things.
He was saying sotto voce, ‘Excuse me Signor Corretti, but Sheikh Nadim of Merkazad has just arrived with his wife. I thought you’d want to know. We’ve settled his horses into the stables already.’
Valentina knew that Sheikh Nadim was one of the most important guests Gio had been expecting. She saw a muscle clench in Gio’s jaw and felt quivery inside. He just looked at her for an intense moment and then bit out a curt, ‘We’ll continue this later.’ And he strode off with his PA.
Valentina had little time to think about his thinly veiled threat because she was quickly swamped by more guests and making sure that everyone was being catered to, and that the champagne was kept flowing.
* * *
Much later, Gio was ripping open his bow tie and opening the top button of his shirt as he made his way to Valentina’s rooms. It was long after everyone had finished up for the night.
Sheikh Nadim of Merkazad, an old friend of Gio’s, had invited him back to his hotel for a nightcap and he hadn’t been able to refuse. Gio usually loved any chance he got to talk about horses and racing with Nadim, but not this time. Eventually his friend had chuckled ruefully and said, ‘I’ll release you from your misery. Go and find her, my friend. I know that tortured look well. I saw it in my own mirror often enough.’
Gio shook his head now—he couldn’t ever imagine when Nadim and his Irish wife, Iseult, hadn’t been completely and soppily in love. In truth he found it hard to be around them—to witness that level of utter devotion and absorption. It made him feel all at once claustrophobic and yet curiously restless, yearning for something he couldn’t articulate.
Ruthlessly pushing aside such incendiary lines of thought, Gio took the stairs now two at a time, his blood humming at the thought of seeing Valentina.
* * *
Valentina was still pacing in her room an hour after she’d returned from the empty marquee. Gio had disappeared at some stage and she hated the way she’d felt disappointed that he hadn’t returned to explain whatever he’d meant by ‘We’ll continue this later.’
He’d obviously gone back to the luxurious hotel in Syracuse where most of the guests were staying, and where she knew there was an exclusive nightclub. Her hands curled to fists without her even realising it as she had a vision of Gio standing at the side of the dance floor with throbbing music and lights highlighting any number of beautiful women he could have within a mere flick of his fingers. Experienced women.
A peremptory knock sounded on her door and Valentina stopped dead, breath caught in her throat. Superstitiously she didn’t move and it came again, along with a familiar voice that sounded positively angry. ‘Valentina!’
Livid with herself for the relief she was feeling but also because she’d let him get to her so much she stalked to the door and said through it, ‘It’s late, Gio, what do you want?’
On the other side of the door Gio bit back the succinct answer he wanted to give: you. Instead he said, ‘I told you I’d talk to you later.’
Valentina’s voice, husky enough to set his nerve endings alight and yet cool enough to try, and fail, to douse them floated through. ‘I’m tired and going to bed. We can talk tomorrow.’
Valentina had a sudden morbid fear of Gio coming through the door. The sting of rejection came back vividly. She knew if she was in close proximity to him she might not be able to disguise her far too disturbing emotions. Or the fact that she wanted him with a hunger that was shameful.
Gio’s voice came back hard and implacable as the wood of the door. ‘Either you let me in, Valentina, or I use the master key to let myself in.’
Valentina crossed her arms and hissed out, ‘That’s a blatant infringement of my employee rights. If you do any such thing I’ll quit right now and sue you for harassment!’
The eloquent answer to that was the unmistakable sound of a key going into her lock and turning. The door opened to reveal a dark and dishevelled-looking Gio with bow tie hanging completely askew now, his jacket hanging off one finger. And Valentina felt the inevitable surge of electricity between them like a doom-laden klaxon going off.
He was in and the door was shut firmly behind him again before she’d recovered from the shock. Gio’s dark eyes were running over her and he said throatily, ‘We hadn’t finished our discussion about your wardrobe.’
Those words returned Valentina to reality with a bump. She moved away, tightening her arms across her chest. ‘I am not discussing this with you now. So if you don’t mind...?’
Gio casually threw his jacket onto a nearby chair and leant back easily against the door, and looked at her. ‘I don’t mind at all—you can do what you like once we’ve finished our conversation.’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u65b7c152-176d-5663-a414-baa8b1db717f)
VALENTINA LOOKED FROM the strewn jacket to him and then turned and paced away, glad she’d at least taken off her shoes because her legs felt wobbly enough at the moment. She turned back, feeling seriously jittery now and threatened to have her private space invaded like this, especially when she thought of the frothy lace excuses for underwear in the boxes in the other room. ‘I told you, Gio—I’m not one of your mistresses so please don’t feel like you have to kit me out in a similar manner.’
Gio flushed and Valentina took a step back.
His voice rang with indignation. ‘I’ve never had a mistress in my life—lots of one-night stands that I’m not proud of, but no mistress. I’ve never wanted to spend that much time with a woman.’
It was Valentina’s turn to flush. She felt confused and didn’t like the warm glow his words left in her gut. ‘So...why did you...?’ She trailed off and then tacked on, ‘Look, if you felt that I was letting you down with my own clothes you could have just said something and I’d have gone shopping myself.’
Gio straightened up from the door and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. ‘Dio. I didn’t feel as if you were letting me down. Damn it, Valentina, you could have been dressed in a sack and still outshone every woman there. You’d mentioned that you hadn’t had time to shop....’
The glow of warmth in Valentina’s gut spread and she panicked when she recalled her earlier vulnerability, the temptation to put on one of the dresses, wanting to look beautiful for Gio. That suddenly galvanised her into movement and Valentina stalked into the bedroom and gathered all the dresses up, along with the shoes, underwear and jewellery, in her arms.
Uncaring of the fact that she was leaving a trail behind her, she was only intent on getting rid of Gio and this reminder of how fragile she was around him. She came back and dumped it on a chair near him, the red dress slithering to a silken mound on the floor.
Valentina was breathing far more heavily than that little trip had warranted. She crossed her arms again and looked at Gio, who caught her gaze with a suspiciously impassive expression.
‘Look, I appreciate it, really. But I can buy my own clothes and I’ll go shopping tomorrow.’
A little scared by Gio’s lack of reaction Valentina blurted out, ‘It’s not as if you went to the trouble of getting them yourself....’ She flushed when she thought of the exquisite underwear and had a sudden fantasy that Gio had looked at it and imagined her in it. That spurred her back into the bedroom and she returned holding out the typewritten note. She held it up like evidence at a trial. ‘Look! Your assistant wrote this—you probably weren’t even aware of what you were signing.’
Gio’s arms were crossed now and he growled softly, ‘Yes, I was, because I wrote that note. No one else. Just like I had the boutique send over a selection of dresses and I chose the ones I thought would suit you best.’
