Secret Heirs And A Forever Family

‘Got it,’ Jared said as he walked Dario to the door of the apartment. ‘Where are you guys headed?’

‘Isadora.’

He’d bought the island off the coast of Sicily five years ago, when the company had made its first billion in turnover. And had finished renovating the five-bedroom villa on it over a year ago. He’d already had a visit scheduled to the island once the Whittaker takeover was finalised, to check up on the many investments he was making in the island’s infrastructure. And get some much-needed R and R.

‘Nice,’ Jared said, before bidding him goodbye.

Dario wasn’t so sure. When he was not so tired, he might appreciate the irony that his visit to the island was now likely to be the opposite of relaxing.

CHAPTER TEN

THE HELICOPTER TOUCHED down on a helipad hewn out of volcanic rock. Megan breathed in the scent of sea salt and citrus, her eyes expanding with wonder at the heart-stopping view as the blades whirled to a stop.

A path meandered through terraces of lemon groves to a white sand beach. Dario’s villa stood on the clifftop, its elegant stone walls adorned by grapevines and wisteria, the dark wood shutters open to let in the sunny spring morning, which was a good ten degrees hotter than Manhattan.

Dario leaned over her to undo her seat belt. ‘You’re awake? Are you feeling well?’ he asked, solicitous and concerned.

‘Yes, I woke up a while ago,’ she said. She’d noticed him sitting beside her when she opened her eyes, busy keying in data on his smartphone, apparently uninterested in the staggering view as the helicopter swooped over the Mediterranean and then hugged the coastline of the stunningly picturesque island.

She hadn’t wanted to disturb him, so she’d gazed out of the window and absorbed the breathtaking vistas while trying to get her careering pulse and erratic heartbeat under control.

It all seemed like a strange and wonderful dream. So strange and wonderful, she didn’t know what to make of it.

Everything had happened so fast. Ever since Dario had told her they were engaged in the hospital three days ago. And yet at the same time, in a sort of delayed motion, each new and astonishing experience leaving her struggling to make sense of them. Frankly, it was all a bit too wonderful. As if she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

She had led a privileged life, having attended private schools and lived in well-appointed homes in London and New York. She considered herself to be fairly cosmopolitan, with a smattering of Italian and French, having spent her childhood and adolescence living on two continents.

But nothing could have prepared her for the opulence and luxury of the world Dario lived in.

They’d been whisked from the hospital to JFK in a fleet of limousines in the middle of the night, then transported across the Atlantic on a private jet. The cordon bleu meal served on bone china crockery with sterling silver cutlery, followed by a night—alone—on a king-size bed in the sleek aircraft. The helicopter ride had been yet another new experience—as exhilarating as it was unsettling. But by far the most daunting thing had been having Dario by her side during every waking hour.

He’d been so careful with her, as if she were made of spun glass and might break at any minute. But while his care had made her feel cherished and safe in the hospital, now it was starting to feel stifling. He was such a commanding man, both physically and professionally. And she knew she wasn’t yet one hundred per cent, because she still couldn’t remember a thing about their engagement, or her accident. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she couldn’t help wondering how Dario had managed to fall in love with her, when he obviously thought she was a bit pathetic.

She also couldn’t quite fathom how she’d agreed to marry him, when he made the air seize in her chest and her stomach do backflips every time he looked at her with those piercing blue eyes.

How were they going to have any kind of married life together, when his presence by her side made it hard for her to breathe?

Then again, at least she wasn’t the only one who found him a bit intimidating.

He never raised his voice, but everyone they came into contact with on their journey—his PA, the drivers, the pilots, even the passport authorities—did his bidding without question. Everyone except his friend Jared, who’d talked to Dario like an equal when he had come to tell Megan he would be keeping an eye on Katie while they were away, on Dario’s instructions.

She had wondered why Katie would need anyone keeping an eye on her, and debated warning him that Katie wasn’t the easiest person to handle. But, in the end, she’d decided not to say anything. After all, Katie was more than capable of speaking for herself, and it had been so thoughtful of Dario to worry about her sister’s welfare.

A car and driver arrived at the heliport as Dario helped her down from the cockpit. His firm fingers on her arm made her pulse jump and jive. She concentrated on the spurt of adrenaline as he left her side to go to talk to the pilot.

Gift horse—mouth? Hello? Stop looking! Why can’t you just enjoy the thrill? You’re tired and a little overwhelmed, that’s all. A staggeringly gorgeous man is in love with you. This is not something to have a panic attack about.

A team of staff members arrived in a fleet of SUVs to unload a series of bags, boxes and trunks from the helicopter’s hold. Luggage Megan had never seen before.

‘Cara, are you ready?’ Dario said, returning to lead her to the car.

‘Yes, but… I just realised I didn’t pack anything for the trip.’ She didn’t recognise the luggage, so it must be Dario’s. ‘Do you think I could order some clothes?’ There had been some expensive clothes waiting for her on his private jet to change into when she’d arrived from the hospital, which had been wonderful and had made her feel a little teary—her fiancé appeared to think of everything. There had even been a ton of expensive creams, make-up and haircare products for all her toiletry needs, and a designer negligee in the plane’s bedroom—although the seductive confection of silk and lace had seemed a little pointless when Dario had worked through the flight on his laptop instead of joining her.

But she couldn’t expect the luggage fairy to keep providing her with everything she needed.

Dario had told her they would be staying for at least a fortnight as he had a series of meetings planned with his business contacts on the island. He was a busy man, and she knew she had a demanding job too. Although every time she tried to think about her job, the dark shadow lurking at the edge of her consciousness threatened, so she had decided not to worry about that. But if Dario had brought all this stuff with him, she would need more clothing, too. She didn’t want to embarrass him with her paltry wardrobe.

‘I’ve only got the hospital gown, and my negligee and this,’ she said, sweeping her hands over the ensemble of slim-fit jeans, a camisole and linen shirt he’d already provided.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. Dario’s lifestyle was extremely glamorous, way too glamorous for a woman with no luggage. No wonder she felt overwhelmed.

‘Stop worrying, cara,’ Dario said, his thumb glancing over her bottom lip.

She stopped biting it, the goosebumps going haywire at his tiny touch.

‘There is nothing you need that isn’t already purchased.’

‘But I didn’t bring…’

‘The cases are mostly yours.’ He swept his hand to encompass the luggage still being transported by several burly men to the fleet of cars. ‘Della, my PA, assured me it was all you would need.’

Megan gaped, feeling like Alice, having just plopped down the rabbit hole.

All she would need? There was enough luggage here to dress the entire catwalk at Paris Fashion Week.

‘But I… I’m not sure I can afford it,’ she said, desperately trying to scramble out of the rabbit hole, and plant her feet on solid ground. Or solidish.

‘Shh… Do not concern yourself with money.’ He captured her chin, forcing her gaze away from the never-ending parade of designer suitcases. The slow sexy smile that spread across his handsome face wasn’t any less disturbing. ‘I can provide what you need while we are here.’

She knew he was just being thoughtful again, but the insistence in his voice brought back the flutter of frustration. ‘That’s very generous of you, but I prefer to pay my own way.’

In the hospital, he’d told her she was his responsibility, and, while she’d found it comforting then, it was way past time she let him off the hook now. She still had some interesting bruises—her back was covered in them, which made her sure she must have fallen down his stairs. Obviously, he’d taken the whole responsibility thing too far because she’d had her accident in his home—which was touching, but it was getting a bit over the top.

‘I certainly don’t think you should pay for my clothes. I can do that.’ Of course, she wasn’t sure she could pay for those clothes, because from the logos on the bags they looked way out of her price range. ‘You must let me pay you back.’ Once I’ve secured a loan.

Dario’s brows furrowed, the offer clearly confusing him. Obviously Giselle hadn’t been much of a pay-your-own-way kind of gal. Maybe she didn’t have Giselle’s supermodel face and figure, but she did have financial integrity. And an unimpeachable work ethic.

Or at least she thought she did.

One of the luggage handlers arrived to tell them everything was ready.

Dario replied in Italian, instructing them to take the luggage to the house and have the housekeeper unpack it in the bedroom.

She got momentarily fixated on the word bedroom, his rich, resonant voice making it sound ludicrously seductive.

The thought of what they would be doing together in the bedroom in the coming days, and possibly for two whole weeks, cheered her up considerably.

She couldn’t wait to get started. Her body’s constant hunger for Dario, the desire to feel his touch again—the one thing about their engagement that was straightforward and uncomplicated. Maybe she wouldn’t need to wear all the clothes. Then she could return a few and get a refund.

‘Come, we will talk about this on the drive,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ she said, although she couldn’t see what else there was to discuss.

But then he put a palm on the small of her back, caressing the base of her spine, to direct her to the car—and she had to bite her lip to hold back the purr.

As the car sped down the track towards his magnificent home on the clifftop, an infinity pool came into view nestled amid trellises of flowering vines as the road climbed towards the house.

‘The clothes are a gift, Megan,’ he said, in the velvet-over-steel voice she recognised as the one he used when instructing his employees. ‘I am a very rich man. I enjoy purchasing things for you. Payment is out of the question. Do you understand?’

‘Um…okay?’ she said, because she was distracted by that delicious voice, and the thought of all the things they were going to be doing in his camera tonight.

The villa was beautiful. But she didn’t get much chance to examine the sweep of living and dining rooms on the ground floor, before Dario had directed her to the second floor and a suite of rooms with a terrace that offered an awe-inspiring view of the pool and the terraces of lemon groves that led down to the sea.

The men carrying her luggage trooped in behind them.

But all Megan’s attention was on the enormous bed. The four-poster, draped with gauzy muslin curtains, was the room’s focal point, both romantic and exciting and a tiny bit intimidating. Her heartbeat throbbed in her throat—and a few other key parts of her anatomy.

‘Megan, this is Sofia,’ Dario announced and she turned to find a tiny bird of a woman in her fifties with lush chestnut hair standing beside him. ‘She is the villa housekeeper and in charge of all the staff; she will take care of your needs. I have instructed her to serve you your meal in your rooms tonight, so that you can rest.’

‘My rooms?’ she asked, confused now. Wasn’t this suite of rooms for both of them? Where was Dario planning to sleep? ‘But…?’ Her cheeks coloured. How could she ask him such an intimate question in front of all these people? ‘Won’t you be joining me?’ she managed at last.

‘Not tonight, piccola,’ he said.

He cupped her face and gave her a proprietorial kiss on the forehead, making her feel like an over-eager puppy. ‘You must rest. And I must work.’

He dropped his hands and stepped back so quickly she might almost have imagined the perfunctory peck, but for the prickle of sensation on her cheeks left by the calluses on his palms. ‘Buonanotte, Megan. I will see you tomorrow, at suppertime.’

At suppertime?

He marched out of the room, his back ramrod straight.

What about the rest of the day?

She stood in the centre of the beautiful room, feeling dazed and desperately disappointed.

Sofia chatted away in a halting mix of English and Italian about how overjoyed they all were to have their boss’s fidanzata in residence, while directing a couple of maids to fold away the dazzling array of designer clothing and making menu suggestions for Megan’s evening meal. But as Megan watched Dario, tall and indomitable, disappear down the steps of the terrace, she’d never felt less like a fidanzata in her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘BUONGIORNO, SOFIA. DOVE DARIO?’ Megan asked the housekeeper, hoping she’d got her tenses right—and trying not to be embarrassed by the all too familiar enquiry. Because she’d been asking the housekeeper every morning for almost a week where Dario was that day.

‘Buongiorno, signorina.’ Sofia smiled, busy stretching and pulling the fresh pasta dough, as she did every morning. ‘Il capo? He is with the fishermen, today,’ she said. ‘Tonight we will have Pesce spada. How you say that in Inglese? Swordfish? Yes?’

Megan nodded as her heart sank to her toes.

The swordfish season had started that morning. She had spotted the traditional long boat with its twenty-five-foot mast from the veranda in her suite of rooms as the sun turned the deep blue sea a ruddy pink.

So Dario had got up at dawn and would no doubt be gone all day. Again. She had hoped today, with no business scheduled that she knew of, he might be able to stay at the villa.

‘Delizioso.’ She did a smacking action with her lips and Sofia laughed.

‘Only if the fish smile on us,’ the housekeeper said. ‘If they do not we have sardine ravioli.’

Megan smiled back, but it felt forced and tight.

She adored Sofia. The woman was friendly and efficient and had been happy to spend the afternoon yesterday teaching Megan how to make fresh tagliatelle, which had gone a long way in keeping her anxiety at bay. But she didn’t think pasta making was going to cut it today.

She’d been at the villa for nearly a whole week now. And each day had begun to blend into the next. At first she’d forced herself to appreciate the chance to rest and heal, and had tried not to let Dario’s absences from the villa—and indeed her bed each night—upset her.

The villa was in a stunningly beautiful location with every possible luxury at her fingertips and Sofia, along with her two young maids, Donella and Isa, were more than happy to accommodate Megan’s every whim. She’d made herself relax and enjoy the late mornings spent lazing in bed or sitting on the veranda with strong coffee and a tray of Sofia’s fresh pastries; the light lunches spent lounging by the pool reading the books she’d downloaded from the Internet; the afternoons spent swimming and exploring the secluded coves, picking wildflowers, and trying to identify the local fauna. It had all helped to fill up the empty hours and stop her from obsessing about getting the chance to talk to Dario. About their engagement. And about all the things she could not remember about him.

To be fair, the complete lack of any stress had been welcome at first, as her body healed from her accident.

She also called Katie using Skype each afternoon, but that had become an exercise in avoiding all Katie’s probing questions about how everything was going with Dario.

In the last few days, she had tried to be content seeing Dario each evening, when they would sit down to the lavish four-course meal Sofia and her helpers prepared each day.

Last night, as the citronella candles burned, illuminating his harsh, handsome face, Megan had watched her fiancé devour Sofia’s delicious food and finally drummed up the courage to ask him about himself.

But he had directed the conversation away from anything personal, and in the end she was just so pleased to see him, she had decided not to push.

The hunger inside her, though, had been like a dragon, breathing fire into every single erogenous zone, as she’d watched Dario’s firm sensual lips consume a mouthful of Sofia’s light, tart lemon zabaglione. She thought she’d caught his dark hooded gaze on her cleavage, but it had flicked away again so quickly she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it.

Her confusion and desperation had increased as he had escorted her once again to her suite of rooms and bid her goodnight at the door. So much so that she had been unable to hold back the suggestion that he spend the night with her.

She’d waited patiently for him to make the first move. But her patience was at an end now. Instead of taking her up on her offer, though, he’d said nothing at all, his jaw rigid.

So she’d ended up babbling on about how much better she felt now and if she relaxed any more she’d turn into a narcoleptic… A very fat narcoleptic, because Sofia’s cooking was to die for.

For a split second she thought she’d seen the flare of desire, burning even hotter than her own, but then he’d politely refused her offer and walked away—leaving her breathless, anxious, and hopelessly frustrated.

And now this.

After waking up feeing tense, confused and even more frustrated this morning, she discovered he’d gone again.

It was too much.

Ordinarily, she did not have a confrontational bone in her body—that had always been Katie’s forte. But after over a week of rest and recuperation at Dario’s command she didn’t think she could survive another night alone without exploding.

Bidding Sofia good day, she returned to her rooms and rifled through the swimwear she had found among all the other clothing. She picked out a stunning scarlet bikini, which she had shied away from wearing because of the purpling bruises on her hip and back. But the bruises were as good as gone now.

She squeezed herself into the two swatches of red Lycra, dismayed to discover that whomever had bought the clothing had underestimated Megan’s bust size a fraction. Either that, or Sofia’s pasta blow-outs had added a cup size.

Didn’t matter. Dario needed to see the evidence for himself—that she was fully recovered from her accident. It was way past time she demanded more of his time and attention.

She packed her e-reader, some sun lotion and a towel into her beach bag, and headed to the two-tiered pool situated on the terrace below the villa, prepared for a long wait. Dario would have to walk up through the lemon groves from the harbour and past the pool when he got back from his fishing expedition—by which time she would be more than ready to confront him. She hoped.

Dario trudged up the last few stairs through the lemon grove, calculating the hour as close to four o’clock. He would wash the fish smell off, then take the Jeep over to Matteo Caldone’s farm, to check on the new irrigation system he’d financed for Matteo’s groves of blood oranges. His shoulders ached from reeling in fish for ten straight hours. And he was ready to collapse. But after last night, he was not about to risk seeing Megan any sooner than was absolutely necessary.

After today’s back-breaking work, surely tonight he’d be able to sleep without being visited by the erotic visions that had woken him hard and aching every night since they’d arrived.

Walking away from her last night had nearly killed him. Once he’d returned to his own room, he’d had to resort to the sort of self-servicing that he hadn’t indulged in for some time.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t done much good. He’d woken sweating and swearing, with images of Megan on their one torrid night together turning his hunger into a ravening beast.

The salt air, perfumed by the tart, citrus scent of the lemon grove, filled his lungs. He let it go, the heavy sigh almost as weary as his aching body. Tonight he would sleep and he would not dream of Megan. Those high, full breasts with their pale, pink peaks as she begged for…

He blinked and wiped the layer of sweat off his forehead.

Dio! Basta!

Then he rounded the drystone wall that led to the pool terrace and all the air left his lungs in a rush. Sitting on a sun lounger, her wet hair tied on top of her head in a loose knot, her full breasts barely covered by the world’s tiniest bikini, was the star player in every one of those erotic fantasies.

A small voice in the very recesses of his brain was whispering that he should step away, disappear behind the wall and then trek across the fields to approach the villa from the other side, before Megan spotted him standing there like a besotted teenager getting his first glimpse at a nude centrefold.

But he couldn’t move, the blood powering down to his groin silencing that small voice while making the rest of his body scream in agony.

Then her head rose and she saw him.

Too late.

‘Dario, I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said. Or that was what he thought she said, because it was hard to tell over the sound of the blood plummeting out of his brain to destinations south.

Standing up, she walked across the sun-warmed terracotta tiles towards him, her gorgeous curves threatening to spill right out of the minuscule patches of scarlet fabric with each seductive sway of her hips.

After getting up at dawn to spend an entire day hauling fish so he could get a stranglehold on his libido, everything south of his belt buckle had lost the plot in less than a second. The throbbing ache in his groin was now even more pronounced than the aching pain in his over-tired muscles.

Next time I see Della I am going to murder her. What was she thinking, ordering Megan that pitiful excuse for a bikini?

‘I need to speak to you about…’ She paused. ‘About what happened last night… I don’t want to spend another night alone, Dario. I understand that you are busy, that you have work commitments. But there are so many things I need to talk to you about and I’ve hardly seen you since we arrived.’ Her voice drifted through his mind but he could make no sense of what she was saying.

Was that excuse for swimwear actually wet? He could see the clear outline of her nipples through the fabric.

Madonna! Please kill me now.

Her conversation drifted into one ear and then right out of the other as he became fixated on taking each of those ripe, responsive peaks between his lips and torturing them until she begged for release.

‘Dario, are you even listening to me?’

‘Scusami?’ he mumbled, forcing his gaze back to her face. Her pale skin had acquired a healthy sun-burnished glow in the last week, her cheeks now a bright scarlet hue even more tempting than that damn bikini. He wanted to lick that fluttering pulse in her collarbone so much he could almost taste her sweet, spicy aroma on his tongue.

The way he had every night in his dreams.

Her eyes widened. Was that trepidation or shock he could see in them, the misty green bright with stunned knowledge? Then she rolled her lip under small white teeth and everything inside him shattered. All the smart, practical, moral reasons why he couldn’t taste her seemed to explode in a cloud of nuclear fallout.