ALESSANDRA HATED TO admit it, even during the most peaceful moments while she’d been hiding out in Bali, but there had been a kernel of doubt in her mind as to whether she’d done the right thing in deciding to quit modeling.
Show after high stakes frantic show for top designers around the world, running from city to city, country to country like a nomad, working close to eighty hours a week, with no time for a personal life or the deep commitments she’d wanted—the stress of it had taken its toll on her.
Of course, she’d partied in the beginning—partied hard with the heady freedom of a sixteen-year-old who’d found the world at her feet—but over the years the vacuous, often cutthroat glamor of it all had paled and she’d become more and more unhappy.
Photographers who’d once loved working with her had started calling her fractious, restless, the second she hadn’t been performing to perfection. She’d been turning up late for fitting appointments, finding a myriad of excuses. Once she’d arrived late and covered in glitter and hair spray from a previous show, minutes before she was due to walk, the stress of running across the city during fashion week making her nauseous. Making her want to run away from the sea of frantic strangers surrounding her.
That particular evening, she’d confided in Javier that her heart just wasn’t in it anymore.
The creep had mocked her. From there, their argument had spiraled into a complete destruction of their relationship, the only place it had left to go. Only then had she realized she didn’t want to be with Javier. He had become another crutch.
And then she’d learned the appalling facts about the working conditions of the cosmetics company she represented. Horrified, Alex had scathingly criticized the company in an interview and quit the contract on the spot.
It had been a hotheaded, more than reckless, move. Her agent had blasted her—she was gathering too much ill will in an industry where reputation meant everything. Even the warning hadn’t been enough to make her care.
She’d had enough. So she had run off to Bali and ended up marrying the first man who’d shown an interest in her.
Seen like that, the picture of her that emerged didn’t look good.
Now, while she stood like a mannequin with her arms stretched out, her face upturned for a makeup artist to dab highlighter onto her cheeks, Alex looked at her reflection in the mirror under the overhead lights and smiled.
Relief was a river gushing through her insides.
God, she was so done with this.
Only a few minutes to the show and backstage was packed with people, all to ensure a fabulous show. She was totally aware of the strange looks she’d been getting from all of them, ever since she’d arrived.
Gossip was the backbone of the fashion industry, and she’d no doubt her stunt with the cosmetics company, her subsequent absence for the last few months and her sudden reappearance now were the hot topics of discussion.
She felt free, as if a weight had been lifted, as she shrugged on a sheer, lacy, red cover-up and moved to join the line of models about to go on.
Someone sidled up to the producer, Isha, who was one of Alex’s few friends in the industry, and a heated argument ensued. All heads turned to them as both women bent their head over a seating arrangement.
Alex sidled up to her friend in the wings and enveloped her in a side hug, being extra careful as to not smudge her makeup or even breathe the wrong way. “Everything okay?”
“Some big bajillionaire VIP has shown up, unannounced, at the last minute, and his team of assistants wants a front row seat for him, of course. Even the crazy genius that is Jean Benoit,” she said, mentioning the designer whose collection they were showing off, “doesn’t want to get on this man’s wrong side. They’re all turning themselves inside out figuring out where to put him.
“Apparently, he’s here to see one of the models.”
Alex felt a flutter of alarm in her chest. It had been a fortnight since Vincenzo and she had butted heads, then agreed to a plan. Since they both had super busy schedules, they’d barely seen each other since. It suited her just fine, even though she knew the logistics of their deal would come at her soon enough like a freight train.
Suddenly, Alex understood how a hunted animal felt. “Any idea who it is?”
Isha shook her head. “Focus on the show, Alex.”
The flutter morphed into a full-blown panic attack. “Isha, just tell me.”
“It’s the same Italian businessman—the reclusive owner of that international brokerage firm who’s been in the media spotlight the past week. It was leaked that he’s related to the Brunettis of Milan, which is why he’s been going after them. Apparently, he’s the secret illegitimate son of the old coot, Silvio. His name’s...”
“Vincenzo Cavalli,” Alex added, her insides turning into spaghetti. Her heart thumped with a dizzying excitement, and it had nothing to do with the high she usually associated with doing a show.
Alex squared her shoulders and strutted out onto the catwalk, wondering how apt the song blaring out of the speakers was.
Something about bad girls living fast and burning out.
She had to be if she wanted to change the mind of the man sitting in the middle seat of the front row, eating her alive with those penetrating gray eyes.
Too late to back out now that she’d made a deal with the devil.
Vincenzo threw back the last bit of his whiskey and walked up the curving designer staircase onto the balcony that offered a bird’s-eye view of the latest nonstop party central that was the nightclub he’d launched recently.
Seeing the final product tonight, when it had been the ruins of an old, abandoned train depot not long ago, filled him with an immense satisfaction.
The secret nightclub—not so secret anymore now that the high fashion crowd of Milan had discovered it—was bustling with people from the show. Hip-hop music blared through the loudspeakers, while bartenders delighted the crowds with colorful cocktails.
But even with purple strobe lights flashing on and off from crowd to crowd, he could still spot his dear little wife.
His gaze unerringly returned to Alessandra again and again, desperate to drink in the sight of her after two weeks of drought.
He’d always been a man who took risks. A man who played against the odds and won. Or else he wouldn’t have been in a position to challenge the Brunetti brothers, who’d been born with every conceivable advantage.
His marriage had been a risk, just like this club had been, but not a strategic or financial risk like all the others. It had been a different kind. But in the end, it would pay out.
Alessandra fluttered through the party like a butterfly, flitting from flower to flower. Her toned, curvaceous body that she maintained with an iron-willed discipline showcased beautifully in the slinky black number that parted with a wide V-neck, displaying the sides of her breasts, and yet somehow remained tasteful, elegant. There was a slight ruffled hem that flirted around her upper thighs, again just about covering those round buttocks he’d cradled in his palms a few months ago.
No such contact was forthcoming anytime soon, he realized with a self-deprecating smile. He’d just have to be patient. He’d have to win Alessandra like he did everything else in life.
Knowing that the woman he’d married was an international supermodel that men fantasized over was one thing. Seeing it in person was another. It felt like every man here at the club had swarmed her.
“Everyone adores Alessandra.”
Here was proof. And yet she’d chosen to marry him after knowing him only for a few short weeks.
“I’m not a prize, Vincenzo.”
Her angry words reverberated inside his head, and he knew he was wrong for feeling this sense of pride whenever he saw her.
An atavistic response, uncharacteristic and unworthy of him. Mine, something inside him insisted. Only mine.
He frowned, as a particularly tenacious man followed her from group to group, an urgency to his swarthy features. A stocky Spaniard by the name of Javier Diaz, Vincenzo had no doubt.
He kept an eye on them, ready to lend help if needed, but she dismissed her ex with a scathing remark that had her eyes flashing sparks. That made Vincenzo smile despite the tension stiffening his shoulders.
Other than a brief tilt of her head in acknowledgment, she’d been avoiding Vincenzo all evening.
He let her.
She needed to decompress after the electrifying atmosphere of the show and the relentless demands it had placed on her, and he... He needed to get a better handle on his own emotions tonight before he approached her.
While he’d intended to give them both a breathing space and the energy to finish their immediate obligations before the media ruckus the announcement of their marriage would cause—two fashion shows and one photoshoot in Alessandra’s case—and everything had gone to hell. Someone had leaked his relationship to the Brunettis to the press.
He’d had to cut his Beijing trip short to deal with the media circus and the crisis it had caused with the BFI board.
“Is it true that Silvio Brunetti seduced a hotel maid and you were the product?”
“Are you the illegitimate son of Silvio Brunetti?”
“What are your intentions for BFI?”
The Brunetti Bastard one trashy tabloid had called him, choosing to go with the lowest denominator.
Upon arriving at the HQ of BFI this morning, there had been further challenges to deal with. He wondered if it was Alessandra who’d leaked the news, causing him considerable damage.
The fallout with the two board members he’d had in his pocket, had set him back almost two months of careful negotiations. Considerable speculation had been raised as to how and why he’d started taking over the board of BFI. Exactly how he had gained ownership of Silvio Brunetti’s stock.
He’d arrived at the fashion show, temper frayed, determined to confront the woman whose loyalty should’ve been to him. Only him.
Instead, seeing her strutting on the catwalk, challenge and confidence oozing from every pore, her body a finely honed machine, her eyes glowing with some inner zeal had completely undercut his anger.
Alessandra in that bloodred bikini top—some sort of studded corset that propped up her already high breasts—and a thong in the same color, with light brown high heels that almost blended into her skin, and all that golden-brown hair pulled back into a tight bun that sharpened her already flawless bone structure, was never going to leave his memory bank even if he lived to be a hundred.
Her red lipstick had made her pouty mouth a lesson in sensuality and sin.
The woman had far too much power over him, moving him from anger to laughter to desire as if he were a windup toy she could turn on and off at her leisure.
She looked up at that precise moment, the flashing purple lights lighting up her lithe body, her eyes shimmering with naked challenge.
Something inside him awakened with a growl.
Because this woman, who challenged him, who was making him work for her loyalty, whose surrender would be so delicious when he finally won it, she set his blood on fire. And he’d had enough of watching her from a distance, like those other besotted men. Enough of pussyfooting around her because of misplaced guilt about hurting her. Enough of trying to give her space and time to deal with her grief.
The world needed to know that she belonged to him. That she had thrown her lot in with him. The explosive news that Alessandra Giovanni had married the Brunetti Bastard should be enough to gain him back some of the ground he’d lost this past week.
It should have been all about damage control at this point. But the thought of winning his wife over fired his blood like nothing else.
Leaning his forearms on the wrought iron balustrade, Vincenzo held her gaze. And beckoned her upstairs with his index finger. Laughter broke out of him at the dawning effrontery in her expression, a fire in his veins as he imagined those beautiful brown eyes clouding over with passion when she eventually surrendered to him.
He was a man used to surrender, and he would accept nothing less from the woman he’d married.
Apparently, whatever reprieve she’d been offered over the last two weeks was finally over. Foolish of her to hope he’d disappear after the fashion show without seeking her out.
He stood on the balcony, looking down upon her, his gray gaze perusing her with such an intense possessiveness that she felt owned.
How dare he beckon her with a finger, as if she were his puppet!
And yet, here she was, answering his summons. Their encounters in Bali had hinted at a depth of emotion that she didn’t see in most men.
Greta had really lost it with Alex, calling her a naive, besotted fool for not realizing his true nature. But she’d been so sure about him. If there was one thing she’d had exposure to from the ripe age of sixteen, it was men.
She’d been hit on, propositioned, come on to, even harassed, by everyone from a lowly lighting manager to a megarich designer, to a CEO of a multinational corporation.
Most men were either intimidated by the idea of all that she was and tried to overcompensate for it in various ways. Others—usually rich investment types—thought that all it took to impress her was a bigger fortune than hers and a bigger ego.
But Vincenzo hadn’t fallen into either camp. He had been different from that very first moment.
There had been something very down-to-earth about him, an awareness of his place in the world and the power he could wield. Respect that he offered her immediately for the basic reason that she was another human being, a sense of reserve that she’d been itching to topple from the first time he’d walked her to her villa and then walked away without presuming anything.
She hadn’t been wrong about the fact that here was a man who felt deeply about things. Who had more emotional bandwidth than anyone she’d ever been involved with.
Only all that emotion had been deliberately channeled, for years and years, in a bitter quest for revenge, to destroy the people she loved most. And she meant to sway him from that path...
No wonder Leo had thought she was in over her head. Massimo had simply smiled, winked and asked her to load herself up with dynamite for she was trying to move a mountain.
She took the final step and immediately regretted leaving the safety of the crowd behind. The space beyond him was expansive but cut away from the prying eyes of others. Too much privacy. Too many secluded corners with dark leather couches that could swallow up a newly married couple who hadn’t touched each other in months.
“You’re not my lord and master,” she said tartly. Drumming up her defenses.
“And yet here you are.”
“I didn’t think this was the time to engage in that particular battle.”
“Ah...so you do know your limits.”
“What limits?”
“You know you’ve pushed me far enough already, si?” he asked huskily, stepping from the shadows into the light. “Do you want to sit?”
“No, I don’t. I wouldn’t like to sit.” She lowered her voice, realizing he’d moved even closer. The lemony scent of him swept through her, evoking a piercing shaft of need. “I like standing. In fact, I haven’t done enough of it today. I—”
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Alessandra,” he said, his baritone voice going all deep and low and smoky, just the way it did when he was aroused. When he wrapped those skillful hands around her. When he moved inside of her.
But there was something else too.
Pulling in a deep breath, she finally let herself look at him. The dark leather jacket he’d worn to the show had been discarded. His gunmetal gray dress shirt was unbuttoned and uncuffed, giving her a glimpse of the chest hair that had the most incredible effect when rubbed against her own naked skin...
A lazy smile split his mouth, crinkling at the edges of his eyes, shooting straight through to her heart. The damned man was laughing at her.
“You look quite flushed, cara mia. Maybe a cold drink will help.”
She did feel overheated, even the soft lace of her dress feeling far too tight. She clenched her hands around the cool metal of the balcony. “I’m fine. Stop being so...”
So irresistible. So knee-meltingly gorgeous. So blatantly masculine.
“So what?”
“So...solicitous. As if—” She shook her head far too forcefully, and her hair tumbled down from the loose knot she’d put it in, the brown clip clinking against the cool marble floor. Swearing, she bent down, but he got there first. “Thanks,” she said, extending her hand, but he pulled away.
“Leave it like that.”
“I don’t want to—” she pulled the heavy weight away from her neck “—and it’s too—”
“The entire world gets to see you strut down the catwalk in a bikini that’s been designed to fire up every red-blooded man’s fantasies, bella, and that’s fine with me.” His gaze took in the thrust of her breasts as she held up the swathe of her hair, the pulse hammering away at her throat, the swipe of her tongue against her trembling lower lip. His eyes met hers with a naked hunger that was a balm to her wounded ego. “But do not deny me my fantasies, Alessandra.
“All I’ve wanted for the past two weeks is to see you sprawled on my bed, that hair spread out on my pillow, but clearly that’s not going to happen anytime soon, no? This is the least you can do to keep your poor husband going. Even as you thrust a knife into my back, Princess.”
The feral possessiveness of his voice was like a thunderbolt filling her veins with an electric sizzle. “A knife into your back?” she said, her words breathy, distracted.
“You have been a bad girl, bella. Helping out the defenseless Brunetti men.”
The edge to his words made Alex frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He tilted his head, considering her thoughtfully. “You’re going to persuade me that it wasn’t you who leaked my dirty beginnings to the tabloids? That dented my reputation in the financial circles of Milan?”
She stared at him, aghast. “The last thing I’d do now is lie to you. I think there’s been enough of that between us already, don’t you?”
“You’re magnificent even when you attack me, Princess.”
“You’re gorgeous even when you’re being Machiavellian, V.”
He laughed and those crinkles appeared again. And it was damned impossible to hold herself at arm’s length when she badly wanted to melt into his broad frame and beg him to walk away from all this.
To put their relationship first. To put their future first. To put her first.
“I didn’t leak it, V. Whether you believe me or not is up to you. You might not think twice about hurting people but that’s not how I operate. Especially when I can understand how painful it must have been to be that innocent child.
“I’ve thrown my lot in with you. At least for the near future.”
He held her gaze in the flickering light for a long while and finally nodded. “Then it has to have been your lovely stepmother, Greta.”
“That’s an unfair jump. You’re determined to see them all as your enemies.”
“Who else benefits by it?” he pointed out. “I’ll admit that it was a clever move on her part, that it set me back quite a bit.”
“What? How?”
“I lost the support of two members of the BFI board who’d been ready to throw their vote behind me instead of Leo. Stock prices for Cavalli Enterprises have been plummeting ever since the news hit the papers.
“The Brunetti Bastard has quite the ring to it, si? A clever little moniker.”
“Of course it’s not,” Alex replied, the latent bitterness in his words shaking her up. That his plans had been set back gave her no satisfaction in the face of his hurt. But... “Has it made any difference, V?” she couldn’t help asking.
His head jerked up. “Difference to what?”
“To see yourself from a different perspective.
“Face what you’ve done, what you’re doing publicly, going against ethical businessmen like Leo and Massimo, against a revered institution like BFI that they’ve rebuilt into something of value.
“Shouldn’t it at least make you pause and reconsider what you—”
“You think I care what the world’s perception of me is? Or that I’ve been only half-awake for the past two decades while I planned and plotted against them using every weakness I could find to further my cause? You think I can stop now, after all these years?”
She blinked, feeling as if she’d been dropped onto the concrete floor of reality with a bruising thud. But she refused to look away. Refused to back down. “If I can stop running from my life, then you can—”
“Enough, Alessandra! Let it be.”
He looked away from her into the crowd. “You didn’t last long before you broke our agreement, did you?”
She frowned. “Our agreement, which you just dictated by the way, was that I don’t make impulsive, life-altering decisions in the next three months. Standing mutely by your side while you take down people I care about is... Well, let’s just say that will never be me. Honestly, it’s not like I have any ammunition against you. All I have are words.”
“I’m glad you think that,” he said, with a self-deprecation that had her jerking her head up. “You were...brilliant, glowing on the stage today. I can see why the fashion world is bemoaning you leaving the industry.”
“My modeling career grounded me when I was directionless, true. But I’m done with it.” She cleared her throat when he looked up. “It was an impulsive decision initially, I admit. I was disgusted by the working conditions that the cosmetic company was using. But it was just the catalyst I needed.
“I was tired of the constant grind, the relentless probing into my private life...the loneliness behind the bright lights was consuming me.”
“What about that one?” He tilted his head toward the dance floor.
Alex didn’t have to look down to see who he meant. For a minute, she dallied with the idea of embellishing her relationship with Javi just to save her pride. Just to make Vincenzo feel a little unsure of where he stood with her. Wanted to see the flash of jealousy she’d seen that day when he’d asked if he was a rebound for her.
She discarded the idea in the next. Lies and deception had never been her thing.
“Things hadn’t been right between us for a long time. When I told him that I was considering walking away from it all, he revealed his true colors. His use for me was going to be considerably reduced once I stepped out of the limelight.”
She shrugged, even though a part of her still hurt. It had been a long time since she’d indulged in the fantasy that Javi and she shared some big, romantic love, but to learn that for him all her value lay in her modeling career was still a bitter pill to swallow. Just like discovering that she’d only been a duty to her mother—a necessary punishment for the sin she’d committed in having an extramarital fling with Alex’s father.
“He’s still sniffing around you.”
“I was spectacular today, like you said. So Javi’s wondering if he let me go too soon.”
“After that fight, you dumped him instantly and hightailed it to Bali, si?”
“Something like that, yes. But on that occasion my impulse was absolutely right. Realizing that I’m at the tail end of this career now, that retirement is truly what I want at this point in my life...that gave me that extra sparkle on the stage tonight.
“I’m going to finish at the top. No regrets. No looking back as I start the next chapter of my life.”
“You sound determined,” he said quietly.
“Enough to convince you that I mean this?”
“Si.” He straightened from the lazy pose and every cell in her stood up to attention. “Maybe I can suggest the first paragraph in the new chapter? It’s time to reveal the little secret of our marital status to the world, don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
“What better venue than now? Tonight?”
“Okay, yeah,” she said, casting a look around the huge, packed nightclub.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he’d summoned her and she’d answered the arrogant summons. One look at their body language would be more than enough for anyone to see that their interest in each other was anything but platonic. “Most big media outlets have someone down there. What were you thinking? A statement as we walk out?”
After what felt like an eternity, he covered the short distance between them, his arrogant stare taking on an edge of something else. Another step and their thighs grazed just a little.
Alex shivered, every inch of her body, desperate for contact, bowing toward him. His fingers landed on her temple, pushing the mass of her hair from her face. And then he cupped the back of her neck gently. Giving her a chance to step away. “I was thinking a kiss, right here. Stir up some interest before we announce the pertinent facts.”
Music hammered around them. The intimate contact, after the drought of so many months, felt like a spark of fire in her body. She was going to say yes. She knew it. He knew it. The hungry denizens of the press were just a reason they were both using. Except she didn’t want to be the one who gave in too easily. Who blinked first.
She ran her fingers through her hair and fluttered her lashes at him. “You’re doing this to punish me for walking out on you.” She pouted, knowing that the particular red she was wearing tonight made her mouth look like a tart strawberry.
“I didn’t realize kissing me was such a punishment, bella.”
She bent her mouth closer to his ear. “It isn’t. In fact, there’s very few things in life I enjoy more. And you know that. That’s the punishment. To be reminded of how helpless I am to this...thing between us even when I don’t trust you.”
A vein pulsed in his temple. “All I want is to kiss my wife after months of going to bed alone, wishing she was there to welcome me. Of waking up alone in the middle of the night fully aroused, but knowing that no relief is forthcoming except by my hand. While wondering if I had imagined how bloody good it had been when you came to me that first time in Bali and I took you under the stars in the night sky.”
“It was that good,” she added simply. Wishing she was the type that could play games. Wishing she could somehow use his attraction to her, that desperate huskiness of his tone, to her advantage.
But she couldn’t. “Okay. Let’s get it over with.”
“That sounds like you’re bracing yourself for battle.”
“You don’t think the battle’s already begun?”
“I guess you will claim I started it?”
“Yes.”
“And must I finish the battle too?”
“No. I will. You should know, though, that I intend to win. At any cost.”
“All I wanted was a peaceful marriage with a biddable woman,” he said, with a put-upon sigh.
Laughter roared out of her, melting away the stress and grief of the past few months, at least for a moment. This was the man she’d fallen for in that lush island paradise. This man who’d laughed with her, who’d teased her. Who’d listened to her talking about her dreams.
He didn’t quite laugh with her but his eyes gleamed in the darkness. In the flickering light and shadows of the club, the lines of his face looked astonishingly beautiful. “And the prize for winning?”
“There’s a prize?”
“There’s always a prize in these things. Shall I tell you what it is, Princess?” he whispered, his breath hot against her lips, his arrogant nose flaring.
Alex placed her open palms against his chest. His heart thundered under her fingers, the beat steadily rising as she leaned her thighs against the rock-hard cradle of his. Heat. Hardness. Hunger. His maleness was an ocean she wanted to drown in. “What?” she croaked.
“Surrender.”
“Never,” she declared just as arrogantly, his very words imbuing her blood with challenge.
She pushed her palm up, up until she reached his neck. Sneaking her fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, she tilted her head. His breath drew a hot path down her cheek, the scent of him a trigger her body instantly associated with long, lazy nights and indescribable pleasure.
Her other hand she kept on his abdomen, loving the tight clench and release of those powerful muscles every time she touched him.
“Not unless...”
“Not unless what?”
Slowly, she pressed her lips to his, pressing his head down with her fingers. As if he’d been made for the express purpose of pleasuring her. “Unless I take you down with me.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes. I want to make you drown. In me. Until you can’t tell what’s right and wrong anymore. Until...”
Soft lips met hers in a rush of warmth and rollicking hunger. Alex drew a sizzling trail along the seam of that sensuous mouth with her tongue, her breath a labored hiss against his bristly jaw. The remembered taste of him was like a detonation going off inside her body.
She nipped and kissed, licked and played with his mouth, but it wasn’t enough.
Nowhere near enough.
She sneaked her tongue into his mouth on the next swipe. Pleasure exploded in sweet rivulets down her body as the taste of him filled her. Whiskey and want—he was all solid and real. And after the roller coaster of the last few months, here was the thing that had anchored her. She devoured him as if the taste of him on her tongue, the solid breadth of him in her hands, the labored rush of his breaths on her skin could fill the emptiness inside of her. As if he was all she needed.
Pressing herself into him, she took his mouth with a feral hunger. She licked and nipped, bit and laved at the pillowy lushness of his lips. Thrust in and out of his mouth in a rhythm she desperately needed to be feeling somewhere else.
His other hand landed on flesh where the slinky black number bared the curve of her hips. Those long fingers she knew so well fluttered over her skin, tender like butterfly wings, and yet leaving a wake of heat in their trail. “Slow down, cara. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against her skin.
The dry humor in those words was a cold slap to her senses. Alex pulled away from him, her breaths choppy, the lack of solid warmth in her hands painfully real.
But for all the silky control of his words, she could see the stamp of desire on his tight features, the sharp hiss of his breath as he wrestled himself back under control, the curse he bit out when he moved.
“I think that’s enough of a PDA to announce our marriage, si?” she whispered.
He grunted his assent and she laughed. But as they made their way downstairs, the caged passion of his body sliding deliciously against her own, answering the questions thrown their way, Alex wondered how a win could feel so much like a loss.