Bound To The Tuscan Billionaire

‘This isn’t a social call, Cassandra. I’ve come to take you back to Rome.’

Marco couldn’t have said anything to make her rally faster. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she demanded.

‘Well, you can’t stay here.’

He glanced around, and by the time his assessing stare returned to her face it was to see her cheeks flaming with the knowledge that he was right. She wasn’t finding this pregnancy easy. She was sick and weak, and he doubted she could work in her current condition. How was she supposed to support herself, let alone a baby … a baby that might be his child? He couldn’t take that chance. More importantly, she couldn’t take a chance with her child, and they both knew that with her godmother away Cassandra was alone, with no one to turn to.

No one except him.

‘Pack a small case,’ he advised. ‘We can buy anything else you need in Rome. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.’

‘I haven’t agreed,’ she pointed out, raising her chin to stare at him with defiance.

‘But you will,’ he said.

One Night With Consequences

When one night … leads to pregnancy!

When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire it’s impossible to think past the morning after!

But, with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test and it doesn’t take long to realise that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!

Only one question remains:

How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?

Find out in:

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir by Michelle Conder March 2015

Carrying the Greek’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick April 2015

Married for Amari’s Heir by Maisey Yates July 2015

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby by Cathy Williams July 2015

From One Night to Wife by Rachael Thomas September 2015

Her Nine Month Confession by Kim Lawrence September 2015

An Heir Fit for a King by Abby Green October 2015

Larenzo’s Christmas Baby by Kate Hewitt November 2015

An Illicit Night with the Greek by Susanna Carr February 2016

Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!

If you missed any of these fabulous stories,

they can be found at millsandboon.co.uk

Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire
Susan Stephens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon Modern Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis, or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.

MILLS & BOON

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For my Tuscan teammates, Linda, Ann, and the inimitable Sharon.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

One Night With Consequences

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

PLUNGING HER SPADE into the rich moist earth of Tuscany, Cass smiled as she reflected on her good luck in landing the job in Italy. She loved nothing more than being outdoors, using her body to the full. And where better than here, to an accompaniment of birdsong and the gurgle of a crystal-clear river. Her job was to help out at a grand estate over the planting season.

The staff had a day off on Wednesdays to break up the week, so she had the place to herself, making it all too easy to imagine that she was the chatelaine in charge of the glorious grounds—though perhaps not kitted out in mud-caked boots, braless in a skimpy vest she’d ripped on some barbed wire, topped off with a baseball cap that was as frayed and faded as her shorts!

The estate was miles from anywhere and the solitude was bliss, especially after the clamour of the supermarket where she worked back home, and being on her own was better than facing the owner of the estate. Marco di Fivizzano, an Italian industrialist, hadn’t been near the place since she’d arrived. She was in no hurry to meet a man who, according to the press, was as bloodless and cold as the Cararra marble he mined.

She didn’t need to worry about him, Cass mused as she stabbed her spade into the ground. She couldn’t imagine a man like Marco di Fivizzano taking time out of his busy schedule to drive down from Rome to his country estate in the middle of the week. When she’d asked Maria and Giuseppe—housekeeper and handyman, respectively—if and when she was likely to meet her boss, they’d just looked at each other and shrugged.

Which was probably as well, Cass reflected as she returned to vigorously prepping the ground for the seedlings she was planting. She had no problem with hard work. Tugging her forelock was something else.

She’d always been a rebel, though a quiet one, all the rebellion being in her head. Dumb insolence, her headmistress had called it, when Cass, at seven, had refused to cry on the day she’d been made to stand on the school stage as all the pupils had trooped past. That had been the headmistress’s idea to shame her on the day Cass’s parents’ had been arrested for drug offences. Young as she had been, she had determined never to be bullied again.

One thing still perplexed her. If her parents hadn’t been the type of people the headmistress had wanted to encourage, why had the school been so keen to take their money?

She couldn’t stand snobbery either. Her late father, better known as the infamous rock star Jackson Rich, could easily afford the school’s extortionate fees, but that hadn’t stopped the staff resenting him, his beautiful wife and Cass, his quiet, plain daughter.

Leave the past in the past where it belongs, and enjoy the Tuscan sunshine...

It was easy to do that, Cass reflected happily. Dappled sunlight sifting through the trees warmed her skin, and the scent of wild oregano was intoxicating. It was unseasonably warm for springtime in Italy, and how much better was this than her old job, squashed up in a stall, bashing the life out of a till at the local supermarket?

Closing her eyes, she smiled as she weighed up her choices: a nylon uniform that gave her static and stifled her; or the comfortable outfit she was wearing today?

No contest.

She loved working with plants, and had begged the store manager to allow her to work in the garden section, promising him that his plants would never droop again if she were in charge. He’d given her this weird look and said he liked his women clean and free from mud. She’d handed in her notice the same day.

Wiping the back of her arm across her face, she turned full circle with her arms outstretched as if sunlight were something she could touch. Birds were singing, bees were buzzing, and she could already see the fruits of her labours in fresh green shoots. On an impulse she reached for her phone to take a selfie to send to the godmother she adored and had lived with since her parents’ death. When she’d taken this job she’d had it in mind to save money to buy a plane ticket for her godmother to visit her son in Australia. It would have been nice to be able buy it in time for his birthday, but that was a dream too far.

After emailing the shot, she received a reply from her godmother almost at once:

You look as if you’re having a good time! Suggest a wash before anyone sees you. xoxo

With a happy laugh Cass reached up to brush away a bee, only to realise that the sound she could hear wasn’t an insect but something much larger...something coming steadily closer, casting a pall over the flawless Tuscan day. Her heart rate doubled as a black helicopter swooped over the trees and hovered overhead. It blotted out the sun and obliterated the calm with noise and dust. Shielding her eyes, she tried to see who was inside, but as ‘Fivizzano Inc.’ was emblazoned on the side, she didn’t have to test her imagination too far. Her best guess was that ‘the Master’, as Giovanni and Maria referred to He who must be obeyed, had arrived. He couldn’t have told anyone he was coming or Giovanni and Maria would never have taken the day off.

She could handle it, Cass determined. She was hardly a stranger to awkward situations. She would simply stay out of his way.

Her heart beat wildly as the helicopter descended slowly like a sinister black bird, flattening the grass and driving the songbirds from the trees in a panic-stricken flock. She hadn’t met anyone who travelled by helicopter since she’d been a little girl in her parents’ exotic world. Thrusting her spade into the ground, she realised her hands were shaking.

Wiping her hands on her shorts, she stood rooted to the spot as the rotors slowed to a petulant whine. The passenger door opened and a tall, commanding figure, dressed immaculately for the city, sprang to the ground. Marco di Fivizzano was infinitely better looking than the press suggested, and for a moment she stood trapped in his stare.

What had got into her? She’d done nothing wrong.

Who the hell...? Marco’s frown deepened. Then he remembered vaguely that his PA had mentioned something about temporary staff for the summer. He was in no mood for dealing with that now. Surely Giovanni and Maria would have laid out the ground rules—that no one approached him when he was here on his Tuscan estate.

Swearing softly under his breath, he remembered that today was Maria and Giuseppe’s day off. He had been in such a hurry to leave the city for the country that his only thought had been how fast he could get here. Now he had some scruffy youth to deal with. He would have expected a new member of his gardening team to be an older and more experienced man, not some beardless boy. Coming closer, he stopped dead in his tracks as she turned to face him.

A grubby urchin? No make-up? Ragged clothes? Hair hidden beneath a faded baseball cap?

Legs like a colt...body like a ripe fruit, bra-free nipples pressing imperatively against her fine cotton top, her young face work-flushed and appealing...

His body responded violently and with approval. Beneath the mud, sweat, and rosy cheeks stood a very attractive young woman. The cap was crammed down hard on her head, with the brim pulled low to shade her eyes from the sun, as if she cared nothing for vanity—and that in itself was a novelty. Her clothes consisted of a ripped and mud-daubed singlet that clung lovingly to her full, pert breasts, while the frayed shorts emphasised the length of her slender legs. Striding up to her, he saw that she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought, and neither was she intimidated by him—far from it. This girl wasn’t afraid of anything, he sensed as she held his stare.

‘And you are?’ he prompted shortly.

In contrast to his irritable mood, she appeared to be relaxed and slightly bemused.

‘Cassandra Rich. Your new gardener?’

Something about the surname chimed in his head, but he pushed that aside for now. Evaluating staff was his strength. The success of his business had been founded on that skill.

He stared deep into a frank, cornflower-blue gaze and ran a quick assessment. She was fresh, bright and intelligent. Inner strength, combined with the summing up she was giving him, was so novel and unexpected that he almost broke into a smile—something he did so rarely that his body took the cue and responded more insistently.

‘I’m here for the summer,’ she volunteered, glancing around.

Good. That gave him time to work with, he reasoned dryly.

Was he in lust with this woman?

Possibly. She was so unlike the sophisticated types he was used to she required further study—and a category all her own.

‘Where’s the rest of the gardening team?’ he demanded, frowning.

‘They’re taking staggered holidays,’ she explained with a shrug, drawing his attention to her bright blue eyes as she pushed a lock of her honey-gold hair away from them. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she added, ‘to plug the gap.’

He had moved on from assessing her unusually forward manner to wondering about the rest of her hair, hidden beneath the ugly cap. He could so easily imagine freeing it and seeing it cascade down her back, just before he fisted a hank of it to pull her head back to kiss her throat.

‘You can handle this entire estate on your own?’ he demanded sceptically, bringing himself back with difficulty to the business side of this encounter.

‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ she said. ‘At least until the others return.’

‘Yes, you will,’ he confirmed sharply, still trying to work out whether her manner was impudent or overly straightforward. Meanwhile, she was staring at him inquisitively, as she might study an unusual exhibit in a gallery. They were polar opposites, curious about each other—the billionaire, hard and driven, and the mystery girl who gave casual a new edge.

His groin tightened when she smiled. He liked the way her full lips curved and her ski-slope nose wrinkled attractively.

‘I’m not as helpless as I look,’ she assured him. ‘And I promise I won’t let you down.’

Her promise pleased him. ‘If you were helpless you wouldn’t be employed here.’

He turned away, knowing he should feel exhausted, but he was suddenly wide-awake.

He hadn’t slept for the past twenty-four hours as he’d wrestled a trade agreement to the table that would benefit not just his own group of companies but his country. Word of his success had spread like wildfire in the power halls of Rome, attracting lean, predatory women with crippling shoes and sprayed-on clothes—another reason he had been pleased to leave the city. He could have called any one of them to accompany him to Tuscany. They were decorative and efficient and they knew the score, but none of them had appealed. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it wasn’t that.

‘If there’s anything I can do for you?’ the girl called after him, stopping him in his tracks.

Was she referring to a cup of coffee or something more?

‘No. Thank you.’ He didn’t want company, he reminded himself. At least not yet.

Success in business rode him. It also turned him on. He’d been cramped up in the city for too long. He was a physical man, bound by convention in a custom-made suit, who was forced to spend most of his working life in air-conditioned offices when what he longed for was his wild land in Tuscany. Tucked between majestic granite mountains, his country estate was an indulgence he chose not to share with anyone—certainly not with some member of his part-time staff.

‘Anything at all?’ she pressed.

Did she have any idea how provocative she was? As he had turned to face her she had opened her arms wide, putting her impressive breasts on show.

‘Nothing. Thank you,’ he repeated irritably. ‘Get back to your gardening.’

He needed relief in the form of a woman, but this woman was too young and too inexperienced for him to waste his time on.

He ground his jaw with impatience when she started to follow him, and made a gesture to indicate that she should go back. The only conversation he was interested in was with real people like Maria and Giuseppe, and he resented her intrusion. She had changed the dynamics completely. She was an outsider, an interloper, and though she might hold appeal, was that smile as innocent as it looked?

If there was one thing he understood, it was the needs of a woman’s body and the workings of her mind, but this girl was so different it frustrated him that he had yet to make a judgement about her.

Cass shivered involuntarily. What was wrong with her? After deciding the safest thing was to steer clear of Marco di Fivizzano, she was doing the absolute opposite. It was as if her feet had a mind of their own and had decided to follow him to the house. She should know better, when he came from the same shallow, glitzy world as her parents—

‘Watch out!’ he snapped.

‘Sorry.’ She jumped back with alarm, realising he’d stopped, and she’d almost cannoned into him.

‘Have you nothing better to do than follow me to the house?’ he demanded in a tone that spoke of deals hard won and nights without sleep.

‘I’ve finished for the day,’ she explained, ‘and I just thought—’

‘I might need help?’ he queried. He stared down at her from his great height as if she were an irritation he didn’t yet have an answer to. ‘If you’re going to be here for the summer, you’d better tell me something about yourself.’

Her brain had stalled beneath the blazing stare. What could she tell him?

How much did she want to tell him?

‘Come on—keep up,’ he insisted, striding ahead. ‘Let’s start with where you come from.’

‘England—the UK.’ She had to jog to keep up with him. ‘It’s a region called the Lake District. I don’t expect you—’

‘I know the area. Family?’

The word ‘family’ was enough to spear her with ugly memories. That was what she didn’t want to talk about, let alone take her thoughts back to the day a small bewildered child had stood at the side of the family swimming pool looking down at her parents floating, drowned after a drug-fuelled fight. She settled for the heavily censored version.

‘I live with my godmother,’ she explained.

‘No parents?’

‘Both dead.’

‘My condolences.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

Almost eighteen years, Cass realised with shock. She’d been so young she’d hardly known how to grieve for them. She hadn’t really known them. She’d had one carer after another while they’d been on the road with her father’s band. Her emotions had died along with her parents, until her godmother had arrived to sweep Cass up in a hug. She’d taken Cass home to her modest cottage in the Lake District where the only drug was the scenery and her godmother’s beautiful garden. Cass had lived there ever since, confident in her godmother’s love and safe in a well-ordered life.

Maybe part of her had hidden in this security, she reflected now. That would account for a personality as compelling as Marco di Fivizzano giving her such a jolt. After her turbulent childhood, she had welcomed her godmother’s cocoon of love, but increasingly had come to realise that something was missing from her life. Challenge. That was why she was here in Tuscany. This job was out of her comfort zone, and never more so than now.

‘You are lucky to have a godmother to live with,’ Marco di Fivizzano observed as he strode ahead of her.

‘Yes. I am,’ she agreed, chasing after him.

The warmth and strength of her godmother’s love had never wavered, and when the day had come when Cass had been ready to fly the nest, she had helped her to get the job here in Tuscany.

She stood back when they arrived at the front door.

‘Come into the house,’ Fivizzano instructed when she hesitated.

She’d never been beyond the kitchen. She’d never entered the house through the front door. Her room was in an annex across the courtyard. The house was grand. She was not. She was covered in mud and she knew how hard Maria worked to keep the place spotless.

But the real reason for her hesitation was that she didn’t want to be alone in the house with him.

‘It’s Giuseppe and Maria’s day off,’ she explained, still hovering outside the door.

‘And?’ he demanded impatiently.

‘I’m sure if they had expected you—’

‘I don’t pay my staff to expect.’

She flinched when he added, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

Yes. She had a problem. She had never met a man so rude or so insensitive. Giuseppe and Maria would do anything for him. Did he know that? And she was definitely not going inside the house. ‘I’m sure Maria must have left something in the fridge for you to eat—’

His expression blackened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

She had to remind herself that she loved this job, and that it would help to pay for her godmother’s trip to Australia, and therefore she should say nothing and just get on with it.

‘As Maria isn’t here, you’ll have to do,’ he said, giving her a scathing appraisal. ‘Clean yourself up and fix lunch.’

Her face blazed red beneath the arrogant stare. She had to remind herself that she had dealt with plenty of difficult customers at the supermarket. Sucking in a steadying breath, she told herself that for all his immense wealth Marco di Fivizzano was just another man.

Just another man?

She would have to remind herself of that several times a day, Cass guessed wryly, but she couldn’t deny that if there was one thing she loved it was a challenge.

‘My cooking isn’t up to much,’ she admitted, kicking off her boots.

‘Do what you can.’

Senna pods in his omelette sprang to mind.

Stepping inside the beautiful old house, she was silenced for a moment. Overwhelmed by its beauty, she stared around in awe. This had to be the most beautiful hallway outside a palace. It was square and elegant...beautifully proportioned, with a high, vaulted ceiling. It was decorated with burnished antiques, as well as the most exquisite rugs—rugs Marco di Fivizzano was simply striding over in his outdoor shoes on his way to the foot of an impressive mahogany staircase.

‘You can clean yourself up in the back kitchen,’ he instructed, as if she were a latter-day Cinderella. ‘An omelette shouldn’t be beyond you.’

‘I’ll pick some fresh herbs—’

Her suggestion was wasted. He was already halfway up the stairs.

So much for that challenge she’d been looking forward to!

Her first assessment of Marco di Fivizzano had been correct. He was insufferably rude and incredibly insensitive. She didn’t even register on his radar. He was hungry and he expected to be fed.

Then she remembered with a little pulse of interest that Marco di Fivizzano was always hungry, according to the scandal sheets—and she doubted they were talking about food. He was also a spectacular lover, according to the same magazines...

She definitely needed that wash down in cold water before she saw him again.

Having cleaned herself up, she went back into the garden and, selecting a clump of herbs, she slashed them with her knife.

No supressed emotions to deal with at all, Cass concluded with amusement.

As she walked back to the house she glanced at the upstairs windows. She could just imagine all that brute force naked beneath the shower. She’d always had a down-to-earth attitude when it came to men and sex, though living in the remote beauty of the Lake District with her godmother had hardly provided her with a wide pool of men to choose from. And when she had chosen, she’d got it wrong. She’d had one or two unsuccessful attempts to make a go of a relationship, but the men had disappointed her in a way she couldn’t really explain. There had been nothing wrong with them. They just hadn’t fired her imagination, and she had always dreamed of being swept away.

One thing was sure, nothing could have prepared her poor frustrated body for the arrival of a force of nature like Marco di Fivizzano.

Sheathing her knife, she wiped a hand across the back of her neck. Would he need a cold shower after meeting her? Somehow she doubted it. She guessed she was more of a wasp he’d like to swat than a beautiful butterfly he’d like to do other things with. Sex radiated from him. Even clothed in what had to be the most expensive tailoring known to man, there was something primal about him—something dark and hidden at his core—an animal energy that suggested he would consider any woman fair game.

But not this woman.

Because she had more sense?

It was time to stop daydreaming and get on with making his meal.

* * *

He took an ice-cold shower. His senses had received an unexpected jolt thanks to a most unlikely woman. He smiled grimly as he soaped himself down, imagining the type of chaos she would be creating in Maria’s pristine kitchen round about now. He could only hope she’d washed her hands. He didn’t care for soil in his food.

He shook his head and sent water droplets flying. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a towel. He felt refreshed—reinvigorated. Food followed by a few hours of vigorous sex would suit him perfectly, but it would take more than an untried girl to tempt his jaded palate. Pausing by the window, he stared out. His eyes narrowed with interest. Maybe he’d written her off too soon. She was sheathing a knife like a female Indiana Jones, and her capable, no-nonsense manner fired his senses.

* * *

She beat the living daylight out of the eggs. She had to do something to calm herself down before Genghis Khan arrived. It didn’t help that all sorts of wicked thoughts were parading through her head—some including a spatula and a pair of iron-hard buttocks.

What was wrong with her?

She cleaned off the egg spatter from the wall, only for her thoughts to wander off in a new direction—to the day when she had made her first omelette. She’d been six years old and hungry. She knew now that the eggs needed watching or they’d catch and become bitter and inedible. Her first omelette had been black but she’d eaten it. She’d been hungry enough to eat the pan as well. She’d seen enough domestic disruption to last her a lifetime, and had her godmother to thank for knowing her way around a kitchen now. Anyone as sensible and good-humoured as Cass could learn to cook, her godmother had insisted when Cass had expressed doubts.

Cass had lost confidence when her parents’ lives had descended into drug-fuelled chaos, but her godmother had rebuilt her brick by brick; cooking and gardening, nurturing and caring, providing the cure. These activities that were at the root of everything good, her godmother had explained, and the rewards were not only plentiful but you could eat them as well.

That had been the start of Cass finding pleasure in watching things grow. And that was why she knew she could deal with Marco di Fivizzano. Nothing he could throw at her could compare with Cass’s life before she’d lived with her godmother. There were no whirlwinds in her life now, only well-ordered certainty, and that was how it was going to stay.

Tipping out a perfectly cooked omelette, she put the plate on a tray with a bowl of freshly picked salad, timing her delivery to perfection as he walked through the door.