The Virgin's Sicilian Protector Read online

  He removed the cover from a plate to reveal Arianna’s favourite breakfast that the cook, Ida, always prepared for her of freshly baked rolls and thin slices of ham. Her stomach growled with hunger as she watched him pick up a roll and bite into it. With any luck he would choke, she thought sourly.

  ‘The cook told me she is preparing agnello arrosto con fagioli bianco for dinner—roast lamb with white beans,’ he said after he had polished off a second roll. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head, causing the hem of his T-shirt to ride up, revealing a strip of his bronzed torso and a sprinkling of black hairs that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. ‘I can see I’m going to enjoy staying at Villa Cadenza.’

  The glimpse of his taut, tanned abdomen had a strange effect on Arianna’s insides and she felt hot all over imagining where his body hair grew more thickly beneath the zip of his jeans. She knew she was blushing, and when she dragged her gaze away from Santino’s crotch up to his face the gleam of amusement in his eyes added fuel to her simmering temper.

  ‘You won’t be staying here,’ she told him furiously. ‘I’m going to call my father and put an end to this ridiculous situation.’

  Arianna spied her handbag and suitcase on the floor close to the sun bed. Vaguely she remembered that one of the crew on Jonny’s yacht had brought her and her luggage to the villa in the early hours of the morning. The front door had been locked and she hadn’t wanted to wake the butler so she had slept on a sun bed for the rest of the night.

  She dug out her phone and called her father’s private number. But inevitably it was his personal assistant, Monica, who answered and gave the usual excuse that Randolph was busy and did not want to be disturbed. ‘I’ll tell him you phoned and I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he has time,’ the PA said smoothly, although she must know that Randolph had never in living memory returned one of his daughter’s calls.

  ‘I’d like to leave a message for him.’ Arianna watched Santino pour out the last of the coffee from the cafetière and gulp it down, and her blood boiled. ‘Will you tell my father that I have no need of a bodyguard and I have fired Mr Vasari?’ She gave Santino a haughty look. ‘He will be leaving Villa Cadenza immediately.’

  * * *

  Santino let his eyes roam over Arianna as she leaned back on the sun bed while she talked on her phone. Her long, tanned legs went on for ever and the silk sarong tied around her body did not hide the fullness of her breasts. Desire spiked sharp and urgent in his groin and he was thankful that the newspaper on his lap hid the betraying bulge beneath his jeans. He had known before he’d agreed to be her bodyguard that she was beautiful, but he had been unprepared for the hunger she aroused in him, the white-hot lust that surged through his veins.

  She had recently starred in an advertising campaign for a famous perfume brand and pictures of her on billboards wearing sexy, black lace underwear had ignited a fire inside him. Sex was used indiscriminately by advertisers to sell products, and no doubt every red-blooded male who looked at the photos of Arianna wanted to run their hands over her lush curves and kiss her sensual mouth that was both an invitation and a challenge. But it was a challenge he must ignore, Santino reminded himself.

  When he had found her asleep on the sun lounger earlier he’d realised that a camera could not capture the true essence of her beauty. Fine-boned and slender, she’d looked as fragile as a porcelain figurine, and she was quite the loveliest thing he had ever seen. It was those exquisite cheekbones and the delicate perfection of her elfin features, he thought broodily. Photographs did not do justice to the luminosity of her English rose complexion.

  She had woken a few minutes ago and her long, curling lashes had swept upwards as she’d surveyed him with her big brown eyes flecked with gold. He told himself he must have imagined he had glimpsed a haunting vulnerability in her gaze. The sulky pout of her mouth was too sensual, too provocative, for her to be anything other than the brazen temptress beloved by the tabloids and gossip columns.

  Santino rubbed his hand around the back of his neck to ease a knot of tension in his muscles. His fingers automatically slipped beneath his shirt collar and traced the ten-inch scar from a bullet wound he’d received while he’d been serving in Afghanistan. The bullet had entered just below his shoulder blade and ripped open his body before exiting his neck at the base of his skull. It was incredible that he had survived, and, like the images in his mind of war, the scar would never completely fade. Nor would his guilt.

  Eight years ago he had come close to death on a dusty, blood-spattered desert road. His life had been saved by his best friend and fellow SAS member, Mac Wilson, who had dragged him out of the line of fire. But that act of immense bravery had cost Mac his legs when an IED had exploded beneath him.

  Restlessly, Santino stood up and walked across the terrace, aware that Arianna’s gaze followed him. His thoughts flew back to six months ago when Mac had requested his help to bring down a gang of drug smugglers believed to be responsible for his sister’s death. Mac was determined to bring Laura’s Italian boyfriend to justice but he had no proof that the man, Enzo, had supplied her with the cocaine which had killed her. Mac had asked Santino to infiltrate the gang who had links to the Calabrian mafia, known as the ’Ndrangheta. He had not needed to remind Santino that he was unable to do so himself because he was confined to a wheelchair.

  Working undercover, Santino had discovered that, as well as drug smuggling, the gang had carried out several high-profile kidnappings and been paid millions of pounds of ransom money. Their next target was the English heiress Arianna Fitzgerald. The kidnappers had kept her under surveillance for some time and knew that she spent the summer at her father’s villa on the Amalfi coast. Santino had alerted the Italian police, but they had been unable to contact Arianna, so had warned her father of the threat to his daughter.

  Santino recalled his meeting with Randolph Fitzgerald a week ago at the billionaire’s Kensington home Lyle House.

  ‘You are the best person to protect my daughter when she returns from Australia, Mr Vasari. Name your price. What will it take to persuade you to accept the job of Arianna’s bodyguard?’

  Santino had been irritated by the other man’s arrogant assumption that everything could be bought and everyone had a price, but he guessed that those things were probably true for one of the richest men in England. ‘I am not a CPO,’ Santino had reminded Randolph. ‘I have given you the names of several security agencies who can provide close protection officers and will arrange for your daughter to receive round-the-clock protection.’

  ‘Your training and experience with the SAS gives me confidence that you will be able to keep Arianna safe. After all, it was you who found out that a mafia gang are planning to snatch her from my villa in Positano and demand a multi-million-pound ransom for her release. The Italian police are hunting for the gang but, until they are arrested, the threat to Arianna remains.’

  It was true that the in-depth knowledge Santino had amassed about the gang members while he had pretended to be one of them meant he knew how they operated and could be one step ahead of them. But it was also true that he had no desire to babysit a spoilt socialite who, by her own father’s admission, was headstrong and difficult.

  Even if only a fraction of the reports about Arianna Fitzgerald’s party lifestyle were true, she had earned her reputation as a good-time girl. For years her face and her stunning body—invariably poured into figure-hugging dresses—had regularly appeared on the front pages of the tabloids. One social commentator had sarcastically observed that Arianna would turn up to the opening of an envelope if it gave her an opportunity to pose for the cameras.

  ‘I left the army a long time ago and since then I have established a successful career. I don’t need a job,’ Santino had told her father bluntly. ‘It could be months before all the gang members involved in the kidnap plot are apprehended. I can’t take that a
mount of time away from my business interests.’

  Randolph nodded. ‘I believe your chain of delicatessens under the brand name of Toni’s Deli has outlets across the UK and in many European cities. You sold the business eighteen months ago and since then you have concentrated on growing your investment portfolio.’

  Noticing Santino’s surprise, Randolph had added drily, ‘I did my homework about you, Mr Vasari, and I have a proposition that might interest you.’

  Despite himself, Santino had been curious. ‘I’m guessing that your proposition is dependent on my agreement to protect Arianna?’

  ‘Preparations are underway to float Fitzgerald Design on the stock market and a price has been set at thirty-five pounds per share.’ The fashion designer handed Santino a piece of paper. ‘The top figure is the valuation of the company, and the figure beneath it is the number of shares I am prepared to give you in return for you taking on the role of my daughter’s bodyguard until the kidnap threat is over.’

  Santino lifted his brows when he looked at the figures. ‘It would cost you a lot less to employ a CPO through a security agency.’

  ‘As I have already stated, I believe you are the best man for the job.’ Randolph leaned back in his chair. ‘You are no doubt aware that my daughter frequently appears on the front pages of a certain type of newspaper. For some reason Arianna seems to enjoy courting notoriety, but the publicity surrounding her is likely to have brought her to the attention of the gang who intend to kidnap her. An important element of your job will be to shield her from the paparazzi and keep her out of the headlines.’

  Randolph was clearly confident that the offer of a significant number of shares in Fitzgerald Design would persuade him to agree to be Arianna’s bodyguard, Santino had mused. Why shouldn’t he accept the shares as payment for protecting a pampered young woman who, quite frankly, sounded as if she was a pain in the backside?

  Originally, he had set aside some time to try and help Mac gain justice—in some form or another—for his sister’s death. But Arianna Fitzgerald was being threatened by people who had no respect for life. The ’Ndrangheta were ruthless and Santino did not like to think what they might do to her if they seized her.

  Randolph leaned across the desk and, as if he’d read Santino’s mind, said, ‘I have faith that your SAS training makes you the ideal person to protect my daughter. What do you say?’

  There was only one thing that Santino could say. ‘All right, I will be Arianna’s bodyguard until the gang members have been caught.’

  ‘There is one problem.’ Randolph hesitated. ‘Arianna must not be told the real reason why I have hired you to be her protection officer.’

  When Santino frowned the billionaire quickly continued, ‘My daughter is prone to volatile emotions. She has seen various experts—psychologists and so forth.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t pretend to understand the reason for Arianna’s histrionics but a year ago she overdosed and spent several weeks in hospital. I am concerned about how she might react to the news that a mafia gang are planning to kidnap her. For the sake of her emotional stability it will be better if the gravity of the situation is kept from her.’

  ‘I will find it a lot harder to protect Arianna if she is unaware of the danger she is in,’ Santino had argued.

  ‘That is why I chose you for the job,’ Randolph replied slickly. ‘I suggest you allow her to think that the reason I hired you is because the launch of Fitzgerald Design as a public company will attract a huge amount of publicity. I trust that you will keep my daughter safe, Mr Vasari.’

  Santino pulled his thoughts back to the present and cursed beneath his breath as he stared at Arianna’s scantily clad figure sprawled on the sun bed. His fantasy of undressing her and cradling her pert breasts in his hands would have to remain in his imagination. When he had been in the army a sense of duty and honour had been ingrained in him. Arianna’s father had put his faith in him, which meant that the delectable Miss Fitzgerald was definitely off-limits.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I’M AFRAID YOU can’t dismiss Mr Vasari,’ Randolph’s PA said in her calm, slightly patronising manner which Arianna found intensely irritating. ‘I have his employment contract which both he and your father signed here on my desk.’

  ‘I don’t care about any wretched contract.’ Too agitated to sit still, Arianna jumped up from the lounger. ‘This is intolerable. I don’t want a bodyguard. Randolph can’t force me to have one.’

  ‘Your father told me to inform you that if you do not accept Mr Vasari’s protection services then your monthly allowance will be stopped,’ the PA said crisply. ‘While you are in Positano, Mr Vasari will stay at Villa Cadenza and he will accompany you at all times when you go out.’

  For a few moments shock rendered Arianna speechless. It was not the first time her father had used money to try to control her and anger surged like boiling lava through her veins. A year ago she had resolved to start her own fashion-design business so that she could earn her own money and not be reliant on the—admittedly generous—allowance that arrived in her bank account every month. However, her dream of being independent was as yet unfulfilled. Her lack of business skills and serious doubts that her designs were any good had prevented her from turning her dream into reality. Recently she had taken another step towards her goal, but she would need every penny of the money she had inherited from her grandmother to cover the start-up costs of establishing her business. It meant that she would have to rely on the allowance from her father for a little while longer.

  But she would not tolerate having her privacy infringed by the constant presence of a bodyguard. Especially not the arrogantly self-assured man who had resumed his seat close to her sun bed. Santino leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head while he trailed his eyes over her and looked unimpressed.

  ‘Unimpressed’ was not a reaction Arianna was used to receiving from men. She had attracted male attention since she’d been thirteen, when her body had started to develop from that of a skinny, coltish girl into a curvy young woman with a face and body that men lusted after. At first she had been scared by her power, but as she’d grown older she had learned that she could use feminine wiles to her advantage.

  Against her will, her eyes were drawn to Santino’s and she glimpsed a fire in his brilliant green gaze that caused heat to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. But she told herself she must have imagined his predatory look when his eyes narrowed and his expression became unfathomable.

  She turned away and spoke into her phone in a low tone, conscious that he was within earshot of her conversation. Monica had worked as her father’s assistant for years and guarded him fiercely. In truth, Arianna had often felt jealous of the close relationship the other woman had with him. ‘Please let me speak to Randolph,’ she muttered, feeling a familiar sense of betrayal at her father’s indifference.

  ‘I’m sorry. He has meetings for the rest of the day, but I’ll let him know that you want to talk to him,’ Monica said and ended the call before Arianna could respond.

  Angrily she chucked her phone down on the sun bed but it bounced off the cushions and landed on the tiles with an ominous clatter. She picked it up and cursed when she saw a crack across the screen.

  ‘You want to be more careful.’ Santino’s mocking voice was the last straw and Arianna spun round and glared at him.

  ‘What I want is for you to get out of my house!’ she snapped, aware that she sounded petulant, but her anger was mixed with a growing sense of panic at the realisation that her father was once again trying to exert his influence over her life.

  Santino strolled towards her. His steps were unhurried, yet Arianna sensed that if she bolted towards the house he would move with the deadly speed of a big cat pursuing its prey and catch up with her before she’d gone any distance.

  ‘This isn’t your house. Your father owns the villa, an
d more to the point he pays my wages,’ he drawled. ‘I have been given instructions from Randolph to stay close to you when you go out shopping or meet your friends in bars or at the beach.’

  Santino had not specified that his orders were to monitor her behaviour and prevent her from attracting the paparazzi’s attention, but Arianna was certain that was the reason her father had insisted on her having a bodyguard. She knew that Fitzgerald Design was about to be floated on the stock market, and no doubt Randolph was anxious that she did not create any bad publicity before the launch that might affect the share price.

  ‘You’re loving this, aren’t you?’ she accused Santino angrily. Her fingers itched to slap the mocking smile off his handsome face.

  He gave her an impatient look. ‘I can’t say that I relish the prospect of babysitting a spoilt socialite who has no idea how privileged she is. Your father believes that some of your friends are seriously into the drugs scene and he is concerned about you—’

  ‘My father,’ she interrupted him, ‘doesn’t give a damn about me and he is only concerned with protecting the Fitzgerald Design brand name. It’s true that I can’t force you to leave, but you will be housed in the staff quarters, and there is no reason for me to have to see you around the villa.’

  ‘Randolph invited me to enjoy the facilities at Villa Cadenza and make myself comfortable. I’ll be sleeping in the guest suite next door to your room.’ Santino grinned when she glared at him. ‘You’ll soon get used to me being around and who knows? You might even enjoy my company. I was thinking of having a swim in that amazing infinity pool. Do you want to join me?’

  ‘No,’ she said through gritted teeth. She wanted to scream and shout as she’d done as a teenager—when her temper tantrums had been worse than those of a three-year-old, the governess her father had hired after Arianna had been expelled from school had told her.

  ‘The truth, my dear,’ Miss Melton had said crisply, ‘is that the more you behave like a spoilt brat the less your father will want to have anything to do with you. Mr Fitzgerald is a very busy man and his time is precious.’