Hired For Romano's Pleasure. Chantelle Shaw

but I must have been away on those occasions and I never saw her again.’

      An unbidden memory flashed into Torre’s mind of Orla lying beneath him, her milky-pale skin a stark contrast to his dark tan and her hair spread like amber silk across the pillows. Unbelievably he felt his body stir. Dio! How could she still affect him all these years after he had spent just one night with her? he wondered grimly.

      But the truth was that Orla was the only woman who had ever made him lose control. Eight years ago he’d taken one look at her and the promise he’d made to himself—that he would never be led by his libido, like his father—had been swept away on a riptide of lust. It had been shameful proof that he had inherited Giuseppe’s weakness for pretty women and sex.

      Torre pulled his mind back to the present when he realised that his father was speaking again. ‘Orla has not been back here in the four years since her mother left me and hired a top divorce lawyer,’ Giuseppe said ruefully. ‘But I remain fond of her and I am pleased that both my stepchildren are coming to Amalfi to help me celebrate my seventieth birthday. I wonder if Jules will use the occasion to make an announcement?’

      ‘An announcement about what?’ Torre’s brows rose.

      ‘That he plans to marry Orla. Don’t look so surprised. I’m sure I mentioned that Jules had met up with her when he moved to London a few months ago to work at the English branch of ARC. Recently he has hinted that he has stronger feelings for her than simply friendship. Perhaps it is significant that Orla accepted an invitation to my birthday party and she is coming here with Jules,’ Giuseppe mused. ‘I would be delighted if my step-children from my last two marriages were themselves to marry. But what would please me most, Torre, is if you would choose a wife and provide an heir.’

      Torre stifled his impatience and headed towards the door, keen to avoid a discussion with his father about the fact that at nearly thirty-four he was still unmarried. His single status was something he intended to continue for many more years. But he understood that a recent health scare had focused Giuseppe’s attention on the future of the family’s construction company Afonso Romano Construzione—known as ARC. Torre knew that his father was desperate for him to have an heir to secure the leadership of the company, and he supposed that one day he would have to do his duty and marry a woman who shared similar interests and values to him in order to have a family of his own. But, unlike his father, he had no intention of being led by his heart or his hormones.

      Torre loved his father and respected his business acumen, which had helped to make ARC the biggest construction company in Italy, responsible for many of the country’s civil and infrastructure works. But outside the boardroom Giuseppe’s personal life had been less impressive. He had regularly been unfaithful to his second wife, Sandrine—Jules’s mother—and his inability to resist the countless young women who were attracted to his wealth in the way that predatory sharks were attracted to blood had made Giuseppe an object of ridicule in the press.

      Eight years ago the paparazzi’s interest in Giuseppe’s private life had become frenzied when he had fallen for an English former glamour model and Z-List celebrity Kimberly Connaught. Within months of meeting her, Giuseppe had divorced Sandrine and married Kimberly. Not even Torre had been invited to his father’s secret wedding, and the first time he’d met his new stepmother had been at the party Giuseppe had thrown to celebrate the marriage.

      It had been obvious to Torre that his father’s new wife was a gold-digger and he’d failed to understand how Giuseppe had been such a fool. But at the party that night he had met a red-haired witch in the guise of an angel and his arrogant belief that he was a better man than his father had come crashing down around him.

      ‘I’m surprised that you are pleased about the possibility of a match between Jules and Orla,’ he told Giuseppe. ‘When I was in England a month ago there was speculation in many of the newspapers that she had been awarded a huge divorce settlement from her ex-husband. Apparently her marriage to a well-known sports star lasted for less than a year before she dumped him. It would seem that Orla has inherited her mother’s gold-digger tendencies for marrying and divorcing rich men,’ Torre said sardonically. ‘If she has set her sights on Jules then God help him.’

      ‘I don’t believe much of what is printed in newspapers, and I certainly do not believe that Orla is interested in Jules’s money.’ Giuseppe looked closely at Torre when he gave a snort. ‘I have noticed before when I’ve spoken about Orla that you seem to have a low opinion of her, and yet you say that you hardly remember her. Did something happen between the two of you years ago? I recall that Orla rushed back to England the day after the wedding party, ostensibly because she was due to start at university.’

      ‘Of course nothing happened.’ Torre gave a laugh that sounded too loud to his ears. He avoided his father’s speculative gaze and shoved the image of Orla’s slender beauty to a far corner of his mind. It was a constant irritation that he had been unable to completely eradicate his memories of her. Other women regularly came and went in his life without making an impact on him and he did not understand the restless feeling that had gripped him since he’d learned that Orla was coming to Amalfi.

      ‘I’m merely concerned that Jules doesn’t make a fool of himself over her. You know what a dreamer he is,’ he said, striving for a casual tone. But as he strode out of the study he had the uncomfortable sense that Giuseppe’s shrewd grey eyes had seen more than Torre wanted him to.

      Damn it, he thought savagely. Damn her—the red-haired sorceress who had cast a spell on him that night eight years ago. Thank God he had come to his senses the next morning. Right now he had enough to deal with since his father had decided to retire and hand over the role of Joint Chairman and CEO of the company to him. Torre had always known that it was his destiny and he was determined to run ARC as successfully as his father and grandfather, Afonso, had done. But he had a passion for engineering, and after he had qualified as a civil engineer he had carved out a niche role for himself as an expert advisor and troubleshooter, visiting ARC construction projects around the world.

      He enjoyed his job and the freedom it gave him, and he did not relish the restraints that would inevitably come with leadership. He acknowledged that he had a few nerves, too, at the prospect of filling his father’s shoes. The last thing he needed was to meet Orla again and be reminded of the shameful lapse of judgement he had made eight years ago.

      If his stepbrother had fallen for Orla’s charms then good luck to him, Torre told himself. But his inexplicable black mood lingered and he felt a sudden need to get out of the house. Muttering a curse, he grabbed his car keys from the table in the hall and strode outside to where the current love of his life was parked on the driveway.

      * * *

      Unusually for midsummer there was little traffic on the Amalfi Drive. The road on the iconic stretch of Italian coastline hugged the steep cliffs between Sorrento and Salerno and was famous for its hairpin bends. Orla was glad Jules had said he would drive so that she could enjoy the spectacular view of the turquoise Tyrrhenian Sea far below.

      But the tranquillity was suddenly shattered by the loud roar of a car coming up behind them. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a red sports car gaining fast on the hire car they had collected at Naples airport. The engine screamed as the sports car overtook them on a steep bend. Orla held her breath, fearing it would crash through the railings at the side of the road and tumble over the edge of the cliff. In seconds the sports car had streaked past and was a flash of brash scarlet in the distance.

      ‘There goes my stepbrother in his new toy,’ Jules murmured. ‘The latest model is reputed to be the quickest and most expensive car on the planet. Torre’s twin passions in life are fast cars and women.’

      Torre. Foreboding set like wet concrete in the pit of Orla’s stomach. She had caught a glimpse of the driver of the open-topped sports car but there hadn’t been enough time for her to recognise him. For a moment her nerve faltered and she was tempted to ask Jules to turn the car around and take her back to the airport. Take her anywhere as long as it was far away from Villa Romano and the man who had invaded her dreams for eight long years.

      She firmed her jaw. Enough was enough,