Falling for the Brooding Italian

FALLING FOR THE

BROODING ITALIAN

Annie West

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events, businesses, companies, institutions or locations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2017 by Annie West

Cover Design by The Killion Group

ISBN: 978-1-947414-06-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever, including information storage and or retrieval systems, without the express written permission from the author, Annie West, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Licence notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with someone else, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Dedication

To all the readers who’ve enjoyed my Hot Italian Nights Series and asked for more!

And once again, thank you to Guisy C!

OTHER HOT ITALIAN NIGHTS NOVELLAS

Back in the Italian’s Bed

Bought by the Italian

Bound to the Italian Boss

The Italian’s Bold Reckoning

At the Italian’s Bidding

To find out about these or any other of Annie’s stories,

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

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

Epilogue

About Annie

Excerpt From ‘Back In The Italian’s Bed’

CHAPTER ONE

The first time Amber Moncrieff met Aurelio De Laurentis he didn’t speak to her, just nodded during the introductions, then proceeded to brood silently from the other side of the wide conference table.

Yet she’d felt his eyes bore into her through every stage of her presentation. His scrutiny sent trails of heat snaking through her body to all sorts of secret places. It made her feel nothing like a public relations professional but definitely all woman.

The second time they met, at a wine expo, she’d felt him before she’d seen him. Every nerve ending had gone onto high alert, the blood rushing faster in her arteries as she turned and found him surveying her across the room, while he talked with the American CEO of a huge multi-national beverage consortium. Amber discovered later that the CEO had tried and failed to acquire De Laurentis Wines.

The Italian’s stare as it met hers had been unreadable. Yet it made her lower body soften and a hollow ache start up deep inside. She’d known, with the certainty of a woman used to male attention, that sooner or later Aurelio De Laurentis would cross the room and try to separate her from the group she was with.

She was still deciding whether she’d let him, when she discovered she was completely wrong. He’d left the expo and didn’t come back.

Amber had been left…unsettled, her body humming with tension as if she’d come too close to high voltage wires.

The third time their paths crossed, the evening began with them seated at the same table at a wine industry awards night and ended with them in bed together. It was a week before they parted and during that time they barely left the hotel.

Amber was determined the fourth time would be different.

It had to be. Too much rode on this.

She gripped the wheel of her small rental car tighter as she followed the autostrada north out of Rome, towards Aurelio’s vineyard. She told herself determination made her tense. Yet there was a swell of nausea in her stomach too, a flare of nerves. For she’d proved herself far too vulnerable to Aurelio.

She’d thrown caution out the window in response to the invitation glittering in his dark eyes. He’d given her pleasure, so much pleasure! And excitement.

And he’d hurt her terribly when he’d walked away.

This time she wouldn’t let herself be seduced by those black-as-night eyes and the earthy sensuality that seeped from every pore of his hard, masculine body.

This time she’d be careful. As careful as she’d always been, before Aurelio De Laurentis swept her off her feet and between his sheets.

This time she wouldn’t be readily available for sex, or so easily ignored afterwards. It still stung, remembering how he’d left her without a backward glance. There’d been not even a text in the intervening six weeks. It was like those seven days sharing the most incredible intimacies and the most exquisite joy had never happened.

It more than stung. Amber had felt humiliated and confused. Worse, even now when anger fizzed in her blood, the pain of loss was constant.

Amber’s mouth flattened in a tight line. She had no-one to blame but herself. He’d made no promises. On the contrary, he’d made it absolutely clear he wanted a short affair, no strings, no ties.

It was exactly the sort of liaison Amber had always avoided. She didn’t do one night stands or casual hook ups, preferring relationships based on more than sex. Yet she’d found herself agreeing, overwhelmed by her response to the laconic, charismatic man who only had to look at her with that intense stare for her to burn up with need. She’d flung aside all caution, letting herself give in to a visceral attraction she’d never before experienced.

A night had become two, become a week, and they’d shared so much. Aurelio had been open about his humble roots, his love of winemaking despite its challenges and his grand vision for his company. Amber had shared her own hopes for the future, her excitement about being in Italy, and rambled on about her family back home in Australia.

She’d felt she knew him, as he knew her. Despite his initial comment about a no-strings affair, the bond between them grew strong. She’d even believed it grew stronger than the fierce, ever-present sexual attraction between them.

She’d been wrong. He’d walked away and never thought of her again. Never once bothered to make contact. Her one call to his phone hadn’t been answered, though she’d rung at a time she knew he’d be in the office, dealing with paperwork. He’d chosen not to answer or call back.

Amber’s teeth ground in sheer indignation. No matter what the circumstances, he owed her the courtesy of responding. She refused to be fobbed off. She’d thought better of him. She’d never imagined Aurelio could stoop to such rudeness, such callous disregard of her dignity, let alone her feelings.

Her skin shrank back against her bones as she recalled how thoroughly and how easily he’d brushed her off. As if she, and what they’d shared, were nothing.

Amber knew it was what he’d stipulated that first night, but it rankled. For somewhere between that first cataclysmic joining, hard up against the door of the hotel room, and the morning she’d woken to find him dressed, packed and on his way home, her heart had got involved.

She firmed her jaw. Their fourth meeting would be different. This time they’d meet on her terms, not his.

*

Aurelio stared at the results of the latest stocktake. As he thought, they’d need more storage space soon. The issue was whether to expand here or further down the valley at the vineyard he’d just purchased. The vineyard that would allow him to increase yield and production to meet market demands, while ensuring quality remained high.

He refused to sacrifice his standards for easy money despite the pressure for more, more, more. The company had made the transition from well-respected wines to phenomenal success, and high quality was the key.

He sat back and rolled his shoulders, then stood to straighten stiff legs. The tiny room tucked in one corner of the winery was far too small for all the administrative work these days. Too small for a man as tall as he.

But he liked being down here, at the heart of the winery, rather than in the new offices he’d installed as the business expanded. He loved the scents of old wood and ripe fruit, the shadows and shapes of vats and barrels, the continuity between him and those before him who’d toiled over this earth for generations, making the wine for which the region was renowned.

He smiled, thinking of Paolo, the nuggetty, weathered man who’d been his boss and mentor, and was now his friend and partner. The old guy had worked hard for decades. He deserved the comfort of a padded seat and an endless supply of decent coffee while he took a break from vineyard work.

If only Aurelio could convince him to take it easy more often.

He glanced at his watch and grimaced. He was late for their meeting. Aurelio waved to one of the cellar hands, reminded him about a vat that needed cleaning, and strode out into the sunlight.

Instantly his gaze went, not to the new tasting room and administrative building, but to the nearest slope of grapes. The precious bunches were already forming. With luck it would be another good season.

Tempted as he was to detour to the vines, he headed for the building. Acquiring a new public relations and marketing consultant was critical. He and Paolo had narrowed the choice down to two front runners to win the contract. But since he was trying to get Paolo to slow down, not devote so much time to physical work, he’d left it to the old man, who had an instinct for people as well as vines, to make the final choice. That minor heart attack last year was a warning. If Paolo wouldn’t heed it, Aurelio did. By hook or by crook, he’d get his partner to spend more time off his feet.

Paolo favoured the older, established firm. Not Aurelio’s first choice, but he knew the company would do an excellent job. The alternative, an energetic one-woman dynamo, wasn’t Paolo’s style.

Aurelio’s step faltered. That choice was too fraught to consider.

His thoughts slewed to Rome and the presentations he’d watched there.

To Amber Moncrieff.

His pace slowed even as his pulse picked up, his heart hammering an all-too familiar, needy rhythm against his ribs. Familiar because that’s what happened whenever he thought of Amber.

She invaded his thoughts on a regular