Bedded by the Italian Playboy (2 page)

Rachel
stepped forward and ran a finger down the length of it. The material—the very
cheap polyester material—crinkled slightly under her fingers and she frowned,
taking a deep breath as she did so. She needed that breath. Needed to feel her
lungs expand with oxygen, to feel her stomach suck in on itself. And then the
exhale. She let it out carefully, willing the breath to take her nerves with
it. Because she
was
nervous. Very
nervous. Her stomach was flipping all over the place and already she could feel
a headache beginning at the base of her skull. But then was that any wonder?
Never had so much been asked of her. Certainly more had been taken but never
given. And her sisters were asking her to give, they would always ask, never
tell. That was not the way their trio worked.

Which
meant she had no choice but to step a little closer to the bag. “C’mon, Rach,”
she whispered, tracing the seams. “Just unzip the bag.”

The
zipper was cool against her clammy fingers and she pulled it slowly. Carefully.
Inch by inch her battle uniform was revealed and Rachel did not know whether to
laugh or to cry when she saw it in its full glory. Lyra had picked it out of
course. Not only was she the sister who understood men better than the other
two ever would, but she was the only one that could stand to even go clothes
shopping. What was the point after all when you couldn’t afford anything in the
shop?

Abruptly,
Rachel found herself wondering how much this outfit had cost but shook the
thought off as soon as it formed. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was
the mission.

She
brushed the material softly, sighing from the feel of it against her palm, and
then she slipped the dress and its delicate jacket off the hanger before laying
it down across Penny’s bed. The bright blue bedspread made the pinks and creams
and yellows of the halter neck, fifties style dress fill her vision. It was a
riot of flowers and swirls and she couldn’t help the smile that formed as soon
as she realized that there was an underskirt. Not a stiff one but one all the
same. And then the jacket, light cream with scalloped lapels. It was perfectly
fitted to show off her hourglass figure.

Rachel
adored it all.

“Shoes,”
she whispered. “Where are the shoes?

They
sat in the bottom of the bag along with a matching clutch. The same cream as
the jacket, they were so pretty that for a moment Rachel almost forgot the
reason she had them.
Almost.

She
lined them all up, dress, jacket, shoes, bag, and then made her way into the
shower. It gave her a slow stream of tepid water and she shivered as she dried
herself on a thin towel, her stomach continuing to flip.

Back
in the room, she dressed slowly. Instead of her usual dress on went the new
one. Instead of her tired old flats, the shiny heels. It felt symbolic somehow.
Leaving the old Rachel behind and making her into a new one. For the moment at
least. And then in no time at all she was ready, and looking into the mirror
made it all real in a way it never had been before.

The
dress did indeed mold to every curve, the jacket nipping in at her waist. Her
blonde curls fell over her shoulders and the heels elevated her, adding inches
to her tiny frame. There was no makeup. It wasn’t needed. No perfume, no fancy
accessories. Just this.

“Show
time,” she whispered and felt the nerves well up all over again.

In
the other room, she could hear her sisters. They were talking softly, their
voices a single, unified hush. Probably they were talking about her.

Wondering
if she was up to the job.

Wondering
if they could count on her.

Truth
be told she was halfway to wondering the same thing herself. Had been wondering
for weeks. But then they’d picked Dominic Rimeria for a reason hadn’t they?
From their research they knew she was exactly the type of woman he desired.
Exactly. The blonde hair, the curves, the way she dressed, everything. If the
man had been asked to sit down and draw his perfect woman in terms of her
physical attributes the drawing would be Rachel.

The
man. Her mark. Her mission.

 
“You can do this,” she told her reflection.
“You know you can. Lyra thinks so. Penny thinks so. They’re counting on you
just as you are counting on them. This is your chance. Your chance to show
them. Your chance to show yourself.”

The
reflection nodded. It smoothed down the dress, outlining the curve of its hips.
It shook its head, making the curls bounce and then it smiled.

It
looked lovely.

“Dominic
Rimeria will be eating out of your hand in no time,” Rachel whispered before
repeating the words Lyra had drilled into her over and over. “Bait the trap,
apply the honey, and get the money.”

She
had to do this.
Had to.

She
picked up the clutch bag just as a surge of adrenaline shot through her,
subduing the nerves enough to make her stride from the bedroom. Her sisters sat
on the dilapidated couch, but they stood straight up the moment she walked
through the door. It pleased Rachel enormously to see their admiring glances.
To see Lyra place her hands on her hips and give a whistle, to see Penny tilt
her head in that way of hers.

“You
look amazing,” Penny said. “Like a flower come to life.”

“Perfect,”
Lyra added.

The
adrenaline continued to flow and Rachel knew it was time. “I’m ready,” she
said. “Ready to do this.”

“You
sure?” Penny asked even as Lyra nodded her approval.

“Absolutely.”

And
suddenly—maybe because of the adrenaline or because her sisters were next to
her—Rachel knew that she was. After all, she thought as Lyra and Penny moved
forward and fussed with her hair and clothes, when it came right down to it how
hard could it be? To make Dominic Rimeria, notorious Italian playboy and
billionaire mark, burn for her? Burn enough so that when his back was turned
she could pick his pocket and help herself to some of his riches.

Easy as one, two, three….

Chapter Two

His
replacement driver was late again and Dominic was only just keeping a hold of
his notorious temper.
Dios
, had he
not given the man a warning just two days ago? It made no difference to him
that the driver was not his regular guy, wasn’t used to his tight timetable,
the man was still an employee, and he expected compliance from them all.

No,
more than expected. He demanded.

Turning
from his position next to the huge, intricately decorated double doors of his
London
hotel, Dominic eyed
the lobby. It was a bustle of activity. Men and women in business suits sat in
the grouping of leather chairs, plugged in no doubt to the superfast Wi-Fi all
his hotels offered. A second group—this one made up of women only—were waiting
for the lift, two porters struggling under the weight of their combined
LV-stamped luggage. An elderly gentleman was being escorted from the assistant
manager’s office. Likely he’d stored some valuables in there—all of Dominic’s
hotels offered multi-combination safes.

All
of his hotels were busy. Booked out all year round. Unbelievably successful.

He
would accept no less.

His
trouser pocket vibrated and Dominic watched the women entering the lift as he
lifted his Blackberry to his ear. “Yes.”

“Your
one o’clock is waiting, sir,” said Benjamin, his assistant. “Shall I order the
espresso?”

Dominic
frowned both at Benjamin’s words and the come hither look one of the women was
sending his way. “My driver has not yet arrived.”

Silence
from the other end of the phone and then, “I will order another driver immediately.
I will have to check who has clearance but—”

“The
clearance is irrelevant,” Dominic interrupted.

“It
is necessary, sir,” Benjamin insisted, apology in his tone. “Until Ryan returns
we have to ensure your safety.”

Dominic
scowled, annoyed to be having this conversation but more annoyed that Ryan, his
driver-cum-security guard, was away dealing with a family emergency. It was bad
enough having someone act as a bodyguard at all—a precaution he’d only taken
after a series of kidnap attempts from a shady, underground criminal gang—but
at least he got on well with Ryan, enjoyed the other man’s company. And he was
trustworthy. Being Italian, Dominic knew he could count on him implicitly. Not
so with the drivers he’d been using since Ryan’s unscheduled trip to
Rome
. Certainly they had
the required security clearance and were able but he was starting to think they
were more trouble than they were worth.

“Sir?”
Benjamin prompted.

“I
will deal with my own safety,” Dominic snapped. “Your only concern is my diary.”

“Yes,
sir.” Another pause and then, “The other option is to cancel this meeting, I
can reschedule for tomorrow?”

Casting
the oak clock above the reception desk a glance Dominic’s frown deepened.
Twenty to the hour. Which meant he was going to be late.
London
traffic at this time of day was
notoriously hectic. For a moment he
was
tempted to cancel, but that would be conceding defeat—something Dominic never
did. Instead he shook his head. “I will be there.”

“Your
driver?”

“Will
be dealt with.”

“Yes,
sir.”

He
ended the call and dropped the Blackberry back into his pocket, its heavy
weight oddly familiar. Sometimes it almost felt like the damn phone was part of
him, so much of his time did he spend on the fucking thing. Still it was
necessary. Multinational hotel chains, not to mention a number of other
business interests, did not run themselves.

Clenching
his fists Dominic strode over to the reception desk of his flagship
London
hotel and caught
the eye of the painfully perky young woman stood smiling behind it. She was
petite and blonde, just his type, but far too skinny. Dominic liked his woman
with curves, breasts, hips and dimples. He also liked them demure, something
this woman obviously was not. As he approached, she straightened and pushed her
shoulders back, thrusting her chest in his direction—an unconscious gesture
maybe but one all the same.
Dios
.
They were all the same women these days
,
he thought, both her and the woman in the lift. Like huntresses they were
constantly ready to pounce. It turned him off in the extreme. He liked to do
the chasing, not the other way round. An old fashioned attitude maybe, but
Dominic was Italian through and through and would make no apologies for his
behavior or his preferences.

He
narrowed his eyes as he approached. Her smile widened, she smoothed her hair.
He scowled some more. “Your name?” he asked.

“Katie,”
she said breathlessly. “Here to help.”

He’d
bet she was. No doubt she’d be willing to help him in whatever way he required.
“Do you know who I am?” Dominic asked.

“Yes,
sir,” she replied. “How can I help you? Should I get Mr. Watkins?”

He
shook his head at the idea of having to deal with Watkins, his hotel manager’s,
obsequious manners. The man knew how to run a hotel and run it well, but when
confronted with the big boss he turned into a bit of a mess. Not something
Dominic would normally put up with but when staff were exceptional at their job
he allowed more leeway than normal.

“I
do not need Mr. Watkins,” he said. “Tell me instead, where is Paul?”

“Paul?”
Katie asked.

“Yes,
Paul,” Dominic repeated. “My driver.”

Her
smile remained even as she shook her head. “I don’t know, sir.”

“He
is late.”

The
girl nodded slowly, though what she was nodding at Dominic had no idea. “Should
I call another driver?”

He
sighed that the girl would even think to ask the question. “If I were a
customer would you be calling another driver?”

She
nodded again. “Yes or...no...I mean....”

“Your
answer should be yes,” Dominic grated. “Paul and his colleagues are here to
drive guests wherever they require. Right now Paul is late. You will inform
him, when he finally arrives, that he will need to have a cast-iron reason for
this tardiness.”

“Yes—”

“And
by cast-iron I mean extreme illness or death, is that understood?”

“Yes,
sir.” She paused and swallowed nervously. “Should I call another driver?”

Dominic
shook his head. Already the clock was showing ten to the hour and it would take
him double that to get to his head office, a sprawling edifice in the centre of
the city, not including time to await another driver. His car was outside—the
one Ryan should have been driving. It seemed easier to just drive the fucking
thing himself. A security problem yes, but he’d risk it.

“No.”