Page 7 of Bound By The Italian’s 'I Do'

Still, David had assured her the crew would lie to any guest she brought on board and say she was the owner, and all that time spent as David’s dogsbody meant she knew yacht crews were meticulously trained and would cater to her every need without her having to actually open her mouth and order them about. She’d never been any good at ordering people about, mainly because she hated being bossed about herself and so cringed to hear commands come out of her own mouth.

Knowing Amelia would be worrying, she took a picture of her opulent bedroom and sent it to her. She didn’t dare tell her sister about David’s cock-up, but a nice internal picture that didn’t give anything away would do fine. Amelia needed to focus on her own task of pushing through her recommendation of a specific company for the Rossi Industries project she was managing. In reality, that specific company was nothing like Amelia had made it appear on paper. Going with that company would be an unmitigated disaster for Rossi Industries. The knock-on effects would destroy their entire enterprise. And destroy them. Perfect.

The sisters had known for a long time that the only way to topple the Rossi cousins would be by separating them. Together, they were as solid as rock, the cousins perfectly complementing each other so that nothing ever slipped past them. It would be impossible for Amelia to succeed if both cousins had to sign the project off and with it, sign off her recommendation. One cousin might miss or overlook something but the other would always pick it up.

Divide and conquer. It was the only way for the Seymore sisters to win, and it was with that thought at the forefront of her mind that Issy forced her feet into a pair of impossibly high wedged sandals—stilettos were forbidden on this yacht—and inspected her appearance one last time. Seeing as Gianni believed she’d been in the Caribbean for ten days already, fake tan had been a necessity, and she paid special attention to her exposed flesh to ensure her skin was streak-free. Satisfied she looked as good as she could for the money she’d paid, Issy made her way out of the floating palace to meet her handsome nemesis.

Here she came, striding gracefully towards the beachside restaurant, blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze, large designer shades covering much of her beautiful face, lithe body showcased to perfection in a pale green shirt dress that skimmed her deeply golden thighs and was complemented by a large, brightly coloured beaded necklace.

He rose from his chair to greet her.

Pretty white teeth flashing in delight, she strode straight to him and rested a hand on his shoulder so they could exchange kisses to each other’s cheeks. A cloud of her exotic perfume enveloped him. He inhaled it as greedily as he relished the brush of her lips against his skin.

His memories hadn’t played him false. She was every inch as stunning as he remembered.

‘Well, here we are,’ she said brightly once she’d settled herself in the seat across from him, lifting her shades to rest on top of her head.

He smiled slowly, noting the shirt dress was unbuttoned enough to expose a glimpse of black lace bra, a deliberate tactic he was sure, and one he wholeheartedly approved of. If this was a taster of Isabelle Clements tactics for hustling money out of him then he was in for one hell of a ride. ‘Here we are. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a mojito.’

Those deep blue eyes he remembered so vividly sparkled. ‘You have an impressive memory and no, I don’t mind at all.’

For the longest time nothing was said as they gazed at each other, both feigning disbelief that they had actually made this happen, that they were sat across a table from each other in a restaurant located thousands of miles and numerous time zones from where they’d met.

Books had been written and films made about people like Issy Clements. Gianni cared not at all that he was the man her net had been thrown at. On the contrary. Anticipation as to how far she was prepared to go in her hustle thrummed heavily in him.

It had been a long, long time since he’d experienced excitement on a level like this. It wasn’t that his life was boring—far from it—but Gianni and Alessandro had achieved such success with their business and after such torrid beginnings that there was no challenge left to it now. Nothing to strive for other than success on top of success. He would never be so immodest as to deny that Mother Nature hadn’t blessed him with looks that most women found attractive but since his bank balance had sprung into the stratosphere, women had ceased to be a challenge too. Sometimes he would go to a party and have so many feminine eyes openly seduce him that he felt like a kid in a sweetshop who’d already gorged on all the chocolate. He could take his pick. And he did.

Like the cars he drove, Gianni liked his women fast, sleek and glossy; preferably tall and blonde. He also preferred them to have money, not from any form of snobbery—after all, he and his cousin came from nothing—but because he’d tired of reading about his ‘sexploits’ in the press. As he didn’t date any woman long enough to learn if she was trustworthy or not, it made sense to shrink his dating pool to those he knew from the off didn’t need to sell stories about him.

‘So...’ he said, breaking the silence with a seductive gleam. ‘Do you come here often?’

Was it possible for the man to have a cheesier chat-up line? Issy wondered, mentally rolling her eyes. He was just so sure of himself, so keenly aware of the power of his sexuality and the effect it had on women that she supposed he didn’t feel the need to bother using his wit. And he had wit. A great deal of it. She knew. She’d researched the man for years, night after night spent searching his name, learning the minutest detail about him. Of course, Amelia had got to know him quite well in a professional capacity and she’d grudgingly admitted he was as good-humoured in real life as he came across in interviews and the snippets of conversation attributed to him. Most of the time, in any case. It never boded well on anyone who dared cross him...but the Seymore sisters already knew that. They’d lived it.

His rampant sexuality had no effect on her. Gianni’s handsome face, with its square jaw and the firm lips considered by many, many women to bekissablerepulsed her. How many hours had she sat at her laptop staring into those light blue eyes with her stomach churning violently? Too many. There was not a millimetre of his face she was unfamiliar with, from the slight cleft in the tip of his broken nose—she would one day learn who broke it and shake their hand—to the way his left eyebrow sat a fraction higher than the right. She knew the dark hair currently exposed at the top of his unbuttoned black shirt whirled over defined pectoral muscles and down over a flat washboard stomach. She knew he was exactly six foot three. She knew he had his thick dark hair trimmed every fortnight. She knew that by the end of his two weeks in the Caribbean the currently stubbled square jaw would be covered in a thick black beard that would then be shaved before he returned to the world of business. She knew that if it was possible to think of Gianni dispassionately, she’d agree he was a walking shot of testosterone and that his muscular frame contained a potent sexuality that would make any other woman weak at the knees.

But not her. Issy was immune to any sexuality he exuded. The burn that had ignited in her veins in the London bar was the deep anticipation of impending revenge. The haunting of his gorgeous face in her thoughts was nothing new. He’d haunted her for years. What made the haunting bearable was imagining it crumpling the day he realised she’d taken everything he held dear from him.

Still, she’d thought better of him than cheesy chat-up lines.

Returning the gleam, she answered, ‘Barbados is great, but I prefer to be out on the open sea. You?’

‘Depends on my mood. When I’m on land all I require is great food, great beer and an excellent view.’

She let her gaze bore into his. ‘The view from where I’m currently sitting is pretty something.’

He returned the heated stare. ‘Really?’

She smiled suggestively and took great pleasure in watching his light blue eyes darken. Two years spent starving herself to create the feminine stick insect look he desired was paying off.

Her mojito and a fresh lager for Gianni was brought to their table. He held his bottle aloft. ‘To the start of a beautiful new friendship.’

Smiling, Issy clinked her glass to it and took a flirtatious sip of her cocktail through the straw.

‘I have to say, your command of the English language is seriously impressive,’ she said, stroking his ego. ‘If it wasn’t for the hint of an accent, you could believe it was your first language.’ A decade ago, his accent had been strong. ‘Were you raised bilingual?’

‘I’m self-taught.’

‘Even more impressive. What spurred you on?’

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