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The Italian's Deal for I Do (Society Weddings) Kindle Edition
The Irresistible Italian: Married for Business
He's conquered global markets and immeasurable hearts, but to regain control of the fashion empire that's rightfully his, Rocco Mondelli must prove his playboy days are over. His secret weapon? Supermodel-in-hiding Olivia Fitzgerald and the power to ruin her if she refuses to play his loving fiancée!
But returning to the world stage revives Olivia's old demons, and instead of walking down the aisle toward her gorgeous groomshe flees! The world holds its breath: Can the indomitable Rocco get his wayward bride to the altar on time?
The world's sexiest billionaires finally say "I do"!
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherHarlequin Presents
- Publication dateApril 1, 2015
- File size2289 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
"The Italian's Deal For I Do reminds me why I love romance so much. A must-read for everyone looking to get hooked to an amazing romance." Harlequin Junkie reviews
From the Author
Tony brought the car to a halt in the rounded driveway. "Do you have a parking spot? I'll see you to your door."
Her already agitated heartbeat sped up. She knew exactly where this was leading if he accompanied her up to her apartment, and for a woman who had never done this, never invited a man back to her apartment on a first date, it was like someone had dropped her onto one of those death-defying loop-the-loop roller coasters that promised equal amounts of terror and exhilaration.
She shook her head, dry mouthed, realizing he was waiting for a response. "It's underground," she told him huskily, pointing to the entrance at the end of the driveway.
He guided the car into the garage, parked in her spot and followed her to the elevators. They rode the glass-enclosed lift up to her tenth-floor apartment.
"An awfully exclusive apartment for a struggling artist," Tony commented, leaning back against the wall.
Olivia pressed damp palms against her thighs as the cityscape came into view. "A friend was helping me out."
His brow rose. "A friend?"
"A nonromantic friend," she underscored, absorbing the aggressive, predatory male in him. It wasn't helping the state of her insides.
His raised brows arced into a slashing V. "Men just don't lend multimillion-euro apartments to a female unless they have other intentions, Liv."
The insinuation in his words brought her chin up. "This one did," she rasped. The elevator doors swung open. She stalked out of the car and headed down the hallway to her apartment, her head a muddled, attracted mess.
Tony caught up with her at her door. She turned to face him, confused, her stomach a slow burn. "I think you don't know me at all."
"My mistake," he came back laconically, tall and daunting. "It's a natural question for a man to ask."
Was it? They'd only had a drink. She was so confused about the whole evening, about what was happening with this beautiful stranger, her head spun. She stood there, heart hammering in her chest. Tony put a hand to the wall beside her, keeping a good six or seven inches between them, his gaze pinned on her face. Her stomach dropped as if she was headed toward the steepest plunge on that scary roller coaster, the part where one had big, huge second thoughts.
Something glimmered in his gaze. "Aren't you going to invite me in for an espresso to cap the evening off?"
"I don't know," she answered honestly, knees weak.
"Oh, come on, Liv," he chided, that glimmer darkening into a challenge. "Men are territorial. Would you expect a man like me not to be?"
No. Yes. Her head swam.
He closed the gap between them until he was mere inches from her. His palm came up to cup her jaw, his gaze dropping to her lips. Her own clung shamelessly to that lush pout she'd been staring at all night, had been wanting to kiss all night. And he knew it.
He lowered his head and rocked his mouth over hers. Smooth, questing, he exerted just the right amount of pressure not to frighten her away, and that mouth, that mouth, was sensational. She anchored her palms against the solid planes of his chest, her bones sinking into the hard line of the wall as he explored the curves of her mouth. He kissed her so expertly she never had a chance. All she could do was helplessly follow his lead. When he delved deeper, demanded entrance to the heat of her mouth, she opened for him.
Their tongues slid along each other's in an erotic duel that rendered her knees useless. She dug her fingertips harder into his chest, breathing him in, registering how delicious he smelled. He was a potent combination of heady male and tangy lime, and she was completely and irrevocably lost.
He pulled back, his gaze scouring her face. "Your key," he prompted harshly.
Her brain struggled to process the command. Blood pumping, head full, she rummaged through her purse, found her keys and handed them to him.
*****
The sane part of Rocco told him he didn't need to carry the charade any further. It was obvious Olivia Fitzgerald was not above falling into the arms of a man with a beautiful watch and a nice car if it meant rescuing her from her precarious position. Whether she displayed an irresistible vulnerability along with it was inconsequential. It was likely a well-rehearsed act.
The less-than-rational part of his brain wanted to see how far she'd let him take it. How desperate she was.
He tossed her keys on the entryway table. Watched her sink her small white teeth into her perfectly shaped bottom lip.
"I'm not so interested in coffee," he admitted harshly, watching her pupils dilate. "Do you mind if we skip it?"
She shook her head, eyes wide. Worried her lip with those perfect teeth. He closed the distance between them, the heat they created together rising up to tighten his chest. He swallowed hard at the swift kick of lust that rocketed through him as he brought his palms to rest on either side of her where she stood, back against the door. It was inconceivable to him that he could feel such desire for her given who she was, what she had been to his grandfather, even if this was a deliberate experiment to extract the truth. But she was undeniably exquisite.
Her cheeks, tanned to a light golden brown from the hot Milanese summer sun, were flushed with desire. Her chest under the worn purple T-shirt was rising and falling fast, her nipples erect against the soft fabric. Her hands lay limp at her sides, as if she had no idea what to do with them.
He did. He wanted them on him, sliding over every inch of his hot skin until he rolled her under him and made her his. Dio. This was insanity.
He dipped his hands under the frayed edge of her T-shirt and sought out the silky-soft bare skin beneath. She was enough to tempt a levelheaded man to mad acts, even his rigidly correct grandfather who had never looked at another woman after his Rosa had died. Her swift intake of breath echoed in the silent apartment as he trailed his fingers over the bare skin of her flat stomach, her midriff, the muscles of her abdomen tensing beneath his touch. Her head dropped back against the door, eyes almost purple as she waited for his kiss.
"You could bring the strongest man to his knees," he muttered roughly, almost angrily, as he brought his mouth down to hers. "But then you know that, don't you, Liv?
From the Inside Flap
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The grizzled old priest had served almost a century of Mondellis in the lakeside village of Varenna. He rested his gnarled, weathered hand on the ornately carved knob of the inches-thick, dark-stained door of Giovanni Mon-delli's bedroom and nodded toward the patriarch's two grandchildren. "You must say your goodbyes. Leave nothing unsaid."
His gravelly tone was somber, weighted with the grief of an entire village. It cut through Rocco Mondelli like a knife, severing a lifeline, rendering him incapable of speech. Italian fashion icon Giovanni Mondelli, son of the Italian people, had been the father he'd never had. He'd been Rocco's guiding influence when he'd taken his grandfather's place as CEO of House of Mondelli and brought it kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. Transformed it into a revered global couture powerhouse.
He could not be losing him.
Rocco's heart sputtered to a stop, then came back to life in a brutal staccato that pounded against the walls of his chest. Giovanni was everything to him. Father, mentor, friend He wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet.
His sister, Alessandra, grasped his arm, her knuckles white against the dark material of his suit. "II don't think I can do this," she stumbled huskily, her glossy brown hair tangled around her face, eyes wide. "It's too sudden. I have too much to say."
Rocco ignored the desire to throw himself on the floor and cry out that it wasn't fair, like he had at age seven when he'd stood on the deck of a boat outside this window on Lake Como in a miniature-size suit, his big, brown eyes trained on his papa as he tossed his mother's ashes into the brilliant blue water. Life wasn't fair. It had nothing to do with fair. It had given him Alessandra, but it had taken away his beloved mother. Never could that be considered a fair compromise.
He turned and gripped his sister by the shoulders, breathing through the searing pain that gripped his chest. "We can and we will, because we have to, sorella"
Tears streamed down Alessandra's face, negotiating the crevices of her stubborn mouth. "I can't, Rocco. I won't."
"You will" He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on her head. "Gather your thoughts. Think of what you need to say. There isn't much time."
Alessandra soaked his shirt with silent tears. It had always been Rocco's job as much as it had been Giovanni's to hold this family together following the death of his mother and his father's subsequent descent into gambling and drink. But he did not feel up to it now. He felt as though one of the breezes wafting in from the lake might fell him with a single, innocent, misplaced nudge. But giving in to weakness, into emotion, had never been an option for him.
He set Alessandra away from him and slid an arm around her shoulders to support her slight weight. His gaze went to the short, balding doctor standing behind the priest. "Is he awake?"
The doctor nodded. "Go now."
His strong, sometimes misguided, but always confident sister trembled underneath his fingers as he led her into Giovanni's bedroom. If the saying was true you could smell death in the air, it was not the case here. He could feel the warmth, the vital energy Giovanni Mondelli had worn like a second skin. That he had infused into every single one of his designs. He could hear the caustic bite of his grandfather's laughter before it turned rich and chiding and full of wisdom. Smell the spicy, sophisticated scent that clung to every piece of clothing he wore.
It was Rocco's eyes, however, that stripped him of any shred of hope. The sight of his all-powerful grandfather lost in a sea of white sheets, his vibrant olive skin devoid of color, snared his breath in his chest. This was not Giovanni.
He swallowed past the fist in his throat. "Go," he urged Alessandra, pushing her forward.
Alessandra climbed onto the massive bed and wrapped her slim arms around her grandfather. The sight of Giovanni's eyes watering was too much for Rocco to bear. He turned away, walked to the window and stared out at the lake.
He and Alessandra had flown the fifty kilometers from the House of Mondelli headquarters in Milan via helicopter as soon as they had heard the news. But his stubborn grandfather had been ignoring pains in his chest all day, and by the time they'd got here, there was little the doctors could do.
His mouth twisted. If he knew his grandfather, he'd probably decided this was the cleanest way to go. Giovanni Mondelli was not beyond manipulating the world to his advantage. What better way to go out then in a blaze of glory on the eve of Mondelli's greatest fall line ever?
But then again, Rocco conceded, Giovanni had been ready to join his beloved wife, Rosa, in the sweet afterlife, as he called it, for almost twenty years. He had lived life to the fullest, refused to fade after her passing, but there had been a part of him that yearned for her with every waking breath.
He would have her back, he'd promised.
Alessandra let out a sob and rushed from the room. Rocco strode to the bed, his gaze settling on his grandfather's pale face. "You've broken her heart."
"Sandro did that a long time ago," his grandfather said wearily, referring to Rocco's father, who Alessandra had been named for. His eyes fluttered as he patted the bed beside him. "Sit."
Rocco sat, swallowed hard. "Nonno, I need to tell you."
His grandfather laid his wrinkled, elegant, long-fingered hand over his. "I know. Ti amo, mio figlio. You have become a great man. Everything I knew you could be."
The lump in Rocco's throat grew too large for him to forge past.
His grandfather fixed his dark eyes on him, staring hard in an act of will to keep them open. "Trust yourself, Rocco. Trust the man you've become. Understand why I've done the things I've done."
His eyes fluttered closed. Rocco's heart slammed against his chest. "Giovanni, it is not your time."
His grandfather's eyes slitted open. "Promise me you will take care of Olivia."
"Olivia?" Rocco frowned in confusion.
His grandfather's eyes fluttered closed. Stayed closed this time. A fist reached inside Rocco's chest and clamped down hard on his heart. He took his grandfather's shoulders in his hands and shook them hard. Come back. Do not leave me. But Giovanni's eyes remained shut.
The spirit of the House of Mondelli, the flame that had burned passion into brilliant, groundbreaking collections for fifty years, into his own heart, was extinguished.
Rocco let out a primal roar and rested his forehead against his grandfather's lined brow.
"No," he whispered over and over again. It was too soon.
* * *
The emotion he had exhibited upon the death of his grandfather was nowhere to be seen in the week following as Rocco negotiated the mind-numbing details of organizing Giovanni's funeral, now reaching state-like proportions, and the settlement of his estate. The Mondelli holdings were vast, with properties and business interests spanning the globe. Even with his own intimate knowledge of the company and its entities, it would take time.
Alessandra helped him plan the funeral. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to comepublic and government figures, heads of state and celebrities Giovanni had dressed over his forty-five years in the business. Weeding them out was their challenge.
And, of course, the remainder of the Columbia Four were coming: the three men Rocco had met and bonded with during their first week at Columbia University. Not a mean feat given the intense, grueling schedules of Christian Markos, Stefan Bianco and Zayed Al Afzal. Athens-born Christian was a financial whiz kid and deal maker who divided his time between Greece and Hong Kong. The inscrutable Sicilian, Stefan Bianco, preferred to make his millions masterminding the world's biggest real-estate deals on his private jet rather than in his hometown of Manhattan, but then again everyone knew Stefan had commitment issues. The final member of the group, Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal, would have the longest to travel from his home in the heart of the Arabian deserta tiny country named Gazbiyaa.
It comforted him as he sat down with the Mondelli family's longtime lawyer, Adamo Donati, to review Giovanni's will, to know the men he considered more brothers than friends would be by his side. The bond he shared with those men was inviolate. Impenetrable. Built from years of knowing one another's inner thoughts. And although his life was not the only one that was tumultuous at the moment, his friends would not miss such an important event, including Zayed, whose country was embroiled in rising tensions with a neighboring kingdom and teetering on the verge of war.
Memento vivere was the Columbia Four's code. Remember to live. Which meant living big, risking big and always having one another's back.
"Shall we begin?"
Adamo, Giovanni's sage sixty-five-year-old longtime friend, who was not only a brilliant lawyer but a formidable business brain, tilted his chin at him in an expectant look. Rocco nodded and focused his attention on the lawyer. "Go ahead."
Adamo glanced down at the papers in front of him. "In terms of the properties, Giovanni has split them between you and Alessandra. I'm sure this is no surprise, as you've talked to him about it. Alessandra will receive the house in St. Barts and the apartment in Paris, while you will take ownership of Villa Mondelli and the house in New York."
Rocco inclined his head. Alessandra, a world-class photographer who traveled the world doing shoots, had always joked Villa Mondelli was too big for her, that she'd rattle around its sprawling acres by herself, while it was the only place on earth Rocco felt he could truly breathe.
He cocked a brow at the lawyer. "My father?"
"The current arrangement will continue. Giovanni left a sum of money in Sandro's name for you to administer."
Like a child unable to manage his own pocket money. Rocco had long given up on the idea that his father could manage anything, but he wondered if somewhere inside him he was waiting for the day Sandro would apologize for gambling away their family home. For handing them over to Giovanni when he could no longer cope. That someday he might step forward and shock them all. Until then, his father had been provided with an apartment in the city, a weekly shipment of groceries and a limited amount of spending money that inevitably went to gambling rather than to his own personal grooming.
When that ran out, he would slink back asking for more, and when he was told no, he did things like showing up drunk and disheveled at Alessandra's twenty-fifth birthday party, embarrassing them all.
Mouth set, he gestured for Adamo to continue.
The lawyer looked down at the papers. "There is another apartment in Milan. Giovanni purchased it a year ago. It is not accounted for in the will."
"Another apartment?" Rocco frowned. His grandfather had never liked to stay in the city. He preferred to drive to the villa each day or take the company helicopter.
The lawyer's olive skin took on a ruddy hue, his gaze glancing off Rocco as he looked up. "It's in Giovanni's name, but a woman has been living there. I had someone look into it. Her name is Olivia Fitzgerald."
Rocco sucked in a breath. "Olivia Fitzgerald, the model?"
"We think so. It took some digging. She's not using her real name."
He stared at Adamo as if he'd just told him the Pope was turning Protestant. Olivia Fitzgerald, one of the world's top supermodels, signed to a competitor five years ago and unattainable to the House of Mondelli, had dropped off the face of the earth a year ago. Hadn't worked a day since, reneging on a three-million-dollar contract with a French cosmetics company. And Giovanni had been keeping her in an apartment in this city? While the tabloids scoured the earth for her.
His gaze met the lawyer's as he came to the inevitable conclusion.
"He was involved with her."
Adamo's cheeks flushed even darker. "In some way, yes. The neighbors say he spent time with her in the apartment. They were seen arm in arm, going for dinner."
Rocco pressed his hands to his temples. Giovanni, his seventy-year-old grandfather, had taken a twenty-something-year-old mistress? One of the world's great supermodels A party girl extraordinaire who'd apparently frittered her way out of her million-dollar bank balances as fast as she'd filled them. It seemed preposterous. Was he even living on the same planet he had been a week ago?
Promise me you will take care of Olivia.
Cristo. It was true. Blood rushed through his head, pulsing at his temples. As if he would continue to allow his grandfather's former lover to live on Mondelli property now that Giovanni was gone. A woman who had taken up with him in a transparent attempt to avail herself of his fortune.
He leveled a look at the lawyer. "Give me what you have on her. I'll deal with Olivia Fitzgerald."
Adamo nodded. Ran a hand over his balding head and gave him another of those hesitant looks, so uncharacteristic of him.
Rocco arched a brow. "Per favore, tell me there are no more mistresses."
A faint smile crossed Adamo's lips. "Not that I know of."
"Then, what? Spit it out, Adamo."
The lawyer's smile faded. "Giovanni has left you a fifty percent stake of House of Mondelli, Rocco. The remaining ten percent controlling stake has been allocated to Renzo Rialto to manage until he sees fit to turn it over."
Rocco blinked. Attempted to digest. Giovanni hadn't left him a controlling stake in Mondelli? Prior to his grandfather's death, the Mondelli family had held a 60 percent share in the company, with outside shareholders holding the remaining 40 percent, leaving the family firmly in control of the legendary fashion retailer. Giving him the power he had needed as CEO to guide Mondelli forward. Why would Giovanni have taken that power out of his hands and given it to Renzo Rialto, the chairman of the board, who had always been Rocco's nemesis?
Adamo read his dismay. "He didn't want you to feel overwhelmed without him. He wants you to be able to lean on the board for support. Find your feet. When the board feels you're ready, they'll hand over the remaining shares."
"Find my feet?" White-hot rage sliced through him, rage that had been building since his grandfather's death. Steel edged, it straightened every limb, singed every nerve ending, until it escaped out his fingertips as he slapped his palms down on the desk and brought himself eye to eye with the lawyer. "I have built this company into something Giovanni could never have envisioned. Taken it from prosperous to wildly successful. I don't need to find my feet, Adamo. I need what's rightfully minecontrol of this company."
Adamo lifted a hand in a placating gesture. "You have to consider your personal history, Rocco. You have been a renegade. You have not listened to the advice the board has tried to give you."
"Because it was wrong. They wanted to keep Mondelli languishing in its past glory when it was clear it needed to move with the times."
"I agree." Adamo shrugged. "But not everyone felt that way. There is a great deal of conservatism within the board, a nostalgic desire not to strip away what made the company great. You're going to need to use more finesse to work your way through this one."
The blood in his head tattooed a rhythm against his skull. Finesse? The only thing that worked with the board was to whack them over the head with a big stick before they all retired in a wave of self-important glory.
Product details
- ASIN : B00PFEZ0EC
- Publisher : Harlequin Presents; Original edition (April 1, 2015)
- Publication date : April 1, 2015
- Language : English
- File size : 2289 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 193 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #771,797 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #13,292 in Contemporary Women's Fiction
- #19,418 in Billionaire Romance
- #20,441 in Contemporary Romance Fiction
- Customer Reviews:
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Review
Take one playboy Italian with a company to win back the controlling interest in; Rocco, add a splash of runaway and hiding world famous super model; Olivia, a dash of the fashion world and a touch of blackmail for a spicy tail that is anyone’s bet how it turns out…
This is such a great and classic Harlequin with an adult spin, I had no choice but to give it a 5. The plot had me wanting to not put it down until the end. Hayward put some great spins and curves into this novel, so much so that I am already waiting to find out what happens to the remaining three “Knights of Columbia” as they make it or do not to the chapel on time.
I hope their lady loves are as amusing and fun as Olivia was and they get along as well in a carnal and amorous way as Rocco and Olivia do no matter their professed feelings toward each other at the time.
Is this your book? It is if you love a spicy, adult romance that keeps you guessing about what happened in the past and if there is a possible solution to the future. If so, run, do not walk to get this great first in series. I know I am and will anxiously await book 2.
Check My Blog for other reviews:
<a href="http://readingroomandreviewsbykellyhaggerty.blogspot.com/">Reading Room and Reviews by Kelly Haggertyt</a>
This novel is about a model, Olivia, who dropped out of the modeling scene to design and was mentored by Rocco's grandfather. He is the CEO of Mondelli Fashion House and finds out about her from his dying grandfather who tells him to take care of Olivia. After his grandfather's death he discovers he doesn't have controlling interest in the business and must show some stability to get control, ie. an engagement. So he offers Olivia a contract for 5million, clearance of all her debts from a broken contract, and the chance to work with top designers at Mondelli for a year of her time on the runway and as his fiancee. What he doesn't know is why Olivia left modeling or the difficulty she will have returning to the runway. Soon both discover they have feelings for each other but he hero is stubborn as usual.
What I liked: well developed characters. Even if the hero had an overinflated ego, he soon showed a softer side when supporting Olivia, the heroine. The heroine had a real problem not one belonging to a relative.
What I didn't like: I don't like heroes being portrayed as overbearing boars and sometimes it seemed that way. I really wish the authors of HP would use some other way of keeping the hero/heroine together other than blackmail.
Bottom line: It was a good HP and I read it in one sitting.
I really liked this story a lot, the hero who was named Rocco (a name I truly hate because it was my dog's name) was sexy, rich and Italian- how can we go wrong! It's a good story and the story doesn't lag or get boring. He's one of the Columbia four- if you follow their story you won't be disappointed. I can't wait to read about the other two friends. Great book and I recommend it highly.