Read Online The Passionate Italian 11 DECEMBER EPUB by Diana Fraser - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Fraser
Tags: Contemporary Romance
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more first. There are things you aren’t telling me and I doubt that I’ll get from any document. What’s behind all this security work?”
“You need no further information. Prior knowledge may influence your work. Just do a thorough job.”
“Don’t I always?”
“You are thorough in everything, cara. Even, in covering your tracks.”
“But you still found me.”
“Because I have power and you do not.”
“Not over me you don’t.”
“Wrong. For the moment I do. Complete you work and then you can go.”
“It will only take me a few months.”
“Then you will be able to leave earlier than the six months. I’ll amend the contract. Just do the work, Rose. Comb the records for inconsistencies, set the traps and find any culprits. With proof. That is all. I will see you later at dinner.”
“Dismissed, am I? Is that how you dismiss your wife?”
“No. That is how I dismiss an employee.”
“I am not your employee in the strictest sense of the word.”
“In whatever sense you care to name you appear to be irritated that, as far as I am concerned, our relationship is strictly business.”
“And you, signore, are too conceited to believe that I am perfectly happy with a business arrangement.”
She scooped up the papers and walked out the door, trying hard not to notice the fact that he was smiling.
He sat there for some time watching the door through which she’d just exited, amused by her ability to deceive herself.
He rarely lied. But, in this instance, it was required if he was to get Rose back where she belonged—with him, permanently.
He needed a job doing. He needed to find evidence of Alberto’s pilfering. And he needed it done well and with discretion. But he needed something more.
He needed to show her that he’d changed. He wanted to show her that he would never again allow his jealous, possessive nature to run out of control. He wanted her to see that he could let her leave his office without his hands tracing the soft blush of anger on her cheek, without his lips persuading her lips to release the tight anger he could see there and to swell into soft submission.
It seemed Alberto had been correct.
That night, two years ago, when Rose had failed to turn up to meet him when he’d returned to Milan, he’d found only Alberto and a story that he’d had no choice but to believe.
Alberto had described how Rose had come to him complaining of the way Giovanni stifled her, of how she needed someone who could think like her, who could love like her—a cool, northern love that was subtle, refined. A love that she thought she could find in the blonde Alberto. According to Alberto, he’d repulsed her advances and she’d left.
Giovanni’s pain had overtaken his sense at the time.
Devastated, he’d not questioned Alberto, knowing in his heart that the accusations were true: he was demanding, he was emotional, he was possessive. And Rose hadn’t been able to take it any more. In the last few months before she’d left, she’d become evasive in their phone calls, not answering him directly. She’d avoided meeting up with him during their enforced separation. He’d been suspicious, wondering what it was she was covering up. It had all seemed to fit with Alberto’s story. She’d wanted Alberto; she’d been rejected and she’d left, unable to face Giovanni any longer.
He didn’t doubt that someone could want and love Alberto more than they loved him. It had always been that way with his parents. Rose had fallen for Alberto, just as he’d always feared.
But it wasn’t just Alberto’s testimony, some of his own staff had back up Alberto’s story.
Damning, convincing and devastating. Until that night only a few weeks ago when he’d met up, by chance, an old friend of Rose’s who asked after her child.
Whose child was it? His? Alberto’s?
That Alberto had been lying about spurning her advances, he was sure. No-one could refuse his Rose anything. Least of
“You need no further information. Prior knowledge may influence your work. Just do a thorough job.”
“Don’t I always?”
“You are thorough in everything, cara. Even, in covering your tracks.”
“But you still found me.”
“Because I have power and you do not.”
“Not over me you don’t.”
“Wrong. For the moment I do. Complete you work and then you can go.”
“It will only take me a few months.”
“Then you will be able to leave earlier than the six months. I’ll amend the contract. Just do the work, Rose. Comb the records for inconsistencies, set the traps and find any culprits. With proof. That is all. I will see you later at dinner.”
“Dismissed, am I? Is that how you dismiss your wife?”
“No. That is how I dismiss an employee.”
“I am not your employee in the strictest sense of the word.”
“In whatever sense you care to name you appear to be irritated that, as far as I am concerned, our relationship is strictly business.”
“And you, signore, are too conceited to believe that I am perfectly happy with a business arrangement.”
She scooped up the papers and walked out the door, trying hard not to notice the fact that he was smiling.
He sat there for some time watching the door through which she’d just exited, amused by her ability to deceive herself.
He rarely lied. But, in this instance, it was required if he was to get Rose back where she belonged—with him, permanently.
He needed a job doing. He needed to find evidence of Alberto’s pilfering. And he needed it done well and with discretion. But he needed something more.
He needed to show her that he’d changed. He wanted to show her that he would never again allow his jealous, possessive nature to run out of control. He wanted her to see that he could let her leave his office without his hands tracing the soft blush of anger on her cheek, without his lips persuading her lips to release the tight anger he could see there and to swell into soft submission.
It seemed Alberto had been correct.
That night, two years ago, when Rose had failed to turn up to meet him when he’d returned to Milan, he’d found only Alberto and a story that he’d had no choice but to believe.
Alberto had described how Rose had come to him complaining of the way Giovanni stifled her, of how she needed someone who could think like her, who could love like her—a cool, northern love that was subtle, refined. A love that she thought she could find in the blonde Alberto. According to Alberto, he’d repulsed her advances and she’d left.
Giovanni’s pain had overtaken his sense at the time.
Devastated, he’d not questioned Alberto, knowing in his heart that the accusations were true: he was demanding, he was emotional, he was possessive. And Rose hadn’t been able to take it any more. In the last few months before she’d left, she’d become evasive in their phone calls, not answering him directly. She’d avoided meeting up with him during their enforced separation. He’d been suspicious, wondering what it was she was covering up. It had all seemed to fit with Alberto’s story. She’d wanted Alberto; she’d been rejected and she’d left, unable to face Giovanni any longer.
He didn’t doubt that someone could want and love Alberto more than they loved him. It had always been that way with his parents. Rose had fallen for Alberto, just as he’d always feared.
But it wasn’t just Alberto’s testimony, some of his own staff had back up Alberto’s story.
Damning, convincing and devastating. Until that night only a few weeks ago when he’d met up, by chance, an old friend of Rose’s who asked after her child.
Whose child was it? His? Alberto’s?
That Alberto had been lying about spurning her advances, he was sure. No-one could refuse his Rose anything. Least of
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