Undressed by the Billionaire. Susanne James
romantic places on earth. Ethan might shun everything pink or soft or feminine, but he’d let his guard down by showing her his palazzo. ‘The Palace of the Golden Sunset,’ she murmured happily as the limousine made a smooth transition from slick tarmac to the winding cobbled streets.
‘Can you see the fragments of the original walls?’ Ethan said, turning towards her again.
His enthusiasm was framed in a scholarly tone, but he was clearly determined to share this with her, and he didn’t need to tell her how much he loved his palazzo when she could feel his passion like a warm cloak embracing her. ‘Yes, I see them,’ she said, pressing her face to the window. In some places there was little more than raised ground to show where the original walls must have stood, but at others she could see what remained of them. They looked like blackened silhouettes pointing crooked fingers towards the blazing sky.
‘Much of the structure dates from medieval times,’ Ethan continued.
Like the thinking of its master? Savannah wondered. What would it take to have Ethan see her as a grown woman rather than as a singing sensation recently signed to his record label? And was she sure she wanted him to think about her that way? Wasn’t it safer to remain as she was—a ward under his protection?
It was beyond the scope of Savannah’s imagination to conjure up the consequences of attracting the sexual attentions of a man like Ethan, and as the limousine slowed to pass beneath a narrow stone archway she told herself how lucky it was that this was only destined to be a short stay. Any longer and she’d definitely fall in love with him.
The paparazzi would soon find another story and she’d be able to return home. But if she was so confident about that, why was she wracked by shivers of anticipation at the prospect of staying with Ethan?
Because she was tired, Savannah told herself firmly. Who could blame her for feeling uncomfortable with what lay ahead when she was pinned into a dress that felt more like a medieval torture-device than a couture gown?
‘This gateway is called the Porta Monteguzzo.’
She paid attention as Ethan distracted her, and was about to answer him when, embarrassingly, her stomach growled.
‘Hungry?’ he prompted.
‘I’m starving,’ Savannah admitted, wondering when she had last eaten. And did she dare to eat when another crumb of food on her hips meant she would definitely pop out of Madame’s gown and she had no clothes of her own to wear yet? ‘Porta Monteguzzo,’ she repeated, both in an attempt to distract herself from hunger pangs and to try again to master the musical Italian language. ‘Doesn’t “guzzo” mean “food”, in Italian?’
‘You’re thinking of gusto, perhaps?’
She watched his mouth, thinking how well he spoke the language … amongst other things.
‘Which means taste,’ Ethan explained.
Or tasty, perhaps, Savannah mused as she turned to stare innocently out of the window while Ethan resumed his conversation in fluent Italian with their driver. But as they drove deeper into Ethan territory and the world he dominated, and those tall, stone walls of his stole the light, Savannah knew that, though the sight of Ethan’s fairy-tale castle had thrilled her beyond belief, it had singularly failed to reassure her.
Oh.
Savannah’s heart sank as she stood in the hallway of the palazzo. It was a struggle to marry up the exquisite exterior with this dismal space. Wasn’t it wired for electricity? She could hardly make out the faces of Ethan’s staff as he showed her round.
Okay, so maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but the inside of the palace was like something out of a gothic horror film—’dark and dismal’ didn’t even begin to cover it. It might just as well have been lit by candlelight, it was so shadowy and grim. To say she was disappointed after the stunning run-up to the building was a major understatement. But she was more concerned about the fact that Ethan chose to live like this.
As the housekeeper led the way up the marble staircase, Savannah’s apprehension grew. Apart from the very real risk of missing her footing on the dimly lit staircase, the landing they were heading for appeared equally dingy. To go from fairy-tale palazzo to the haunted house was a huge disappointment. She only had to contrast Ethan’s grand palazzo with her parents’ simple farmhouse to know there was no contest: she’d prefer the sunny chaos of the farmhouse to this grand grimness any day.
Perhaps she should offer a few home-improvement tips, Savannah concluded as the housekeeper indicated they should follow her down a darkened corridor. ‘Don’t you worry about your staff tripping over the rugs?’ She took the chance to whisper discreetly to Ethan.
‘I can’t say it’s ever occurred to me,’ he said with surprise.
‘It would occur to me,’ Savannah said worriedly as the housekeeper stopped outside a carved-oak door. ‘What if someone was carrying a tray with hot drinks on it, or some glasses, and they tripped? They could really hurt themselves, Ethan. This is dangerous. There’s hardly any light here at all.’
‘No one’s ever complained before.’
She knew she should hold her tongue, but it was about time someone did complain, Savannah thought, and Ethan’s staff was hardly likely to.
The more she thought about it, the more Savannah became convinced that she must be one of Ethan’s first guests at the palazzo in a long time. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been expecting from a man known to be reclusive, but this was hardly the big, open house her family would have filled with light and laughter. She smiled as she thought of the cosy farmhouse back home with its rickety furniture and frayed old rugs, but it was a hundred times more welcoming than this.
The housekeeper was smiling at her expectantly, Savannah realised, quickly refocusing and smiling back. Ethan was shifting restlessly, as if he couldn’t understand the delay before the housekeeper got round to opening a door. But Savannah understood perfectly when the housekeeper finally revealed her surprise.
‘Signorina, this is your room.’
Savannah didn’t need to see the older woman’s beaming smile to know that someone was keen to make her feel welcome. ‘My room?’ Savannah stood on the threshold, gazing in wonder. ‘You did this for me?’ The contrast between this well-lit space and the rest of the palazzo was incredible. No wonder the housekeeper had revealed her surprise with such a flourish.
‘You’re too generous.’ But as Savannah looked at Ethan she realised he was as surprised as she was. He’d had nothing to do with it. His staff had done all this for her. They must have thrown open every window to air the room, and they had certainly lit every available light. There was a log fire blazing in the hearth, which illuminated all the beautiful old oil-paintings, and there were fresh flowers everywhere, beaming a rainbow welcome at her. ‘Thank you; thank you so much!’ she exclaimed, turning to grasp the housekeeper’s hands.
‘You bring us music, signorina, but all we can bring you in return is flowers.’
‘What do you mean “all”?’ Savannah exclaimed. ‘This means everything to me.’
Tears stung her eyes as she remembered this was the sort of thing her family did for each other at home. The housekeeper had given her the one thing money couldn’t buy, and that was a genuine welcome. Conscious of Ethan standing at her side, and knowing how difficult he found dealing with displays of emotion, she expressed her feelings more calmly to him. ‘This is wonderful, isn’t it? You have great people working for you. I hope you appreciate them.’
He would think her presumptuous, Savannah realised, though she could read nothing on Ethan’s face. But she had to say something, because his staff had carved an oasis of light and beauty for her from his cold, dark palazzo, and now she was eager to do the same for him.
He was shocked by his staff’s initiative. All he’d done was call ahead to explain the situation