When Giorgio Giovanni tracks the troublesome Jemima down in a hospital bed in Italy, he has one thing on his mind—revenge. However, the fragile woman he encounters is not the devious female he remembers. When it becomes clear that she is in danger, he risks everything to keep her safe.
Left for dead, Jemima wakes up in hospital, terrified, and with no idea of her identity. The angry man, who comes to claim her, is the only link to a shared past she can't remember. A past that threatens to destroy them, and all she has ever held dear.
With danger all around them, and their sexual chemistry off the scale, can they find their way back to each other, or is the past too devious to tame?
Be Warned: anal sex, rimming, bondage, forced seduction, sex toys, physical abuse of heroine
***
It's here, it's here!!
*dances around like a loon*
I can't think of anything nicer than starting the week with a brand new release, can you? I know a lot of you have been waiting for this book, so I hope you like Giorgio's and Jemima's story, and just to whet your appetite a bit, rather than the usual excerpt, which you can check out at
Evernight Publishing I thought I would share the start of the book with you.
So, get a cuppa and enjoy :-)
***
Chapter One
~Fear, it paralyses you, invades
every pore of your body and mind, until you cannot think, cannot breathe,
cannot move~
Stood under the steady stream of hot
water, Giorgio Giovanni shut his eyes and let the water soothe his aching
muscles, after yet another sleepless night. He'd thought he was over her, that
he'd finally beaten his obsession, but it was useless. After the initial shock
of the phone call had worn off, he'd set to work to find her, mindful of the
promises he'd made to the better one of the twins. It had proven a futile
exercise. Jemima Donavan had disappeared off the face of the earth, or so it
seemed. For the second time in ten years, she'd successfully disappeared. Sure,
he might have been able to find her back then, but he'd thought himself lucky
to have escaped her clutches. Back then, he couldn't have cared less what had
happened to her. Now—too much was at stake.
The insistent ringing of the
telephone broke through his brooding thoughts and he swore under his breath. What
now? Stepping out of the shower, he
wrapped a towel around his lean hips. He flicked his slightly too long strands
of wet, black hair off his face, and scowled at the phone trying to buzz itself
of the vanity unit.
He rescued the smart phone before it
clattered onto the marble tiles of his en-suite bathroom, and his expression
darkened when he read the display.
"Si?" The single word sliced through the humid air like a whip with its terse
command, and Giorgio's grip on the shower cubicle tightened. The knuckles of
his hand turned white, and his dark eyebrows drew together in a murderous
frown, as he listened to the hastily delivered words tumbling down the phone.
"Si. Grazie, dottore."
He clicked the phone off and ran a
hand over his morning stubble. His eyes closed, he shook his head to clear the
unexpected fog of emotion. So, she was awake at last. About damn time. Another face swam
into his mind. A worried, female voice pleading down the phone.
"Please, Giorgio, if you know
anything, please. You've got to help. With your connections you can find her,
right? I'm worried. Marco says not to, but I know something is wrong. Don't ask
me to explain it. I just know she's in trouble. I know I have no right to ask this
of you, but please, she's my sister."
He swore again. A loud string of
vicious Italian swear words that reverberated around the steamed up room, and
would have earned him a clout around the ears from Mamma G, had she heard him.
And there was the other reason for his annoyance.
How his aunt had found out the ins
and outs of his relationship with Jemima he had no idea, but she clearly had.
"You will do what is right for
this family, boy. There has been enough drama. I expect you to put this right
in any way you can. Failure is not an option."
He wiped the steam off the bathroom
mirror with a hand towel and frowned at his expression. Was it any wonder sleep
eluded him these days? With both his cousins happily married, Mamma G had set
her sights on him. Living in Italy had given him some leeway up 'til now, but
his time was up. She expected him to marry and start producing bambinos. He bit
back a harsh laugh. He was one up at least, as for the other…
Dannazioni, why did there have to be two of them? And why
was his cousin married to the better one? The ghost of a smile crossed his
stern features as he thought of Elise and Marco. After a turbulent first year
of marriage they were blissfully happy, with a houseful of foster kids. Forcing
Elise and his cousin together had to have been the only good thing the devious
Jemima had ever done in her life, albeit without meaning to.
Elise's flamboyant twin sister left
a trail of destruction behind wherever she set foot. This time, at least, she
had brought that destruction to her own life, and had it just been her, Giorgio
would have left her to rot in the newest, tangled web, she'd created. Call it
Karma, but the little harlot deserved everything coming to her. Giorgio crunched his teeth and willed his
temper to subside. They said she had amnesia, couldn't remember who she was, or
where she was—a byproduct of the blow to the head she'd received in the car
accident that left her lying in a ditch.
Giorgio's finely honed instincts
smelled a rat. That stretch of road was completely straight, visibility
excellent even at night time, and Jemima was not known for her understated
dress sense. She would have stood out like a beacon on that road, and there had
been no skid marks. The driver had simply run her off the road, and left her
for dead.
Clearly, Jemima had pissed off the
wrong people, and until he knew what exactly she was involved in, he'd have to
be on his guard. Lucky for her that he took his vows seriously, even if they
meant nothing to her.
He shook his head in disgust at the
besotted fool he'd once been, as unbidden memories swamped him. Never again
would he be taken in by a pretty face.
****
Verona—Ten years prior
The screech of brakes echoed around
the little plaza. A string of Italian curses followed, overlaid by even more
colorful English swear words aimed at the driver of the little Fiat. The
elderly man hung out of the window, gesticulating madly at the tourist he'd
almost run over. The little, dark blonde bundle of curves flipped him the
finger and aimed her Doc Martin clad foot at the side of the driver's door. The
driver sped off with another curse, leaving a flutter of colorful paper behind.
The perfectly aimed high kick had
given everyone in the plaza a perfect view of purple, lacy underwear as the
lime green belt like excuse for her skirt flew up. Giorgio's smile deepened at
the flash of creamy, pale skin of inner thighs that belonged to perfectly
shaped, slim legs. The owner of those legs stood still for a minute, her full
lips tightly pinched together, as she surveyed the scene of devastation around
her. Arms on gently flared hips, her impressive cleavage rose and fell in her
agitation, and threatened to burst over the top of her tightly cinched leather
Basque. Rainbow chains of jewelry completed the bizarre outfit.
Madonna, eat your heart out.
At first glance Giorgio had her
pegged for some sort of hooker, but looking closer he amended that silent
judgment. The papers now settling all round her, were pieces of
artwork—watercolors and black and white sketches—some of them ruined from the
tires of the car, others curled at the edges—the puddles on the cobbled stones
of the plaza now a mix of rainbow rivulets of water. He winced at the ruin of
undoubted hours of work.
Sure enough, the young woman
hunkered down on her haunches in an attempt to rescue as many of the pieces as
she could, but it was useless. A gust of wind scattered the papers further.
Like tumbleweed they tossed along the ground. One flew up in his face, and
Giorgio scanned it with a low, appreciative whistle. She was good. Very good.
His mind made up, he abandoned his espresso and joined her in the desperate
hunt.
By the time he'd gathered an armful,
the first few, fat drops of yet another downpour stopped them both.
"I don't fucking believe it!
What next? Trust me to come to Italy and get nothing but fucking rain and
stupid dimwits who've won their driver's license in the fucking lottery."
The honeyed tones washed over him, and he had to suppress another smile at the
discrepancy between the words and the cultured English accent.
"I fail to see what's so bloody
funny? Are ye just gonna stand there, staring down my cleavage, or are you
gonna actually help me? Blasted Italian male idiots." The accent slipped
again, into something more like the colloquial English Giorgio was used to from
visiting his cousins in London. It seemed the young lady in front of him had
many talents. Chocolate brown eyes glared daggers at him, and she pushed the
wet strands of her hair off her face with an impatient wave of her hand and a
muttered, "Men!"
She hoisted the plastic folder of
her work higher up her waist, and he couldn't be sure whether it was tears or
the now steadily falling rain that caused the wetness on her face. Without
saying a word he grasped her elbow and steered her under the cover of the
nearest shop canopy. The shop itself was closed for lunch, and they had to
huddle together to hide from the sheet of rain now pelting the plaza.
"Jesus, if I wanted rain, I
could have stayed in London." She shrieked as another gust of wind blew
the rain under their shelter, and Giorgio's free arm went 'round her waist
instinctively to draw her closer into his warmth. The other still clutched the
artwork he'd managed to grab before rain stopped play. The temperature had dropped
dramatically with the storm, and soaked through as she was, she must be getting
cold. This close to her he could see the gooseflesh breaking out on her exposed
skin.
"Did you get caught in the
earlier downpour, too?" he asked. Her eyes widened in surprise, and
Giorgio suppressed another grin. "Si.
I speak English, and this blasted Italian male idiot heard every word of
your earlier outburst. And for the record, this idiot did not win his driver's
license, though I grant you I can't be too sure about the other fellows you
encountered."
A slight flush spread across her
cheeks at his words, and her eyes narrowed, as if to assess him better. The
slow appraisal she gave his body had his insides tighten in need. It had been a
while since he last lost himself in willing female flesh, and this little
spitfire standing close enough to him that the scent of her skin invaded his
senses, promised to be an interesting interlude. Already the inherent
contradictions he'd witnessed piqued his interest. He flashed her his best
killer smile and was rewarded with a haughty sniff and sideways glance from
under her naturally long eyelashes. An enticing little cluster of freckles on
her jaw drew his gaze, and he watched her pulse speed up with a satisfied grin.
Definitely not immune to him. Not
that many women were. Giorgio was used to female adoration. With classic dark
looks, a six foot plus frame, and the Giovanni name behind him, women were
drawn to him like moths to the proverbial flame. Little did they know that the
vineyard was in severe financial trouble, thanks to the debt his drunkard of a
father and said father's flamboyant string of ex-wives had accrued. Having
recently come into ownership of his heritage, Giorgio had been hard at work
trying to rebuild the vineyard's reputation, which had led to a pact with the
devil, and had left little time for pursuits of the flesh.
So, he was long overdue a little
indulgence, and this little female shivering in his arms would do just fine.
The rain had changed to a light drizzle, but the clouds hung low in the sky and
foretold more heavy rain to come.
"We should take our chances
while we can." He glanced at the ever darkening sky and tightened his hold
on her waist. She stiffened in his arms and pushed against his chest.
"We aren't doing a
thing. You may think you're God's gift to womankind, but this English
girl is not one of your easily impressed local girls." She glared at him,
and he let her go. But damn it, if the barely banked passion in the expressive
pools of her brown eyes didn't have him grow hard as nails.
"I appreciate you picking those
up for me." She gestured to the bundle of papers tucked under his other
arm. "But thanks to that idiotic countryman of yours, I'm now behind on my
assignment. So, if you're planning on a roll in the hay with me, you can forget
it. I've lost weeks of work, dammit."
"I was more thinking of several
rolls on satin sheets, but whatever floats your boat, dolce mia. I aim
to please. Giorgio Giovanni at your service." He flashed her
another practiced smile that changed to one of genuine amusement as her mouth
formed into a silent O.
"My. I'm surprised you fit
under here with an ego that size, and is that name supposed to mean something
to me? You're local royalty or some such claptrap, that I should shiver in my
boots? Spread my thighs and lie back and think of England? Well, dream on,
buster."
Her tone mocked him, but her breath
hitched when he leaned in closer and traced the shell of her ear with his
tongue. He bit down on the soft flesh, and the hand still resting on his chest
curled into the fabric of his tee. Her barely suppressed moan shot straight to
his cock, and he tightened the hold on her waist. His fingers found the silky
skin where Basque and skirt didn't quite meet, and he swallowed his own groan
as his cock pressed painfully against the denim fly of his jeans.
"Whatever makes you think I'd
want you lying back? Far too vanilla for my liking. No, I like my women
screaming my name as they beg me for their orgasm, whilst my cock is so deeply
buried in their ass they see stars."
She went very still at his whispered
words, and just as he wondered whether he'd read her all wrong, she cupped his
aching shaft through the fabric, barely holding in his erection.
"Well, in that case, you'd
better show me that you can use this big boy." She smiled up at him, and
what little blood hadn't already shot to his groin pooled south. He yanked her
hair back to make her look at him, and her lips parted. He wasted no time
slipping inside the moist, warm haven of her mouth. She met each one of his
bold strokes with one of her own and ground her pussy into his groin. He caged
her in against the stone wall of the patisserie, and took the kiss deeper. By
the time he wrenched his mouth away, they were both breathing heavily and the
musk of her arousal hung heavy between them.
"Dio santo, dolce mia.
Who are you?"
****
Giorgio watched the nurse fuss over
the frail woman in the hospital bed, and he forced himself to unclench his
tights fists. Seeing her awake made the change in her even more shocking. Gone
were the curves he remembered losing himself in. The pale woman huddling on her
side barely made an indent under the starched linen covers. Her brown eyes
looked too huge for her heart-shaped face, her mass of tangled, dark blonde
hair the only splash of color to break the sea of white surrounding her. Oxygen
tracks were still under her nose, the rapid beat of the monitor testament to
her agitation. She looked terrified, the expressions in her doe-like eyes
reminding him of a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights. Bile churned in
his gut. She must have looked just like that when the hit-and-run driver bore
down on her. Giorgio swore under his breath when she flinched away from the
young male nurse trying to take her pulse. The Jemima he knew took every
opportunity to flirt. She positively craved touch and attention, did not shrink
away from it like a wilting flower.
The rush of protectiveness he felt,
when she drew her knees up to her chest and screwed her eyes shut, took him by
surprise. He didn't need to complicate this. Jemima was an accomplished
actress, a liar, and a cheat, who had taken him for a fool. He needed to hold
onto those facts and ignore the way his blood heated, seeing her bite her plump
bottom lip. He'd made a promise, one he would stick to, but that didn't mean he
would ignore this opportunity for revenge. She would rue the day she crossed
him.
Giorgio took a deep breath and
schooled his features into a well-practiced mask of indifference, as he pulled
open the door to Jemima's private room, and addressed the doctor writing in her
notes.
"Dottore, how is my wife?"
****
Buy Links:
http://www.evernightpublishing.com/too-devious-to-tame-by-doris-oconnor/
http://www.amazon.com/Devious-Tame-Giovanni-Clan-ebook/dp/B00B6WUK1K
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Devious-Tame-Giovanni-Clan-ebook/dp/B00B6WUK1K
http://www.bookstrand.com/too-devious-to-tame-mf
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-toodevioustotame-1049813-149.html
