Bought by the Rich Man: Taken by the Highest Bidder / Bought by Her Latin Lover / Bought by the Billionaire. Jane Porter

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СКАЧАТЬ knew who she was, and what she was, and Johann was right. She wasn’t a sexual woman, not even a sensual woman. Despite the wedding ring on her finger, she had no knowledge of men, of sex, or desire. And she was content to leave it that way. A woman didn’t have to be sexual. A woman didn’t need a man. She’d been alone for years but she wasn’t alone anymore. She had Gabby. She loved Gabby. “I’ll do this…go to him…settle your debt, on one condition. You let me adopt her.”

      “It’s out of my hands.”

      He acted as if Gabby was nothing more than a tennis ball. He’d just throw her in any direction, toss her where it suited him. “Impossible! You’re her father, her legal guardian—”

      “But I told you, Sam. God, I do wish you’d listen.” Irritably Johann pressed the crystal tumbler to his temple. “Cristiano is coming for you. He wants you. You. Understand?”

      She heard him, but she didn’t understand.

      The idea of a man wanting her was more than she could comprehend and she stared at Johann so long it hurt her eyes, her mind, her heart.

      Baron van Bergen was handsome and dissolute. Selfish. Impulsive. Immature. And the father of the most gorgeous child with the most beautiful heart. Sam had been a nanny for some of the wealthiest, famous families in the world and she’d never met a child like Gabriela van Bergen before.

      “I want to see him,” she choked. “I want to see him now.”

      “He’s coming later, Sam.”

      “I won’t wait. I must see him now. I must speak to him now—”

      “And tell me what?” The voice drawled from the doorway and even without looking Sam recognized the voice. Cristiano Bartolo. The devil had arrived.

      CHAPTER TWO

      AN ICY heat washed through Sam. Skin prickling, she turned on the sofa’s arm to face the door and was immediately struck by heat, a dark heat that seared and burned from all the way across the room. “How did you get in?” she demanded.

      Cristiano held up a key ring. “My key.”

      “Your key.”

      His broad shoulders twisted and he smiled that same mocking smile he’d smiled last night. “My villa.”

      It wasn’t much of a villa, not in its current state of shabby disrepair. When Sam first met Johann, he had a larger, finer villa on the Rock, close to the royal palace, tucked in an elegant old square, set off by equally elegant old fountains, but as his financial picture changed, so did their accommodations.

      “You’re mad,” she said, digging her hands into the couch, looking at Johann, heart racing, adrenaline surging through her in sickening fashion. “You’re both mad. You don’t wager homes. Wives. Families.” But Johann’s eyes were closed, his empty glass cock-eyed in his lap and Sam’s glance swung wildly back to Bartolo. “You can’t take someone’s wife.”

      “You can if she’s wagered.”

      Sam swayed on the arm of the sofa, swayed and laughed. She had to laugh. She didn’t know what else to do. This was absurd. This was a farce. It had to be. Johann was trying to scare her, trying to make a point. Obviously he was in over his head. Obviously he’d lost a great deal of money last night. “Exactly how much do we owe you?”

      The man stood several inches taller than Johann, but was twice as thick through his shoulders and chest. Broad shouldered and powerfully built, he wore his dark hair long so that it brushed the collar of his black leather coat. “Nothing now, Baroness van Bergen. Your husband has settled his debt.”

      She ignored the dart of pain inside her chest. Johann had settled the debt by giving her away. She knew her husband didn’t love her, or like her, but still, to be traded, bartered, it was so brutal it wounded. “I’m obviously not for sale, Mr. Bartolo. It’s a mistake—”

      “No mistake,” he interrupted almost gently. “We’ve met with lawyers, signed papers, sorted things legally. I’ve absolved him of his debt. Therefore, you leave with me.”

      “Leave with you,” she repeated dumbly.

      “Yes. You might be married to Johann, but you’re not his woman anymore. You’re mine.”

      Anything she was about to say slipped from her lips. How to answer that bold, arrogant, appalling assertion?

      Silent, she looked up at him, and what she saw filled her with fresh fear.

      He was calm. Relaxed. Completely in control.

      She struggled to match his calm. “Mr. Bartolo, if you’ll tell me what we owe you, we can get this sorted out.” She tried to look him square in the eye, wanting to demonstrate her strength, but it meant tilting her head back and now, with her neck exposed, she felt even more vulnerable than before.

      “You think?”

      Sam didn’t like looking up at him, didn’t like the expression on his face, in his eyes. He was like a wolf alone with a penned lamb.

      But she wasn’t a lamb. And she wasn’t an ingenue, either. She’d lived for twenty-eight years, had been a nanny for nearly ten. She carried no false illusions about life. Or men. Perhaps there were a few good ones, but most were very selfish and none were saints. “What do we owe you?” she repeated crisply.

      “This isn’t about money, Baroness.”

      “It’s always about money, Mr. Bartolo.”

      Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. His eyes, neither green nor gold, warmed. “You don’t think it could be about love?”

      She tried to laugh but it came out broken, strangled. She’d been in love once, years ago, and it had ended so swiftly, so tragically she knew she’d never love again. “You don’t even know me, Mr. Bartolo.”

      “I know what I see.”

      “Hair? Eyes? Face?” She snorted contemptuously. “That’s not love. That’s…” And her voice faded as his gaze met hers and she saw in his eyes something so intense, so explosive…fear lapped at her, hot, dangerous, deadly.

      His eyes never left hers. “What, Baroness?”

      Her limbs went weak, so weak it was as if she were swimming in cold, dense, murky water. Her head spun. Her legs felt close to collapse. “Indecent,” she whispered, the only word coming to mind. And it was indecent. His thoughts. His actions. His words.

      “And maybe it is.” Still smiling faintly, he glanced at his watch, then shook down his sleeve. “It’s nine now. I’ll send my car for you at four. That should give you enough time to pack, say your goodbyes and do whatever it is you need to do.”

      She looked away, vision blurred, mind equally fogged. Sam had nothing to pack but it was the goodbyes that tore at her, the goodbyes she feared most. She loved Gabriela as if the child were her own. “You really intend to do this?”

      “Baroness, your husband owes me over ten million pounds. What do you expect me to do?”

      The СКАЧАТЬ