Page 1 of Under Her Skin

Under Her Skin

Arrogant Italian billionaire, Arturo Bachi, is outraged when the final apartment in the building he plans to turn into a hotel is bought at an exclusive auction by someone who outbids him at the last minute. His ire fades after he meets a gorgeous young woman with whom he spends a passionate, life-altering one-night stand. Arturo is immediately enchanted; it doesn’t hurt that she’s the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, even if she won’t tell him her real name. Though still scarred by the murder of his teenage sweetheart Flavia twenty years earlier, Arturo’s frozen heart begins tothaw.

What he doesn’t know is that Hero Donati is the person who bought the apartment, and she is trying to escape a terrible tragedy in her past that keeps her terrified of ever giving her heart awayagain.

Though the two quickly begin fall in love their problems are far from over. Hero’s other neighbor, George Galiano, Arturo’s friend-turned-sworn-enemy makes a play for Hero’s heart. Soon, Hero is trapped in a bitter war between the two men and finds herself not knowing who totrust.

Worse still, Flavia’s killer makes it known that he now has Hero in hissights…

Can Arturo and Hero fight for their love, and their lives, or will they be torn apart in the most brutal and devastatingway?

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ChapterOne

Arturo Bachi smiled at his guests as he raised his glass. “Tomorrow the final apartment in theVilla Patrizziwill go up for auction, and I’ve been assured by the seller that it will finally be mine. So, friends and fellow investors, let’s drink to Lake Como’s finest and most exclusive hotel—the futureHotelBachi!”

His friends cheered and applauded him, and Arturo stepped off the stage to talk with his guests. After an hour where it seemed he’d shaken hands with everyone in Northern Italy, he was relieved when his best friend, Peter, spirited himaway.

“Fortitude and strength,” Peter grinned at his friend as they sat down at the edge of Arturo’s estate, overlooking Lake Como’s gentle waves. Further across the water, an alpine town nestled into the mountains softly lit up thenight.

Peter had snagged a bottle of Scotch for them, and they lit cigars. Peter smiled at his friend’s satisfied expression. “So close, now, Turo. Can you see it coming together quickly after the sale issettled?”

Arturo nodded. “I can. Everything is in place: the construction teams, architects. Everyone is just waiting for my go-order. God, Peter, it seems like finally, my dream is coming true.” His green eyes shone with excitement. “I was rethinking the name though. Hotel Bachi seems…a little self-indulgent.”

Peter shrugged. “Not necessarily, but I take your point. The main thing is—we’re close. Do you think the apartment will sell formuch?”

Arturo shook his head. “It’s tiny; only four rooms. I’m going to turn it into a suite with the adjoining apartment. I think I’ll get it for a steal; the Board has set a price limit, so after we secure it, we’ll be able to afford to go ahead with every design feature asplanned.”

He sighed as he continued, “A part of me wishes that I’d used my own money, then I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone about budgets. But my accountant wouldn’t let me.” He shot a mock-scowl over to his friend, who shrugged good-naturedly.

“I just didn’t want you to go broke, buddy. With this and your other hotels around the world…you’re stretching yourself, and you know it. You can’t rely on your trust fund to keep you afloat. Philipo could withdraw it at anymoment.”

Arturo sighed. His uncle Philipo had been made executor of Arturo’s father’s will because Arturo was too young to take over the company after Frederico died. Soon after, the grieving teenager had tumbled into alcohol and drugs, and since then, Philipo had handed out Arturo’s inheritance in regulated increments. Arturo would inherit the bulk of his inheritance—nearly a billion Euros—at age forty. He both admired and resented his uncle for his decisions, but his caution had forced Arturo to leave the wild life behind and work towards his own fortune. Property had been Arturo’s chosen career path and, with his natural talent and flair for it, he had earned his first billion Euros by the time he wasthirty.

Now at thirty-nine, he was on the cusp of adding this inheritance to his own fortune and becoming one of the world’s richest men. Arturo lived for his work, but he also enjoyed the trappings of his wealth, and it didn’t hurt that he was considered one of Italy’s—perhaps even one of the world’s—handsomest and most eligiblebachelors.

A face that could look warm and friendly one moment, and dangerous and brooding the next, his teenage beauty had matured into a more masculine and sculptured face: his large green eyes ringed with thick, midnight-black lashes; his brows dark and heavy; his beard trimmed but not overly fussy; his sensual mouth just a hint too full; his wild black curls untamed. It had to be said—Arturo Bachi was sensational, and he knewit.

He had no time for relationships and was always honest with his many conquests, but Arturo never slept with the same woman twice. Not since Flavia, his sweetheart in college. He had loved Flavia with all his heart: she was his future, his true north, his love. And Flavia had loved him for himself, not the rich, handsome boy born into wealth and opportunity, but the goofy, fun-loving boy with the big heart and poetry in hissoul.

They were inseparable until that one fateful night when Arturo had been ten minutes late to the party, and Flavia had been taken by another man, one with hate in his heart and murder in hissoul.

They had found Flavia a week later, stabbed multiple times, her body dumped in the lake. Arturo had run to the lake as soon as the news hit the radio; he had made it just in time to see her brought up onto the bank, her long, dark hair wrapped around her body, her usually dark olive skin so grey and wan. The water had washed the blood away, but Arturo could clearly see the stab wounds in her stomach—vicious, brutal. He had fallen to his knees and screamed until his friends Peter and George had come to gethim.

Arturo thought of Flavia now, her kind, brown eyes shining up at him. As usual, her image turned his mind to imagining how scared, how terrified she must have been as her killer took herlife.

God.An involuntary groan slipped out, and Peter glanced at his friend. “Youokay?”

Arturo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Peter, who had always been able to read Arturo’s mind, looked at him with sympathy. “Flavia?”

Arturo nodded. “Maybe…HotelFlavia?”

Peter sighed. “Arturo, as sweet as that gesture would be, it’s not going to help you allow her to rest in peace. It’s been twenty years,buddy.”

Arturo nodded, knowing Peter was right. His eyes slid across the lake to George’s villa. George Galliano, his other friend on that night. A friend nomore.

“Hey.” Peter nudged his shoulder. “Stop wallowing. Let’s get back to yourguests.”