The TROUBLE With BILLIONAIRES: Book 1 by Kristina Blake Read Free Book Online

take whatever one you want. Even the one I’m in—if you change your mind.”
                  “I won’t,” I said softly. “But thanks.”
                  He walked away, but stopped before reaching a door that led who knew where. Probably to some gilded dreamland. “In Italy, there’s something I’d really like to show you, if you’ll allow me to. You don’t have to decide now. But soon.”
                  “What is it?” I asked.
                  “A secret.”
     

Chapter Five
     
                  Wow. Like Channing Tatum wow.
    From what I had seen of it so far, Naples was stunning. We’d landed in the early hours of the morning, when the seaside city was still cast in a soft blue hue, the sun struggling to rise. I knew when it did, it’d be glorious. A Ferrari had been waiting for us when we’d existed the jet. A convertible, it was sleek and black, almost invisible in the blue dawn.
    “I’ve never ridden in a Ferrari before,” I said, taking a seat in the passenger’s side as Rawn held the door open for me.
    “I plan to show you many firsts,” he claimed, shutting the door.
    The drive to the hotel was short but worthwhile. Naples towered at an incline against the Tyrrhenian Sea, part of the Mediterranean. The sandstone buildings managed to look both ancient and modern, and mystical, as if one of Homer’s sirens could walk out of one of the houses at any moment, a phone to her ear. Watching over the city with its intimidating fortitude was Vesuvius, more god than mountain. Winding around a steeper hillside towards the outskirts of the city, we parked in front of a red sandy structure—our palatial hotel.
    Now, standing on the balcony of our hotel suite that overlooked the blue city, I realized just how glorious the world could be. Portland was quite pretty with its forests and waterways, but it was nothing compared to the natural charm of the Naples shoreline and the exquisite architecture of the hotel suite I still could not believe was mine.
    Well, ours , I thought, looking at Rawn, who sat on the plush couch in the common area, reading through his notes, unfazed by the champagne-colored wallpaper or the beige furnishings that allowed the renderings of some of Italy’s most famous paintings to steal the attention of the room. Each were cast in a gilded frame as bright as the gold drapes that cascaded down from the high windows. I did not feel that we stood in a hotel suite, more like I was waiting for an audience with the Queen of England.
    The suite had several bedrooms, none of which Rawn seemed interested in. While he prepared for our meeting with Dr. Giordano, I left the balcony and explored the rooms, finally settling on one not too dissimilar from the décor of the common area, except for the traces of purple in the satin quilt and furnishings. Leaving my luggage near the bed, I undressed and went into the bathroom, which was bigger than my room in Portland. A marble tub waited for me, and even though I knew we would soon leave for our meeting with Dr. Francesco Giordano, I soaked my troubles away, inhaling the luxurious scents of the bath creams the hotel supplied.
    I’m in Italy!
    Squealing, I sank farther into my bubbles, forgetting about the work involved, or that Rawn was outside, fully suited, and I was in here—naked, hot, and wet. This was how empresses bathed. I made a vow that this would not be the last time I bathed within marble. One day, I would own a place just as refined.
    One day… One days could be problematic. Sometimes, there wasn’t one day. There was only now. And then no more.
    “Dr. Giordano isn’t answering his phone,” Rawn said, coming into the bathroom. “Technically, he doesn’t know we’re here yet, but I see no harm driving up to his farm and calling in early.”
    Frantically covering myself with bubbles, I yelled, “Rawn! I’m in the bath!”
    “I know,” he said simply. “You’ve