The Italian's Future Bride
IT WAS like playing Russian roulette with your sex life: place a loaded invitation in the barrel, then shoot and see if you scored a hit.
Everyone was doing it, Raffaelle Villani observed cynically--the young and nubile, complete with breast implants and carefully straightened and dyed blonde hair. They circled the room eyeing up likely victims, picked the richest man they could find, then primed him and fired their lucky shot.
Or unlucky, depending from which side of the fence you viewed it.
Some you win, some you lose, he mused as one eager player tried the deal on him only to be rewarded with the sight of his back.
Contempt twisting his lean golden features, he beat a retreat to the furthest corner of the room where the bar was situated. Discarding his untouched glass of champagne, he ordered a glass of full-blooded red wine to take its place.
Functions like this were the pits and he would not have come but for his stepsister twisting his arm. He owed Daniella a favour for pulling him out of a tricky situation recently with a woman who had been about to become his latest lover--until Daniella had whispered in his ear that the ... read full excerpt from The Italian's Future Bride ebook
