Free Making over the Billionaire (an Italian Connection Novel) (Entangled Brazen) by Joan Kilby Page B

what could Layla possibly hope to achieve? He’d made his position perfectly clear. When it came right down to it, Tina wouldn’t go against his wishes. Even if she tried to, Layla would be a fool to sign a contract that wouldn’t stand up to his legal team.
    This afternoon, he would figure out what Layla wanted from him. And decide what he would do with her.

Chapter Six
    “Feel free to wear any of the clothes in the hanging lockers and use the toiletries in the head,” Sonia told Layla. “If there’s anything else you wish, please ask.”
    “Thanks. This is amazing.” Layla gazed around at her luxurious stateroom.
    After Sonia left, she explored. The bathroom was creamy marble with gold fittings and stocked with deliciously scented shampoos and lotions. There was makeup in sealed packages, brand new toothbrushes, and—her eyebrows rose slightly—a generous supply of both male and female condoms. The bedroom was dominated by a king size bed, a sitting area with two club chairs, and a coffee table bearing a vase of fresh flowers and a basket of fruit.
    Layla fell backwards onto the bed, sinking into the soft duvet. She couldn’t believe Giorgio didn’t come here more often. Man, if she owned this tub she’d never go in to the office. He really was a slave to his corporation. And he’d clamped the iron bands of servitude around his wrists and ankles himself.
    Speaking of handcuffs…she still had them in her purse. The image of him bound naked to the bed while she had her saucy way with him made her squirm pleasurably. She got hot just thinking about his thigh muscles straining against his pant leg. And those shoulders. Yum.
    He was wound so tight she ought to get him in the sack for his own good. Her eyes closed as she pictured him doing unspeakably delicious things to her. Fantasies could only take a girl so far, though. What Giorgio needed was a jolly good roger, to use the nautical parlance. Frankly, so did she.
    She checked her phone but there weren’t any more messages from Tina. A call to her number went straight to voice mail. Nothing more she could do on that front now so she might as well get ready for lunch. She showered, blow dried her hair, put on make up, and went out to investigate the teak closets, what Sonia had called hanging lockers.
    The racks were filled with dresses, shorts, skirts, and tops of every description plus evening gowns in three different sizes. All the clothing looked brand new and most still had labels on. Oh, and look at the shoes! This place was awesome.
    The bathing suits were designer but not as good as hers, if she did say so herself. Imagine if Giorgio were to stock her label in his private yacht. She bet all sorts of celebrities were guests of the Borlenghis.
    She put on her own bikini, which she just happened to have in her tote bag. To wear over that she chose a short flippy skirt and a sheer white blouse knotted high, leaving a strip of tanned skin around her waist. A pair of jeweled sandals completed her outfit. With her hair long and loose, she perched a pair of sunglasses atop her head and found her way back up to the after deck where a table was laid for lunch.
    Layla sank onto a cushioned chair beneath a shade sail and drank in her surroundings. In the bay, small sailboats bobbed past, masthead flags fluttering, toward the harbor. The city of Naples rose behind it, climbing the steep hills. It all seemed too beautiful to be true. Any minute now she would wake up from this amazing dream and find herself in her tiny apartment in gray and rainy Seattle.
    Ah, but wouldn’t it be nice if this glimpse into how the other half lived could be permanent? Not that she expected for a moment that Giorgio would be her ticket to the jet-setting life. She was more than willing to work for everything she got. All she needed was the opportunity. Speaking of opportunities…maybe after lunch she and Giorgio could have a little siesta on the daybed she’d spotted on the