Claimed By Dad's Italian Best Friend: An Instalove Possessive Alpha Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 173) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Claimed By Dad's Italian Best Friend

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  About the Author

  CLAIMED BY DAD'S ITALIAN BEST FRIEND

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 173

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  CLAIMED BY DAD'S ITALIAN BEST FRIEND

  Dana

  Under the hot Tuscan sun, this virgin finds the older man of her dreams. It doesn't matter that he's Dad's best friend and business partner, or that out in Italy, he might as well be my boss. I've wanted him since before I met him, but now I'm here, is there really a chance for all my Italian dreams to come true?

  Beppe

  Dana's all the woman I can handle, and the only woman that I want. We share an appetite for more than good food and it doesn't matter that she's my best friend's daughter. This older man can't wait to claim her and show her what an Italian lover can really do.

  *Claimed By Dad's Italian Best Friend is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Beppe

  From the back of the vaulted Botticelli Room of the Uffizi Gallery I pin Dana's gaze with mine. Watching her speak to her audience gives me such a rush, but I wish she was giving me a one-on-one instead. I'd show her everything she needs to know about Florence.

  Forget history. Forget art. Nothing is more important than the inside of my apartment, my bedroom specifically. My body, definitely. She's worth more than every piece of art in here.

  My pupils dilate as she gestures to the picture on the wall behind her, saying something that is no doubt deeply knowledgeable, but I'm not looking at it. My breathing shifts in time with the subtle rise and fall of her chest and I lean in towards her, barely realizing it, magnetized by her presence as she carries on speaking. I can't stop my eyes from tracing the swell of her ample breasts beneath the white silk of her blouse.

  I don't care about the portrait some long-dead man created. She's right here and now, curvaceous and vital and very much in her prime and she has my full attention. She always does.

  Arms folded across my chest, legs spread wide in an effort to alleviate the pressure of my zipper against my straining erection, it's all I can do to keep myself planted in one spot. At thirty-eight I shouldn't have this problem, but every time I look at her I'm ready to take her up against the gallery walls like my body already knows that she's meant to be mine.

  It doesn't matter that she's only eighteen, I want her in an uncontrollable, feral kind of way. Me Tarzan, her Jane. I want to drag her back to my cave and show her exactly what I want to do to her. Not just for one night, deep down I know she is supposed to be the mother of my children and I won't be satisfied until I've planted my seed deep inside her and made her belly swell, claimed her as mine forever and made her forget any other men exists.

  Never mind that I'm her father's best friend. No one, not even him, could stand in my way.

  I'm not quite leaning against the pristine white wall, I couldn't be so relaxed when she's in the same room. I'm watching every move she makes, listening to every word she says, but I want so much more.

  It's a good thing I'm tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd of geriatric culture-vultures hanging onto every word she says as she explains the paintings on the walls around us, otherwise by now I'd have done something I'd regret to whichever octogenarian got in my way. And that's not the kind of behavior I pride myself on.

  There's no other woman in the world who can capture my attention the way this young woman can. So what if she's got two dozen pairs of eyes looking in her direction? Most of them are focused on the picture of Venus riding her clamshell on the gallery wall behind her, listening to her perfect, soft voice tell them all the things any tourist wants to hear about the major artworks in the city. Just enough to clue them in without sending them off into a coma, so they can go back to America feeling cultured.

  Good for them. They can go back. But I'm finding a way to keep Dana right here with me.

  I've heard it all a thousand times before out of the mouth of her father, but when she talks about Botticelli, I can't get enough. Right where she's standing, I can see everything I need to know she puts this Venus to shame, not that I needed the confirmation. She's a goddess in her own right - voluptuous and fertile and feminine and I want to burst her open like an overripe peach and drink in her juices. I can't stop my eyes from roving hungrily over her, taking in her curvaceous figure and imagining what's beneath that frilly blouse and skirt she's wearing.

  I can see her blush start to heat her cheeks and her eyes widen slightly, like she's asking what I'm staring at as she rubs at the back of her neck, making me want to see her arch it even more. One day I'm going to make her throw her head back and moan in sheer ecstasy.

  How could she not know that she's the one who has all of my attention? I have to fold my arms across my chest to hold myself back. My wide stance isn't doing anything to help disguise my straining erection. She makes me rock hard, even when I'm not thinking about how much better that picture would be if it showed her up there, naked on a clamshell, with her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and all her curves out on display.

  Only, I'd never let so many people stare at her. If she was in that painting, I'd steal it off the wall and take it home, lock it away so that I would be the only one who ever got to see her body like that. I never was any good at sharing, and Dana makes me the most possessive I've ever been.

  Imagining her naked should make me feel like a dirty old man, given she's my best friend's daughter but it doesn't. How could it? Every urge in me is natural and the way I want her is undeniable.

  We reach the last room of the gallery on the tour and Dana announces that it's time for the group to look around at leisure, explore the cafe, the gift shop, whatever they want, because we're all done for the day.

  Those are the words I've been waiting for. I'm ready to go right over to her and make my move. I'll take her back to my suite at the best hotel in the city and w
e'll go out to eat if I can convince myself to let her out of the door again.

  I push my way through the crowd, following her as she walks over to the outside cafe. As soon as we're away from the air conditioning the warmth of the sun on my skin is obvious, but I'm used to the heat. Dana's more flushed in the face and she picks up a leaflet to fan herself with.

  Two guys who look like the type who come to these places to hassle tourists come up to her before I make my way over.

  I can hear them talking to each other in rapid fire Italian before they switch back to English to address her directly.

  "This one's gonna do exactly what we want, just as long as we tell the stupid cow she's beautiful. American's can't resist an Italian man. She's too young to figure anything out. It'll be like taking candy from a baby."

  "You reckon she's wealthy?"

  "Look at that camera. It's top of the range!"

  My hands balled into tense fists as I imagined ripping out this sleaze ball's jugular with my bare hands. No one tries to make a mark out of my woman. Especially not in my city.

  And that's what Dana is. What she should be. What she's going to be, just as soon as I can get these guys away from her.

  The pair of them stride over, all toothy smiles and slicked back hair, hands that they should learn to keep to themselves if they know what's good for them.

  "Bellissima. Where have you been all my life?"

  Like it has a life of its own, my hand clamps down hard on the shoulder of the first guy who's stupid enough to approach her and I let out a guttural growl as I tug him back a step.

  Dana looks up, face blank with confusion and I remember she doesn't speak a word of Italian. Maybe that's a good thing. She won't understand what I'm about to say.

  "Try it with her and I will personally strangle you with the strap of her top of the range camera."

  The man lets out a growl of his own and for a moment I'm caught off guard as he elbows me squarely in the gut. I grunt, halfway to doubling-over before I catch myself on the back step. That's an insult too far. Enraged, I make a grab for him, spinning him around and I let out an almighty roar as I land a real haymaker square on his jaw.

  The trickster goes down like a sack of pasta flour in one hit, and I round on his buddy with fury burning in my eyes.

  "Nobody tries to steal from my woman, do you understand me?" That, I say in English. I want Dana to hear every single word.

  There's a shout from behind me, and I know that the clatter of feet on the wooden floor is the sound of the gallery's security force assembling. I don't care. If they'd been doing their jobs in the first place, men like these who only come in here to prey on tourists wouldn't even have been let in.

  The second man has his hands held high and he steps back a pace, like he's trying to get away from me.

  "Arrest him, before I take the law into my own hands," I bellow. "These two men were trying to steal her camera!"

  I'm a well known face in here, but even if I wasn't, I would make sure I was heard. The chief of security takes my word for it, grabbing the guy who's looking like he appreciates the depth of his mistake in getting out of bed that morning.

  But when I look back to see Dana, I realize she's not there.

  My brows knit together and I grab the arm of the nearest member of the group tour. "Where did Dana go?"

  "I don't know honey. She just took off. I think you scared her. You sure scared all of us."

  I let out another growl, though this one rumbles out barely louder than breathing. I never want to see fear in her eyes because of me. Whatever it takes, I'm going to make it right between us, I'm going to follow her wherever she goes to make her see that we're meant to be together.

  I said that she’s mine, and I meant it. I'll do whatever it takes to make that true. I haven't got a choice when she holds me hostage with every single move she makes. One way or another, she's going to be with me and I'll chase her to the ends of the earth if that's what it takes to get her to see she's meant for me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dana

  With a deep sigh of relief, I close the door to my hotel room firmly behind me.

  I have no idea what all that was about in the gallery, but boy am I glad to be back at the palazzo we're staying in.

  I've never seen Beppe get so mad, and if there's one thing my Dad ever taught me, it's that when there's trouble coming, get away from it as fast as you can. Whatever those two guys said clearly rubbed him up the wrong way. He had to be pretty riled to start talking like I was his.

  I mean, sure, I'm under his protection, so to speak. Dad made him promise he'd look out for me otherwise he never would have agreed to let me come out here all the way from New York, but I didn't even let myself dare hope that he’d see me as anything other than a kid to protect. No matter how much I want to show him that I'm not.

  Beppe sorts everything out, he always does for Dad's tours, but usually that's a question of sorting out all the hotels and restaurants in advance, or getting one of his staff to do that, and handing the details over to the tour guide Dad puts in place, but with me he's been much more hands on since the moment I landed in Italy. Not that I'm complaining.

  If I had my way, he'd be even more hands on than he has been. I might be a virgin, but I'm not oblivious to my sexual urges and when I look at Beppe, things happen between my thighs that I've never experienced before. He's the kind of man I've always dreamed of being with, and even though he's so much closer to Dad's age than mine, I can't get the image of us together out of my head. The past few weeks have been torture trying to hide it.

  I mean, he's done me proud making sure I have everything I practically need, right from when I landed in Italy, but there's one thing he's been holding back on. I was never expecting him to start coming along to watch me work, and under his gaze the only thing I can focus on is what I think his mouth would feel like pressed hard against mine, what his hands all over my body would make me feel like. I want him more than I know what to do with, and I wish he wanted me like that too.

  I should be grateful that he's there looking out for me - and I am - but a little pathetic part of me wishes that he wasn't just doing it all because of what he promised Dad. I want to show him I'm not some kid who needs taking care of. That I could be the only woman he ever needs.

  Maybe that's why I left the gallery instead of sticking around to see how that ridiculous fight played out. I don't need him pulling stunts like that. I have enough street smarts to know what two guys laying it on thick because they think they can get something out of me looks like. Hell, I'm probably the worst target they could have picked. Guys don't hit on me. Not guys like this city is full of - all effortlessly tanned and well muscled, dressed in clothes that show off their bodies in ways that make my mouth water and a choice of all the skinny-thighed Italian wannabe models towering above me on killer heels in clingy designer dresses.

  I'm hardly model material. Unless you're looking for short and curvy, and let's face it, most people aren't. But Beppe could give them all a run for their money, and darn it, that's me thinking about him again, because he's the only one in my fantasies, and he always has been.

  I'm here to work for a whole year before I go off to college and, hopefully, I'll show him exactly how much of a woman I am. All I want is for him to see me like that, rather than just as his best friend's daughter.

  Beppe's been my fantasy man right from when I started playing happy families with Barbie and Ken as a kid. I have no delusions about that, no matter how many times Dad tells me I'm just built differently. Everyone knows 'big boned' is just an excuse, but I love him for telling me that any guy who makes an issue about me packing a few extra pounds isn't worth it. He's always said that when I meet the right man, he'll love every inch of me, just like Mama loved every inch of him.

  Even as a kid I knew it was a huge stretch for me to be Barbie, but Beppe looked, to me, about as close to having Ken's body as it was possible for a real live human to g
et. I guess I never really thought he'd want someone with my body type, age difference and all the other issues aside.

  He and Dad have been friends for years, but I’ve only ever really seen him in photographs and heard him having conference calls with Dad to sort everything out. They knew each other back in college when they did business studies together. Beppe had come over to the States to make sure his English was fluent enough for the tourist crowds he wanted to attract back in Italy.

  And then somewhere along the line, he'd become this successful hotel mogul and Dad started running these high-end tours for wealthy American retirees who like to spend their retirement discovering Europe. Not quite the cruise ship market, but not far from it. And they'd kept in touch, sending business each other's way.

  Beppe would send all these amazing Italian cakes and candies over in these big boxes every Christmas since before Mom died, and even when things got really low, it felt like he was looking out for both of us. I always looked forward to the soft almond cookies wrapped in waxed paper, looking like giant bonbons, all dusted with sugar. They're part of Christmas to me now because of him.

  I'd always wanted to come to Italy to meet him properly and see everything Dad always came home talking about first hand. Italy has always seemed so romantic to me, Florence specifically. And now that I'm here, it's almost better than I could have imagined.

  Beppe is definitely no Ken doll. And I'm going to have to get over the way he keeps staring at me, because there is no way that he has even half the fantasies about me that I have about him.

  The moment I saw him I knew I was doomed. When he shook my hand and pulled me into his arms for a double kiss to my cheeks, I almost swooned. The only thing I could think about was how perfect we'd be together. I want nothing more than to be by his side for the rest of my life. We could have the perfect family together and give our children the perfect home.

  I knew, instantly, that I wanted nothing more in the world than to be the mother of his children and to make sure he had a happy home of his own. I wanted to be his wife with more certainty than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.