Praise for Kate Hardy:

‘When you pick up a romance novel by Kate Hardy, you know that you’re going to be reading a spellbinding novel which you will want to devour in a single sitting.’

—www.cataromance.com

‘So full of passion it sizzles off the pages and has such delightful warmth.’ —marilyns-romance-reviews.blogspot.com on TEMPORARY BOSS, PERMANENT MISTRESS

‘Refreshing, captivating and feel-good … another winner from a fabulous writer whose name alone is sure-fire guarantee of high-quality romantic fiction.’

—www.cataromance.com on GOOD GIRL OR GOLD DIGGER?

About the Author

KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she also loves cooking—see if you can spot the recipes sneaked into her books. (They’re also on her website, along with excerpts and the stories behind the books.)

Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She’s been writing Medical Romances since 2001, and also writes for RIVA; her novel BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S won the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Romance Prize in 2008. She says she loves what she does because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add warmth, heart and passion, plus a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Also by Kate Hardy:

RED WINE AND HER SEXY EX

CHAMPAGNE WITH A CELEBRITY

GOOD GIRL OR GOLD DIGGER?

TEMPORARY BOSS, PERMANENT MISTRESS

HOTLY BEDDED, CONVENIENTLY WEDDED

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Moment on the Lips

Kate Hardy

www.eharlequinuk.co.uk

For Gerard, Chris and Chloe. Sempre.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS her shoes that gave her away.

Her business suit was fine. Professional. Like her pristine leather briefcase, barely there make-up and the way she wore her long hair in a simple yet elegant twist. But the heels of her shoes were much too high and much too delicate. They weren’t office shoes: they were do-me heels. And Dante Romano had known enough princessy types in his time to recognise that these were expensive do-me heels. The kind that only a rich, spoiled woman could afford.

Closing this deal was obviously going to be much less time-consuming than he’d feared. So much for his sources telling him that Carenza Tonielli was serious about taking over the family business.

‘Thank you for coming to see me, Signorina Tonielli,’ he said, standing up. ‘May I offer you some coffee? Water?’ He indicated the bottle and glasses on his desk.

‘Water would be lovely, thank you.’

‘Please, have a seat.’ He gestured to the chair on the far side of his desk and waited until she’d sat down before pouring them both a glass of water and sitting down again himself.

She picked up her glass and took a sip of water.

Beautiful hands, he thought. And shook himself mentally as a picture flashed through his head. Oh, for pity’s sake. Yes, Carenza Tonielli was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. But she was also very aware of it, and he wasn’t interested in doing anything other than business with a spoiled princess.

Liar, his libido corrected. You were thinking about what those hands would feel like against your skin. And that mouth.

That beautiful mouth. A perfect rosebud. Well, he might be thinking about it, but he certainly wasn’t going to act on his thoughts. He didn’t have the time. Not if he was going to hit the targets for his business plan. Until the franchise was off the ground, his social life was taking a definite back seat. And he wasn’t about to indulge his libido.

‘So why did you want to see me?’ she asked.

Was she really that clueless? Poor Gino. He’d made a huge mistake, handing over the business to his wayward granddaughter in the hope that she’d come good. The girl who’d left Naples to party her way round the world—and it had taken her ten years to come home. Was she really going to exchange la dolce vita for one of sheer hard work to turn the business around?

From what his sources in London had said, Dante was pretty sure that all Carenza Tonielli was interested in was having enough money to buy herself a new designer outfit for every party she attended, drink the very best champagne, and drive the very latest sports car.

None of which she’d be able to do, given the state Tonielli’s was in right now.

Well, he wouldn’t cheat her. He’d give her a fair price, the same as he’d offered her grandfather. She’d get the cash she needed to finance her lifestyle, and he’d get a brand name that would help make his business grow. It was the perfect win-win situation for both of them. And hopefully she’d see that, too.

‘I was negotiating a deal with your grandfather. To buy out Tonielli’s,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

‘So, since he’s handed the reins over to you, I assume that you’re the one I need to negotiate with now.’

She looked at him. ‘I think there’s been some kind of mistake.’

He blinked. ‘You’re not in charge of Tonielli’s?’

‘Oh, I’m in charge, all right.’ She folded her arms. ‘But the business isn’t for sale.’

He looked shocked. As well he might—a shark in a business suit, who’d planned to buy her grandfather’s ice-cream empire at a rock-bottom price.

A handsome shark—Carenza would give him that—with dark hair brushed back from his face, a generous mouth and beautiful dark eyes. A sexy shark, even. But he was still a shark. And she wasn’t selling. Not to him, not to anyone.

‘You’re going to run Tonielli’s?’ he asked.

Carenza had seen that incredulous expression before. On her new boss’s face, when she’d made a suggestion about running the gallery. Just before she’d walked out; no way could she work with someone who treated her like an airhead, incapable of doing anything other than giggling, answering the phone and painting her nails. And it needled her that this man—a man she’d never even met before—clearly also thought that she was an airhead. Why wouldn’t he take her seriously?

Because she was blonde?

Or because she was a woman and Dante Romano was an Italian man, incredibly chauvinistic and still stuck in the attitudes of the nineteen fifties?

‘I’m going to run it,’ she said, keeping her voice ice-cool.

He leaned back in his chair. ‘How?’

She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Don’t be insulting.’

‘Signorina Tonielli, you have no experience and the business is in a mess,’ he said quietly. ‘It needs turning around—and I have the knowledge and the staff to do that.’

He was bluffing, she was sure. Things weren’t that bad. She shrugged. ‘There’s a recession on. Everyone’s feeling the bite.’

‘The business is in trouble, and I think it’s more than just the recession. And you don’t have the experience or the staff to fix things.’

‘Signor Romano, you know nothing about me.’ She folded her arms. ‘You’re assuming that I’m not capable of running the business my family started five generations ago.’

‘Not just running it. Taking it out of the red and moving it into this century.’

Red. Exactly what she was seeing, right now, after his smug, pompous remarks. ‘You think I’m too stupid to do that?’

‘Too inexperienced,’ he corrected.

‘And what makes you think I’m inexperienced?’ she shot back.

And then she realised what she’d said. How it could be interpreted. Especially as his gaze travelled over her very, very slowly, from the top of her head down to desk level—and then all the way back again. Assessing her. Appraising her. And he clearly liked what he saw.

To her mortification, she felt the colour seep into her cheeks.

Anyone would think she was sixteen, not twenty-eight. Sixteen, and experiencing her very first interested look from a man.

If Dante Romano had looked at her like that when she was sixteen, she would’ve been a complete puddle of hormones. As it was, her body was already reacting, and she was very glad she’d worn a business suit; the thick material of her jacket would hide the fact that her nipples were hardening.

This was so inappropriate, it was untrue. This was business. She shouldn’t even be thinking about sex. A year ago, she would’ve done more than just think about it. But she was putting that mixed-up part of her life behind her now. She had the chance to start all over again.

Then he spoke, and it was as if he’d thrown a bucket of icy water over her. ‘Have you ever done a real day’s work in your life?’

What? For a moment, she was too surprised and angry to speak. He thought she was the kind of woman who did nothing but party and live off the allowance her grandfather gave her? OK, she’d admit that it had been true enough, ten years ago. But she’d grown up a lot since then. And, until Amy had retired through ill health and sold the gallery, Carenza had most definitely had a job in London. She’d worked damned hard at it.

Striving to keep her voice cool, not wanting him to know how near she was to throwing her glass of water in his face, she drawled, ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’

‘In an art gallery.’

He knew that? Well, of course. If you were planning to buy out a business, you’d want to know exactly what you were getting for your money. He’d obviously done his research on the business—and on her. Except he hadn’t done it thoroughly enough, or he’d know that she was back for good and she wasn’t planning to sell.

In the second before he masked his expression, Carenza could see exactly what he thought. That her job in the art gallery wasn’t a real job—that it was a cushy number for a pampered girl from a wealthy family. That was what the new gallery owner had thought, too. And it wasn’t true. She lifted her chin. ‘All businesses are run the same way.’

‘Are they, now.’ It wasn’t a question.

He clearly believed she wasn’t up to running Tonielli’s. Well, he’d find out the hard way that he was wrong. She was going to do this. More than that, she was going to do this well.

‘I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other, Signor Romano.’ She stood up. ‘Thank you for the drink of water. Good morning.’ And she walked out of his office with her head held high.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS good to be home. Back in Naples after ten years away—one spent travelling the world, nine based in London. To live near the sea again, to see the harbour with the little fishing boats and yachts bobbing up and down on the water and the city stretching up the hill from the seafront. The pole by the white rocks in front of the Castel dell’Ovo, where lovers attached a lock with their names scrawled on it in marker pen, making a huge impromptu sculpture that grew and changed every week. The bandstand in the Villa Comunale with its pretty wrought-iron skeleton, orb lights and striped glass awning. The sun setting behind the island of Ischia, turning the sea a heathery purple and the sky a soft rose. And the brooding, broken peak of Vesuvius overshadowing everything.

Now she was back, Carenza realised how much she’d missed it all. Missed the taste of the sea air, missed the sight of the narrow alleyways festooned with flags and washing, missed the scent of proper pizza instead of the stuff that passed for it in London.

Home.

Except it wasn’t quite like before, when she’d been a carefree teen. Now she was in charge of Tonielli’s. The fifth generation—sixth, if you were being picky—with a whole load of responsibility.

She went through the figures for the fourth time that day, and she still couldn’t get them to add up. Her head was starting to throb, so she leaned her elbows on her desk, rested her chin in her hands and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, trying to ease the ache. She was beginning to think that maybe Dante Romano had been right. She didn’t have the experience to deal with this.

But what option did she have?

Sure, she could go back to Nonno and tell him she couldn’t handle it. But that would feel like throwing his generosity back in his face. Her grandfather had believed in her enough to let her take over from him and run the business. And he was seventy-three, now. It was time he enjoyed his retirement, pottering around in the garden and meeting his friends in caffès instead of having all the stress of the business on his shoulders. Just as he would’ve done years ago, had her parents not been killed in that car crash. She sighed. No, handing Tonielli’s back wasn’t an option.

She couldn’t ask Amy for advice, either. Sure, her former boss would help—but Carenza knew that Amy had just gone through another course of chemotherapy. The last thing Amy needed right now was this kind of stress. So Carenza really couldn’t lean on her, either.

There was Emilio Mancuso, who, according to her grandfather, had been acting as the manager of the business for a while, but Carenza didn’t feel comfortable with him. She couldn’t put her finger on why—he’d always been perfectly polite to her, if a bit condescending—but there was something about him that made her feel wary. She didn’t want to ask him for help. All her instincts told her that would be a bad idea.

None of her friends her own age ran a business, so she couldn’t ask them for advice.

Which left …

She sighed. Nobody.

You have no experience and the business is in a mess.

Dante Romano was right about that.

It needs turning around.

He was right about that, too.

And I have the knowledge and the staff to do that.

The obvious answer was to sell the family business to him. But, if she did that, she’d be letting Nonno down. Breaking the family tradition. The last generation of the Toniellis, selling out. How could she do that?

Unless …

She smiled wryly. No, that was crazy. He’d never agree to that.

How do you know unless you ask? a little voice said inside her head.

Maybe. But was he as good as he said he was? Could he help her fix the business?

She pushed the papers to one side and drew her laptop closer, so she could look him up online. Dante Romano. Interestingly, there were no paparazzi shots of him with beautiful women. Or men, for that matter—but her gaydar was pretty accurate. That zing of attraction she’d felt towards him yesterday had been mutual, judging by the way he’d looked at her across his desk.

No stories about an acrimonious divorce, either. Hmm. So it looked as if Dante Romano steered clear of relationships and focused on his work.

A workaholic, then.

She looked him up on the business pages. Make that a very successful workaholic, she corrected herself. He had a chain of six restaurants at the age of thirty—pretty impressive, given that he seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. A little more digging gave her the information that he had a solid track record of buying up businesses and then turning them round. And there was a new rumour in the business world that he was going to franchise his restaurants. Carenza didn’t know much about franchising, but she had a feeling that it meant going national or even international—so Dante Romano would be way too busy to date anyone, right now.

Not that she was interested in his love life. At all. Because she wasn’t going to act on the attraction between them. Right now, she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. She wanted to concentrate on the family business—on feeling that she could do something worthwhile. Get her self-respect back. But would this franchising thing mean that he’d be too busy to help her? And, even if he wasn’t, would he agree to be her mentor—to help her get the business back under control?

It was a risky strategy, she knew, but she had no other real choice. And there was only one way to find out if he’d help her.

Given that he was a workaholic, it was a fair bet that Dante would still be at his office. Her hand was shaking as she punched the number into the phone. ‘Come on, Caz. Don’t be such a wimp,’ she told herself as she pressed the last digit. But with each ring of the phone, her nerves increased. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe he wasn’t there. Maybe she should just give u—

‘Dante.’ His voice was crisp, clear—and every coherent thought went out of her head.

‘Hello?’

Get a grip, Caz, she told herself and took a deep breath. ‘Signor Romano? It’s Carenza Tonielli.’

‘How can I help you, Signorina Tonielli?’

If he was surprised—or if he’d expected her to call and say she’d changed her mind, once she’d had a proper look through the books—it didn’t show. He was polite, formal and absolutely expressionless. Which unnerved her even more.

‘I, um, wondered if we could talk. There’s something I wanted to run by you.’

‘Where and when?’

He certainly didn’t waste any time. Maybe that was why he was so good at business. ‘My office?’ As for when …

‘When would be convenient for you?’

‘Now?’

‘Now?’ She almost squeaked the word into the phone. Whoever had a business meeting at this time of the evening?

Then again, she didn’t need any more time to prepare. There wasn’t anything she could add to make her case. ‘OK. Um, do you know where my office is?’

‘Yes.’

Stupid question. Of course he did. He’d been planning to buy the business. No doubt he’d met her grandfather here. ‘Good. I’ll, um, see you in a bit, then.’

‘Ciao.’

Her hand was still shaking slightly when she put the phone down. Well, she’d done it now. She was going to have to go through with it. Anyway, what was the worst thing that could happen? Just that he’d refuse. And if he did that, she’d still be in the same position she was in now. It wouldn’t make things any more difficult. So it was ridiculous to feel so nervous about seeing him.

She busied herself shaking coffee grounds into a cafetière and boiling the kettle. She’d just rearranged the cups on the tray for the third time when she heard the knock at the shop door.

‘Thank you for coming, Signor Romano,’ she said as she let him in and locked the door behind him.

‘Prego.’ Still perfectly polite and formal. And his face was even less easy to read than his voice. Maybe she should’ve asked him over the phone, instead. It would be a lot easier without those piercing eyes watching her every movement.

‘May I offer you some coffee?’ she asked as she led him through to her office.

‘Thank you. No milk or sugar.’

Easy enough. She could do this.

Except her hand shook as she brought his cup over to the desk, and she spilled coffee all over his suit trousers.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—’

He cut her off with a shrug. ‘No problem. It’ll come out in the wash.’

But he was unsmiling. Grim, even. And her heart sank. Why had she ever been daft enough to think he was going to agree to this? It wasn’t just a risky strategy, it was an insane one.

‘So what did you want to run past me?’ he asked.

She placed her own coffee very carefully on her desk and sat down. ‘I’ve looked at Nonno’s books.’

‘And? ‘

‘And you have a point. I admit it. I don’t have the experience to turn things round. But—’ she sucked in a breath ‘—if you’d agree to mentor me, I could do it.’

‘Mentor you.’ Again, his voice and his face were completely expressionless. She had no idea whether he was amused, outraged, surprised, interested. Definitely not a man to play poker against.

And then he was silent.

Thinking about it, maybe. Did she interrupt, or give him space, or what?

‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked eventually.

‘How about, you can say “I told you so” and feel really, really smug?’

That earned her a smile, and maybe the slightest softening in those beautiful dark eyes—which gave her enough heart to continue. ‘Seriously, I can pay you to mentor me,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you charge.’

‘More than you can afford, Princess. Remember, I’ve already seen your books.’

Princess? That rankled. But she could hardly have a hissy fit on him. Not if she wanted him to help her.

‘I can pay you,’ she insisted.

‘How?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I could …’ She licked her lower lip. She could sell her jewellery. It would hurt—especially parting with the watch that her grandparents had given her for her twenty-first—but if she could save the business and make her grandparents proud of her, it would be worth it.

He clearly mistook her pause, because he raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m thirty years old. I’ve never had to pay for sex before, Princess, and I have no intention of starting now.’

‘I d-didn’t mean that,’ she stuttered, feeling her face flood with colour. ‘I was going to say, I can sell some of my jewellery.’

Except now he’d put a picture in her head. One that was even more inappropriate than the one that had been there the last time she’d met him. A picture of him naked, in her bed. Buried deep inside her.

Oh, help. She really needed to get a grip. This was about business.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Why?’ Think, Caz, think. Except she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. The circuits in her brain had just scrambled.

‘Why do you want me to mentor you?’

Oh. Yes. The reason she’d asked him here in the first place. The reason that should’ve been uppermost in her mind. Except that picture in her head had got in the way. Big time. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m asking you to mentor me because you have experience at turning businesses round.’ She listed the last three restaurants he’d bought, and the dates.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Done your homework, then, Princess?’

‘Don’t call me that!’ She glared at him.

Then she remembered. She was asking him a favour. She had to play nice. ‘Please,’ she added belatedly. ‘My name’s Carenza.’

‘Carenza.’ It sounded like a caress, the way he said it. All deep and husky and sexy as hell.

No. She had to focus.

‘You were right, Signor Romano. I don’t have the experience to turn the business round.’

‘And you’re eating humble pie.’ He inclined his head. ‘Interesting.’

‘Why do you have such a low opinion of me?’ she asked.

‘Because I know your type.’ He paused, giving her a measured look. ‘Princess.’

It took all her effort not to glower at him. ‘I’m not a princess,’ she said coolly.

‘Put your feet on the desk.’

She frowned. ‘What?’

‘Put your feet on the desk,’ he repeated.

She had no idea what he was driving at, but she did as he requested.

‘Look at your shoes. High-end designer brand. They’d cost almost a month’s wages for most of your staff,’ he said softly. ‘So are you going to tell me now that you’re not a princess?’

Put like that, it sounded bad. She took her feet off the desk. ‘I had a job in England,’ she said, knowing that she sounded defensive.

‘Uh-huh.’

So he really did think it had been no more than a sinecure. ‘I wasn’t just sitting there filing my nails and fluttering my eyelashes. I was Amy’s PA. I organised things. I know how retail works.’

‘For luxury goods, maybe, but not food. It’s a completely different customer base,’ he pointed out.

‘Look, I’ve admitted that I need help. What more do you expect from me?’

‘Take the easy way out. Sell the business to me.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m the fifth generation of Toniellis. It’s up to me to make this work.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I guess I would’ve been the sixth generation. Or maybe if my parents had lived, I’d have had a brother or sister to share the burden of the business with me.’ She shook herself. ‘But you can’t change the past, so it’s pointless brooding over it. You just have to get on with things.’

Dante looked at her. She wouldn’t sell because the business had been part of her family’s life for years. So she had family loyalty after all. Given how few times she’d been back to Italy in the last ten years, he’d thought she’d pretty much abandoned her grandparents, happy with a life of partying in London. And she’d gone seriously off the rails last year.

But maybe Carenza Tonielli was turning over a new leaf. Maybe she wasn’t quite what he’d thought she was.

And, if she really wanted to make the business work, then getting a mentor to teach her the ropes would be the best thing that she could do.

She’d chosen him. Ironic, as he’d planned to buy her out.

He could refuse—but, then again, he owed Gino. The old man had given him a break, all those years ago. Gino had given Dante solid advice, taught him things that had stood him in good stead in business. This was Dante’s chance for payback: to help Gino’s granddaughter and make sure that the gelati business didn’t go under.

And this had nothing to do with the fact that Carenza had the most beautiful mouth and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Or the fact that he could imagine that glorious blonde hair spread over his pillow, her lips parted and her body arched in pleasure as he touched her.

‘OK,’ he said abruptly.

She blinked. ‘What?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Pay attention, Princess.’ He wasn’t going to call her ‘Signorina Tonielli’, not if he was going to be her mentor. But he wasn’t going to call her by her given name, either. It would be too intimate. This way, he could keep some distance between them. Maybe it would keep his wayward thoughts under control, too. He wasn’t used to feeling anything less than in full control of himself, and it unnerved him slightly that Carenza Tonielli could have this effect on him. He pushed the unwanted attraction away. This was business. ‘I said OK, I’ll be your mentor.’

Her face was flooded with relief. ‘Thank you. But I meant it about paying you. I can’t expect you to do this for nothing. I mean, I’m taking your time.’

‘No payment required. I’ll give you guidance, where I can—but you’re going to be the one doing the work, not me.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’ She sat up straight. ‘Where do we start?

‘You can start,’ he said, ‘by wearing something frumpy.’

Carenza could see from the shock on Dante’s face that he hadn’t actually meant to say that. So she wasn’t the only one with pictures in her head, then?

The room suddenly felt way, way too small—and it felt as if all the oxygen had just been sucked out of it, too, for good measure.

‘What’s wrong with my business suit?’ she asked, her voice only just above a whisper.

‘Nothing. The jacket and skirt are fine.’ There was a slash of colour over his cheekbones.

So what was bothering him? Her top? Her shoes? Anger flared. The woman she’d been last year wouldn’t have thought twice about taking off her jacket, strutting round to his side of the desk and teasing him, and she could see in his face that he thought he knew her type; his research must’ve dredged up a hell of a lot of dirt. No wonder he wasn’t taking her seriously. Well, let’s play your little game, Signor Romano, then I’ll show you just how wrong you are about me when I turn you down cold.

She stood up, slid the jacket off her shoulders and rested it over the back of her chair. ‘Is this the problem?’ She fingered the spaghetti straps.

His eyes were very, very dark. ‘You’re playing with fire, Princess.’

‘You started it,’ she pointed out. ‘So what’s the problem with my top?’

He swallowed hard. ‘You’re asking me?’

‘You’re the one with the problem.’

He raked a hand through his hair. ‘OK. If you really want to know … it’s distracting.’

So was he. Especially because tonight there was the faintest hint of stubble on his face—and it made her want to touch. It made her want to know how it would feel against her skin. ‘Distracting, how?’

‘I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions?’

‘Distracting, how?’ she repeated.

‘Because it’s designed to make a man wonder if you’re wearing anything underneath it.’

This time there was a definite challenge in his gaze. Hot. Sultry. She could see how much he wanted her. OK, so it was mutual. But she could keep her head. Push him that little bit further. She gave a half-shrug. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

His breathing was fast, shallow. Just like hers.

‘Show me,’ he whispered.

The words were soft, sweet as honey and sexy as sin. The ultimate temptation. Yeah. She could play this game. And then she’d stop—because she could.

She pushed one spaghetti strap down her shoulder. Then the other. Adrenalin throbbed through her veins. Would he make a move now?

But he was waiting.

Not patiently. The tension was coming off him in waves. Any second now his control would snap. Any second …

‘Show me,’ he repeated.

This was where she was supposed to switch it back to him. Beckon. Let him come and find out for himself.

But her body wasn’t paying any attention whatsoever to her head. She couldn’t think of a smart retort. All she could think of was how much she wanted him. Wanted this. So she found herself pulling the stretchy top down. Little by little. Every millimetre of skin she uncovered felt unbearably sensitive. Tingling. Worse still, she wanted him to touch her. Desperately. She needed to feel his hands on her skin. His mouth.

The top was pushed down round her waist, now, proving to him that she was wearing a bra. One without straps. Lacy and black, to match her top.

‘So now you know,’ she said shakily.

‘Yes.’ He moistened his lower lip. ‘We still have a problem.’

She knew that. Her breasts felt heavy. Aching. If he didn’t touch her right now, she was going to implode. ‘Dante,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

A millisecond later, he was round her side of the desk and his mouth was jammed over hers. It felt less like a kiss than a declaration of war—and he wasn’t going to take any prisoners. Which was fine by her. She didn’t want him to. She needed this—and she needed it now.

His fingers dealt with the hook on her bra in a nanosecond, and she couldn’t help a moan of pleasure when he let it drop to the floor and cupped her breasts. Strong yet sensitive hands. Gorgeous hands. And she wanted more. His thumbs circled her nipples, teasing her and driving her just that little bit more crazy. Her breasts felt so tight; she really wanted his mouth there to ease the ache. She pushed against him, telling him with her body exactly what she needed.

He dragged his mouth from hers, then slowly kissed his way down her throat.

She really was going to go insane if he kept this up. If he made her wait a single second more. She pushed her fingers through his hair—so soft and silky against her skin—and dragged his head down to where she wanted it. She shuddered as his mouth closed over one nipple and sucked. ‘Dante. Yes.’ The word dragged out in a hiss of desire.

Then she felt his hand moving her skirt upwards. She changed her stance slightly to make it easier for him—and so he’d get there quicker, too, because she really needed this.

She sighed in pleasure as he stroked her inner thigh, and then his hand cupped her sex. Only the thin barrier of her knickers was between them now and that felt way, way too much. She needed to be skin to skin with him. Right here, right now.

As if he could read her mind, he hooked the material to one side. His finger stroked along the length of her sex, and she rocked against him. And then, oh, bliss, he pushed a finger inside her. She nearly cried with relief, it felt so good.

He was kissing her again, and she was kissing him back, pushing her tongue against his and rocking against his hand.

His thumb found her clitoris; as he touched her, it felt as if she were going up in flames.

And then, shockingly, she was coming. Harder and faster than she could ever remember.

The climax left her drained; all the tension and misery of the last few days were simply washed away in a rush of desire.

And then she became aware of just where they were. Standing next to her desk. Her top was pushed down round her waist, her skirt was hiked up to meet it, his hand was in her knickers … Whereas he was fully clothed. Not a thing out of place. Completely in control—while hers was in tiny, tiny shreds.

She closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God.’

He gently caught her lower lip between his teeth. ‘What’s the matter, Princess?’ he whispered against her mouth.

She felt like a tart. ‘You know,’ she whispered back.

‘Mind-reading isn’t one of my skills, I’m afraid.’ There was an amused glitter in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to be a little more specific.’

He really wasn’t going to let her get away with this, was he? She’d just have to try to brazen it out. ‘It’s just a bit awkward. You’re fully dressed—and I’m …’ Practically naked.

‘You look pretty good to me, right now.’ He stole a kiss. ‘But you have a point. This isn’t what mentoring is supposed to be about.’ He removed his hand from her knickers, restored order to her skirt and slid the straps of her top back up her arms.

She grabbed her jacket and shoved it on—even though she knew that it was pretty much closing the stable door after the horse had bolted.

He knew it, too. Because he was smiling.

She glared at him. ‘Don’t you laugh at me.’

‘I’m not.’ His smile broadened. ‘OK. I admit, I’m laughing at you just a little bit. Putting on that jacket isn’t going to stop me remembering what you look like without it, Princess.’

It wasn’t doing anything to stop her remembering what it felt like to be practically naked in his arms, either. Or how he’d just stroked her to a quicker climax than she’d ever achieved in her entire life.

‘I’ll wear something frumpy, next time,’ she muttered. ‘And then we’ll both be able to concentrate.’

‘Sure.’ Though his expression was saying something else entirely. Don’t bet on it.

What the hell had she just started?

‘My office. Eight o’clock tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Your email address?’

She had just enough brain cells working to let her scribble it down on a piece of paper.

‘Good. I’ll email you some things to work on before then.’

And then he was gone. Making her feel more like a tart than ever. He’d thought she was propositioning him, when she hadn’t been. And then … she’d thrown herself at him. Practically stripped for him. So much for thinking she could prove him wrong about her. She’d just reinforced every single prejudice he had about her.

Talk about a mistake. She hadn’t learned a thing. Dante Romano wasn’t even her type. She normally went for refined, arty, intellectual types. Not brooding men whose thought processes were so far away from her own that she didn’t have a clue what was going on in their heads.

OK, so he was drop-dead gorgeous. But that still didn’t mean she should’ve thrown herself at him like that. And the fact that she hadn’t dated anyone over the past year was no excuse at all.

She covered her face in her hands. Tomorrow, she’d have a cold shower before she went to his office. A very long cold shower. And maybe she’d be able to keep this damned attraction under control long enough to get him to take her seriously and save her grandfather’s business.

CHAPTER THREE

DANTE scowled at his computer.

His concentration was shot to pieces, and it was all Carenza Tonielli’s fault.

Well, maybe not all hers. He could’ve said no.

And he definitely shouldn’t have said that about her clothes being distracting. Because knowing exactly what she looked like under them—and what her skin felt like against his mouth—was a damn sight more distracting than what he’d imagined.

For pity’s sake. He didn’t have time for this. And he didn’t want to get involved with a high-maintenance woman who’d demand his time and his complete attention, and have hissy fits all over the place when she didn’t get her own way.

What had just happened between them definitely wasn’t going to be repeated.

And he wasn’t going to let himself wonder about how it would be to sink into her warm, sweet depths. To feel her body tightening round his. To …

‘Oh, just get on with it and focus,’ he told himself sharply, and opened up his email.

He dealt with the first three messages as economically as he could. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Carenza.

And it really annoyed him that he’d lost control like that, instead of keeping things businesslike.

OK. Obviously he needed to get this over with so he could get her out of his head. He opened a new email.

Tomorrow, bring your USP and competitor analysis.

That was better. To the point, businesslike—and mentorlike.

Right. Now he could go back to his business. Focused, the way he always was.

And then his computer beeped.

The email was from Carenza.

USP???

He rolled his eyes and hit the reply button.

Unique selling proposition. What makes you different from the competition.

He thought about it after he’d sent it. Clearly she wouldn’t have a clue about competitor analysis, either. He added another email.

Change of plan. I’ll pick you up at 4 p.m. tomorrow and do the first competitor analysis with you as a blueprint.

A very humble reply arrived:

Thank you very much.

Strictly speaking, he already had enough on his plate.

Franchising Dante’s was going to take all his time, and then some. Carenza Tonielli and sorting out the gelati business were distractions he really didn’t need.

But he felt he owed Gino, for giving him that first break.

He pushed away the thought that it wasn’t the only reason he’d agreed to mentor her, and sent her another email.

Dress like a tourist. See you at 4.

Dress like a tourist. Which meant … what? Carenza wondered, the following morning. Last night, he’d said he wanted her to dress like a frump.

Just before his hand had been in her knickers.

At her instigation. Even though she’d intended to stop well before then.

This was bad. Really bad. She needed to clear things up before she could face him again. And she couldn’t possibly ring him. It was too, too embarrassing to speak about. She took refuge in the distance of an email.

About last night … I don’t normally do that sort of thing. Can we please pretend it didn’t happen?

He made her wait for an hour before he replied.

Which bit?

Oh, now that was unfair. He knew very well what she meant. Clearly he was going to extract every gram of humiliation out of this.

Not the mentoring. The other bit.

And she wasn’t going to write that down.

O. Sure.

Her face flamed. She knew he’d deliberately missed off the h. A big O, indeed. He was obviously enjoying this. She’d just bet there’d been a big, fat, mocking grin on his face as he’d typed that, and it made her want to punch him.

At the same time, she was aware that last night had been really one-sided. That she’d been the only one who’d climaxed. She’d simply taken everything he was prepared to give.

And she didn’t normally act like that. She hadn’t even dated since last year—since those terrible few months where she’d gone completely off the rails and slept with way too many Mr Wrongs. Her friends all said she’d gone too far the other way now and was too picky, but the men who’d asked her out had bored her. They’d been too fond of their own reflections in the mirror. And she was tired of getting involved with men who didn’t meet her needs. It was easier just to have fun with her friends and forget about relationships. Besides, she had a feeling that Tonielli’s was going to take up all her energies for the foreseeable future.

And Dante Romano was her mentor. Just her mentor. This was business. They’d agreed to forget about last night.

So just what did tourists wear? Frumpy ones, in particular? She didn’t actually own anything frumpy—and, given the state of the books, it wasn’t a good idea to go anywhere near a clothes shop to buy something especially for this afternoon. Not even a charity shop. In the end, she compromised with jeans and a little cardigan over one of her favourite strappy tops, and pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail. She thought about the shoes, then slid on a pair of her favourite designer heels. Being a tourist didn’t mean that you had to wear flip-flops or scuzzy trainers, did it?

Dante called for her at four on the dot, and she had to fight to keep her jaw closed. When he was a shark in a suit, she could just about cope with him. But what he was wearing made her want to rip his clothes off him right there and then. A black vest T-shirt, a pair of faded denims that looked incredibly soft and touchable, a black leather jacket and a pair of suede desert boots—topped off with a pair of dark glasses. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday. His hair was slightly rumpled—enough to tell her that it curled when it was wet.

And the bad boy look really, really suited him.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘Uh.’ She couldn’t actually get a word out. Getting air back in her lungs was a bit of a problem, too.

‘Uh?’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘Does that mean yes or no, Princess?’

‘It means we have a problem,’ she mumbled.

‘What?’

‘The way you’re dressed.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Too scruffy for you, Princess?’

No. Too damn sexy. And she didn’t dare answer him—just in case she ended up admitting that she wanted to lock her office door, tear his clothes off, and do him. On her desk. That very second.

How had she ever thought that she could cope with Dante Romano being just her mentor?

Instead, she chickened out. ‘Why do we have to dress like tourists?’

‘Because people in business suits don’t go for ice cream at four p.m. They’re too busy working.’

‘Oh.’

He took pity on her. ‘We can hardly visit one of your competitors and make notes while we’re sitting there, Princess.’

‘Why not? They won’t know the notes are about them.’

‘Trust me, it’s easier this way. It’s called “mystery shopping”. They do it all the time in the retail trade—to check out the competition as well as making sure that their own staff are doing the right thing. We go as ordinary customers, we get treated like ordinary customers—and then you’ll know what their service standards are like.’

‘Isn’t that spying?’

‘No. You’re looking at what they offer, what they do better than you, and what they do worse than you, so you can tweak your own business and offer your customers more.’

‘Uh-huh.’ And that was another problem.

It must’ve shown on her face, because he sighed. ‘You haven’t analysed your own business, have you?’

‘Not yet. I’ve only been back in Italy for a few weeks. But I can do it.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’m not an airhead.’

‘No, Princess.’

She heard the sarcasm in his tone, and glowered at him. ‘You’re judging me when you hardly know me.’

‘Look, we don’t have time to arg—oh, forget it. We’ll do this the quick way.’ He yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Hard. Hot. Demanding. To the point where she ended up kissing him back and pressing herself against him, with her arms wrapped round his neck.

When he broke the kiss, her pulse rate had practically doubled and her thoughts were completely scrambled. Hadn’t they agreed earlier that they were going to forget last night? He’d just—just … She dragged in a breath. Her body was definitely happy about this, but her head wasn’t. ‘What the hell was that for?’ she demanded.

‘Right now, we’re tourists. You’re my girlfriend.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d help you get into the part.’

Get into the part? How the hell did he expect her to concentrate after he’d just kissed her like that and turned her brain to mush?

It got worse when they were halfway down the street, because he took her hand. Exactly as if she really were his girlfriend and they were just out for a stroll, exploring the sights of Naples.

Her skin tingled where he touched her. Was it the same for him? Or was he mentally totting up balance sheets and working on business plans? Not that she was going to ask—even if she’d been able to get the words out—because she didn’t want him knowing just how much he distracted her. Especially as she had a nasty feeling that she didn’t distract him at all.

‘Pay attention, Princess,’ he said, as if he’d guessed anyway, and held the door of an ice cream parlour open for her.

And then things got even worse. She knew she was supposed to be making mental notes about the gelateria. What was good about it, what wasn’t so good, where it was different from her own shops. But for the life of her she couldn’t concentrate when he insisted on feeding her a spoonful of the ice cream sundae he’d ordered—because she could imagine him feeding her ice cream like this somewhere else.

Naked.

In her bed.

‘You’re supposed to return the favour, Princess,’ he murmured, and her skin heated.

Did he mean favour as in what he’d done for her last night? Or as in the ice cream?

Taking the cowardly option, she fed him a spoonful of ice cream.

‘Gorgeous,’ he purred, giving her the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. Hinting that she was gorgeous, not just the ice cream.

If he kept this up, she was going to need oxygen therapy.

And she was pretty sure he was doing this on purpose. To tease her. Or maybe to prove that she was an airhead who couldn’t concentrate—just as she’d been last night.

She gritted her teeth, and forced herself to focus on the shop. On the menu. The décor. The service.

The waitress brought the bill over to them; her smile was all for Dante, and Carenza was truly shocked to feel a flicker of jealousy.

For pity’s sake. She had no call on Dante Romano at all. He was her business mentor. For all she knew, he could be involved with someone.

Though she didn’t think he was. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. One thing she’d already worked out about Dante Romano was that he had a strict code of honour. He’d never cheat.

‘My bill.’ She scooped it up.

He shook his head. ‘You might do this kind of thing in England, but this is Italy. I’m paying.’

‘And I’m half English,’ she reminded him. ‘This is the twenty-first century. I’m paying.’

She won by the simple expedient of taking the bill and going up to the counter before he could grab the bill back from her.

‘You’re difficult,’ he said, when she returned.

And he wasn’t? She shrugged. ‘You’re the one who calls me “Princess”.’

‘Let’s go for a stroll.’ He held the door open for her, and they walked in silence to railings overlooking the sea.

He leaned against the railings, his legs slightly apart. ‘Come here.’

‘Why?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Because you’re still supposed to be in role.’

She took a step nearer.

He coughed. ‘And my girlfriend’s really going to stand as far away from me as she possibly can. Not.’

She took another step closer, and he reached out to pull her nearer still, so she was standing between his legs and his hand was resting lightly on her hip.

‘So what did you think of the shop?’

Standing this close to him, she was finding it hard to concentrate. How the hell could he talk about business and keep it all straight in his head while he was holding her like this?

‘It’s called multi-tasking, Princess. A very useful business asset.’

She groaned. ‘Did I just say that out loud?’

‘Yup.’

‘I lied.’

He glanced down at her top. ‘Try telling your nipples that. They’re standing to attention.’

‘I think I hate you.’

He laughed. ‘Then concentrate. Tell me what you thought about the shop.’

‘The ice cream was good. The service was fine. The prices are about the same as mine. Oh, and the décor was terrible.’

‘What do they do that you don’t?’

‘I … have no idea,’ she admitted. ‘More flavours?’

‘They offer sandwiches. Hot drinks. So they can keep tourists happy in the winter months.’

And then he staggered her by rattling off a detailed analysis of the shop. What it was doing wrong, what it was doing right, where it was beating her, where Tonielli’s scored higher.

How had he got all that from just one little visit—a visit where he’d seemed to be paying more attention to her than anything else, flirting with her and feeding her ice cream from his spoon and getting her to do the same to him?

A skateboarder pushed past them, causing her to move closer to Dante. And then she discovered that her mentor wasn’t quite as unaffected by her proximity as he claimed. He was definitely hard for her.

Wanting to get her own back—just a little bit—and knowing that she was seriously crossing a line here, she licked her lower lip. Slowly. She let her gaze drop to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Well, to his sunglasses. But she was pretty sure he wasn’t missing a trick behind those dark lenses.

‘You’re playing with fire, Princess,’ he warned her.

She knew that. Her body remembered just how hot he was. ‘About last night …’

‘We agreed to forget it.’

‘But I wasn’t fair to you.’ She’d taken her pleasure from him, and given him nothing in return. And that felt wrong.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Lost for words, Dante?’

He gave her a slow, wicked smile. Leaned forward. Touched his mouth to hers.

And it was like lighting touchpaper.

She became dimly aware of catcalls and whistles from a group of passing teenagers, and pulled back from him. His mouth was swollen and reddened, and she’d just bet that hers was in the same state.

And she couldn’t say a single thing.

‘Now who’s lost for words?’ he asked.

She blew out a breath. ‘This is supposed to be business. But.’ She swallowed hard. ‘You and me—this is getting in the way.’

‘You said you were going to wear something frumpy. So we could both concentrate.’

She spread her hands. ‘This is as frumpy as I get.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do-me heels and tight jeans?’

He was blaming her for this? ‘You’re the one wearing the do-me jacket and touchable denim.’

‘Maybe you need to find yourself another mentor.’

‘There isn’t anyone else I can ask. If Nonno thinks I’m struggling, he’ll take over again and that’s not fair. He’s seventy-three. He deserves a chance to relax with Nonna and have some fun.’

‘What about your old boss in London?’

She shook her head. ‘She’s ill. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her. And I’m not asking Emilio Mancuso.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘I …’ She grimaced. ‘Nothing I can put my finger on.’

‘But your instincts tell you no.’

She nodded. ‘So there’s only you I can ask.’

‘Scraping the bottom of the barrel, hmm?’

‘No. You were my first choice. You know what you’re doing. I could learn a lot from you.’

‘But?’

She sighed. ‘But it doesn’t help when you turn up looking like sex on legs. When you feed me ice cream from your spoon and give me smouldering looks.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying you want to do me, Princess?’

God, yes. She shivered. ‘I don’t normally behave like this.’

‘No?’

So he did know about London. She felt her face redden. ‘You provoked me.’

‘Not that much. You could’ve called a halt at any time.’

Yes. Which was exactly what she’d planned to do. But the touch of his skin against hers had pushed everything out of her head. Besides, it hadn’t been completely one-sided. He’d started it. And if he was that uninterested, why was he touching her now? ‘Your hands are still on my bottom,’ she informed him. ‘And there are …’ She gave a delicate cough. ‘Other signs, shall we say.’

‘So there are.’ He sighed. ‘OK. I admit it. I have the hots for you. And, judging by last night, it’s mutual.’

‘We don’t even like each other. You think I’m a spoiled princess.’

‘You are. And, since we’re telling it like it is, you think I’m … ?’

‘A workaholic. Someone who wouldn’t know how to begin to have fun.’

‘A dull boy, hmm?’ He shrugged. ‘Bottom line, Princess, this isn’t going to work. You’re looking for someone to give you a good time. And I don’t have space in my life for someone who’s going to stamp her foot every time I’m late for dinner, or when I don’t want to go to a party because I have more important things to do with my time than listen to tedious people spouting their opinion about something they know nothing about, or talking drivel about trivial things.’

‘I don’t stamp my feet,’ she said, glowering at him.

‘Metaphorically, you’re doing it right now.’

‘So why did you agree to be my mentor?’ She still didn’t quite understand that.

‘Because I owe Gino.’

‘You owe Nonno? Why?’

‘He gave me a break when I was younger, taught me a few things about business. So helping you out of trouble is kind of payback.’

She felt deflated. So he wasn’t doing this because he liked her.

‘You’re right. I don’t like you,’ he agreed—as if she’d said it out loud. Or maybe it was written all over her face. ‘I don’t like what you stand for. The way you were quite happy to take your allowance and swan off round the world, then almost never came back to see your grandparents.’

‘And how would you know anything about that?’

‘Because I saw the wistfulness in Gino’s face whenever he talked about you.’

Her grandfather had talked to Dante about her?

‘He missed you.’

Guilt flooded through her. She hadn’t been fair, but her grandparents had never complained. She didn’t have to give him any explanation for her behaviour; but on the other hand she didn’t want him to think she was completely selfish and spoiled. ‘I was eighteen, Dante. I knew there was a big wide world out there. I wanted to see it. I wanted to know what else there was outside Naples. So, yes, I travelled. I went to Rome, to Milan, to Paris. To Sydney and New York and LA.’

‘Style capitals.’ He didn’t look impressed.

‘Yes, I’ll give you that. The fashion drew me, at first. But then I went to London. To meet my mother’s family. To find out about that side of me. Wouldn’t you have been curious, in my shoes? Wouldn’t you have wanted to meet the side of the family you’d never met?’

That rather depended on what the family was like, Dante thought. He didn’t want anything to do with his father’s family. He’d seen more than enough destruction in the first fourteen years of his life and he didn’t need to see any more. ‘Maybe,’ he said cagily.

‘And I didn’t desert my grandparents. I rang home three times a week. I sent pictures and emails.’

‘Which isn’t the same as being here.’ He paused. ‘What made you come back?’

‘Primarily, Nonno and Nonna’s golden wedding anniversary.’ She sighed. ‘And then I realised they were getting old. My English grandparents had other children and grandchildren to look after them, but Nonno and Nonna only had me. So I thought it was time to come home.’

‘And take over the family business.’

She nodded. ‘Because I’m the last of the Toniellis. I have to step up to the plate.’

It wasn’t what she wanted to do. He could see that. Yet she wasn’t ignoring her duty—and he approved of that.

‘What about your job in the art gallery?’

‘Amy retired—she was ill, and the gallery was too much of a burden. She sold it.’

‘Didn’t the new owner want to keep you on?’

She blew out a breath. ‘Let’s just say we didn’t see eye to eye. So I guess it worked out for the best—I could leave and come back to Naples without letting anyone down.’

‘What was the problem?’

‘He treated me like an airhead. Which,’ she said, ‘I’m not. I could’ve done a degree.’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Pushing paper around and partying for three years?’

‘No, a university education teaches you how to think.’ She frowned. ‘I take it you didn’t go to university.’

‘No. And I didn’t miss a thing. I learned a lot more from life.’

‘Didn’t your parents want you to go?’

He didn’t want to talk about his parents. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘There’s more to life than studying.’

‘A minute ago, you were kissing me. Now, we’re sniping at each other.’ She shook her head, as if she didn’t have a clue how it had started. ‘Why are we fighting?’

‘Because you don’t understand where I’m coming from, and I don’t understand you. It’s like comparing … oh, apples and oranges. We’re too different.’ Though it didn’t stop him wanting her. And he hated the fact that she could make his control slip.

‘So what are we going to do about this?’ she asked.

‘About what?’

‘You and me.’

‘There is no you and me.’

She moved forward again, just far enough to brush against his erection. ‘No?’

‘There is no you and me,’ he repeated through gritted teeth. He’d agree to mentor her. But it was hard to concentrate on this mentoring stuff when they couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to rip each other’s clothes off.

‘You’re telling me,’ she said dryly.

He groaned. ‘Tell me I didn’t say that out loud.’

‘You did.’ And she looked mightily pleased about it.

What was wrong with him? He never lost control like this. He’d spent years training himself to have absolute control over his feelings. To make sure that he didn’t turn into his father.

But there was something about Carenza Tonielli. Something that made all his rules just beg to be broken. He bent his head to hers and kissed her again, enjoying the way she responded so hotly to him. The way she opened her mouth beneath his, letting him deepen the kiss. The way her hands curved over his buttocks, pulling him closer.

When he broke the kiss, her eyes were fever-bright and her mouth looked utterly lush. ‘Why don’t you just take me home, Princess?’ he asked softly. ‘Come home with me and do me.’

Her mouth parted. Delectably. Tempting. Perfect, even white teeth; soft, perfect rosebud lips; and she made him ache. God, he wanted her. He couldn’t remember wanting anyone this much in his entire life. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY walked back towards his place in silence. Dante’s head was telling him that this was a seriously bad plan, but his body was insistent that it was the best idea he’d had in years.

He realised that he was walking a bit too fast, given how high Carenza’s heels were, and slowed his pace a bit to accommodate her. She gave him a grateful look.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. And he had to look away from her before he did something really stupid. Like pinning her against the nearest wall and kissing her until they were both dizzy. The way he was feeling right now, they’d end up getting arrested for public indecency.

What was it about Carenza Tonielli that made him lose control like this?

And that made her the worst possible person he could be with. Because losing control absolutely wasn’t an option for him. Not with his background. He couldn’t afford to take that risk.

He still hadn’t got himself completely back in control when she stopped him outside a pharmacy.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Supplies,’ she said. ‘Unless you already have some.’

Supplies? Then he realised what she meant. How the hell had that slipped his mind? ‘Uh. No. I haven’t. Wait here.’

He emerged with a pack of condoms in his pocket. It made him feel a bit like a schoolboy. Then he shook himself. This was simply getting rid of a distraction that was annoying both of them. Sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Once they’d got that out of the way, everything was going to be just fine. His head would be clear. So would hers. He’d help her fix her business and she’d be out of his life. No more complications.

The nearer they got to the restaurant, the more tense his muscles became.

Well, this had been his suggestion. Good or bad, he had to live with the consequences.

He went round to the side entrance and unlocked the door to let her in. It slammed behind them—and then everything bubbled over and his control snapped. He pinned her against the wall, kissing her hard. God, she was so soft, smelled so sweet …

And she was matching him kiss for kiss, bite for bite, hunger for hunger.

Dante wasn’t sure how or when he’d done it, but he’d lifted Carenza and her legs were wrapped round his waist. He rocked his pelvis against hers and she moaned against his mouth. He could feel the heat of her sex through her jeans, and he just couldn’t wait any more. He walked up the stairs with her still wrapped round him, not letting her go until he’d reached his bedroom; then slowly he let her slide to the floor, keeping her close to him so she’d be able to feel just how ready he was for her.

The next few moments were a blur. He had no idea who ripped whose clothes off, but at last they were naked. Skin to skin. As he’d wanted to be ever since she’d opened her mouth in the gelateria and let him feed her a spoonful of ice cream.

‘Loosen your hair,’ he said hoarsely.

She put one hand behind her head, took out the band holding her hair back, and shook her head so her hair fell over her shoulders.

‘Dio, you’re beautiful,’ he said, the words torn from him. She transfixed him. He cupped her face and kissed her very, very softly before letting his hands mould to her shape, stroking down over her shoulders, pausing to cup her breasts and feel their weight in his hands, then slowly discovering the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.

‘Dante, I …’ She licked her lower lip.

‘What, Princess?’ he asked softly.

Her breathing was fast and shallow, much like his own—and he could see it was an effort for her to speak. ‘Do it now,’ she begged. ‘Before I go crazy.’

‘Me, too,’ he whispered. He had just enough sense left to grab the box of condoms from his pocket and rip open one of the foil packets.

‘My job,’ she said, taking it from him and sliding the condom over his erection.

He nearly yelped when she touched him, it felt so good.

She clearly guessed, because her smile was pure satisfaction. Smug, that she could have that effect on him.

Ha. Considering she’d been the one to come apart under his touch last night …

He kissed her hard, burying his hands in her hair. She kissed him back and rocked her pelvis against him. Impatient? Yeah, he knew how that felt. He needed to be inside her. He needed that more than he’d ever needed anything in his entire life.

At last she was lying beneath him on his bed, her hair spread out on his pillow, and he was inside her. Hot and wet and … pure heaven. He stayed still for a moment, letting her body adjust to him, and then began to move. Taking it slow and easy. Letting it build.

Her fingernails were running down his back, just hard enough for pleasure.

He shifted so that he could push deeper inside her.

‘Oh, God, Dante, yes,’ she murmured. ‘More. More.’ She pushed against him, increasing the pace and the pressure.

He felt her body start to ripple round him, and it tipped him into his own release. When he came, it was like seeing stars. Everything seemed to sparkle in his head. When he opened his eyes, he could see his feelings reflected in her eyes, that same sense of wonder. The whole world felt as if it had shifted.

He rolled off her and lay there beside her, utterly stunned. He’d thought they’d be good together, but not this good. Especially the first time.

Unless you counted last night as the first time.

But through the whole thing he’d felt completely in tune with her—and that worried him. He walked to the beat of his own drum. Nobody else’s.

And then her hand found his; her fingers laced through his.

No, no, no. This was meant to be just sex. Not a relationship.

‘I’d better deal with the condom,’ he muttered, pulling his hand away from hers before he did something stupid. Like holding her hand right back.

When he came back from the bathroom, Carenza hadn’t moved, other than to pull the sheet over her up to her waist. She really was gorgeous; he could feel his body stirring again at the sight of her.

And he didn’t have a clue what to say. What she expected from him.

But then she smiled, shifted onto her side and patted the bed next to her.

Oh, hell. Now he knew exactly what she wanted. A cuddle. And to talk.

Well, he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to spill his guts to her. That wasn’t who he was.

‘Dante.’ Her voice was very soft. ‘You don’t think I’ve finished with you yet, do you?’ And in that split second she changed from princess to vamp.

Irresistible.

He climbed back onto the bed. ‘OK, Princess, I’m in your hands.’

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