Читать книгу His Forbidden Conquest: A Moment on the Lips / The Best Mistake of Her Life / Not Just Friends - Aimee Carson, Kate Hoffmann - Страница 8

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.