MARRYING HER ENEMY & STOLEN BY THE DESERT KING

by Connelly, Clare

  “They were painted shut decades ago,” she said with a shake of her head. “Those louvers are the only ones I can open.”

  Luca’s face showed his disapproval. “That’s a disgrace. Why haven’t you mentioned it to your landlord?”

  “Oh, I don’t really mind. I’m in the shop most of the time. I use a fan in summer. The louvers let in a surprising amount of fresh air.”

  He compressed his lips, mentally making a note to send a repairman over the next day.

  “Can you help me with this?” She said thoughtfully.

  “Of course. How?”

  She placed the pot on the edge of her bench. “I’m going to snake my hand in. I need you just to keep the magazine down with enough pressure that the bird doesn’t take advantage of the opening and reclaim possession of my apartment. Ready?”

  “Absolutely.” He was looking at her as though she was completely mad. “Would you prefer me to…”

  “No.” She laughed. “I get the feeling you’d be out of your depth.”

  And though he liked to think he could do anything he set his mind to, he laughed. “Okay, Florence Nightingale, in you go.”

  She sobered, and slipped a slender wrist in under the book. The bird was tiny, and its chest was moving rapidly, showing its obvious distress. Rosie knew how it felt! Only her racing heart had little to do with stress and everything to do with desire. She closed her fingers around the Robin carefully, gently, trying to impart as much reassurance with that one grip as she possibly could. She pushed at the book, lifting it off, once she was confident she had a firm grip.

  “Hello, little one,” she said quietly, stroking her finger over its glossy chestnut head. “It’s okay. I’m just making sure you haven’t bashed your beak in after all that banging about.”

  The bird stilled beneath her grip. Now, it was studying her, almost as intently as she was it. “Hush, hush,” she repeated, though the bird was now more calm. “You look fine to me.”

  Luca’s face showed his bemusement. “How can you tell?”

  “I don’t know. I just can,” she said distractedly.

  Without looking at Luca, she walked across the flat and began to climb up onto her desk.

  “For the love of God, Rosie, let’s take the damned thing downstairs to let it go.”

  She threw him an amused look. “Are you worried about me, Luca Abramo?”

  “Yes, if you must know. You look tiny enough to be carried to the clouds if you get too close.”

  She laughed. “Believe me, I’ve more mettle than that. But, if it makes you feel better, fine. Let’s go downstairs.”

  Luca nodded.

  As they reached the door to her apartment, Rosie stopped walking abruptly. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Luca turned to face her. His smile was filled with self-mockery. “I wanted to see you again. I thought dinner made sense. You have to eat, don’t you?”

  “Dinner?” She bit down on her lip. “I… I have work to do tonight.”

  She looked back at her bench. The cold room downstairs was filled with most of the bouquets. There was only one arrangement left. It wouldn’t take long. “Though I guess I’m almost finished,” she added quietly.

  His relief was an actual force. He hadn’t realised until then how nervous he’d been. How uncharacteristically uncertain about what Rosie might want from him.

  “Grab my coat,” she nodded to a sunny yellow jacket on a coat stand by the door.

  “This one?”

  “Yes,” she responded archly. “Is there something wrong with it?”

  Luca shook his head. “Not a thing.” He loved her use of color. As she preceded him down the stairs, he took one last look at her apartment. And he understood immediately why his luxurious flat must have seemed completely puzzling to her. Rosie was a woman who blurted personality wherever she breathed. She couldn’t take a step without leaving a little imprint of herself behind. “Do you want the door shut?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She was already downstairs, in the shop. Her voice came up the stairs as a muffled response. He clicked the door in place and checked it was firmly latched before following her.

  He had paid scant attention to the shop when he’d come in. He’d made the brief acquaintance of the woman Rosie had mentioned to him – Maggie, as she was on her way home for the night – before moving with speed to the back of the shop and up the stairs. He’d taken them two at a time in his haste to see Rosie again. To prove to himself that he hadn’t imagined the way she’d made him feel.

  Now, as he caught up with Rosie by the door, he surveyed the space slowly. It was charming. As everything with Rosie seemed to be. Bentwood chairs, mostly black, some painted bright shades of red and blue, lined the exposed brick wall. The floors were polished timber, the lighting was discreet, and the atmosphere was calming. Bright pops of flowers were everywhere. Rosie was apparently not one for the austere movement. Restaurants that boasted a single long stemmed rose in a vase were not her style. No. Rosie had decorated The Darling Buds of May Café with an overwhelming enormity of flowers. The fragrance was heavenly.

  He cast an eye at the chalkboard and read the menu. “There’s a lot of vegetarian stuff on here.”

  Rosie was nuzzling the bird to her cheek. She paused long enough to nod. “Maggie’s vegan.” She pulled a face. “It’s the one thing we don’t agree on.”

  He grinned. “You’re not vegan?”

  “Gawd, no. But she’s a doll. I try not to hold it against her.”

  He laughed and grabbed for the door. When he reached for it, his arm brushed against her back, and Rosie shivered. That electric connection that flowed between them was dangerously addictive.

  Her eyes lifted to his, and she sighed. How could she feel so at home with someone she’d just met? It defied any of the normal rules of life and love.

  She froze. Love? Love was a ridiculous word to pop into her head at such a time. She looked away, shaking her head to clear the absurd thought.

  “Okay, little birdie. Just try to stay out of apartments from now on. Go and find a tree to perch in.” She lifted her hands up and coaxed the bird away. It hesitated briefly, then fluttered its wings and journeyed upwards. A sweet little song was left in its wake. They watched until it had disappeared into the inky black sky then turned to Luca. “Strange for a bird to be flying about at this time,” she said thoughtfully, though the full force of her concentration was now on this man.

  “It must have been disturbed.” He murmured in response, his voice low, his expression bemused. “Come. I want to take you to dinner.”

  Rosie bit down on her lip. “Why don’t we just eat here? I can fix us something in the café.”

  “Nonsense. I want to take you out, bella.”

  The part of her that had been worrying all day that he would just be a one night stand and no more, was thrilled by the discovery that he wanted to wine and dine her. She had reconciled herself to thinking of him as simply the best sex she’d ever had. But now? Now she didn’t know.

  “I’m hardly dressed to go out.”

  His eyes flared with something like annoyance. “Rosie, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve met. You could wear a tracksuit and still outshine anyone else. Do not pretend false modesty, please.”

  Her heart beat accelerated in response to his lavish praise. “Luca,” she said with a shake of her head. “Don’t be silly.”

  “It is you who is being silly.”

  “Okay, but just somewhere casual, okay?”

  “As you wish.”

  She slipped into her coat and then turned to look at him. “I’m just going to wash my hands. Wait here?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and held her against his chest. “I can promise you, Rosie, that I do not intend on going anywhere.”

  Faster and faster her blood raced through her, rushing at an almost unbearable crescendo. When she washed her hands, she saw that her fingers were shaking almost unstoppably.

&nb
sp; She tried to appear calm as she walked out of the doors. She slid the bolts in place, then fished her keys out of her pockets, where she always had them. She’d learned that the hard way when she’d been locked out one early morning after the flower markets.

  Luca placed an arm around her shoulders. It was proprietorial, and it was… nice. She tilted her face up at him, shy and nervous, but excited and thrilled, too. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  “Didn’t you?” His eyes were warm, gently teasing her. “Do I strike you as a man who is patient and lazy?”

  “No,” she said on a small laugh. “Definitely not either.”

  He grinned back at her. “When I see something I want, I am not afraid to go after it.”

  He’d said that the first night they’d met. The night before. Had it really only been twenty four hours earlier? I see something I want, and I take it. Rosie had the impression that she was a poor witless bug, wandering closer and closer to a big, sticky web she’d never break free from. She slowed her walk to a stop, and turned to face him.

  “Is something wrong?” He asked, scanning her face.

  “Frankly, yes.” She took in a deep breath. “Luca, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

  He frowned in confusion, so Rosie reached for his hand and lifted it to her fast-beating chest. “You’re too… much. This is too much. I don’t know how to process these feelings.”

  He was distracted. Beneath his palm was her sweater, and then her breasts. He knew she didn’t wear bras. The sensation of her bare skin was so real to him that he might as well have lifted her shirt and touched her. “I can’t help it. It’s what you do to me.”

  She bit down on her lip and said the one thing she’d been thinking all along. “Is this… is this what you do?”

  “What I do?”

  “Yeah. I mean, is this how you are with women all the time?”

  His lips twisted in a sardonic expression of disbelief. “No.”

  “You just seem so good at it. At this.” She blushed. “At everything.” She dropped her gaze and shuffled her feet. She felt young, suddenly, and very inexperienced.

  “You make it easy to be good, bella. This just makes sense.”

  There was no guarantee that this would go anywhere. She had no idea if it would just be a two-night stand. Or a three-night stand. Or a brief, whirlwind affair that left her with a broken heart and memories so intense they could burn her mind out. But she had no choice. Destiny and fate seemed to be the wings at her back.

  She nodded and turned around. “Dinner.”

  The restaurant was not, as it turned out, casual. It was a famous tepanyaki bar on Kings Road, renowned as much for its famous clientele as it was for its difficulty to gain to a table.

  Luca approached the maitre d’ at the door, an expression of haughty disdain on his handsome face. “Luca Abramo. Table for two.” That was it. Five little words that seemed to grease the wheel of the exclusive establishment. The table they were shown to was near the back, in a small alcove overlooking a courtyard to the side of the street.

  “This is not casual,” Rosie whispered once they were alone.

  “Of course it is,” he disagreed, nodding towards the restaurant. “Not a tablecloth nor suit in sight.”

  “Yes, but I just meant a pub or something!”

  “A pub?” He shook his head. “You deserve the best, Rosie. This is not it, but it is close to your home, and it is casual. Or so I thought.”

  She laughed in despair. “You’re just lucky I’ve wanted to eat here for ages.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “Um, it’s impossible to get in.”

  He arched his brows. “Really?”

  “Not for you, obviously,” she drawled drily. “I guess you’re used to that.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes.”

  “You know,” she said, leaning forward across the table, “you run the risk of coming across as arrogant, on occasion.”

  His eyes crinkled in amusement. “I am arrogant. I do not see a problem with that.”

  Rosie took in a deep breath, toying with the question she wanted to ask in her mind.

  “What is it?”

  He was so damned perceptive. It was as if every thought she had was up in lights on her forehead. “I was just wondering how you got where you are. You’re so … confident. Obviously successful. I would imagine a lot of people who had your childhood are not so lucky.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” he retorted harshly, then softened his expression. “Sorry. Force of habit. I have worked very, very hard, Rosie, to be where I am. I did not receive an ounce of luck nor kindness. No nepotism. I was born smart, and I parlayed that into a fine education, and first class contacts.”

  “I see.” There was a darkness to him, when he spoke, that both fascinated and terrified her.

  “The art gallery – Davies’s gallery – from last night? That is my good friend, Davies. We met at school. My first job was CEO of his family business. At seventeen, I turned it around from the brink of disaster to turning a multi-million pound profit.”

  Rosie nodded. He was not bragging. He was speaking factually, without any arrogance now. “And then?”

  “I took my salary and generous bonus and bought my own company. I was twenty years old when I realised I had an ability to overhaul struggling businesses and make them cash positive again.”

  Rosie nodded, but there was a sadness in her mind. How she wished her father could have met someone like Luca. Someone who could have helped him understand why his business was failing, and make it a success once more.

  The waiter appeared at that moment. Luca nodded to Rosie. “Do you know what you would like?”

  Rosie shook her head. “I hadn’t even looked at the menu.”

  “Do you trust me to order for you?”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t a bit hungry, anyway. Not for food. Her need was for knowledge, and him. And those needs were unending. She waited until the waiter had disappeared and then leaned forward again. “How many companies do you own?”

  “Now? Eleven.”

  “Wow. Where do you work?”

  He frowned. “I work where I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, I am my business. I don’t need an office. Each of my apartments has the same computer and desk set up. That is sufficient.” His dark eyes seemed to hold hers meaningfully. “I don’t like being tied down. I can come and go as I please, and arrange my business matters accordingly.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. What did he mean, about not liking to be tied down? Was it a message to her? That despite his intensity, he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea?

  “I am going to Rome next week, Rosie,” he said quietly. “And I will be there for a little while. I know it’s sudden, but I would like you to come with me.”

  Rosie physically jolted in her seat. “What?”

  He took her hand in his and turned it over, then traced a line down her palm. “I want you to come to Rome with me. I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I can’t just… I can’t just come to Rome!”

  The waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne and took great care in the business of pouring two glasses. He seemed to take forever, and the length of time was obviously as frustrating to Rosie as it was to Luca. “Thank you,” Luca reached for the bottle. “I will do that. Leave us be.”

  Rosie’s cheeks flushed pink. “That was rude,” she chided, as the waiter left.

  Luca shrugged, finishing filling the glasses with efficiency. “I will leave a generous tip.”

  Rosie wondered if that’s how Luca thought now. If common courtesy had been rendered unnecessary in the face of the money he could use to smooth his way. “I have my own business too, Luca. I can’t just pick up and leave it.”

  “I know I’m asking a lot.” He lifted her hand and kissed it slowly, seductively. “But won’t you miss me?
”

  She knew she would. It was completely crazy, but she hated the idea of him leaving. The thought of him being in a completely different country filled her with an odd ache.

  “Is there no one who can fill in for you, for a few days only?”

  The denial died on her lips. When her father had passed away, she’d contacted one of the women she’d met through her floristry course. Laura had recently sold her own florist shop and was between jobs. It had been easy for her to slip into Rosie’s role and take over. It had given Rosie much needed time and space to mourn the loss of her dad, and deal with all the attending business matters.

  “I can’t,” because it made no sense. How could she just wrap up her own life to fly off to Rome?

  “I understand.” He forced a smile to his face. “The offer is open, though, Rosie.”

  She felt glum, suddenly. “Why are you going to Rome?” God, she sounded like a whinging teenager.

  His eyes held a sheen of resolve. “To finalise a purchase.”

  “Another company?” She was teasing, but he nodded.

  “Yes.” The one he’d set his sights on many, many years earlier. The only one he really cared about, truth be told.

  “And you have to go in person?”

  “Yes.” He bit out the word. “This matter is more than business. It’s personal.”

  Curiosity gradually edged out pique. “Oh? How so?”

  Another waiter appeared with a tray of bite-sized meals. Rosie wondered, distractedly, if their first server had given up on them.

  “It is my family business. The legacy I should have known as a birth right.”

  There was an edge to his words, a hatred that turned her stomach. “What do you mean?”

  He lifted his drink to his lips and sipped it in an effort to smooth the hard coldness from his voice. “Many years ago, when I could first afford a good investigator, I discovered the truth of my parentage. I had always hoped, as a child at least, that my birth parents had been poor, perhaps sick. That there would be some reason for their having given me up.”

  “And?” She leaned forward impatiently.

  “Nothing of the sort. They are one of Italy’s premiere families.”