Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

by Susan Stephens

  In reality her skin prickled with apprehension just at the thought. She might be wearing her new dress, but she was frightened to leave the room wearing it.

  She performed an experimental twirl, loving the way the silk felt against her skin. There wasn’t room for much of a twirl, because the hotel room was very small. She had no complaints—it was functional and clean, which was all she needed.

  But Rome was waiting for her outside—and tomorrow she was going home…

  Moving back to the window, she stood a little to one side, staring out at the busy street scene far below. There was an open-topped tour bus that stopped right outside the hotel, and she could see people chatting to each other as they waited to board. Across the road was a family-oriented pizzeria with a neon sign. That looked fun too. Perhaps they would have room for one later…

  Stop, Katie told herself firmly, pressing back against the wall. It was one thing buying into the pretence of going out and something else when she started to believe it might happen. But pretending had been fun. She had even styled her hair a number of different ways—up and down—but she had forgotten how thick and glossy even boring brown hair could be when it was washed, conditioned and blown dry with more than her usual care and even for a fantasy night out she wouldn’t want to look too obvious. Her everyday style was safest, she had concluded. Over the years she had perfected the technique of brushing her hair straight back before twisting it tightly and securing it with a single tortoiseshell pin.

  But she wouldn’t change a thing about the dress, Katie mused, smoothing her palms over the cool silk. She eased her neck, imagining Rigo at her side…or perhaps behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. She would lean against him…relax against him, until he dipped his head and kissed her neck as he murmured that he loved her…

  She held the image in her heart for a moment, before opening her eyes and facing reality. Rigo was eating dinner with Antonia, after which he would go home to bed.

  Antonia had so much to give, Katie reflected, but her brother had no time to take anything from anyone, because Rigo was too busy driving forward…

  Rigo…

  Leaning back against the wall again, she closed her eyes. He would look like a god tonight. She imagined him wearing a dark tailored suit with crisp white shirt and discreet gold cuff-links. The elegant look would show off his tan, his rugged strength and the power of his commanding personality. His hair would be freshly washed with thick, inky black waves lapping his brow and his cheekbones. He had the thickest, strongest hair she had ever seen, and though Rigo’s grooming would be impeccable he would still carry that air of danger that made him irresistible, and like a magnet he would draw the gaze of every person in the room.

  And she still wasn’t going out, Katie told herself bluntly, opening her eyes as she pulled away from the wall. And whichever way she looked at it dreams could never compete with the reality of Rigo.

  No, but dreams were safe, Katie’s sensible self reminded her. With dreams there were no complications, no embarrassing moments, no…

  Nothing.

  But…

  The mini-bar was full of chocolate, so it wasn’t all bad.

  He’d taken Antonia home and then gone back to the penthouse to change into jeans and a casual shirt before setting off again to Katie Bannister’s hotel. He felt tense. Wishing-he-didn’t-have-to-do-this tense? Expectant tense? He couldn’t tell. He only knew they hadn’t got off to the best of starts and Katie Bannister was alone in Rome. He wanted her to relax. He wanted to relax.

  No, he didn’t, Rigo conceded as he shouldered open the door of the small, dingy hotel. Relaxing was the last thing on his mind. He didn’t have anything half so worthy in mind for Katie Bannister. His hunting instincts had brought him here. He couldn’t get her out of his head, the contradictions—the primness, weighed against the logo on a shopping bag from one of the sexiest lingerie stores in Rome. Her excuse that it belonged to Antonia was a lie. He’d driven Antonia home and unless his little sister had eaten the bag she certainly didn’t have it with her. Since then his imagination had dressed Signorina Bannister in lace and silk—which, bearing in mind he’d only seen her in an ugly brown suit before, had been quite a startling revelation.

  He approached the reception desk with his package and made his request.

  ‘Mi dispiace, I’m sorry, Signor Ruggiero, but there is no reply from Signorina Bannister’s room.’ The man behind the desk shrugged as he replaced the telephone receiver.

  He should have known he would be recognised. It couldn’t be helped. ‘Could Signorina Bannister be in your restaurant?’ He stared across into an uninviting and markedly empty dining room.

  ‘We have no reservations tonight, Signor Ruggiero.’

  No surprise there. ‘Her room number?’

  The man barely paused a beat—something to do with the money he had just pressed into his hand, no doubt, before telling him, ‘Room one hundred and ten, Signor Ruggiero.’

  There was no answer when he knocked on the door. He used the house phone to ring the hotel kitchen and ask them to put Antonia’s picnic in their cold room. Someone would be up right away to collect it, he was told. He waited until the porter arrived, and then he returned to room one hundred and ten. Where would Katie Bannister go this time of night?

  He knocked and waited. He heard sounds from the room and knocked again.

  She answered the door cautiously, leaving the security lever in place.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you I don’t bite?’

  ‘Rigo?’ Her voice rose at least an octave when she gasped his name.

  ‘Unless I have a double…’ He leaned back against the wall. The corridor was narrow and they were agreeably close. Signorina Prim’s sexy voice had done it again, he registered, enjoying the sensation.

  ‘What do you want?’ she whispered nervously through the gap.

  Admittedly this wasn’t the type of reception he had anticipated, or was used to, but then Katie Bannister wasn’t his usual type of date. ‘We had a dinner engagement, if you remember?’

  ‘I told you I’d be eating dinner in my room.’

  And he had chosen to ignore that. ‘You haven’t eaten yet?’ he said with surprise. ‘It’s nine o’ clock.’ As if anyone in Rome ate before nine.

  ‘I didn’t say I haven’t eaten.’ She opened the door a little wider and bit her lip.

  She looked cute. ‘You didn’t say you have eaten,’ he pointed out. ‘Open the door, Katie. I can’t stand here all night.’

  The bar slid back and the door opened, but instead of standing to one side to let him in, she retreated into the shadows at the far end of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘GOOD evening, Signorina Bannister. I trust I find you well?’

  ‘Good evening, Rigo,’ she said shyly, remaining pressed back against the wall.

  ‘You look nice.’ He closed the door softly behind him. Nice? She looked beautiful, which raised a number of questions. But taking things at face value to begin with, he knew her taste in lingerie and had already dallied with erotic images, but seeing this new, softer side had unexpectedly brought out the best in him. Until his suspicions raced to the fore. ‘I beg your pardon for calling so late.’

  She glanced at her wristwatch.

  ‘And it seems you were going out?’ After refusing his dinner invitation, was it possible the waiter won her over?

  ‘I wasn’t going anywhere.’

  Was that a wistful note in her voice? ‘But the dress?’

  ‘I was just trying it on.’ Raising her chin, she looked at him steadily. ‘I bought it today. I don’t know what I was thinking—’

  ‘That it suited you?’ he suggested.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  In that moment she was like a child, and as pleasure flashed across her face she touched his heart, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. ‘Yes, I do. You look great.’ Fragile, proud and womanly he didn’t sa
y. Even her profile with her hair scraped back so tightly was delicately appealing.

  ‘I was going to return it—’

  ‘Don’t you dare—I mean, do as you like,’ he said casually as she looked at him in surprise. She wasn’t the only one to be surprised by the force of his reaction. ‘So…you’re not going out, but you’d like to?’

  ‘Not really…’ She made a little hand gesture. ‘I’m fine right here—’

  ‘But a dress like that is meant to be worn by a beautiful woman on a warm evening in Rome.’

  She all but said, that rules me out.

  ‘An evening just like this…’

  She laughed nervously as he gestured towards the mean little window. ‘It’s very kind of you, Rigo—’

  ‘I don’t do kind. I’m hungry.’

  ‘But you just ate with Antonia—’

  ‘Fiddly food?’ He dismissed the gourmet feast he’d enjoyed with an airy gesture. ‘And, as you can see—’ he ran a hand down his casual shirt and jeans ‘—I’m off-duty now.’

  She risked a laugh.

  ‘I’m thinking pizza—though Antonia sent a picnic for you, if you prefer?’

  ‘I love your sister!’ she exclaimed impulsively. ‘Only Antonia would think of a picnic.’

  He gave her a wry look. He couldn’t deny Antonia held the record for delivering the unexpected, and doing it well. ‘The hotel has it in their cold room—but I’m thinking real Roman pizza.’

  He could see she was tempted.

  ‘I’d have to get changed.’

  ‘Into what?’

  Her warning look told him not to make light of this because she hadn’t made up her mind yet.

  ‘You’d have to leave the room while I get changed.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not getting changed. You’re fine as you are. Here, grab this.’ Snatching up a shawl from the bed, he tossed it to her.

  She caught it.

  ‘Now throw it round your shoulders and let’s get out of here.’

  He gave her no chance to change her mind. Opening the door, he ushered her through.

  This wasn’t a walk on the wild side—it was absolute lunacy. The moment they left the hotel she felt naked. She never went out in a flimsy summer dress. To do so with Rigo made her feel more vulnerable than ever.

  And to think of all the things she could have done to get out of this—she could have played the tiredness card, the headache, the work to finish, the phone call to make, but instead she had fallen under Rigo’s spell. It didn’t help that he looked like a man from the pages of myth and legend. In casual clothes he was more aggressively virile than she had ever seen him and fitted perfectly into the template of ancient Rome. With his stern features and rugged, fighting form, he could have been a gladiator; the best.

  As Rigo eased his pace to accommodate her shorter stride Katie wondered how safe her heart was. As he glanced at her with eyes like back-lit emerald that promised all the danger she could take, she concluded it was her chastity she should be concerned about. Could she trust herself to behave?

  Did she want to behave?

  If she was ever going to experience lovemaking, wouldn’t it be better to do so under the tutelage of an expert?

  ‘I’m not moving too fast for you, am I?’

  Her cheeks flushed pink with guilty thoughts. ‘Not at all…’ Not as fast as my fantasies would have you move.

  The dangerous smile creased his cheeks and fired every nerve in her body. She was transfixed by lips that curved in a firm and knowing smile. He knew how to walk close but not touching. He must know how that made her long to touch him—

  And right on cue her scars shouted a stinging hello. They might be covered by the prettiest silk fabric, but they hadn’t gone away and were as ugly as ever. And now the doubts crept in. What if Rigo put his arm round her shoulders? What if his hand strayed down her back? What if he pressed those long, lean fingers against her? He couldn’t help but feel the ridges. And her final thought? What if he was repulsed by them?

  Breathe deeply and stay calm, Katie’s sensible self advised. Rigo hadn’t made any attempt to touch her and was unlikely to do so. She might be dressed up by her own small-town standards, but she was hardly a femme fatale. This outing was merely a courtesy Signor Rigo Ruggiero was extending to a representative of the legal firm handling his brother’s will.

  To prove it, they were walking alongside each other like a couple of friends—

  Friends?

  Friends looked at each other’s crotch, did they?

  Katie wished her inner voice would shut up and stop acting as her conscience. Rigo’s gaze might never stray, but she hadn’t perfected the technique of not looking at something so prominently displayed.

  What else was he supposed to do with it? her inner voice piped up again.

  OK, so he was blessed in every department, but she didn’t have to fixate, did she? Hadn’t she worked out yet how acute his senses were? Did she want him to know she had a crush?

  They had reached a crossing and he stared down at her. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ But she flinched when he put his hand in the small of her back to steer her across the road.

  ‘Relax.’

  Yes, relax. What did she think? That he had X-ray vision now?

  ‘You really are tense…’

  She gasped as he caught hold of her hand and quickly concealed it in a cough. Was this supposed to help?

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said as she broke free. ‘The traffic is dangerous and unpredictable—’

  Like Rigo. ‘Sorry—I promise to be more careful.’

  ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ He locked his arm around her shoulder.

  For a moment she didn’t breathe. Surely he must feel her trembling? And then he walked her straight past the pizza place.

  ‘That’s for tourists,’ he said as she turned her head.

  She had to scurry along to keep up with his easy, loping stride. That wasn’t easy on legs that felt like jelly. For the first time in her life she longed for her cheap suit. It might be ugly, but both the fabric and the shape were concealing. ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘First, we take a bus—’

  ‘A bus?’ He really was the master of surprises, she registered silently.

  ‘Unless a tour bus isn’t grand enough for you, Signorina Bannister?’

  ‘It’s fine by me.’ And was what she had wanted to do all along. ‘I’m just surprised you take buses…’

  ‘You mean, a man like me?’ he said. Rigo’s face creased in a smile. ‘I know every way there is to get around Rome.’ He helped her onto the running board. ‘I haven’t always travelled by private jet.’ He broke off to dig in the pocket of his jeans for some money to pay their fare.

  A curtain lifted. She saw him clearly as the youth who had come to Rome with nothing and had made his fortune here. She only realised she was still frowning as she thought about it when Rigo dipped his head to stare her in the eyes. Her heart thundered a warning. ‘It’s only a bus trip costing a few euros,’ he said. ‘You can deduct it from your fee, if that makes you feel better?’

  Better he misunderstood than read every thought in her head too clearly. ‘I’m good—’

  ‘Please allow me to reassure you that I have no intention of compromising your professional duties in any way, Signorina Bannister.’

  He made her laugh. His humour was more dangerous than she knew.

  And then the self-doubt crept in. Was that what he thought of her? She was all duty and no fun? That equalled dull in any language.

  He chivvied her up the stairs. ‘The view is better up here.’

  He persuaded her to take a seat at the front. She checked her skirt was pulled down as she sat. No wonder Rigo thought her dull. He was easygoing, charming and, even in denim jeans and a fitted casual shirt clinging tenaciously to every hard-wired inch of his impressive torso, he was sex on two strong muscled legs. While she was—

/>   ‘Dolcezza.’

  ‘What?’ He was paying her a compliment. Why couldn’t she just accept it?

  Maybe because, having sprawled across the seat next to her, Rigo was looking at her in a way that made her cheeks burn.

  ‘I like the new look, Katie; keep it.’

  Before she could reprimand him for using her first name he draped an arm around her shoulder and drew her close. ‘Though I think you should be tempted to let your hair down.’

  The murmured words sent her senses haywire as his warm breath connected with her ear. That must be why it took her a moment to realise what he meant to do, and by then it was too late. As he removed the single tortoiseshell pin from her hair it cascaded around her shoulders.

  ‘Bene,’ he said, sitting back.

  ‘My hair ornament, please.’ She held out her hand.

  ‘You can have it back later,’ he said, putting it in his pocket. ‘Now concentrate on the view.’

  As he spoke, what might well be his ancestral home hove into view. The Colosseum—the ancient amphitheatre with its pitted archways glowing eerily with honeyed light.

  But as Rigo related the history of the building she was gripped. Discovering the man beneath the public face was a non-stop revelation. His depth aroused her to the point where it was no longer possible to concentrate. She had to shift position to ease the ache inside her. She wanted to remain immune to him and soon realised what a pointless exercise that was. What she really wanted was for Rigo to touch her intimately. All this she accepted whilst maintaining a serious conversation about ancient Rome.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EXPANDING her fantasies as the tour bus drove on into the night allowed for Rigo touching her skilfully and persistently, rhythmically and expertly, until she found release. It didn’t stop there. They might experiment in the Colosseum—before a concert, maybe. As her gaze slipped to his lips while he talked she indulged in another image—one that stirred her more than most: she was being held down by Rigo while he subjected her to a lengthy feast of pleasure. She wanted sex with him. Which meant it was time to put a stop to such a dangerous fantasy.