The Ultimate Risk

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘I’m sure it won’t take you long to settle in,’ he murmured. ‘Do you like pizza?’

  ‘I love it—unfortunately.’ Gina grimaced. ‘I’m afraid my hips don’t need any encouragement to expand.’

  ‘You look in perfect proportion to me.’ Lanzo subjected her to a leisurely inspection that made her feel hot and flustered. ‘I agree you’re not a bag of bones, in the way so many women seem to think is attractive, but you won’t find any complaints here in Italy, cara. Italian men like their women to be curvaceous. At least …’ He paused and trapped her gaze with his mesmeric green eyes. ‘At least this Italian male does.’

  He was blatantly flirting with her, Gina realised, irritated by her body’s instinctive reaction to him. She wanted to tell him to back off—that the hungry gleam in his eyes was totally inappropriate when she was one of his employees.

  What chance did she stand of resisting him when he turned on his full mega-watt charm? she thought despairingly. But Lanzo could not help flirting with women—all women. It was as natural to him as breathing, and it didn’t mean anything. The best way to deal with it was to ignore it, she told herself firmly.

  ‘Why did you want to know if I like pizza?’ she said lightly. ‘Were you going to recommend a good restaurant?’

  ‘Agnelli’s—it’s a little place tucked away down a side-street, off the main tourist trail, and it serves the best pizza in Rome. I thought we could eat there tonight.’

  ‘Please don’t feel you have to entertain me,’ Gina said quickly. ‘I’m sure you have a busy social life, and I’m quite happy to do my own thing.’

  His smile made her heart flip. ‘But we are old friends, Gina,’ he said softly. ‘I want to spend time with you.’

  Oh, hell! Did he have any idea how emotive she found the expression old friends? How it tugged on her heart and sent her mind spinning back to those few weeks many years ago when she had been so insanely happy? Perhaps the happiest she had ever been in her life, a little voice inside her head whispered.

  The atmosphere inside the car suddenly seemed taut with tension. The rumble of traffic outside faded, and Gina was painfully conscious of the ragged sound of her breathing. Coming to Italy with him had been a mistake, she thought frantically. Yet she could not deny that she felt more alive than she had felt for a long, long time.

  She could not tear her eyes from his mouth, and memories filled her mind of him kissing her with hungry passion all those years ago. His reminiscing over their affair had made her remember how gentle he had been with her the first time he had made love to her. Her ex-husband had rarely been tender, and had taken his own pleasure with selfish disregard for hers. Her unsatisfying sex life had been one of the first disappointments of her marriage, Gina thought ruefully. She had not known in those early days how much worse her relationship with Simon would become.

  Every instinct she possessed told her that Lanzo was nothing like Simon and that he would never hurt her—not physically, at any rate. It was the threat he posed to her emotional security that worried her. When his mouth curved into a slow smile everything flew from her mind but her yearning for him to brush his lips over hers and then deepen the kiss until he obliterated all her fears.

  She caught her breath when he leaned towards her, but then he stilled and she felt sick inside, knowing that he had noticed her scar. She had been in such a rush that morning, at the last minute frantically packing belongings she had thought she would need in Italy, and she had not taken as much care as usual to conceal her scar with make-up. She tried to jerk away from him, but he slid his hand beneath her chin and gently forced her to look at him.

  ‘That must have been a nasty wound,’ he said quietly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I had an accident a year or so ago,’ she muttered, pulling her hair around her face to cover the scar. She swallowed. ‘It’s horrible. It makes me feel so ugly.’

  Lanzo gave her a puzzled look. ‘What kind of accident—a car crash?’ He hazarded a guess. The scar was a long thin line that ran down her face, beneath her ear and a little way down her neck. He could only think that she had been cut—perhaps by glass when a windscreen had shattered.

  Gina shook her head. ‘It’s not important.’ The matter of how she had gained her scar was absolutely off-limits. She never spoke of it to anyone—not even her family.

  Lanzo hesitated, and then said matter-of-factly, ‘It hardly shows, and it certainly does not make you look ugly, cara. Nothing could diminish your beauty.’

  His smile deepened as she gave him a startled glance.

  When she blushed she reminded him of the shy waitress who had had a crush on him years ago, who had responded to him with such sweet passion when he had kissed her. He wondered what she would do if he kissed her now. Probably she would jerk away from him like a frightened doe, as she had done when he had walked her home from the Di Cosimo restaurant in Poole. He would like to meet whoever was responsible for causing the fearful look in her eyes, Lanzo thought grimly.

  The car came to a halt and Gina released a shaky breath as the chauffeur opened the door for her to step out onto the pavement. Minutes later she followed Lanzo through the tinted glass doors of Di Cosimo Holdings. She was acutely conscious of him as they silently rode the lift up to the top floor, and her hand strayed unwittingly to the long scar hidden beneath her hair as she remembered how he had told her she was beautiful after he had seen the unsightly bluish line.

  Perhaps her overwhelming awareness of Lanzo was not so surprising. He had been her first lover, and sex with him had been utterly fulfilling. Was it so wrong to want to experience the pleasure of his lovemaking again? To revel in his hard, muscular body skilfully possessing hers, and to make love to him in return—two people meeting as equals and taking each other to the heights of sexual ecstasy?

  The lift halted, and as the door slid open she forced her turbulent thoughts to the back of her mind. Now was not an appropriate time to be imagining Lanzo’s naked aroused body. Was there an appropriate time? she wondered wildly. She had come to Italy to work for him, and she was determined to fulfil the role of his PA with quiet professionalism, she reminded herself firmly.

  ‘Welcome to Di Cosimo Holdings. Come and meet my team,’ Lanzo said smoothly. His eyes lingered speculatively on her flushed face, but, calling on all her acting skills, Gina gave him a cool smile and followed him into his office.

  Despite being heavily pregnant, Luisa Bartolli was still incredibly elegant, as so many continental women were, Gina thought to herself. Lanzo’s PA was also friendly and welcoming, and clearly relieved to meet her temporary replacement.

  ‘Lanzo wasn’t impressed when I told him I would be having a few months off to have a baby,’ Luisa confided as she gave Gina a tour of the offices. ‘I’ve been his PA for over five years, and I know how much he dislikes any disruption to his routine. But it can’t be helped.’ She shrugged. ‘Until I met my husband I had no plans to marry or have children. But Marco was keen to have a family, and I’m so excited about the baby. I’m thirty-six, and I know I’m lucky to have conceived the first month we tried. I haven’t dared mention it to Lanzo yet, but I’m already thinking that I don’t want to come back to work full-time and put the baby in day care.’ Luisa added. She glanced at Gina. ‘I’m sure that with your experience as a PA you’ll get on fine working for him. Perhaps you would consider job-sharing with me after my maternity leave is over?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Gina replied hastily. She already had doubts about the wisdom of agreeing to spend the next six months working for Lanzo. She certainly did not plan to extend her time with him. ‘I have a flat back in England, and I need to work full-time to pay my mortgage.’ She smiled at Luisa. ‘Everything seems straightforward, but thanks for saying that I can ring you if I have any problems.’ She stared wistfully at Luisa’s bump. ‘When is the baby due?’

  ‘Not for another six weeks.’ Luisa grimaced. ‘I feel fine, but the doctor has told me to rest, and Marco won�
�t allow me to do anything. He only allowed me to come into the office today after I promised to spend the rest of the day with my feet up.’

  ‘Your husband is obviously determined to take good care of you,’ Gina murmured, stifling a little stab of envy. Her marriage to Simon had been in trouble barely months after the wedding. The charming man who had wined and dined her for six months before he had whisked her away for a romantic weekend in Paris and proposed at the top of the Eiffel Tower had changed overnight, it had seemed, into a possessive husband of unpredictable moods who had been jealous of her friendships and subjected her to verbal abuse when he was drunk.

  It was probably a good thing that she had failed to fall pregnant, Gina conceded. Simon’s increasing dependence on alcohol meant that he would not have been a good father. She had tried to help him, but it was impossible to help someone who refused to recognise he had a problem, and in the end, for the sake of her sanity and increasingly her physical safety, she had left him.

  After Luisa had left, Gina got straight down to business and quickly became absorbed in the pile of paperwork on her desk. It felt good to be back at work. She was not naturally idle, and had hated her enforced weeks of inactivity after she had lost her job in Poole.

  She took the minutes of the board meeting, relieved to find that the board members were indeed a mixture of nationalities and everyone spoke English, so her fluency in Italian was not put to the test on her first day. Lanzo had further meetings booked for the rest of the day, but at five he called her into his office and told her that he had arranged for his driver to take her back to his apartment.

  ‘You’ve done enough for today,’ he said, when she protested that she was happy to stay on until he had finished. ‘Go and relax for a couple of hours and I’ll meet you at home later.’

  Trying not to dwell on the fact that she would be sharing his home for the next few months, she arrived at his penthouse apartment, close to the famous Spanish Steps, and was greeted by Daphne.

  ‘I have unpacked for you,’ the housekeeper explained as she led the way to the guest bedroom which, like all the other rooms in the apartment, was decorated in neutral colours. It was not a very homely home—more like a five-star hotel, Gina mused as she glanced around at the ultramodern décor. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Daphne explained, ‘Lanzo’s real home is his villa on the Amalfi Coast. He only stays here when he needs to be at the head office. Would you like a cup of English tea? He told me to buy it especially for you, because he remembered that you always used to drink it.’

  Don’t read too much into it, Gina told herself firmly. She smiled at the housekeeper. ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’

  When Daphne had gone she made a quick inspection of her room and the en suite bathroom, and then stripped out of her work clothes and stepped into the shower. Ten minutes later she pulled on a cool white cotton sundress, collected her tea from the kitchen, and wandered out onto the roof terrace—a leafy oasis of potted plants with spectacular views across Rome.

  She would find her grandmother’s house while she was here, Gina decided. It was exciting to be in the historical city, and she was looking forward to playing tourist and visiting the ancient landmarks. For the first time in months she felt her spirits lift—and if her excitement stemmed mainly from the fact that she would be spending the next few months with Lanzo, then so be it, she thought defensively. She was a grown woman and she could look after herself.

  An hour later she stirred at the sound of her name, and opened her eyes to find Lanzo standing beside the lounger where she had fallen asleep.

  ‘You should have sat beneath the parasol,’ he told her, hunkering down beside her and running his fingers lightly up her arm. ‘At this time of the year the sun is still strong until late in the evening, and your fair skin could easily burn.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to go to sleep,’ she mumbled, jerking upright and pushing her hair back from her hot face. ‘I was going to finish typing up the notes from the board meeting.’ She stared at him dazedly, her brain still fogged with sleep, and her heart rate quickened when she saw that he had changed into faded jeans and a tight fitting black tee shirt that moulded his broad chest. His hair was still damp from where he had showered, and his hypnotic green eyes gleamed with a hunger he made no effort to disguise. ‘When did you get back?’ she mumbled, unable to drag her eyes from the chiselled perfection of his handsome face.

  ‘Ten minutes ago.’ Lanzo did not add that he had been impatient for his meeting to finish so that he could come home to her. In her simple summer dress she did not look much older than she had at eighteen, he brooded, fighting the urge to tangle his fingers in her long, silky chestnut hair and tilt her head so that he could claim her mouth in a kiss that he knew would not be enough for either of them.

  But the faint wariness in her blue eyes cautioned him to bide his time. Gina could not hide her desire for him, however much she tried, but something was holding her back, and he was prepared to wait until she had dealt with whatever demons were bothering her.

  ‘Now that you’re awake, are you ready to sample the finest pizza in Rome?’ he asked lightly. He held out his hand and, after hesitating for a moment, she placed her fingers in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. ‘Let’s go and eat, cara. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

  As Lanzo had said, Agnelli’s pizzeria was off the tourist track, tucked away down a narrow side-street that they had reached after a fifteen-minute walk through Rome. From the outside the peeling paint around the front window and the restaurant’s air of general shabbiness was not inviting, but when they walked in they were greeted warmly by the staff. Signor Agnelli hurried out of the kitchen, the apron tied around his girth dusty with white flour, and pulled Lanzo into a bear-hug, before ushering them over to a table set in a quiet corner, which he clearly reserved for his close friends.

  ‘Enrico and I go back a long way,’ Lanzo confirmed when Gina commented that the restaurant-owner seemed to regard him as a long-lost brother. He did not add that Enrico Agnelli had been one of the first firemen to arrive at the di Cosimo home in Positano on the night of the fire, and that the fireman had almost lost his life trying to save Cristina and Lanzo’s parents. The injuries he had received had meant that he had had to leave the fire service, and Lanzo had willingly given his financial backing to help Enrico move to Rome and open the pizzeria.

  ‘That was truly the best pizza I’ve ever eaten,’ Gina said as she finished her last mouthful and sat back in her chair with a contented sigh.

  ‘I’ll tell Enrico—he’ll be pleased.’

  Lanzo’s smile made her heart lurch, and she took a hurried sip of her wine, but nothing could distract her from her acute awareness of him, Gina acknowledged ruefully.

  He had ignored the cutlery on the table and eaten his pizza with his hands, his evident enjoyment of the food somehow innately sensual. She had been happy to follow suit, and as she’d licked a smear of tomato sauce from her finger she had glanced across the table and found him watching with an intentness that had sent heat coursing through her veins.

  They wandered back to his apartment in relaxed silence, and as Gina stared up at the stars glinting in the velvet blackness of the sky she felt a curious lightness inside that she realised with a jolt of shock was sheer happiness. She hadn’t thought about Simon and the miserable months when their divorce had become increasingly acrimonious all day. Instead her mind had been full of Lanzo. Sitting across the table from him in Angelli’s, she had found herself imagining him sans his shirt and hip-hugging jeans, and had pictured the two of them naked on a bed, his bare golden skin gleaming like satin, his powerful arousal rock-hard as he lowered himself onto her …

  As the lift whisked them up to the penthouse she could not bring herself to look at him, conscious that her cheeks were burning. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lift his hand, and stiffened when he lightly touched her arm. Only then did she realise that the strap
of her sundress and slipped over her shoulder, revealing a lot more of the upper slope of her breast than she deemed decent. She held her breath when he tugged the strap back into place, and his drawled, ‘I’m sure you don’t want to fall out of your dress, cara,’ made her face burn even hotter.

  What if, instead of pulling her dress strap up, he had drawn it lower, until he had bared her breast, then shaped it with his palm, stroked his finger over her nipple …?

  Her legs felt weak as she followed him into the apartment. Get a grip, she told herself furiously. But she could not control her body’s response to Lanzo. He evoked feelings inside her she had thought were dead, had awoken her sexual desires so that for the first time in almost two years she felt a hot, damp yearning between her legs.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked as he ushered her into the lounge. ‘A brandy—or I can make you a cup of tea?’ Lanzo’s eyes narrowed speculatively on Gina’s flushed face. Did she know that he could decipher every one of the thoughts that darkened her blue eyes to the colour of midnight? he brooded, hunger and frustration coiling in his gut when she quickly shook her head.

  ‘I think I’ll go straight to bed. It’s been a long day.’ And she was going to make a complete fool of herself if she remained with him for a second longer. ‘Goodnight,’ she mumbled, and shot down the hallway to her bedroom, closing the door behind her and finally releasing the breath that had been trapped in her lungs.

  Things could not continue like this, Gina decided after she had changed into her nightdress, brushed her teeth and climbed into bed—only to find that sleep was impossible while she was imagining Lanzo in his room just along the hall, stripping out of his clothes and sliding into his bed. Did he still sleep naked, as he had done ten years ago? Stop it, she ordered herself, punching her pillows into a more comfortable shape for the umpteenth time.