The Mount Series Boxset

by K D Grace

  Paulo eased himself back into the chair. ‘Even if that means allowing me to recruit people from The Mount to do what I’m thinking of?’

  She took a deep breath and drew a giant question mark around the nose. ‘I’m still not keen on bringing in The Mount. I’ve always kept the business separate from what goes on in The Mount.’

  ‘Business and pleasure seem to be going hand in hand quite nicely in Las Vegas, Coraline. No one would ever consider shutting down the business end of Mount Vegas. Elsa and her team bring in a lot of revenue.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know you’re right, and I’ve thought about that.’ She drew a rapid series of waves and spirals on the blotter, than laid the pen down hard. ‘All right. Make things right with Liza Calendar. Get her onboard, and give me a plan. Then tell me what you need from The Mount and I’ll see that you get it. You know we need this line to be something stunning this year more than ever.’

  Paulo felt his shoulders relaxing until he remembered how he and Liza had just parted, then the knots were back with a vengeance. ‘I’ll make it right,’ he said.

  Coraline pulled her laptop from her bag and opened it, clearly dismissing him. As he stood and turned to go she spoke with her fingers already click-clicking on the keys. ‘Paulo, I don’t care if you fuck her. If that’s what inspires you and she’s consenting, do it. I do care if you don’t make it right. Are we clear?

  ‘Yes ma’am. We’re clear,’ he said.

  It stung that Coraline could even think he wouldn’t do everything in his power to make things right with Liza Calendar. But it stung even more thinking that Liza might believe he’d taken advantage of her. He stopped by the kitchen for more desperately needed coffee, then shut himself in his office. For a long time he stood at the window looking out over the Tiber, wondering how best to approach Liza, wondering how best to test her abilities, wondering what experiments they could do to get the necessary results for Martelli Fragrance. It pissed him off a bit that he was such an opportunist, but it was the creative and imaginative doors Liza had opened that would not now allow themselves to be closed. Scent and sexuality had to be at least as closely linked in humans as they were in other mammals. How good something smelled and the response it elicited was in the nose of the beholder. And the truth was Liza Calendar elicited a whole bunch of primal responses in him. Still, all that aside – everything aside, he wanted to make things right with her. He wanted a chance to pick her brain and understand what it was like to experience the world primarily through the sense of smell. By the time he settled back in his desk, he really wasn’t thinking about what Liza Calendar could do for Martelli Fragrance. He was thinking about what she did for him. With sweaty hands, he picked up his BlackBerry and texted.

  I’m so, so sorry, Liza. I didn’t know who you were.

  When there was no immediate response, he consoled himself with the fact that she was probably still with Jim. He didn’t much like that either. If she was mad at him, well Jim was very sympathetic, and Jim did have a way with women – much more so than Paulo did, actually. Jim was a flirt and a good one. Paulo somehow missed out on all that Italian charm that Jim told him he was supposed to have. It’s not that he hadn’t had lovers, and being a member of The Mount, he never had to sleep alone if he didn’t want to. But he supposed he took himself too seriously. Jim said that too.

  Well he sure as hell hadn’t last night on the plane, had he? He checked his BlackBerry just in case he’d missed the text. Nothing. He paced the floor a couple more times then made himself another cup of coffee – more than anything so he could confirm that Jim’s door was still shut. He looked down at his watch, went back into his office, and made a half-hearted attempt to get through his emails. The plan he’d been so meticulously putting together had become hard to focus on when his inspiration was not answering his texts. He was just about to text again, when there was a hard rap on his door and Jim let himself in. He shut the door and came to sit in the chair in front of Paulo’s desk.

  ‘Holy fuck, dude. So you really … you know … on the plane?’

  Paulo glared at him. ‘I didn’t know who she was.’ Sometimes Jim was so much like an adolescent boy. Sometimes Paulo envied him that.

  ‘Of course you didn’t know who she was. That makes it all the better.’ He leaned forward, a wicked grin plastered across his face. ‘What happened?’

  Paulo ignored Jim’s question. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Well she’s not going to tell me, is she? She came across very professional, very enthusiastic about the article, just as you’d expect her to be. If she was upset, she didn’t show it.’

  ‘Did she say … anything?’

  ‘She said she had expected Coraline’s accent to be more Italian.’

  So why the hell did Paulo feel like he’d just been slapped? Of course she wouldn’t say anything about him.

  Jim leaned forward still farther until his ass was almost out of the chair. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten, Paulo, but you’re picking her up in the morning at ten for a tour of the city, you know, make her feel at home?’ The bastard didn’t even try to suppress a snigger. ‘You told me when I asked you that your schedule was clear. Just give her a nice warm welcome to Rome, and if your welcome is warm enough, she might not ask Coraline for your head on a pike.’

  Paulo flipped him off.

  Jim’s smile was all sweetness and light. ‘I’d take care of her myself, but I have a meeting in Naples tomorrow. Some of us have to work for a living.’

  Paulo flipped him off again.

  He only chuckled and stood to go. ‘I don’t know what you and Coraline have up your sleeve, but let me know when you have a plan.’ He fought back a smile. ‘And if you need someone to talk to about your … hard flight, well, you know I’m always here for you, boss.’ He left Paulo growling behind his desk.

  Chapter Seven

  Please don’t shut me out. We need to talk about this.

  Liza stared down at her BlackBerry and cursed. What she wanted was another message was from Paulo. What she didn’t want was a message from Carl. But that’s what she got. She ignored Carl’s text and flipped back to Paulo’s.

  I’m so, so sorry, Liza. I didn’t know who you were.

  It sounded professional, contrite, everything she would expect of a text from the heir-apparent of Martelli Fragrance. The fucking heir-apparent! She’d had sex with the big man himself! On an airplane! And she stupidly hadn’t even realized it was him. He must think her such an idiot. She was lucky they didn’t put her in the first taxi to Fiumicino and send her right back home.

  She really needed to text him back. But it was hard to know what to say. Quickly she typed:

  No worries. Neither of us knew. No harm, no foul.

  But she couldn’t make herself send it. It sounded cold, and did it sound bitchy? To her it sounded bitchy, manipulative. Did she mean it that way? Oh God, please say she didn’t mean it that way. She didn’t want to be one of those women who manipulated good men just to make them miserable. She had no context for anything like this. How could she know how to behave? Certainly she never thought she’d behave like she had in the last twenty-four hours.

  She deleted the text and tried again.

  You have no reason to be sorry. The apology is mine. Clean slate?

  Just as she was about to press send, it hit her that Coraline Martelli knew they’d had sex, knew before Paulo went after her in the basement. Had he actually told the head of Martelli Fragrance? Anger made her stomach hurt. They knew! They all knew. He’d told them, and she had walked right into Martelli Fragrance and made a fool of herself. They were all, no doubt, laughing their asses off behind her back.

  Why did you tell them? she typed, then deleted it quickly. Her chest hurt, her heart felt like it would jack-hammer its way out of her ribcage. Well, she deserved it, didn’t she? She started it. What was he supposed to think other than that she was easy entertainment on the flight, and he was bored?

  Another
text came through and she nearly dropped her BlackBerry. ‘Damn!’ She cursed when she saw it was from Carl.

  We need to talk, Liza. Please let me explain.

  She threw the device onto the bed, then paced the parquet floor. Fucking hell, she really didn’t need Carl bugging her on top of everything else! He was old news. He was the least of her problems. And anyway, she should be thanking him. Hadn’t he handed her the perfect way out on a silver platter? She grabbed up the device and typed furiously.

  I don’t need an explanation for what you do in your own kitchen or who you do it with. I interrupted. My bad. Problem solved.

  She practically jammed her finger sending it. A message came back almost immediately.

  ??? I’m alone and I’m not in my kitchen. Are you OK?

  Sonovabitch! How the hell had she managed to send the message to Paulo instead of Carl? Pacing again and mumbling curses under her breath she shot back.

  Sorry! Text meant for someone else.

  She sent it off, then figured before she made a bigger fool of herself, she’d finish this up and tuck the BlackBerry away in the drawer where it could do her no further harm.

  I’m fine, no worries. I apologize for my bad behavior on our mutual journey and for invading your office space uninvited. I hope it won’t color your opinion of my work.

  This time she sent it. It sounded a little bit cold, but at least not snippy. It sounded like the professional she was, and the professional she would now need to be around Paulo … Mr Delacour. As for his indiscretion with his boss and his second in command, well she wouldn’t mention it. The laugh was on her, and she deserved it, but she would not make a fool of herself again, nor would she give him more ammunition with which to entertain his colleagues.

  The morning dawned bright and beautiful and very, very early, thanks to jet-lag. There was a gym in the building’s basement, which Liza took advantage of, then she dressed and helped herself to yogurt, a banana, and some coffee. She looked at her watch. It wasn’t yet seven. She had plenty of time before Martelli’s tour guide arrived to take her around the city. She was told it would be someone who knew the place well and had worked for Martelli long enough to answer any questions she might ask. Jim had been a bit vague, like maybe he was still trying to decide who would be best. Maybe he would be her guide? Maybe Martelli would feel she’d be more comfortable with another American. From somewhere in the Midwest, she thought he’d said, but his Italian was almost as good as hers. She knew that Martelli roots were as deep in North America as they were in Italy. No one could actually say for certain if the office in Rome or the one in Seattle was the headquarters, and Coraline Martelli spent as much time in one as she did the other. Clearly Paulo did too. His English was flawless with only the tiniest hint of an accent and, as much as she hated to admit it, he was all the sexier for it.

  The morning was just too lovely not to do a bit of exploring on her own before her guide came. She looked down at her watch. She had enough time for a walk to the Piazza del Popolo and maybe even a bit of a wander in the Villa Borghese gardens before she had to get home for a quick shower. Being a Bernini fan, she planned to come back when there was more time and explore the Villa Borghese and all its wonderful treasures. She had adored Bernini’s sculptures of Apollo and Daphne and of Persephone and Hades since she was a child, and it would be lovely to finally see them for real. She changed into walking clothes and headed out the door at a brisk pace. Being near Piazza Cavour meant Bernini Place wasn’t far from the Vatican, and the walk along the Tiber was lovely. The traffic was already heaving, and the noise of the city made a manic soundtrack to her walk. The route was lined with aging churches, wrought iron balconies, and numerous small cafes. She found a quiet one and ordered an espresso, which she drank while standing at the counter, chatting merrily in Italian to the heavy-set man behind the bar, who told her about his upcoming holiday to New York.

  It was just what she needed to clear her head. She walked surrounded by sleepy Italians scrambling to face their busy days in the bustle of a city that was old long before there was a United States. The history, the richness, the sheer sensuality of the place, with its rich dark coffee and its unpretentious, deliciously seasoned cuisine was an olfactory feast, a story for the nose. She breathed in and walked on, sniffing and smelling as she went.

  Even following her nose, it had taken her less time to get to the Piazza del Popolo than she had expected. The hawkers were already accosting the early-morning tourists with cheap souvenirs of Rome that were all made in Asia. The more aggressive of them she politely turned down, the rest she simply ignored.

  The place was as beautiful as she remembered it to be, but it couldn’t be fully appreciated until she crossed the square and made her way up the steps and the zig-zaggy path that led to a car park at the edge of the Villa Borghese gardens, where there was an overlook of the whole piazza.

  She breathed in the dry Mediterranean air and the iron and pepper scent of the city. A quick look at her watch, and she decided to hunt down the Villa Borghese, which nestled somewhere in the middle of the extensive gardens, so when she came back, she’d know exactly where to go to see the Berninis. The paths that led deeper into the park were still shaded, the heavy foliage of the trees filtering out the sharp angle of the early morning sun. For a brief moment her Spidey nose tingled and she stopped and sniffed. The muscles below her stomach tightened as olfactory memory sent sparks of arousal to her nipples and all points south. She closed her eyes and sniffed. Surely she couldn’t be smelling Paulo Delacour. What would he be doing here in the villa’s gardens? As she moved on, her fertile imagination filled her head with thoughts of what would happen if she ran into Paulo in the gardens where there were so many places one might sneak off the beaten path. She shut her mind down. It wasn’t going to happen even if he was in the park. Quickly she looked around her again. Their relationship would now have to be professional. It would be difficult enough knowing that every time Jim and – worst of all – Coraline Martelli saw her, they would think about her throwing herself on Paulo. And who knew what Paulo would think.

  Paulo! Christ, the memory of him coming to her seat in the plane, the memory of his scent, of his touch had her stopping and sniffing again.

  And suddenly the smell wasn’t pleasant anymore. She sniffed, and the sour and acrid scent made her throat clench. She was just about to turn and head back into the open when, from behind a dense hedge, two men sprung. They were both wearing ski masks.

  One bumped into her hard and took off in a run. But before she could do more than gasp out half a curse, the second grabbed her bag and yanked. ‘Give it back, you sonovabitch!’ she yelled, jerking the strap hard.

  Without a word the man took a knife from his pocket. From behind a ski mask, his eyes locked on hers. Her heart dropped to her stomach and she froze. Before she could draw another breath, he severed the strap with a quick slice of the knife, gave her a hard shove, then ran after the other man. Sharp gravel abraded her left knee and the heel of her right hand as she went down on the path, but before she even had time to panic, a familiar scent washed over her. Strong hands moved around her waist hoisting her to her feet, and she found herself looking into the molasses dark eyes of Paulo Delacour. His scent was tinged with hot metal, and he looked like he was ready to commit murder.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said, steadying her.

  ‘I’m all right. I’m fine.’ She didn’t dare say anything else for fear she would cry. She wasn’t fine! She’d been violated. She was angry and scared and she felt sick all over, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

  The hot metal scent spiked. ‘Like hell you are. What were you thinking? Just give them the damn bag and let it go. Nothing you have in there is worth your life.’ He eased her gently onto a bench and bent to look at her knee.

  Through the mist of tears she struggled to keep from shedding she saw that he was dressed in running clothes, and the smell of good clean male sweat rose from him li
ke summer heat.

  ‘This will sting a bit,’ he said, as he took his water bottle and poured it over the skinned knee, washing off the gravel. She hissed between her teeth and fought the tears harder. From some invisible pocket inside his shorts, he pulled a neatly folded handkerchief and pressed it to the wound. Then he took her hand and checked it before doing the same. ‘It’s not like pick-pockets to be violent. Most of the time the deed’s over and done with before you know what happened. What did they get?’

  ‘Not much,’ she said resisting the urge to run her fingers through his hair where his head bent over her hand. ‘I’ve travelled enough to know not to carry valuables when I don’t have to. I doubt they got more than enough euros for a coffee and a cheap sandwich. There was a business card and photocopied pages from my passport. Oh, and my favourite lippy. That’s about it.’

  ‘Your phone?’ he said. ‘Please tell me you’re not wandering about in a strange city without your phone.’

  She shifted her cotton shirt enough that he could see the black leather clip-on BlackBerry case on the waistband of her shorts. ‘It’s not elegant,’ she said, ‘but it’s still the best way to carry the thing.’

  He offered her an agreeing smile and pulled out his own device. Still tending to her hand, he called up a number and spoke to someone in volatile, rapid-fire Italian about what had just happened. The police maybe? Certainly there was little chance of catching the thieves, and even the bag she’d been carrying was cheap, completely replaceable. At last, he hung up, stood, and offered her his hand.