His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance)

by CC MacKenzie

  Nico stepped into his line of vision. His face split wide in a huge grin.

  "Magnifico! Magnifico!" His mentor and friend grabbed his head, kissed him twice on each cheek, scrubbed his hair, slapped him on the back, and finished the dance with a bear hug.

  Watching her over his friend's shoulder, Oliver slapped Nico's back. And for the first time in his life experienced the odd sensation of being both thrilled with the show of affection from a man who meant the world to him, and the overwhelming desire to strangle a perfect stranger.

  Before he could take another step, the Chairman and Chief Executive of the home club took Olivier aside to offer their congratulations.

  "How was that for your very first game of football?" Nico wanted to know grinning down into Anastacia's flushed face.

  "It was... interesting."

  "He will be European player of the year," he said, sounding like a very proud papa. He caught the eye of a hovering waiter and scooped up two glasses of champagne, handed one to her and clinked their glasses.

  Taking a careful sip of her wine, Anastacia and alcohol were not friends, she watched Nico join Olivier. With lots of charm and tact, Olivier untangled himself from the VIP's and headed straight for her.

  Anastacia refused to admit that her blood pressure had risen with every single eye contact. She refused to admit it was on the rise now, too. She reminded herself that in her line of work she met famous men, smooth talking men, charming men, every single day. This one was no different than the rest.

  But then Anastacia found herself face to face with an Olivier Conti who wasn't smiling now. She didn't like that she had to tip her head back to retain eye contact. Having him this up close and personal was quite different to seeing him from a distance. For one thing he smelled of a clean male, the tang of his cologne spun around her, mingling with the heat of his body. There was something burning deep in his eyes, something that a sixth sense was warning her was primitive, dangerous. His eyes were dark, edged with a tawny ring she found absolutely fascinating. And how fair was it that his black eyelashes were obscenely long and thick?

  "Qual e il suo nome?"

  The request was a snapped command.

  Anastacia knew enough Italian to understand, What is your name?

  Her heart did that fluttering thing against her ribs again and this time she felt it in her belly, too.

  She swallowed, determined not to show weakness.

  "Anastacia."

  "Piccola strega," he muttered. She frowned since she'd no idea what he'd called her, but by the tone it didn't sound very... nice. She'd need to look it up. His eyes narrowed. "Is that all of it?"

  His voice was indeed like Nico's, deep and growly.

  And because it annoyed her that his English was eloquent and smoothly spoken, her chin tilted.

  "Anastacia Morgan," she said in a very cool voice. And added in the same tone, "Good game."

  She watched him frown both at her tone and the delivery.

  Those dark eyes searched her face, scanned her hair.

  "I want to see you."

  Silence.

  She was about to ask him if she'd suddenly become invisible, when the penny dropped.

  My God, he was hitting on her.

  A laugh gurgled into her throat so she coughed to clear it.

  Gave him big eyes.

  "Oh, you can count on it, boyo," she said. Then a thought hit her. "What else do you do... apart from playing football?"

  "Mi scuse?" The way his face was a picture of bafflement made her bite down hard on the tip of her tongue.

  "Like, for example, can you abseil?"

  He blinked.

  And she realized he was not keeping up with the speed of her brain.

  Maybe his English wasn’t as good as she’d thought?

  Anastacia suppressed a niggle of disappointment, a sigh. Ah well, he looked pretty, but apparently no Einstein. On the plus side, a lack of working neurons should make him easy to handle.

  "Rappel down a cliff-face," she told him helpfully.

  "Si, I know what abseiling is. It is against my contract, like white-water rafting or bull riding. Perche?"

  "Just a thought. Don't worry about it."

  Still looking confused Olivier opened his mouth, but Nico beat him to it.

  "Molto bene, I see you are getting to know each other," He beamed benevolently as he wrapped an arm around them and squeezed. "You are going to make a great team."

  Olivier frowned. "We are?"

  "Si, Anastacia is the expert I mentioned. She will oversee all the arrangements, the filming, and she will travel with you to all three cities. You can place yourself entirely in her capable hands."

  Olivier shook his head, took a step back.

  Anastacia watched his reaction with interest.

  She recognized fear when she saw it, when she smelled it.

  "No, grazie, Nico..."

  And when she heard it.

  If the man hadn't been absolutely perfect for the Boutique hotel campaign, she'd have let his gutlessness slide. At least that's what she told herself.

  "Maybe our football star can't take direction from a woman," she said now. Her silky tone held a clear challenge. A challenge that made both men turn to her and blink.

  Nico opened his mouth, but Olivier, face flushed, stepped right into her personal space.

  "After the European final I am all yours, Anastacia," he said, in a tone that tossed her challenge right back in her face. His deep voice, the way her name rolled off an Italian tongue, made her knees week.

  Anastacia decided the situation needed clarity.

  "Good. You're a sportsman, used to following set rules. As long as you follow my rules there won't be a problem."

  Olivier took her hand in his and smiled.

  The smile didn't reach his eyes.

  Eyes that remained fixed on hers.

  She told herself the tiny tremor that raced up her spine was nerves and nothing more.

  He bent his head to press a whisper of a kiss on her cheek and then the other.

  The fine hair on her neck stood on end as he whispered in her ear,

  "Game on."

  Chapter Five

  How it happened, Anastacia had no idea.

  Her plan, and she'd made that plan perfectly clear to Nico, was to have an early night. Instead she found herself sitting in a cosy Italian bistro a block away from her apartment, trapped, between two ridiculously handsome Italians. Since she'd gorged herself on Oscar's fabulous food, Anastacia stuck to fish. Seared cod. Nico had tempted her with a forkful of fusilli and pesto with peas, which appeared to give the green light to Olivier to feed her slivers of veal.

  She held up a hand to stop him sliding a piece of garlic bread onto her plate.

  "Thank you, but I've already eaten."

  Nico nodded in agreement, took a sip of Chianti.

  "She did. Oscar made up a basket. She scoffed four wraps and two strawberry tarts, an apple and two bottles of water."

  Olivier grinned at the dark look Anastacia sent Nico.

  "Do I analyse your food choices?" she asked her boss in a too soft voice.

  Nico just patted her hand.

  "You are so tiny a puff of wind might blow you away, we are looking after you, cara."

  "I don't need looking after."

  "Who skipped lunch today?" Nico shot back.

  Anastacia rolled her eyes.

  Nico had a memory like an elephant.

  That'll teach her to open her big mouth.

  She smiled, gave him wide eyes.

  "I was busy organizing your new campaign. My boss likes to crack the whip."

  Nico just shook his head and dug into his meal.

  And all the time she was too aware of the fact that Olivier had been avidly watching and listening to their exchange.

  "How long have you worked for Nico?" Oliver asked.

  She turned to find dark eyes watching her with an intensity that made her blink.
/>   "Two years."

  "You are very young to hold such a responsible position."

  Anastacia opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Nico stepped in.

  "She is. But she is the best. You have nothing to worry about, Oli. As I said before, Anastacia will take very good care of you."

  By the look on Oli's face, he wasn't convinced.

  It didn't bother Anastacia that the football star was wary, even worried, about working with her. She was good, very good, at her job. Some might say her most besetting sin was to niggle a person when that person showed weakness. And as far as Anastacia was concerned Olivier was showing a big yellow stripe of weakness right now.

  She patted his hand.

  "You have nothing to worry about, Oli, darling," the way she said his name, as if he was five years old, made his dark eyes narrow into hers. "As long as you do exactly what Anastacia says, all will be well."

  Nico didn't comment, he signalled for the bill, turned to Olivier.

  "Are you coming with me, or staying in town tonight?"

  Actually, Olivier had planned to go with Nico, spend a few days at The Dower House with Bronte and the kids. But now he changed his mind.

  "I'll stay in town for a couple of days, if that is okay with you?"

  Nico stood.

  "Nessen problema."

  Anastacia gave both men an over-bright smile, held out her hand to Olivier.

  "Well, it's been so lovely to meet you," she said, not meaning a word of it. "Good luck in the final."

  She tried to tug her hand free, but Olivier kept it firmly in his, even when Nico kissed her cheeks in farewell.

  And he still held her hand when they stood outside the restaurant and watched Nico's chauffeured limo glide down the road.

  She turned to him with a flinty look in her cobalt eyes that did something crazy to the rhythm of Olivier's heart.

  "I need my hand back."

  She tugged.

  He held it tight, linked his fingers with hers.

  "I am walking you home."

  "Nope."

  He started to walk down the road, toward the river Thames, towing her in her high heels behind him.

  "You have no idea where I live," she huffed out an irritated breath.

  "You live in the new apartments near Ferranti Communications. Nico told me."

  "Nico," Anastacia muttered under her breath, "has a big mouth."

  Olivier turned to look at her face.

  A face with an expression that could curdle cream.

  He slowed his pace, wrapped a friendly arm around her tiny waist.

  "I am a gentleman. I always make sure the lady I have dinner with returns home safe and sound."

  "It wasn't a date. It was just an off the cuff thing. And I've lived in London for years. Trust me, I'm perfectly capable of seeing myself home."

  "I am sure you are. But you see I would worry. Perhaps not sleep because of that worry. And if I do not sleep I do not play well. And if I do not play well I will be dropped from the team. My career will be over." He stopped dead in the middle of the pavement just outside her apartment, turned her body into his. Dark eyes scanned her face, her hair. His hand slid over her shoulder, curled around the sensitive nape of her neck. "You would not want to be responsible for such a disaster, would you?"

  Big blue eyes flicked down to his mouth before they clicked back to his.

  "What a load of cr..."

  His mouth was on hers before she could finish the sentence.

  Dio, her mouth was so soft, searching and scorchingly hot.

  She tasted sweet.

  She tasted amazing.

  Then he raised his head to look deep into her eyes.

  "Hello, you."

  Her heart was thumping too hard against her ribs.

  She couldn't look away.

  His dark, dark eyes fascinated her.

  Anastacia knew she should move back, make it clear she wasn't interested, but found herself echoing,

  "Hello, you."

  "Dios," he said in a deep gravelly voice that rippled up her spine, stirred her blood. "You are so beautiful."

  Anastacia had been told plenty of times she was beautiful. In her business image mattered, which meant she took all compliments with a very large pinch of salt. But, for some reason, hearing the word from Olivier meant so much more.

  Perhaps that was why her response was out of her mouth, short-circuiting her brain and bypassing common sense.

  "I like the way you look, too."

  His smile changed him from ruthlessly handsome to utterly gorgeous, and, before she could think, his mouth laid siege to hers.

  No one had ever kissed her like this, held her so close like this. Oh God, gooseflesh rose from her toes to the roots of her hair. His tongue slid into her mouth to dance erotically with hers as her body seemed to fit perfectly against the hard muscled length of his.

  Heat, frantic heat, was all she could think as it scorched a path through her body. This was what she'd been missing with other men. This was what romance novelists wrote about. She needed more. Instead of playing it safe, instead of holding back a little part of herself, Anastacia changed the habit of a life time, and surrendered, pressed even closer as she stood between his strong, muscled thighs. Her hands slid over his wide, strong shoulders to thrust her fingers into dark, silky hair, to press her mouth harder, hungry, against his.

  Was it her moan or was it his?

  Who knew?

  Time stood still as they gave and they took from each other.

  And both knew, in this kiss, in this moment in time, no one dominated.

  No one controlled.

  In this kiss they were perfectly matched.

  And how wonderful was that?

  Then his mouth was torn from hers as he buried his face in her neck, held her tight.

  "I want you... now, Anastacia."

  She didn't hear the words.

  All she could think was, why had the kiss ended?

  Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers. She couldn't, just couldn't get enough of him. She adored the way he smelled. His taste on her tongue was sublime. And the way he groaned into her mouth, pressed his strong body into hers, was driving her crazy. It felt amazing. And this time her groan was swallowed by his mouth as he used his tongue, his teeth on her bottom lip, tugging it gently before sucking it into his mouth. And Anastacia loved the way he trembled, the way he moaned.

  Again he dragged his mouth from hers.

  "Anastacia! I want you... now!"

  A strident voice roared in her ears and demanded to know what on earth she thought she was doing?

  Seriously?

  Anastacia Morgan was going to have sex with a man she'd just met?

  "Let me come up." He moved to kiss her again, and the way her own body deceived her, by pressing closer instead of pulling away, stunned Anastacia.

  What the hell was this?

  Olivier Conti was a client.

  She knew better than to mix business with pleasure. Plus, the guy had a reputation with women. Hadn't her PA, Linda, put a dossier on her desk this afternoon, listing all his extracurricular activities?

  Anastacia slapped a hand on his chest, leaned back, and desperately tried to calm her raging hormones.

  A firm hand gripped her chin, tipped her head back until her reluctant gaze met his.

  Eyes, dark with desire, watched color soar into her cheeks.

  "What is the matter?"

  "I don't do this."

  He blinked.

  His smooth brow creased as if confused.

  "Kiss men?"

  Annoyed with him, but more with herself for her lack of professionalism and getting herself into this hot mess, Anastacia pushed him back.

  "The kiss was a mistake. And I don't have time for mistakes. You're a client and I don't make out with clients. Our relationship is strictly business."

  The way his eyes went wide, the way dark brows winged into
his hairline, as if she was a few cents short of a full dollar, piled a shit load of embarrassment on top of annoyance.

  "Look," she huffed out a breath because she'd led him on and then changed her mind. There was a word for women who did that. "You kissed me. I wasn't expecting it. I kissed you back. My mistake. You quite naturally assumed a quick roll in my bed. That's your mistake because that will never happen. So just get over it."

  She expected that a man with a colossal ego and a huge hard-on might get angry. At the very least make an attempt to change her mind. Neither happened. Instead, Olivier's dark eyes warmed before he smiled. And that smiled transformed his face.

  "Ah, cara, you have so many rules for yourself. I fear for the way you live your life. You do not do this. You do not do that. Try not to worry too much. Lucky for us, I only play by my rules."

  She just bet he did.

  "How... interesting," Anastacia said in a flat voice as she grabbed the bag from her shoulder, rummaged around for her key. Then she moved to the entrance door. "Since your rules have nothing to do with me, we'll just forget all about it shall we?"

  His quiet laugh had her turn to glare at him.

  "Anastacia," he purred her name like a big black contented cat, in a way that had the hair on the back of her neck prickle with an awareness of him that worried her, a lot. "Neither one of us will forget what happened between us tonight."

  "Nothing happened," she nearly snarled the words.

  Those dark eyes again went soft with something like tenderness. And it was that tenderness that clicked open something in the vicinity of her heart.