by Penny Jordan
‘Not just at work…’ He was kissing her quiet, his mouth dulling her words, but again she pulled back. ‘You ignored me…’
‘I’m not ignoring you now…’ Lazzaro husked, then groaned into her neck. ‘Caitlyn, please. This endless day has been hell…’
Naked beneath the sheet, her body begged for no more questions. He was here, he’d come to her, somehow he needed her tonight, and it must be enough to hush her worried mind. His hands were cupping her face as he kissed away her doubts, and her sob of anger was aimed at herself as she pulled at his suit, as her fingers tore at his clothes.
Could she do it? Caitlyn begged of herself as he entered her.
Could she be the woman he came to at night if he gave nothing of himself in the morning?
‘Yes!’ Caitlyn sobbed her answer out loud, then sobbed it again. ‘Yes…’ she whimpered, her nails digging into the taut muscles of his back as he moved deep within her, tears spilling out of her eyes as he took her to the edge, then toppled her over.
Staring down at her as she slept, her face as pale as the pillow in the moonlight, her hair spread on the sheet, her lips swollen from his attention, her shoulders bruised from his kisses, he knew he was as weak as he was hard.
He had sworn he wouldn’t go back—yet here he was.
Sciocco.
No! Lazzaro’s jaw tightened—he was still in control, was wise to her games, was one step ahead. He would trip her up on her lies some time soon…but for now…Pulling her, soft and warm, into his body, he felt her hair tickling his chest as his arm wrapped around her. He stared at the ceiling as the word taunted him again.
Sciocco.
Perhaps a little, Lazzaro conceded, but he could handle it—wouldn’t let himself forget for a moment that he was living in a fool’s paradise.
‘To be the best…’ Lazzaro gave her a black smile as they sat in his room on Saturday and for the second time he sent back his food with complaints to the chef ‘…you have to give the best—every time.’
‘Well, my lunch is perfect,’ Caitlyn said defiantly—because it was!
She’d been taking notes since eight a.m., a pounding headache her companion as Lazzaro bombarded her with his findings, snapping his fingers as he had the night they’d first met as—not quickly enough for his impatient liking—she retrieved reams and reams of figures from her laptop. She had been grateful, so grateful, when lunch had appeared—and, unlike at the peninsular resort, in-room dining at Ranaldi’s Roma was a slice of heaven. A trolley as vast as her dinner table at home had been wheeled in, groaning under the weight of a sumptuous spread of cold meats and pastries, syruped fruits and cannolis, and coffee as thick as treacle had cleared her thumping head—yet still he found something to complain about.
Taking a bite of her cannoli, tasting the sugared creamed cheese, ignoring the inevitable icing sugar moustache, Caitlyn was insistent. ‘It’s heavenly, in fact.’
‘Because you know no better!’
God, he was poisonous at times. The man she shared her bed with, shared herself with at night, was unrecognisable against the man she barely tolerated by day.
‘Tonight we check out the competition.’
‘I thought it was Signor Mancini’s party tonight.’
‘It is—he is still the competition, and I am his. I can guarantee everything will be perfect—as it should be here. You need to get ready for tonight—your hair is…’He gave her a curious look that inflamed her.
‘I didn’t wash it this morning,’ Caitlyn hissed, ‘because I’m having it put up for the party! You-don’t-wash-your-hair-the-day-you-get-it-put-up-or-it-comes-down!’
‘Thank you for telling me.’ He gave her a very on-off smile. ‘I was just going to say that you will stand out tonight—there are not many natural blondes in Rome.’
‘Oh!’ She was jolly well sure he hadn’t been about to say that, but, given she’d so spectacularly jumped the gun, she’d never know. ‘I’ve chosen one from the dresses you had sent over—don’t worry, I won’t let you down. So, what are we doing for the rest of the day?’
‘I’ve told you—you are getting your hair and make-up done.’
‘It’s one p.m.,’ Caitlyn pointed out. ‘I don’t take six hours to get ready!’
He frowned over at her. ‘Your eyebrows need doing too…’
‘Excuse me?’ Caitlyn blushed in anger at yet another rude observation. ‘How rude!’
‘Tonight you are going to be mingling with Rome’s most rich, most beautiful. So I suggest you go and start to prepare. I am just letting you know—’
‘Well, don’t!’ Caitlyn snapped. Her heavenly lunch was sitting like lead in her stomach, and not for the first time she wondered if she was up to this—wondered if her mother’s mortgage was really worth the humiliation. She consoled herself that at least the rose-coloured glasses she’d worn over the years were well and truly starting to clear. ‘And if we’re being personal…’ She stared over at him, wishing he wasn’t so damn perfect, trying to find a fault to pick. When there wasn’t, annoyed at herself for being so childish, she made one up. ‘You’ve got something on your teeth!’
‘I have not.’
‘You have,’ Caitlyn insisted. ‘A great big green bit—right there.’ She tapped at her own teeth. ‘I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself when you abuse your staff!’
He laughed—actually threw his head back and laughed—and, most annoyingly of all, he didn’t make a single move to check. Which was probably just as well, Caitlyn thought. Because there was nothing there. Despite herself, she started to laugh too.
‘Gone?’ He smiled that lazy smile that did something to her deep inside—that made her relent when she’d sworn she wouldn’t.
‘Gone!’ Caitlyn conceded, because for the moment at least it had. Not the imaginary thing on his teeth—they both knew that—but the black cloud that had engulfed them since he’d stepped out of her bed. She was dazzled momentarily by the rainbow of his smile.
‘Go!’ He said it nicely—rather too nicely, in fact…sort of undressing her with his eyes as he did so…sort of warning her to get out while the going was good. ‘Enjoy your afternoon…’
If only she’d picked up her bag then and headed to her suite. But when Lazzaro was being nice there was no one nicer…when Lazzaro was looking at her like that there was every reason to stay.
‘Lazzaro…’
The deep, throaty, familiar voice made her start. Utterly unprepared, all she could do was sit as he stood, as he took the stunning woman in his arms and kissed her as only Italians did—only there was a tenderness there, a protectiveness there that she’d never witnessed before—and certainly not for herself. There was a gentleness in Lazzaro as he greeted this woman that made Caitlyn’s heart bleed.
‘Bonita, this is my new personal assistant, Caitlyn Bell—Caitlyn this is Bonita Mancini…’ He gave Caitlyn a sudden smile. ‘Of course—stupid me. You two will have already met.’
‘Met?’ Caitlyn frowned, and so too did Bonita.
‘We’ve spoken on the telefono, yes?’
‘That’s right.’ Caitlyn nodded, then turned to Lazzaro. ‘We’ve never actually met.’
‘But surely at your interview for the PR position…?’ Lazzaro was still smiling, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘Oh—sorry, Caitlyn. I didn’t introduce you properly—you see, not only is Bonita Alberto Mancini’s wife, she’s head of PR. That’s how they met, in fact!’
‘Still he keeps me working!’ Bonita laughed, but her laughter faded as her eyes—not her Botoxed forehead—crinkled in concentration. ‘You say you had an interview…?’ she attempted, her voice fading as she attempted to place Caitlyn.
‘It must have been with another hotel chain.’ It was Lazzaro who broke the appalling silence. ‘My mistake.’ He might have broken the silence, but nothing could take away the awkwardness—everyone present knew he never made mistakes—at least not when it came to work!
‘I
’d better get on!’ Caitlyn forced a smile and excused herself, reeling from the news that Bonita was Bonita Mancini, and looking back just once, in time to see his arm slide around her shoulders and pull her in—in time to see her rest her head on his chest as if she’d missed him for ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE looked…Caitlyn stared back at her reflection and actually said the word out loud. ‘Fabulous!’
And it had nothing to do with the flattering mirror!
There was no place for self-deprecation tonight—it was about self-preservation. And, oh, the gods had been kind tonight, because if ever she’d needed to pull out all the stops to face Lazzaro, if ever she’d needed to know not just that she was okay, but to know she was fabulous—it was tonight.
The hairdressers had practically fallen over themselves to do her hair—and though she’d planned to wear her hair up, in her usual safe French roll, after a glass of champagne and a large boost to her ego Caitlyn had, for the first time in her life, actually listened to what the hairdresser had to say. Instead of staying safe, why not play up her natural asset? Why not wear a head full of blonde curls?
So now she stood, curls snaking around her face and onto her shoulders—her eyes unrecognisable after the skilled attention of the makeup artist.
‘Uno o l’altro,’ the beautician had explained as she’d scrutinised her face, and Caitlyn had understood—she could play up either her eyes or her mouth, but not both.
The eyes had it!
Slate-grey eyeshadow and lashings of eyeliner and mascara brought out every last glimmer of blue in her eyes, soft blush accentuated her cheekbones, and her lips were full but teasingly neutral. As for the dress—black had never been less safe. A million hand-sewn black glass beads covered every inch of fabric, and the deep empress line showed off her bosom—and from the second she’d slipped it on, feeling guilty for being greedy, Caitlyn had been wanting to ask if it was hers or on loan.
Well, for tonight at least it was hers.
And for tonight at least she had enough confidence to deal with Lazzaro—was enough of a woman to walk away from the man of her dreams.
She’d always thought that he’d come back.
That the bitter man, so twisted by grief, would one day return to the man she had first met. She had been sure in her heart that the man she had fallen in love with was in there somewhere.
Only he wasn’t.
Tears glittered in her eyes as the door to her heart closed to him—closed to a man who could do such a thing to his friend. It was all she’d thought about all day, as she was primped and preened to within an inch of her life, to make her fit to grace the arm of Lazzaro Ranaldi when he attended his good friend’s birthday party. The friend whose wife he was having an affair with.
‘Are you ready?’
It was hardly an effusive greeting, but Caitlyn was relieved not to have to make small talk as she tried to squeeze lipstick, face powder and her key into the tiniest of bags—relieved because in all her efforts to look the part she’d forgotten to prepare herself for the sight of him. Always effortlessly stunning, tonight, when he had made an effort, he quite simply took her breath away. Black hair was smoothed back from his face, and his tuxedo was so superbly cut it accentuated his already broad shoulders. The white of his shirt and immaculate trousers highlighted the smooth planes of his stomach and the thick muscular legs that seemed to go on for ever.
‘Is that all you’re taking?’ Lazzaro frowned. ‘You know we’ll be staying there?’
‘Where?’
‘At the Mancini hotel—of course.’
She hadn’t known, of course—though now she thought about it, it seemed obvious. Someone with the wealth and resources of Alberto Mancini would ensure his guests were extremely well looked after.
‘It would be rude to decline…’ Lazzaro gave a pompous shrug as Caitlyn turned to race to pack an overnight bag. ‘Even if my hotel is better.’
‘How was your afternoon?’ Caitlyn asked as the elevator doors clanged behind them.
‘Long,’ came the single-word reply as he stared fixedly ahead.
Lazzaro was holding his breath—trying to block out her heady scent—trying not to look at her. Oh, he’d always known she was stunning—that with the right clothes, the right make-up, she could rival any of the A-list beauties who would be paraded tonight—but knowing what he knew, what he’d found out today, seeing her so sleek, so polished, instead of melting him it did the opposite. Tonight she turned him to stone.
He strode out of the lift and across the foyer and into the waiting car. Caitlyn struggled to keep up, tossing her bag to his driver and not offering a single word as the car sped through the wet Rome streets.
A blonde Medusa—bewitching, beguiling. Well, not tonight. Tonight he was impervious to her charms. Tonight he would hold onto the truth—the truth that was becoming clear, no matter how she, how he, tried to gloss over it. So many times he’d been tempted to trust her, to ignore the red flags—to just deny what he knew—see only the good…She bewitched him, just as Roxanne had Luca—one look at those eyes and he was gone.
Well, no more!
Tonight he would confront her.
‘Lazzaro!’
Alberto Mancini was, of course, the guest of honour at his own party, but Lazzaro clearly came a close second. Their host quickly excused himself from the gathered crowd and made his way over, talking in rapid Italian as he greeted his friend, but politely switching to English as soon as Caitlyn was introduced.
‘So, you are Lazzaro’s new personal assistant—congratulations! No doubt we will be seeing quite a bit of each other.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Caitlyn dutifully answered.
‘May I say you look stunning? Every head turned when you walked in.’
In Lazzaro’s direction, Caitlyn wanted to point out. But instead she murmured her thanks.
‘This is my wife, Bonita…’ Alberto said cheerfully, sliding an arm around his wife’s tiny waist as she came over. ‘Looking stunning too—though so you should, darling,’ he teased good-naturedly, ‘with the amount of time you spent at the parlour today! Bonita, this is Caitlyn—Lazzaro’s new personal assistant!’ And from the tiny nervous dart in Bonita’s eye, from her polite response and the kiss on Caitlyn’s cheek, if any confirmation had been needed that Alberto knew nothing of his wife’s whereabouts that afternoon, then she had it.
As Alberto excused himself and wandered off to mingle with his guests, all pretence at politeness was dropped. Bonita reverted to Italian, taking Lazzaro by the arm and guiding him away, leaving Caitlyn awkward and alone and trying not to show it. She sipped on her drink and made occasional small talk, standing on heels that hurt with a smile that ached—and a heart that was literally breaking.
In a room of beautiful people, somehow Lazzaro topped them all.
He stood just that bit taller, that bit straighter than the rest—with beautiful women floating around him like humming birds, like butterflies…like angry bees, Caitlyn thought sometimes, watching through narrowed eyes as he danced with many—or merely stood as they fought for the beam of his smile, for a second dance with the master, for the chance of a night with him. Alberto Mancini joined him, chatting and laughing and utterly, utterly oblivious—and it made Caitlyn feel sick.
‘He’s an attractive man…’ Bonita was beside her as the painful night was thankfully drawing to a close, sipping on champagne and watching the proceedings. ‘Your boss.’
‘So is your husband,’ Caitlyn answered tightly, her back straightening as if it had a rod in it, her hand so tight on her glass she half expected the stem to snap.
‘He is…’
The affection in Bonita’s voice confused Caitlyn.
‘A lot of people, my family included, think it can only be about money…why would I look at him otherwise? They do not know how he makes me feel.’
‘How does he make you feel?’
‘Safe,’ Bonita answered.
‘When I am with Alberto, my world is safe.’
Then what the hell are you doing? Caitlyn wanted to scream at her. Only she didn’t—just stiffened more, if that were possible, as Lazzaro caught her eye. Her whole body was torn between want and loathing as he excused himself from the masses and made his way over.
‘We were just talking about you, Lazzaro.’ Bonita smiled.
‘All good, I hope?’ he drawled, but his face was grim. ‘I think Alberto has had enough.’
‘I agree.’ Bonita gave a tight smile. ‘Will you…?’
‘I have told him.’ Lazzaro nodded. ‘He is just saying his farewells—I will help him to his room.’ His eyes were thoughtful as he looked over at Caitlyn. ‘I’m sorry if I have left you to your own devices…’
‘I’m not your date, Lazzaro,’ Caitlyn answered tightly. ‘This is work.’
‘Then, when I return, it’s time I asked my assistant to dance.’
A heart that should be utterly unmoved by him somehow leapt when finally they danced.
Even as he held her, even as they danced, it was at arm’s length—the boss and his assistant—the duty dance. But even if his hands barely touched her dress, even if her body wasn’t against his, the energy was undeniable—the space between them thick with loathing and bitter attraction. Her hair occasionally tickled his cheek, her scent filled his nostrils, and the awkwardness between them was arousing somehow. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, to pull her soft, warm body to his hard one, but instead he spoke.
‘Thank you…’ His voice was low in her ear. ‘For not saying anything to Alberto about this afternoon.’
‘Don’t thank me.’ His hands were loosely around her waist, their bodies somehow close enough to look as if they were comfortable with each other even while barely touching—oh, but she ached, longed to move that dangerous couple of inches, to rest herself against him, to close her eyes and feel him, have him hold her. But Caitlyn knew if she did she’d be lost. ‘Don’t make me a part of it.’
