***
Joanne studied her reflection in her compact mirror and licked her lips. She glanced around at the people at various tables in the hotel restaurant. Couples mostly. It would be nice to be a part of someone else’s life for a change. The past five years had been all about her career and little about her personal life. But the best part of being career-minded was she wouldn’t have become a respected journalist at a notable magazine like Life Today otherwise.
She had known all too well what Dante meant by the term magazine of trash, or trashy magazine as she had corrected him. She had worked once at that kind of establishment until her conscience finally got the better of her.
She’d been sent to find out as much as she could about Alana Forester, an up and coming Hollywood starlet, and ordered to take a photographer on assignment and scour through Alana’s trashcan.
Rummaging inside the trash for receipts, letters, or anything else she could find to spill to the public about the latest hot strumpet from Tinsel Town was an all-time low for her.
After discarding her “find”—a multitude of plain yoghurt cartons, old newspapers, and rancid food—she’d decided enough was enough. Making the forty-five minute drive to the office, she placed her letter of resignation on her boss’s desk, never having walked out on anything or anyone in her life. She cleared her desk and left without a backward glance, getting on the earliest flight back home to the U.K.
If only Dante had realized yesterday what a principled person she was.
Someone cleared his throat, startling her back to the here and now. Her glance swept upward to take in the athletic physique of Dante Alphonso, looking smart and groomed in a well-tailored charcoal-grey suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie.
“I hope I’m not too early on this occasion.” He smiled, offsetting perfect white teeth against the backdrop of a swarthy-skinned complexion.
She took a deep breath and then looked at her watch and smiled. “No, you are right on time, Mr. Alphonso. Please take a seat.” She gestured to the opposite chair, and he drew it out and sat down.
There was something so endearing about him somehow, almost a boyish quality. A roguish kind of charm at moments; at other times he seemed so strong, forceful, and forthright.
“Have you ordered yet?” he asked scanning the menu.
“No, not yet, I was waiting for you.”
“And what have you decided on?”
“I thought maybe a shrimp salad and a mineral water.”
He looked up from the menu as if she had two heads. “No, that is not a meal. That is an appetizer. Trust me and I will order for us.” He snapped the menu shut.
“But,” she was about to protest but somehow was unable to find the words. There was something thrilling about a man who knew his own mind.
Before she had a chance to say any more, he clicked his fingers at the waiter and said something in Italian she didn’t understand.
“Si, Mr. Alphonso,” the waiter said.
“You know that guy?”
“Ah, yes, this is my hotel and I stay here whenever I am in London.”
“Your hotel? As in you own it, you mean?”
“Yes, why shouldn’t I own a hotel?” His eyes were laughing now.
“No reason, it just took me by surprise.” She poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table and took a sip. “What did you order for us anyhow?”
“The asparagus and Parma ham to start, followed by penne all’arrabbiata with two juicy steaks, and I’ll leave the dessert up to you if you have the room afterward!”
“That does sound nice…”
Another waiter stood beside them with a white linen cloth draped over his forearm. “Please give me a bottle of your best Brunello di Montalcino, per favore.”
“Excuse me for being a bit of a Philistine, but what type of wine is that?”
“It’s from Montalcino, a small, hilly, medieval town just outside of Siena. The wine district there is warm and sunny, with few changes in temperature, so it is ideal to grow the grapes. It’s Tuscany’s most expensive, rarest, and longest-lived wine.”
“I take it you know your wine then?” She was impressed.
“Yes, I should do, my father owns a vineyard.”
“Oh,” was all she managed to say.
He smiled warmly and patted her hand. “I’ll fill you in on the details later…”
She nodded. “So, do you do this kind of thing with all your ladies, then?” She glanced across the table to see his eyes were glittering with amusement.
“Excusi?”
She was aware that her neck and face were heating up. “I mean, whenever you dine out, do you always choose for them?”
“No, not always,” he answered, surety in every word. “Only for those that I feel—how should I say it—only for those who I feel might appreciate my help.”
So he thought she was incapable, did he?
He lifted his glass of wine and took a long sip. “In my country most of the women seem to like it when a man takes charge, adopts the role of the wolf, leader man.”
“Oh, you mean alpha male!”
“Yes, that’s it, exactly.”
She quirked a brow.
“You do not believe me, Signorina Smith?”
“No, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but you appear to have old-fashioned attitudes and values, Mr. Alphonso.”
It was true most of the men she had been out with in her own country were more on her terms, splitting the bill fifty-fifty, and saw her as a peer. But then again, no man had penetrated beneath her skin as much as Dante Alphonso was doing right now. He was searing hot and scintillating company.
“Yes, well, I won’t make any apologies for knowing how to treat a lady.” He set his wine glass down on the table. “Even if I were not fortunate to have all this wealth, I just appreciate the finer sex.”
I bet you do.
He continued. “My mother, Maria Anna Alphonso, she made me realize women should be treated well. She was an amazing person.” The pride shone on his face.
“Was?”
He lowered his eyes, and then met his gaze with hers. “Yes, unfortunately Mamma died a year ago. She had a heart attack. She was seventy years old.”
Did his mother’s passing have anything to do with him changing his lifestyle and setting up the organization? She was about to ask when the waiter arrived with the first course.
“Bon appetito.” Dante grinned.
Bon appetito, indeed. What woman could possibly feel empty inside when she had the attentions of Dante Alphonso?
She had to admit his choice of food and wine was impeccable. If she were a food critic, she would have given the meal and choice of wine a whopping five stars. For the company, a four-star rating as she hadn’t sussed him out yet. His sensuality sizzled, but she deleted one star because he didn’t quite seem to trust her. But who could blame him? If she were in his shoes and victim to the public reading misleading and sometimes malevolent articles about her motives and her life, maybe she’d feel the same way.
Of course she would.
She was beginning to warm to the man who shared his appreciation of women not only in the smallest of ways but with grand gestures too. It was thanks to Mamma Maria, that much was evident. She wished she’d had the chance to meet her.
A small sound jolted her back to the present moment. She looked up and flushed. He was watching her, a concerned look in his eyes, and for the first time she sensed an intimacy between them.
“What’s the matter, Joanne?”
A surge of electricity coursed around her body as he said her name; the way it tripped off his tongue made her tremble.
“No, there’s nothing wrong, Dante. I was just thinking about mothers everywhere.”
“Is your mother still alive?”
“She sure is. We don’t see enough of one another, though.”
“Does she live nearby?”
“She’s lives in a small village i
n South Wales.”
“Well, one thing I will say to you, and I have no idea of the sort of relationship you have with one another, is never to put anything off. You may regret it one day.” He swallowed hard and looked past her.
What did he mean? His expression said don’t push. Dante Alphonso was not as simple a character as she’d initially thought. Here was a man with hidden depths, and like an onion, the skin needed peeling back a layer at a time.
She changed the subject.
Chapter Two
“Dante!”
A familiar feminine presence towered over him. He put down his glass of wine and swallowed hard. Then he tore his gaze from Joanne to glance upwards. Carla! What was she doing here? He had been trying to track her down these past few days.
He stood. “Carla…” They embraced, and as he kissed her on both cheeks, he inhaled the all too well-remembered, expensive perfume she always wore, its musky, exotic overtones elementally her. Was this going to be awkward after all this time?
He studied her chocolate whirlpool eyes, trying to gauge her reaction, but she seemed to have zoned out the fact he was dining with a female companion.
“I’d like you to meet Ms. Joanne Smith.” He didn’t bother telling her Joanne was a journalist with a very prestigious magazine; let her come to her own conclusions. There was no harm in that. But why did he want to make her jealous? Maybe it was because she had wounded him when she had walked away from him and their relationship. Or maybe it was something else. He wasn’t quite sure.
Her gaze swept over Joanne, and he was certain he saw something in Carla’s eyes. Contempt, maybe? Envy? But envy for what? That he appeared to have moved on?
She spoke to him in Italian as if to block out his companion. How rude of her. He replied in English, unwilling to play her little game.
He looked across at Joanne, who had a bemused look on her face. Carla was telling him that, yes, she had received the numerous voice mails and messages he’d left the past couple of days, and she had a slot to fit him into tomorrow evening for two hours.
Two hours of her valuable time! Well he wasn’t going to be her lap dog, chasing her all the time. Most women had chased him, not the other way around. Not for alpha female Carla, though; she expected men to follow her lead.
She flicked her raven black hair and licked her full lips. “Tomorrow, seven p.m. here, Dante. Ciao.” With that she turned, leaving as if a whirlwind had just entered and exited the room, turning over everything in its path, leaving mayhem and destruction in its wake. Well she’d done that for certain, the day he risked his heart and mind by falling for her.
He hazarded a glance across at Joanne.
“Who was that?” She blinked several times.
“That was Carla Serroni. A successful entrepreneur from my home town.” He said it bluntly and then sat down.
“Oh?” Her brows lifted. “So, do a lot of wealthy people come from your home town then?”
He laughed and steepled his fingers. “Er, no. Not really. Our families were sworn enemies from opposite sides of the valley, to be perfectly honest.”
Was she about to suggest she put that little gem in her feature article?
The truth was both grandfathers, his and hers, had taken over the family vineyards around the same time during the 1920s. They had made a great success of it, with very similar wines, both equally as good. But Carla’s grandfather, Nico, had become involved with one too many crooks who tried to ruin his family business. Hence, the families warred. So it came as a total shock to him when he’d discovered Carla’s heritage, but by then, he had fallen hook, line, and sinker overboard and with no intention of trying to save himself. Now, in hindsight, he wished he had.
Joanne’s voice intruded into his thoughts, bringing him back to the here and now. “Carla seemed to know you very well…”
“Oh yes. We were together at one time, Joanne. Until…”
“You mean you were dating?”
“To be honest, it was more than that. We lived together for eighteen months. I thought we’d be married by this point in time.”
“So what happened?” She was leaning forward in her chair. He wished Carla hadn’t chosen now of all times to find him.
“We broke up as couples often do.” He heard the pain in his own voice and was very grateful when the journalist changed the subject.
“I see…well, back to you. As it’s you I’m interested in. Tell me more about the Foundation? How did it come about?”
They spent a delightful afternoon together. He was beginning to warm to Joanne Smith. Her interest in his cause, his life, and his loves seemed genuine. By the time he’d ordered coffee and a couple of brandies, he was beginning to feel they were old friends who were comfortable with one another. What a tonic this woman was. Chalk to Carla’s cheese. Joanne had a warm aura about her, whereas Carla seemed cold and distant in comparison. How had he never noticed before? He was beginning to dread meeting Carla tomorrow night, and now for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he’d been so keen in the first place.
It was the unfinished business between them, though, wasn’t it? The things left unsaid. Like why she had walked out on him without a word of warning, when he’d thought all was well.
The most important question of all though was, Why did you break my heart?
***
Joanne tossed her handbag on the sofa and put her feet up, luxuriating, ruminating about the day’s events. Dante Alphonso was a remarkable man indeed from the way he’d conducted himself. Even in front of that awful Carla, he kept his composure. She witnessed a lot of fine qualities in him this afternoon. His spirit of generosity for one thing, and the way he made her feel attractive, desirable, and feeling as though she wanted to—
Hey, let’s not get carried away here, a little voice in her head chastised. He’s human like the rest of us.
Yes he was, and what a list of misdemeanors he’d left strewn in his wake regarding the ladies. There’d been scores of brunettes, redheads, actresses, models, and wealthy and not so wealthy women. It seemed as though if it had a pulse and was a drop dead gorgeous female, Dante Alphonso had been there.
She’d done her research; there were stories of wild weekends on his expensive yacht moored at Monte Carlo, parties at his homes in Bermuda and the Seychelles. He was always hitting the headlines, often creating some sort of an impression, always of the worst kind, feeding fodder to bloodhound journalists at newspapers like the Sunday News, or else featured in Style Now magazine. Journalists, if you could call them that, specializing in who his latest woman was. Where she bought her latest designer shoes, dress, and matching handbag from. Yes, Dante had loved his WAGS—wives and girlfriends of other men—too.
It had caused him more than a little bother with their husbands and partners, once involving an expensive lawsuit. The actor husband of a top Hollywood star had tried to sue him. But he’d called the lawsuit off at the last minute when his wife had left Dante’s bed and returned home to his.
To be fair, all of it was more than two years ago, and she’d yet to find a shred of evidence of it these days. Although the glossies and the newspapers still speculated, linking him with this woman and that, there appeared to be no actual substance to their claims.
What a complicated life he once led. She wouldn’t have wanted it. Not for all the tea in China nor wine in the vineyard, come to that.
There was something about that Carla woman, though. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was about her. An arrogance maybe. She seemed to be very sure of herself. Her dress was immaculate, very expensive, and très chic. And she knew how to put on the style.
She hadn’t seemed pleased to see her dining with Dante. Maybe she was jealous. But what did she have to be jealous of? She never wore designer labels herself, preferring instead to slop around in T-shirts and jeans.
The woman had been initially dismissive of her from the moment they met. She hadn’t even acknowledged her, in fact.
What if Dante had introduced her as a journalist, would that have made her sit up and take note? If there was the slimmest of chances she would feature in a glossy magazine herself? With an ego like that, it would.
She rifled through her handbag, extracting a notepad, pen, and mini tape recorder. She was pleased with how the afternoon had gone. She would transcribe it all later after taking down all the details.
When Dante had led her to his chauffeur-driven car, he’d pecked her on the cheek and promised he would get in touch soon.
But would he? Or would his attention get diverted now Carla was back on the scene?
***
Dante looked at the clothes laid out on the bed: silk shirt and casual trousers or suit and tie? The problem was he wasn’t certain in his own mind if this was business or pleasure or maybe both. He’d once had very strong feelings for Carla, enough to want to marry her, but she let him down big time. Feelings didn’t just go away overnight, though, did they? Thankfully, there was something else they needed to discuss, so the focus wouldn’t just be on their failed relationship.
There had been talk for some time now of an amalgamation of both vineyards. It made sense to him, providing this time there was no connection with organized crime.
On the other hand, maybe she had some other sort of motive for their assignation?
He decided to go for the formal, business look. There was no way he intended to encourage Carla to think they had a date. In any case, knowing her, as she was so money oriented, it would be business and not pleasure.
He arrived downstairs at the hotel restaurant a few minutes early, as she had stressed her time was limited, and waited at the table he’d reserved, a quiet alcove where they would be uninterrupted. Bang on seven p.m. she turned up. He drew in a breath; she looked stunning, so tantalizing in a short black shift dress and adorned with large pearls around her neck—real, of course—a chunky matching bracelet, designer handbag, and shoes. Around her shoulders, she wore a sheer, black wrap. Offset by a golden tan, she turned heads, and she knew it.
The Sicilian's Proposition Page 2
