How Not to Mess with a Millionaire (Mediterranean Millionaires)

by Kyle, Regina

  She slicked her wet hair back from her face and climbed on board. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gianni handed her a towel with an overly dramatic bow.

  “I think she was talking to me,” Dante said, climbing up the ladder behind her.

  Zoe rolled her eyes as she patted herself dry and tied the towel around her waist. This wasn’t the first time she’d noticed a little whose-dick-was-bigger competition between the two friends. They’d been subtly and not-so-subtly poking at each other since she and Dante boarded the Prima Donna, usually with her as the bone they were fighting over. She didn’t know whether to be offended or amused.

  “I was talking to both of you,” she said, opting to play peacemaker.

  “Sit down so we can get moving,” Gianni ordered, starting the engine. “The weather service says there’s a storm rolling in.”

  “A storm?” Zoe took her seat at the back of the boat.

  “Nothing to worry about.” Gianni scrambled to the bow to pull up the anchor. “We should make it back before things get nasty.”

  Dante looped his towel around his neck and sat next to Zoe. “Should?”

  “Will.” Gianni jumped back into the cockpit and put the engine in gear. “The Prima Donna might not look like much, but under the hull, she’s full of surprises. Like me.”

  He winked at Zoe—she could feel Dante tense beside her—and gunned the engine, swinging the boat around the way they had come. They made it back to Marina Grande in what Gianni assured them was record time, tying up to the dock just as the sky started to darken and the waves turned to whitecaps.

  “Ciao, bella.” Gianni lifted Zoe’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Come see me again while you’re in Italy. Maybe without this one.”

  He jerked his head toward Dante, who’d thrown on his shirt and shoes and was tossing their bags onto the dock.

  Dante grumbled something that may or may not have been an Italian curse word. “I’m sure she has better things to do than hang around with Amalfi’s biggest beach bum.”

  Gianni put a hand to his heart and staggered back as if he’d been shot. “You wound me. And I prefer the term ‘coastal entrepreneur.’”

  Dante ignored his friend, stepping out of the boat and extending a hand to Zoe. “We should try to catch the next ferry.”

  She pushed his hand aside—she was done getting caught in their testosterone-fueled pissing match—slipped her feet into her flip-flops, and disembarked under her own power.

  Gianni joined them on the dock and clapped Dante on the shoulder. “Remember what I said. Nicole would want you to be happy.”

  Dante mumbled a noncommittal response, picked up his duffel, and stalked down the dock toward the shore. Zoe wondered briefly if Nicole was the woman in the photo she saw in the study, but she squashed the thought as quickly as it popped up. She didn’t have time for that now, not with Dante already halfway to the ferry. She said a hasty thank-you and goodbye to Gianni before tossing her sundress on over her swimsuit, grabbing her bag, and racing after her roommate.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Zoe asked when she caught up to him. “You didn’t even thank your friend.”

  “I’ll send him a card,” Dante quipped, not breaking his stride. “Maybe an assortment of chocolates or a nice fruit basket.”

  “You didn’t have to be so rude.”

  “He didn’t have to be so forward.”

  “Forward?”

  “Kissing your hand. Calling you bella. Inviting you to come see him again. Alone.”

  “How is any of that your concern?” Zoe huffed, struggling to keep pace with him. Damn those long, strong legs. “I’m on vacation. Why can’t I have a little fun? It’s not like you’re interested in me. You made that perfectly clear at the villa this morning.”

  “Do we have to do this now?” He reached the end of the dock and crossed the street, heading for the ticket office. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the ferry.”

  “I’ll let it go for now in the interest of getting on that boat and getting back to the mainland.” She followed him into the building. “But don’t think this topic is closed.”

  “Is any topic ever closed with you?”

  “No.” She flashed him her biggest, most innocent smile. “Not really.”

  A loudspeaker squawked, and a woman’s voice filled the room, first in Italian, then in English. “We apologize for the inconvenience, but all remaining ferries have been canceled for the day due to rough seas. The next ferry will depart at nine a.m. tomorrow, weather permitting.”

  A collective groan rose from the crowd waiting to purchase tickets.

  Zoe scowled so hard she could feel the wrinkles furrowing her forehead. This was so not going according to plan. Spending the day with Dante was hard enough. But spending the night together? That was unthinkable. “How are we supposed to get back?”

  “We’re not,” Dante admitted, unzipping the outer pocket of his bag and pulling out his cell phone. “Not tonight. We’ll have to find somewhere to stay on the island.”

  “I suggest you do it quickly,” a man in a crisp white uniform identifying him as part of the crew interjected. “With so many people caught off guard by the storm, rooms are filling up fast.”

  Zoe’s panic must have been plastered all over her face because Dante jumped in to reassure her.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he scrolled down the contact list on his phone. “I have a friend at one of the hotels here.”

  “Another friend? Is there anywhere you don’t have an inside connection?”

  “No.” Now it was his turn to attempt an innocent smile. “Not really.”

  “Aren’t you worried he’ll hit on me?”

  “He’s a she, and no.”

  “Figures,” Zoe grumbled, plopping herself down on a bench in the corner while Dante made his call. With his looks, money, and sex appeal, he probably had a woman in every hotel from Milan to Sicily. Not that she cared. She had no more reason to be jealous of his “friends” than he did of Gianni.

  So why were her insides twisted up like a balloon animal?

  Five agonizing minutes later, he stuffed his cell phone back into his bag and sat down next to her. “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  “Good.”

  “We have a hotel room.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “We have a hotel room,” he repeated, adding extra emphasis on the “a.”

  “As in one room?” she asked. “Singular?”

  “Si,” he confirmed, his mouth tense and his eyes grim. “And that’s not all.”

  The balloon animal in her gut twisted tighter. “It gets worse?”

  “It’s a junior suite. With a small sitting area. And one bed.”

  “One bed?” she echoed. “For both of us?”

  “It was the best my friend could do. And we were lucky to get that. She said their reservation line hasn’t stopped ringing.”

  Zoe rested her elbows on her knees and buried her head in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Most women don’t find sleeping with me quite so objectionable.”

  She lifted her head to glare at him. “I’m not most women.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” One corner of his mouth curled upward into a smirk. “Trust me, principessa, I won’t touch you. Even if you beg me.”

  She sat up, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going to beg you.”

  “Are you sure about that?” He leaned in, swamping her with his scent, fresh and sunny and salty from the sea air.

  The effect on her traitorous body was instantaneous and undeniable. Sweaty palms? Check. Pounding pulse? Check. Mouth as dry as the Dust Bowl? Check.

  She cursed her stupid, weak-willed flesh and
the damn infuriating man putting it to the test.

  “There has to be another way. Are all the hotels full? What about Gianni? Can’t you stay with him?”

  “Gianni lives on the Prima Donna. It’s not big enough for both of us. And according to my friend at Le Palazzo di Mare, there’s not another room available on the island. It’s the end of tourist season. That, combined with the storm, has everything booked.” Dante sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still mussed and slightly damp from their ocean adventure. “I’m not any happier about this than you. But it’s our only option. Unless you want me to sleep on a park bench. Or in the bathtub.”

  “Now that you mention it, the bathtub doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea.”

  “Are you’re saying you don’t trust yourself to resist me?” He leaned in closer, testing her resolve even further. “Is your self-control that fragile, principessa?”

  The last word sounded half endearment, half challenge, dripping from his sinfully sexy mouth like fat drops of honey.

  “I have plenty of self-control,” she lied, subtly shifting away from him. Or was it a lie? She’d managed to keep herself from climbing him like a tree so far, hadn’t she? Except for that explosive kiss. Which he started. But she hadn’t exactly stopped. Then there was that night on her balcony—

  “It shouldn’t be a problem, then, should it?” he asked, interrupting her X-rated trip down memory lane.

  He had her trapped. Admit she was afraid to share a bed with him or suck it up and spend a torturous, sleepless night lying inches from all that hot, hard, male flesh.

  “Fine,” she said after a long moment. “You win. But you’re staying on your side of the bed. And buying me dinner.”

  She hated to play the money card, but her finances were getting tight. An overnight on Capri wasn’t in her budget.

  He stood, hiking his carry-all higher on his shoulder. “Let’s check in to the hotel. I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower. Then we can order room service. We’re not exactly dressed to dine out.”

  She looked down at her rumpled sundress and frowned. Crap. She hadn’t thought of that. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d thrown an oversize T-shirt in her bag at the last minute. She’d planned to use it as a beach cover-up, but it would double nicely as a nightgown.

  “Thanks.” She rose to join him, and they started to make their way out of the office, smiling sympathetically at the handful of disgruntled stragglers on their phones, still desperately trying to find accommodations for the night. They had almost reached the door when she stopped suddenly.

  “Crap.”

  Dante made a quick spin move worthy of an NFL linebacker to avoid running into her. “What is it?”

  “Houdini. We can’t leave him alone overnight.”

  “We won’t. My grandmother will stay with him.”

  “Are you sure?” Zoe bit her lip. “Doesn’t she have somewhere to get back to?”

  “She’ll be more than happy to take care of the pig if it means we’re stuck together on Capri. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she engineered this whole thing. But as much as Nonna likes to meddle, even she can’t control the weather.”

  “She’ll need to know his bedtime ritual.”

  Dante’s eyebrows lifted. “A pig has a bedtime ritual?”

  “He’s not used to sleeping in his crate yet. It helps if you lie next to him and pet him until he dozes off.”

  Dante chuckled. “I wish I could see my grandmother’s face when you tell her she has to lie down with swine.”

  “All she has to do is snuggle him for a few minutes. It’s kind of sweet, actually. He—”

  “You can tell me about it at the hotel. And we can call my grandmother. We need to head out before the weather gets worse.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Not the one she would have preferred if she had her choice of all the possible plans in the planning universe. She still had the prospect of a night in bed with a man she’d seen naked, sucked face with, and secretly jilled off to looming in front of her like a dark shadow. But she pulled up her big-girl panties—panties that were going to stay on, literally and figuratively, until she was back in her own bedroom at Bella Vista, thank you very much—pasted on an I’m-totally-cool-with-this smile, and pushed the door open, standing back to let him through first.

  “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Welcome to Le Palazzo di Mare. How can I help you?”

  The front desk clerk’s eyes were glued to Zoe’s chest. Dante might as well have been a tree stump for all the attention he received. Not that he blamed the guy. Zoe’s rack was impressive in normal conditions. But with her sundress plastered to her skin courtesy of the downpour that had started two blocks from the hotel, it was spectacular, full and lush, the outline of her dusky nipples clearly visible through the damp fabric.

  First Gianni, now some random desk clerk at their hotel. Was every man they met going to leer at her? And was this unreasonable, uncontrollable jealousy going to rise in him like a flash flood every time one did?

  If it was, Dante was powerless to fight it. He snaked a possessive arm around Zoe’s shoulders, pulling her to his side. He might not blame the guy for looking, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or stand by idly while some stranger ogled his—

  His what? His tenant? His roommate? Hell, until a few days ago, they’d been sworn enemies, playing a sick, twisted game of chicken to see who would back down first and leave Bella Vista.

  But then he’d kissed her. And everything had changed.

  The object of his desire let out a little squawk and looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes, but to his relief she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, he drew her more tightly to him, her soft, round curves melding to his hard edges.

  “We have a reservation,” he growled at the clerk through gritted teeth. “Sabbatini.”

  “Signora Bianchi’s friend. We’ve been expecting you.” The clerk was paying attention to him now, all right, practically falling all over himself to make up for his earlier slight. It was nice to know people in high places. Like Francesca Bianchi, the part owner and general manager of one of Capri’s most exclusive five-star hotels.

  The clerk punched a few keys on his computer and slid an envelope with two plastic cards tucked inside across the counter. “Here you are, sir. One of our best rooms. A sea view suite. Signora Bianchi insisted. She sends her regrets, but she was called away to deal with a situation in the kitchen.”

  Zoe’s eyes went from wide and questioning to narrowed and suspicious. “I thought the hotel was full.”

  “It is,” the clerk assured her. “Signora Bianchi did some shuffling to make sure you were well taken care of.”

  “We need dry clothes,” Dante snapped, not ready to forgive the poor sap for lusting after Zoe.

  “You’ll find two Turkish cotton bathrobes in your en suite bathroom. I’ll have housekeeping come up for your wet clothes. They’ll be laundered and returned to you as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you.” Dante snatched the envelope with their keycards off the counter and steered Zoe to the elevators.

  “What was that all about?” she asked, ducking out from under his embrace as the elevator doors slid shut, leaving them alone in the car.

  He pushed the button for the top floor.

  “What was what all about?” he countered, knowing full well what she was getting at but not having a rational explanation for his caveman behavior.

  “The way you treated the desk clerk. Like he was dog doo on the bottom of your Ferragamo loafer. What did he ever do to you?”

  “It’s not what he did to me,” Dante grumbled. It was what he did to her. Looked at her like he was a hungry dog and she was a thick, juicy steak. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t all that different from the way Dante looked at her o
n occasion. But, irrationally, he didn’t want anyone else to have that privilege. And if that made him the biggest hypocrite in southern Italy, so be it.

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors opened. Dante didn’t waste any time exiting the car. He glanced at the number scrawled on the envelope the clerk had given him and headed down the hall.

  “Then what is it?” Zoe persisted, tagging after him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those rich, entitled assholes who takes perverse pleasure in treating people in the service industry like crap.”

  “Hardly.” As a restaurant owner, he’d seen enough of that kind of behavior to last him a lifetime. “My grandmother always says you can measure a man by the way he acts toward those who can do nothing for or to him. And animals,” he added, thinking of Mr. Abruzzi.

  He reached their suite and inserted the keycard into the slot on the door. The lock clicked softly, and he pushed the door open, shouldering his way inside. “Do you want to shower first, or should I?”

  He supposed showering together was out of the question. His cock twitched at the thought, and he willed it to stand down.

  Zoe followed him in and let out a low whistle. “Wow. The clerk wasn’t kidding about this room. It’s incredible.”

  Dante had barely registered their surroundings, but now he took the time to take them in, trying to see them through her fresh, unjaded, interior designer’s eyes. She was right. The room was magnificent, light and airy with high ceilings, white walls, and sea-blue majolica tile covering the floor. It was furnished with tasteful, timeless antiques, and on the far wall a huge set of sliding glass doors led to a balcony with a panoramic view of the Mediterranean.

  When had he become so uninterested that he stopped appreciating the finer things his privileged life afforded him? He made a mental note to thank Francesca in person before they left the island. And Zoe for reminding him to stop, take a breath, and put things in perspective.

  “I think we’ll manage,” he said wryly. Although there was still the issue of the one, albeit enormous, bed. It could be the size of the Titanic, and he’d still be hard pressed—pun intended—not to want her close to him. He blinked back images of their naked bodies, sweaty and entwined, and dropped his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Now about that shower—”