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He swallowed hard. ‘You’re asking me?’
‘You’re the one with the problem.’
He raked a hand through his hair. ‘OK. If you really want to know … it’s distracting.’
So was he. Especially because tonight there was the faintest hint of stubble on his face—and it made her want to touch. It made her want to know how it would feel against her skin. ‘Distracting, how?’
‘I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions?’
‘Distracting, how?’ she repeated.
‘Because it’s designed to make a man wonder if you’re wearing anything underneath it.’
This time there was a definite challenge in his gaze. Hot. Sultry. She could see how much he wanted her. OK, so it was mutual. But she could keep her head. Push him that little bit further. She gave a half-shrug. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
His breathing was fast, shallow. Just like hers.
‘Show me,’ he whispered.
The words were soft, sweet as honey and sexy as sin. The ultimate temptation. Yeah. She could play this game. And then she’d stop—because she could.
She pushed one spaghetti strap down her shoulder. Then the other. Adrenalin throbbed through her veins. Would he make a move now?
But he was waiting.
Not patiently. The tension was coming off him in waves. Any second now his control would snap. Any second …
‘Show me,’ he repeated.
This was where she was supposed to switch it back to him. Beckon. Let him come and find out for himself.
But her body wasn’t paying any attention whatsoever to her head. She couldn’t think of a smart retort. All she could think of was how much she wanted him. Wanted this. So she found herself pulling the stretchy top down. Little by little. Every millimetre of skin she uncovered felt unbearably sensitive. Tingling. Worse still, she wanted him to touch her. Desperately. She needed to feel his hands on her skin. His mouth.
The top was pushed down round her waist, now, proving to him that she was wearing a bra. One without straps. Lacy and black, to match her top.
‘So now you know,’ she said shakily.
‘Yes.’ He moistened his lower lip. ‘We still have a problem.’
She knew that. Her breasts felt heavy. Aching. If he didn’t touch her right now, she was going to implode. ‘Dante,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
A millisecond later, he was round her side of the desk and his mouth was jammed over hers. It felt less like a kiss than a declaration of war—and he wasn’t going to take any prisoners. Which was fine by her. She didn’t want him to. She needed this—and she needed it now.
His fingers dealt with the hook on her bra in a nanosecond, and she couldn’t help a moan of pleasure when he let it drop to the floor and cupped her breasts. Strong yet sensitive hands. Gorgeous hands. And she wanted more. His thumbs circled her nipples, teasing her and driving her just that little bit more crazy. Her breasts felt so tight; she really wanted his mouth there to ease the ache. She pushed against him, telling him with her body exactly what she needed.
He dragged his mouth from hers, then slowly kissed his way down her throat.
She really was going to go insane if he kept this up. If he made her wait a single second more. She pushed her fingers through his hair—so soft and silky against her skin—and dragged his head down to where she wanted it. She shuddered as his mouth closed over one nipple and sucked. ‘Dante. Yes.’ The word dragged out in a hiss of desire.
Then she felt his hand moving her skirt upwards. She changed her stance slightly to make it easier for him—and so he’d get there quicker, too, because she really needed this.
She sighed in pleasure as he stroked her inner thigh, and then his hand cupped her sex. Only the thin barrier of her knickers was between them now and that felt way, way too much. She needed to be skin to skin with him. Right here, right now.
As if he could read her mind, he hooked the material to one side. His finger stroked along the length of her sex, and she rocked against him. And then, oh, bliss, he pushed a finger inside her. She nearly cried with relief, it felt so good.
He was kissing her again, and she was kissing him back, pushing her tongue against his and rocking against his hand.
His thumb found her clitoris; as he touched her, it felt as if she were going up in flames.
And then, shockingly, she was coming. Harder and faster than she could ever remember.
The climax left her drained; all the tension and misery of the last few days were simply washed away in a rush of desire.
And then she became aware of just where they were. Standing next to her desk. Her top was pushed down round her waist, her skirt was hiked up to meet it, his hand was in her knickers … Whereas he was fully clothed. Not a thing out of place. Completely in control—while hers was in tiny, tiny shreds.
She closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God.’
He gently caught her lower lip between his teeth. ‘What’s the matter, Princess?’ he whispered against her mouth.
She felt like a tart. ‘You know,’ she whispered back.
‘Mind-reading isn’t one of my skills, I’m afraid.’ There was an amused glitter in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to be a little more specific.’
He really wasn’t going to let her get away with this, was he? She’d just have to try to brazen it out. ‘It’s just a bit awkward. You’re fully dressed—and I’m …’ Practically naked.
‘You look pretty good to me, right now.’ He stole a kiss. ‘But you have a point. This isn’t what mentoring is supposed to be about.’ He removed his hand from her knickers, restored order to her skirt and slid the straps of her top back up her arms.
She grabbed her jacket and shoved it on—even though she knew that it was pretty much closing the stable door after the horse had bolted.
He knew it, too. Because he was smiling.
She glared at him. ‘Don’t you laugh at me.’
‘I’m not.’ His smile broadened. ‘OK. I admit, I’m laughing at you just a little bit. Putting on that jacket isn’t going to stop me remembering what you look like without it, Princess.’
It wasn’t doing anything to stop her remembering what it felt like to be practically naked in his arms, either. Or how he’d just stroked her to a quicker climax than she’d ever achieved in her entire life.
‘I’ll wear something frumpy, next time,’ she muttered. ‘And then we’ll both be able to concentrate.’
‘Sure.’ Though his expression was saying something else entirely. Don’t bet on it.
What the hell had she just started?
‘My office. Eight o’clock tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Your email address?’
She had just enough brain cells working to let her scribble it down on a piece of paper.
‘Good. I’ll email you some things to work on before then.’
And then he was gone. Making her feel more like a tart than ever. He’d thought she was propositioning him, when she hadn’t been. And then … she’d thrown herself at him. Practically stripped for him. So much for thinking she could prove him wrong about her. She’d just reinforced every single prejudice he had about her.
Talk about a mistake. She hadn’t learned a thing. Dante Romano wasn’t even her type. She normally went for refined, arty, intellectual types. Not brooding men whose thought processes were so far away from her own that she didn’t have a clue what was going on in their heads.
OK, so he was drop-dead gorgeous. But that still didn’t mean she should’ve thrown herself at him like that. And the fact that she hadn’t dated anyone over the past year was no excuse at all.
She covered her face in her hands. Tomorrow, she’d have a cold shower before she went to his office. A very long cold shower. And maybe she’d be able to keep this damned attraction under control long enough to get him to take her seriously and save her grandfather’s business.
CHAPTER THREE
DANTE scowled at his computer.
His concentration was shot to pieces, and it was all Carenza Tonielli’s fault.
Well, maybe not all hers. He could’ve said no.
And he definitely shouldn’t have said that about her clothes being distracting. Because knowing exactly what she looked like under them—and what her skin felt like against his mouth—was a damn sight more distracting than what he’d imagined.
For pity’s sake. He didn’t have time for this. And he didn’t want to get involved with a high-maintenance woman who’d demand his time and his complete attention, and have hissy fits all over the place when she didn’t get her own way.
What had just happened between them definitely wasn’t going to be repeated.
And he wasn’t going to let himself wonder about how it would be to sink into her warm, sweet depths. To feel her body tightening round his. To …
‘Oh, just get on with it and focus,’ he told himself sharply, and opened up his email.
He dealt with the first three messages as economically as he could. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Carenza.
And it really annoyed him that he’d lost control like that, instead of keeping things businesslike.
OK. Obviously he needed to get this over with so he could get her out of his head. He opened a new email.
Tomorrow, bring your USP and competitor analysis.
That was better. To the point, businesslike—and mentorlike.
Right. Now he could go back to his business. Focused, the way he always was.
And then his computer beeped.
The email was from Carenza.
USP???
He rolled his eyes and hit the reply button.
Unique selling proposition. What makes you different from the competition.
He thought about it after he’d sent it. Clearly she wouldn’t have a clue about competitor analysis, either. He added another email.
Change of plan. I’ll pick you up at 4 p.m. tomorrow and do the first competitor analysis with you as a blueprint.
A very humble reply arrived:
Thank you very much.
Strictly speaking, he already had enough on his plate.
Franchising Dante’s was going to take all his time, and then some. Carenza Tonielli and sorting out the gelati business were distractions he really didn’t need.
But he felt he owed Gino, for giving him that first break.
He pushed away the thought that it wasn’t the only reason he’d agreed to mentor her, and sent her another email.
Dress like a tourist. See you at 4.
Dress like a tourist. Which meant … what? Carenza wondered, the following morning. Last night, he’d said he wanted her to dress like a frump.
Just before his hand had been in her knickers.
At her instigation. Even though she’d intended to stop well before then.
This was bad. Really bad. She needed to clear things up before she could face him again. And she couldn’t possibly ring him. It was too, too embarrassing to speak about. She took refuge in the distance of an email.
About last night … I don’t normally do that sort of thing. Can we please pretend it didn’t happen?
He made her wait for an hour before he replied.
Which bit?
Oh, now that was unfair. He knew very well what she meant. Clearly he was going to extract every gram of humiliation out of this.
Not the mentoring. The other bit.
And she wasn’t going to write that down.
O. Sure.
Her face flamed. She knew he’d deliberately missed off the h. A big O, indeed. He was obviously enjoying this. She’d just bet there’d been a big, fat, mocking grin on his face as he’d typed that, and it made her want to punch him.
At the same time, she was aware that last night had been really one-sided. That she’d been the only one who’d climaxed. She’d simply taken everything he was prepared to give.
And she didn’t normally act like that. She hadn’t even dated since last year—since those terrible few months where she’d gone completely off the rails and slept with way too many Mr Wrongs. Her friends all said she’d gone too far the other way now and was too picky, but the men who’d asked her out had bored her. They’d been too fond of their own reflections in the mirror. And she was tired of getting involved with men who didn’t meet her needs. It was easier just to have fun with her friends and forget about relationships. Besides, she had a feeling that Tonielli’s was going to take up all her energies for the foreseeable future.
And Dante Romano was her mentor. Just her mentor. This was business. They’d agreed to forget about last night.
So just what did tourists wear? Frumpy ones, in particular? She didn’t actually own anything frumpy—and, given the state of the books, it wasn’t a good idea to go anywhere near a clothes shop to buy something especially for this afternoon. Not even a charity shop. In the end, she compromised with jeans and a little cardigan over one of her favourite strappy tops, and pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail. She thought about the shoes, then slid on a pair of her favourite designer heels. Being a tourist didn’t mean that you had to wear flip-flops or scuzzy trainers, did it?
Dante called for her at four on the dot, and she had to fight to keep her jaw closed. When he was a shark in a suit, she could just about cope with him. But what he was wearing made her want to rip his clothes off him right there and then. A black vest T-shirt, a pair of faded denims that looked incredibly soft and touchable, a black leather jacket and a pair of suede desert boots—topped off with a pair of dark glasses. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday. His hair was slightly rumpled—enough to tell her that it curled when it was wet.
