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‘Don’t call me that!’ She glared at him.
Then she remembered. She was asking him a favour. She had to play nice. ‘Please,’ she added belatedly. ‘My name’s Carenza.’
‘Carenza.’ It sounded like a caress, the way he said it. All deep and husky and sexy as hell.
No. She had to focus.
‘You were right, Signor Romano. I don’t have the experience to turn the business round.’
‘And you’re eating humble pie.’ He inclined his head. ‘Interesting.’
‘Why do you have such a low opinion of me?’ she asked.
‘Because I know your type.’ He paused, giving her a measured look. ‘Princess.’
It took all her effort not to glower at him. ‘I’m not a princess,’ she said coolly.
‘Put your feet on the desk.’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘Put your feet on the desk,’ he repeated.
She had no idea what he was driving at, but she did as he requested.
‘Look at your shoes. High-end designer brand. They’d cost almost a month’s wages for most of your staff,’ he said softly. ‘So are you going to tell me now that you’re not a princess?’
Put like that, it sounded bad. She took her feet off the desk. ‘I had a job in England,’ she said, knowing that she sounded defensive.
‘Uh-huh.’
So he really did think it had been no more than a sinecure. ‘I wasn’t just sitting there filing my nails and fluttering my eyelashes. I was Amy’s PA. I organised things. I know how retail works.’
‘For luxury goods, maybe, but not food. It’s a completely different customer base,’ he pointed out.
‘Look, I’ve admitted that I need help. What more do you expect from me?’
‘Take the easy way out. Sell the business to me.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m the fifth generation of Toniellis. It’s up to me to make this work.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I guess I would’ve been the sixth generation. Or maybe if my parents had lived, I’d have had a brother or sister to share the burden of the business with me.’ She shook herself. ‘But you can’t change the past, so it’s pointless brooding over it. You just have to get on with things.’
Dante looked at her. She wouldn’t sell because the business had been part of her family’s life for years. So she had family loyalty after all. Given how few times she’d been back to Italy in the last ten years, he’d thought she’d pretty much abandoned her grandparents, happy with a life of partying in London. And she’d gone seriously off the rails last year.
But maybe Carenza Tonielli was turning over a new leaf. Maybe she wasn’t quite what he’d thought she was.
And, if she really wanted to make the business work, then getting a mentor to teach her the ropes would be the best thing that she could do.
She’d chosen him. Ironic, as he’d planned to buy her out.
He could refuse—but, then again, he owed Gino. The old man had given him a break, all those years ago. Gino had given Dante solid advice, taught him things that had stood him in good stead in business. This was Dante’s chance for payback: to help Gino’s granddaughter and make sure that the gelati business didn’t go under.
And this had nothing to do with the fact that Carenza had the most beautiful mouth and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Or the fact that he could imagine that glorious blonde hair spread over his pillow, her lips parted and her body arched in pleasure as he touched her.
‘OK,’ he said abruptly.
She blinked. ‘What?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Pay attention, Princess.’ He wasn’t going to call her ‘Signorina Tonielli’, not if he was going to be her mentor. But he wasn’t going to call her by her given name, either. It would be too intimate. This way, he could keep some distance between them. Maybe it would keep his wayward thoughts under control, too. He wasn’t used to feeling anything less than in full control of himself, and it unnerved him slightly that Carenza Tonielli could have this effect on him. He pushed the unwanted attraction away. This was business. ‘I said OK, I’ll be your mentor.’
Her face was flooded with relief. ‘Thank you. But I meant it about paying you. I can’t expect you to do this for nothing. I mean, I’m taking your time.’
‘No payment required. I’ll give you guidance, where I can—but you’re going to be the one doing the work, not me.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’ She sat up straight. ‘Where do we start?
‘You can start,’ he said, ‘by wearing something frumpy.’
Carenza could see from the shock on Dante’s face that he hadn’t actually meant to say that. So she wasn’t the only one with pictures in her head, then?
The room suddenly felt way, way too small—and it felt as if all the oxygen had just been sucked out of it, too, for good measure.
‘What’s wrong with my business suit?’ she asked, her voice only just above a whisper.
‘Nothing. The jacket and skirt are fine.’ There was a slash of colour over his cheekbones.
So what was bothering him? Her top? Her shoes? Anger flared. The woman she’d been last year wouldn’t have thought twice about taking off her jacket, strutting round to his side of the desk and teasing him, and she could see in his face that he thought he knew her type; his research must’ve dredged up a hell of a lot of dirt. No wonder he wasn’t taking her seriously. Well, let’s play your little game, Signor Romano, then I’ll show you just how wrong you are about me when I turn you down cold.
She stood up, slid the jacket off her shoulders and rested it over the back of her chair. ‘Is this the problem?’ She fingered the spaghetti straps.
His eyes were very, very dark. ‘You’re playing with fire, Princess.’
‘You started it,’ she pointed out. ‘So what’s the problem with my top?’
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 (#ud7ae2c2f-8cd8-5c67-9c28-036c01d1bd50)
DANTE scowled at his computer.
