‘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?