Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

He was halfway through the process and hardly needed her permission. ‘Go ahead.’ She tried very hard not to stare at his massively powerful forearms and concentrated instead on a formidable steel watch that could probably pinpoint their position in relation to the moon. One thing was sure—Gino was right: it was hot in here. Steaming.

‘Ten o’clock.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Katie swiftly refocused as Rigo spoke.

‘I said it’s ten o’clock. I noticed you looking at my watch.’

‘I was—’

‘Not because you want to go home, I hope?’

Gino saved her further embarrassment, bringing them the pizzas they had ordered. They were delicious. A thin, crispy crust baked just the way she liked it was loaded with succulent vegetables and slicked with chilli oil. Beneath that a yummy layer of zesty tomato sauce was crowned with fat globs of melted cheese. She only realised how hungry she was when she took her first bite—and there was no polite way to eat pizza when you were this hungry.

‘Now you see why Gino and I became such good friends,’ Rigo said, leaning forward to mop her chin. ‘There was always something he needed doing—and I always needed feeding after a hard day of manual labour.’

She could understand how their friendship had been forged. ‘You found a mutual need,’ she said. And could have bitten off her tongue as Rigo’s gaze lingered. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed, sitting back. ‘Napkin?’ he suggested.

‘Good idea…’ Drool was not a good look. She returned her attention determinedly to her food.

‘This is only the first course, to whet your appetite.’

‘Oh, no. I really couldn’t eat another thing…’

‘If you lived in Italy you would soon develop a healthy appetite.’

She had no doubt. But was that wise?

Katie sensibly avoided Rigo’s gaze, reminding herself she was going home tomorrow.

So? Didn’t that mean she should make the most of today?

There was such a festival air in the small bistro Katie was soon tapping her foot in time to the music. Gino had insisted she must try his home-made wine—how right he was. Picking up her glass, she drank the delicious ruby-red liquid down. It was so moreish. Who needed brand names when the house wine tasted like this? She immediately craved more and held out her glass for a refill. ‘It tastes just like cranberry juice—’

‘And packs a kick like a mule,’ Rigo warned. ‘So drink it slowly…’

He really did think of her as a kid sister—that, or an ancient aunt. Of course she would drink it slowly.

Well, she had meant to, but it tasted so fruity and innocent, and one more glass couldn’t hurt her surely?

‘And now you must dance,’ Gino insisted, waltzing past with an armful of plates.

‘I don’t dance.’ She announced this to Rigo, who didn’t seem to care whether she danced or not.

‘Do what you like,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

It seemed to Katie that the young women at the pizzeria had no inhibitions at all, and that their sole reason for being here was to shimmy into Rigo’s eye line. Something tight curled in her stomach as she watched them flash lascivious glances at him.

‘Well, signorina,’ Gino said on his return, ‘will you make an old man happy?’

It took longer than Katie had expected to focus her eyes on Gino’s face, and even longer to register surprise that he was serious. Gino did want to dance with her. Suddenly Rigo’s warning about the wine made sense. Her head was on straight, but the room was tilting—and now Gino was opening his arms to her.

‘Go ahead,’ Rigo said helpfully as the band launched into a wild tarantella.

Having stumbled to her feet, she barely had chance to exclaim, as Gino, quite literally, whisked her off her feet.

CHAPTER NINE

RIGO cut in.

By the time he cut in Katie was happy to forget her reservations and fall into his arms.

Gino melted away.

Had she been set up? Katie wondered. A bleary glance into Rigo’s totally sober face told her precisely nothing—at least, not in her present state. This was great. She couldn’t dance. She could barely stand up. And Signor Superior had been proven right. The wine had gone to her head. And now she was in danger of making a complete fool of herself.

There was nothing for it, Katie concluded. Before she fell over she had to appeal to Rigo’s better nature—that was, supposing he had one. ‘If you could just get me back to our table…’ When cast adrift in a storm of flying heels and elbows, it didn’t do to stand on your pride.

But Rigo didn’t lead her off the dance floor. Couldn’t he understand? Hadn’t he heard her? ‘I don’t dance,’ she complained.

She got a reaction this time. One inky brow rose in elegant disbelief but, rather than leading her to safety, he tightened his grip on her arms. ‘Everyone can dance, Signorina Bannister.’

‘I absolutely don’t dance.’ And, taking that as her cue, she broke free and attempted to totter back to their table unaided.

Thankfully, Rigo caught her in his arms just as she was on the point of lurching into a waiter. ‘I’m fine.’ She flapped her arms around to demonstrate this.

‘Well, clearly, you’re not.’ So saying, he banded her arms firmly to her body.

‘Let me go.’ Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into Rigo’s amused gaze. ‘I did warn you about the wine,’ he pointed out, keeping a firm hold of her.

Right now the wine was the least of her worries.

And then at Rigo’s signal the music changed abruptly. From jigging up and down like frantic monkeys the couples all around them eased effortlessly into the sinuous rhythm of the rumba.

‘What did I tell you?’ he soothed, murmuring in her ear. ‘You dance beautifully…’

How could she not when Rigo had somehow managed to mould her clumsy body to his? And Rigo could dance.

Oh, yes, he could…

By some miracle she stopped wobbling, and began to move her feet in some sort of recognisable pattern. As long as he didn’t hold her too close she’d be all right. As long as his hands didn’t wander to the scars on her back she could do this.

And now she was even beginning to relax, it felt so safe and good…

Not so her fantasies. They weren’t safe at all. Dancing close to Rigo with all the other couples masking them gave Katie’s imagination all the excuse it needed. She had everything to learn about a man’s body and this was her opportunity.

As the music filled her, her senses grew ever more acute. Her body was like molten honey curling round him until Rigo changed position and her fantasies flew away.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said as she grew tense.

‘Nothing…’ She took a deep breath and tried to relax, but the magic had vanished. Rigo’s hand had slipped into the hollow in the small of her back as they danced and then his fingers had eased a little higher. Good manners for him

not to touch her anywhere remotely intimate, but a danger signal for her, and her head had cleared at once. There was no possibility she could relax now. Even her deepest longings stood no chance against her greatest fear. She wanted Rigo to hold her—she also wanted to be perfect. She wanted to rest unresisting in his arms, and dance and dream, and enjoy herself, but how could she with her scars?

‘Katie?’ Dipping his head, Rigo stared into her troubled eyes. ‘If you concentrate on dancing the rest will follow.’

He couldn’t know how wrong he was. But as he drew her to him there was something reassuring about him. The power of his command and the fact that she didn’t want to make a scene…

His hands slipped lower. Theoretically she should be hearing more warning signals—and this time they wouldn’t be connected with her scars, but her body was clamouring and she didn’t want to fight it. This was like skirting the fringes of a hurricane and, instead of running as fast as she should in the opposite direction, hoping to be swept away by it.

‘Let go,’ Rigo murmured, encouraging her to relax.

But the damage was done and now she could think of nothing but securing her mate in the most primitive way possible. ‘I’m trying to.’

If only she dared.

He was enjoying this far more than he had expected. His initial impulse had been to rescue Katie from the risk of being trampled by Gino’s enthusiasm, but that was before he discovered how she felt beneath his hands. Timid, yet eager, she had everything to learn, and that in itself was irresistible.

He had to remind himself that she was going home tomorrow and there was no time for the style of initiation he had in mind. Resting his chin on her hair, he smiled as he dragged in her light, wild-flower scent. It was a revelation to him to feel how Katie trembled beneath his intentionally light touch. He knew she wanted more. She proved it by moving closer, seeking contact, seeking pressure between their bodies, seeking sex.

So was Signorina Prim strait-laced and just a little drunk, or was she a dam waiting to burst? Perhaps Katie Bannister was the best actress he had ever met. She was certainly a storm loosely contained in a cage of inexperience. He knew that he should take her back to the table and call for the bill, prior to taking her back to sleep alone in her chaste, maidenly bed.