Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

His nostrils flared. ‘You have other plans?’

‘Uh...no.’ Brilliant. Now he’d think she had no social life. She levelled her shoulders. ‘A minute ago you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Now you want us to have dinner?’

His lips pressed into a thin line. Impatience? Or, like most men, did he simply dislike having his motives questioned?

He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘You wanted an opportunity to talk, Helena. Take it or leave it. It is my final offer. I return to Rome on Saturday.’

Helena hesitated, her mind spinning. This could be her one and only chance for a calm, rational conversation with him. An opportunity to appeal to his sense of reason and compassion—if either still existed. The takeover was beyond her control and, if he spoke the truth, a fait accompli, but if she had even a slim chance of dissuading him from stripping the company’s assets, convincing him to settle on a strategy more palatable to her father, she had to take it. Had to try, no matter how daunting the prospect.

She nodded. ‘All right. Dinner. Tomorrow night. Where shall I meet you?’

‘I will send a car.’

Her stomach nose-dived. The thought of Leo or anyone in his employ seeing where she lived mortified her. Her neighbourhood was the best she could afford right now, but the area was far from salubrious.

She fished in her handbag for pen and paper, jotted down her work address and her mobile number. ‘You can pick me up from here.’ She handed him the slip of paper. ‘And my number’s there if you need to contact me.’

‘Very well.’ With scarcely a glance at it, he slipped the note into his trouser pocket and pulled open the door. ‘Be ready for six-thirty.’

With a nod, she stepped into the vestibule and pressed the elevator call button, having briefly considered then dismissed the stairs.

She would not bolt like an intimidated child.

The man who’d s

tolen her heart and left behind a precious gift she’d treasured and lost might be gone, the stranger in his place more formidable than she’d imagined, but she would not be cowed.

Ignoring the compulsion to glance over her shoulder, she willed the elevator to hurry up and arrive. When it did, her knees almost buckled with relief. She started forward.

‘Helena.’

Leo’s voice snapped her to an involuntary halt. Without turning, she braced her arm against the elevator’s door jamb and tilted her head fractionally. ‘Yes?’

Silence yawned behind her, turning the air so thick it felt like treacle in her lungs.

‘Wear something dressy,’ he said at last.

And then he shut the door.

CHAPTER TWO

LEO PICKED UP the half-empty water glass and studied the smudge of pink on its rim. Had Douglas Shaw sent his daughter as a honey trap? The idea was abhorrent, yet he wouldn’t put it past the man. What Shaw lacked in scruples he more than made up for with sheer, bloody-minded gall.

He crossed to the bar, tossed out the water and shoved the glass out of sight along with the whisky bottle. Then he smashed his palms down on the counter and let out a curse.

He should have let her go. Should have let her walk out of here and slammed the door—physically and figuratively—on their brief, discomfiting reunion.

But standing there watching her strut away, after she’d stared him down with those cool sapphire eyes and likened him to her father; seeing the haughty defiance in every provocative line of her body...

Something inside him had snapped and he was twenty-five again, standing in a different room in a different hotel. Watching the girl who’d carved out a piece of his heart turn her back and walk out of his life.

Bitterness coated his mouth. He opened the bar fridge, reached past a black-labelled bottle of Dom Perignon and a selection of fine wines and beers and grabbed a can of soda.

At twenty-five he’d considered himself a good judge of character—a skill honed during his teens, when looking out for his sister, taking on the role of parent during their father’s drink-fuelled absences, meant learning who he could trust and who he couldn’t. Over the years he developed strong instincts, avoided his father’s mistakes and weaknesses, but Helena remained his one glaring failure. For the first and last time in his life he’d let his feelings for a woman cloud his judgement.

He would not make the same mistake twice.

Just as he would not be swayed from his purpose.