Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

After that everything felt flat and a restless night followed. There was only one face in her dreams, which explained why her eyes were red the next morning. Her face was washed-out too, and as for her hair…

Better not to dwell on that disaster, she decided, scraping it back neatly into the customary bun before securing the severe style with the whole of a packet of hair grips.

Job done, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Unfortunately, the image hadn’t changed. She was the same ordinary person. The next task was automatic. Angling her head to stare at her naked back in the mirror, she checked her scars. Nothing had changed there either. They were still as livid, the sight of them just as stomach-churning.

What had she expected? Did she think she could wish them away?

Impatient with herself for this moment of weakness, she turned away to dress in modest brown. There was only one thing out of sync in this neat brown package, she concluded after slipping on her sensible brown court shoes, and that was some rather striking underwear, purchased from a luxury boutique in Rome. Well, if she waited for a suitable opportunity to wear it the moths would have a feast.

Before leaving the room she slicked on some lip gloss. Mashing her lips together experimentally, she decided to wipe it off again. Did she want to draw attention? As no other delaying tactics sprang to mind, she drew in a deep, steadying breath and picked up her bag.

CHAPTER TEN

HE SETTLED his shades in place. Zapping the lock, he swung into the car. Resting the phone in its nest, he was still talking, grim-faced and tight-lipped as he pulled away from the kerb outside the imposing hospital building. ‘Yes, of course, do everything you can—whatever it takes—and please keep me informed.’

He stopped and drew breath as he cut the line. Now it was business as usual. This was his life—swinging from the charity that meant so much to him to the business that sustained it. The only difference today was that he was going to be late again for a meeting with Katie Bannister.

It couldn’t be helped and he wouldn’t explain the delay. He didn’t want the world knowing what he did in his private time and only a very few individuals knew he was behind the charitable foundation. His only concern was ensuring confidentiality for anyone helped by the foundation. Today it had provided life-saving surgery; tomorrow he might be taking a teenager around the track in his sports car. Whatever was required he made time for—and sometimes Antonia suffered; he knew that and felt bad about it, but there were never enough hours in a day.

Antonia knew nothing about this other life. She was too young. He would never put the burden of silence on her shoulders.

Resting his unshaven chin on his arm, he waited for a gap in the traffic. Before he could placate Antonia he must meet with Signorina Prim, and learn what last thought Carlo had sent his way. Katie Bannister would be cooling her sensible heels at the penthouse, feeling justly affronted because he was late by more than an hour.

In spite of the rush-hour traffic he made it back in record time. Leaving the sports car where it was sure to be clamped and in all probability towed away, he raced into the building. He stabbed impatiently at the elevator button and barged inside the steel cage before the doors were properly open. Throwing himself back against the wall, he watched the floor numbers changing—more slowly, surely, than they had ever changed before.

Edgy didn’t even begin to describe his condition. Impatience steaming out of every pore. He used the few seconds remaining to compartmentalise his thinking. He couldn’t take so much anger and concern into this meeting—it wasn’t fair to Katie. She didn’t know about his day, or the fact that Carlo was trying to stab him one last time from the grave—how could she?

He liked her. She was a quiet little mouse, but the way she stood up to him suggested there was a spine of steel in there somewhere—who wouldn’t like that? Maybe if things had been different…

But things weren’t different and the elevator had just reached his floor.

She found it hard to believe Rigo would be late again. Surely, not even he could be this inconsiderate—this rude? It proved how little he thought of her professionally; in every way. She was an inconvenience and nothing more. Staring down at the busy main road framed by exquisite palaces and gardens, Katie tried to make herself believe it didn’t matter Rigo was late again. Why should she care? This was business. Lots of clients were late for business meetings—some even forgot about them entirely. Why should this be any different?

Because this appointment was with Rigo.

Because of the ache in her heart.

Because she wanted him to treat her better than the average client would treat her, and because she had allowed herself to commit the cardinal sin of becoming emotionally involved with a client—a one-sided arrangement that left her feeling daft and stupid. As she continued to beat herself up her attention was drawn to one of the large Roman car-towing vehicles. No doubt someone else’s day was about to be spoiled—

‘Katie.’

She whirled around as Rigo’s husky voice broke the silence.

‘I’m so sorry.’ He strode towards her. Having burst in like a whirlwind, he spread his arms wide in a gesture of regret. ‘Please accept my apologies.’

She took him in at a glance—the unshaven face, the rumpled clothes, the less than brilliant eyes. A horrible thought occurred to her, making her feel sick inside. Had he come here straight from someone’s bed?

And why should she care? Was his sex life her business now?

But she did care. She cared a great deal too much. ‘Rigo,’ she said, extending a cool hand in greeting. ‘I had almost given you up.’

‘You’ve been well looked after, I hope?’ He glanced around and relaxed when he saw her coffee.

‘I’ve been looked after very well, thank you, and while I was waiting—’

‘Yes?’

His eyes were warmer now. ‘I took down some messages for you.’

‘Bene…good.’

She crossed to the desk to pick up the notes she had made. ‘One was from the PA you just sacked,’ she said, turning. ‘Signorina Partilora was most disappoi

nted that you weren’t here for her to deliver her message to you in person. Perhaps you’d like me to read it to you—’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘That’s OK. I can imagine…’

‘If you’re sure?’ Her eyes glinted.

‘Signorina Bannister,’ Rigo growled, ‘if I am any judge, I cannot imagine that such words would ever cross your lips.’

Then I might surprise you, Katie thought, flashing her innocent look. ‘I think it’s safe to say Signorina Partilora will not be working for you again,’ she told him mildly.

Rigo laughed. ‘What a relief. I have your cast-iron guarantee on that, do I?’

He was close enough to touch and her senses were ignited by his delicious man scent. If she could bottle that warm, clean, spicy aroma she’d make a fortune, Katie concluded. And then she would be able to walk away from a job she had no passion for.

‘The will?’ Rigo prompted.

‘Yes, of course.’ Her eyes stung with tears as she walked to the desk.

Because this was the end, Katie realised. It was the end of her Roman fantasy and the end of her fantasy life with Rigo—except she had no life with Rigo and she’d be going home after this.

Instead of sitting across from her Rigo came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. His touch was electric. Had he seen her eyes fill with tears? She couldn’t bear the humiliation.

‘I understand why you are upset and short tempered,’ he said, keeping his hands in place, ‘and you have every right to be angry with me. Please be assured my delay was necessary.’

She let her breath out slowly as he lifted his hands away and walked to the other side of the desk. She found it even harder to control her feelings when Rigo was nice to her, and now her nose was having a seizure, while her throat felt as if someone was standing on it. ‘Shall we start?’ she managed hoarsely.