Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

Nick punched the mirror.

The glass shattered; drops of blood bloomed like tiny flowers on his knuckles. He cursed again, grabbed a towel, wrapped his hand in it.

And laughed.

Was this what it had come to? Was he so far gone he’d punch a mirror, indulge in a sexual fantasy that was not just bizarre but unreal, all because he’d somehow let a woman work her way under his skin?

He turned on the cold water, unwrapped his hand. The bleeding was minor. He could staunch it in the shower, which was exactly what he did.

“No more,” he said grimly, raising his face to the spray.

He would meet Alessia this afternoon, but touring the vineyard wasn’t on the agenda. Neither was the decorous dinner party she’d planned for tonight, no doubt to show her father’s cronies what a tame Siciliano looked like.

To hell with being tame.

By evening, he’d have put an end to this thing. He’d be headed home. And the Ice Princess would have learned the consequences of taunting a man who carried the Orsini name.

He dressed casually. Black leather windbreaker, black T-shirt, faded jeans and sneakers.

At two minutes before one, he headed down the stairs. It occurred to him that she might not be waiting for him, that maybe she’d figure she’d pushed the game too far.

Not that that would stop him.

He knew her rooms were in the same wing as his. It would only be a matter of slapping open doors until he found her.

But there she was, standing outside the villa, dressed as he was in a jacket, jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in the kind of ponytail it had been after her morning run. Had that been today? It seemed impossible.

He felt as if he had been here forever.

“Signore.”

She looked up at him as he descended the last few marble steps. It was as if somebody had knocked the wind out of him. She was exquisite. How could he have ever thought her no more beautiful than other women who’d passed through his life? She didn’t just have a lovely face, it was a face alive with intelligence. And the rest of her. The wide eyes a man could drown in. A long, lush body he had explored all too briefly…

Stop it, Nick told himself coldly. She couldn’t go on with the game if he refused to participate, and it was time she got that message.

“Princess.”

She looked him over from head to foot and gave a forced smile.

“I see you understand that touring the vineyard will not be, how do you say, a white-collar enterprise.”

Nick’s smile never reached his eyes. “Nothing about this afternoon will be white-collar, princess. I promise you that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What happened to calling me Nicolo?”

He saw her throat constrict. “I—I… Nothing happened. I just think, since this is all about business, we might wish to maintain a—”

“Never mind.” He looked past her, toward the Jeep-like vehicle parked by the foot of the steps, and held out his hand. “The keys.”

“Scusi?”

“I want your car keys.”

“My car… Oh.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “We shall be using a Massif, not the Mercedes, and I assure you, I will not have a driving problem on the vineyard’s private ro—”

“The keys, Alessia.”