Italian Escape with the CEO

Startled, he glanced at her. ‘You own a gold lamé cocktail dress?’

‘That’s for me to know.’ Her smile was almost shy and he realised that somehow they had relaxed into easy conversation. The knowledge unsettled him—this was Ava Casseveti, daughter of his father’s nemesis—it shouldn’t be easy to talk to her.

He gestured to the menus. ‘I guess we’d better choose our food. Then we can get down to business.’

She studied the menu, took her time and then gave a small decisive nod. ‘I’ll go for Chalk Stream trout and buttered kale and dauphinoise potatoes. What about you?’

‘The oven-roasted duck with roast potatoes and broccoli. Would you like wine?’

‘Yes, please. White for me. I’m happy for you to choose.’

A waiter glided up, so silent and discreet that as always Liam wondered how it was done, was tempted to ask to see the soles of the man’s shoes, check if they were crepe. Indeed, discretion was the order of the day. The restaurant was busy but the tables were well placed and the music pitched so that it wasn’t possible to hear more than a general hum of conversation.

Within minutes the waiter returned. Liam declined to go through the tasting rigmarole and the waiter poured the delicate golden wine into the crystal glasses before melting away once more.

They sipped the wine and both nodded approval at the same moment and then Ava placed her glass down. ‘Tell me the favour.’

Liam took a deep breath. This was it. Time to put Campaign Insanity into play and let the chips fall where they would.

CHAPTER THREE

AVA TOOK A sip from her wine, savoured the floral overtone as it trickled down her throat. Studied Liam’s expression and wondered what on earth he could be about to request. Premonition tickled the back of her neck—instinct warned that perhaps she should do a runner now. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from lingering on the strength of his features, the line and shape of his lips.

He leant back slightly, his body relaxed though this was belied by a tension in his jaw and the guarded look in his eyes. ‘As you know, I head up Rourke Securities.’

Ava nodded. Her research had shown her that his company was a massive success. Both admiration and envy tingled through her. This man had forged his own fortune—come up the hard way. Like Luca Petrovelli. And unlike Ava. Ava had been born into advantage and ready-made fame, her mother a Lady, a minor royal celebrity, her father founder and CEO of Dolci, rolling in success and riches. What would she have achieved in Liam’s shoes or in Luca’s? She pushed the thoughts away, focused instead on Liam. ‘Go on.’

‘In recent weeks I’ve hit a snag in the form of a competitor. Another ex-army captain, a peer of mine, has also set up a security company. A man with personal wealth, upper-class background, connections. Blah blah. That I can deal with.’ Liam upturned his palms. ‘I’ve got no issue with healthy competition but this guy plays dirty.

Now Liam’s whole stance hardened, his jaw clenched and anger iced the cobalt of his eyes. But before he could speak the waiter returned and placed their dishes in front of them. Ava murmured thank you and waited for him to go before she looked expectantly at Liam.

‘We are both in contention for a really important contract with Beaumont Industries and AJ Mason has orchestrated a smear campaign, designed to make me look vulnerable and weak.’

Ava stared at him and once again her hormones did a funny little flip. There wasn’t even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in sight. The man was sheer power, from the craggy strength of his features to every sinew of his body. Compact lithe muscle, and now her eyes lingered on the breadth of his thigh, moved up to see the wall of his chest and the sculpted swell of his shoulders in the fine linen shirt. She blinked. Get a grip. What was wrong with her? Perhaps her starved hormones were so happy to have lighted on an attractive man they had decided to make hay whilst the sun shone. And who could blame them?

‘The man sounds like a dirtbag. Surely you can get him for libel or slander or...something.’

‘My problem is timing. My tender for the Beaumont contract needs to go in in a month. I don’t have time to take AJ to court and, to be honest, even if I do it won’t counter-punch the impact of all the online lies and the background venom. My reputation will be in shreds.’

‘So where do I fit in?’

Liam looked down at his plate, pushed it away and topped up their glasses. ‘I’m a widower.’ His voice was flat, factual, and Ava kept her expression neutral, even as sympathy touched her. Liam could be little more than thirty; his wife must have been tragically young to die. There had been no mention of a wife on his company bio, no mention of a wife full stop in the Internet search she had conducted. ‘My wife died five years ago. Since then I haven’t had another relationship. AJ claims that I have never recovered from the tragedy and as time goes on it is affecting me more and more. So I need to show everyone that I am perfectly OK, on my game, my edge honed and nowhere near a nervous breakdown. I also need to counter his connections, his background and so on.’

‘So what are you proposing? Exactly.’ Ava remained still though every instinct told her not to wait for the answer but to push back her chair and run for it.

His gaze met hers full on; one deep breath and then he launched. ‘I want you to pose as my girlfriend.’

It took all her social poise not to drop the sterling silver cutlery into her trout. Perhaps AJ Mason had a point. Perhaps Liam Rourke had lost the plot. But forget nervous breakdown—the man was bonkers. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I want you and I to fake a relationship.’ The suggestion was uttered with a calm that quite simply did not gel with the sheer preposterousness of the idea. ‘Unless of course you already have a partner? I did do some research of my own but I realise that may not have been sufficient.’

For a moment Ava considered simply making up a boyfriend, then dismissed the idea as craven. ‘No. I am currently single.’ Had been for the past four years. Since the Nick debacle, her one serious relationship.

Nick Abingworth had been a producer, met in the heady days of Ava’s modelling career, and he was Hollywood handsome, charming and charismatic. Ava had fallen for the façade, believed it to front a good guy, a hero. Had harboured rose-tinted dreams of a happy ever after.

Had forgotten all the lessons learned from her parents’ marriage. A marriage where Karen Casseveti’s love for her husband had been an obsession. As for Jame

s, he’d loved Karen’s wealth and connections, loved them so much he’d left his first family.