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The Hidden Heart of Rico Rossi
Kate Hardy


When in Rome… Rico Rossi is a successful hotel billionaire – but when beautiful English tourist Ella Chandler mistakes him for a tour guide he can’t help going incognito! He’ll show her every attraction Italy has to offer…starting with himself!Ella can’t believe the sizzling attraction that burns between them, and when it’s time to leave the Eternal City she finds it hard to kiss her Latin lover goodbye. But when she discovers he’s lied to her she’s devastated. Commitment-shy Rico now has one big fight on his hands: if he wants Ella, he’s got some proving to do!










He never reacted to anyone like this. Ever.

But there was something about Ella Chandler, and he really had to make an effort to stop himself twining his fingers through hers, bringing her hand up to his mouth and tasting her skin, brushing each knuckle with his lips.

Especially as she looked completely unaffected by their brief contact. No way was he going to make a fool of himself.

‘Wow. This is fabulous,’ she said when she’d eaten her first bite of bread.

God, her mouth was beautiful. A perfect rosebud. Again, he had to hold himself back from leaning forward and touching his mouth to hers, brushing his lips against hers until they parted.

And it wasn’t just sexual attraction. There was more to it than that. Spending time with someone who enjoyed such simple pleasures … it had been way too long since he’d done that, Rico thought. His last few girlfriends had been more interested in the lifestyle he could give them. Tickets to exclusive events, the finest champagne, designer jewellery. Ella seemed very different. He wasn’t sure whether she fascinated him or unnerved him. He didn’t have a clue what made her tick—or why she was affecting him like this. This wasn’t supposed to be happening …




About the Author


KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history she helps out at her children’s schools. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.) Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She says it’s the best of both worlds, because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Recent titles by the same author:

THE EX WHO HIRED HER

A MOMENT ON THE LIPS

Kate also writes for Mills & Boon


Medical™ Romances. Her titles include:

ITALIAN DOCTOR, NO STRINGS ATTACHED

ST PIRAN’S: THE FIREMAN AND NURSE LOVEDAY

(St Piran’s Hospital)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




The

Hidden Heart

of Rico Rossi

Kate Hardy







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I dedicate my fiftieth romance to Gerard—

who always believed in me—with all my love.




CHAPTER ONE


‘UM, MI scusi?’ Ella dredged up the little Italian she’d learned from the phrasebook as she stood at the hotel’s reception desk. ‘I think I have a sightseeing tour booked this morning?’

‘Sì, Signora Chandler. With me.’

Ella’s jaw almost dropped as she turned around to see who’d spoken. This couldn’t be her tour guide, surely? The man looked more like a model for a perfume ad. He was tall, with slightly dishevelled dark hair held back from his eyes by a pair of sunglasses, dark eyes with unfairly long lashes, and the most sinful mouth she’d ever seen.

He spoke perfect English, with the slightest, sexiest hint of an accent. And she was going to have to keep her libido on an extremely tight leash. No doubt the man was used to English tourists who were too full of hormones melting at his feet and he knew how to deal with them kindly; all the same, Ella didn’t want to make a fool of herself. She’d already done that quite enough, this past year.

‘I, um, buongiorno’ She held out her hand.

When he took it, it felt as if her temperature had just gone up five degrees.

This was crazy. How could she possibly react like this to a complete stranger—a man she’d only just met and knew nothing about, other than that he was an employee of the hotel where she was staying?

Not that he was wearing a uniform like the other staff. Instead, he wore a crisp white shirt, the neck unbuttoned far enough to show that there was a light sprinkling of hair on his chest and the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, teamed with stone-coloured chinos and boat shoes that would be comfortable for a long day’s walking tour of the city. Casual, and yet utterly, utterly stylish, as only the Italians could be.

Ella’s best friend Julia would immediately dub him ‘sex on legs’. And she’d be right on the money. He was gorgeous.

‘Are you ready, Signora Chandler?’ he asked politely.

No, not in a million years. ‘Of course,’ she fibbed, forcing herself to sound as professional as she would to one of her clients.

‘I’m Rico,’ he said.

Why did her tongue feel as if someone had glued it to the roof of her mouth? ‘Uh—Ella,’ she responded, hating the fact that she sounded so pathetic and gauche.

‘Ella.’ Her name sounded like a caress, the way he said it.

Help. She really needed to remind herself that she was twenty-eight, not seventeen. And she knew only too well that charm like his was all surface and no substance. Been there, done that and worn the T-shirt to shreds.

‘Shall we go?’

‘Sure.’ She gave him her best attempt at a sensible smile.

‘So this is your first time in Rome, and you want a tour of the major sights, sì?’

‘Ancient Rome, the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain,’ she confirmed.

‘Bene. Then we’ll start with the Colosseum. Apart from the fact that it’s the nearest site to the hotel, the queues are relatively short at this time of day.’

She followed him out of the hotel and resisted the urge to pinch herself. She, Ella Chandler, was actually in Rome—The Eternal City. The place she’d wanted to visit for years, though they’d never been able to afford a holiday when she was small; by the time she was earning enough to pay her way, her friends had talked her into going somewhere else with them. This time, she was pleasing herself. Visiting the place that had captured her imagination as a child, far more than tales of princesses and castles.

‘I’ve always wanted to come to Rome, ever since I saw a picture of the Colosseum in a book as a little girl,’ she said to Rico. ‘I mean, I know it’s not one of the official Seven Wonders of the World, but to me it was.’

‘It’s the largest surviving ancient Roman building,’ he said. ‘It’s not quite as well preserved as somewhere else I’ll take you to see today, but it’s still pretty spectacular.’

He told her about the history of the place as they walked down the street, and Ella found herself relaxing with him. Then, as they reached the bottom of the street, she stopped dead and just stared.

‘Wow. I can’t believe we were just walking down a modern street with cool shops and houses—and here it is. Right in the middle of things.’ The ruin was huge and just … awesome. There was no other word for it. Up close, the Colosseum was exactly what she’d always thought it would be like, really living up to her dream.

‘That’s one of the things about Rome,’ he said with a shrug. ‘A building might look modern, but beneath it there’s likely to be the foundations of something like this.’

Clearly he was used to it; didn’t they say that familiarity bred contempt? He didn’t seem anywhere near as impressed by it as Ella was. But she was entranced by the sheer majesty of the ruin; and she was glad that Rico was sensitive enough to let her absorb the atmosphere rather than breaking it up with chatter.

She was gorgeous, Rico thought as he looked at Ella. Very much an English rose with that pale skin, golden-brown hair tied back at the nape of her neck, and blue-grey eyes. An old quote floated into Rico’s head: non Angli, sed angeli. Not English, but angels.

Ella Chandler was as beautiful as any Botticelli angel. Particularly as she didn’t seem to be the slightest bit aware of how lovely she was. And she had a natural beauty—not like half the guests in his hotels, who were manicured and spray-tanned and coiffured to within an inch of their lives.

Why was she on her own in Rome? He knew that she was booked into the honeymoon suite, but he also knew that she’d signed in as Ms Chandler rather than Mrs. So had this trip to Rome originally been planned as a honeymoon? Maybe her fiancé had let her down at the last minute, and she’d decided not to waste the booking and had come to Rome on her own. Or was there some other reason?

Rico reminded himself that it was nothing to do with him. He was her tour guide today simply as part of his ongoing review of the Rossi hotel chain, checking that they were meeting their customers’ needs with every single service they offered. Right now, that meant taking Ella Chandler through the fast-track queue to a place she’d wanted to visit for years and years and years, and making her dreams come alive.

‘I never expected to see gladiators and emperors everywhere,’ she said, smiling as she saw the characters wandering round.

‘It’s fun and adds to the atmosphere,’ he agreed. ‘But I’d say just enjoy the view, unless you want to pay through the nose for having your photograph taken with them.’

‘Oh. So they’re not official—not part of the Colosseum itself?’ She looked disappointed, and then slightly wary.

‘They’re freelance. And sometimes they can be a bit pushy. But they won’t be pushy with you, because you’re with me.’ He smiled. ‘And I’m happy to take as many photographs for you as you wish. It’s all part of the tour service.’

‘Thank you.’

Once they were through the entrance and he’d paid for the tickets, Rico took Ella through into the building, showing her where the different classes of people would have sat to enjoy the shows. He took photographs of her with the iconic arches of the Colosseum behind her and a view over the arena and the basement; even though she was wearing sunglasses in the bright Roman sunlight, he could tell that her smile reached her eyes. And her pleasure in the place was infectious. He’d grown used to thinking of it as just one of the buildings near his hotel. But seeing Ella’s reaction made him look at the building again. And he could see what she saw: a truly spectacular place, more than just the iconic symbol of the city. This was the epicentre, where emperors had held processions and entertained the entire city. Where ordinary people had seen lions and bears and elephants, creatures they would never see in their daily lives.

On the second floor, he took her through to the temporary exhibition. ‘Apart from the written sources we have, the graffiti gives us a pretty good idea of the kind of spectacles people saw here.’ He showed her a leaping wolf scratched into the stone, and a gladiator fighting with a net. Ella pushed her sunglasses up to rest on the top of her head so she could take a closer look, and the expression of sheer wonder in her eyes fascinated him. How long had it been since something had enthralled him like that? Too many years to count …

At thirty, Rico was jaded way beyond his years—and he knew it.

Not that he was going to beat himself up about it. He didn’t have time. He had an empire to run.

When they left the Colosseum, Rico took Ella past Constantine’s triumphal arch. ‘This is my favourite view of the building,’ he said, stopping to give her time to turn round and admire it.

‘It’s spectacular. Everything I thought it would be,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Hey, it’s my job,’ he said. Mainly to remind himself that she was a client, and that made her off limits. And even if she wasn’t off limits, she wasn’t his type. He always dated tall, slender, sophisticated women who knew the rules and didn’t make any emotional demands on him. In return, he gave them the lifestyle they wanted. Temporarily. Nobody had ever tempted him to make it permanent.

He forced his thoughts back to the job in hand. ‘Let me show you through the Forum next.’

‘Is this the place where Marc Antony did the speech—well, according to Shakespeare?’ she asked.

He laughed. ‘Yes. Normally you can hear half the tour guides declaiming it.’ He pointed to some columns in the distance. ‘The spot where he gave the funeral oration is at the New Rostrum—over there by the Temple of Saturn.’

‘Is that what you do, as a tour guide? Declaim the speech?’

She had dimples, he noticed. The cutest, cutest dimples.

And it took Rico a real effort to concentrate on her question instead of reaching over to touch her cheek, to find out if her skin was as soft as it looked. What on earth was wrong with him? He never got distracted like this. Ever. ‘I can do. Unless you’d rather do it?’

‘I know it’s a bit touristy, but would you mind if I did?’

‘Sure. Do you have a video setting on your camera? I could film it for the people back home, if you like.’

‘That’s so nice of you.’

No, he most definitely wasn’t nice. His last girlfriend had said he was a machine, totally focused on his work—because he’d refused to change his rules for her. But he supposed that Rico the tour guide would be nice, at least on the surface. ‘It’s what I’m here for. To make Rome feel like home for you.’

Ella showed him how the camera worked and her fingers accidentally brushed against his. Awareness flooded through his whole body and he almost gasped. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d reacted this strongly towards someone; and it was as much as he could do to concentrate on taking the film while she declaimed the speech.

‘You have a very clear voice, and you spoke it well,’ he said when she’d finished and he handed the camera back to her.

‘Thank you.’

She blushed. Very prettily. He couldn’t help wondering what she’d look like, all flushed and drowsy with pleasure. Pleasure that he’d just made her feel.

Enough. He really shouldn’t be thinking about Ella Chandler in sexual terms. She was a client, for pity’s sake. So what if she was the first woman to intrigue him like this in more than three years, since he’d taken over as CEO of Rossi Hotels? He knew how fleeting sexual attraction was. And he didn’t have time to let her distract him.

As they walked back up towards the Via Nova, Ella looked enchanted by the wisteria that grew along the wires, the leaves making a kind of canopy and the pale purple blooms hanging down.

‘Hand me your camera and smile,’ he directed, and took several shots of her with the wisteria framing her.

There was a secluded corner of his roof garden just like this. And he suddenly had the strongest vision of kissing her there under the night sky, her palm cupping his cheek and his hands tangled in her hair, her mouth opening underneath his to let him deepen the kiss …

Help. He needed to get back to a neutral topic. Fast. Something that didn’t make him think about sex. This was so inappropriate, it was untrue. Plus it unsettled him that she could have this sort of effect on him. He’d never found it hard to concentrate on work before.

‘What do you do at home?’ he asked.

‘My job, you mean?’ She shrugged. ‘I’m an accountant.’

‘And you enjoy it?’

‘It’s a safe job.’

He noticed she hadn’t said that she enjoyed it. Odd. Why had she gone for a safe job, rather than one that would make her happy?

As an accountant, she probably spent most of her time at her desk. She didn’t look the type to hit the gym or go running every morning. He’d already taken her on a longish walk, climbing up stairs and across uneven ground; and, since she wanted to see several other landmarks as well, they still had a fair bit of ground to cover. Exhausting his customers wasn’t a good business idea. He’d better schedule in a rest break.

‘Time to flop, I think,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have some lunch.’

He took her to a tiny osteria where he knew the food was good, and found them a table in a little courtyard with vines growing across like a canopy to protect diners from the midday sun.

‘This is fabulous,’ Ella said. ‘I can’t believe Rome’s so green.’

‘What were you expecting?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Something like London, I guess. With a pile of ruins at the edge of the city, not in the centre of things. But this is amazing. It’s special. The fountains and the architecture and the ruins and the greenery—it’s like seeing all of history mixed together at the same time, yet nothing’s out of place.’

That hadn’t really occurred to him before, but he realised that she was right. Rome was an amazing place. How had he let his home city become just wallpaper?

‘And I loved that wisteria in the Forum.’

He knew she’d love the lilacs in the Borghese Park, too. Though it was too far to go there today, and anyway he was showing her just the highlights of the city that she’d asked to see.

A crazy idea bloomed in his head. The more he tried to ignore it, the more insistent it became. Maybe he could spin out this tour guide thing for a little longer. Ella didn’t have any trips booked for tomorrow, and he knew she was staying in Rome for three nights. He hadn’t taken a day off in months and he had nothing desperately urgent lined up for the rest of the week, so it wouldn’t take his PA long to reschedule his diary.

‘It didn’t say anything in the brochure about lunch being included,’ Ella said, looking slightly concerned. ‘I take it this is an extra? I’ll pay for both of us.’

That was the accountant in her speaking, he guessed. She’d clearly worked out that tour guides didn’t exactly earn enormous salaries, and it was kind of her to offer to pay for his lunch. Unexpected, too; he was used to being the provider, and her offer threw him slightly.

And then there was the fact that Rico wasn’t usually a tour guide. His income was more than adequate for his lifestyle. The offer had been kind, but no way would he let her pay for lunch. It went too much against the grain. He gave her his sweetest smile to forestall any arguments. ‘Absolutely not. It’s all part of the tour.’ It was a complete fabrication, but maybe it was something he should take into consideration for the future.

The problem was, he hardly ever carried cash. If he took out his credit card, his cover would be blown—because what would a humble tour guide be doing with a platinum credit card? And he was really enjoying being just an ordinary man, instead of having people bowing and scraping to him or demanding things from him. Ella was reacting to him just for himself, instead of what he stood for, and that was so refreshing. He wasn’t ready to give that up. Not just yet.

He made a mental note to have a quiet word with the waiter and ensure that he paid at the bar, where she wouldn’t be able to see his credit card.

‘If you’re sure, then thank you very much. Do you recommend anything?’ she asked.

‘It depends what kind of thing you like.’

Oh, and that had come out so wrong. It sounded sleazy. Like a come-on. His voice practically oozed sex.

Though he had to admit, he wanted things to go further with Ella Chandler. A lot further.

Luckily she didn’t seem to notice that she’d put him into such a spin.

‘Is there something traditionally Roman on the menu that I could try?’ she asked.

He scanned the menu swiftly. ‘Cacio e pepe—it’s a kind of thick spaghetti with a pecorino cheese and black pepper sauce.’

She smiled. ‘That sounds lovely. I’d like to try that.’

‘I’ll join you.’ He ordered them a salad as well, and paused. ‘Would you like some wine? Red or white?’

‘Dry white would be lovely.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid I’m not very sophisticated. One glass is enough for me at lunchtime.’

‘That’s fine by me. And it’s nothing to do with sophistication—more to do with common sense. Alcohol’s dehydrating, and it’s warm today even for Rome,’ he said, wanting to put her at her ease and enjoying the grateful smile she gave him.

He ordered two glasses of pinot grigio and a jug of water. When the waiter brought their drinks, he also brought a basket of good Roman bread, flavoured with rosemary. Ella reached for the bread at the same time as Rico did, and her fingers brushed very lightly against his; it made him feel as though he’d been galvanised.

He never reacted to anyone like this. Ever.

But there was something about Ella Chandler, and he really had to make an effort to stop himself twining his fingers through hers, bringing her hand up to his mouth and tasting her skin, brushing each knuckle with his lips.

Especially as she looked completely unaffected by their brief contact. No way was he going to make a fool of himself.

‘Wow. This is fabulous,’ she said when she’d eaten her first bite of bread.

God, her mouth was beautiful. A perfect rosebud. Again, he had to hold himself back from leaning forward and touching his mouth to hers, brushing his lips against hers until they parted.

And it wasn’t just sexual attraction. There was more to it than that. Spending time with someone who enjoyed such simple pleasures … It had been way too long since he’d done that, Rico thought. His last few girlfriends had been more interested in the lifestyle he could give them. Tickets to exclusive events, the finest champagne, designer jewellery. Ella seemed very different. He wasn’t sure whether she fascinated him or unnerved him most. He didn’t have a clue what made her tick—or why she was affecting him like this. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

‘So have you done this job for very long?’ she asked.

‘A while,’ he said. It depended on what you defined as ‘this job’. He’d been running the hotel chain for three years now, but he’d worked in the business during the school holidays ever since he was fourteen, doing every single job in the company—right from cleaning the rooms through to making strategic decisions. Even now he did a stint in every role in the business during the year, to make sure he kept abreast of the issues his staff faced and could see where things could be improved for the customers.

‘Do you have family here?’ she asked.

‘Some.’ Again, it depended on how you defined family. His parents lived in Rome, but he wouldn’t class either of them as family. Not after his upbringing.

He could see her slight frown at his evasiveness, and added, ‘My grandparents live here.’ They’d rescued him from the mess of his parents’ marriage and kept him safe. They were the only ones in his life who hadn’t wanted him for what he could give them. Or maybe even that wasn’t strictly true; after all, his grandfather had groomed him to take over the business, knowing that it would be a total disaster in the hands of his only child, Rico’s father. In Rico’s hands, the business was safe. To the point where he was planning to expand it outside Italy.

Rico managed to keep the conversation light for the rest of lunch—and he was pleased to notice that Ella ate with enjoyment, rather than picking at her food and being boring about calorie and carb intake.

And then it was time for the next ace up his sleeve. He’d taken her on the route where she would see the back of the Pantheon first, a squat building with moss creeping over the patched brickwork; he could see from her face that she thought the building a little dingy and dowdy, and was expecting to be disappointed.

Until they came into the square and she saw the front, the huge triangle with its inscription commemorating Agrippa and the enormous columns supporting the porch.

‘Oh, my God—that’s just what I expected a real Roman temple to look like! And those doors are just huge,’ she said, wide-eyed.

‘Allegedly they’re the originals, though they’ve been restored so much that there isn’t actually much original material left.’

Inside, Ella looked overawed as she stared up at the dome and the enormous opening in the centre that was the building’s only source of light. ‘This is stunning. I can’t believe this building is nearly two thousand years old, and they built that huge dome without any of the equipment that construction companies take for granted nowadays. I mean, just how did they do it?’

That expression of wonder was back on her face. Although Rico had been to the monument countless times, enough to be almost immune to its beauty, seeing it with her was like seeing it with new eyes; he, too, caught the wonder, as if it were the first time he’d ever seen it. And how amazing it was. It made him want to hold her, feel a physical connection between them as well as a mental one.

Though he could see the disappointment on Ella’s face when they reached the Spanish Steps and she stared up the white marble steps to the balustrade and the obelisk, framed by the white church at the top.

‘Give it a couple of weeks for all the azaleas to come out and it’ll look a bit prettier,’ he said.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry. I guess I expected the Spanish Steps to be a bit more … well …’ Her voice tailed off and she gave an apologetic grimace.

Special, he guessed. ‘They’re just steps,’ he said gently. ‘Where tourists sit to take a rest. Though the square at the top by the Trinità is pretty at weekends; it’s full of artists sketching.’

She looked up, as if imagining it.

‘Come on. You’ll love the Trevi. That definitely lives up to its reputation.’

They could hear the water gushing before they even got into the square, and when they managed to skirt the crowds he could see from the look on her face that the fountain was everything she’d expected. ‘Wow. It’s huge,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe how white it is, and how clear and blue the water is. And look at the way it’s carved.’ Her eyes glittered with delight. ‘The horses—their manes look as if they’re real, not stone, and they’re billowing in the breeze, and the water sounds like the thundering of their hooves.’

Rico normally thought of the Trevi Fountain simply as a tourist trap; but right then he could see what she saw. And he was surprised by how stunning it was.

The steps leading down to the fountain were thronged with tourists; Rico managed to shepherd Ella to the front, where she could sit on the edge of the fountain and he could take a photograph of her throwing a coin over her shoulder as a promise to herself that she’d come back to Rome.

‘Is it supposed to be three coins?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘No. If you’re thinking of the film, that’s referring to three different people throwing a coin in.’

‘I thought I read somewhere …’ She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Never mind.’

He knew exactly what she meant—he’d read it, too. Throw in one coin to return to Rome, two for a new romance, and three for a marriage. Was that what she was looking for? he wondered. Marriage or romance?

Though it was none of his business. And he definitely wasn’t looking for either marriage or romance. No way was he repeating his parents’ mistakes. He kept his relationships short and sweet, ending them before they stopped being fun.

‘The fountain was built at the end of Agrippa’s Acqua Vergine. It’s meant to have the sweetest water in Rome—though I wouldn’t try drinking it,’ he added hastily, ‘and people are definitely discouraged from trying to paddle in it.’

‘La Dolce Vita, right?’ She smiled. ‘My best friend’s an English teacher and a film buff. She told me about it.’

He could just imagine Ella standing under the fountain the way Anita Ekberg had, letting the water pour down on her. Making her T-shirt cling to her body like a second skin. And then he’d have the pleasure of peeling it off later …

Right now, he thought wryly, he could do with some cold water himself. Ella Chandler was making him seriously heated.

Officially, this was the end of what she’d asked to see. He knew he ought to ask her if she wanted him to escort her back to the hotel or put her in a taxi; but he found himself reluctant to let her go. Weirder still, he found himself actually giving into the impulse to keep her with him a little longer. What the hell had happened to his self-control?

‘Time for a rest,’ he said, and found them a quiet table at one of the little caffès in the nearby streets. When she’d chosen what she wanted from the menu, he ordered her a glass of spremuta, freshly squeezed ruby orange juice, and an espresso for himself. He gulped it down in one mouthful, then gave a rueful smile as he caught her raised eyebrows. ‘Sorry. It’s one of my bad habits.’

There was a tiny glitter of teasing in her eyes when she said, ‘Dare I ask what the others are?’

‘No.’ But the coffee hadn’t restored his common sense. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. ‘Do you have plans for tonight?’

‘Why?’ She sounded wary.

‘I wondered if you might have dinner with me. If you weren’t doing anything else?’

She blinked. ‘Dinner?’

‘Something simple. Traditionally Roman.’ Or maybe he could cook for her. He knew the perfect place to set a table. Even the swishest restaurant in Rome didn’t have a view as good as where he had in mind.

Dinner.

A date.

Part of Ella was surprised and pleased that such a gorgeous man was asking her out; yet part of her wanted to run as far away as she could. She might be over Michael now, but it didn’t mean she wanted to repeat the experience. To get involved with someone, even briefly. To make herself vulnerable.

And yet this was Rome. The Eternal City. How lovely it would be to share her first proper evening in Rome with someone. And Rico was only asking her out to dinner, after all. It wasn’t as if there were any future in this.

Would it really be so wrong to say yes, or to enjoy the attention? A bit of harmless flirtation might give her back some of her confidence in herself after Michael’s betrayal.

Though thinking about Michael meant that she needed to ask Rico something. It was going to be embarrassing, but no way was she going to do to someone else what Michael’s lover had done to her. ‘I’m assuming you don’t have a wife or a girlfriend?’

‘No. I’m single.’

‘Me, too.’ Just so it was clear. And she intended to stay that way. She wasn’t giving anyone else the chance to let her down, the way all the men in her life so far had let her down. Her father, her fiancé …

She was tempted to make an excuse, however flimsy. Tell him she was tired. That way, she wouldn’t risk getting closer to him.

Yet there was something about Rico that drew her. She enjoyed his company. And these three nights in Rome were meant to be fun. Given that neither of them had any ties, then maybe she should take the risk. Say yes.

‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘It’d be nice to have dinner with you.’

‘Are you vegetarian, or is there anything you don’t like to eat?’

‘No. And I don’t have any food allergies, either.’

‘Good. Then I’ll meet you at the hotel,’ he said. ‘I’ll call for you at eight.’




CHAPTER TWO


BACK at the hotel, Rico saw Ella into Reception, and then went through the back into his office. His PA was tidying her desk, clearly just about to leave for the evening. ‘Lina, I know it’s late and I’ve given you absolutely no notice, but can you clear my diary for the next three days?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Is something wrong? Your grandfather’s ill?’ she asked, looking concerned.

‘No, he’s fine.’

‘Your father?’

No, and Rico certainly wouldn’t drop everything to rush to his father’s bedside. He was well aware that Lina knew it, too; she’d worked for the Rossi chain for longer than he had, long enough to know exactly why Rico had no time for his parents and never would. ‘I’m just taking some time off.’

She blinked. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Very funny.’ He glowered at her briefly. ‘I’m not that driven.’

‘Actually, you are, Rico.’ She patted his arm to soften her words. ‘Look, nobody’s going to be around at this time of the afternoon, so there’s no point in making any calls now. I’ll deal with it first thing tomorrow and move all your meetings.’

‘Thank you. I’ll have my mobile with me if you need to get in touch. Text or voicemail, that is,’ he added.

‘I’m not going to call you. It’ll do you good to have a break.’ She paused. ‘So are you going anywhere special?’

‘Maybe.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘I should know better than to ask you a personal question.’

He grimaced. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.’

‘But everything personal is off limits. I know.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me again why I put up with you?’

‘Must be my charm,’ he teased back. Then he grew serious again. ‘Thank you, Lina. I do appreciate you.’

‘I know you do, tesoro. It’s why I put up with all your impossible demands.’ But she was smiling. ‘Go and have some fun.’

‘I will.’ His step already felt lighter. Which was crazy. There wasn’t any future in this; Ella Chandler was a tourist, only here for a couple of days. But maybe, just maybe, Lina was right. Having a little fun in his life would do him good.

Rico left his office and headed for the butcher’s. It had been a long time since he’d last gone shopping, and it felt odd to be so domesticated. He came home via the greengrocer’s, the baker’s and the deli; then rolled up his sleeves and began preparing dinner, humming to himself as he worked.

What did you wear for dinner in Rome? Ella wondered. She’d expected to find a little trattoria somewhere and just watch the crowds as she ate, or maybe study the more detailed guidebook to Rome she’d brought with her. She’d packed a pretty, floaty summer dress at the last minute; hopefully that would be smart enough, especially if she put her hair up. She knew it wouldn’t be smart enough if Rico took her somewhere seriously posh; then again, he knew the city better than most, so he was more likely to take her to a small, out-of-the-way place with amazing food and where it didn’t really matter what you wore.

At precisely eight o’clock, there was a knock on her door.

She opened it, and he smiled at her. ‘Ella, bellezza. You look lovely.’

He was wearing a different white shirt, this time teamed with faded jeans; he looked utterly gorgeous and her heart skipped a beat.

Reminding herself that this was just dinner, she asked brightly, ‘So where are we going?’

‘I thought I’d cook for you.’

She blinked. ‘You cook?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not that difficult.’

True. Though Michael had never cooked. He’d always left it to her. And she’d been fool enough to let him get away with it.

‘You have a very expressive face,’ Rico said. ‘It looks to me as if you’ve been dating the wrong kind of man.’

He could say that again. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. This definitely wasn’t the time or the place to moan about her ex. ‘But I’m over him.’ And she was following the old saying to the letter: the best revenge was living well. Thanks to her lottery win, she was going to follow every single dream she’d ever had. Ones that Michael most definitely wouldn’t have shared.

Rico took her to the end of a corridor, then tapped numbers into a small, discreet keypad to open the door. She followed him up the stairs and they ended up in the most enchanting roof garden she’d ever seen. There were tiny fairy lights twined through the greenery, and one corner was draped in wisteria.

‘Oh, this is beautiful,’ she said in delight.

He looked pleased. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

There was a table laid for two in the centre of the garden, with a candle on the table and wine chilling in an ice bucket. And she had the clearest view of the Colosseum, with the three lowest tiers lit from the inside and the moon rising above it. ‘This is just amazing. Is this your place?’

Yes. But, if he told her that, then she’d know he’d been economical with the truth about being a tour guide. And he liked the fact that she was responding to him as a man, not as the head of the hotel chain; he still wasn’t quite ready to give that up. ‘It’s borrowed,’ he said. Which was an equivocation: he was borrowing it from himself.

She looked slightly worried. ‘Are you sure the owner doesn’t mind?’

‘The owner definitely doesn’t mind,’ he reassured her. ‘Please, take a seat. May I pour you some wine?’

‘Thank you.’

He held her chair out for her, then poured them both a glass of wine. ‘I’ll just go and get our antipasti.’

He brought out a platter of bruschetta to share.

‘Wow, this is fabulous,’ she said after the first taste.

‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head, playing it cool, but inside he was pleased. Particularly as she ate without fussing about carbs or calories; the last three women he’d dated had toyed with their food, and it had irritated him hugely. He loathed pretence.

And the fact that right now he was pretending to be something he wasn’t … He pushed that aside. It was only a tiny white lie. And it meant he could be himself with her, instead of the man everyone expected him to be.

She complimented him on the pasta Alfredo he served for the next course, and on the spring lamb served with rosemary potatoes and garlicky spinach.

‘It’s very simple Roman food,’ he said with a smile.

‘And you’ve taken the time to make it. To spoil me. I appreciate that,’ she said.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he said when he brought dessert through. ‘Puddings aren’t my strong point. I bought the panna cotta from the local deli.’

‘But you’ve taken the time to present it nicely,’ she pointed out.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not a hotel inspector in disguise, are you?’

She laughed. ‘No. I’m just a boring accountant.’

‘You’re not boring at all,’ he corrected. ‘I’m enjoying your company.’ He smiled back at her. ‘And I know you weren’t fishing for a compliment, before you say it.’

‘I’m enjoying your company, too,’ she said shyly.

‘Good. Come and look out over Rome. This place has great views.’ He took her hand, drew her to her feet, walked with her to the edge of the terrace.

She leaned both hands on the balustrade to look out over the city; the churches and buildings were all lit up so brightly that every detail was visible. Rico couldn’t resist standing behind her and resting his arms on the balustrade on either side of hers, while he pointed out what all the buildings were.

This close, he could smell her perfume; it reminded him of spring violets. And, with her hair up, her nape was bare and way, way too tempting. The spaghetti straps of her dress were no barrier to his lips at all …

With an uncontrollable impulse, he dipped his head so he could kiss the curve of her neck; she shivered and leaned back against him. Her skin was so soft against his mouth, so sweet—and it wasn’t enough. He spun her round to face him and brushed his mouth against hers. He could feel her lips parting, inviting him to deepen the kiss; he loved the way she responded to him, her shyness melting beneath his mouth.

He could feel her breasts pressing against him and he slid one hand between their bodies so he could caress her. Through the thin material of her dress and the lace of her bra, her nipple was hardening; he rubbed his thumb against it, and she gave a little gasp of pleasure.

Good. So it was the same for her. This crazy, unexpected surge of desire.

And right now he really needed to see her. To touch her. Skin to skin.

His hand went to the top of the zip at the back of her dress. ‘Ella. May I?’ he whispered, drawing her back away from the edge so that the greenery gave them privacy again.

She nodded, and he slid the zip down to her waist. He hooked a finger into one spaghetti strap and slid it down, then the other, coaxing the material down to her waist. Her bra was strapless, lacy and very, very pretty; but it was in the way. He needed to see her right now. He unsnapped her bra, let it drop to the floor, then cupped her breasts in both hands. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Bellezza.’

She blushed. ‘I, um …’

Yeah. He knew. This wasn’t the time for words. He kissed her again, hot and urgent; when she tipped her head back, he kissed his way down her throat, then took one nipple into his mouth and sucked. Her hands slid into his hair, urging him on.

Rico’s senses were spinning. He was so aware of the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her perfume. When he finally straightened up and looked at her again, desire lanced through him. She looked gorgeously dishevelled, naked to the waist and with wisps of hair escaping from their confines. He wanted to take her hair down properly, see it spread across his pillows.

But the fact he wasn’t touching her had clearly broken the connection between them, because she bit her lip. ‘Rico. We can’t do this.’

Second thoughts? Well, he’d never forced anyone and he wasn’t going to start now. ‘OK,’ he said softly, and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek briefly to reassure her before he started to restore order to her clothes.

‘I mean, not here.’ She blushed.

His fingers stilled. ‘Not here?’

Her blush deepened. ‘It’s your friend’s apartment.’

No, it damned well wasn’t, and his bed was only metres away. All he had to do was pick her up and carry her there.

But he’d started the evening letting her think that the place belonged to someone else. Telling her the truth now would make things way too complicated. He was just going to have to roll with the story he’d created. And how he wished now that he’d told her the truth, right from the start.

She cupped his face with one hand. ‘But I do have a suite downstairs,’ she whispered. ‘We could go there.’ She paused and swallowed hard. ‘If you want to.’

If he wanted to? How could she possibly doubt that he wanted to? Wasn’t it obvious how attracted he was to her?

He kissed her. ‘Yes, I do. Though only if you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’ Her voice was still shy, but definite. ‘But shouldn’t we, um, clear up here, before …?’ She gestured to the table.

So very English. It made him smile. ‘It’s fine. I’ll deal with it later,’ he reassured her, and finished restoring order to her clothes before taking her hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he said softly.

They left the terrace and he led her down the corridor to her room in silence. Her fingers tightened round his; and he knew she was nervous because when they reached her door, she dropped her card key.

He retrieved it for her, opened the door and ushered her inside. He switched on the table lamps so that soft light spilled into the room, turned off the overhead light and pulled the curtains.

When he turned to face her, she was biting her lip, looking nervous.

He took her hand, drew it up to his mouth and touched his lips briefly against her skin. ‘Ella, if you’ve changed your mind, I understand.’

Tm …’ She looked away. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’

‘It’s fine to say no. I’d never force a woman.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ She still wasn’t looking at him. ‘I’m … um … maybe not very good at this sort of thing.’

Her meaning sank in. She thought she’d disappoint him because she was no good at making love? The way she’d responded to him had told him that she wasn’t hugely experienced, that she was maybe a little shy. And he had the strongest feeling that someone had damaged her confidence. Who or why, he had no idea—but he could do something to fix this. To show her that it wasn’t true. To prove to her that she was a beautiful, desirable woman.

‘Ella bellezza,’ he said softly, ‘the first time between us isn’t going to be perfect. But that’s not a problem. It means we have time to explore each other. Time for me to learn what takes your breath away, and for you to learn what makes my pulse spike.’

This time, she looked at him. ‘So it’s not a problem?’

He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No pressure, no worries. This is just you and me. And, if you change your mind, all you have to do is tell me to stop.’

‘I …’ She blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I’m being really wet, here.’

‘No. It sounds to me as if someone made you feel bad to make himself feel better. So I’d say it was his problem, not yours.’ He sat down on the bed, scooping her onto his lap. She was definitely struggling with doubts, but not doubts about him. Doubts that another man had put into her head.

The only way he could think of to reassure her was to kiss her. Softly. Gently. Coaxing her to respond to him. Stoking up the heat between them, touch by touch.

He slid one spaghetti strap down over her shoulder and kissed her bare skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back; he took the hint and kissed a line across her throat, lingering at the point where a pulse was beating hard, then nibbling the curve of her neck.

She gave a murmur of pleasure, arching against him, and made no protest when he unzipped her dress again. He slid the other thin strap down, and let the floaty material fall to her waist.

‘Yes,’ she whispered as his fingers found the snap of her bra and undid it.

Colour bloomed in her cheeks as he cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with the pad of his thumbs.

‘You like that?’ he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it.

‘I like it.’ Her voice had deepened.

‘Good.’ He guided her back to her feet, then dropped to his knees in front of her, gently easing her dress down until she stood before him in nothing but a pair of lacy knickers and high-heeled shoes.

‘Nice view,’ he said softly. ‘You’re beautiful, Ella bellezza.’

She didn’t look as if she quite believed him. Well, there was something he could do about that.

‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ he said. ‘Your skin’s so soft. And you smell gorgeous.’ He traced a circle round her navel with the tip of his tongue. ‘You taste good, too.’

He slid one hand between her thighs, cupping her sex through the lace of her knickers. She shivered.

‘I want to see you,’ he said softly. He wanted to see her abandoned to pleasure, lost to his touch. ‘I want to touch you, Ella. Taste you.’

She shivered again. ‘Yes.’

It took him half a second to stand up, scoop her up in his arms and settle her against the pillows. He’d meant to loosen her hair, but he couldn’t wait for that. All he could think about was making her totally lost to pleasure.

He kissed her, this time more demanding; this time her response was more confident. More abandoned. Just how he wanted her.

It was a moment’s work to strip the last tiny bit of lace from her skin. And then he kissed his way down over her abdomen, taking his time until she wriggled beneath him, arching her body and sliding her fingers into his hair to let him know she wanted this just as much as he did.

He could taste just how aroused she was with the first long, slow stroke of his tongue along her sex. Sweet and salt, and most definitely responsive. She whimpered as he teased her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, swirling round and then sucking hard, varying the pace and pressure until finally he felt her go rigid beneath him, and heard her cry out his name as her climax hit her.

Rico shifted up the bed and held her close. ‘OK?’

‘Very OK. Thank you.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Oh, my God. I’m completely naked, and you’re still fully clothed.’

‘Because I got a bit greedy,’ he said with a grin. ‘You can always do something about it, if you want to.’

She unbuttoned his shirt; almost shyly, she skated her fingers along his pecs. ‘You feel good.’

As she undid the button of his jeans and slid the zip down Rico felt his control begin to shred. Right now he really, really wanted to be inside her. But he needed to take this at her pace, to make sure she was comfortable with him.

And she took her time undressing him, stroking every centimetre of skin she uncovered, moving her fingertips in tiny circles against his skin and arousing him until he was on the verge of losing control. By the time she’d got him naked, he could barely speak, except to croak the words, ‘Condom. My wallet. In my jeans.’

She fished his wallet out of his jeans and handed it to him. He retrieved the little foil packet, but his hands were shaking too much to deal with it. She smiled and took it from him, then unwrapped it and slowly, slowly rolled it onto him. Rico was almost whimpering with the need to bury himself inside her; he sat up, pulling her towards him so that she was straddling his lap, and then sighed with pleasure as she eased herself down onto him.

Oh, my God, Ella thought as she straddled him. This was meant to be just a fling. A one-off. But, seeing the pleasure blooming in his face, feeling the softness of his skin against hers and the hardness of his muscles … The sheer intensity of their connection shocked her.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be carefree and fun and mutual pleasure. No emotions. And certainly not this strange feeling that this was meant to be—because she didn’t want to get involved again. Didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to risk her heart being shattered again.

She pulled herself together. Just.

‘Is that good for you?’ she asked huskily.

‘Sì. Yes.’ He stroked her face. ‘Thanks to you, I can barely think straight in my own language, let alone in English.’

Pleased, she leaned forward to kiss him.

He slid his hands into her hair so he could angle his mouth more closely to hers, kiss her harder. Working purely by touch, he found the pins that bound her hair, removed them and dropped them off the edge of the bed, then sighed with pleasure as her hair fell over her shoulders. ‘Bellezza. I like your hair down. You have glorious hair.’ He stole another kiss.

She rocked over him, taking it torturously slow; Rico’s control snapped and he wrapped his arms round her so he could push deeper, harder. And finally he felt her body tightening round him, pushing him into his own climax.

Wow. He certainly hadn’t expected it to be that intense between them. Not this first time. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had made him feel like this, the last time when sex had felt this special.

Not willing to give up the connection between them just yet, he held her close. But eventually he had to move to deal with the condom. ‘Wait for me,’ he whispered.

When he came back into the bedroom, she’d slid under the covers. Clearly she’d gone shy on him.

‘OK?’ he asked softly.

She nodded, but he could see the awkwardness in her face.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Ella. This doesn’t mean I’m going to make demands on you. Or that I’m going to just walk away and ignore you, either. It’s up to you where you want this to go next.’

She swallowed hard. ‘I’m only here for two more nights after this.’

So there was a defined limit. Just how he liked his relationships. They could have some fun and then just walk away. ‘Maybe we can see a little more of each other while you’re here in Rome.’

‘When you’re not working, you mean?’

He smiled. ‘Actually, I happen to be off duty for the next couple of days.’

She gave him a sceptical look. ‘In the middle of tourist season?’

‘There isn’t a tourist season in Rome any more,’ he said. ‘Visitors come all year round. So I can take time off whenever I want to.’ He paused. ‘If you’d like me to show you a bit more of the city, then I’m at your disposal.’

She thought about it, and smiled. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ He leaned over to kiss her, keeping the contact light and non-demanding. ‘So, it’s a date. Shall I call for you after breakfast? Say, half-past eight?’

‘Half-past eight. That’d be good,’ she said.

‘Bene.’ He pulled his clothes on. ‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Hang on. I’ll come with you and help clean up.’

He smiled. ‘No, it’s fine. It won’t take me long. And you look warm and sweet and comfortable. Stay where you are.’ He kissed her again, this time lingering until his pulse spiked and she looked flushed and incredibly sexy. ‘Sweet dreams, bellezza.’

Ella curled back under the duvet as Rico left the room. This was the last thing she’d expected to find in Rome. Romance. A fling. And the way Rico had made her feel …

Funny, she couldn’t hear Michael’s voice in her head any more. The justifications, the sharp comments about how he’d had to look elsewhere for his pleasure because she didn’t have a clue how to please a man. Now she knew it really wasn’t true; she’d most definitely pleased Rico tonight. To the point where he’d actually admitted that he couldn’t think straight.

So maybe Rico was right and Michael had dumped his own shortcomings on her. It hadn’t all been her fault.

And tomorrow—tomorrow was suddenly full of promise.




CHAPTER THREE


AT TWENTY-FIVE minutes past eight, the next morning, Ella was ready to go. As she’d expected, Rico knocked on her door at eight-thirty exactly. He was wearing pale chinos and another crisp white shirt; clearly he wore the same kind of clothes off duty as he did when he was working.

He glanced at her feet and gave an approving nod. ‘Good. Flat shoes. They’re comfortable to walk in?’ he checked.

‘Very,’ she confirmed.

‘Good. Let’s go, bellezza.’

Ella locked the door behind her and Rico ushered her out of the hotel. She tried not to be disappointed that he hadn’t taken her hand. Then again, they needed to be discreet; this was the hotel where he worked, and having a fling with a guest probably wasn’t something that the management would approve of.

Did he have flings like this with many guests? She pushed the thought aside. Even if he did, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking for for ever. These few days in Rome were just for her, and she was going to enjoy them. No guilt, no complications—just fun. A few moments out of her real life.

‘So where are we going?’ she asked.

‘To find beautiful views,’ he said. ‘And something a little unusual. And, this afternoon, I think we can do something fun.’

She smiled. ‘Sounds good to me.’

As they walked down the street towards the Colosseum, Rico’s hand brushed against hers. The light contact sent a tingle all the way through her. Another brush, then another, and finally he was holding her hand, his fingers curling round hers. It made her feel like a teenager, which she knew was utterly crazy; and yet she couldn’t help smiling. Today was perfect. A cloudless blue sky, the jumble of ancient and modern buildings that was Rome, and an incredibly charming, gorgeous man to keep her company as she strolled through the streets.

A man who’d given her so much pleasure last night. A man who’d made her see stars. And who might just do that again tonight …

They wandered through the streets together, until they came to a stone wall and she looked over it and saw the river. ‘Wow. I had no idea the Tiber would be so green.’

‘It’s fast-moving, too.’ He pointed out a line of ducks that were struggling to swim against the current, then finally gave up and went with the flow.

She rested her arms on the stone wall and peered into the distance. ‘Is that the Vatican?’

‘That’s the dome of St Peter’s you can see, yes—but, if you want to go there, I’d suggest going very early tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘The queues at this time of day will be horrendous.’

‘Well, you can hardly go to Rome and not visit the Vatican,’ she said, taking a snapshot of the dome framed by the branches of the trees overhanging the wall.

He smiled. ‘OK. I’ll book us a tour for tomorrow.’

She blinked. ‘But you’re a tour guide. You’d actually take a tour with someone else? Or is that like market research for you?’

‘We need a licensed Vatican tour guide and I don’t have a Vatican pass,’ he explained. ‘But right now I have lunch in mind.’

They walked hand in hand along the Tiber. Rico stopped by one of the bridges. ‘I know I’m not officially a tour guide today, but I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell you that this is the oldest bridge in Rome, built nearly two thousand years ago.’

‘You mean it’s an original Roman bridge?’ And yet it looked as firm and strong as if it had been built with the newest technology. ‘Wow. It’s amazing to think we’re walking in the footsteps of people who lived all that time ago.’

‘The more things change, the more they stay the same,’ he said softly.

Trastevere, on the other side of the river, was incredibly pretty; the houses were painted in a soft wash of terracotta or saffron, vines grew on balconies and terraces, and large pots of shiny-leaved green shrubs graced the doorways. And Ella thoroughly enjoyed their leisurely lunch in the square outside the church of Santa Maria. Sharing a glass of wine with him, seeing the desire glittering in his eyes—brighter than the golden mosaics outside the church that glittered in the sunlight.

Once Rico discovered that she enjoyed looking round the ancient churches, he smiled. ‘That’s excellent, because I was planning to take you to see something a bit unusual in another church, just across the river.’

‘Unusual’ hardly did it justice, Ella thought as she looked at the huge stone disc on a plinth in the portico of the church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin. It contained the carved face of a wild man; his mouth was open beneath his moustache, and wild hair and a beard surrounded his face. There was a crack in the stone going right to the edge from his left eye, and another crack running down from his mouth. Ancient and very, very imposing.

‘It reminds me a bit of one of the Green Men you’d see in an English church,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘The Bocca della Verità—the Mouth of Truth,’ he translated. ‘In medieval times, if you were accused of lying, you put your hand through the hole in the mouth. If you could take your hand back unscathed, you were telling the truth.’

‘And if you were lying?’

He shrugged. ‘Then the Mouth would eat your hand.’

‘Seriously? You mean someone stood behind the stone and actually cut off their hand?’ Very rough justice. Though she knew a couple of people who would’ve fallen seriously foul of the Mouth. Her father. How many lies had he told? To her mother, to his wife, to however many women who had made the same mistake as Ella’s mother and fallen in love with a charming, handsome and utterly faithless man.

And her ex. How many times had Michael told her he was studying at the university library, when he’d really been doing something else—or, rather, someowe else—entirely? Another charming, handsome and utterly faithless man.

Or maybe the fault had been hers. For not learning from her mother’s mistakes. For trusting Michael in the first place. Whatever; lying was the one thing Ella really couldn’t and wouldn’t tolerate. And she’d never let herself get involved with another charming, handsome and utterly faithless man again.

She pushed the thought away. ‘Wow. That’s really bloodthirsty.’

‘I don’t think anyone actually chopped off anyone’s hand. The fear of what would happen was enough to make people tell the truth,’ Rico said. ‘The stone’s actually a Roman drain cover, and the face is thought to be that of the god Oceanus.’

‘It’s certainly imposing.’ And there was a queue of tourists posing for photographs, holding one hand through the Mouth of Truth.

‘It’s touristy, yes,’ he said, following her gaze, ‘but it’s a little less common than people doing the “Friends, Romans, countrymen” speech.’ He touched her cheek briefly with the backs of his fingers, as if to let her know that he hadn’t been criticising her—merely stating a fact. ‘Shall I take your picture?’

‘Yes, please.’ She joined the queue to have her photograph taken with the Mouth, and paid her donation.

‘Would you like me to take your picture?’ she asked when he’d taken the shot.

‘No need. I live here,’ he said with a smile.

For a moment, she thought he looked a bit shifty. But that was ridiculous. What possible reason would Rico have to lie to her? No. That was sheer paranoia, brought on by thinking about the men who’d let her down so badly in the past.

He took her for a quick peek at the Circus Maximus, the ancient chariot-racing stadium; then they caught the Metro to the Piazza del Popolo and climbed up the steps to the Borghese Park.

‘I can’t believe it’s so quiet here,’ she said as they wandered along the path. ‘All you can hear is birdsong—no noise from the traffic, no sirens blaring from the police cars or the ambulances.’

‘I come here whenever I need some peace,’ he said. ‘We could walk round, or we could take a riscio.’

‘What’s a riscio?’

He gestured to people passing them. ‘A pedal cart for four with a sunshade on top. They do two-seaters, as well.’

‘A side-by-side tandem, you mean?’

‘Something like that.’ He smiled. ‘We can see a bit more of the park, this way. And it’s fun.’

She wasn’t so sure about that five minutes later, when they were heading towards a roundabout and, however she turned the wheel of the riscio, she couldn’t get the pedal cart to change direction. The notice in the middle of the car warned about needing to brake downhill, and the risk of the cart toppling over. Where was the brake? Panic flooded through her.

‘The steering’s only connected on my side, bellezza,’ he told her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. ‘Turning your wheel won’t make any difference.’

Ella was practically hyperventilating. How could he be so calm? ‘There’s a road train over there and we’re going the wrong way round the roundabout!’

‘We drive on the right in Italy, so we go round the roundabout the opposite way to how you drive in England,’ he reminded her. ‘It’s fine. We’ll give way to the road train. There’s nothing to worry about. Just sit back and enjoy it.’

‘Enjoy …?’ she asked wryly, beginning to wish they’d just walked.

‘Ella, trust me.’

Ha. He’d unconsciously zeroed in on the one thing she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to do again. Trust someone.

‘I won’t let you get hurt,’ he said, gently touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘I promise. And I never break my promises.’

She didn’t know him well enough to know whether he was spinning her a line. But she’d go with it, for now.

Once they were round the roundabout and she got used to the way the cart moved, she found that she actually was enjoying it. Just as Rico had promised, they could see more of the park this way; and they could stop wherever they liked to take a closer look at a fountain or a sculpture.

By the time their hour was up, Ella was relaxed and had even agreed to swap places with Rico and steer the riscio herself.

‘Not so bad, was it?’ he asked, sliding his arm round her shoulders.

‘No, it was fun, once I’d got used to it,’ she admitted, putting her arm round his waist.

They walked back past a bunch of teenagers on rollerblades negotiating a line of tiny, tiny cones. Ella was amazed at how they skated in and out without knocking any of them over, their feet crossing each other, and yet they didn’t trip or fall.

The fascination must have shown on her face, because Rico said, ‘Dare you.’

‘Me? But I …’ She hadn’t been on roller skates for years, let alone rollerblades.

‘Dare you,’ he repeated.

Well, these few days were all meant to be about having fun. ‘You’re on.’ It was hard enough to skate in a straight line at first, and she knew there was no way she’d be able to negotiate that double slalom of cones. But then the man in charge of the cones took pity on her and gave her a wider-spaced course.

‘Wow, I actually did it!’ she said at the other end.

‘You were magnificent,’ Rico said, kissing her.

‘And now it’s your turn.’

‘Mine?’ He looked surprised.

‘You challenged me. Now prove that you can do it.’

The expression in his eyes grew heated. ‘What are the stakes?’

She shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, ‘If I do it without knocking over a cone, you let me do whatever I want to you tonight. If I fail, I’m completely in your hands.’

She shivered with pleasure. ‘That sounds good to me.’

He licked his lower lip. ‘Right now, I’m not really sure whether it would be more fun to win or to lose.’

‘Do it properly,’ she told him. ‘I don’t like lying and game-playing.’

‘OK, Ella bellezza.’ He kissed her swiftly, then put on the rollerblades.

She wasn’t surprised that he managed to skate the same course that she did with relative ease. The man in charge of the cones winked at her and set up a more demanding course with a double slalom.

Rico spread his hands, grinned—and then showed off thoroughly. He was as graceful as a ballet dancer as he moved through the slalom course, his body all clean, flowing lines; Ella was aware of how many other women in the gathering crowd were giving him admiring looks.

He almost knocked over the very last cone, which teetered but stayed where it was. He skated round to Ella, then swept into a deep bow before taking her hand, turning it over and kissing the throbbing pulse in her wrist. Desire skittered through her.

‘You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’ she asked, not wanting him to see how much of an effect he had on her.

‘Now and then. Though I’m a bit out of practice.’ He took off his skates and handed them back. ‘Come on. Let’s go and chill out.’

They ended up by the lake, watching the fountain in the middle.

‘I can’t believe how blue the water is. It’s so pretty here,’ Ella said. ‘What are the trees?’

‘Lilacs.’

‘They’re not like English lilacs. They don’t smell the same, either. But they’re lovely. This is really special.’

This was where Rico always came to chill out, because it was one of the few places in Rome where you could enjoy nothing but the sound of birdsong; but the park had become almost background scenery to him over the years. The delight in Ella’s face as she looked around made him see the place anew. She was right. It was special.

They lay in the dappled shade under the lilacs, holding hands and looking up at the sky. He leaned over and stole a kiss. ‘So how come you’re in Rome on your own?’




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