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Bella's Impossible Boss
Michelle Douglas













Praise for Michelle Douglas

“Packed with a smouldering tension and underlying passion, The Loner’s Guarded Heart by Michelle Douglas will leave readers wanting more … [It] is a keeper that I will treasure. If you are a reader who loves tender, heartfelt stories then this book is a must-buy, because it has all those elements and so much more.”

—www.cataromance.com

“Michelle Douglas makes an outstanding debut with His Christmas Angel, a complex, richly emotional story. The characters are handled especially well, as are the many conflicts and relationships. This one’s a keeper.”

—RT Book Reviews






A squeal from Bella alerted Dominic to an incoming rogue wave.

He grabbed her hand and hauled her out of its path, his arm going around her waist to half lift her. Breathless and laughing, she grinned up at him.

The breath shot out of him. His grip on her tightened. She stilled. He could read the question in her eyes—was he going to kiss her?

Would she let him?

When she didn’t move away he had his answer.

Heat surged through him, the temptation pounding at him like the surf breaking on the reef. Bella would taste divine. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and inhale her, and then he wanted to capture her lips in his and devour her slowly, thoroughly. He wanted to memorise the curves of her body with his hands. He—

Icy water hitting his feet and ankles brought him back to earth and made Bella jump, breaking the spell.




About the Author


At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLAS was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, “A writer.” Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelle-douglas.com


Bella’s

Impossible Boss





Michelle Douglas
















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


To Annie,

for all the coffees, caramel doughnuts

and Black Russians.

Thank you!




CHAPTER ONE


SHE was going to be late.

Late. Late. Late.

The heels of Bella’s shoes snapped out the word with every step, rebuking her, condemning her, telling her she would never measure up. She glanced at her watch and told herself to stop being absurd. She’d make the meeting exactly on time. She was being paranoid, that was all.

Still, she shouldn’t have stopped to talk to Charlie. Or Emma. Or Sophie and Connor. She picked up her pace.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

What on earth had she been thinking?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She clenched a hand. Given what she’d overheard last week, she should’ve been more careful. She should’ve kept a closer eye on the time. She wanted to change her father’s opinion of her, not reinforce it.

Spoiled, willful, doesn’t have the sense of a goose! Bella doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘dedication’ and ‘hard work’. That was what her father had said on the phone to her aunt in Italy last Wednesday. Bella had accidentally picked up the extension in the kitchen to ring out.

And it’s my fault. She’d heard that before she could silently replace the receiver into its cradle.

She slowed to a halt, her throat constricting. The pain that had raked through her father’s voice … She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. Oh, Papa, I’m sorry.

To know she’d disappointed him so badly, hurt him. Again.

And to think he blamed himself.

She pushed away from the wall and straightened. She’d changed. The last eighteen months in Italy had seen to that. She would prove herself to him. She would make him proud of her.

As if to reassure herself, she rifled through the colour-coordinated folders she carried and then slapped a hand to her forehead. She’d left the sample menus in the canteen kitchen with Charlie!

She glanced at her watch and then tapped a foot. She could continue on to her father’s office and be on time. Or she could race back down to the canteen, grab her menus and prove to her father and his right-hand man, Dominic Wright, how fabulously organised and creative she was and be a teensy bit late, which her father expected anyhow.

Organisation, creativity and proof of her dedication versus punctuality? Muttering an imprecation, she spun on her heel and sped back the way she’d come. Pulling in a breath, she started to jog. She rounded the corner, heard the faint ‘ding’ of the lift in the distance and broke into a run. She sprinted around the next corner …

‘Hold the lift!’

But the lift doors closed before she could reach them. She pressed the button on the wall one time, five times, but the doors didn’t open. The light above informed her that the lift had started its descent. She slapped a hand to the wall. Darn!

Pulling in a breath, she pushed her shoulders back. Okay, she could kiss her menus goodbye for the moment, but hopefully her colour-coordinated folders would at least give the impression of organisation and creativity.

She swallowed. As long as no one quizzed her too deeply about the contents of said folders. Katie, her father’s secretary, had sent the main file through to her only last night with a pleading, For all you hold sacred, please don’t tell your father how late I am on this! Bella hadn’t had time to do more than print the file off. She’d reserved this afternoon for poring over its contents.

She glanced at her watch. If she put her skates on, she wouldn’t be late to the meeting after all.

She put her skates on.

Professional, she lectured as she sped down the corridor. Chin up, shoulders back. She had to exude confidence and competence. Especially competence. She had to prove to her father that his faith in her wasn’t misplaced.

If he actually had any faith left in her.

She pulled in a giant breath as she was ushered into her father’s office. She took one look at him and had to fight the urge to rush across and kiss his cheek, to envelop him in a hug and tell him how much she loved him and how much she had missed him while she’d been in Italy.

Professional. She had to be professional. Kissing him, hugging him, would not earn her his respect. Especially as he wasn’t alone. She gripped her folders more tightly and resisted the superstitious urge to cross her fingers. She didn’t need superstition. She needed a chance to prove herself, that was all.

Marcello Luciano Maldini turned to her. ‘You’re late!’ he snapped.

She glanced at her watch and raised an eyebrow.

He glanced at his watch and scowled.

Oh, how she wished he would smile!

He didn’t smile. She did. She was so glad to see him. She was so glad to be here. She was so grateful to him for this opportunity. She did her best to not make the smile too broad, though. She did her best to make it professional and polite. ‘Good morning, Papa. If I am late, then I am most sincerely sorry.’

He blinked and for a moment she thought he might apologise for his gruffness, perhaps even admit that she hadn’t been late. He didn’t. He folded his arms and glared. ‘My secretary rang your mobile phone and left a message informing you that the meeting was to be brought forward fifteen minutes.’

She was late! And all because she’d turned off her phone so it couldn’t distract her from the most important meeting of her life.

She gripped her folders so tightly she broke a nail. ‘I’m sorry. I turned it off so it wouldn’t disturb my preparations for our meeting.’

Her father huffed out something she didn’t quite catch and turned away. All her old fears surfaced: Failure. Stupid. Fool. She did her best to beat them back.

‘Dominic, I would like you to meet my daughter, Bella Maldini. Bella, this is Dominic Wright.’

As the man turned towards her, she opened her mouth to say, ‘Pleased to meet you,’ but the moment her eyes collided with the Mediterranean blue of his, the words evaporated.

Dear Lord. Blue eyes shouldn’t make a girl speechless.

Nor should red hair.

But the combination …

She tried to expel the air held prisoner in her lungs. She hadn’t believed Catriona and Cecily when they’d said he was gorgeous and that he had red hair—tawny, red-gold, like a lion’s mane.

Don’t gape. Don’t gape. Professional!

She cleared her throat. ‘I’m, um … Pleased to meet you, Mr Wright.’ Her voice emerged high and strained, breathy. She bit back a groan. Where was professional?

‘Dominic,’ he corrected.

This was the man who held her entire future in his hands? Her white business shirt tightened around her ribs, constricting her breathing further. According to her cousins, Dominic—with his looks and his charm—was the most dangerous man in Sydney. Break-your-heart dangerous. They’d said he’d eat a little virgin like her for breakfast.

All silly, teasing nonsense, of course.

To be honest, he looked more like ‘scary boss’ material than the playboy Cat and Cecily had reported, and he was eyeing her up and down right now with those mesmerising eyes as if he could sum her up in all of ten seconds. As if she only had ten-second’s worth of value to sum up.

He didn’t say he was pleased to meet her. He didn’t smile.

With a super-human effort, she kept her smile in place. ‘For form’s sake, you’re supposed to say that you’re pleased to meet me, too, Dominic.’

His grin when it came was slow and crooked. It hitched up the right side of his mouth. The creases around his eyes deepened. The blue of his eyes intensified. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Bella.’

Just for a moment the room receded, and then with a roar it came rushing back. Uh-huh. So her cousins had been right, then.

Playboy—tick.

Heavenly, golden, gorgeous—tick, tick, tick.

Temptation personified—tick.

When Dominic held out his hand, she took it automatically. She couldn’t manage a single solitary syllable. His hand curved around hers and he simply held it.

Her pulse throbbed.

‘Delighted,’ he murmured.

She found her voice. ‘Absolutely.’

She tugged her hand free and went back to clutching her folders, did what she could to ignore the tingling that the palm-on-palm contact had triggered against her bare skin. For all his tawny goldenness and the warmth of his smile, he was known as The Iceman. And don’t you forget it!

It didn’t change the fact that he was the one man who could sway her father’s opinion. She would have to tread carefully.

‘If you’ve finished sizing each other up,’ her father said brusquely, ‘can we sit and get this meeting underway? Come—sit, sit.’ He shooed them to their seats.

From beside her, Dominic’s heat beat at her. She kept her eyes on her father. Professional.

Marco steepled his hands on his desk. ‘Dominic, I want you and Bella to work on the Newcastle Maldini,’ he said without further ado. ‘I want the pair of you to have it ready for the grand opening in eight weeks’ time.’

Triumph surged through Dominic. Years of training, though, ensured he didn’t betray that triumph by so much as a flicker of an eyelid. Taking charge of Marco’s flagship hotel was the first step in taking over sole management of the Maldini Corporation’s fledgling tourism arm. If the Newcastle Maldini proved a success, then plans for expansion would forge ahead—a chain of five-star Maldini hotels in all the major cities in Australia. After that, the international market—New York, London and Rome. The possibilities multiplied with exciting potential.

He’d wanted a change, needed it. Two and a half months ago he’d made his position clear to Marco—either a sideways move within the Maldini Corporation or he’d look elsewhere. Heading up the corporation’s tourism operations fitted the bill exactly. Marco had delivered on his promise and Dominic had every intention of ensuring the Newcastle Maldini not only met but exceeded Marco’s expectations.

He hadn’t counted on getting foisted with the boss’s daughter, though.

He glanced across at her and his gut tightened. She looked nothing like the plump, dark-haired child from the photograph that sat in pride of place on Marco’s desk. She looked nothing like the woman he’d imagined as he’d sat across from Marco at this very desk countless times in the past six years and listened as the older man had despaired of her. ‘You want Bella to work on the hotel?’ He didn’t try to hide his disbelief and scepticism.

Bella stiffened. Then she leaned towards her father. ‘You haven’t told Dominic about your plans for us to work together before today?’ Her mouth opened and then closed. She swallowed. ‘But you made that decision last week.’

Marco slapped a hand down on his desk. ‘I do things my way, young lady. This is my office and in my office my word is law.’ He stabbed a finger at her. ‘I’ll run my company the way I see fit!’

She sat back. ‘You didn’t tell him because you thought he’d refuse to work with me.’

Marco’s jaw worked but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. To himself, Dominic acknowledged the truth of her accusation. If he’d known about this a week ago, even two days ago, he’d have constructed every argument available against it. And Marco would’ve given way. Marco didn’t want to lose him.

He cleared his throat. ‘Marco, exactly what role do you envisage for Bella at the hotel?’

His employer heaved out a sigh, lifted a hand and let it drop. ‘Bella tells me she can create the restaurant of my dreams. Her expertise will be confined to the kitchens and dining rooms. You, of course, will be in charge of operations.’

He nodded. He hadn’t expected anything less.

‘And you, my girl—’ he turned to Bella ‘—will consult Dominic about everything.’

‘Of course.’

Dominic wasn’t fooled for a moment. Behind that lush mouth and those caramel melt-a-man-to-his-seat eyes, Bella was fickle, capricious and unreliable. Marco had given her countless opportunities to establish herself in a profession, but she had squandered all of them. Her seeming compliance was merely a pleasing façade for Daddy’s benefit. She might fool Marco, but Dominic had no intention of falling under the spell of that butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. He was not his father’s son.

‘She knows nothing about management styles or systems,’ Marco warned him. ‘All she knows is cooking and kitchens, so you’ll need to show her the ropes.’

Marco had to be joking, right? Bella wouldn’t stick to this job any longer than she’d stuck to anything else. Marco might be prepared to waste his time and expertise on someone who wouldn’t appreciate it, but Dominic had no intention of doing so.

He stared at Bella. She met his gaze unflinchingly. He glanced across at Marco, who gazed at Bella with all the love in his generous heart on display and something inside him started to ache. There weren’t too many people Dominic could claim to love, but Marco was one of them. His jaw tightened. He forced it to relax. For Marco’s sake, he owed Bella the benefit of the doubt, at least for the duration of this meeting. ‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘You think Bella has something of value to offer the hotel?’

Marco straightened. ‘Bella,’ he clipped out. ‘Show us those menus you told me you’ve been slaving over. You said you’d have samples ready for today.’

She hesitated. ‘There’s a slight hitch with that, I’m afraid.’ She crossed her legs and smoothed out her skirt with an aplomb that almost stole Dominic’s breath. ‘I’ve left the menus in the canteen kitchen. I was discussing them with Charlie earlier.’

There was an awkward pause. Dominic schooled his lip not to curl. He doubted the existence of any such menus. The way Marco studiously avoided meeting his eyes told him Marco thought them products of Bella’s imagination, too.

‘I can run down to the canteen now and retrieve them, if you like. Or I can outline them to you verbally.’

While he was tempted to call her bluff, Dominic didn’t want her compounding lie with lie. He didn’t approve of her, but he didn’t want to embarrass Marco either. Marco deserved better than that.

He cleared his throat. Both Bella and Marco turned to him. ‘Why don’t we leave the menus for another day? There’s plenty of time.’ He nodded to the folders Bella held in her lap. ‘Why don’t you tell us what you’ve brought along instead?’ He hoped she had something there that would make Marco proud.

Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips. Her fingers curled around the folders until her knuckles whitened. Dominic leaned back. The pampered princess didn’t have quite as much aplomb as he’d thought. She was nervous. Maybe he’d done her an injustice. Maybe this meant a lot to her.

‘The folders, Bella,’ he said gently. In his experience, folders meant show and tell. She wouldn’t have brought them along if they didn’t contain something that would show her off to good effect. He’d give her every chance to show off if it’d make Marco happy.

‘These aren’t anything particularly interesting.’

He didn’t trust that shrug. It was too studied.

‘These are simply the files my father sent me about the hotel, along with some information I’ve started to gather about Newcastle.’

She really had nothing? Did she seriously mean to take such blatant advantage of Marco?

‘I take it you’ve read the information your father sent you?’

‘Of course.’ But she didn’t meet his eye as she said it.

He crossed his leg and hoped it hid the sudden fury that coursed through him. ‘Off the top of your head can you tell me the number of staff you will have working under you in the restaurant?’

She moistened her lips. Again. He wanted to feel a savage triumph that he could succeed so easily in unsettling her. Only he was the one who was unsettled—by the beguiling fullness of her bottom lip, the shine there that beckoned to him.

‘I’m afraid I can’t remember that off the top of my head. I’ve only had a chance to scan the documents.’

He allowed his lip to curl a fraction. ‘I see.’ If Marco had made the decision about the hotel a week ago, Bella would’ve had the documents a week ago. He knew Marco.

She swallowed. A faint pink tinged her cheek. Dominic bit back something rude and succinct. ‘Then can you tell me what interesting pieces of information you’ve gleaned about Newcastle in the course of your research?’

Panic raced across her face. ‘I, uh … It’s the second largest city in New South Wales. It’s a coal port and … and its former prosperity came from its large steel works. And, um …’ She blinked rapidly. ‘And it’s known for the beauty of its beaches.’

‘So, in fact, you have nothing more than a general knowledge of the place?’

Her chin shot up at that. ‘I’m working on it.’

Her eyes did strange things to his insides. He hardened his heart. It’d be better for her to disappoint Marco now rather than later on. ‘Can I see your folders?’

‘Why?’

‘Indulge me.’

She glanced at Marco as if hoping he’d step in, but to Marco’s credit he remained silent. With obvious reluctance, she handed them over.

He flicked through the contents of the top folder. As she’d said, it held the information about the hotel. The printed sheets were so tidy it was obvious that they had yet to be disturbed by human hands. He shook his head. No wonder she couldn’t recall staffing numbers; she hadn’t read them to begin with.

The second folder held print-outs, clippings and brochures about Newcastle. At least she hadn’t been lying about that.

The last one …

‘That’s personal. I—’

He pulled out a lingerie catalogue. A lingerie catalogue! He smothered an oath. Marco had to see that Bella just wouldn’t make the grade on this one.

She snatched the catalogue from his hand. ‘A friend has a party-plan company. She asked me to take a look. I had nowhere else to put it.’

He didn’t doubt which reading material she preferred. He handed the folders back.

He found himself combatting a sudden weariness; a feeling of lethargy and emptiness. He tried to shake it off. ‘What qualifications do you have, Bella?’

Her eyes flashed fire. ‘If my father has no qualms in that area, then I don’t see what concern it is of yours.’

‘It’s my concern because I’m going to be ultimately responsible for the hotel’s success. Marco?’

Marco raised a hand and then let it drop. From beside him, he felt Bella flinch. It took all his self-control not to turn back to her.

‘For the last eighteen months my daughter has been working in her uncle’s restaurant.’

‘Were you in charge of its day-to-day management?’

‘On occasion.’

He shook his head and turned back to Marco. ‘This is never going to work. Bella simply doesn’t have the experience necessary for such a senior position.’

‘She’ll be able to pull it off with your help.’

He wanted to turn away from the pleading in Marco’s eyes. He owed the older man a lot, but to be party to Bella’s latest whim? A whim that no doubt would end in Marco’s disappointment and regret. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Marco said. A sigh heaved out of him. ‘Maybe this is nothing more than an old man’s dream.’

Dominic glanced up. Before his eyes, Marco seemed to age.

‘No!’

Bella leapt to her feet. Dominic couldn’t do this to her. He couldn’t!

Her hands clenched about the folders. She stared at her father. That expression on his face! It reminded her of the time he’d seen her high school graduation results. ‘No Maldini has ever failed high school!’ Oh, that look—it had cut her to the quick. He hadn’t said anything else. He’d turned away. He’d cancelled what was supposed to have been a celebratory dinner. He’d gone out alone.

She couldn’t let him turn away now.

‘Don’t listen to Dominic.’ She slammed her folders down on his desk. ‘On paper I may not have the qualifications, but I have the heart and I have the talent.’ She prayed she had the talent.

She glared at Dominic. ‘How do you rate determination and talent, Dominic?’

He stared up at her. He hadn’t moved. Her heart pounded; she swore both he and her father must hear it.

‘Highly.’

She could tell he didn’t believe it, but …

‘I have both. In quantities that I promise will impress even you.’

He didn’t reply. She glanced at her father and her stomach tightened when she recalled the way his face had frozen when she’d confessed that she’d dropped out of university. He’d barely been able to look at her. It had made something inside her curl up and die.

That wasn’t going to happen now. She wouldn’t let it.

She swung back to Dominic. ‘Before she died, my mother’s dearest wish was that my father would one day create the hotel of his dreams. It was a dream close to both their hearts. It is a dream close to my heart. Papa—’ she swung to him ‘—you know this is true.’

It was the reason she’d badgered him to give her the opportunity to work at the Newcastle Maldini. She’d begged, pleaded and cajoled until he’d agreed. Dominic was not going to take that away from her.

She pulled in a deep breath. Before Italy she’d have agreed with Dominic’s assessment of her. Before Italy she’d never have dared take a risk like this. But her experiences in Italy had changed her. She’d found her passion. She’d found a talent—something she was good at. She’d discovered what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She believed she had something to offer. Something good and true.

She trembled as she played her trump card. ‘Papa, Mama would want you to give me this chance.’

As she’d known it would, the mention of her mother defeated him. His shoulders sagged, he sighed and stared at Dominic. ‘It was my Francine’s fondest wish …’

It took all her courage to meet Dominic’s gaze. Would he back down? Would he relent and give her a chance to prove herself? His eyes were unreadable. His face could’ve been chiselled from stone, or ice.

‘You think you are up for this?’ he finally said, the soft threat of his voice sending a shiver of apprehension up her spine.

‘Yes.’ Somehow she made her voice strong.

He glanced at her father and just for a moment his expression softened. It hardened again when he glanced back at her. ‘You will work hard?’

That sounded less a question and more of a threat. She swallowed. ‘Yes.’

She refused to let her gaze drop from his, but she still didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. But those eyes, the bluest of blue, brought to mind hot, languid days on the Mediterranean … and hot, languid nights. Heat flowed into her cheeks, her neck, her breasts.

Very slowly, Dominic gave a smile. She didn’t know what that meant either. It wasn’t the kind of smile she’d ever been sent before. Without taking his eyes from her, he addressed her father. ‘Perhaps, Marco, Bella deserves your confidence? The final decision rests with you.’

‘You will work with my Bella?’

Dominic blinked and released her. She found herself breathing hard. For a moment she wasn’t sure where to look.

‘I will work with Bella if that’s truly what you want.’

Her father literally beamed at Dominic. It made her heart burn. Dominic received the beaming smiles for making the sacrifice to work with her, while she …?

‘And as long as Bella is sure that’s what she wants, too.’

The same soft threat threaded his words. Marco glared at her. She lifted her chin to hide her hurt. ‘Of course it’s what I want.’

Marco dusted off his hands. ‘There, that’s settled then.’

She swallowed. She would deserve those smiles soon, too, she swore silently. Her father would be proud of her. As long as she didn’t screw up.

Please, God. Don’t let me screw up.




CHAPTER TWO


DOMINIC sat ramrod straight and tried to find his equilibrium as Bella resumed her seat and proceeded to outline her plans for the restaurant and the type of cuisine she wanted to serve. Something about the woman rocked his balance. He searched for righteous anger, for indignation and scorn, but that comfort eluded him, too.

It didn’t mean he advocated her tactics. He loathed those. She’d emotionally blackmailed Marco into giving her the job, and yet …

The fire in her eyes when she’d leapt to her feet. The utter life that thrummed through her. It had burst from her as if her body couldn’t contain it.

He’d seen it, and for a moment it had turned everything upside down.

He’d demanded a sideways move within the Maldini Corporation for one reason alone—he hoped the new challenge would help drive away the emptiness that had started creeping over him in the last few months, the boredom and ennui.

He glanced at Bella again. Even under the polite cover of professionalism she’d now assumed, he could sense the fire in her, simmering just below the surface. He didn’t know what name to give it—zest, freedom, vitality? He had a feeling that if he could identify precisely what it was he’d find the answer to the emptiness that yawned through him when he least expected it. The emptiness that sucked all enjoyment out of life and left him feeling grey … blank. Emptiness he found harder and harder to fight each time it descended. Emptiness that had no reason for being. If he studied her, he might find the answer.

He took in her pouting lips and the long, dark fall of her hair as she listened to something her father said and his skin tightened. She crossed her legs and her skirt rode up, exposing a long length of tanned thigh. Heat arrowed into his groin and his senses suddenly blazed to life. Colours became instantly richer and he found himself appreciating the deep garnet-red of her suit, relishing the way it outlined her lush curves and highlighted the thick darkness of her hair. Smells sharpened until he could practically taste the lemon tang of her scent.

He bit back a curse. It had been a long time since a woman had fired him with such an instant response. Why Bella? Why now? He didn’t lack for female company—beautiful female company—and he’d made no secret of the fact that he liked women and that he liked variety in women. If Bella had been anyone else …

If she’d been anyone else he’d have sworn to have her in his bed by the end of the week.

He couldn’t. She was Marco’s daughter, for God’s sake.

And for the next two months he would have to find a way to work with her.

He stared at her folders, now sitting innocently on Marco’s desk, and his lips twisted. A blasted lingerie catalogue! He considered how shamelessly she’d just played her father. He thought back to all the women who had coldly taken advantage of his father and a seam of ice threaded through his veins. Bella wouldn’t find him so easy to manipulate.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t play her at her own game. She would not let Marco down this time. Dominic wouldn’t allow it. This time his reputation was on the line too and, if he had to charm her into compliance, he would.

Bella turned to him. ‘What do you say, Dominic?’

He hadn’t followed the conversation at all. No matter. He raised one shoulder in as languid a shrug as he could manage. ‘I’d say it’s going to be quite an experience working with you, Bella. I respect your—’ he let his gaze drop to her lips ‘—enthusiasm.’

‘I … Thank you.’

Rather than reach across and shake her as he itched to do, he sent her his trademark smile instead. The effect was devastating, or so he’d been told. He didn’t consider himself vain but he wasn’t falsely modest either. That smile had brought enough women to their knees for him to believe in it.

Bella’s eyes narrowed to thin pinpricks of hauteur. She looked as if she’d rather slap him than fall to her knees. It’d take more than a smile to knock this lady off her feet.

Unfortunately, that only made his interest level shoot up several notches. ‘I want to make it clear that I won’t make concessions for you because you’re Marco’s daughter.’ He personally meant to ensure that she worked her butt off.

She tossed her head. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’

‘I demand excellence.’

Her chin tilted at an angle that had him dying to kiss her. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

He would make her toe the line and see this project through to its bitter end. She’d make good on her promise to Marco this time. He’d see to that. This time, when the going got tough and she tried to bail—and he’d make sure it got tough—she’d find his will more implacable than her own.

Bella was going to get exactly what was coming to her.




CHAPTER THREE


BELLA tried to smile at the cat, but it glared at her through the bars of its cage as if it knew she didn’t really mean it. It hissed when she readjusted the holdall over her shoulder. It spat when she dropped the other bag to the floor.

‘You might be a pedigree chocolate-banded Abyssinian, but you’re still just a cat, you know,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘In a cage,’ she added for good measure.

She fumbled with the door key and tried to keep the cage as still as possible. From the noise Minky was making, you’d think Bella had seized the cage in both hands and was shaking the life out of it.

She finally managed to get key in keyhole and started to turn it at the precise moment the door flew open and practically wrenched her arm from its socket. The momentum flung her inwards. Before she knew which way was up, she found her face mashed against hot male flesh.

Dominic’s hot male flesh.

The hot male flesh of Dominic’s naked chest.

For a moment everything froze. Him. Her. Time. Even Minky. But not for long. The cat hissed again, time sped back up and Bella forced herself to plant a hand in the middle of Dominic’s naked chest and push herself upright.

Only then did the full impact of his semi-nakedness slam into her. Oh, dear Lord, Dominic looked like some golden devil sent to tempt all of womankind. Her knees actually weakened. Broad, muscular shoulders angled down a powerful chest to a stomach a woman could crack walnuts on, and then down farther to lean hips encased in a pair of low-slung jeans. Heat flushed through her. Her, ‘What the hell are you doing in my apartment?’ got choked up in the back of her throat, making her sound as if she had a fur ball.

Perspiration beaded her top lip. The spattering of light hair on his chest, its crispness still imprinted against her cheek, tapered down to his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her spine, making her shirt cling to her back.

‘Oops?’ he offered when she remained silent.

He looked disgustingly cool and unfazed. It made her aware of how crumpled and unkempt she was. She scowled. Dealing with Dominic at the office promised to be enough of a challenge let alone outside of it. Her apartment, she’d already decided, was going to be a strictly no-Dominic zone.

She hitched up her chin and tried to keep her eyes above shoulder level. ‘What, may I ask, are you doing in my apartment?’

‘Ah … There’s been a hiccup on that front.’

Great.

‘Apparently only one apartment was booked.’

She let the holdall slide from her shoulder to the floor. She set Minky’s cage down next to it and dusted off her hands. ‘Then I’ll go and talk to the apartment manager and organise another one.’

‘I’ve already tried that.’

She’d started to turn away. She turned back at his words. Her skin prickled with foreboding. ‘And?’

‘And there isn’t another apartment available in this block for another seven weeks. In fact, there isn’t another apartment to be had in the whole of Newcastle for the next eight days. Three affiliated events are taking place here this week—a literary festival, an art festival and a youth-culture festival, along with some associated popular-culture conference. The only accommodation available involves a tent.’

He had to be joking! She gaped at him.

‘Chin up, Bella. This is a penthouse apartment. It’s huge. There’s more than enough room for the both of us.’

It didn’t matter how big it was. It wouldn’t be big enough to …

‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, but this is business, Bella. You either roll with the punches or you get out.’

Get out? No way! She wasn’t leaving. Dominic might not want her on his team but he wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. She pursed her lips and resisted kicking the bag at her feet. ‘The apartment is large, you say?’

‘Huge.’

‘How many bedrooms?’

‘Two.’

She glared at him. Eyes above shoulder level. ‘This means setting some house rules.’

He raised both hands in the air. ‘Whatever.’

She yanked the holdall back to her shoulder and picked up Minky’s cage. House rule number one: no naked men!

He reached out a hand towards her and she tensed until she realised he only meant to take the holdall from her shoulder. He picked up the bag at her feet and led the way into the apartment.

Bella followed him then stopped dead and gaped. She choked. ‘Oh, my God!’

‘Yep.’

She dumped Minky unceremoniously on the coffee table and swung in a slow circle. Dominic had obviously done his best, opening the heavy velvet drapes as wide as they’d go, encouraging light to spill into the room, but the burgundy-coloured carpet seemed to absorb the light to create a strange pink glow.

‘What is this?’ She didn’t even try to camouflage her horror.

‘My initial reaction is to say, ghastly.’

She almost grinned at that.

‘But I believe it’s what’s commonly called a love nest.’

Good Lord, not good. Definitely not good. She tried to act cool, unfazed, as if she wasn’t embarrassed. As if the blood in her veins wasn’t circling around her body and dispersing the kind of heat she associated with chilli peppers. ‘I guess we should be thankful there aren’t cherubs painted on the ceilings.’

‘Wait till you see the bathroom.’

‘No!’ She swung to him. ‘Cherubs?’

‘Adam and Eve frolicking in the Garden of Eden, complete with strategically placed fig leaves.’

Oh, that was great, just great. She didn’t want to share any apartment with Dominic, but to have to share this one?

She glanced across at him; her stomach tightened. According to rumour, women fell at his feet with tedious regularity. It was said that he picked them up, dusted them off, made love to them and then moved on with breathtaking speed. She had no intention of falling at any man’s feet, least of all Dominic’s, but … This apartment!

The claustrophobic cosiness made her want to flee. It should’ve been impossible to make such a large room claustrophobic, but it had been sectioned off to create cosy nooks.

She didn’t want cosy nooks!

A pink velvet love seat reclined beneath one window, the same dusky colour as the drapes. A tiny pink sofa sat in front of the television unit, and she couldn’t see how Dominic would fit into it on his own let alone with someone—that was, her—wedged in beside him.

A small dining table held pride of place in an intimate alcove. Four chairs stood around it, though she didn’t see why the decorators hadn’t dispensed with the pretence and ditched two of them. A ridiculously ornate chandelier hovered over it all.

The furniture was dainty, feminine and incredibly seductive. Her arms inched about her waist. The apartment crouched as if waiting to pounce and force her to unleash her rampant desires the moment she let her guard down.

Minky yowled and Bella jumped. She hastily removed the cat’s cage from the coffee table and checked the satinwood for scratches. Dominic glanced at the cat and his lip curled as if he’d just stepped in something he wished he hadn’t.

‘Are you allergic?’ she asked, half-hopefully. Maybe he’d choose a tent over sharing an apartment with a cat.

‘No.’

Damn.

‘But I don’t like them.’

‘Me, neither.’ Minky glared at her. She glared right back. ‘I’m more of a dog person.’

‘Then why do we have a cat in our apartment?’

‘It’s not mine.’ She transferred her glare to Dominic. She didn’t like the way he’d emphasised the words we and our in that sentence, but didn’t know how to say so without sounding like a stark, raving lunatic.

Who knew? Maybe she was a lunatic. Mel had lumped her with the cat, hadn’t she?

‘A favour for a friend.’ She sighed. ‘It should only be for a week, maybe two. If you really hate it that much, I’ll put off moving to Newcastle until later.’ Then she could get away from this God-awful apartment. It’d mean a long commute for the time being, but that was suddenly far more attractive than spending more time than necessary in this apartment. With Dominic.

‘I can put up with the cat for a week or so.’

Fabulous.

She glanced around again and this time it was her lip that curled. ‘This is my exact idea of what a brothel would look like.’

‘I’ve never been in a brothel, so I can’t help you out there.’

No, he would never have to pay for sex.

She stiffened and tried to banish that thought from her mind. ‘I, uh … My father can’t possibly be responsible for this apartment.’

‘He wouldn’t have organised it. His secretary’s secretary would’ve booked the accommodation.’

Right. She thought about that for a moment. This so-called hiccup, this farce of an apartment, Dominic’s reputation … She tried to keep her voice casual. ‘You don’t happen to know this particular secretary’s secretary by any chance?’

He stilled. Then he swung around, his eyes narrowed. He folded his arms. Each movement made muscles ripple. ‘Are you asking me if I’ve slept with your father’s secretary’s secretary?’

She gave up on being casual. ‘I’m wondering if there’s someone in the chain who would find this amusing.’ Exactly how many hearts had he broken? How many women were there out there who wouldn’t mind the chance for a little payback?

His lip curled. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip.’

‘Warnings,’ she countered.

House rules. Ground rules. Now.

‘You have a reputation, Dominic. A reputation any woman would be a fool to ignore. I’ve been told you break women’s hearts as easily as you snap your fingers. That it’s all a game to you.’

His mouth opened but no sound came out.

‘I’m a woman, I have a heart and now I’m stuck in this God-awful apartment with you for who knows how long. Believe me, I mean to heed the warnings.’

He slammed his hands to his hips. ‘And just like that my character is condemned?’

‘I’m not condemning you.’ She took a step back. ‘But you’re a confirmed bachelor, right?’

‘There isn’t anyone more confirmed.’

‘Marriage is …?’

‘A dirty word.’

‘Whereas me, I’m a hearts-and-flowers kind of girl all the way—marriage, babies, the works. That’s what I want.’

She tried to laugh but her eyes had dipped below shoulder level and the laugh caught in her throat. With his legs planted firmly apart they looked longer, firmer. The loose, low-slung cut of his jeans couldn’t hide the power of his thighs. Bella’s fingers flexed and curled.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Her cheeks started to burn. She dragged her eyes up to his face. His hair was a halo of fiery reds and golds. Temptation personified. She shook herself. ‘Are you telling me your reputation is unearned?’

‘I’m telling you that it’s irrelevant.’

Really? She might not be all that experienced where men were concerned, but in her father’s office last week she’d noticed the way Dominic’s eyes had kept travelling the length of her legs whenever he thought she wasn’t watching. Then there’d been the speculation in their depths, their heat, when they’d rested on her mouth. It had sent an answering heat surging through her. She knew enough to know that meant trouble. She meant to cut it dead in its tracks.

‘So … strictly business?’

‘Strictly business,’ he confirmed.

‘Do you appreciate straight talking, Dominic?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I have to say that walking around half-naked doesn’t seem to me the height of professionalism.’

‘My walking around without a shirt bothers you?’

She refused to lie. ‘It does.’

With a tightening of his lips, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. He returned a moment later wearing a loose T-shirt that hung below his hips.

Had she offended him? She bit her lip. She couldn’t afford to get him offside. She’d need his support if she were to bring her dream restaurant into being. She’d need his good opinion if she wanted to make her father proud. If he told Papa that she was a failure, that she was stupid … She gulped and refused to follow that line of thought. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

He didn’t say anything. Then, ‘I left you the master bedroom.’

She swallowed. ‘That was kind.’

‘You might want to reassess that opinion once you’ve seen it.’

That didn’t sound promising.

‘Is this all your luggage?’ He motioned to the bags. ‘Or do you have more downstairs?’

‘These aren’t mine, they’re the cat’s.’ Her gear was still in the boot of her car.

‘What?’

She kicked a bag. ‘We have dry food, tinned food, special treat food. We even have cat chocolate.’

He stared at her as if he didn’t know what to say. She didn’t blame him.

‘Then there’s her basket, her blankets, her toys. This cat even has a different DVD for each day of the week. I’m supposed to set them to play on continuous mode whenever I go out so she doesn’t get lonely. This is the blasted prima donna of all cats. Do you still think you can put up with it?’

‘Yes.’ But he ground the word out between his teeth.

‘Tell me we have a DVD player in the apartment or I’ll have to race home and grab mine.’ Which could be a good thing. A chance for fresh air …

‘There’s a DVD player.’

He shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets. He might’ve covered up, but Bella could recall with irritating clarity the definition of his pecs and abs, and how firm and warm his skin had felt against her cheek.

‘What’ll happen if it doesn’t get its DVD?’

She shook herself and hauled her gaze back to the cat. ‘She’ll destroy the apartment, that’s what.’

‘Why’d you agree to look after the damn thing?’

Even twisted up like that his lips looked intriguing and full of promise. ‘Because Melanie is my friend and nobody else would do it.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘Minky’s cantankerous.’

His lip curled. ‘Minky?’

‘Don’t even go there. Not my cat. I didn’t name her.’

His lips twitched. ‘What would you call her?’

‘Medusa,’ she growled. ‘Because I’m petrified every single time she looks at me.’

He laughed then and all his beguiling goldenness and warmth seemed to reach out and brush against her. Her heart surged against her ribcage. Her lungs contracted.

‘If you give me your car keys I’ll go get your bags.’

Without a word, she fished her keys out of her pocket and handed them over. She wasn’t sure she was capable of speech.

When he left, she had to draw in several gulps of air before she could force her mind to work again. Bedroom. That’s right, check out the bedroom.

A short hallway led to two bedrooms directly opposite each other with the bathroom at the end. She peered in at the door on her right, and her jaw dropped. The rest of the apartment maintained a loose French Regency theme but this … This was just plain tacky.

She hated hot pink.

She checked out the bathroom. ‘Pah!’ She walked back to stare at the bedroom. Her worst nightmare, that was what this was. This bedroom, this apartment and the man she had to share it with.

‘Oh, hell, Bella. How many bags did you bring?’ Dominic struggled back into the apartment and dropped her bags to the living-room floor.

‘We’re in Newcastle for two months, remember?’ She gestured to her bedroom. ‘This is … It’s … I …’ She couldn’t find words.

‘Yeah, I know. And I’m not swapping.’

‘Is that supposed to be a bed?’ She motioned to the round concoction smack-bang in the middle of the room, heaped with hot-pink cushions and surrounded by pastel-pink mosquito netting.

‘I guess.’

She swung to his room. Its blankness shocked her: stark walls. Stark furnishings. She glanced back at her room, then his. It didn’t make sense. Overdone, overblown and tacky to cold, clinical and utilitarian? Not that Dominic had added any personal touches either. Her eyes narrowed. The room didn’t even hint at the personality of the man who inhabited it.

Not that she really knew much about his personality, she had to admit, only what the gossips had told her. But she knew enough to know he was a sensualist, like her. They chose to express it in different ways, that was all. He through sex; she through food. Together they could …

Don’t go there! Dominic conquered women the way the Roman Empire had conquered new territory—with a brash ruthlessness and half an eye on new horizons. Bella didn’t want to be conquered. She sure as hell didn’t want to be left for a new horizon.

‘Bella?’

She shook herself and gestured to his bedroom. ‘I don’t like that any better.’

‘You don’t?’

‘It’s awful.’

He pointed to her room. ‘Worse than that?’

‘Just as bad. Why don’t you put some things around?’

‘Like?’

‘I don’t know. Like a colourful quilt or something. Some photos … Anything.’

‘We’re only here for two months.’

Only two months? It stretched out like an eternity for her.

‘I like things neat.’

‘That’s not neat,’ she blurted out. ‘It’s blank!’

She tried to read the expression in his eyes. He couldn’t seriously like that room, could he? She understood his masculine pride baulking at the hot pink, but …

She glanced back at his room. He didn’t live like that normally, did he? At that thought something shifted inside her, but she couldn’t name what it was.

Only, she recognised that blankness. She and her father had felt that blank after her mother had died.




CHAPTER FOUR


‘OKAY, time to discuss house rules.’

Bella pushed away from Dominic’s intriguing proximity. He’d moved in beside her to shake his head once again at the hideousness of her bedroom, his arm almost touching hers. It made her jumpy.

She didn’t want jumpy. She didn’t want the blood stampeding through her veins as his cinnamon scent infiltrated her senses either. She wanted—needed—her mind honed and zeroed in on her goal.

A man who thought marriage a dirty word was not going to distract her from that.

‘House rules?’

Bella had almost reached the end of the hallway. She turned to find that Dominic hadn’t moved. He raised an eyebrow. She swallowed. She had to find a way to live and work with this man. The sooner she did that, the sooner she could focus on the important things, like putting her plans for her father’s dream restaurant into action and making him proud of her. Making amends. ‘House rules,’ she repeated in as firm a tone as she could muster.

Which was pretty firm. She was kind of proud of it. She’d bet Dominic was used to women rushing to fulfil his every whim. Not her, though. No way. That would not be the way to earn his respect. It certainly wouldn’t be a way to keep things on a business footing either.

‘You may well be the boss when we’re at work, Dominic, but here—’ she slapped a wall ‘—we’re equals. But coffee first, I think, yes?’

She headed for the living room. ‘And then I best let Minky out of her cage.’ She was hoping that, given more time, the cat would settle down and mellow out. She came to a halt and glanced around. Where on earth was the kitchen?

As if he could read her mind, Dominic came up behind her and pointed to a door discreetly set into the wall near the dining nook. She had to look twice before she could make it out.

Right. She set off for it.

The kitchen wasn’t large, but it was well-appointed. A gleaming new red-and-chrome coffee machine sat on the bench in front of her. She stroked it with one finger and then reached up and pulled a packet of coffee beans from a cupboard above her head.

Dominic blinked. ‘How’d you know that was there?’

‘My father organised this apartment, right? Or at least, his secretary’s secretary did. But he’d have given instructions.’ Though Papa’s lip would curl as much as hers and Dominic’s if he ever saw the place. Still, she had no intention of ringing to complain. Low maintenance, that was what she had to be. Low maintenance, adult and businesslike. She should write that down and repeat it three times every day.

Besides, if this wasn’t somebody’s idea of a joke or a payback, then …

Katie, her father’s secretary, was going through a terrible divorce. Bella recalled that late file and shook her head. Katie had enough on her plate at the moment. Bella wasn’t going to complain. She had no intention of adding to Katie’s troubles.

‘So?’

She snapped to. ‘This is the cupboard above the coffee machine. The coffee beans are always in the cupboard above the coffee machine.’ She pointed to a cupboard behind him. ‘That should be full of red wine. Nice red wine,’ she added.

He opened the cupboard, pulled out a bottle and his eyebrows shot up. ‘This is good stuff.’

‘He’ll have stocked it from his personal cellar. There’ll be a box of expensive chocolates in the fridge, too, even though I keep telling him not to store them there, along with my favourite brand of cooking chocolate.’

He opened the fridge door. He closed it again. ‘You’re right on both counts.’

She shrugged and turned back to the coffee machine. ‘He knows all my weaknesses.’

‘And he likes to ensure you have everything you could possibly want.’

He spoke the words lightly, but she caught the thread of steel beneath them, the contempt. She knew exactly what he thought—that she was spoiled and wilful, that she took advantage of her father.

Bella is spoiled … Her heart stuttered in her chest. Her father’s only rewards for all his generosity was disappointment and pain. She whirled around. ‘Yes, my father is generous to a fault, but you can’t tell me you haven’t been a recipient of his generosity either.’

He blinked and sort of frowned, as if he couldn’t work her out.

‘Because I know you have. I did some research on you, Dominic Wright.’

Just for a moment she could’ve sworn he stiffened, and then he grinned the grin that transformed him from The Iceman into a golden devil. He moved to the bench beside her, rested back against it. ‘And what did you come up with?’

He maintained a reasonable distance but the scent of cinnamon curled around her. She tore open the packet of coffee beans and their fragrance spilled into the kitchen, chasing the cinnamon away.

‘I found out that he hired you a good year before you finished your university degree. He took a risk on you then.’

‘A gamble that paid off.’

‘And that until this week you’ve been working in acquisitions and mergers.’ And from all accounts he’d been doing brilliantly there. She met his eyes with a challenge of her own. ‘But it has to be said, acquisitions and mergers isn’t exactly the kind of area that qualifies you as project manager for the Newcastle Maldini. My father is, again, obviously taking a gamble on you.’

He shifted, straightened. ‘Are you saying you doubt my capacity to discharge my duties adequately?’

Adequately? Pah! She ground the coffee beans, the noise providing her with an excuse to remain silent.

‘Bella?’ His voice was hard.

‘I’m saying that I’m not taking it for granted.’

She made the coffee. She took hers black and unsweetened. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ When he shook his head, she pushed one mug across to him. ‘And I want more than you merely discharging your duties adequately. The hotel’s success is important to me.’

‘Why?’

‘I already told you. It was a dream that was important to both my parents.’

His too-perceptive eyes narrowed. ‘I think there’s more to it than that.’

And just like that she felt as if she were in a job interview. Her nerves skittered and skated. If there was one thing she hated passionately it was job interviews. She had no intention of sharing her real reasons with Dominic, her personal reasons. Her make-her-father-proud reasons. She wanted distance. A lot of distance. They might be physically stuck in this apartment, but they didn’t have to share the same headspace.

It didn’t change the fact she had to give him something. He was her boss. ‘Why do you want to oversee this particular project?’ she countered. ‘Why the change?’

‘A new challenge.’

She recognised the evasion. She and Dominic might not have a lot in common, but they both liked to keep their cards close to their chests. And it had to be said, he did have a very nice chest. She shook that thought away. ‘Same here.’

His eyes mocked her. ‘Right.’

She waited for him to challenge her further, but he just shrugged. ‘Do you mean to leave that cat in its cage all day?’

She bit back a sigh and, mug in hand, made for the living room. Setting her mug on the coffee table, she knelt down beside the cage. ‘Hey there, Minky,’ she said in as conciliatory a voice as she could manage. ‘You are going to be a good kitty-cat, aren’t you?’

Soothing and calm, she instructed herself. She needed the cat to feel secure and unthreatened in its new environment. She hunkered down until she was almost eye level with the feline. ‘We’ll take it slow, okay? I’ll open the door and you can wander on out whenever you feel like it to check out your new home. And then I’ll get you some dinner, okay? How’s that sound?’

‘Like far more explanation than anything with four legs needs,’ Dominic drawled.

‘Ignore the nasty man,’ Bella told the cat in the same singsong, hopefully soothing voice.

Minky’s yellow-green eyes glared at her. The tail swished. Good Lord, who was she trying to kid? The cat hated her.

She glanced up at Dominic. ‘I’m not exactly sure how she’ll react. She’s, um, not happy.’

‘It’s a cat,’ he dismissed. ‘It weighs, what? Two kilos at the most? It can’t exactly do that much damage.’

She pointed at him. ‘Famous last words.’ He grinned and it lifted something inside her. With heart thumping, she opened the cage door.

Minky exploded from it like a demented jack-in-the-box on steroids to claw straight up Dominic’s denim-clad legs. He’d moved to stand in front of the cage, Bella presumed so he could get a better view of the show, but he didn’t deserve that.

‘Minky!’ She leapt up.

Yowling, the cat let go and then proceeded to bounce off the sofa, the coffee table and two dining room chairs before settling under the television cabinet, eyes glaring and tail twitching in compulsive malevolence.

Bella armed herself with a cushion before spinning back to Dominic. ‘Did she hurt you?’ Her eyes dropped to his thighs. Five tiny pinpricks of blood stained the denim of his jeans—three on the left thigh and two on the right. Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, I am sorry!’

It took all of Dominic’s willpower not to harden under Bella’s dark-eyed gaze. Damn schizoid cat! ‘It’s nothing,’ he dismissed.

Bella glanced at him, at the cat, at the sofa and finally at the rug. Clutching the cushion to her chest, she carefully lowered herself to the floor, one eye firmly on the demon cat from hell. Not that he blamed her. Still, it was obvious she’d rather take her chances on the floor with the cat than on the sofa with him.

A scowl built through him. Her insinuation that he’d slept with whoever had organised this apartment, her obvious suspicion that he attempted to seduce every woman that crossed his path, still stung. The glance she sent him, however, made him feel like the wolf of Red Riding Hood fame. He lowered his frame to the sofa, stretched out his legs and fought a frown. Did she think he meant to jump her the moment she let her guard down? He had more finesse, more style, than that.

Besides, he had no intention of trying to seduce her—regardless of how tantalising the idea might seem. This lady was one complication he didn’t need.

She surveyed him over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘We should set some house rules.’

He shifted back, alternately straightening and slouching, but the sofa refused to give way to the shape of his body. ‘We should?’

‘Sure we should.’

He stuffed a cushion behind his back. ‘Like?’

‘Like, do you have any pet hates other than cats?’

He stopped his shuffling. ‘You’re not going to ask me to do anything for that blasted cat are you?’ He pulled the cushion back out and tossed it to the floor.

‘No.’

Her eyes darted to his thighs again. He bit back a groan and wished he’d kept hold of that sandbag of a cushion. He wanted to make Bella pay for all the heartache she’d caused Marco, but not in that way. Then he recalled the look on her face when she’d whirled around to him and pointed out that he’d been a recipient of Marco’s generosity, too. The lift of her chin when she had claimed the hotel’s success was important to her.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

‘What about you? Any pet hates?’

Her eyes lifted from his thighs and he found he could breathe again, after a fashion. ‘I hate cheerful chat in the mornings. In fact, I’d really rather you didn’t speak to me at all before I’ve had at least one cup of coffee, preferably two.’

‘What constitutes cheerful?’

‘Anything more than a grunt.’

All his tightness dissolved. A laugh built inside him.

‘Seriously, Dominic, I’m not joking.’

The laugh burst free and something shifted inside him, deeper than his desire but not as intense.

A warning bell suddenly went off in his head. Bella had the same soft, melt-a-man-where-he-stood eyes that his father had always fallen for—eyes that turned grown men into pathetic, grovelling saps.

Nobody was turning him into a sap!

‘Mornings aren’t my strong suit.’

He’d bet she’d look deliciously rumpled in the mornings.

‘So what do you hate in a flatmate?’ she persisted.

He snapped to. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had one.’

Her jaw dropped. She leant forward. ‘What? Never? What about when you were at university?’

‘I lived off campus.’

He’d lived in a caravan park with his father because by then someone had had to look after him, and everyone else had deserted him—including all those doe-eyed women who’d manipulated him time after time until Dominic hadn’t been able to watch any more.

He’d sworn never to let a woman reduce him to that kind of dependence, that kind of pathetic wretchedness and despair. He’d looked after his father throughout his alcoholism and associated dementia. After that he’d decided roommates were a bad idea.

Bella frowned as if she’d read that thought in his face. ‘But you must’ve been on other business trips like this?’

‘Never for this long. If a team of us shot off somewhere, it was only ever for a few days. We’d stay in hotels and have our own rooms.’

She stared at him for a long moment and then shook herself. ‘So how do you want to do things?’

‘What things?’

‘Food, for a start. We have to eat.’

‘We can have groceries delivered.’

‘Uh-huh. And who’s going to cook them?’

He stared at her for a moment and then it hit him. She thought he was an unreconstructed, sexist Neanderthal who was going to lump her with all the housework!

Big bad wolf and sexist Neanderthal?

He forced down an angry denial and leaned back, the epitome of casual unconcern. ‘Well, now, Bella, since you’re the chef …’

Her chin shot up. ‘You are not lumping me with all the cooking. I’ll be doing enough of that throughout the day.’

‘But the restaurant doesn’t open for another two months.’

‘So? I’ll be training staff, checking out our suppliers, putting the chefs through their paces.’

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘Couldn’t you get one of the minions to whip us up something we could reheat when we got home?’

‘I’ll do that just as soon as you ask the hotel’s housemaids to come around and take care of our ironing!’

Devilry sparked through him. ‘Now there’s an idea.’

Her jaw dropped. He laughed outright. Her eyes narrowed. He waited for her to realise her mistake—that he wasn’t the unreconstructed male that she made him out to be. Instead she folded her arms and said, ‘I will not be taken advantage of.’

He shook his head. Unbelievable. ‘How about we take it in turns to cook, then?’ She couldn’t find fault with that plan, could she?

‘Can you cook?’

She’d pay for that. ‘Guess you’ll find out.’

She scrutinised him with the intensity of a magnifying glass frying a bug in the sun. The big bad wolf and Red Riding Hood analogy sprang into his mind again and it took all his effort not to yell at her to stop looking at him like that.

‘I bet you’re used to women fussing around you, wanting to service your every need.’

She’d pay double for that crack.

She pointed a finger at him. ‘This is a work environment!’

Precisely.

‘What I mean is … It’s just …’ She blew a strand of hair out of her face. ‘Look, we share the household chores and the only other thing …’

She glanced away. He leaned forward, intrigued. ‘The only other thing?’

Her chin lifted but she didn’t meet his eye. ‘I don’t think you should bring your dates back here, that’s all,’ she finished in a rush.

Her opinion of him wasn’t just bad, it was appalling! For a moment he couldn’t even speak.

‘If you were sharing this apartment with my father, would you bring women back?’

No, he damn well wouldn’t. Just as he had no intention of doing so now. He couldn’t credit her with deliberately trying to offend him, but he had every intention of making her pay for her unjust assessment of him. Every intention. Someone should teach Bella the dangers of jumping to conclusions.

‘I think you’ll find, Bella—’ he all but purred her name and had the satisfaction of seeing her swallow ‘—that I will be the model flatmate. To prove my point, why don’t I take care of dinner tonight?’

She moistened her lips, staring up at him with big eyes, like those of a deer caught in the headlights. ‘That’s not necessary.’

‘Oh, I think it is.’

She clutched her cushion closer. ‘Okay, then. Lovely.’

The look on her face told him she suspected it wasn’t nourishment but seduction that he had planned. He sent her a cat-that-got-the-cream grin that was designed to keep her thinking exactly that. ‘Dinner will be served at seven-thirty.’

‘Lovely,’ she repeated.

But the expression on her face said the opposite and it was all he could do not to laugh.

‘Let the games begin.’

Dominic lit the single-tapered candle, stepped back to survey the arrangement and grinned. A white damask cloth draped the table and fell in soft folds to the floor. Crystal and silver gleamed in the candlelight sending an intimate glow throughout the apartment.

He’d spent an age consulting with Jean-Claude about the meal tonight. He’d wanted a menu that would knock Bella’s socks off.

And he had it.

He couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw it, tasted it.

At the idea of her mouth closing around the food he’d chosen, savouring it, his gut clenched. Images bombarded him. He pushed them away. He had every intention of seducing Bella’s senses through the food and wine, through the atmosphere he’d created, but it was a mock seduction only. Although she thought otherwise, Bella was as safe as houses.

He meant to enjoy watching her squirm.

Then succumb to his charm.

And then realise her mistake.

A glance at his watch told him it was time. He tapped on her door and had to bite back a grin when it flew open immediately, as if she’d been waiting on the other side. Then the grin slid right off his face. What the …?

She raked him up and down with her hot, brown gaze and then scowled right back at him. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘You didn’t tell me this was formal, so it’s not my fault.’

He didn’t care that she’d elected to dress casually. It was the kind of casual she’d chosen that irked him. Perspiration prickled his scalp. She seemed to scream, big bad wolf.

‘What is that?’ He motioned to what she wore. He shouldn’t have asked, but he couldn’t help it.

‘A track suit,’ she returned with the kind of slow deliberation reserved for the bovine. Then she stifled a yawn. ‘Is dinner ready?’

He nodded.

A track suit? It was the baggiest track suit known to man. It was so baggy she could share it with three other people and still have room to house a small African nation.

The dismal colour did nothing for the clear brilliance of her skin either. Grey. It wasn’t even a deliberate grey, but one of those greys that looked as though it had been through the washing machine too many times. The women he knew wouldn’t be seen dead in an outfit like that.

Without a scrap of make-up and her hair pulled into a high ponytail, she looked all of sixteen.

Big bad wolf!

Irritation inched up his backbone. He wasn’t some slathering beast waiting to fasten his jaws about her delectable throat.

‘Are you going to let me out?’

He shook himself and stepped back and swept a gallant arm down the short hall. At least, he hoped it was gallant. All his muscles had bunched and stiffened as if they didn’t belong to him any more.

Manners; charm, he ordered. She’d be putty in his hands soon enough. He slipped past her to hold out her chair but she’d halted to seize the remote from the coffee table and click on the television.

‘Do you mind?’ She glanced up. ‘There’s a documentary that sounds—’

‘Yes, I do mind.’ He snatched the remote and clicked the television off again. ‘I’ve gone to all this trouble. The least you can do is appreciate it and pretend to enjoy it.’

‘Trouble?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘What? You set the table?’

Nope, the waiter had taken care of that when he’d delivered the food. Dominic dropped his hands to her shoulders and propelled her to her seat. His outrage dissolved as her warmth crept through the thin cotton of her top and seeped into his hands. How many times had this thing been through the washing machine? It was so thin he could …

He snatched his hands back. He needed to remain cold and clinical if he was going to pull this off.

‘I know you haven’t actually cooked anything. Cooking a lovely meal, now that takes commitment.’ She drew the word out like a taunt. ‘I promise, when you make that sort of effort, I’ll appreciate it.’

At her words the feast in the kitchen suddenly developed a kind of moral mould, became cheap and self-indulgent. He gave himself a mental kick. Hell, no! It wasn’t cheap. It was the best money could buy.

‘You know, if you were doing take-out I’d have been just as happy with pizza.’

Pizza? Pizza! He tried to hide his indignation. ‘I’ll have you know this isn’t just any take-out.’

‘Oh?’

He pulled in a breath and tried a different tack, but then her scent slammed into him, all lemon zest and tang. ‘I wanted to make things nice for you.’ His jaw clenched. ‘Special,’ he ground out.

Charm, remember? Had he seriously thought seducing her—pseudo-seduction or otherwise—would be easy?

A soft touch she wasn’t, but the challenge fired his blood. ‘I wanted to celebrate.’

She stifled another yawn. ‘Celebrate what?’

‘The beginning of our working relationship,’ he said smoothly, keeping his voice low and intimate. He lifted the bottle chilling on ice. ‘Champagne?’

‘Is it French?’ she demanded, with a supercilious lift of one eyebrow. ‘I only drink French.’

He gritted his teeth and then pulled in a breath. ‘Naturally.’ He’d manage suave and charming if it killed him. She could shrug and yawn all she liked. What she’d get in return was cultured and courteous. Determination settled over him. He’d impress her with this meal. He’d impress her with his manners. He’d break down the barriers she’d erected, and he’d make her laugh, joke and spar with him and enjoy herself. He’d make her see he wasn’t a beast.

‘How do you know I haven’t cooked?’ He was honestly curious.

She sipped the champagne before answering. It left a shine on her lips and he found it difficult to drag his gaze away. She might’ve scorned make-up and glamorous clothing, but her bearing, her gestures, betrayed her innate sensuality. She moved with the fluid grace and assurance of a confident woman.

‘There are only finished-meal smells, no cooking smells.’

He blinked.

‘Plus, cooking is noisy and the apartment has been quiet all evening.’

Aha. So she had been aware.

‘You ought to serve the fish before it dries out.’

How the hell?

‘I can smell it,’ she said before he could ask.

She was a chef. Of course she could smell it.

She flipped out her napkin and smoothed it across her lap then raised an eyebrow. He jerked into action. He was supposed to be acting smooth, suave; serving food with finesse and style. Not standing there gaping at her like some uncouth teenager. Like a …

Like a sap!

He shot into the kitchen, braced his hands against a bench and counted to three.

He was not uncouth. He was not a sap. He was not a big bad wolf.

He would make her smile.

He opened his eyes, pushed his shoulders back and grabbed their plates. With a flourish he set the cod in white wine sauce in front of her, then slid into the seat opposite. Anticipation fired through him.

She sniffed. He leaned in closer, watching for the dreamy expression he’d imagined rippling across her face. If he had her pegged right, Bella would react to fine food the way other women reacted to jewellery.

‘They’ve used oregano in the sauce instead of marjoram.’ Her lips turned down. ‘Why overpower the delicate taste of the fish like that?’ Her clear eyes met his, disappointment etched in their depths. He lost the power to speak.

She picked up her fork, flaked off a small piece and brought it to her lips. He held his breath and waited. No dreamy expression appeared. Disappointment burned through him, hot and acrid.

As if she could feel his gaze, she glanced up and met it. ‘It’s nice and moist, though,’ she said with a faintly resigned, ‘it’s what I expected’ half smile, half grimace. As if she had to search her mind for a compliment to toss off as a sop to his ego.

As if he were a sap.

Dominic lost his appetite then and there.




CHAPTER FIVE


OH MY God! The fish was out-of-this-world delicious. It took all of Bella’s willpower not to moan in pleasure as she forked another glorious morsel into her mouth. She nearly weakened altogether at Dominic’s evident disappointment, but hastily pulled herself up. Weaken now, and she was lost. Conquered territory et cetera.




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