Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Resisting The Sicilian Playboy

Resisting The Sicilian Playboy
Amanda Cinelli


Suave, sensual and utterly scandalous…Leo Valente is as notorious as the tabloids make him out to be. But feisty wedding planner Dara Devlin isn’t deterred. She needs his family castle for her top client, so she boldly accepts Leo’s outrageous challenge to be his fake girlfriend!If Dara thinks her sensible suit and unwavering professionalism will discourage him, she’s mistaken. They only make Leo want to get beneath her buttoned-up exterior all the more!Surrounded by the imposing walls and haunting memories of his opulent Sicilian castello, Leo finds seducing Dara is the perfect diversion—and claiming her will be this playboy’s ultimate prize.









‘Are you asking me to pose as your date?’


‘What other reason would we have for being in Palermo together? I think it’s the most believable scenario, don’t you?’

Maybe it was the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours catching up with her, but Dara felt a wave of hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up to the surface. The thought that anyone would believe a man like Leo Valente was dating a plain Irish nobody like her was absolutely ludicrous.

He continued, oblivious to her stunned reaction. ‘You would leave the business talk to me. All I need is for you to act as a buffer of sorts—play on your history with Lucchesi’s family. Someone with a personal connection to smooth the way.”

‘A buffer? That sounds so flattering …’ she muttered.

‘You would get all the benefits of being my companion and being a guest at an exclusive event. It would be enjoyable, I believe.’

‘Umberto Lucchesi is a powerful man. He must have good reason not to trust you,’ she mused. ‘I’m not quite sure I can risk my reputation.’

‘I’m a powerful man, Dara. You climbed a building to get a meeting with me. I’m offering you an opportunity to get exactly what you want. It’s up to you if you take it or not.’


Dear Reader (#ulink_48edbe34-1d65-5089-ac35-58c732c126a3),

This story began as a flicker of an idea—as most stories do. I was newly engaged, and exploring a wedding fair in Dublin, when I spotted a kiosk that advertised dream Italian weddings. The idea that someone could have such a glamorous job—planning events in such spectacular locations—was fascinating. The character of Dara was born instantly: a super-organised wedding planner on a mission to take her career to the next level.

It was while researching possible locations that I stumbled across the breathtaking Castello di Donnafugata in Ragusa. Leo’s family estate is inspired by this ancient Sicilian landmark. I fell in love with the dramatic façade and wondered what it would have been like to grow up in such a place … to wake up in the morning and look out of the arched windows to see waves crashing on the cliffs below …

And so it came about that I entered the 2014 So You Think You Can Write competition—with the aim of finally typing ‘The End’ on Leo and Dara’s story. I had no idea that it would be the beginning of a wonderful adventure of my own. The support I received was overwhelming, and being named winner of the competition is a moment I will never, ever forget.

Writing, to me, is like dreaming on paper, and I am honoured to be able to share my dreams with you.

Amanda


Resisting

the Sicilian

Playboy

Amanda Cinelli






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


AMANDA CINELLI was raised in a large Irish/Italian family in the suburbs of Dublin, Ireland. Her love of romance was inspired after ‘borrowing’ one of her mother’s beloved Mills & Boon


novels at the age of twelve. Writing soon became a necessary outlet for her wildly over-active imagination.

Now married, with a daughter of her own, she splits her time between changing nappies, studying psychology and writing love stories.


For my dear friend Kirsty. This story would never have been finished without you.

For my mother, Audrey. For your unwavering belief in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.

And for my father, Paolo. For showing me that with hard work and determination you can achieve anything.


Contents

Cover (#u1aabab27-f878-513c-9f67-903607010045)

Introduction (#u9b54883e-90e7-5eab-8af0-606301e7971c)

Dear Reader (#ue42ee2eb-cec2-52a2-89c5-e865b46984e2)

Title Page (#u67f0129d-7fc6-58b5-af1f-4a8011535858)

About the Author (#u327cd40d-9ab2-5daa-b160-908817c37c3f)

Dedication (#uaa72ef92-630e-54b7-8f41-8c855c169e6b)

CHAPTER ONE (#u2f21691c-3660-5b6c-be19-c2101a48b3a3)

CHAPTER TWO (#u36791ea1-820e-5ce6-856e-f8b742dc48bd)

CHAPTER THREE (#u657e0185-b3e0-5675-9970-a5fb310b4ef5)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9501530e-23c4-5bce-9299-75972908f62e)

DARA DEVLIN HAD found herself in a few sticky situations in this job, but this had to be by far the worst.

A professional event planner should never gatecrash. It had to be written somewhere in the company handbook. Yet here she was, straddling the second-floor balcony ledge of Milan’s most exclusive nightclub in four-inch designer heels.

All in the name of business, of course.

The heels had certainly slowed progress up the slippery emergency ladder, but leaving them in the alley below was unthinkable. A woman stood by her shoes, no matter how sticky the situation. And this situation most definitely qualified as sticky.

Handbag in one hand, she silently willed her skirt not to tear as she manoeuvred herself less than gracefully over the cold stone ledge, landing on hard marble tiles. Her watch showed it was just past ten. An unfashionably early time to be going clubbing in this part of the world, but dancing wasn’t on her agenda tonight.

The city’s premier celebrity hotspot, Platinum I, was celebrating its grand reopening this weekend and entry was strictly invitation only. No amount of her Irish charm would sway the arrogant hostess with her little black clipboard.

Nevertheless, Dara was determined to get into this party one way or another. She was only in town for the weekend before she had to head back south to her company’s office in Syracuse. Failing this task just wasn’t an option.

When her various contacts had said Leonardo Valente was untouchable, she had accepted the challenge with enthusiasm. She had the opportunity to plan the most high-profile wedding of her career—all she needed was one man’s cooperation.

How hard could it be?

Even after three weeks of rejected emails and dead-end phone calls she had refused to give up. Armed with her tablet computer and her snazziest designer suit, she had foolishly believed she could just travel to his Milan office and demand to be seen.

The joke was on her. Because it seemed that Leonardo Valente’s office didn’t even exist. The address on his secretary’s email had led her to a professional call-answering headquarters, where her enquiries had all been rejected point-blank.

It was just plain good luck that she had found out about tonight. The first club in the worldwide Platinum chain was turning ten years old and celebrating with a star-studded relaunch weekend.

Her grasp on the Italian language was far from perfect, but one thing was certain: Leonardo Valente was here tonight, inside these walls. All she had to do was find a way inside.

She looked around the empty terrace and felt her stomach tighten. She had hoped it would be some sort of outdoor seating area where she could just climb over the wall and melt into the crowd. She bit her lip. It was still some part of the club, and it was her only hope of getting inside.

The wall of the building was made almost entirely out of glass, each pane a deep glossy black, making it impossible to see what was inside. The thump of music had been deafening down on the ground, but on this terrace it was completely muffled.

She ignored the uncomfortable twitch in her stomach, putting it down to nerves. She was sneaking into an exclusive event, after all—nerves were to be expected. In life sometimes you had to break the rules to get ahead, but this pretty much went against every fibre of her goody-two-shoes nature.

Pushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, she placed one hand on the window. Her pale skin reflected brightly in the black glass, her steel-grey eyes calm and focused as she made her way slowly from pane to pane. She began pressing her fingertips along each narrow gap, searching for a hinge, a hook—something that hinted at an opening.

After she had exhausted every possible angle, she stepped back and surveyed the rest of the terrace with a frown. It made no sense. Surely there had to be a way to get inside.

She felt a sudden irrational urge to kick the glass and force her way in. But that would never do. Dara Devlin quite simply did not lose her cool—no matter how rough the situation was getting. It was the main reason brides from all over the world called her to plan their dream Sicilian weddings.

With a deep, calming breath, she forced herself to think. While climbing up here had definitely been worth a shot, unfortunately she was now two storeys up and not going anywhere fast. Her hands gripped the cold stone as she peered over the ledge. The street looked much further down from up here, and she was suddenly feeling a lot less brave.

‘Signorina, is there a particular reason you are sneaking around out here in the darkness?’

The deep, sensual voice came suddenly from behind her, making her breath catch painfully in her throat.

Dara turned slowly, eyes widening when she saw that a pane of glass had somehow disappeared and a man now stood watching her.

How had she not heard someone coming? It was far too late to try and escape back down the ladder now. Her mind raced as she tried to find a way to spin this that wouldn’t get her arrested.

‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’

His face was slightly obscured in the shadows, but she could tell from his dark suit and crossed arms that he was definitely someone in charge—most likely Security. Damn and double damn. This was not going well.

Time to think, Devlin. Forcing her tone to keep light, she laughed breathlessly and spoke in fast-paced English. No one arrested a silly blonde in trouble.

‘Well, finally someone’s bothered to come out and help me.’ She sighed for dramatic effect. ‘I’ve been banging on the glass for twenty minutes, trying to get back inside.’

‘You couldn’t find the door, no?’

His perfect English surprised her, but the mocking tone said he wasn’t buying it. She kept talking anyway.

‘It’s a safety hazard. I was looking to get some fresh air and someone said I could step out here for a moment—’

‘So you decided to scale the building to get to it?’ he said. It wasn’t a question, more an amused statement. ‘Do you make a habit of wearing heels to climb up buildings? It’s quite a talent.’

Dara opened her mouth to protest, but thought against it.

‘One-way glass.’ He gestured over his shoulder. It was too dark to see his face, but there was a definite smirk in his silky voice as he spoke. ‘The moment you realised you weren’t getting inside was really quite entertaining. I was convinced you were about to throw a tantrum.’

Dara huffed out the breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding. Well, it was great that he found this situation so funny, because from where she was standing her mission had just been unceremoniously called to a halt. She would likely be hauled out of here by the collar of her crisp white shirt and maybe even charged with trespassing.

‘I realise how this looks—’ she began, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

‘Do you? Because from here it looks like you were trying to break into my private floor in what I can only assume is a naughty secretary outfit.’

Dara frowned at that. ‘What? I am not a naughty—’ Her brain froze, processing the first chunk of his accusations.

The man stepped forward into the light, revealing a face that she had seen countless times in the tabloids. Dara felt her entire body freeze as she realised just who she had been lying to.

‘Oh, God, you’re him.’

Her razor-sharp professional reflexes turned to mush as she took in all six-feet-plus of muscular Sicilian male.

‘If by “him” you mean the owner of the building you just attempted to break into, then that’s a yes.’ The glow seemed to have left his eyes now, and had been replaced by a keen cynicism. ‘I suppose you’re going to want to come inside now? Start telling me about how this is all some crazy misunderstanding?’

Arms folded across an impressive chest, he stood waiting for her to dig her hole even deeper.

Hot embarrassment clawed up Dara’s neck. He clearly thought this was a scheme to get him alone. She’d read the magazines. Women threw themselves at Leo Valente everywhere he went. And it wasn’t just that he was mega-rich—although for some women that would be more than enough. With this man, the words they used were mouthwatering, delicious and sinful.

It had always made her laugh to hear of men described like desserts, but now, standing five feet away from him, she could kind of understand the madness.

He was a far cry from her usual type. His dark hair reached just under his collar and was a bit too untidy, his eyelashes were too long and his jaw overgrown with dark stubble. But even she couldn’t argue that he was a sight to behold. And he had taken one look at her tidy blazer and blouse and presumed she was some groupie, here to play dress-up games.

She almost groaned with embarrassment. This was not the shining first impression she had banked on.

‘Well, as much as I enjoy being stared at, I really don’t have all night.’

Dara’s heart gave an uncomfortable thump. ‘I wasn’t staring,’ she said, rather too quickly. ‘I was just...thinking.’

Oh, now this was just getting worse and worse. The moment she had been working towards for three weeks had finally presented itself and her mind had decided to go into sleep mode.

One dark eyebrow rose, mocking her. ‘Were you thinking about this particular situation, or are there other criminal acts you’ve committed tonight?’

Criminal? Dara felt hot panic rise in her chest. ‘Mr Valente, I can assure you I was not attempting to commit a crime.’

‘Relax. I won’t call in the hounds just yet. But you failed to notice the security camera watching your every move.’ He pointed to a tiny blinking red light above her head. ‘My team was halfway up here when I told them to wait.’

‘Why did you do that?’ The question was out before she could stop herself.

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I was bored. You looked interesting.’

She thought for a moment, but could not come up with a single response to that comment. Perhaps if he found her so interesting she could captivate him long enough to make her proposal.

She cleared her throat. ‘Just so we’re clear: I’m not a criminal. I’m a wedding planner.’ She watched as his eyes narrowed.

‘Same thing, in my opinion.’ He smirked. ‘I liked my naughty secretary theory much better.’

And just like that Dara found herself the subject of Leonardo Valente’s infamous smouldering gaze. She cleared her throat, trying to think of something—anything—to break the tension. The air was beginning to feel very thin up here on this darkened terrace, and it had nothing to do with the altitude.

‘Your theory is incorrect. I’m not here for anything like...like that.’

‘Such a pity. Nonetheless, you have my attention.’ He turned abruptly to go inside, pausing when she didn’t immediately follow behind him. ‘Unless you plan on going back down that ladder again, I suggest you follow me.’

With that he was gone, leaving Dara with no choice but to obey.

The room on the other side of the glass was twice the size of her entire apartment. She saw him press a few buttons in a panel on the wall and suddenly soft light illuminated the room. It was not an office, but nor was it an apartment. It reminded her of the lobby of a very exclusive hotel, with modern cubic seating and an impressive glass fireplace.

Exactly why a nightclub needed a room like this she wasn’t sure—maybe he used it to entertain private guests. That thought made her clutch her handbag a little tighter in front of her, and feeling the outline of her computer reminded her of why she was there.

He pressed another button on the panel and the clever door slid silently back into place behind him. She could see that it was indeed one-way glass, and her ears burned at the thought of him watching her for all that time.

He turned around to face her and for the first time she noticed the vivid colour of his eyes. They weren’t dark, as she had thought from his photographs, but a unique shade of deep forest green. Dara shook her head. Why was she even looking at his eyes, for goodness’ sake? This was a business meeting, not a school dance.

‘So, do you have a name—or will I just call you Spiderwoman?’ That smirk was still firmly in place as he took a couple of steps towards her.

Her inner professional was sharp enough to see a perfect moment. ‘I actually have my card in here somewhere...if you’d just give me a second...’ She began fishing in her bag—maybe she should launch into the entire presentation now, before he had a chance to shoot her down.

Without warning he was in front of her, taking the bag from her hand and placing it gently on the floor. ‘I did not ask for a card. I asked for your name—from your lips, preferably.’

His gaze travelled down to her mouth and she felt her stomach flutter in response. She ignored the sensation, straightening her chin and meeting his gaze head-on. ‘It’s Dara Devlin.’

He nodded, as though she had answered correctly.

‘So...Dara the wedding planner...’ His deep voice purred her name, as though he was tasting it on his tongue. ‘What gives me the pleasure of your company this evening?’

‘I’m not here for pleasure.’ She took a step back, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. ‘What I mean is, I came here to find you. To talk business.’

He raised one dark brow. ‘Who comes to a nightclub to talk business?’

‘Well, you do,’ she said confidently. That earned her a puzzled look. ‘I’m here to discuss a possible deal between you and a very high-profile client of mine. All I’m asking is just five minutes of your time.’

‘I have a swarm of media vultures downstairs in the club. Every one of them is waiting for “just five minutes”. Why should you get to skip the queue?’

‘If they deserved the time they would have climbed up here by now.’

Without warning he threw his dark head back and laughed—a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to resonate right to her core. The gesture shocked her for a moment, and her eyes moved down to take in the strong column of his throat, the dark hairs that disappeared into the casually open collar of his shirt.

Dara swallowed, her throat feeling strangely dry. She looked up—only to be pinned by that mocking emerald gaze again.

‘You know, despite the fact that you could have killed yourself climbing up here tonight, I admit that I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘You deserve those five minutes based on sheer nerve and creativity.’

Dara smiled with triumph and eagerly reached for the tablet computer in her bag. ‘Wonderful. I’ve actually prepared a short pitch, if you want to take a seat?’

‘No,’ he said simply.

Her bag flopped back down to the ground as she took in his sudden change of tone. ‘But you said that—’

‘I said I’d give you your five minutes, Dara Devlin. I didn’t say when.’

She felt a frown crease her forehead and quickly smoothed it down. This man was impossible. It was just five minutes, for goodness’ sake. They had easily spent three times that up here already.

He gestured for her to move towards the door, closing a button on his tailored suit jacket in the process. ‘You can arrange a time with my secretary. In the meantime, the party is just getting started downstairs.’

Dara felt her temper finally bubble up to the surface. ‘I’ve been calling your secretary for three weeks—why do you think I pulled this stunt?’

‘I just presumed you enjoyed a little espionage on a Friday night.’ He smirked.

She fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She needed to get to the subject of this meeting, but it had to be done just right or he would shoot her down—just like all the others who had approached him before her. Her presentation built up slowly, allowing her time to sway his thinking. He clearly wasn’t going to give her that chance.

‘Aren’t you just a little curious about what made me climb up here?’ she asked, desperate to stall him.

He moved forward so that they stood little more than a couple of steps apart in the silent room. ‘It surprises me to find that I’m quite intrigued by you.’ His eyes lowered to take in every inch of her body in one heated sweep.

Dara felt a rush of heat colour her cheeks. She might not have much experience with flirtation, but there was no mistaking the glitter in his eyes. This man was everything the tabloids made him out to be. Suave, sensual and utterly scandalous.

‘You know, I can’t remember the last time I made a woman blush.’ He stepped closer, his voice deepening. ‘Come have a drink with me, Dara. Let down that beautiful blonde hair of yours.’

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr Valente.’ She pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, feeling more than a little self-conscious under his gaze.

‘Mr Valente was my father—you can call me Leo.’ He smiled. ‘What business could be so important that it can’t wait until Monday morning?’

Dara spied her chance to turn the conversation. ‘My condolences on your father’s recent passing. I understand the funeral was held at your castello in Ragusa?’

‘So I’ve been told.’ He shrugged. ‘People die every day, Miss Devlin. I prefer to focus on more enjoyable pursuits.’

Even after bringing up the subject of his father, the man was still flirting with her. He really was a complete playboy. She decided a more direct approach was definitely needed.

‘The castello is a beautiful piece of history. It’s such a shame that it lies dormant most of the time.’

‘Why do I get the feeling this is more than idle chit-chat?’ He narrowed his gaze, all trace of flirtation gone.

‘Well, you see, it’s part of the reason that I’m here.’ Feeling a sense of foreboding, she powered on. ‘I’m here to propose a deal for Castello Bellamo that I feel you will benefit greatly from.’

She blurted it out as confidently as she could and felt the swell of victory as he froze in place. The playful charmer seemed to disappear before her eyes, his expression taking on a detached hardness.

He met her eyes, a single muscle ticking on his jaw. When he spoke his voice was somehow deeper than before, his accent more pronounced. ‘Well, it seems you have wasted both your time and mine tonight. I’ll tell you the same thing that I have told every other vulture that has approached me since my father’s death. The castle is not for sale.’

Dara shook her head, desperate for him to understand. ‘I don’t want to buy it—I want to hold a wedding there. I’m sure that we can come to some sort of—’

A flick of his hand cut her off mid-sentence. ‘I don’t care if you want to use it to house blind orphans. The matter is not open for discussion.’

‘I understand that the castello has been left in disrepair for some time now—’

‘It can stay that way, for all I care. Contrary to what people may think, these little games don’t work for me—no matter how pretty the messenger is.’ His eyes raked down to her heels, taking in every inch of her body with an exaggerated slowness before meeting her eyes once more.

‘This conversation is over,’ he gritted. ‘I’ll have someone sent up to escort you out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to attend to.’

Without another word he strode from the room, leaving Dara to stare after him in disbelief.

That had been a rather dramatic turn of events. She knew his father had died recently, and it had been tactless of her to use it as part of her argument. But what other choice did she have? The most lucrative wedding contract of her career was within touching distance and she had personally promised the bride Castello Bellamo. If she failed to deliver she could say goodbye to her miraculous gateway into society weddings. Her name would be worthless.

She was not going to be ruined without a fight.

* * *

Leo slid in behind the bar of the empty upper mezzanine of the club and waved off the young barmaid with an impatient hand. Taking down a bottle of aged whisky, he poured himself a generous glass and let the amber liquid burn down his throat in one fluid movement.

Blondie had caught him by surprise—there was no doubting that. Beautiful women were not a rarity in his world—supermodels and socialites lined up to be seen on his arm—but there had been something about that determined grey gaze that had sparked his interest in a way no woman had for months now.

No one had dared speak to him of his father since his death had been worldwide news. But to start with that and then make a move for the castle... He took another swig of whisky, a harsh bark of laughter escaping his throat. She definitely had nerve—he’d give her that.

As his temper slowly calmed he realised he was no longer alone in the private bar. Miss Devlin had come to a stop on the other side of the counter.

‘Just so we’re clear: I am not a messenger and I don’t play games. Ever.’

She was angry, and it was a sight to behold.

‘Never? You keep shattering my fantasies tonight, Miss Devlin.’ Leo took in the crisp white shirt she wore, the outline of a lacy white bra barely visible at the front. His knuckles tensed on the glass in his hand as heat rushed through his veins. Damn, it had been way too long if the sight of a bra was arousing him.

‘Do you take anything seriously, Mr Valente?’

She rolled her eyes, checking the time on her watch in a gesture of boredom. But Leo could see the hint of a flush high on her cheekbones. She wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended to be.

He stepped forward, bracing his hands on the bar between them. ‘Believe me, there are certain things I can take very seriously.’ He let his eyes linger on her lips for a moment and smiled when she self-consciously took a step back. ‘Look around you, Miss Devlin. I opened this club ten years ago. I now own one in every major city in the world, so you can see that I take the business of pleasure very seriously.’

‘I’m here to talk about my proposal—not about pleasure.’ She shook her head.

‘A pity. I can tell that we would communicate very well on that subject.’ He watched as heat flushed across her chest.

She laid her bag down forcefully on the counter. ‘Are you always this forward?’ Her voice was somehow calm and furious at the same time.

Damn it, but she was right. He was behaving like a caveman. What was it about this woman that set his teeth on edge? She was prickly, and direct, and sexy as hell. But she was here to talk about the one thing he was determined to ignore.

‘You seem to have caught me off guard. Having an unarmed woman bypass a million-euro security system will do that to a man.’

‘If I were a man would you be any less impressed, I wonder?’ She stood tall, meeting his gaze evenly.

Leo laughed, offering her a glass of whisky. ‘You are refreshing, Dara. Consider this a peace offering for my inappropriate behaviour.’

‘Thank you.’

She took the glass with both hands, holding it close to breathe in the aroma. It was a ridiculously feminine gesture.

Leo watched her for a moment, downing the rest of his drink in one go. ‘You know, considering your position, I wonder how I have come to be the one apologising.’

‘I can be very persuasive.’ She smiled and took a sip of whisky, making a delicate little hum of approval.

Leo felt his blood pump a little faster. ‘Something we both have in common.’

He stepped out from behind the bar, taking in her polite business suit once more. She was a walking contradiction, this one. All delicate and businesslike on the outside, but with the guts to scale a building in a skirt and heels. He wondered why he hadn’t thrown her out yet.

She placed her glass down, turning to face him head-on with calm determination in the set of her shoulders. ‘I will be leaving for Sicily in the morning. I’m asking you please to just consider my proposal.’

‘You just broke the law and you expect me to do business with you?’

‘I am asking you to at least give me a chance.’ Her voice remained steady, with not a trace of remorse for tonight’s actions.

‘Do you honestly expect me to let you use a seven-hundred-year-old castle for a glorified circus?’

‘Firstly, it’s a wedding. Secondly, from what I understand the castle has been mostly unoccupied for years. Many jobs were lost when your father closed it to the public. We both know that poverty is already an issue in Sicily.’

‘I think you overestimate my ability to empathise.’ He had heard the same argument before countless times.

‘Maybe so, but a high-profile wedding like this would bring a lot of opportunity to a struggling town like Monterocca.’

Leo felt the skin behind his neck prickle at her mention of the name. There was no reason for him to feel anything for that place. The people of his home town meant nothing to him. And yet he felt an uncomfortable pull in his stomach at her words.

‘It would bring a storm of paparazzi,’ he countered.

‘Naturally. But from what I hear that might not be such a bad thing.’

He raised a brow in surprise. ‘Have you been reading the tabloids, Dara?’

‘I have been told that you have something of a bad reputation among the people of Sicily.’

‘My father’s reputation. Not mine,’ he corrected.

‘Yes, but his reputation has stood in your way in the past. It doesn’t go unnoticed that you don’t own a single club in your native region.’

Leo fought the urge to snarl. That was a particular sore spot of his. Opting instead for a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, he leaned in. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared.’

She straightened immediately, her guard firmly in place. ‘Thankfully we both know that caring isn’t high on the agenda here.’ She gestured to the empty tables around them. ‘So, this is the big exclusive launch party?’

‘It’s just a pre-launch. The lower floors are open to a select few guests. Tomorrow is the official event.’ Leo looked down to where the floor below was filled with a swarm of people.

She followed him over to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the entire club.

‘Do you only mingle with the little people at official events?’ she asked.

‘Well, I have been kept busy up here by a very persistent blonde security breach, it seems.’

She ignored that comment, her delicate features taking on a focused edge. ‘Did you know that those water features are blocking off the lounge area from the rest of the club?’ she asked.

Leo blinked, following her gaze to take in the scene below them.

She continued. ‘Also, the spotlights are a little too strong on the dance floor. Softer red-hued lighting would soften the transition into the seated areas.’

He followed her gaze with interest. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to point out?’

She opened her mouth briefly, then stopped as if rethinking her actions.

‘Oh come now, you’ve already begun—don’t hold back on my account.’ He raised a brow in challenge, noting the delicate glow on her cheekbones as she nipped at the skin of her lower lip.

‘It’s just...your staff’s uniforms. They don’t fit the image at all. They’re quite...sparkly and frivolous.’

‘Platinum is the signature colour,’ he argued. ‘They don’t sparkle—they shine.’

She shrugged. ‘They look sparkly to me. I wasn’t trying to insult your style.’

‘I thought you were all about honesty?’ he scolded, frowning.

‘I’m just trying to prove to you that I know what I’m talking about. No matter what kind of event you’re throwing, the principle is always the same. Make it memorable, and make a statement. You’re dealing with an exclusive clientele here—people who expect one-of-a-kind events every time. And that just happens to be my area of expertise.’

‘You could see all of that from up here?’

‘I have a keen eye for detail. I may not be the star guest of the party, but I make it my business to know how to plan one.’

‘And my club does not fit your usual standard?’

‘I don’t have a “usual standard”. In my world there is perfection or failure.’

‘Ah, so this would be a failure?’ He waited patiently for her answer.

Dara remained silent.

He let out a low bark of laughter. ‘I’ve honestly never had someone insult me in order to convince me to sign a contract.’

‘I believe in honesty. And if you choose Devlin Events to represent the castello, honesty is what you will get.’

He looked down at the crowd for a moment. ‘So your plan is to throw a fancy wedding and fix my public image all in one go, is it? I’d say you’re a little out of your league.’

‘My résumé speaks for itself. I’ve personally forged contracts with some of the major resort chains around the island—Santo, Lucchesi and Ottanta.’

‘You’ve worked for the Lucchesi Group?’

‘I’m a freelance consultant. They hired me on a few occasions. The most notable being Umberto and Gloria’s golden wedding anniversary. It was just a small garden party at their family home, but—’

Leo’s business mind perked up at that. ‘You are on first-name terms with Umberto Lucchesi?’

‘Yes. He did offer me a job, which I politely refused. I prefer to be my own boss.’

Leo walked to the glass wall and looked down across the packed club below the mezzanine. Well, this had just gone from interesting to downright serendipitous. He wondered if she realised the significance of what she had just divulged. Maybe it was all a fabrication—she had researched him, after all.

But he knew there was no record of his history with Lucchesi...their recent disagreements. Business was a private affair among Sicilian men, and while he hadn’t set foot on Sicilian soil in more than eighteen years he was still siciliano through and through.

He cursed as his phone rang, and the call took less than ten seconds before he ended it.

‘I’m needed downstairs. Certain guests are getting impatient.’

Her eyes fell, and defeat was evident in the droop of her shoulders. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Valente.’ She held her hand out to him.

He ignored it. ‘It’s Leo. And you misunderstand me. This conversation isn’t over.’

‘It’s not?’

‘Not by a long shot.’ He smiled. ‘One hour. We’ll discuss this further then.’

She moved uneasily. ‘Shall I stay up here?’

‘You deserve to relax after your little stunt tonight, Dara. Come down to the dark side—drink, dance. Practise using the stairs, perhaps.’ He began walking away, back towards his private elevator.

‘But how will I know where to meet you?’ she called.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll find you.’

Leo smiled to himself as the elevator doors closed slowly, her shapely silhouette disappearing from view. He would finish this interesting interlude, and that was a promise.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_686c37d1-cc1f-5f2e-b8a2-304a4d3b5df2)

LEATHER BARSTOOLS REALLY were a girl’s worst enemy.

Dara sighed and adjusted the hem of her pencil skirt for what felt like the hundredth time. Glamorous socialites and powerful businessmen lined the dance floor, each designer dress more chic than the last. She felt hopelessly mismatched in her black skirt suit. She tapped the email app on her phone, even though it had barely been five minutes since the last check.

With a dull flicker, her emails vanished before her eyes. The screen turned completely blank.

Of course—a dead battery. She stuffed the useless device back into her bag. Was there anything that hadn’t gone wrong tonight?

She was not an impatient person, but the music in here was too loud and it was about a million degrees too warm. Add that to the fact that an extremely rude group of models had commented on her appearance the moment she’d sat down. Her designer suit might as well have been rags next to their glamorous cocktail dresses.

At events like this she was the one who usually stood on the sidelines, barking into her headset at her team. Sitting idly at a bar just made her feel on edge.

Out of habit she scanned the room, noticing details about the layout and decor. For such an elite event, the organisation was nowhere near as fine-tuned as she would expect. And, as she’d told Leo Valente, the staff’s uniforms were nothing short of theatrical—gauche, shiny silver tunics intended to represent the brand name: Platinum.

The sooner she wrapped up this meeting, the better. She was restless when she wasn’t doing something productive. Winter was low season, mostly taken up with administrative tasks. She already missed the hectic schedule of her summer wedding list.

She huffed out an agitated breath and craned her neck to scan the crowd for the object of her thoughts once more. Her stomach lurched as she spotted him.

He stood on the opposite side of the dance floor, surrounded by members of the media. From her vantage point she could see that he stood head and shoulders above the other men, his broad shoulders fitting his tailored suit jacket to perfection.

She shouldn’t be noticing his shoulders. She should be furious that he seemed to have forgotten about his promise. That ‘one hour’ had been up twenty minutes ago.

She fanned herself with a beer mat and looked up just in time to see a silver-clad bartender place an elaborate drink in front of her.

‘Sorry, I didn’t order this.’ She pushed it slowly back towards him, only for him to slide it right back.

‘Compliments of Signor Valente. For his beautiful blonde companion.’ He smiled politely.

Apparently he hadn’t forgotten her after all, she thought. Maybe this was his apology for leaving her waiting? She stared at the drink. It was a frothy cream-coloured cocktail that smelled of rich liqueur.

‘What is it?’ she asked as she took a small sip.

The young bartender smirked, leaning in closer. ‘I believe in English it is called a Screaming Orgasm.’

A screaming what?

Her breath fought with an unfortunate sip of the offending cocktail, making her splutter her outrage noisily onto the counter.

Dara felt her face turn bright red. The bartender moved away, but not before she caught a glimpse of him laughing to himself. Of all the most blatant disregards for propriety, this was just outrageous.

She looked around and sure enough the group of models were now eyeing her even more intently. One of them commented loudly that clearly Valente’s standards must be dropping.

Dara felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Was this why he’d asked her to stay here? Did Leo Valente expect her to sleep with him in order to get her contract? The thought sent a shiver of something suspiciously close to excitement down her spine.

She shook the foreign sensation off with a frown. She needed his help—that was true. But not at the expense of her pride. She had been a fool to promise Castello Bellamo to Portia Palmer without researching its owner first. Her choice was to sit here and act as a billionaire’s plaything for the night or leave and face the consequences.

Her business reputation might be salvaged, but her pride...that was another matter entirely.

Making her decision, she grabbed her bag and pushed her way through the crowd towards the exit. Her heels ached with each step and the music seemed to be getting louder and louder. When she finally emerged out into the cool night air she felt as if she had just escaped hell itself.

Damn Leo Valente and his perfect unobtainable castle. Standing out in the chilly October air, she remembered that her phone was dead. She stalked her way back towards the club and asked the hostess to call her a cab. The dark-haired woman looked as if she might refuse for a moment, but thankfully nodded and disappeared inside.

Dara stood at the edge of the pavement and hugged her blazer tighter around her shoulders. Was she overreacting here? Maybe she should go back inside and give it one last try. The alternative was admitting to Portia Palmer that she had lied about being able to make her dream wedding in Monterocca a reality. The actress famously blacklisted anyone who got on her bad side.

Promising a location that everyone had tried to get for years and then taking it away most definitely qualified as bad.

She didn’t know what on earth had possessed her to make such a ridiculous claim. She usually played by the rules, and she always came out on top. Why couldn’t she have got landed with a kindly old man to convince rather than a hot-blooded Sicilian with a cruel sense of humour?

The door of the club slammed and jolted her out of her reverie. Dara spun round and came face-to-face with the object of her thoughts.

‘Do you always run away from business meetings or am I just an exception?’ he said, coming to a stop in front of her on the pavement. He was breathing heavily, as though he had just run through the entire club.

‘I would hardly call being sat at a bar and plied with obscenely named alcohol a business meeting.’ She folded her arms across her chest.

‘You looked like you needed to laugh. Perhaps it was in bad taste.’ He shrugged.

‘You really do have a twisted sense of humour.’ Dara huffed out a breath. ‘I’m not prepared to...to play any games in order to get what I want here.’

He raised a brow, obviously understanding her meaning. ‘Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not in the habit of coercing women into my bed.’

Dara’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. ‘Either way, I would be waiting until hell freezes over for you to hire out your castle. You practically said it yourself.’

‘Castello Bellamo is my bargaining chip. Prove yourself to me and I will consider the contract.’

‘Prove myself to you how, exactly?’

‘The grand launch event tomorrow night will be very high profile. You seem to have a lot of opinions—I’d like to see you in action.’

Dara frowned. ‘I don’t understand...are you trying to offer me a job?’

‘I’m offering you an audition to convince me of why I should trust you. A temporary consulting position, of sorts. Impress me and I’ll go through your proposal. It’s more than anyone else has ever gotten.’

She ignored the silky tone in his voice. ‘But why offer me a chance in the first place? What’s your game?’

He made a clucking sound. ‘So untrusting, Dara. I’m curious to see if you’re as ruthlessly ambitious as you say you are.’

‘So if I pass the test, then you’ll trust me?’

‘Perhaps... But what kind of a businessman would I be if I trusted every beautiful blonde who offered me a deal?’ He extended a hand towards her. ‘So, Dara Devlin, are you prepared to risk your perfect reputation for a crumbling old castle?’

‘“Risk” implies that I stand to fail.’

She accepted his hand and felt a frisson of electricity as his gaze intensified. The heat of his body seemed to flow up her veins. All of a sudden he was closer, his scent bombarding her senses as he leaned his body towards her. He pressed his lips to one cheek, then slowly progressed to the other.

Dara stood frozen as he eased back from her. The kiss was customary—she had got used to the gesture soon after moving to this country—but being so close to him, feeling the heat from his body scant inches from hers... She cleared the surprise from her expression, finding him watching her closely.

‘My driver will see that you get back to your hotel safely.’ He gestured to the town car that had pulled up by them. ‘Until tomorrow, Dara...’

One last look and he was gone, walking back into his den of sin.

Dara watched him go, the realisation of what she had just agreed to making her insides flutter. She had just got further with Castello Bellamo than anyone had ever come before. But she felt as though she had calmly agreed to swim in a tank full of hungry sharks. No, she corrected herself, not sharks plural. One shark in particular.

Leo Valente was a smooth-talking predator, and she had somehow managed to catch his interest. She wouldn’t let this chance go to waste. First she would wow him with her event expertise—then present him with her proposal for the castle. She smiled as she thought of his arrogant confidence. Sometimes even sharks needed to be taught a lesson.

* * *

Dara’s hotel wasn’t particularly fancy, but for such short notice it was good value and it didn’t have bugs in the beds. That was good enough for her.

She decided to take the stairs down to the lobby to use up some of the nervous energy she had accumulated since leaving the club last night. After lying awake since dawn, staring into the distance, she had sprung out of bed and begun typing some ideas she’d had for the event tonight. They were good ideas—maybe some were even great—but that didn’t mean they would be heard. After getting dressed and pacing the room for an hour, she’d decided against it.

Whatever Leo Valente’s plan was for her this evening, she doubted it had anything to do with her organisation skills. It was up to her to convince him to contract Castello Bellamo out to her by not giving him a chance to ignore her logic.

She decided that she might as well see the sights while she mentally tortured herself. Whatever it was that he had in store for her, she was going to give it her all.

The lobby of the hotel had a small tourist kiosk. She approached the guide behind the counter and asked for some basic tools to see the main sights of Milan in a few short hours. The girl quickly began gathering various maps and brochures for her to plan her journey. She would need tickets for the trams, she announced, and headed through a small door behind the desk.

Dara picked up an Italian tabloid magazine and began carelessly flipping through the pages while she waited. Her hands stopped on an image of a familiar tall, dark Sicilian nightclub owner on a page entitled ‘The Lonely Hearts Club’.

Dara almost laughed at the thought of Leo Valente being lonely. The man had women falling at his feet wherever he went. In this particular candid shot he was pictured bare-chested, sitting by a pool, and the look on his face was one of absolute boredom rather than lovesickness. The small bubble printed next to his head indicated that ‘poor Leo’ was tired of a life of supermodel flings and was ready to settle down. ‘Is there a lioness brave enough to tame him?’ the final line wondered.

She turned to the next page, refusing to look at him. A lion indeed—that suited him much better than a shark. She had read somewhere before that lions liked to play with their food before they ate it. If ever there was an apt description for Leo Valente, that was it.

Her mind flashed back to the way he had looked at her last night, and she ignored the shiver of awareness that coursed through her. Sure, he was an attractive man—she could hardly deny that. But she had spent the past five years ignoring countless attractive men and she wouldn’t be stopping now. Her career plan didn’t leave time for men, and she was quite happy to keep it that way.

‘Brushing up on current events, Dara?’

She snapped up her head in surprise, only to be pinned by a familiar smirking emerald gaze.

Leo raised a brow in silent question. ‘My “lonely heart” is apparently worthy of your attention this morning... I didn’t take you as the type to read gossip.’

Dara looked down and realised she was still holding the trashy magazine. ‘I don’t.’ She said it a little too quickly. ‘I’m just browsing while I wait for some travel information.’

She shoved the offending publication hastily back into the stand, straightening up to push an errant tendril of hair behind her ear.

He seemed taller and more imposing than he had the night before, if that was even possible. Dark jeans and a brown leather jacket accentuated the rough casual air that seemed to surround him wherever he went.

How had he known she was staying here? She didn’t remember mentioning the name of her hotel to him. And besides, his event wasn’t scheduled for another eight hours. Was he here to tell her he had decided not to give her a chance after all? Last night she had been lucky. She had caught him off guard, piqued his interest. Maybe he had woken up this morning and realised that this was one impulse he could erase.

She reflected on her black skinny jeans and warm woollen sweater, wishing she had worn something more professional. She had decided to be sensible today, choosing flat patent pumps for her plan of walking around the city. Now, as he stood in front of her, she felt short for the first time in her life. She was tall at five foot eight—especially by Italian standards. But she barely reached his chin.

Just then the kiosk attendant returned from behind the counter and placed a small tram card on the counter next to her bundle of maps and brochures.

‘She doesn’t need these any more.’ Leo pushed the items back towards the attendant with a polite nod. The poor girl was clearly starstruck, with her head bobbing up and down and two bright pink spots on either cheek.

Dara groaned. Was that what she had looked like last night? She needed to remind herself to think sad thoughts when her painfully pale Irish skin decided to play up.

‘I was planning to use those.’ She reached towards the documents on the counter. She didn’t care who he was—she wasn’t going to let him hijack her day on another of his whims.

‘The last time I checked you were mine for today.’ His eyes glittered as he leaned casually on the counter. ‘Like you said last night, Dara, I’m an impulsive man. If you want to work with me so badly, you need to learn to live by my rules. If I decide to take you to lunch, you drop your plans.’

Dara felt a shiver run down the back of her neck. This was ridiculous. He was practically ordering her to obey. She tried to think of a witty retort—something to wipe away that confident lift of his brow. Nothing came. She was here to audition for a role, and therefore she had to play his game. If that meant dropping her plans at his request, then so be it.

‘Consider them dropped.’ She fitted her bag under her arm and tilted her chin in what she hoped was a confident expression. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal.’

One corner of his mouth tilted upwards, ‘Congratulations. You just passed the first test. But I don’t intend to dispose of you, Dara—not just yet.’

* * *

Leo had never thought he would get such satisfaction in seeing a woman eat. The rooftop trattoria was a little gem he liked to visit when he was in Milan, but he couldn’t remember ever being so transfixed by a female companion before. She ate so carefully, spinning each forkful of spaghetti until it was wound tight before sliding it into her mouth. She refused to speak with a full mouth, and looked positively horrified when he did so without thought.

She had chosen spaghetti with fresh mixed seafood after enquiring about the specialities. She hadn’t asked for a menu, and had graciously accepted the waiter’s recommendations for a mixed appetiser platter they could share. The silver-haired Tuscan had positively beamed with delight at her accent when she spoke. Such a polite blonde foreigner with a clear Sicilian dialect—she was quite the novelty.

He took a sip of his sparkling water, watching as she placed the last forkful into her mouth. She had been eating so delicately he had hardly noticed that she had demolished the entire dish.

‘Food is another passion of yours, I see.’ He smiled.

She dabbed the napkin lightly at her mouth. ‘Since I moved here—definitely.’

He followed the neat little movement of her hands as she placed her fork across the plate. The waiter promptly came and cleared the table, offering them an array of desserts which they both politely declined.

She sighed and sat back unselfconsciously in her seat, satisfied by the large meal. He imagined that might be how she looked after other types of satisfaction, and his stomach clenched at the thought.

Distracting himself, he stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘A woman who likes to eat is a rarity in my world.’

She turned her head to look out of the window, across the dull Milanese skyline. ‘The women in your world must be very sad and hungry.’

Leo smiled. ‘The siciliani must have thought they were dreaming to find such a beautiful woman in their company who finishes a full meal.’ He took a sip of the coffee, feeling the familiar strength hit his tastebuds.

She ignored his compliment. ‘Actually, when I first moved to Syracuse all I ate were ham sandwiches and spaghetti in tomato sauce.’

‘That’s punishable by law in this country,’ he scolded.

She smiled, nodding her head. ‘I found that out soon enough. I think I lasted about a week before a colleague dragged me to her grandmother’s house and made me confess my crimes.’

‘Italian grandmothers are not known to be forgiving—especially when it involves food. I’m surprised you survived.’

Leo thought of his own upbringing. The array of servants in the castle kitchen. The silent meals alone with his nanny. Surprising himself with the direction of his thoughts, he sat forward, focusing on Dara’s smiling features.

‘It wasn’t a laughing matter. That woman cooked twelve different types of pasta in the space of one hour.’ She shook her head. ‘It was the most dramatic reaction to food I have ever encountered.’

‘My countrymen are not known for their delicate sensibilities.’ He finished his coffee, regarding her as she sat still looking pensively out of the window. ‘Tell the truth: have you eaten a plain tomato sauce since then?’

That earned him a smile. ‘Not if my life depended on it.’

‘Then you’ve passed the second test,’ he proclaimed.

He watched as her expression drifted, all trace of their playful conversation melting away.

‘Exactly how many tests do you have in store for me?’ she asked as she took a sip from her water.

He leaned back into his seat, casual and in control. ‘I don’t like to put a limit on progress, Dara. As a businesswoman I’m sure you can understand that.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, actually. I was considering showing you some ideas that struck me for your event tonight.’ She reached for her handbag, then paused. ‘Unless that violates my role as your temporary consultant?’ She raised a brow.

Leo sighed. The woman was hell-bent on annoying him.

‘Make it quick.’

She busied herself taking out a sleek tablet computer and unfolding the case into a neat stand, so that it stood upright as an impromptu presentation screen. She launched into a flurry of rough outlines, pinpointing the areas in which she felt his current plan lacked variety.

‘So, you see, if you split the evening into two parts you will avoid alienating the business clientele,’ she concluded, finally.

Leo sat back in his chair and tilted his head to one side. The flow chart on the screen was genius. She had just achieved in one brainstorming session what a team of seven event organisers had failed to.

The Milan relaunch had been heavily debated for weeks, due to the awkward combination of ‘party hard’ celebrity guests and the more staid businessmen and politicians. Finding an event structure that could keep all groups entertained had proved impossible, and yet Dara had seen the solution after simply looking down from an upper floor window.

‘Could you achieve all of this before you attend the event tonight?’

‘Without a doubt.’ She nodded confidently, her grey eyes lighting up with determination.

‘I’ll call my team in and you can get to work.’

She looked surprised for a moment. ‘Would your team not resent having a newcomer treading on their toes?’

‘I’m beginning to wonder if I should be the one resenting them.’

She visibly relaxed into her chair. ‘I’m glad you’re open to change.’

He laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘“Change” is an understatement. Things clearly need a shake-up. They’re paid so well they’ve lost their creativity.’ He sat forward, flicking the screen of her computer across to look through the images once more. ‘I’ll have my management team on hand—anything you need, they are at your disposal.’

‘You make me sound important.’ Her eyes sparkled as she closed down the screen and placed it back into her bag.

‘And what about the uniforms?’ he enquired casually, and smiled when her expression turned rueful.

‘I don’t expect you to overhaul your branding after one little statement.’

‘Ah, but I’m an impulsive man, Dara.’ He waved a hand, signalling to the waiter for their coats. ‘Your comments last night have wounded my overblown pride. I’ll expect that to be remedied by this evening too.’

Her eyes widened, her delicate hands twisting in her lap as she absorbed his challenge. ‘It take it that this is another test?’

‘You say you’ve never lost a challenge. Consider it an experiment.’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘You trust me to make changes to your event and overhaul your signature uniform in less than seven hours?’

‘Are you telling me you can’t do it?’

‘I can do it,’ she said, all confidence. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re giving me this opportunity when you’ve refused so many others.’

He sat back in his chair, once again taken by her honest approach to business. He had invited her tonight because of his attraction to her. But now, after she had once again proved she was more brains than body, he felt tempted to tell her at least a half-truth.

‘Ten years ago I commissioned those uniforms as a gimmick. We had only been open a few months, and it was the first New Year’s Eve event we ever held. The party was in full swing when a notorious designer came staggering in. He was drunk, as usual, and he stood in the middle of a crowd of journalists and began to shout that he could see himself in one of the suits.’

Leo laughed as he remembered the night clearly.

‘The man was absolutely trashed, and he was amazed by his own reflection in the material.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But that’s not how everyone else saw it. Anyway—long story short: word soon spread and our temporary costumes became a brand statement. I found the whole situation hilarious.’

He took another sip of coffee.

‘It was a publicity stunt that worked, and it seemed that I was the only person who could see how ridiculous the staff looked. Until you, of course.’ He raised his coffee cup in mock salute.

‘My attention to detail is what keeps me in business.’

‘Well, I’d imagine being associated with a big brand like Lucchesi doesn’t hurt.’ Leo dropped the name casually, watching her reaction with hooded intent.

‘I’m hardly “associated” with the brand. I’ve been contracted for a few events—one with the Lucchesi Foundation, their charity for the hospitals of Sicily.’

‘You must have made quite an impression for a relative unknown to be trusted by such a family.’

‘I happened to get talking to Gloria Lucchesi and her daughters while I was planning a wedding in Syracuse.’ She shrugged. ‘I wish it was more impressive, but it was rather coincidental.’

‘Nonetheless, you are on first-name terms with a very powerful family. That in itself is an achievement.’

‘I suppose it is.’ She smiled.

Leo mulled over her connection to Umberto Lucchesi. Their recent disagreement had caused a large problem that he was fast losing time to resolve. Not that a wedding planner could pose any solution, but she might possibly be useful.

He watched as Dara sat back in her chair, casually glancing towards him as she folded her napkin into a neat square on the table, then did the same with his.

She looked up and noticed his look of amusement at her actions. ‘Sorry, it’s a force of habit. Organisation is a natural impulse for me. Hence my choice of occupation.’

‘And what does my choice of occupation say about me, I wonder?’

She twisted her lips. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to say.’

‘You know, not very many women can make me feel as if I’m under scrutiny. And yet it’s as though everything I say or do offends you.’

‘I’m not offended by you. I’m quite aware of the fact that your impulses are the only reason I’m sitting here.’ She shrugged.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that’s the only reason...’ He let his voice deepen slightly as he leaned forward and met her eyes. Dark blonde eyelashes lowered for one split second and her pupils dilated, leaving only a rim of steel grey around them.

That one reflex was enough to tell him what he’d come here to find out. No matter how indifferent she claimed to be, she most definitely was not unaffected by this intense chemistry between them.

‘You are here because I want you to be. I always get what I want.’

He smiled as her eyes darkened even more, but this time in anger. Oh, yes, she was just what he needed to break his little spell of restlessness. He would break down each of those polite little barriers one by one, until she couldn’t think straight any more.

She responded by throwing him her most polite smile. ‘I understand that you’re a powerful man, Leo, and that you grew up in a certain way. But sooner or later you will find that not everyone bends to your will. No matter how much you push.’

He ignored her comment about his privileged past. He was used to people’s ignorant presumptions. He most definitely had grown up a certain way—but not the way most people would expect.

He leaned across the table, raising one brow in challenge. ‘Are you sure about that? I’ve been known to be quite persuasive.’

‘Well, there’s something we have in common.’ She smiled, and for a second he caught a glimpse of the fire buried underneath all that ice. He was enjoying sitting here with her, enjoying their sparring. She was nothing like any woman who had sparked his interest before.

She stood up as the waiter approached with their items from the cloakroom. ‘I came here with one goal, Leo. And I never find myself off track—no matter how distracting the scenery.’

‘I would expect nothing less.’ He nodded in agreement.

She paused. ‘Good. Because I won’t be playing any more of your games. I’m a professional, and I like to get things done quickly.’

‘As do I, Dara,’ he purred.

Always the gentleman, he held out her coat, helping her to fit it comfortably around her shoulders. One errant finger lightly grazed the sensitive skin of her neck and he felt her shiver in response. Smiling, he eased back as she turned to face him.

‘Allora, I think we understand each other,’ he said, shrugging on his own coat quickly.

She continued to watch him with a mixture of accusation and reluctant awareness as they made their way outside into the chilly autumn afternoon. He stopped when his chauffeur approached them, opening the door of the limo with polite efficiency.

‘My driver will take you to the club. My team will be at your command.’

Leo fought the urge to slide in beside her on the seat. She felt every ounce of this tension between them—he had seen it in her eyes. She wanted him, but she wouldn’t let herself have what she wanted. That was a lesson that only came after prolonged temptation. He would show her just what it meant to lose control—but first he’d have to take her out of that comfort zone of hers.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6551b8b8-084c-5826-b938-aa530d37da27)

DARA STOOD ON the lower floor of the club and made a final sweep of her surroundings. Leo’s team had been very responsive to her advice—in fact they’d seemed almost relieved to have the responsibility taken from their shoulders. None of them had seemed particularly overjoyed to be planning such a high-profile event. Maybe Leo was right: they were jaded by success and lacked any motivation to strive further.

Well, that suited her just fine. Being in close proximity to such high-profile guests was a networking dream come true. She would make a few new contacts, get her own event contract signed, and then fly straight home to set about planning the wedding of her career. Finally her strict business plan was yielding the kind of results she had dreamed of when she’d left her life in Dublin behind.

Unconsciously she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to supress the memories that her mind conjured up every time she thought of her past life. The well-meaning glances filled with pity...the hushed conversations. She would forever be known as poor Dara Devlin back home—it had been the main reason she left it all behind. It would have been impossible to forge a new life in a place filled with such painful memories.

She remembered sitting in the hospital, her dream of ever having a child having just been taken away from her. Only to find herself watching her fiancé coldly walk away from her for the last time.

No. She shook off the thoughts before they could take hold. She had done enough wallowing in the weeks before she had decided to move to Italy. Her life was good now. She should thank Daniel, really. He had set her free to focus on what she really loved. Her career gave her more satisfaction than family life ever could have. She was happy now—she truly was—and now she had the chance to really make a name for herself.

Portia Palmer was the biggest movie star Ireland had produced in the past ten years, and she had chosen Dara to plan her huge weekend wedding. She liked to think that the actress had somehow heard a glowing report from one of her happy clients. But sadly it most likely had more to do with Dara being the only Irish planner on the island. Miss Palmer was all about patriotism and her Celtic heritage.

But that was fine with Dara. Publicity was publicity, and if she hoped for her name to gain status it couldn’t hurt to have a world-famous Hollywood star in her little black book.

Now, after seeing tonight’s guest list, she felt butterflies flapping around in her stomach with nerves and anticipation. Leo hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had high-profile guests. One quick flip through the hostess’s list had revealed several notable European politicians, at least three racing drivers, a world-renowned fashion designer and the entire cast of the Luscious Lingerie catalogue. People like that could open more than doors for her in her career. They could knock down walls.

The snooty hostess from the night before suddenly appeared by her side. Dara closed the list with a snap, trying not to look guilty.

‘Signor Valente has instructed me to give you this.’ The woman sniffed, holding out a small business card. She seemed quite unimpressed to be running such lowly errands for her employer.

Dara took the card with muttered thanks. It was plain black, with the single line of an address printed on the front. Nothing to indicate what kind of business it was.

‘Am I supposed to go there?’ she asked quickly as the hostess began to walk away. ‘Did he not tell you anything else?’

The woman turned back and shrugged one shoulder, thoroughly bored with the conversation. ‘I am told to give you this and make sure you go to the address.’

The event was less than two hours away, so Dara wasted no time in grabbing her things and taking the sleek chauffeur-driven town car that Leo had provided. Whatever this errand was, she needed to get back to her hotel soon if she stood a chance of looking half decent.

The car came to a smooth stop on one of the most upmarket streets in Milan. Giants of Italian fashion stood shoulder to shoulder here, with shopfronts that screamed luxury. But the address on the black card led her down a narrow alleyway to a door of exactly the same deep, nondescript black.

Her hand was hovering uncertainly over the knocker when the door swung open to reveal a tall fair-haired man in a sleek pinstriped suit.

‘Mademoiselle, we’ve been waiting for you,’ he said, taking her by the hand and leading her inside.

‘Excuse me? I don’t even know—’

He continued to lead her along by the hand, ‘Just follow me.’

He was definitely French, she thought as they made their way up a short staircase to a large open-plan loft with carpet so white it hurt her eyes. The walls were mirrored on one side, and a few long purple drapes lined the wall on the other. Dara took a moment to look around, feeling hopelessly confused by the situation. Was she here to collect something?

‘I was sent here by Leo Valente...’ she began uncertainly. ‘He didn’t mention why—’

The blond man hushed her with a sudden snap of his fingers.

‘We don’t have time to chat. My team and I need to begin.’

As if on cue, a small army of women in black smocks appeared from behind one of the purple curtains. Dara caught a glimpse of row upon row of clothing racks before the curtain swung back into place, blocking her view.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/amanda-cinelli/resisting-the-sicilian-playboy/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.