Valenti's One-Month Mistress. Sabrina Philips

       ‘I am not here for your pleasure.’

      ‘Aren’t you?’ Valenti put down his knife and fork and challenged her with his full attention. It sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt suddenly conscious of the thin layer of fabric between her breasts and the cool air of the restaurant.

      ‘No. I am not.’ Faye concentrated on sipping her mineral water. ‘I am here because, before you rudely cut short our business meeting this afternoon, you suggested you had something worth saying.’

      ‘Ahh.’ His pause was arrogant, his eyelids low. ‘So you prefer to digest an idea before your food. Very well. I am willing to take a chance and transfer a small advance to your business account now.’

      ‘You are?’ Faye was so shocked that she almost knocked over her glass. But he had refused point-blank earlier. This made no sense. He hadn’t even looked at her proposal.

      ‘On one condition,’ he continued, his eyes glittering in challenge. ‘For the next month you will take up where you left off six years ago.’

      Sabrina Philips first discovered Mills & Boon^® one Saturday afternoon in her early teens at her first job in a charity shop. Sorting through a stack of pre-loved books, she came across a cover which featured a glamorous heroine and a tall, dark, handsome hero. She started reading under the counter that instant—and has never looked back!

      A lover of both reading and writing since childhood, Sabrina went on to study English with Classics at Reading University. She adores all literature, but finds there’s nothing else quite like the indulgent thrill of a Modern™ Romance—preferably whilst lying in a hot bath with no distractions!

      She grew up in Guildford, Surrey, where she now lives with her husband—who swept her off her feet when they were both just sixteen. When Sabrina isn’t spending time with her family or writing, she works as a co-ordinator of civil marriages, which she describes as a fantastic source of romantic inspiration and a great deal of fun.

      A decade after reading her very first Mills & Boon^®, Sabrina is delighted to join as an author herself, and have the opportunity to create infuriatingly sexy heroes of her own, which she defies both her heroines—and her readers—to resist! Visit Sabrina’s website: www.sabrinaphilips.com

      VALENTI’S ONE-MONTH MISTRESS is Sabrina’s debut book!

      VALENTI’S ONE-MONTH MISTRESS

      BY

      SABRINA PHILIPS

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Mum, for your unquestioning support, always.

      And to Phil, for exceeding every dream I ever had.

      CHAPTER ONE

      WOULD she look him in the eye and plead? he wondered. Or would she be reluctant to meet his gaze, knowing that the last time she’d held it she’d had her legs wrapped around him and had given herself to him so freely? Dante spread the report across his expansive mahogany desk and his mouth hardened. No, he doubted that. Reluctance was not a word to be associated with Faye Matteson.

      Leaning back in the wide leather chair, he glanced at her name amongst the appointments in his electronic diary. When his PA had come to him last month, asking if he would agree to see her, he had immediately deduced what it was that she wanted. He knew only something like this would bring her back to Rome. But she needn’t have bothered making the trip. How she stated her case would make no difference. He smiled wryly. It amused him that she actually believed he might be willing to help her. Like hell he would. But then why would she consider any outcome other than the one that she wanted? She never had before. He doubted six years had changed her. Yet it had changed him. The once angelic English waitress with the come-to-bed eyes no longer posed a danger. This time he knew she was a witch.

      ‘Miss Matteson is here, Mr Valenti,’ his receptionist purred over the intercom, interrupting his thoughts.

      Dante stood up, preparing to savour the revenge.

      ‘Send her in.’

      Nothing had changed, then, Faye thought to herself as she took a deep breath and sank down tentatively on the pristine sofa indicated by the svelte redhead—the final obstacle between herself and his office. His empire might have grown, but the set-up was the same: employees still orbited around him and every woman gravitated in his direction like flowers towards the sun. No doubt he still plucked whoever took his fancy and then left them to wilt.

      Faye shuddered and tried to relax her shoulders. The tension was only partly due to the after-effects of the cramped seating on last night’s flight. Now was not the time to dwell on back then. She looked around the luxurious reception area. This world—his world—was unfamiliar to her now. Had she ever really been a part of it? She suspected that was just another delusion. There was no point even wondering. She had not stayed a part of it. After all these years she doubted he even recalled her name. But then it had dawned on her during the metro journey here that Dante Valenti did not allow his PA to make appointments for anyone he had not fully vetted first. So he must remember, and he had agreed for her to come anyway. Which meant… What did it mean? That the past was nothing to him, she supposed, and that business came first. And business is all that matters now, she berated herself silently. It’s about time you started thinking the same way. The fact that he had agreed to see her surely meant there was a chance that he at least might be willing to help, didn’t it? And there was no way she was going to blow Matteson’s last hope by dwelling on a stupid, childish disappointment.

      Faye checked her watch for the third time, catching sight of her freshly manicured nails, so alien to her, clutching the proposal. This had to work. It had to. She watched the immaculate redhead murmur into the intercom, feeling self-conscious, and swept a tendril of her own fair hair back into the clip which held it away from her face. Her budget had not stretched to a professional cut too. This would have to do.

      ‘Mr Valenti will see you now.’ The woman spoke as if bestowing upon her an undeserved honour, and ushered her towards the elaborately panelled door.

      Faye smoothed down the skirt of her new grey suit unnecessarily, her heart racing, the pressure echoing at her temples. She had spent over six years believing she would never have to lay eyes on him again, and now she had brought it upon herself. But what choice did she have? Over the course of the last year she had appealed to every bank, every possible investor she could think of, but no one would lend her a penny. At first it had been disheartening, worrying. Now it was desperate. There was no other choice—because it was this or watch her family’s restaurant go bankrupt before her eyes. And that wasn’t an option. Not just because she felt instinctively that it was her daughterly duty to prevent that happening, but because she loved the business. So much so that she was sure even if she had been born into an entirely different family she would always have been drawn—like a bird to the south—to the simple yet deep pleasure which came from seeing other people sit together around her table, enjoying good food. The way people once had at every table in Matteson’s. Which was why there was nothing left to do but to walk, as confidently as she could feign, into the enormous room.

      He did not speak at first. Faye was silently grateful. For, though she had only dared flick a glance in his direction, the action had rendered her speechless. She had prepared herself for facing the old Dante, and that had been painful enough. What she had not taken into account was how time would have changed him. It was not the plush new office—he had always exuded wealth and class—nor the atmosphere of power that seemed to emanate from the ground where he stood. No, the years had somehow refined him. His luxurious dark hair seemed thicker, the irresistible slant of his jaw more chiselled, the curve of his full lower lip even more sensual. And those dark eyes, thrown into relief by that smooth