Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim. Susan Stephens

she suggested hesitantly.

      ‘No.’

      ‘But you are eager to get this over with?’ she reminded him. And not put off by a drive around the racetrack with the boys.

      ‘I assure you I am every bit as eager as I was before, but now I must go—’

      ‘Shall I wait for you?’

      Already halfway to the door, he spun around. ‘Make yourself at home.’

      Tension had propelled her to breaking point. She might be a small-town solicitor, and dull as ditchwater if you compared her to the blistering glamour of a man like this, but she wasn’t anyone’s doormat. ‘Signor Ruggiero, please,’ she called, chasing after him. ‘This just can’t wait—’

      ‘And neither can my appointment,’ he called back to her from the door. ‘You must be content—’

       Content?

      As he spoke one strong, tanned hand flexed impatiently on the door handle. ‘I will return as quickly as I can—’

      ‘But my flight—’

      ‘Book another flight.’

      The next sound she heard was the sound of the door slamming on his private quarters.

      Great, Katie thought, subsiding. She was going to miss her flight.

      So what would she do? She would have to stay in Rome. But since the fire privacy was all-important. She’d never stayed away from home since the fire. She had never risked anyone seeing her scars. What if a hotel maid or a porter walked in on her by accident? The thought of it made her blood run cold.

      She wasn’t ready for this—maybe she never would be. And where would she stay? Could she even afford to stay in a city as expensive as Rome on her limited budget?

       ‘Ciao, bella.’

      On the point of tears, she swung around clumsily, almost crashing into the fabulous desk as Rigo Ruggiero stormed out of the apartment in a cloud of testosterone and expensive cologne. Ciao, bella? He must have mistaken her for someone else.

      But her nipples were impressed, Katie realised with astonishment. Well, she could dream, couldn’t she? Ciao, bella…

      Her sensible self lost no time telling her she should be concerned at these unmistakeable signs of arousal, because Rigo Ruggiero roused more than awe inside her, he roused lust.

      And frustration.

      And anger.

      He inspired that too, because this just wasn’t fair. How long did it take to race around a track? Was she supposed to sit here waiting indefinitely for him?

      She would go and find a cheap hotel, Katie concluded, putting the will back in its envelope. Wandering to the window, she took a last look out, debating whether to book a flight today, tomorrow—or next week, maybe? Who the hell knew? She was of no importance to Signor Ruggiero and had been dismissed. Far from being impatient to know the contents of his stepbrother’s will, as he had told her, he had proved himself all too easily distracted. The words play and boy had never made more sense to her. Rigo Ruggiero was like a film star—all top show. He was a man with too much money and not enough to occupy his time.

      Staring down at the road a dizzying distance below, she watched his sleek red car pull out smoothly into the chaos of Roman traffic. Everyone gave way for him, of course. But not her, Katie determined, firming her jaw. Not that she’d ever get the chance. But then her dreamy self came to the fore and she wondered, if she had looked different—more glamorous, more appealing—would Rigo have taken her to the track with him?

      And why should she care? It was time to stop daydreaming and start making plans.

      An open ticket home was the best thing, Katie decided, and then the moment this business was concluded she could fly home. Rigo Ruggiero might have consigned her to the pigeonhole marked miscellaneous, along with all the other women who, for reasons of age, or inferior looks, had failed to meet his exacting standards, but even in her dreams she didn’t want to spend any more time than she had to with a man so self-absorbed he’d put a drive around a racetrack ahead of the reading of his stepbrother’s will.

      Which naturally accounted for her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. Who was she trying to fool? Katie wondered as the phone rang again. She looked across the room. Where were the snooty staff she’d had to get past at his office? Had he sacked them all? Surely a man like Rigo Ruggiero had a PA who could sort out his appointments and answer his phone? But if he had, there was no sign of him or her.

      The phone continued to peal until finally she gave in and picked it up. ‘Pronto?’

      ‘Signorina Bannister?’

      No. A Hollywood film star, she felt like telling Rigo Ruggiero at that moment. ‘Sì,’ she said instead, forcing an agreeable note into her voice.

      ‘I feel bad.’

      Oh, no! She pulled a face and somehow managed to sound pleasantly surprised at the same time. ‘Oh…?’

      ‘You should make the most of your time in Rome.’

      Really? ‘But I’ll be leaving shortly,’ she pointed out, waiting in vain for the surge of relief those words should bring.

      ‘Have you booked another flight yet?’

      Ah, so he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. ‘I was about to—’

      ‘Well, don’t. Not until I get back.’

      Commands now? Did she work for him? ‘But, Signor Ruggiero, I’m not equipped to stay over—’

      ‘Not equipped? What’s your problem? Buy whatever you need and charge it to me.’

      What? ‘I couldn’t possibly!’ Katie exclaimed with affront—though she did allow her imagination a five-second trolley dash through Rome’s most expensive store with Rigo Ruggiero’s credit card clutched tightly in her hand. ‘I don’t have a hotel.’

      ‘A hotel? Don’t be ridiculous. I have seven bedrooms.’

      Now she really was too shocked to speak.

      ‘Signorina Bannister? Are you still there?’

      ‘Yes,’ Katie managed hoarsely.

      ‘Don’t forget we still have business to conclude, you and I. I expect you there on my return. How hard can it be?’ he added in a more soothing tone. ‘My penthouse has a roof garden accessed through the staircase in the hallway, as well as an outdoor pool with the finest views over Rome you’ll ever see. There’s a resident chef on call at the press of a button, and an entertainment centre with a gym attached to the spa. Use the place like your own. And don’t forget—be there when I return. Oh, and in the meantime—answer any incoming calls and make a note of them, would you?’

      Katie was still choking out words of protest when Rigo cut the line.