The Amalfi Bride. Ann Major

much?” she said.

      His lips tightened. Sober, he wouldn’t have been able to endure this money talk or the fact that she thought he was a gigolo. But the liquor had mellowed him. Not to mention, he was hotter for her than ever.

      “How much?”

      “You are nothing if not persistent.”

      “I’m a lawyer.”

      He had a law degree and a business degree. “I know a thing or two about lawyers.” They were pushy and bossy, traits he had not desired in his women—until her.

      “Since it’s so important to you, you decide,” he said.

      “I keep forgetting. You’re the professional.”

      “Right.” He eyed another little Scotch bottle and considered a third shot.

      “Since you have all the experience, how could I possibly know what you’re worth?”

      “For you,” he began, his voice deliberately husky as he stared into her eyes, “I’ll make a special, one-time deal. Just for you. Pay whatever you feel like. The amount doesn’t matter.”

      “Now? Or later?”

      “Later. How will you know what I’m worth before you’ve sampled the merchandise?”

      “You really are the sweetest gigolo ever.”

      “We are trained to please.”

      “You went to gigolo school?”

      “Stop!” He really did have to have another drink to continue this idiotic conversation.

      This time he threw ice cubes into his glass. Then he opened a third little bottle, poured the shot and downed it in a single gulp.

      “One more thing—”

      Hell. “What now?”

      “I’m sort of a health nut…”

      “You want me to use a condom? No problem.”

      “No…I…don’t know how to say this.”

      “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

      “I…I was wondering about Italy’s health guidelines. I mean, for gigolos.”

      Oh, God.

      Afraid he’d give himself away, he glanced out the window. “You may be assured…er…that I am extremely discerning about my women…er…I mean, my clients. Extremely discerning. I always use a condom. The very best grade, naturally. Then I go to the doctor every sixty days for a thorough examination. Blood tests. The works. I would go more often, if I thought it was necessary. My client list is extremely exclusive.”

      He set his glass down, determined to end this ridiculous conversation. “Do you need documents, or are you satisfied?”

      “Not quite yet.” She lowered her lashes and tried not to look at the bed. “But I’m sure I will be soon, now that we have all these obnoxious little business details out of the way.”

      “I’ve never had a complaint,” he murmured drily.

      Finally. He set down his glass and pulled her into his arms again.

      She closed her eyes.

      Finally.