New Year Fireworks. Diana Hamilton

Rome.”

      She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, mulling over her impressions of her host.

      “He’s really charming, guys, but also rather intense. It wouldn’t hurt him to loosen up a little.”

      Devon and Caroline exchanged knowing, computer-generated glances.

      “If anyone can loosen the man up,” Dev drawled, “you can. Just remember you’re now one of the walking wounded. Go easy on that ankle.”

      “And don’t worry about scouting conference sites,” Caro added. “Worst-case scenario, we can give Global Security fewer options.”

      “Absolutely not.” Her professional pride stung; Sabrina was adamant. “This contract is too important. We’re not scaling back our proposal. I’ll be good to go tomorrow,” she said firmly.

      Which wouldn’t give her time to loosen up the doc, she thought with real regret. Too bad. She could think of any number of inventive ways to follow up on that kiss.

      Desire rippled through her as she said goodnight to her friends, shut down her laptop, and rewrapped her ankle. The damned thing still throbbed, but the ache was bearable so she decided against the pills sitting on the bedside table. Instead, she let the restless murmur of the sea surging against the rocks lull her to sleep.

      She was up and dressed by eight the next morning. The faint scent of yeasty, fresh-baked rolls told her Signora Bertaldi was already at work in the kitchen.

      Thankfully, Sabrina had stuffed a pair of merino wool palazzo pants in her suitcase at the last minute. The wide legs made getting them on over her still-swollen ankle a breeze. She teamed the oyster-colored slacks with a lightweight red sweater and a Versace scarf in a riot of colors. The rubber-soled beaded ballet slippers provided nonskid traction as she made her way along the tiled hall to the elevator.

      She fully intended to hold the doc to his promise to check the sprain before she left. First, though, she intended to hold Signora Bertaldi to her promise of a goat cheese frittata for breakfast. If the frittata came anywhere close to the woman’s grilled swordfish, heaven awaited on the floor above.

      So did Marco, she discovered when she thumped into the library. He put aside the newspaper he’d been reading and sprang to his feet.

      “You should have rung for help.”

      “I didn’t need it,” she replied when she recovered from the sight of the doc in well-washed jeans that hugged his muscular thighs and a silky black pullover that showed off some very impressive pecs.

      Raising a crutch, she waved the tip in an airy circle. “I’m getting the hang of these things. What I do need, though, is coffee. Hot. Thick. Sweet.”

      “Of course.” His assessing glance dropped to her foot. “But first, how is your ankle this morning?”

      “Still fat and ugly, but it doesn’t ache as much.”

      “Good. I’ll look at it after we eat. Shall we have breakfast here in the library or on the terrace?”

      “The terrace, please. I want to soak in every last ounce of your incredible view before I hit the road.”

      “I’ve been thinking about that.” He matched his step to hers as they crossed through the dining room and went out on the spacious terrace. “I have a proposal for you to consider. Before I put it to you, let me fetch your coffee and tell Signora Bertaldi you are up and about.”

      Amused, Sabrina sank into the chair he held out for her and turned her face to the sun. She could get used to being waited on by a duke. Not that Marco fit her notions of royalty as shaped by her previous contacts.

      She’d dated the playboy son of a Saudi sheik once. Just once. It was an eye-opening and not particularly pleasant experience. She’d also attended a couple of parties in London where Prince Harry popped in. He was great fun but way too young for her. Marco, on the other hand, was just the right age, height, size and shape.

      Regret flickered through her. Too bad she was working against such a tight deadline. She wouldn’t have minded a few more days with the sexy doc. Maybe she could extend her stay in Italy after she finished checking out conference sites. Or arrange a return visit once they had the Global Security contract firmed up.

      She was considering the possibilities when Marco returned with two cups of espresso topped with frothy cream. As he passed her one of the cups, he sprang the proposal he’d mentioned earlier.

      “I think you should stay here for the rest of your time on the Amalfi coast. Use this villa as a home base and make day trips to the locations you want to check out.”

      The suggestion dovetailed so closely with Sabrina’s thoughts she almost choked on her first sip of the thick, sweetened coffee. Her startled glance met Marco’s calm gaze. If there was more than mere courtesy behind the invitation, he hid it well.

      Her first instinct was to jump on the offer. Excitement pulsed through her at the thought of another session or two of close body contact with this intriguing man. Unfortunately, the road map she hastily conjured up in her mind quashed that quiver of excitement. The distances involved weren’t all that great but she’d have to navigate them on tortuous roads, then gimp around on crutches.

      “Thanks for the offer,” she said with genuine regret. “It’s very tempting, but I don’t think I’m up to driving out and back each day on these roads.”

      “You don’t need to drive them. I’ll be your chauffeur.”

      “You?”

      “Si.” A smile crept into his dark eyes. “Or don’t you trust my driving? I would remind you that your foot did not thump the floorboards once during the drive from the clinic to the villa. Then again, you were out cold for most of that trip.”

      “You must have better things to do than transport me up and down the coast.”

      “Actually, I don’t. I’m on vacation until January fifth. My surgical team has threatened to resign en masse if I return before that date. I have nothing on my schedule until then except a mandatory appearance at the ball my mother gives each year to celebrate La Fiesta di San Silvestro.”

      “That’s on New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?”

      “It is. So I’m at loose ends, you see. You would save me from utter boredom.”

      She didn’t believe that for a minute. Someone with Marco’s varied interests could easily fill up every minute of his vacation. His library alone could surely keep him occupied for weeks.

      Sabrina hesitated, torn between the urge to spend more time with this man and the uncertainty of where it might lead. She didn’t have time for personal entanglements right now. Caro and Dev were depending on her to provide the necessary input for the new contract proposal.

      Which would be a lot easier to accomplish with someone who knew the area at the wheel, her traitorous mind pointed out.

      That was a rationalization. She knew it. But what the heck. If the man wanted to spend his precious vacation time helping her nail down prospective conference sites, who was she to argue?

      “If you’re sure you have nothing more pressing to do,” she said slowly, giving him a last out.

      “I’m sure. And if you remain over until New Year’s Eve,” he added, “you must accompany me to the ball. It’s really rather spectacular.”

      Okay, now she was hooked. What woman in her right mind would pass up the chance to attend a fancy-dress ball with someone like Marco Calvetti? The thought flashed into her mind that it was strange he didn’t already have a date. The man was rich, cultured and a widower. But why look a gift hunk in the mouth?

      “I’d planned to wrap up my business and fly home on the thirtieth,” she told Marco. “I’ll have to check on whether I can change my tickets. And get in some serious shopping. And …”