The Italian Prince's Proposal. Susan Stephens

while they’re waiting for the main event to arrive.’

      ‘Main event?’ Alessandro quizzed as he broke step to look at her.

      ‘You know…personalities, showbiz people, that sort of thing.’

      He pressed his lips together and he gave her an ironic smile, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘I guess you’re right. I’d never thought of that. It must get pretty boring for them…all the hanging around.’

      But it wasn’t just the photographers, Emily thought. She couldn’t help noticing all the other people staring as Alessandro ushered her across the vast, brilliantly lit reception area.

      Hardly surprising, she decided, shooting a covert glance at her companion. He was off the scale in the gorgeous male stakes. His dark suit was so uncomplicated, so beautifully cut, it could only have come from one of the very best tailors…yet somehow the precision tailoring only served to point up his rampant masculinity. His crisp, cotton shirt, in a shade of ice blue, was a perfect foil for his bronzed skin, and somehow managed to make eyes that were already incredible all the brighter, all the keener—

      She looked away, knowing she would have to pull herself together if the evening was to fulfil its purpose as a business rather than a social occasion. ‘Matters of State?’ she repeated firmly, determined not to let him off the hook.

      She was rewarded with a low, sexy laugh that revealed nothing except for the fact that she was fooling herself if she imagined that she would be able to overlook the power of his charm for one single moment.

      At a small, private lift, tucked away out of sight from the main lobby, she watched as he keyed in a series of numbers. Heavy doors slid silently open and then sealed them inside a plush, mirrored interior. There was even a small upholstered seat in the corner should you require it, Emily noted with interest, and apart from the emergency intercom a telephone for those urgent calls between floors. The only users of this exclusive space would be pretty exclusive themselves, she deduced with a thoughtful stare at her companion.

      ‘You didn’t answer my question yet,’ she prompted.

      ‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a light supper to be delivered to us later.’

      He might have said it pleasantly enough, but the effect was offset by a flinty stare that suggested that he alone would direct the course of their conversation.

      Alessandro knew he was in for a rocky ride the moment he saw the defensive shields go up in Emily’s eyes. And no wonder she thought him harsh. He was struggling to reclaim control of a situation that was slipping away from him as fast and as comprehensively as sand through a sieve. Logically, all he had to do was bring her to the point where she would sign the contract drawn up by his lawyers, but she had turned everything on its head, this woman he felt such a crazy compulsion to woo.

      ‘Rather than go out to eat I thought it better that we devote ourselves entirely to the matter in hand,’ he said, hoping to placate her. The last thing he wanted was to explain what this was about in a lift!

      ‘You said something about matters of State earlier,’ Emily pressed doggedly, ‘and, if you remember, I asked—’

      Words had always been the most effective weapon in her armoury, but where Alessandro Bussoni Ferara was concerned they seemed utterly ineffectual. Emily was starting to seethe with exasperation.

      ‘So, what’s this?’

      In the split second between her lunge to grab his wrist and Alessandro’s reaction to it Emily knew she had made her biggest mistake. What on earth was she doing, assaulting a strange man in a lift, snatching hold of him, grabbing on tight to the gold signet ring on his little finger? And why was he allowing her to hang on to him, even though he was twice her size and could have moved away from her in an instant? Worse still, the flesh beneath her sensitive fingertips felt warm and smooth and supple—She blinked, and recovered herself fast, removing her hand self-consciously from his fist where it had somehow become entangled.

      ‘It’s my family crest,’ he volunteered evenly. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

      No! Not nearly! ‘Your crest?’ she said curiously.

      His whip-fast retaliation left Emily with no time to hide the cufflinks on her own white tailored shirtsleeves.

      ‘Shall we start with your explanation for these?’ he countered smoothly, bringing her wrist up.

      The sheer power in his grip was impossible to resist. But Emily found she didn’t want to, and incredibly, was softening. ‘That’s my—’

      ‘Yes?’ he pressed remorselessly.

      ‘My cufflinks are engraved with the crest of my Inn of Court,’ she admitted, averting her face.

      ‘Ah,’ he murmured, as if pleased to hear his suspicions confirmed. ‘Barrister?’

      Emily nodded tensely. ‘And you?’

      Now it all made sense, Alessandro realised—the tasselled sack to hold her robes and wig, the pull-along airline case to transport her briefs, along with all the other papers she would have to carry around…the severe cut of the restrained outfit she wore to court beneath her gown hanging up in her dressing room at the hotel while she sang that night, the only nod to feminine sexuality displayed in the power heels of her plain black court shoes—

      ‘This is our floor,’ he said as the lift slowed.

      Another evasion! Controlling herself with difficulty, Emily hunted for something…anything…to derail her mounting irritation—unfortunately, the first thing she hit upon was how well the light, floral perfume she had chosen to wear mingled with Alessandro’s much warmer scent of sandalwood and spice, and that didn’t help at all! As the lift doors opened she sprang to attention, noticing that he stood well back to let her pass. Now she registered disappointment. Disappointment that he didn’t yank her straight back inside the intimate lift space, close the doors and make it stop somewhere between floors…for a very long time indeed.

      ‘Emily? Did you hear me?’

      Refocusing fast, she saw that he had already opened the arched mahogany double doors to his suite and was beckoning her inside.

      ‘I’m sorry—’

      ‘I said,’ he repeated, ‘would you care for a glass of champagne?’

      ‘Oh, no, thank you. Orange juice will be fine until we conclude our business.’

      ‘And then champagne?’

      ‘I didn’t say that, Signor Bussoni—’

      ‘Alessandro.’

      ‘Alessandro,’ Emily conceded. ‘And when our business is concluded I will be leaving.’

      ‘Whatever you like,’ he agreed evenly. ‘I’ve no wish to tangle with lawyers in my free time.’

      The throwaway line ran a second bolt of disappointment through her. She would have to be under anaesthetic not to register the fact that Alessandro Bussoni was a hugely desirable male. It was time to tighten the bolts on her chastity belt, Emily told herself firmly, if she had a hope in hell of being ready for what promised to be a tough round of business negotiations.

      And she would deal with the lazy appraisal he was giving her now how, exactly?

      She only realised how tense she had become when Alessandro turned away to pour them both a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and each of her muscles unclenched in turn. Keep it cool, Emily warned herself silently. Cool and impersonal. It’s only business after all…

      CHAPTER THREE

      LEAVING her handbag on the pale, grey-veined surface of a marble-topped console table, Emily dragged in a deep, steadying breath as she took in her surroundings.

      The hotel room was decorated in English country house style, but at its most extreme, its most sumptuous: