The Italian Prince's Proposal. Susan Stephens

forty feet in length.

      ‘Not very cosy, is it?’

      His voice startled her, even though it was pitched at little more than a murmur.

      ‘Sorry?’ she said, turning around.

      ‘This room,’ Alessandro said, holding her gaze as he carried the juice over to her.

      ‘It’s very—’

      ‘Yes?’ he said, noticing how studiously she avoided touching his hand as he passed her the crystal glass.

      ‘Well…’ Emily chose her words carefully. She didn’t want to cause offence—maybe he loved this style. ‘It tries very hard—’

      ‘—to condense all the flavours of your country into a single room in order to impress the well-heeled tourist?’ he supplied, looking at her with amusement over the top of his glass.

      ‘Well, yes,’ Emily said, discovering that a smile had edged on to her own lips. ‘How did you guess? That’s my opinion exactly.’ Nerves were making her facial muscles capricious, unpredictable…and somehow she found herself smiling up at him again.

      ‘Let’s hold our meeting somewhere more…snug,’ Alessandro suggested. ‘Don’t look so alarmed,’ he said, shooting her a wolfish grin that failed entirely if it was meant to reassure her. Thrusting a thumb through the belt-loop of his black trousers, he slouched comfortably on one hip to put his glass down on the table. ‘My bedroom can hardly be described as snug—it’s almost as large as this room. Fortunately there are two bedrooms, and I’ve had the smaller of the two turned into an office for the duration of my stay.’

      ‘I see,’ Emily said, watching him extract some documents from the folder on the table and wondering why all she could register was how tanned, and very capable his hands were—

      ‘Daydreaming again, Emily?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘And I beg you to pay attention when I ask you if you would care to join me in my office—so that our meeting can begin.’

      His tone was amused—tolerant. And her expression must have been blank and dreamy, Emily realised, hurriedly adopting an alert look.

      ‘Shall I lead the way?’

      Retrieving her handbag, Emily hurried after him, but as he opened the door to the next room, and stopped beside it to let her pass, she juddered to a halt. The remaining space inside the doorframe was small…too small.

      The difference in size between them seemed huge, suddenly, though it was his aura of confident masculinity that was his most alluring feature, Emily thought as she skirted past him. ‘Very impressive,’ she managed huskily, pretending interest in all the high-tech gizmos assembled for his use in the skilfully converted bedroom.

      ‘Why don’t you sit over there?’ he suggested, pointing towards a leather button-backed seat to one side of a huge mahogany desk.

      Perching primly on the edge, Emily watched in fascination as Alessandro sat or rather sprawled on his own chair with all the innate elegance of a lean and hungry tiger.

      ‘Would you care to open the discussion?’ he invited.

      Folding her hands neatly in her lap, Emily attempted to sweep her mind clear of anything but the facts. ‘Well, as you know, I’m here to secure the best possible deal for my sister’s band—’

      ‘For your sister, primarily?’

      ‘Well, yes, of course, but—’

      ‘Miranda needs the money a recording contract will bring her in order to buy a rather special violin and to complete her training, is that correct?’

      ‘That’s putting it rather crudely.’

      ‘How else would you put it, Emily? What I want to know is, what’s in it for me?’

      ‘Surely that was self-evident when you saw the band perform. They’re excellent—’

      ‘Without you?’ he cut in abruptly. ‘How do I know what they’ll be like? What if I said I’d sign the band if you remained as lead singer?’

      ‘I’m afraid my obligations at work would not permit—’

      ‘Ah, yes,’ he cut in smoothly. ‘I’ll come to that later. But for now let’s consider your proposal regarding the recording contract for your sister. How does she intend to fulfil both her commitment to the record company and to her tutor at the music conservatoire?’

      ‘I’m here to ensure that whatever contract she signs allows her to do both—for the first year at least.’

      ‘And then she will drop the band?’ Alessandro suggested shrewdly.

      ‘She will fulfil all her contractual obligations,’ Emily stated firmly. ‘I can assure you of that.’

      ‘As well as put in the necessary practice hours to become a top-class international soloist? Somehow I doubt it,’ he said, embroidering the comment with a slanting, sceptical look.

      ‘You clearly have no experience of what it’s like to strive to achieve something so far out of reach,’ Emily said, overruling her cautious professional persona in defence of her sister, ‘that most people would give up before they had even started.’

      ‘Perhaps you’re right—’

      ‘Many artistes are forced to take other jobs to pay their way through college,’ she continued passionately, barely registering Alessandro’s silent nod of agreement.

      ‘Not just musicians or artistes—’

      But Emily was too far down the road either to notice his comment or to hold back. ‘You’re making assumptions that have no grounds in fact,’ she flung at him accusingly.

      ‘And you’re not even listening to me,’ Alessandro replied evenly, ‘so how do you know what I think?’

      ‘You’ve already decided she can’t handle both commitments,’ Emily said, realising she hadn’t felt this unsteady since delivering her first seminar as a rookie law student. ‘Right now, Miranda’s not feeling well. But as soon as she’s feeling better I know she’ll do everything she says she will.’

      ‘You say—’

      ‘Yes, I say,’ Emily said heatedly. ‘I know my sister better than you…better than anyone—’ She broke off, suddenly aware that all the professional expertise in the world was of no use to her while her emotions were engaged to this extent.

      ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Alessandro agreed quietly, showing no sign of following her down the same turbulent path. ‘But why on earth choose a band as a way of making money? Why not find it some other way?’

      Emily made an impatient gesture as she shook her head at him. ‘Because she’s a musician, Alessandro. That’s what she does.’

      ‘A cabaret singer?’

      ‘What’s wrong with that?’

      As he shrugged, Emily guessed every stereotypical piece of nonsense that had ever been conceived around nightclub singers was swirling through his brain.

      ‘Miranda makes an honest living,’ she said defensively. ‘Would you rather she gave it up…gave up all her ambitions…just to satisfy the prejudice of misguided individuals?’

      Alessandro confined himself to a lengthy stare of good-humoured tolerance, and then held up his hands when a knock came at the door just as Emily was getting into her stride. ‘Excuse me, Emily. I won’t be a moment.’

      As Alessandro left her Emily felt a warning prickle start behind her eyes. No one had ever made her lose her temper like this before…not once. She hadn’t ever come close. Plunging her hand into her handbag, she dug around for some tissues, then rammed them away out of sight again