A Deal To Carry The Italian's Heir / Christmas Contract For His Cinderella. Jane Porter

was because of the unprecedented growth and revenue BFI had seen under his leadership and the fact that the Brunettis—Greta, Leo, Massimo and their father, Silvio—still held the majority of stock in BFI that Leo hadn’t been forced to step down.

      With the financial connection between Mario and Vincenzo, it was clear that Mario had been bought.

      “Mario Fenelli is a greedy bastard,” said Massimo with a bite to his words.

      “There has to be something in the old man’s history that we can use against him,” Leo said. “And if we can find Vincenzo through him, we can finally put an end to this.”

      “Ms. Fernandez is here,” came his assistant’s voice through the intercom.

      “Neha is here to see you?” said Massimo, his brow tied. Neha Fernandez, Leo’s oldest friend, was Mario’s stepdaughter. “You’re not involving her in this thing with Mario, are you?”

      Leo wasn’t insulted by Massimo’s accusation. If he’d turned into the man that Silvio had brainwashed him to be, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use Neha.

      Massimo and he had made a pact to run BFI with ethical and clean practices—basically, to be the opposite of what their father had been.

      But Massimo had had the influence of a mother who had tried her hardest to fight their father’s corrosive and toxic influence on her weak son. A mother who’d strived to make sure that Massimo understood what was right and what was wrong. A mother who’d put up with an abusive husband because to leave would’ve been to give up on her son. Massimo’s ill health, while making him the subject of Silvio’s vicious rants, had also kept his father away.

      Leo, on the other hand, had worshipped his father until he’d learned what Silvio was capable of. His mind had been filled with bitter poison against the woman who had walked out on her young son in the middle of the night by an infuriated Silvio.

      “No, I’m not,” he finally said.

      Neha was the one woman with whom Leo’s association spanned the longest. The one woman he respected and admired. The one woman he’d always been intensely attracted to but hadn’t pursued because he wasn’t a relationship kind of man.

      The tentative friendship had built the first day when Mario, a new board member of BFI, had brought Neha with him on his trip to Milan, and Silvio had brought Leo.

      While her mother and stepfather had postured about their wealth and connections, Neha—even then a quiet, sharp, pretty girl—had arrested his attention. She’d already been running her late father’s bakery single-handed, and had been full of ideas for new branches. Leo, meanwhile, had been roiling with anger and rage—he’d discovered that week that not only was BFI in ruins, but that Silvio had been abusing Massimo emotionally for years, and that the man he’d worshipped for all his life was nothing but a bully all around.

      Neha had listened to him rage about his father, the devastation he’d felt. She’d clasped his hand shyly and said, “But all you have to do is tell your brother that you’re sorry. That you do care about him. That... You love him.” He’d vowed that when he returned home with Silvio, he’d do just that.

      In the meantime, he’d distracted himself by offering Neha ideas about how to raise seed money to expand her business.

      And through the meteoric rise of her fame, from winning a local English village baking show contest at sixteen to transforming a chain of baking goods she’d created into a multi-million-pound business, Neha had come to him for advice and Leo had given it to the best of his ability.

      Mario had spotted the extraordinary talent and work ethic his stepdaughter had possessed even at that young age and monetized it so fast that within just a few years of Neha winning the contest and creating the first line of confectionary goods, Mario had launched her as a child prodigy that created delicious confections. He’d made her into an international brand, franchised her talents so far and so wide that So Sweet Inc. had become a world-renowned business.

      “Why is she here, then?” Massimo asked, pulling Leo from the past to the present.

      “She asked to see me. As soon as possible.”

      Massimo waggled his brows, doing quite a good imitation of a schoolgirl. “Is it really business, though? I’ve always sensed something more between you two.”

      Leo kept his expression implacable. Neha was forbidden to him, would always be. “It’s pathetic to see you act like a matchmaker just because you are blissfully in love.” He strode to the door and opened it. “Now, go back to Nat and leave me to my business.”

      Mouth twitching mischievously, Massimo walked over to where Neha waited, and hugged her with all the easy energy of a man who didn’t have the complication of wanting her and keeping her at a distance, as Leo had done all these years.

      Through the open doorway, Leo could only see the clean lines of Neha’s profile: her long neck, her brown hair tied back in a braid that highlighted those cheekbones, the elegant white sheath dress draped over her curvaceous body and the yellow pop of her pumps. It was her public persona. White dress, yellow pumps and a strand of pearls at her neck. Red lipstick that made her lush mouth look like one of her delicious creations. A dimple in one cheek and laughter in those light brown eyes.

      All that creativity and passion wrapped in unruffled composure, all those voluptuous curves with the hidden sensuality buried in the elegant, girl-next-door package she presented to the world. That subtle lure of wanting to delve beneath the elegant persona she showed the world, to ruffle all that composure... It had started on the eve of her twenty-first birthday party.

      Overnight, she had transformed from a shy, pretty teenager into a gorgeously sexy woman. The urge to undo all that elegance, to reach the woman beneath, was as fresh and urgent and intense as it had been that day. For a man who went after his goals with single-minded ruthlessness, Neha was the one thing Leonardo had had to deny himself.

      Their relationship, as much as it had stayed inside the unsaid boundaries they’d both set, and as much as it defied the media’s incessant efforts to label, was important to him. Against all the odds for a man who had problems with trusting the opposite sex, Neha had become the one genuine friend he possessed.

      He could never risk that.

      Massimo asked her how long she meant to stay in Milan, because he wanted to introduce her to Natalie. Neha’s gaze flew to his.

      Leo stilled; every bit of his attention arrested at something inexplicable that flashed in her eyes. He frowned.

      She turned back to Massimo. And gave him a circular non-answer. Thanked Massimo with a graceful smile before saying goodbye.

      Leo’s curiosity deepened as he drank the sight of her in with a greed he knew was useless to try to curb. She stood there, framed by the arch of his door, her lower lip caught beneath her two front teeth.

      Afternoon sunlight from the high windows behind him gilded her in golden light, tracing the curvy contours of her body with the same delight and thoroughness that he wanted to. He’d seen her in a million variations of the same color scheme and makeup. And yet the white dress ending a couple of inches above her knees, the high-necked bodice that showed off the swell of her breasts, the tight dip of her waist...everything that was familiar about her spiked his awareness.

      So thoroughly mesmerized was he that it took him a few moments to notice the hesitation in her gaze. The rigid set of her shoulders. The tension emanating from her.

      “Neha...” he said softly, and she snapped into the present. “Do you plan to stand there for the rest of the day?”

      She entered his office without answer, closed the door behind her, still not quite meeting his gaze.

      In the wake of Massimo’s jokes, the silence was thick, awkward.

      She walked toward the sitting area of his office, poured herself a glass of water from the carafe. Her knuckles showed white on the glass while her gaze stayed on the streets of Milan’s