Resisting The Sicilian Playboy. Amanda Cinelli

dabbed the napkin lightly at her mouth. ‘Since I moved here—definitely.’

      He followed the neat little movement of her hands as she placed her fork across the plate. The waiter promptly came and cleared the table, offering them an array of desserts which they both politely declined.

      She sighed and sat back unselfconsciously in her seat, satisfied by the large meal. He imagined that might be how she looked after other types of satisfaction, and his stomach clenched at the thought.

      Distracting himself, he stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘A woman who likes to eat is a rarity in my world.’

      She turned her head to look out of the window, across the dull Milanese skyline. ‘The women in your world must be very sad and hungry.’

      Leo smiled. ‘The siciliani must have thought they were dreaming to find such a beautiful woman in their company who finishes a full meal.’ He took a sip of the coffee, feeling the familiar strength hit his tastebuds.

      She ignored his compliment. ‘Actually, when I first moved to Syracuse all I ate were ham sandwiches and spaghetti in tomato sauce.’

      ‘That’s punishable by law in this country,’ he scolded.

      She smiled, nodding her head. ‘I found that out soon enough. I think I lasted about a week before a colleague dragged me to her grandmother’s house and made me confess my crimes.’

      ‘Italian grandmothers are not known to be forgiving—especially when it involves food. I’m surprised you survived.’

      Leo thought of his own upbringing. The array of servants in the castle kitchen. The silent meals alone with his nanny. Surprising himself with the direction of his thoughts, he sat forward, focusing on Dara’s smiling features.

      ‘It wasn’t a laughing matter. That woman cooked twelve different types of pasta in the space of one hour.’ She shook her head. ‘It was the most dramatic reaction to food I have ever encountered.’

      ‘My countrymen are not known for their delicate sensibilities.’ He finished his coffee, regarding her as she sat still looking pensively out of the window. ‘Tell the truth: have you eaten a plain tomato sauce since then?’

      That earned him a smile. ‘Not if my life depended on it.’

      ‘Then you’ve passed the second test,’ he proclaimed.

      He watched as her expression drifted, all trace of their playful conversation melting away.

      ‘Exactly how many tests do you have in store for me?’ she asked as she took a sip from her water.

      He leaned back into his seat, casual and in control. ‘I don’t like to put a limit on progress, Dara. As a businesswoman I’m sure you can understand that.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear that, actually. I was considering showing you some ideas that struck me for your event tonight.’ She reached for her handbag, then paused. ‘Unless that violates my role as your temporary consultant?’ She raised a brow.

      Leo sighed. The woman was hell-bent on annoying him.

      ‘Make it quick.’

      She busied herself taking out a sleek tablet computer and unfolding the case into a neat stand, so that it stood upright as an impromptu presentation screen. She launched into a flurry of rough outlines, pinpointing the areas in which she felt his current plan lacked variety.

      ‘So, you see, if you split the evening into two parts you will avoid alienating the business clientele,’ she concluded, finally.

      Leo sat back in his chair and tilted his head to one side. The flow chart on the screen was genius. She had just achieved in one brainstorming session what a team of seven event organisers had failed to.

      The Milan relaunch had been heavily debated for weeks, due to the awkward combination of ‘party hard’ celebrity guests and the more staid businessmen and politicians. Finding an event structure that could keep all groups entertained had proved impossible, and yet Dara had seen the solution after simply looking down from an upper floor window.

      ‘Could you achieve all of this before you attend the event tonight?’

      ‘Without a doubt.’ She nodded confidently, her grey eyes lighting up with determination.

      ‘I’ll call my team in and you can get to work.’

      She looked surprised for a moment. ‘Would your team not resent having a newcomer treading on their toes?’

      ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I should be the one resenting them.’

      She visibly relaxed into her chair. ‘I’m glad you’re open to change.’

      He laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘“Change” is an understatement. Things clearly need a shake-up. They’re paid so well they’ve lost their creativity.’ He sat forward, flicking the screen of her computer across to look through the images once more. ‘I’ll have my management team on hand—anything you need, they are at your disposal.’

      ‘You make me sound important.’ Her eyes sparkled as she closed down the screen and placed it back into her bag.

      ‘And what about the uniforms?’ he enquired casually, and smiled when her expression turned rueful.

      ‘I don’t expect you to overhaul your branding after one little statement.’

      ‘Ah, but I’m an impulsive man, Dara.’ He waved a hand, signalling to the waiter for their coats. ‘Your comments last night have wounded my overblown pride. I’ll expect that to be remedied by this evening too.’

      Her eyes widened, her delicate hands twisting in her lap as she absorbed his challenge. ‘It take it that this is another test?’

      ‘You say you’ve never lost a challenge. Consider it an experiment.’

      She straightened her shoulders. ‘You trust me to make changes to your event and overhaul your signature uniform in less than seven hours?’

      ‘Are you telling me you can’t do it?’

      ‘I can do it,’ she said, all confidence. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re giving me this opportunity when you’ve refused so many others.’

      He sat back in his chair, once again taken by her honest approach to business. He had invited her tonight because of his attraction to her. But now, after she had once again proved she was more brains than body, he felt tempted to tell her at least a half-truth.

      ‘Ten years ago I commissioned those uniforms as a gimmick. We had only been open a few months, and it was the first New Year’s Eve event we ever held. The party was in full swing when a notorious designer came staggering in. He was drunk, as usual, and he stood in the middle of a crowd of journalists and began to shout that he could see himself in one of the suits.’

      Leo laughed as he remembered the night clearly.

      ‘The man was absolutely trashed, and he was amazed by his own reflection in the material.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But that’s not how everyone else saw it. Anyway—long story short: word soon spread and our temporary costumes became a brand statement. I found the whole situation hilarious.’

      He took another sip of coffee.

      ‘It was a publicity stunt that worked, and it seemed that I was the only person who could see how ridiculous the staff looked. Until you, of course.’ He raised his coffee cup in mock salute.

      ‘My attention to detail is what keeps me in business.’

      ‘Well, I’d imagine being associated with a big brand like Lucchesi doesn’t hurt.’ Leo dropped the name casually, watching her reaction with hooded intent.

      ‘I’m hardly “associated” with the brand. I’ve been contracted for a few events—one with the Lucchesi Foundation, their charity for the hospitals