Reckless Nights in Rome (21 page)

“Man up. It’ll
only be a little scratch.”

Nico’s grip on
her neck tightened in warning.

“The helicopter
will pick you up in a couple of hours. Everything is ready for you
at the house, including a nurse.”

Defeated,
Alexander gave them a look that reminded her of an abandoned puppy.
“Okay, but it had better not be Jorge.”

Nico bit his
lip. “I believe her name is Lydia.”

Perking up at
the news, Alexander brows winged into his hairline.

“Really?
Blonde, brunette, red-head?”

“Ah, I believe
she might have been a brunette when she was younger.”

“Aw, come on,
Nico.” He winced as the nurse took his blood pressure. “Well, at
least I’ll have my laptop and can get some work done.”

Alarmed, Bronte
sent Nico a look, but he was busy flicking fluff from his sleeve
and didn’t meet her eye.

“The laptop was
damaged in the accident. However, I have a comprehensive library of
books, DVDs and music. And a full complement of staff to see to
your every need. All you have to do is to get well.”

“For Christ’s
sake,” Alexander said in disgust.

A couple of
doctors arrived and it was their cue to leave.

Nico spoke to
them in Italian and appeared perfectly happy with what they
said.

He pressed
Alexander’s good shoulder.

“I’ll phone you
later. If you need anything, just ask.”

Bronte kissed
his cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Her brother
looked at Nico and then met her eyes. “You too.”

It was not often Nico
found himself out of his depth.

But he had
never ever seen a woman buy shoes the way Bronte did.

It was a
sensory experience for her. Totally focused she studied them from
every angle. Her fingers stroked and smoothed the butter soft
leather. Then she smelt them which made him grin at the assistant
who appeared to share her devotion.

Trying them on
was a whole new experience in itself. She bought four pairs, one
for the evening and the others because she ‘just couldn’t
resist.’

“Why are you
looking at these?” he wondered. “This is the men’s department.”

Like a lover,
she stroked a pair of boots and sent him a sly smile which got his
juices flowing.

“This might
come as a surprise to you, Nico, but you are a man. Try them
on.”

Her arms wound
around his waist as the assistant went off to find his size. She
gazed up into his face with wide eyes.

“Big feet? Hmm,
you know what they say about a man who has big feet?”

Laughing into
her naughty face, his breath caught in his throat.

He tried them
on then did as he was told and walked up and down.

“Do you love
them?” She wanted to know.

“They are
comfortable.”

“No, do you
love them?”

The look in her
eye reminded him of a zealot priest.

He nodded.
“Absolutely, I love them.”

Thrilled to
bits, she handed over her credit card to the assistant without a
blink.

She tucked her
arm in his as they strolled down the Via Borgognona.

“I feel another
coffee coming on.” She steered them to an empty table, piling boxes
onto an empty chair.

“You should not
spend so much of your own money.”

He blurted it
out before he thought about how she might take it. But although her
eyes flashed, she just gave him a cool little smile and crooked a
finger. He leaned closer.

“I work hard.
The business is in the black. I can afford a couple of pairs of
shoes, Nico. Say thank you.”

“I apologise I
did not mean to offend you.
Grazie,
for thinking of me.”

Her annoyed
expression was replaced by one of genuine bewilderment.

“Has a woman
never bought you a gift?” she demanded with a glint of temper in
her eye.

The thought had
never occurred to him. Those emerald eyes widened in amazement as
she shook her head. She poured sugar into her cappuccino, stirred
it and then slapped down the spoon.

“All I can say
is you are mixing in the wrong company.” She took a sip, held his
gaze. “And it’s a damned disgrace.”

He looked stunned.

Bronte eyed him
over the rim of her cup. What sort of women did he mix with? Okay,
don’t go there. Frowning, she realised that Nico appeared to live
an incredibly isolated existence.

A couple with a
small child, a boy of around three years old with glossy curls and
happy chocolate eyes, sat at the next table. The father said
something to Nico and he laughed as they entered a conversation in
Italian she couldn’t follow.

She permitted
her attention to wander over the rest of the customers.

Busy place.
Italian men were incredibly attractive, she’d give them that. Then
she spotted a big man sitting in a quiet corner staring intently at
Nico.

She pulled her
glasses out of her bag and took a better look.

Weird, he
looked like an older, harder version of Nico. Maybe he came from
the same part of the country? By his expensive clothes, she
surmised he was a businessman.

The man caught
her eye. She shivered at the chill in eyes scarily like Nico’s. His
mouth thinned as he jerked a nod at her. Bronte kept an eye on him
as he paid the bill and left. Yes, he was tall and broad too. He
even held himself like Nico as he walked.

Laughter from
the other table brought her attention back to the couple with the
adorable little boy.

“What are they
saying?” She smiled at them thinking she should mention the man to
Nico.

“They asked
when we are going to start a family.”

Her heart took
a stumble in her chest.

To distract
herself she gave him a teasing look.

“There speaks
the man who never wants a family or commitments. I hope you told
them we are not married.”

Dark eyes,
perfectly serious now, held hers.

“A man might
change his mind if he found the right woman.”

A fist to the
gut would have hurt less.

Giving what she
hoped was an unconcerned smile. Bronte sipped her coffee and
shivered.

“Come
,
cara
, you are getting cold.”

They said
goodbye to the family and she ordered herself to pull it
together.

It was
ridiculous that an innocent remark should have the power to destroy
her peace of mind. But her heart felt as frozen as the icy wind
that whipped through the streets.

A few flakes of
snow whirled around them and they picked up the pace.

Her cheeks stung with
cold as Nico opened the doors to the apartment.

He placed their
shopping bags on the floor and Bronte gasped.

Gone were the
masculine furnishings. Had there been a fire in the wall before?
There must have been but she hadn’t noticed it.

Stunned, she
wandered through low linen sofas in a stone colour with huge
cushions in toning jewel shades. Her fingers smoothed ivory
cashmere throws. Her gaze slid over glass coffee tables laden with
huge Venetian glass bowls in corals and reds. Everything was pulled
together with rugs in vivid matching shades. A soft warm glow came
from various lamps placed strategically around the room. The
atmosphere was welcoming and cosy.

And fresh
flowers with vibrant, exotic blooms in hot colours were everywhere,
on the dining table, serving tables, even in the kitchen.

She pressed
trembling fingers to her lips as she turned to Nico.

He’d shrugged
off his coat and was leaning against the doorframe watching her
with a big grin.

“You like
it?”

“What’s not to
like? It looks fabulous.”

Confused, she
walked towards him.

“But why? Why
would you do such a thing?”

“I do not spend
much time in this apartment. I saw it through your eyes last night.
It needed a change. My main residence in Italy is on Lake Como
although I never spend much time there.”

Bronte nodded,
she knew he travelled a great deal and noticed he called it a
residence, not a home. Again she spun in a circle to take in the
change.

“How on earth
did you manage to do this in one day?”

Nico pulled her
into his arms.

His hands
slipped under her sweater and feather light fingers stroked her
skin, sending wave after wave of shimmering desire through her.

“
Cara
, I
told you. I identify talent and let them do the work. This is an
example of an incredibly efficient company whose business is to
stage expensive properties for sale. They are involved in the
interior design of my hotels. I gave them a ring last night. I did
not, as you say, get my hands dirty.”

“Wow, if this
is an example of how you do business I’m impressed.”

A wicked gleam
came into his eye.

“How
impressed?”

She ran her
hands under his sweater, exploring the muscles and tendons of his
chest as he backed her into the bedroom. Then she pulled his head
down for a scorching kiss. Sucking his bottom lip into her mouth
her fingers found his belt. She unbuttoned his trousers, eased down
the zip as her hand slid inside his jockeys and found him rock
hard.

Her breath came
in quick pants as he lifted her in his arms.

“Very, very
impressed,” she told him with a little purr.

Something had
changed.

The feel of his
hands on her, the way he touched her, kissed her, was quite
different.

His lips had
changed. Those kisses scorched a path down and through her entire
body.

This time when
he entered her it was with exquisitely slow hip thrusts.

His eyes held
hers with an intensity she found mesmerising. His fingers linked
tightly with hers.

“Stay with me,
Bronte. Look at me. See what you do to me.”

Her breath
sobbed in her throat as his eyes darkened, his breathing harsh as
he tried to control her orgasm. As she fell apart, he caught her
scream with his mouth and then followed her into the abyss.

His fingers
stroked her as her shudders calmed and she dozed.

A firm smack
to her bare bottom brought her wide awake.

“Hey, what was
that for?”

Nico scooped
her up, striding into the shower.

He set the
water for warm rather than hot and dumped her under it.

Roaring with
laughter at her shriek, he pinned her to the wall and kissed her
senseless until her system sizzled again with need.

He raised his
head, water beading on thick black lashes.

“Dancing,
remember?”

She gave a
little mew of pretend discontent and batted her eyes at him.

“Oh, I don’t
know. Hot sex in the shower or dancing?” She bit down on her bottom
lip and gave him big eyes. “Decisions, decisions.”

He pumped soap
into his hand from a dispenser and rubbed it over her breasts,
rinsed until the water ran clear, then reached down. Her eyes
rolled back in her head. The man had magic fingers.

“I am Italian,
cara
. I can do both.”

Bronte put the
finishing touches to her make-up.

She shook back
her hair, shimmied into the sky blue dress and zipped it up.

The neutral
Jimmy Choos looked fabulous. The five inch heels would kill later
she knew, but no pain no gain.

She grabbed a
matching clutch bag she’d snuck past the ever vigilant Nico.

A quick spritz
of Baby G and she was ready.

“Wow.”

She turned.

He leaned
against the bedroom door looking wonderful in a sharp dark suit
with an open neck matching shirt. His eyes, dark and brooding,
studied her from head to toe as if he’d never seen her before.

A little shiver
of apprehension scurried up her spine.

“What’s the
matter?”

He pressed a
hot kiss to her cheek, sniffed her neck.

“I’m going to
have to fight them off tonight.”

The driver of
the Bentley held the door open and Nico handed her into the back of
the car.

The lights of
Rome streamed past as he pulled her close and tucked her under his
shoulder. Holding her hand he did his habitual rubbing of her
knuckles. Excited nerves fluttered madly in her stomach. Along with
a growing sense of unreality that she was beginning to realise was
the result of stress. She really needed to get a handle on her
emotions or she would end up on the therapist’s couch.

They purred to
a stop outside a nightclub which had a queue as far as the eye
could see.

Eyes wide,
Bronte turned to Nico.

“How long will
we need to wait?”

“Not long,” he
whispered his voice low and husky.

A wave of
paparazzi surged toward the car calling out in Italian as their
cameras flashed.

She blinked as
a team of burly security men pushed them back.

With a huge
smile for Nico, a doorman ran down the steps to open the car
door.

They were
whisked past the crowd and press, and into an area cordoned off
from the rest of the club. The VIP lounge.

She gave him a
fulminating look, squeezed his hand.

“You own this
don’t you?”

His lips
twitched. She wondered if there was anything he didn’t have an
interest in.

“I have a
partner.”

Bronte slanted
him a look. Tall and powerful, eyes narrowed, he surveyed the room
missing nothing. In this environment he was in his element and she
was totally out of hers. Nico Ferranti, she realised with a chill,
was the ruling King of this particular jungle.

A glass of
champagne in her hand, he led her to a corner furnished with
contemporary sofas. They sipped companionably as she watched,
fascinated, by the beautiful people. She recognised some of them
from glossy magazines.