Reckless Nights in Rome (5 page)

Rosie squeezed
her fingers. “I know there have been times since ... when you’ve
wondered if it’s all been worth it.”

“I’ve never
regretted starting this business. It’s kept me sane, and hey for
the last six months we’ve been in the black.”

“It was Oliver
and Lucy’s wedding that did it. The glossy magazine spread of the
super model and her super husband as they cut the cake.” With a
satisfied smile, Rosie popped the rest of her muffin into her
mouth.

“We did it,
cheers,” Bronte told her as they clinked coffee mugs.

The sound of
the front door bell made them jump.

Rosie checked
the time. “I’ll get it. I’m expecting a delivery.”

Nico pushed his hands
further into the fleece-lined pockets of his battered shearling
jacket and admired his surroundings.

A miniature
version of Ludlow Hall, with its sweeping driveway and ocean of
manicured lawns, The Dower House could have been plucked out of a
fairy story. His mind raced with thoughts and plans for the future.
The house was the perfect base.

Even though
Bronte had been the last thing on his mind as he tumbled into sleep
and the first thing on his mind when he awoke, the conversation
with her the previous evening and a good night’s sleep had
energised him this morning.

Nico shook his
head, frankly amazed at himself that she had such an effect on
him.

He liked women.
He particularly liked them tall, dark and stacked. He liked
experienced professional types who knew the score and were too busy
for a long-term commitment.

This thing he
had for his best friend’s sister might not be a good idea. He
chewed on his bottom lip; Alexander’s reaction to her dating was
over the top. But he would do nothing to jeopardise their
friendship and business relationship.

As for Bronte
herself, she had a refinement that sang to him. Her vulnerability
also appeared to bring out the protector in him. Who’d have thought
it? Anthony, he thought with a grim smile, would think twice about
hurting another woman.

Nico couldn’t
forget the feel of Bronte, the tingle of awareness that still
warmed his system and how small her waist had been between his
hands. He smiled remembering her embarrassment at being caught in
the act. Naughty too, with those big eyes full of pretend
innocence.

The light
floral scent of Bronte still lingered in his car; it was warm,
sweet and feminine. How could he have missed her on his previous
visits?

The thought
brought his mind back to the task in hand – The Dower House.

The plans he
had for the place warmed his heart as he tugged the brass bell
pull.

He’d been
clumsy threatening her like that. What had he been thinking? Again,
he shook his head and told himself to focus on the task at hand and
not on the woman.

The door
opened.

A curvy,
dark-haired, dark-eyed female poked her head out and looked him up
and down with bright-eyed interest. By her clothes Nico surmised
she was a cook.

He smiled and
opened his mouth.

“Deliveries are
received at the back. Follow the road all the way round,” she told
him and closed the door in his face.

Bemused, he
looked down at his ancient boots and jeans. Okay, it was an easy
mistake to make. Nico wound a black cashmere scarf around his neck,
strolled to the car and followed instructions.

The road led to
a courtyard and a large coach house converted into four
garages.

A snazzy mini
cooper convertible in shiny black was parked next to the frosty
lawn. Two gleaming black vans with ‘Sweet Sensation’ painted in
gold on their sides, stood with their rear doors open.

A couple of
young girls, dressed in chef whites, were busy loading shelves,
wheeling trolleys carrying white cardboard boxes.

The girl who
had opened the front door widened her eyes when she saw his
car.

She was trying,
Nico realised as he got out, not to laugh.

“I’m so sorry.
I thought you were a delivery. Can I help you?” Her eyes sparkled
into his.

“I am Nico
Ferranti for Bronte Ludlow.” He frowned as her eyes cooled and the
smile slipped.

“Of course you
are.”

“Please, call
me Nico, and you are?” He held out his hand wondering what in the
world he had done to offend her.

“Rosie Gordon.
Bronte’s partner.” She took his hand with a distinct lack of
enthusiasm that tickled his sense of humour. “How do you do?”

Curious and
surprised at the set-up, he looked around.

“Is Bronte
available?”

“Sure, follow
me.” She led him through a narrow hallway, a busy compact kitchen
and into a larger space with a high vaulted ceiling.

Nico didn’t
have a particularly sweet tooth, but the scent of fresh baking,
toffee and chocolate made his mouth water. Fifty per cent of the
room, he realised studying the space, was a recent addition and
constructed of heavy oak beams and glass.

Acres of
stainless steel food preparation areas, fridges, cold stores and
ovens gleamed in the fragile winter sun.

Wearing chef
whites, Bronte stood at a central island decorating the bottom tier
of one of the most spectacular wedding cakes he’d ever seen. Not
that he took much notice of such things, but the cake was
incredible. In cream and pale pink, it towered above her.
Constructed of six octagonal pieces he assumed would be dismantled
and re-assembled in-situ. The designer glasses she wore he found
terribly erotic for some reason, and immediately wondered what the
hell was wrong with him.

Rosie pulled
him to the side, out of Bronte’s line of vision.

Bronte worked
with a single-minded focus and determination that totally threw
him. An iPod plugged into her ears, she spun the cake wheel with
one hand and piped icing in a steady rhythm with the other. A foot
encased in a white rubber clog tapped to the tune in her ears. The
pink tip of her tongue rubbed her top lip. And Nico had the
sensation of blood rushing to pool low in his belly. She was
stunning.

His expert eye
estimated her height at five foot seven inches tall, one hundred
and twenty pounds, maybe less with a lean figure that was almost
boyish. The face was beautiful in the clear light of day with
creamy, flawless skin and high cheekbones. Her hair ran down her
back in a slippery tail and she had a chef’s cap pulled low on her
forehead.

The urge to
pull her into his arms and taste that soft, seductive mouth shocked
him. He’d attempted to justify his reaction to her last night as
the effect of jetlag. Obviously, he was deluding himself.

“She’s nearly
finished,” Rosie whispered. “If you interrupt her she’ll hand you
your head in your hands.” Surprised, Nico looked at her and
realised she was absolutely serious.

Bronte finished
with an expert flourish that made him smile. Then boogied her hips
in a way that electrified his groin and Nico ordered himself to get
a grip.

She turned and
saw him.

He almost
missed the flash of awareness in her eyes before they cooled to
chips of emerald ice, and he managed not to wince. He couldn’t deny
the pang of disappointment in his chest.

And couldn’t
deny that she looked gorgeous.

Bronte
unplugged her ears and tucked her glasses into the top pocket of
her jacket. Pulling off latex gloves she gave him what he thought
of as her polite customer smile. The look in her eye told him she
wasn’t in the mood for a discussion, her dislike of him clear by
the stiff body language. Between last night and this morning, Ms
Ludlow had erected implacable defences.

The air
crackled with the toxic mix of arousal and heightened awareness
from him and a deep loathing from her.

With a jolt, he
realised Bronte Ludlow wished him straight to hell.

Nico imagined
most men would back off and get the message. Unfortunately for her,
he was not most men.

“What can I do
for you, Mr Ferranti? Are you in the market for a wedding cake?”
Her voice was firm, polite and precise.

But the hint of
nerves intrigued him. “It is fantastic, Bronte.”

He meant every
word, and her eyes widened at the compliment. Nico took her hand,
and testing, rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. The move brought
a surprised flush to her cheeks and he pressed home his advantage.
“You are very talented. I had no idea.”

And the little
leap in her pulse under his fingertips made his day.

She cleared her
throat. “As you can see we’re very busy this morning. Saturday
tends to be hectic.” She gave a tug of her hand.

He held it a
second longer than was strictly necessary and read the beginning of
wariness in her eyes. She smelt of sugar, sweet vanilla and neroli.
It was an alluring, sensuous mix which spun around his heightened
senses.

He had a
feeling she would taste even better.

Bronte took a deep breath and ordered her
erratic pulse to calm down.

Today he wore
jeans, the seams white with wear, with as much style as his
expensive suit. The worn boots and battered leather jacket, along
with the tousled hair almost made her swallow her tongue. While the
I-need-a-shave look had her hormones flashing on red alert.

His eyes, the
colour of a stormy sky, held and trapped hers.

From a great
distance she heard her friend and she turned to Rosie.

“I’m
sorry?”

“I said would
you like a coffee, Nico, and perhaps a little taste of something?”
Rosie said, adding under her breath, “except Bronte.”

Nico blinked
and gave her a perfunctory smile, his attention fully focused on
Bronte.

“If it is no
trouble. I realise I have interrupted your work.”

Bronte couldn’t
tear her eyes from his.

The intensity
of his gaze was rather unnerving.

Her mouth went
bone dry. Why couldn’t she breathe?

“Take Nico into
the sitting room and I’ll bring it in.” Rosie instructed, and then
gave Bronte a poke in the back along with a firm little push.

“You are full of
surprises.”

Bronte debated
how to respond to the remark as Nico shrugged off his jacket,
turning in a circle as he took in the room with a calculating gleam
in his eye that she took great exception to. The black sweater in
fine cashmere accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow waist. He
tossed his jacket, chose a corner of the sofa and settled himself
comfortably, too comfortably.

His
cock-of-the-walk attitude brought Bronte’s hackles up.

Those amazing
eyes pinned hers. She shivered at how dark and intent his gaze was
as he studied her.

Seriously
annoyed that he could affect her like this, Bronte narrowed her
eyes.

“What,
surprised that I work hard to make a living?”

Nico opened his
mouth to reply and the door opened.

Rosie’s eyes
went wide as she picked up the charged atmosphere. Her gaze flicked
from one to the other as she placed the tray on a table. Then she
did a spectacular eye roll behind Nico’s back as she left.

What on earth
was Rosie thinking, Bronte fumed, bringing him into the house today
of all days? And why had she used the priceless Limoges coffee
set?

Bronte decided
that soon, very soon, she would strangle her friend.

She poured and
handed Nico a cup of black coffee in a fragile porcelain cup,
watching him carefully as he added cream and stirred. A part of her
brain noticed he had lovely hands, with long fingers and short
nails.

“You are never
going to let me forget that, are you?” he asked, those eyes,
sparkling now, never left her face.

Bronte merely
shrugged and fought not to smile back. He was too smooth she
decided, too charming and she’d been burned once before by a slick
operator.

She took a deep
breath and his dark eyes sharpened.

“The house is
not for sale.”

Her eyes issued a
direct challenge.

Nico smiled to
himself.

She sat
opposite and crossed long legs dressed in blue and white checked
cotton trousers. Slender fingers clasped her knee. Back straight,
her eyes met his unflinchingly. She was sexy and beautiful. Not in
his usual style her cool beauty was a definite departure for him.
The hard ache in his groin was an interesting development too.

His mind racing
Nico took a sip of excellent coffee.

The issue with
the business being run from the house was not an overwhelming
obstacle. Although he seemed to remember a clause in a covenant
which he would have his lawyers’ research. However, it appeared
dealing with Bronte on a personal level and The Dower House would
require creative thinking. So for the moment he would back off as
far as the house was concerned and see where this attraction
led.

Nico wanted
her, he wanted the house and he would not alienate Alexander.
Taking another sip of coffee, he decided there was nothing like a
challenge.

He kept his
voice low, the tone friendly as he studied her pale face
carefully.

“I find myself
in a unique situation.”

She frowned,
those emerald eyes appeared confused now.

Her full mouth
looked terribly vulnerable.

“I don’t
understand. I thought you were here about the house.” She looked so
cute, his mouth watered.

Nico sent her a
friendly grin and watched the heat flooding her face with
interest.

“I am here
about the house, amongst other things.”

The pulse in
her neck beat furiously and Nico found himself admiring her again.
Most people found him intimidating, but not Bronte. When her chin
rose it didn’t annoy him as it had done the night before. Instead
it aroused.