A Moment on the Lips

chapter THREE

DANTE scowled at his computer.

His concentration was shot to pieces, and it was all Carenza Tonielli’s fault.

Well, maybe not all hers. He could’ve said no.

And he definitely shouldn’t have said that about her clothes being distracting. Because knowing exactly what she looked like under them—and what her skin felt like against his mouth—was a damn sight more distracting than what he’d imagined.

For pity’s sake. He didn’t have time for this. And he didn’t want to get involved with a high-maintenance woman who’d demand his time and his complete attention, and have hissy fits all over the place when she didn’t get her own way.

What had just happened between them definitely wasn’t going to be repeated.

And he wasn’t going to let himself wonder about how it would be to sink into her warm, sweet depths. To feel her body tightening round his. To …

‘Oh, just get on with it and focus,’ he told himself sharply, and opened up his email.

He dealt with the first three messages as economically as he could. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Carenza.

And it really annoyed him that he’d lost control like that, instead of keeping things businesslike.

OK. Obviously he needed to get this over with so he could get her out of his head. He opened a new email.

Tomorrow, bring your USP and competitor analysis.

That was better. To the point, businesslike—and mentorlike.

Right. Now he could go back to his business. Focused, the way he always was.

And then his computer beeped.

The email was from Carenza.

USP???

He rolled his eyes and hit the reply button.

Unique selling proposition. What makes you different from the competition.

He thought about it after he’d sent it. Clearly she wouldn’t have a clue about competitor analysis, either. He added another email.

Change of plan. I’ll pick you up at 4 p.m. tomorrow and do the first competitor analysis with you as a blueprint.

A very humble reply arrived:

Thank you very much.

Strictly speaking, he already had enough on his plate.

Franchising Dante’s was going to take all his time, and then some. Carenza Tonielli and sorting out the gelati business were distractions he really didn’t need.

But he felt he owed Gino, for giving him that first break.

He pushed away the thought that it wasn’t the only reason he’d agreed to mentor her, and sent her another email.

Dress like a tourist. See you at 4.

Dress like a tourist. Which meant … what? Carenza wondered, the following morning. Last night, he’d said he wanted her to dress like a frump.

Just before his hand had been in her knickers.

At her instigation. Even though she’d intended to stop well before then.

This was bad. Really bad. She needed to clear things up before she could face him again. And she couldn’t possibly ring him. It was too, too embarrassing to speak about. She took refuge in the distance of an email.

About last night … I don’t normally do that sort of thing. Can we please pretend it didn’t happen?

He made her wait for an hour before he replied.

Which bit?

Oh, now that was unfair. He knew very well what she meant. Clearly he was going to extract every gram of humiliation out of this.

Not the mentoring. The other bit.

And she wasn’t going to write that down.

O. Sure.

Her face flamed. She knew he’d deliberately missed off the h. A big O, indeed. He was obviously enjoying this. She’d just bet there’d been a big, fat, mocking grin on his face as he’d typed that, and it made her want to punch him.

At the same time, she was aware that last night had been really one-sided. That she’d been the only one who’d climaxed. She’d simply taken everything he was prepared to give.

And she didn’t normally act like that. She hadn’t even dated since last year—since those terrible few months where she’d gone completely off the rails and slept with way too many Mr Wrongs. Her friends all said she’d gone too far the other way now and was too picky, but the men who’d asked her out had bored her. They’d been too fond of their own reflections in the mirror. And she was tired of getting involved with men who didn’t meet her needs. It was easier just to have fun with her friends and forget about relationships. Besides, she had a feeling that Tonielli’s was going to take up all her energies for the foreseeable future.

And Dante Romano was her mentor. Just her mentor. This was business. They’d agreed to forget about last night.

So just what did tourists wear? Frumpy ones, in particular? She didn’t actually own anything frumpy—and, given the state of the books, it wasn’t a good idea to go anywhere near a clothes shop to buy something especially for this afternoon. Not even a charity shop. In the end, she compromised with jeans and a little cardigan over one of her favourite strappy tops, and pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail. She thought about the shoes, then slid on a pair of her favourite designer heels. Being a tourist didn’t mean that you had to wear flip-flops or scuzzy trainers, did it?

Dante called for her at four on the dot, and she had to fight to keep her jaw closed. When he was a shark in a suit, she could just about cope with him. But what he was wearing made her want to rip his clothes off him right there and then. A black vest T-shirt, a pair of faded denims that looked incredibly soft and touchable, a black leather jacket and a pair of suede desert boots—topped off with a pair of dark glasses. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday. His hair was slightly rumpled—enough to tell her that it curled when it was wet.

And the bad boy look really, really suited him.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘Uh.’ She couldn’t actually get a word out. Getting air back in her lungs was a bit of a problem, too.

‘Uh?’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘Does that mean yes or no, Princess?’

‘It means we have a problem,’ she mumbled.

‘What?’

‘The way you’re dressed.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Too scruffy for you, Princess?’

No. Too damn sexy. And she didn’t dare answer him—just in case she ended up admitting that she wanted to lock her office door, tear his clothes off, and do him. On her desk. That very second.

How had she ever thought that she could cope with Dante Romano being just her mentor?

Instead, she chickened out. ‘Why do we have to dress like tourists?’

‘Because people in business suits don’t go for ice cream at four p.m. They’re too busy working.’

‘Oh.’

He took pity on her. ‘We can hardly visit one of your competitors and make notes while we’re sitting there, Princess.’

‘Why not? They won’t know the notes are about them.’

‘Trust me, it’s easier this way. It’s called “mystery shopping”. They do it all the time in the retail trade—to check out the competition as well as making sure that their own staff are doing the right thing. We go as ordinary customers, we get treated like ordinary customers—and then you’ll know what their service standards are like.’

‘Isn’t that spying?’

‘No. You’re looking at what they offer, what they do better than you, and what they do worse than you, so you can tweak your own business and offer your customers more.’

‘Uh-huh.’ And that was another problem.

It must’ve shown on her face, because he sighed. ‘You haven’t analysed your own business, have you?’

‘Not yet. I’ve only been back in Italy for a few weeks. But I can do it.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’m not an airhead.’

‘No, Princess.’

She heard the sarcasm in his tone, and glowered at him. ‘You’re judging me when you hardly know me.’

‘Look, we don’t have time to arg—oh, forget it. We’ll do this the quick way.’ He yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Hard. Hot. Demanding. To the point where she ended up kissing him back and pressing herself against him, with her arms wrapped round his neck.

When he broke the kiss, her pulse rate had practically doubled and her thoughts were completely scrambled. Hadn’t they agreed earlier that they were going to forget last night? He’d just—just … She dragged in a breath. Her body was definitely happy about this, but her head wasn’t. ‘What the hell was that for?’ she demanded.

‘Right now, we’re tourists. You’re my girlfriend.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d help you get into the part.’

Get into the part? How the hell did he expect her to concentrate after he’d just kissed her like that and turned her brain to mush?

It got worse when they were halfway down the street, because he took her hand. Exactly as if she really were his girlfriend and they were just out for a stroll, exploring the sights of Naples.

Her skin tingled where he touched her. Was it the same for him? Or was he mentally totting up balance sheets and working on business plans? Not that she was going to ask—even if she’d been able to get the words out—because she didn’t want him knowing just how much he distracted her. Especially as she had a nasty feeling that she didn’t distract him at all.

‘Pay attention, Princess,’ he said, as if he’d guessed anyway, and held the door of an ice cream parlour open for her.

And then things got even worse. She knew she was supposed to be making mental notes about the gelateria. What was good about it, what wasn’t so good, where it was different from her own shops. But for the life of her she couldn’t concentrate when he insisted on feeding her a spoonful of the ice cream sundae he’d ordered—because she could imagine him feeding her ice cream like this somewhere else.

Naked.

In her bed.

‘You’re supposed to return the favour, Princess,’ he murmured, and her skin heated.

Did he mean favour as in what he’d done for her last night? Or as in the ice cream?

Taking the cowardly option, she fed him a spoonful of ice cream.

‘Gorgeous,’ he purred, giving her the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. Hinting that she was gorgeous, not just the ice cream.

If he kept this up, she was going to need oxygen therapy.

And she was pretty sure he was doing this on purpose. To tease her. Or maybe to prove that she was an airhead who couldn’t concentrate—just as she’d been last night.

She gritted her teeth, and forced herself to focus on the shop. On the menu. The décor. The service.

The waitress brought the bill over to them; her smile was all for Dante, and Carenza was truly shocked to feel a flicker of jealousy.

For pity’s sake. She had no call on Dante Romano at all. He was her business mentor. For all she knew, he could be involved with someone.

Though she didn’t think he was. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. One thing she’d already worked out about Dante Romano was that he had a strict code of honour. He’d never cheat.

‘My bill.’ She scooped it up.

He shook his head. ‘You might do this kind of thing in England, but this is Italy. I’m paying.’

‘And I’m half English,’ she reminded him. ‘This is the twenty-first century. I’m paying.’

She won by the simple expedient of taking the bill and going up to the counter before he could grab the bill back from her.

‘You’re difficult,’ he said, when she returned.

And he wasn’t? She shrugged. ‘You’re the one who calls me “Princess”.’

‘Let’s go for a stroll.’ He held the door open for her, and they walked in silence to railings overlooking the sea.

He leaned against the railings, his legs slightly apart. ‘Come here.’

‘Why?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Because you’re still supposed to be in role.’

She took a step nearer.

He coughed. ‘And my girlfriend’s really going to stand as far away from me as she possibly can. Not.’

She took another step closer, and he reached out to pull her nearer still, so she was standing between his legs and his hand was resting lightly on her hip.

‘So what did you think of the shop?’

Standing this close to him, she was finding it hard to concentrate. How the hell could he talk about business and keep it all straight in his head while he was holding her like this?

‘It’s called multi-tasking, Princess. A very useful business asset.’

She groaned. ‘Did I just say that out loud?’

‘Yup.’

‘I lied.’

He glanced down at her top. ‘Try telling your nipples that. They’re standing to attention.’

‘I think I hate you.’

He laughed. ‘Then concentrate. Tell me what you thought about the shop.’

‘The ice cream was good. The service was fine. The prices are about the same as mine. Oh, and the décor was terrible.’

‘What do they do that you don’t?’

‘I … have no idea,’ she admitted. ‘More flavours?’

‘They offer sandwiches. Hot drinks. So they can keep tourists happy in the winter months.’

And then he staggered her by rattling off a detailed analysis of the shop. What it was doing wrong, what it was doing right, where it was beating her, where Tonielli’s scored higher.

How had he got all that from just one little visit—a visit where he’d seemed to be paying more attention to her than anything else, flirting with her and feeding her ice cream from his spoon and getting her to do the same to him?

A skateboarder pushed past them, causing her to move closer to Dante. And then she discovered that her mentor wasn’t quite as unaffected by her proximity as he claimed. He was definitely hard for her.

Wanting to get her own back—just a little bit—and knowing that she was seriously crossing a line here, she licked her lower lip. Slowly. She let her gaze drop to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Well, to his sunglasses. But she was pretty sure he wasn’t missing a trick behind those dark lenses.

‘You’re playing with fire, Princess,’ he warned her.

She knew that. Her body remembered just how hot he was. ‘About last night …’

‘We agreed to forget it.’

‘But I wasn’t fair to you.’ She’d taken her pleasure from him, and given him nothing in return. And that felt wrong.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Lost for words, Dante?’

He gave her a slow, wicked smile. Leaned forward. Touched his mouth to hers.

And it was like lighting touchpaper.

She became dimly aware of catcalls and whistles from a group of passing teenagers, and pulled back from him. His mouth was swollen and reddened, and she’d just bet that hers was in the same state.

And she couldn’t say a single thing.

‘Now who’s lost for words?’ he asked.

She blew out a breath. ‘This is supposed to be business. But.’ She swallowed hard. ‘You and me—this is getting in the way.’

‘You said you were going to wear something frumpy. So we could both concentrate.’

She spread her hands. ‘This is as frumpy as I get.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do-me heels and tight jeans?’

He was blaming her for this? ‘You’re the one wearing the do-me jacket and touchable denim.’

‘Maybe you need to find yourself another mentor.’

‘There isn’t anyone else I can ask. If Nonno thinks I’m struggling, he’ll take over again and that’s not fair. He’s seventy-three. He deserves a chance to relax with Nonna and have some fun.’

‘What about your old boss in London?’

She shook her head. ‘She’s ill. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her. And I’m not asking Emilio Mancuso.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘I …’ She grimaced. ‘Nothing I can put my finger on.’

‘But your instincts tell you no.’

She nodded. ‘So there’s only you I can ask.’

‘Scraping the bottom of the barrel, hmm?’

‘No. You were my first choice. You know what you’re doing. I could learn a lot from you.’

‘But?’

She sighed. ‘But it doesn’t help when you turn up looking like sex on legs. When you feed me ice cream from your spoon and give me smouldering looks.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying you want to do me, Princess?’

God, yes. She shivered. ‘I don’t normally behave like this.’

‘No?’

So he did know about London. She felt her face redden. ‘You provoked me.’

‘Not that much. You could’ve called a halt at any time.’

Yes. Which was exactly what she’d planned to do. But the touch of his skin against hers had pushed everything out of her head. Besides, it hadn’t been completely one-sided. He’d started it. And if he was that uninterested, why was he touching her now? ‘Your hands are still on my bottom,’ she informed him. ‘And there are …’ She gave a delicate cough. ‘Other signs, shall we say.’

‘So there are.’ He sighed. ‘OK. I admit it. I have the hots for you. And, judging by last night, it’s mutual.’

‘We don’t even like each other. You think I’m a spoiled princess.’

‘You are. And, since we’re telling it like it is, you think I’m … ?’

‘A workaholic. Someone who wouldn’t know how to begin to have fun.’

‘A dull boy, hmm?’ He shrugged. ‘Bottom line, Princess, this isn’t going to work. You’re looking for someone to give you a good time. And I don’t have space in my life for someone who’s going to stamp her foot every time I’m late for dinner, or when I don’t want to go to a party because I have more important things to do with my time than listen to tedious people spouting their opinion about something they know nothing about, or talking drivel about trivial things.’

‘I don’t stamp my feet,’ she said, glowering at him.

‘Metaphorically, you’re doing it right now.’

‘So why did you agree to be my mentor?’ She still didn’t quite understand that.

‘Because I owe Gino.’

‘You owe Nonno? Why?’

‘He gave me a break when I was younger, taught me a few things about business. So helping you out of trouble is kind of payback.’

She felt deflated. So he wasn’t doing this because he liked her.

‘You’re right. I don’t like you,’ he agreed—as if she’d said it out loud. Or maybe it was written all over her face. ‘I don’t like what you stand for. The way you were quite happy to take your allowance and swan off round the world, then almost never came back to see your grandparents.’

‘And how would you know anything about that?’

‘Because I saw the wistfulness in Gino’s face whenever he talked about you.’

Her grandfather had talked to Dante about her?

‘He missed you.’

Guilt flooded through her. She hadn’t been fair, but her grandparents had never complained. She didn’t have to give him any explanation for her behaviour; but on the other hand she didn’t want him to think she was completely selfish and spoiled. ‘I was eighteen, Dante. I knew there was a big wide world out there. I wanted to see it. I wanted to know what else there was outside Naples. So, yes, I travelled. I went to Rome, to Milan, to Paris. To Sydney and New York and LA.’

‘Style capitals.’ He didn’t look impressed.

‘Yes, I’ll give you that. The fashion drew me, at first. But then I went to London. To meet my mother’s family. To find out about that side of me. Wouldn’t you have been curious, in my shoes? Wouldn’t you have wanted to meet the side of the family you’d never met?’

That rather depended on what the family was like, Dante thought. He didn’t want anything to do with his father’s family. He’d seen more than enough destruction in the first fourteen years of his life and he didn’t need to see any more. ‘Maybe,’ he said cagily.

‘And I didn’t desert my grandparents. I rang home three times a week. I sent pictures and emails.’

‘Which isn’t the same as being here.’ He paused. ‘What made you come back?’

‘Primarily, Nonno and Nonna’s golden wedding anniversary.’ She sighed. ‘And then I realised they were getting old. My English grandparents had other children and grandchildren to look after them, but Nonno and Nonna only had me. So I thought it was time to come home.’

‘And take over the family business.’

She nodded. ‘Because I’m the last of the Toniellis. I have to step up to the plate.’

It wasn’t what she wanted to do. He could see that. Yet she wasn’t ignoring her duty—and he approved of that.

‘What about your job in the art gallery?’

‘Amy retired—she was ill, and the gallery was too much of a burden. She sold it.’

‘Didn’t the new owner want to keep you on?’

She blew out a breath. ‘Let’s just say we didn’t see eye to eye. So I guess it worked out for the best—I could leave and come back to Naples without letting anyone down.’

‘What was the problem?’

‘He treated me like an airhead. Which,’ she said, ‘I’m not. I could’ve done a degree.’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Pushing paper around and partying for three years?’

‘No, a university education teaches you how to think.’ She frowned. ‘I take it you didn’t go to university.’

‘No. And I didn’t miss a thing. I learned a lot more from life.’

‘Didn’t your parents want you to go?’

He didn’t want to talk about his parents. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘There’s more to life than studying.’

‘A minute ago, you were kissing me. Now, we’re sniping at each other.’ She shook her head, as if she didn’t have a clue how it had started. ‘Why are we fighting?’

‘Because you don’t understand where I’m coming from, and I don’t understand you. It’s like comparing … oh, apples and oranges. We’re too different.’ Though it didn’t stop him wanting her. And he hated the fact that she could make his control slip.

‘So what are we going to do about this?’ she asked.

‘About what?’

‘You and me.’

‘There is no you and me.’

She moved forward again, just far enough to brush against his erection. ‘No?’

‘There is no you and me,’ he repeated through gritted teeth. He’d agree to mentor her. But it was hard to concentrate on this mentoring stuff when they couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to rip each other’s clothes off.

‘You’re telling me,’ she said dryly.

He groaned. ‘Tell me I didn’t say that out loud.’

‘You did.’ And she looked mightily pleased about it.

What was wrong with him? He never lost control like this. He’d spent years training himself to have absolute control over his feelings. To make sure that he didn’t turn into his father.

But there was something about Carenza Tonielli. Something that made all his rules just beg to be broken. He bent his head to hers and kissed her again, enjoying the way she responded so hotly to him. The way she opened her mouth beneath his, letting him deepen the kiss. The way her hands curved over his buttocks, pulling him closer.

When he broke the kiss, her eyes were fever-bright and her mouth looked utterly lush. ‘Why don’t you just take me home, Princess?’ he asked softly. ‘Come home with me and do me.’

Her mouth parted. Delectably. Tempting. Perfect, even white teeth; soft, perfect rosebud lips; and she made him ache. God, he wanted her. He couldn’t remember wanting anyone this much in his entire life. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.