Resisting The Sicilian Playboy

‘Are you asking me to pose as your date?’

‘What other reason would we have for being in Palermo together? I think it’s the most believable scenario, don’t you?’

Maybe it was the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours catching up with her, but Dara felt a wave of hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up to the surface. The thought that anyone would believe a man like Leo Valente was dating a plain Irish nobody like her was absolutely ludicrous.

He continued, oblivious to her stunned reaction. ‘You would leave the business talk to me. All I need is for you to act as a buffer of sorts—play on your history with Lucchesi’s family. Someone with a personal connection to smooth the way.”

‘A buffer? That sounds so flattering …’ she muttered.

‘You would get all the benefits of being my companion and being a guest at an exclusive event. It would be enjoyable, I believe.’

‘Umberto Lucchesi is a powerful man. He must have good reason not to trust you,’ she mused. ‘I’m not quite sure I can risk my reputation.’

‘I’m a powerful man, Dara. You climbed a building to get a meeting with me. I’m offering you an opportunity to get exactly what you want. It’s up to you if you take it or not.’

Dear Reader,

This story began as a flicker of an idea—as most stories do. I was newly engaged, and exploring a wedding fair in Dublin, when I spotted a kiosk that advertised dream Italian weddings. The idea that someone could have such a glamorous job—planning events in such spectacular locations—was fascinating. The character of Dara was born instantly: a super-organised wedding planner on a mission to take her career to the next level.

It was while researching possible locations that I stumbled across the breathtaking Castello di Donnafugata in Ragusa. Leo’s family estate is inspired by this ancient Sicilian landmark. I fell in love with the dramatic façade and wondered what it would have been like to grow up in such a place … to wake up in the morning and look out of the arched windows to see waves crashing on the cliffs below …

And so it came about that I entered the 2014 So You Think You Can Write competition—with the aim of finally typing ‘The End’ on Leo and Dara’s story. I had no idea that it would be the beginning of a wonderful adventure of my own. The support I received was overwhelming, and being named winner of the competition is a moment I will never, ever forget.

Writing, to me, is like dreaming on paper, and I am honoured to be able to share my dreams with you.

Amanda

Resisting

the Sicilian

Playboy

Amanda Cinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AMANDA CINELLI was raised in a large Irish/Italian family in the suburbs of Dublin, Ireland. Her love of romance was inspired after ‘borrowing’ one of her mother’s beloved Mills & Boon® novels at the age of twelve. Writing soon became a necessary outlet for her wildly over-active imagination.

Now married, with a daughter of her own, she splits her time between changing nappies, studying psychology and writing love stories.

For my dear friend Kirsty. This story would never have been finished without you.

For my mother, Audrey. For your unwavering belief in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.

And for my father, Paolo. For showing me that with hard work and determination you can achieve anything.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

DARA DEVLIN HAD found herself in a few sticky situations in this job, but this had to be by far the worst.

A professional event planner should never gatecrash. It had to be written somewhere in the company handbook. Yet here she was, straddling the second-floor balcony ledge of Milan’s most exclusive nightclub in four-inch designer heels.

All in the name of business, of course.

The heels had certainly slowed progress up the slippery emergency ladder, but leaving them in the alley below was unthinkable. A woman stood by her shoes, no matter how sticky the situation. And this situation most definitely qualified as sticky.

Handbag in one hand, she silently willed her skirt not to tear as she manoeuvred herself less than gracefully over the cold stone ledge, landing on hard marble tiles. Her watch showed it was just past ten. An unfashionably early time to be going clubbing in this part of the world, but dancing wasn’t on her agenda tonight.

The city’s premier celebrity hotspot, Platinum I, was celebrating its grand reopening this weekend and entry was strictly invitation only. No amount of her Irish charm would sway the arrogant hostess with her little black clipboard.

Nevertheless, Dara was determined to get into this party one way or another. She was only in town for the weekend before she had to head back south to her company’s office in Syracuse. Failing this task just wasn’t an option.

When her various contacts had said Leonardo Valente was untouchable, she had accepted the challenge with enthusiasm. She had the opportunity to plan the most high-profile wedding of her career—all she needed was one man’s cooperation.

How hard could it be?

Even after three weeks of rejected emails and dead-end phone calls she had refused to give up. Armed with her tablet computer and her snazziest designer suit, she had foolishly believed she could just travel to his Milan office and demand to be seen.

The joke was on her. Because it seemed that Leonardo Valente’s office didn’t even exist. The address on his secretary’s email had led her to a professional call-answering headquarters, where her enquiries had all been rejected point-blank.

It was just plain good luck that she had found out about tonight. The first club in the worldwide Platinum chain was turning ten years old and celebrating with a star-studded relaunch weekend.

Her grasp on the Italian language was far from perfect, but one thing was certain: Leonardo Valente was here tonight, inside these walls. All she had to do was find a way inside.

She looked around the empty terrace and felt her stomach tighten. She had hoped it would be some sort of outdoor seating area where she could just climb over the wall and melt into the crowd. She bit her lip. It was still some part of the club, and it was her only hope of getting inside.

The wall of the building was made almost entirely out of glass, each pane a deep glossy black, making it impossible to see what was inside. The thump of music had been deafening down on the ground, but on this terrace it was completely muffled.

She ignored the uncomfortable twitch in her stomach, putting it down to nerves. She was sneaking into an exclusive event, after all—nerves were to be expected. In life sometimes you had to break the rules to get ahead, but this pretty much went against every fibre of her goody-two-shoes nature.

Pushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, she placed one hand on the window. Her pale skin reflected brightly in the black glass, her steel-grey eyes calm and focused as she made her way slowly from pane to pane. She began pressing her fingertips along each narrow gap, searching for a hinge, a hook—something that hinted at an opening.

After she had exhausted every possible angle, she stepped back and surveyed the rest of the terrace with a frown. It made no sense. Surely there had to be a way to get inside.

She felt a sudden irrational urge to kick the glass and force her way in. But that would never do. Dara Devlin quite simply did not lose her cool—no matter how rough the situation was getting. It was the main reason brides from all over the world called her to plan their dream Sicilian weddings.

With a deep, calming breath, she forced herself to think. While climbing up here had definitely been worth a shot, unfortunately she was now two storeys up and not going anywhere fast. Her hands gripped the cold stone as she peered over the ledge. The street looked much further down from up here, and she was suddenly feeling a lot less brave.

‘Signorina, is there a particular reason you are sneaking around out here in the darkness?’

The deep, sensual voice came suddenly from behind her, making her breath catch painfully in her throat.

Dara turned slowly, eyes widening when she saw that a pane of glass had somehow disappeared and a man now stood watching her.

How had she not heard someone coming? It was far too late to try and escape back down the ladder now. Her mind raced as she tried to find a way to spin this that wouldn’t get her arrested.

‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’

His face was slightly obscured in the shadows, but she could tell from his dark suit and crossed arms that he was definitely someone in charge—most likely Security. Damn and double damn. This was not going well.

Time to think, Devlin. Forcing her tone to keep light, she laughed breathlessly and spoke in fast-paced English. No one arrested a silly blonde in trouble.

‘Well, finally someone’s bothered to come out and help me.’ She sighed for dramatic effect. ‘I’ve been banging on the glass for twenty minutes, trying to get back inside.’

‘You couldn’t find the door, no?’

His perfect English surprised her, but the mocking tone said he wasn’t buying it. She kept talking anyway.

‘It’s a safety hazard. I was looking to get some fresh air and someone said I could step out here for a moment—’

‘So you decided to scale the building to get to it?’ he said. It wasn’t a question, more an amused statement. ‘Do you make a habit of wearing heels to climb up buildings? It’s quite a talent.’

Dara opened her mouth to protest, but thought against it.

‘One-way glass.’ He gestured over his shoulder. It was too dark to see his face, but there was a definite smirk in his silky voice as he spoke. ‘The moment you realised you weren’t getting inside was really quite entertaining. I was convinced you were about to throw a tantrum.’

Dara huffed out the breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding. Well, it was great that he found this situation so funny, because from where she was standing her mission had just been unceremoniously called to a halt. She would likely be hauled out of here by the collar of her crisp white shirt and maybe even charged with trespassing.

‘I realise how this looks—’ she began, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

‘Do you? Because from here it looks like you were trying to break into my private floor in what I can only assume is a naughty secretary outfit.’

Dara frowned at that. ‘What? I am not a naughty—’ Her brain froze, processing the first chunk of his accusations.

The man stepped forward into the light, revealing a face that she had seen countless times in the tabloids. Dara felt her entire body freeze as she realised just who she had been lying to.

‘Oh, God, you’re him.’

Her razor-sharp professional reflexes turned to mush as she took in all six-feet-plus of muscular Sicilian male.

‘If by “him” you mean the owner of the building you just attempted to break into, then that’s a yes.’ The glow seemed to have left his eyes now, and had been replaced by a keen cynicism. ‘I suppose you’re going to want to come inside now? Start telling me about how this is all some crazy misunderstanding?’

Arms folded across an impressive chest, he stood waiting for her to dig her hole even deeper.

Hot embarrassment clawed up Dara’s neck. He clearly thought this was a scheme to get him alone. She’d read the magazines. Women threw themselves at Leo Valente everywhere he went. And it wasn’t just that he was mega-rich—although for some women that would be more than enough. With this man, the words they used were mouthwatering, delicious and sinful.

It had always made her laugh to hear of men described like desserts, but now, standing five feet away from him, she could kind of understand the madness.

He was a far cry from her usual type. His dark hair reached just under his collar and was a bit too untidy, his eyelashes were too long and his jaw overgrown with dark stubble. But even she couldn’t argue that he was a sight to behold. And he had taken one look at her tidy blazer and blouse and presumed she was some groupie, here to play dress-up games.

She almost groaned with embarrassment. This was not the shining first impression she had banked on.

‘Well, as much as I enjoy being stared at, I really don’t have all night.’

Dara’s heart gave an uncomfortable thump. ‘I wasn’t staring,’ she said, rather too quickly. ‘I was just...thinking.’

Oh, now this was just getting worse and worse. The moment she had been working towards for three weeks had finally presented itself and her mind had decided to go into sleep mode.

One dark eyebrow rose, mocking her. ‘Were you thinking about this particular situation, or are there other criminal acts you’ve committed tonight?’

Criminal? Dara felt hot panic rise in her chest. ‘Mr Valente, I can assure you I was not attempting to commit a crime.’

‘Relax. I won’t call in the hounds just yet. But you failed to notice the security camera watching your every move.’ He pointed to a tiny blinking red light above her head. ‘My team was halfway up here when I told them to wait.’

‘Why did you do that?’ The question was out before she could stop herself.

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I was bored. You looked interesting.’

She thought for a moment, but could not come up with a single response to that comment. Perhaps if he found her so interesting she could captivate him long enough to make her proposal.

She cleared her throat. ‘Just so we’re clear: I’m not a criminal. I’m a wedding planner.’ She watched as his eyes narrowed.

‘Same thing, in my opinion.’ He smirked. ‘I liked my naughty secretary theory much better.’

And just like that Dara found herself the subject of Leonardo Valente’s infamous smouldering gaze. She cleared her throat, trying to think of something—anything—to break the tension. The air was beginning to feel very thin up here on this darkened terrace, and it had nothing to do with the altitude.

‘Your theory is incorrect. I’m not here for anything like...like that.’

‘Such a pity. Nonetheless, you have my attention.’ He turned abruptly to go inside, pausing when she didn’t immediately follow behind him. ‘Unless you plan on going back down that ladder again, I suggest you follow me.’

With that he was gone, leaving Dara with no choice but to obey.

The room on the other side of the glass was twice the size of her entire apartment. She saw him press a few buttons in a panel on the wall and suddenly soft light illuminated the room. It was not an office, but nor was it an apartment. It reminded her of the lobby of a very exclusive hotel, with modern cubic seating and an impressive glass fireplace.

Exactly why a nightclub needed a room like this she wasn’t sure—maybe he used it to entertain private guests. That thought made her clutch her handbag a little tighter in front of her, and feeling the outline of her computer reminded her of why she was there.

He pressed another button on the panel and the clever door slid silently back into place behind him. She could see that it was indeed one-way glass, and her ears burned at the thought of him watching her for all that time.

He turned around to face her and for the first time she noticed the vivid colour of his eyes. They weren’t dark, as she had thought from his photographs, but a unique shade of deep forest green. Dara shook her head. Why was she even looking at his eyes, for goodness’ sake? This was a business meeting, not a school dance.

‘So, do you have a name—or will I just call you Spiderwoman?’ That smirk was still firmly in place as he took a couple of steps towards her.

Her inner professional was sharp enough to see a perfect moment. ‘I actually have my card in here somewhere...if you’d just give me a second...’ She began fishing in her bag—maybe she should launch into the entire presentation now, before he had a chance to shoot her down.

Without warning he was in front of her, taking the bag from her hand and placing it gently on the floor. ‘I did not ask for a card. I asked for your name—from your lips, preferably.’

His gaze travelled down to her mouth and she felt her stomach flutter in response. She ignored the sensation, straightening her chin and meeting his gaze head-on. ‘It’s Dara Devlin.’

He nodded, as though she had answered correctly.

‘So...Dara the wedding planner...’ His deep voice purred her name, as though he was tasting it on his tongue. ‘What gives me the pleasure of your company this evening?’

‘I’m not here for pleasure.’ She took a step back, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. ‘What I mean is, I came here to find you. To talk business.’

He raised one dark brow. ‘Who comes to a nightclub to talk business?’

‘Well, you do,’ she said confidently. That earned her a puzzled look. ‘I’m here to discuss a possible deal between you and a very high-profile client of mine. All I’m asking is just five minutes of your time.’

‘I have a swarm of media vultures downstairs in the club. Every one of them is waiting for “just five minutes”. Why should you get to skip the queue?’

‘If they deserved the time they would have climbed up here by now.’

Without warning he threw his dark head back and laughed—a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to resonate right to her core. The gesture shocked her for a moment, and her eyes moved down to take in the strong column of his throat, the dark hairs that disappeared into the casually open collar of his shirt.

Dara swallowed, her throat feeling strangely dry. She looked up—only to be pinned by that mocking emerald gaze again.

‘You know, despite the fact that you could have killed yourself climbing up here tonight, I admit that I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘You deserve those five minutes based on sheer nerve and creativity.’

Dara smiled with triumph and eagerly reached for the tablet computer in her bag. ‘Wonderful. I’ve actually prepared a short pitch, if you want to take a seat?’

‘No,’ he said simply.

Her bag flopped back down to the ground as she took in his sudden change of tone. ‘But you said that—’

‘I said I’d give you your five minutes, Dara Devlin. I didn’t say when.’

She felt a frown crease her forehead and quickly smoothed it down. This man was impossible. It was just five minutes, for goodness’ sake. They had easily spent three times that up here already.

He gestured for her to move towards the door, closing a button on his tailored suit jacket in the process. ‘You can arrange a time with my secretary. In the meantime, the party is just getting started downstairs.’

Dara felt her temper finally bubble up to the surface. ‘I’ve been calling your secretary for three weeks—why do you think I pulled this stunt?’

‘I just presumed you enjoyed a little espionage on a Friday night.’ He smirked.

She fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She needed to get to the subject of this meeting, but it had to be done just right or he would shoot her down—just like all the others who had approached him before her. Her presentation built up slowly, allowing her time to sway his thinking. He clearly wasn’t going to give her that chance.

‘Aren’t you just a little curious about what made me climb up here?’ she asked, desperate to stall him.

He moved forward so that they stood little more than a couple of steps apart in the silent room. ‘It surprises me to find that I’m quite intrigued by you.’ His eyes lowered to take in every inch of her body in one heated sweep.

Dara felt a rush of heat colour her cheeks. She might not have much experience with flirtation, but there was no mistaking the glitter in his eyes. This man was everything the tabloids made him out to be. Suave, sensual and utterly scandalous.

‘You know, I can’t remember the last time I made a woman blush.’ He stepped closer, his voice deepening. ‘Come have a drink with me, Dara. Let down that beautiful blonde hair of yours.’

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr Valente.’ She pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, feeling more than a little self-conscious under his gaze.

‘Mr Valente was my father—you can call me Leo.’ He smiled. ‘What business could be so important that it can’t wait until Monday morning?’

Dara spied her chance to turn the conversation. ‘My condolences on your father’s recent passing. I understand the funeral was held at your castello in Ragusa?’

‘So I’ve been told.’ He shrugged. ‘People die every day, Miss Devlin. I prefer to focus on more enjoyable pursuits.’

Even after bringing up the subject of his father, the man was still flirting with her. He really was a complete playboy. She decided a more direct approach was definitely needed.

‘The castello is a beautiful piece of history. It’s such a shame that it lies dormant most of the time.’

‘Why do I get the feeling this is more than idle chit-chat?’ He narrowed his gaze, all trace of flirtation gone.

‘Well, you see, it’s part of the reason that I’m here.’ Feeling a sense of foreboding, she powered on. ‘I’m here to propose a deal for Castello Bellamo that I feel you will benefit greatly from.’

She blurted it out as confidently as she could and felt the swell of victory as he froze in place. The playful charmer seemed to disappear before her eyes, his expression taking on a detached hardness.

He met her eyes, a single muscle ticking on his jaw. When he spoke his voice was somehow deeper than before, his accent more pronounced. ‘Well, it seems you have wasted both your time and mine tonight. I’ll tell you the same thing that I have told every other vulture that has approached me since my father’s death. The castle is not for sale.’

Dara shook her head, desperate for him to understand. ‘I don’t want to buy it—I want to hold a wedding there. I’m sure that we can come to some sort of—’

A flick of his hand cut her off mid-sentence. ‘I don’t care if you want to use it to house blind orphans. The matter is not open for discussion.’

‘I understand that the castello has been left in disrepair for some time now—’

‘It can stay that way, for all I care. Contrary to what people may think, these little games don’t work for me—no matter how pretty the messenger is.’ His eyes raked down to her heels, taking in every inch of her body with an exaggerated slowness before meeting her eyes once more.

‘This conversation is over,’ he gritted. ‘I’ll have someone sent up to escort you out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to attend to.’

Without another word he strode from the room, leaving Dara to stare after him in disbelief.

That had been a rather dramatic turn of events. She knew his father had died recently, and it had been tactless of her to use it as part of her argument. But what other choice did she have? The most lucrative wedding contract of her career was within touching distance and she had personally promised the bride Castello Bellamo. If she failed to deliver she could say goodbye to her miraculous gateway into society weddings. Her name would be worthless.