Surrendering To The Vengeful Italian

Carlos switched his attention to Helena. ‘It is fortunate, I think, that my daughter could not be here tonight. I fear she would be jealous of such a beauty at Leo’s side.’

The provocative compliment heightened her colour but her hesitation was brief. ‘I’m so sorry to hear your daughter is too ill to come out, Mr San—Carlos. That really is most unfortunate.’ Her voice sang with sympathy. ‘I do hope she’ll be back on her feet again soon. You must tell her she has missed a wonderful, wonderful evening.’

Leo fought back a smirk. She might blush like a novice in a convent, but there was backbone beneath that pseudo-innocent charm. He noted a quirk at the corner of Santino’s mouth. A flash of approval in his eyes.

Carlos inclined his head. ‘I will, my dear.’ To Leo, he said, ‘I owe you an apology, my friend. When you told my daughter you had someone special in your life I assumed you were letting her down gently with a lie. I see now I was mistaken. You do have a special lady, indeed. And I am pleased to make her acquaintance at last.’

Leo felt the flesh at his nape tighten. He’d known that small white lie would come back one day and bite him. But flat-out rejecting the daughter of a client as powerful as Santino had seemed as sensible as cementing his feet and jumping into the Tiber. Claiming he was committed to another woman had seemed a kinder, more effective solution.

Carlos’s focus returned to Helena. ‘How often are you in Rome, Helena?’

Her lips parted and Leo shot her a hard, silencing look. She closed her mouth and frowned at him.

‘Not often,’ he interceded. ‘Business brings me to London on a regular basis.’

‘Ah, shame. In that case you need a reason to bring her to our great city.’ Carlos’s sudden smile drove a shaft of alarm straight to the centre of Leo’s gut. ‘My wife and I are celebrating our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary next weekend. Maria has organised a party—something large and extravagant, knowing my wife. Please join us. We’d be delighted to welcome you both.’

In the fleeting moment of silence that followed Leo caught a movement from the corner of his eye, but not until he felt the press of her palm on his thigh did he get his first inkling of what Helena intended.

Too late, his brain flashed a warning.

‘Thank you, Carlos,’ she said, her voice as smooth and sweet as liquid honey. ‘That’s very kind of you. We’d love to come.’ She turned her head and flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘Wouldn’t we, darling?’

She squeezed his leg and heat exploded in the muscle under her hand. He tensed, biting back an exclamation, the fire shooting straight from his thigh to his groin. Madre di Dio. If the vixen inched her fingers any higher he would not be responsible for his body’s reaction. He gritted his teeth until pain arced through his jaw—a welcome distraction from the killer sensations stirring south of his waist.

‘I will need to check my schedule.’ He forced the words past the hot, viscous anger building in his throat. What the hell was she doing? ‘I may have another commitment.’

‘Of course.’

Carlos stood and Leo rose with him, unseating the hand that was dangerously close to setting his pants alight.

‘My assistant will contact your office on Monday with the details.’ Carlos inclined his head. ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Helena. And now I must find my wife before my absence is noted. Leo—good to see you. It has been too long.’

Leo nodded and watched his client’s retreating back, the tension in his chest climbing into his throat until it threatened to choke off his air supply.

He turned, glared at her. ‘Get your bag.’

‘What?’ She stared up at him, wide-eyed. ‘Why?’

‘Just do it.’

When she hesitated, he grabbed her bag and wrapped a hand around her upper arm, hauled her to her feet.

She snatched her bag from him. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere private. To talk. Is that not what you wanted?’

She didn’t utter a single word as he marched her out of the ballroom.

* * *

The instant the elevator doors closed Helena jerked her arm out of Leo’s grasp. ‘There’s no need to manhandle me.’

He punched the button for the top floor of the hotel and threw her a look so thunderous a sliver of fear lodged in her spine. She edged away, reminded herself with a hard swallow that not all men were physically abusive. But if he was planning to shout she wished to God he’d get on with it. Anything had to be better than this...this tense, oppressive silence.

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