The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo: Alessandro's Prize / In a Storm of Scandal / Italian Groom, Princess Bride

She was ready with minutes to spare, and she caught up her evening purse and headed out to the lounge in time to hear the buzz of the in-house phone.

Alessandro. Yet caution had her checking the visual monitor before relaying she was on her way down.

A clutch of nerves rose in her stomach as the lift descended, and she took a deep calming breath scant seconds before the steel doors opened onto the foyer.

This was just dinner. For four, not à deux.

So chill, smile and have a great time.

Yet she only had to look at him to know she was way out of her depth.

The chiselled facial features, the dark, almost black eyes, which saw much more than she wanted them to. As to his mouth … the memory of how it felt possessing her own was so vivid, she barely controlled a faint quiver.

Deal with it.

And she did, offering a generous smile as she moved to his side. ‘Hi.’ Too bright, too much?

‘Buona sera, Liliana.’

There it was again … Liliana. Did he know what it did to her?

‘Shall we go?’

How was it possible to look forward to sharing dinner with a man who turned her emotions every which way, when all she felt impelled to do was to retreat to safety?

It didn’t make sense.

‘You’re interested in restoring old buildings,’ Lily ventured as they purred through the streets. ‘Are you working on a project at the moment?’

‘Yes. There are various stipulations in place. Permissions to be granted, the submission and approval of plans. The legalities involved. All of which can become a long process.’

‘Bureaucracy and red tape while numerous sources confer, consult and compare,’ she lightly posed, and glimpsed his wry smile.

‘Occasionally for several months.’

‘I imagine patience is key.’

He spared her a glance. ‘You don’t consider me to be a patient man?’

Lily considered him carefully. ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘If you wanted something enough.’

The man seated at her side was capable of achieving whatever he wanted, by whatever means it took to gain his objective. For beneath the sophisticated exterior was a ruthlessness born from a need to survive at any cost.

A loyal friend, she perceived, but a dangerous adversary.

It didn’t help that she was incredibly aware of him, the primitive sensuality he generated with no seeming effort at all. He had the look of a man who knew everything there was to know about women, what they wanted, needed, and the skill to deliver—in bed, and out of it.

Where had that come from?

Like she needed another man’s touch?

She’d sworn off men, remember? All men.

Especially men of Alessandro’s calibre. With whom even the lightest dalliance would be akin to treading a precarious path through an emotional minefield.

The light touch of his hand at the back of her waist felt warm, almost protective as he guided her towards the bar where Giarda and Massimo were seated.

Giarda stood and brushed her lips to Lily’s cheek. ‘It is so good to see you both,’ she greeted, and repeated the action with Alessandro, with Massimo following suit.

‘We shall have a drink together before moving to our table,’ Giarda indicated, and Massimo’s eyes gleamed with latent humour.

‘My wife likes to be in charge.’

‘Because it amuses you to allow me to do so,’ Giarda responded sweetly.

The chemistry between them was almost palpable, and Lily felt a momentary tinge of envy. They looked so good together, so right. It made her faintly wistful that such a shared passion would be missing from her own life.

Once bitten, twice shy … kind of said it all.

It was interesting to see that both Alessandro and Massimo appeared to be the best of friends, as well as business associates. Any past rivalry had obviously been dispensed with long ago.

The restaurant seemed to be a favourite among the social elite, of whom Massimo, Giarda and Alessandro obviously ranked highly, given the almost obsequious attention accorded them by the maître d’ and wait-staff.

The food was perfection, the presentation superb. On a scale of one to ten, Lily mentally afforded top marks.

They had just finished the main course when Giarda lifted her goblet of wine and took an appreciative sip, then returned the goblet to the table.

‘In a couple of weeks Massimo and I celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary,’ she began, pausing to smile at her husband. ‘We are hosting a party at our Lake Maggiore villa on the Saturday evening, and we want to invite you both for the weekend to share the celebration with us. There will be a Sunday brunch on board as we cruise the lakes. It will be wonderful to have you join us,’ she concluded with genuine warmth.

‘Grazie, Giarda,’ Alessandro said with an affectionate smile. ‘We accept with pleasure.’

Lily’s eyes widened. Hang on a minute, there is no we. Besides, she was rostered to work on Saturday and Sunday for the next few weeks.

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,’ Lily said with regret. ‘I’ll be working the weekend.’

Giarda looked genuinely disappointed for a few seconds, then she smiled. ‘I’m sure if you approach your boss, he will arrange for you to reschedule.’

Saturday evening was usually a restaurant’s busiest night. ‘I don’t think it will be possible.’

‘Lily, promise me you will ask,’ Giarda pleaded persuasively, and Lily inclined her head.

‘I’ll approach the head chef tomorrow.’

‘You could go straight to the top and ask your boss now.’

To place a call on her cell-phone during dinner seemed incredibly impolite, and she was about to say so when Giarda offered quietly,

‘He is seated at this table.’

Lily’s eyes widened with surprise as she cast a startled glance at Massimo, who silently indicated Alessandro.

Alessandro owned the restaurant where she worked?

It took mere seconds for everything to click into place. Sophia’s choice of restaurant for lunch, the opportunity to work there. Happenstance was a fine thing, but in this instance it seemed too coincidental not to have been preplanned.

She cast him a deliberately bright smile before turning towards Giarda. ‘In that case, rescheduling my weekend shift won’t be a problem.’

‘Good. It is settled. We will look forward to seeing you both mid-afternoon.’

‘Thank you,’ Lily added politely. ‘I’ll look forward to

it.’

Somehow she managed to get through the remainder of the evening, although acting a part while inwardly seething took some effort.

It didn’t help when Alessandro placed an arm along the back of her chair as the waitress served them coffee.

A casual gesture, it succeeded in tripping her pulse, not to mention heightening her awareness of him, the refined exclusiveness of his cologne. Dammit, everything about him.

Bidding Giarda and Massimo goodnight involved several minutes as they exchanged pleasantries before parting to collect their car.

Lily waited until Alessandro ignited the engine and they joined the flow of traffic.

‘How did it go down, Alessandro?’ she queried with deceptive lightness. ‘And don’t insult my intelligence by fudging fact.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

She directed him a dark look, which should have felled him, but had no effect at all. ‘Sophia could have selected any one of many restaurants to share lunch that day.’

‘It concerns you that she chose mine?’

Her eyes flashed in the reflected light of oncoming traffic. ‘Only that it reeks of being a deliberate set-up.’

‘And that angers you?’

‘I dislike being deceived. Or being given an unfair advantage.’

‘You earned your employment,’ he reminded silkily.

‘You’re a professional chef, you own and head a restaurant, and you happen to speak fluent French and Italian.’

‘Tell me … if I’d walked in off the street as an unknown and asked for employment, would I have succeeded?’

‘Probably not.’

Lily’s eyes darkened measurably as he eased to a halt outside her apartment building and cut the engine.

It irked unbearably that he had merely been kind due to his connection with Sophia. Doubtless he viewed it as a duty, and probably found her company boring.

‘No.’

Lily’s eyes flared a little. ‘Excuse me?’

‘No.’ he reiterated quietly as he released his seat belt.

‘You have no idea what—’

‘You’re thinking? Try me.’

He framed her face and lowered his mouth within a hair’s breadth of her own. Then his mouth covered her own, seeking, persuasive, his touch skilful as he tasted the inner sweetness, coaxing until a reluctant groan rose unbidden deep in her throat and she gave in to the need to savour his touch, to exult in the mastery he gifted her.

It was more, so much more than she’d imagined as she became lost … so involved that she whimpered as he began to ease back.

For what seemed an age he simply looked at her, and the breath hitched raggedly in her throat as he smoothed a gentle thumb over her lower lip.

‘Now you understand.’

Did she?

Oh, dear heaven. ‘I can’t. You.’ Her eyes registered stark disbelief, shock … at the passion they’d just shared. ‘I have to …’ She pulled away from him, barely aware that he let her go as she fumbled with the seat belt, then she reached for the door clasp and scrambled out from the car.

Her key. dammit, where was her key?

‘Your purse.’

When had he emerged from behind the wheel and moved to her side?

Somehow she extracted her keys, and she was unaware he moved with her to the main entrance, or that he followed her into the lobby until they reached the lift.

‘Please … just go.’

‘When I’ve seen you safely inside your apartment.’

‘No,’ Lily protested. ‘I’m fine.’

Sure you are. Admit it … you’re an emotional mess.

The lift door slid open and he followed her in, pressed the appropriate button, and regarded her pensively as the lift travelled to her floor.

Without a word he took the keys from her hand and inserted the right key into the lock and opened the door before handing the bunch back to her. ‘Buona notte, cara. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

She shook her head helplessly.

‘Lock the door behind me.’

She did so, her actions on autopilot as she crossed to her bedroom to stand staring sightlessly into space, until reality intervened.

With automatic movements she slid off her stilettos, then she discarded her clothes before entering the en suite.

Her fingers trembled as she removed the pins from her hair and swept it into a loose tail. It was then she caught sight of her reflection and closed her eyes to temporarily block out the image—pale face, huge eyes, a swollen well-kissed mouth.

Oh, my.

Where did she go from here?

CHAPTER EIGHT

LILY CHECKED HER ROSTER, noted her next free day, and called Sophia.

Family, she accorded wistfully. True friends were gold, but beloved family represented the finest of precious jewels.

‘I have a free day on Wednesday,’ Lily explained when they’d exchanged mutual news. ‘I’d love to have you to dinner at my place. Carlo, too, of course.’ She paused fractionally. ‘And Alessandro.’

If Sophia noticed the slight change in Lily’s voice, she chose not to comment. ‘I accept with pleasure. You will contact Alessandro?’

‘Yes.’ Doing so was a given, although just thinking about making the call had her stomach doing a slow somersault. ‘Does seven-thirty suit?’

‘Perfect. I’m so looking forward to it.’

‘It’ll be great,’ Lily responded with genuine warmth.

With Sophia and Carlo, yes. Alessandro’s presence … not so much.

So why do you go to pieces whenever you see him?

Melt when he touches you, even in the most casual manner? And let’s not think about the way his mouth feels on your own … lethal, she admitted.

So make the call, why don’t you? Get it over with before you need to leave for the afternoon shift. After all, what could be easier … you have his cell-phone number on speed-dial.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Lily. What can I do for you?’

She was tempted to tell him, except that would be most unwise. ‘I’ve invited Sophia and Carlo to dinner on Wednesday evening. Are you free to join us?’

‘It will be a pleasure.’ His voice held a warm sensuality that sent her pulse-beat into overdrive.

‘Seven-thirty, my place.’ She got the details out quickly, adding, ‘Ciao’ before ending the connection.

There, it was done.

In his luxurious office Alessandro put down the phone and contained a slight smile. He received many invitations over the course of each year, among them social, and the intimate kind. But none, he mused, that had been issued with such polite reluctance.

Lily … or Liliana, as he preferred to think of her, was a piece of work. Warm, charming, delightful, when she let down her guard.

A welcome change from women who played the seductive game for any man sufficiently wealthy to afford the lifestyle they craved. Their bodies sculptured to what they perceived as perfection, their adopted façade so practised they became carbon copies of each other.

He could name a dozen or more he could call who would drop everything to be by his side.

Except Lily Parisi, the one woman he wanted, who kissed like an angel and fitted into his arms as if she was meant to be there.

He intended that she would, eventually. When he’d succeeded in earning her trust.

Time and patience … he possessed both.

And he always won.

The night was busy, with every table filled in the restaurant. Which involved kitchen and wait staff working with maximum efficiency.

Lily was beginning to feel comfortable and part of a valued team. Any reserve on Giovanni’s part no longer existed, and Cristo, even at his temperamental best, she could usually succeed in making him smile.

Of the wait-staff, she shared an empathy with Hannah, whose sense of humour and facial expressions on occasion lightened the load. Especially when the occupants of a table chose to place an order and expect a gourmet dish be delivered in a matter of minutes.

Giovanni, who usually held everyone together with unruffled calm, was known to vent sotto voce, that he ran a first class restaurant, not a franchised fast-food chain.

As in any restaurant, on occasion, there appeared the guest who felt empowered to impress loudly with his knowledge of wine, assuring anyone who cared to listen that he was a noted connoisseur of fine food, only to view the dish he’d ordered with a disappointed sigh, appear to reluctantly fork a sample taste into his mouth, deliberately test the morsel and give a slight but expressive shrug as if to convey it failed to meet his expectation.

Then there was the guest who found fault with everything, and made such a production of sending each dish back to the kitchen, after consuming part of it, in a ploy to gain a complimentary meal.

A good lurk if you could work it, and there were the few who attempted to try.

Lily reached the end of her shift, removed her apron and tossed it into the laundry bin, and was about to leave when Hannah caught her attention.

‘We’re both on the lunch shift tomorrow. What say we share a coffee together when we’re done?’

‘Love to.’ Lily gave a quick smile and received an impish grin in response.

It would be fun, Lily reflected on the edge of sleep. Hannah was of a similar age and they shared the same interests.

‘You choose,’ Lily declared as they finished up the following day. ‘You’ve been in Milan longer than I have.’

‘One year and counting,’ Hannah agreed. ‘There’s this little café a few streets away that serves divine coffee.’

‘Then let’s go.’

It was small but cosy, and they chose a table, ordered a latte each, and it was Hannah who spoke first.

‘Is this where we exchange our life stories, commiserate or rejoice?’ Her eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘Or do we forget all that and discuss something meaningful and dull?’

‘What if the life story is dull?’

‘Impossible. The kitchen goss pegs you as owning your own restaurant, you’re Italian by birth, and a professional match for Giovanni and Cristo.’

Lily gave a light laugh and spread her hands. ‘Well, there you have it. Your turn.’

‘Uh-huh. More details.’

‘Not much to tell. My aunt invited me to visit, and I decided to stay a while.’

‘Boyfriend break-up?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Same goes. Relationship growing stale. Thought if I left London, he’d miss me and follow. He didn’t.’

Their lattes served, they each took an appreciative sip.

‘I’m kind of seeing someone,’ Hannah confided. ‘He’s Italian.’

Lily smiled. ‘That’s nice.’

Hannah rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘His mother wants to see him settle down with an Italian girl, follow tradition and bear him fine sons. Not an English girl who has different ideas and doesn’t speak the language.’

‘And what does this man you’re kind of seeing have to say?’

‘It’s his life, and he’ll choose his own wife.’

‘Sounds as if he knows his own mind.’

Hannah’s eyes glowed with warmth. ‘Yeah. He does.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘Italian mothers tend to be very protective of their sons,’ she answered drily. ‘Famiglia. I don’t fit in.’

‘Simple. You keep him happy and win his mother over with your cooking skills.’

‘No problem keeping him happy,’ Hannah assured with a suggestive wriggle of her eyebrows. ‘I can cook. And I’ve been taking lessons in Italian.’

‘Well, then, you have nothing to worry about.’

She brightened a little. ‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’

Lily laughed. ‘Hey, I’ve only been in Milan a short while.’

‘There’s a rumour you have connections with Alessandro del Marco, the restaurant’s owner.’

Lily kept her voice even. ‘He’s a friend of my aunt.’

‘He dines at the restaurant occasionally. Prime,’ Hannah accorded with a wicked grin. ‘Bet he’s fantastic in bed.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Hannah rolled her eyes in expressive disbelief. ‘And don’t want to?’

‘No.’

‘Shame.’

They lingered a while, finished their coffee, then they parted as Hannah headed to the rail station and Lily made her way to her car.

Wednesday she rose early, cleaned the apartment, then she pondered the evening’s dinner menu as she ate breakfast.

Linguini with a delicate funghi sauce as a starter, she decided, followed by a revered Parisi specialty chicken dish, and a delicate fruit torte as dessert, a mango sorbet to cleanse the palate. Coffee. And wine.

Simple, not too fussy, good wholesome family food. Not a visual work of cuisine art for clientele.

Lily checked her pantry, made a comprehensive list, and shopped for the ingredients needed.

Everything was in place by early evening, the table set, wine chilling, the torte resting in the refrigerator.

Time to dispense with jeans and top, shower, don something feminine, fix her hair, and add a touch of lip gloss.

The in-house phone buzzed at seven-thirty, and when she picked up it was Alessandro’s visual image displayed on the video monitor, not Sophia and Carlo as she’d hoped would appear first.

Lily felt her heartbeat quicken its pace as she released the external door allowing entry into the downstairs lobby.

All too soon he reached her apartment, and she let him in with what she hoped was a welcoming smile, accepted the gift bottle of wine, offered her thanks, then her eyes flew wide as he cradled her face and kissed her.

A little too thoroughly, for her peace of mind.

‘Nice,’ Alessandro murmured appreciatively as he lifted his head to regard her with quizzical warmth.

Nice? Apropos the kiss, her, the apartment, the tantalizing aroma of food simmering on stove top and in the oven?

Like she intended to ask?

Fortunately it was only a matter of minutes before the in-house phone buzzed, announcing Sophia and Carlo’s arrival.

Did her relief show? She hoped not.

Lily felt the tension ease a little as she assumed the hostess role, offering wine.

‘Let me take care of it,’ Alessandro said as he moved to her side, and her eyes flared a little as he expertly dispensed with the cork before pouring a portion of wine into each of the four goblets.

With ease he passed them around, then lifted his goblet and offered a toast. ‘Lily. A new and happy life.’

Five minutes, maybe ten, and she’d retreat into the kitchen, set the pasta to cook, transfer the chicken into a serving dish, arrange the vegetables, then as soon as the pasta was ready she’d serve the starter.

There seemed no valid reason for the onset of nerves. She didn’t do nerves when it came to food. So why the feeling she was treading on eggshells? It didn’t make sense.

Although, nothing made sense when she happened to be in Alessandro’s presence. The air seemed to shimmer with sensual electricity, so much so it almost became a palpable entity.

Was it just her fanciful imagination … or did he sense it, too?

For heaven’s sake, she silently chastised. Get with the programme. Go do what you do best, put the final touches to the starter, retrieve herb bread from the oven, and put food on the table.

‘If you’ll excuse me?’

‘Would you like some help?’ Sophia queried.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

It only took a matter of minutes to drain the linguini, set it on plates and add the delicate funghi sauce. The main course rested in warming dishes, ready to transfer to the table.

Lily took a spot check, set the herb bread into a napkin-lined basket, then she called her guests to be seated.

The linguini was declared perfecto, the chicken ambrosia, and the fruit torte followed by mango sorbet excellente.

It was, even in Lily’s critical opinion, a satisfactory dinner. Even if she’d been dogged by more nerves than she could remember. A fact she laid solidly at Alessandro’s feet.

‘Miei complimenti,’ Carlo added quietly.

‘Grazie,’ she accepted with a warm smile, and almost froze as Alessandro brushed light fingers to her cheek.

‘Superb, Lily.’

Her eyes dilated, and for a moment she lost the power of speech. ‘Thank you,’ she managed at last. ‘Would you like to move into the lounge while I clear the table? Then we can relax in comfort.’

‘It’s pleasant to sit around the table for a while, don’t you think?’ Sophia said wistfully. ‘It reminds me of my family, when we caught up with each other, laughed a little and talked a lot.’

‘The table it is,’ Lily agreed gently. For, like her aunt, she associated food with family camaraderie, for it had been the one time of the day when they were all together … the closeness mattered, and the love.

Any further wine was declined as both men had to drive, and coffee was delayed as they sat informally at the table and exchanged anecdotes.

‘Do you remember, Lily,’ Sophia began, ‘when you visited with your parents? You were, I think, fourteen, or was it fifteen years old?’

Lily chuckled. ‘Please don’t. I had braces, wore my hair in a tail, I lived in jeans and bewailed the fact I would never be tall.’