Once A Playboy...: Resisting the Sicilian Playboy / Her Playboy's Proposal / The Playboy's Proposal

Dara picked up an Italian tabloid magazine and began carelessly flipping through the pages while she waited. Her hands stopped on an image of a familiar tall, dark Sicilian nightclub owner on a page entitled ‘The Lonely Hearts Club’.

Dara almost laughed at the thought of Leo Valente being lonely. The man had women falling at his feet wherever he went. In this particular candid shot he was pictured bare-chested, sitting by a pool, and the look on his face was one of absolute boredom rather than lovesickness. The small bubble printed next to his head indicated that ‘poor Leo’ was tired of a life of supermodel flings and was ready to settle down. ‘Is there a lioness brave enough to tame him?’ the final line wondered.

She turned to the next page, refusing to look at him. A lion indeed—that suited him much better than a shark. She had read somewhere before that lions liked to play with their food before they ate it. If ever there was an apt description for Leo Valente, that was it.

Her mind flashed back to the way he had looked at her last night, and she ignored the shiver of awareness that coursed through her. Sure, he was an attractive man—she could hardly deny that. But she had spent the past five years ignoring countless attractive men and she wouldn’t be stopping now. Her career plan didn’t leave time for men, and she was quite happy to keep it that way.

‘Brushing up on current events, Dara?’

She snapped up her head in surprise, only to be pinned by a familiar smirking emerald gaze.

Leo raised a brow in silent question. ‘My “lonely heart” is apparently worthy of your attention this morning... I didn’t take you as the type to read gossip.’

Dara looked down and realised she was still holding the trashy magazine. ‘I don’t.’ She said it a little too quickly. ‘I’m just browsing while I wait for some travel information.’

She shoved the offending publication hastily back into the stand, straightening up to push an errant tendril of hair behind her ear.

He seemed taller and more imposing than he had the night before, if that was even possible. Dark jeans and a brown leather jacket accentuated the rough casual air that seemed to surround him wherever he went.

How had he known she was staying here? She didn’t remember mentioning the name of her hotel to him. And besides, his event wasn’t scheduled for another eight hours. Was he here to tell her he had decided not to give her a chance after all? Last night she had been lucky. She had caught him off guard, piqued his interest. Maybe he had woken up this morning and realised that this was one impulse he could erase.

She reflected on her black skinny jeans and warm woollen sweater, wishing she had worn something more professional. She had decided to be sensible today, choosing flat patent pumps for her plan of walking around the city. Now, as he stood in front of her, she felt short for the first time in her life. She was tall at five foot eight—especially by Italian standards. But she barely reached his chin.

Just then the kiosk attendant returned from behind the counter and placed a small tram card on the counter next to her bundle of maps and brochures.

‘She doesn’t need these any more.’ Leo pushed the items back towards the attendant with a polite nod. The poor girl was clearly starstruck, with her head bobbing up and down and two bright pink spots on either cheek.

Dara groaned. Was that what she had looked like last night? She needed to remind herself to think sad thoughts when her painfully pale Irish skin decided to play up.

‘I was planning to use those.’ She reached towards the documents on the counter. She didn’t care who he was—she wasn’t going to let him hijack her day on another of his whims.

‘The last time I checked you were mine for today.’ His eyes glittered as he leaned casually on the counter. ‘Like you said last night, Dara, I’m an impulsive man. If you want to work with me so badly, you need to learn to live by my rules. If I decide to take you to lunch, you drop your plans.’

Dara felt a shiver run down the back of her neck. This was ridiculous. He was practically ordering her to obey. She tried to think of a witty retort—something to wipe away that confident lift of his brow. Nothing came. She was here to audition for a role, and therefore she had to play his game. If that meant dropping her plans at his request, then so be it.

‘Consider them dropped.’ She fitted her bag under her arm and tilted her chin in what she hoped was a confident expression. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal.’

One corner of his mouth tilted upwards, ‘Congratulations. You just passed the first test. But I don’t intend to dispose of you, Dara—not just yet.’

* * *

Leo had never thought he would get such satisfaction in seeing a woman eat. The rooftop trattoria was a little gem he liked to visit when he was in Milan, but he couldn’t remember ever being so transfixed by a female companion before. She ate so carefully, spinning each forkful of spaghetti until it was wound tight before sliding it into her mouth. She refused to speak with a full mouth, and looked positively horrified when he did so without thought.

She had chosen spaghetti with fresh mixed seafood after enquiring about the specialities. She hadn’t asked for a menu, and had graciously accepted the waiter’s recommendations for a mixed appetiser platter they could share. The silver-haired Tuscan had positively beamed with delight at her accent when she spoke. Such a polite blonde foreigner with a clear Sicilian dialect—she was quite the novelty.

He took a sip of his sparkling water, watching as she placed the last forkful into her mouth. She had been eating so delicately he had hardly noticed that she had demolished the entire dish.

‘Food is another passion of yours, I see.’ He smiled.

She dabbed the napkin lightly at her mouth. ‘Since I moved here—definitely.’

He followed the neat little movement of her hands as she placed her fork across the plate. The waiter promptly came and cleared the table, offering them an array of desserts which they both politely declined.

She sighed and sat back unselfconsciously in her seat, satisfied by the large meal. He imagined that might be how she looked after other types of satisfaction, and his stomach clenched at the thought.

Distracting himself, he stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘A woman who likes to eat is a rarity in my world.’

She turned her head to look out of the window, across the dull Milanese skyline. ‘The women in your world must be very sad and hungry.’

Leo smiled. ‘The siciliani must have thought they were dreaming to find such a beautiful woman in their company who finishes a full meal.’ He took a sip of the coffee, feeling the familiar strength hit his tastebuds.

She ignored his compliment. ‘Actually, when I first moved to Syracuse all I ate were ham sandwiches and spaghetti in tomato sauce.’

‘That’s punishable by law in this country,’ he scolded.

She smiled, nodding her head. ‘I found that out soon enough. I think I lasted about a week before a colleague dragged me to her grandmother’s house and made me confess my crimes.’

‘Italian grandmothers are not known to be forgiving—especially when it involves food. I’m surprised you survived.’

Leo thought of his own upbringing. The array of servants in the castle kitchen. The silent meals alone with his nanny. Surprising himself with the direction of his thoughts, he sat forward, focusing on Dara’s smiling features.

‘It wasn’t a laughing matter. That woman cooked twelve different types of pasta in the space of one hour.’ She shook her head. ‘It was the most dramatic reaction to food I have ever encountered.’

‘My countrymen are not known for their delicate sensibilities.’ He finished his coffee, regarding her as she sat still looking pensively out of the window. ‘Tell the truth: have you eaten a plain tomato sauce since then?’

That earned him a smile. ‘Not if my life depended on it.’

‘Then you’ve passed the second test,’ he proclaimed.

He watched as her expression drifted, all trace of their playful conversation melting away.

‘Exactly how many tests do you have in store for me?’ she asked as she took a sip from her water.

He leaned back into his seat, casual and in control. ‘I don’t like to put a limit on progress, Dara. As a businesswoman I’m sure you can understand that.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, actually. I was considering showing you some ideas that struck me for your event tonight.’ She reached for her handbag, then paused. ‘Unless that violates my role as your temporary consultant?’ She raised a brow.

Leo sighed. The woman was hell-bent on annoying him.

‘Make it quick.’

She busied herself taking out a sleek tablet computer and unfolding the case into a neat stand, so that it stood upright as an impromptu presentation screen. She launched into a flurry of rough outlines, pinpointing the areas in which she felt his current plan lacked variety.

‘So, you see, if you split the evening into two parts you will avoid alienating the business clientele,’ she concluded, finally.

Leo sat back in his chair and tilted his head to one side. The flow chart on the screen was genius. She had just achieved in one brainstorming session what a team of seven event organisers had failed to.

The Milan relaunch had been heavily debated for weeks, due to the awkward combination of ‘party hard’ celebrity guests and the more staid businessmen and politicians. Finding an event structure that could keep all groups entertained had proved impossible, and yet Dara had seen the solution after simply looking down from an upper floor window.

‘Could you achieve all of this before you attend the event tonight?’

‘Without a doubt.’ She nodded confidently, her grey eyes lighting up with determination.

‘I’ll call my team in and you can get to work.’

She looked surprised for a moment. ‘Would your team not resent having a newcomer treading on their toes?’

‘I’m beginning to wonder if I should be the one resenting them.’

She visibly relaxed into her chair. ‘I’m glad you’re open to change.’

He laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘“Change” is an understatement. Things clearly need a shake-up. They’re paid so well they’ve lost their creativity.’ He sat forward, flicking the screen of her computer across to look through the images once more. ‘I’ll have my management team on hand—anything you need, they are at your disposal.’

‘You make me sound important.’ Her eyes sparkled as she closed down the screen and placed it back into her bag.

‘And what about the uniforms?’ he enquired casually, and smiled when her expression turned rueful.

‘I don’t expect you to overhaul your branding after one little statement.’

‘Ah, but I’m an impulsive man, Dara.’ He waved a hand, signalling to the waiter for their coats. ‘Your comments last night have wounded my overblown pride. I’ll expect that to be remedied by this evening too.’

Her eyes widened, her delicate hands twisting in her lap as she absorbed his challenge. ‘It take it that this is another test?’

‘You say you’ve never lost a challenge. Consider it an experiment.’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘You trust me to make changes to your event and overhaul your signature uniform in less than seven hours?’

‘Are you telling me you can’t do it?’

‘I can do it,’ she said, all confidence. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re giving me this opportunity when you’ve refused so many others.’

He sat back in his chair, once again taken by her honest approach to business. He had invited her tonight because of his attraction to her. But now, after she had once again proved she was more brains than body, he felt tempted to tell her at least a half-truth.

‘Ten years ago I commissioned those uniforms as a gimmick. We had only been open a few months, and it was the first New Year’s Eve event we ever held. The party was in full swing when a notorious designer came staggering in. He was drunk, as usual, and he stood in the middle of a crowd of journalists and began to shout that he could see himself in one of the suits.’

Leo laughed as he remembered the night clearly.

‘The man was absolutely trashed, and he was amazed by his own reflection in the material.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But that’s not how everyone else saw it. Anyway—long story short: word soon spread and our temporary costumes became a brand statement. I found the whole situation hilarious.’

He took another sip of coffee.

‘It was a publicity stunt that worked, and it seemed that I was the only person who could see how ridiculous the staff looked. Until you, of course.’ He raised his coffee cup in mock salute.

‘My attention to detail is what keeps me in business.’

‘Well, I’d imagine being associated with a big brand like Lucchesi doesn’t hurt.’ Leo dropped the name casually, watching her reaction with hooded intent.

‘I’m hardly “associated” with the brand. I’ve been contracted for a few events—one with the Lucchesi Foundation, their charity for the hospitals of Sicily.’

‘You must have made quite an impression for a relative unknown to be trusted by such a family.’

‘I happened to get talking to Gloria Lucchesi and her daughters while I was planning a wedding in Syracuse.’ She shrugged. ‘I wish it was more impressive, but it was rather coincidental.’

‘Nonetheless, you are on first-name terms with a very powerful family. That in itself is an achievement.’

‘I suppose it is.’ She smiled.

Leo mulled over her connection to Umberto Lucchesi. Their recent disagreement had caused a large problem that he was fast losing time to resolve. Not that a wedding planner could pose any solution, but she might possibly be useful.

He watched as Dara sat back in her chair, casually glancing towards him as she folded her napkin into a neat square on the table, then did the same with his.

She looked up and noticed his look of amusement at her actions. ‘Sorry, it’s a force of habit. Organisation is a natural impulse for me. Hence my choice of occupation.’

‘And what does my choice of occupation say about me, I wonder?’

She twisted her lips. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to say.’

‘You know, not very many women can make me feel as if I’m under scrutiny. And yet it’s as though everything I say or do offends you.’

‘I’m not offended by you. I’m quite aware of the fact that your impulses are the only reason I’m sitting here.’ She shrugged.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that’s the only reason...’ He let his voice deepen slightly as he leaned forward and met her eyes. Dark blonde eyelashes lowered for one split second and her pupils dilated, leaving only a rim of steel grey around them.

That one reflex was enough to tell him what he’d come here to find out. No matter how indifferent she claimed to be, she most definitely was not unaffected by this intense chemistry between them.

‘You are here because I want you to be. I always get what I want.’

He smiled as her eyes darkened even more, but this time in anger. Oh, yes, she was just what he needed to break his little spell of restlessness. He would break down each of those polite little barriers one by one, until she couldn’t think straight any more.

She responded by throwing him her most polite smile. ‘I understand that you’re a powerful man, Leo, and that you grew up in a certain way. But sooner or later you will find that not everyone bends to your will. No matter how much you push.’

He ignored her comment about his privileged past. He was used to people’s ignorant presumptions. He most definitely had grown up a certain way—but not the way most people would expect.

He leaned across the table, raising one brow in challenge. ‘Are you sure about that? I’ve been known to be quite persuasive.’

‘Well, there’s something we have in common.’ She smiled, and for a second he caught a glimpse of the fire buried underneath all that ice. He was enjoying sitting here with her, enjoying their sparring. She was nothing like any woman who had sparked his interest before.

She stood up as the waiter approached with their items from the cloakroom. ‘I came here with one goal, Leo. And I never find myself off track—no matter how distracting the scenery.’

‘I would expect nothing less.’ He nodded in agreement.

She paused. ‘Good. Because I won’t be playing any more of your games. I’m a professional, and I like to get things done quickly.’

‘As do I, Dara,’ he purred.

Always the gentleman, he held out her coat, helping her to fit it comfortably around her shoulders. One errant finger lightly grazed the sensitive skin of her neck and he felt her shiver in response. Smiling, he eased back as she turned to face him.

‘Allora, I think we understand each other,’ he said, shrugging on his own coat quickly.

She continued to watch him with a mixture of accusation and reluctant awareness as they made their way outside into the chilly autumn afternoon. He stopped when his chauffeur approached them, opening the door of the limo with polite efficiency.

‘My driver will take you to the club. My team will be at your command.’

Leo fought the urge to slide in beside her on the seat. She felt every ounce of this tension between them—he had seen it in her eyes. She wanted him, but she wouldn’t let herself have what she wanted. That was a lesson that only came after prolonged temptation. He would show her just what it meant to lose control—but first he’d have to take her out of that comfort zone of hers.

CHAPTER THREE

DARA STOOD ON the lower floor of the club and made a final sweep of her surroundings. Leo’s team had been very responsive to her advice—in fact they’d seemed almost relieved to have the responsibility taken from their shoulders. None of them had seemed particularly overjoyed to be planning such a high-profile event. Maybe Leo was right: they were jaded by success and lacked any motivation to strive further.

Well, that suited her just fine. Being in close proximity to such high-profile guests was a networking dream come true. She would make a few new contacts, get her own event contract signed, and then fly straight home to set about planning the wedding of her career. Finally her strict business plan was yielding the kind of results she had dreamed of when she’d left her life in Dublin behind.

Unconsciously she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to supress the memories that her mind conjured up every time she thought of her past life. The well-meaning glances filled with pity...the hushed conversations. She would forever be known as poor Dara Devlin back home—it had been the main reason she left it all behind. It would have been impossible to forge a new life in a place filled with such painful memories.

She remembered sitting in the hospital, her dream of ever having a child having just been taken away from her. Only to find herself watching her fiancé coldly walk away from her for the last time.

No. She shook off the thoughts before they could take hold. She had done enough wallowing in the weeks before she had decided to move to Italy. Her life was good now. She should thank Daniel, really. He had set her free to focus on what she really loved. Her career gave her more satisfaction than family life ever could have. She was happy now—she truly was—and now she had the chance to really make a name for herself.

Portia Palmer was the biggest movie star Ireland had produced in the past ten years, and she had chosen Dara to plan her huge weekend wedding. She liked to think that the actress had somehow heard a glowing report from one of her happy clients. But sadly it most likely had more to do with Dara being the only Irish planner on the island. Miss Palmer was all about patriotism and her Celtic heritage.

But that was fine with Dara. Publicity was publicity, and if she hoped for her name to gain status it couldn’t hurt to have a world-famous Hollywood star in her little black book.

Now, after seeing tonight’s guest list, she felt butterflies flapping around in her stomach with nerves and anticipation. Leo hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had high-profile guests. One quick flip through the hostess’s list had revealed several notable European politicians, at least three racing drivers, a world-renowned fashion designer and the entire cast of the Luscious Lingerie catalogue. People like that could open more than doors for her in her career. They could knock down walls.

The snooty hostess from the night before suddenly appeared by her side. Dara closed the list with a snap, trying not to look guilty.

‘Signor Valente has instructed me to give you this.’ The woman sniffed, holding out a small business card. She seemed quite unimpressed to be running such lowly errands for her employer.

Dara took the card with muttered thanks. It was plain black, with the single line of an address printed on the front. Nothing to indicate what kind of business it was.

‘Am I supposed to go there?’ she asked quickly as the hostess began to walk away. ‘Did he not tell you anything else?’

The woman turned back and shrugged one shoulder, thoroughly bored with the conversation. ‘I am told to give you this and make sure you go to the address.’

The event was less than two hours away, so Dara wasted no time in grabbing her things and taking the sleek chauffeur-driven town car that Leo had provided. Whatever this errand was, she needed to get back to her hotel soon if she stood a chance of looking half decent.

The car came to a smooth stop on one of the most upmarket streets in Milan. Giants of Italian fashion stood shoulder to shoulder here, with shopfronts that screamed luxury. But the address on the black card led her down a narrow alleyway to a door of exactly the same deep, nondescript black.

Her hand was hovering uncertainly over the knocker when the door swung open to reveal a tall fair-haired man in a sleek pinstriped suit.

‘Mademoiselle, we’ve been waiting for you,’ he said, taking her by the hand and leading her inside.

‘Excuse me? I don’t even know—’

He continued to lead her along by the hand, ‘Just follow me.’

He was definitely French, she thought as they made their way up a short staircase to a large open-plan loft with carpet so white it hurt her eyes. The walls were mirrored on one side, and a few long purple drapes lined the wall on the other. Dara took a moment to look around, feeling hopelessly confused by the situation. Was she here to collect something?

‘I was sent here by Leo Valente...’ she began uncertainly. ‘He didn’t mention why—’

The blond man hushed her with a sudden snap of his fingers.

‘We don’t have time to chat. My team and I need to begin.’

As if on cue, a small army of women in black smocks appeared from behind one of the purple curtains. Dara caught a glimpse of row upon row of clothing racks before the curtain swung back into place, blocking her view.

‘Hold on a minute—what is all of this?’

She raised a hand to stop the pinstripe-wearing bully as he loomed near, measuring tape in hand. A tight knot of tension formed in her stomach as one of the women hung a silky red dress on a hook beside the mirror.

The Frenchman gave an impatient sigh. ‘We are here to style you, darling. Everything from hairpins to nail polish.’ He glanced down at her short practical nails and frowned.

Dara clenched her fists, a mixture of embarrassment and anger forcing her to bite her lip. How dared that arrogant Sicilian brute organise this little stunt? As though she was some sort of pauper, here to be dressed up like one of the beautiful people for the night.

Indignation bubbled in her chest and she grabbed her phone from her handbag, ready to launch into a verbal attack on a certain nightclub mogul, only to realize that she didn’t even have his phone number.