Inside, Ella looked overawed as she stared up at the dome and the enormous opening in the centre that was the building’s only source of light. ‘This is stunning. I can’t believe this building is nearly two thousand years old, and they built that huge dome without any of the equipment that construction companies take for granted nowadays. I mean, just how did they do it?’

That expression of wonder was back on her face. Although Rico had been to the monument countless times, enough to be almost immune to its beauty, seeing it with her was like seeing it with new eyes; he, too, caught the wonder, as if it were the first time he’d ever seen it. And how amazing it was. It made him want to hold her, feel a physical connection between them as well as a mental one.

Though he could see the disappointment on Ella’s face when they reached the Spanish Steps and she stared up the white marble steps to the balustrade and the obelisk, framed by the white church at the top.

‘Give it a couple of weeks for all the azaleas to come out and it’ll look a bit prettier,’ he said.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry. I guess I expected the Spanish Steps to be a bit more … well …’ Her voice tailed off and she gave an apologetic grimace.

Special, he guessed. ‘They’re just steps,’ he said gently. ‘Where tourists sit to take a rest. Though the square at the top by the Trinità is pretty at weekends; it’s full of artists sketching.’

She looked up, as if imagining it.

‘Come on. You’ll love the Trevi. That definitely lives up to its reputation.’

They could hear the water gushing before they even got into the square, and when they managed to skirt the crowds he could see from the look on her face that the fountain was everything she’d expected. ‘Wow. It’s huge,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe how white it is, and how clear and blue the water is. And look at the way it’s carved.’ Her eyes glittered with delight. ‘The horses—their manes look as if they’re real, not stone, and they’re billowing in the breeze, and the water sounds like the thundering of their hooves.’

Rico normally thought of the Trevi Fountain simply as a tourist trap; but right then he could see what she saw. And he was surprised by how stunning it was.

The steps leading down to the fountain were thronged with tourists; Rico managed to shepherd Ella to the front, where she could sit on the edge of the fountain and he could take a photograph of her throwing a coin over her shoulder as a promise to herself that she’d come back to Rome.

‘Is it supposed to be three coins?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘No. If you’re thinking of the film, that’s referring to three different people throwing a coin in.’

‘I thought I read somewhere …’ She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Never mind.’

He knew exactly what she meant—he’d read it, too. Throw in one coin to return to Rome, two for a new romance, and three for a marriage. Was that what she was looking for? he wondered. Marriage or romance?

Though it was none of his business. And he definitely wasn’t looking for either marriage or romance. No way was he repeating his parents’ mistakes. He kept his relationships short and sweet, ending them before they stopped being fun.

‘The fountain was built at the end of Agrippa’s Acqua Vergine. It’s meant to have the sweetest water in Rome—though I wouldn’t try drinking it,’ he added hastily, ‘and people are definitely discouraged from trying to paddle in it.’

‘La Dolce Vita, right?’ She smiled. ‘My best friend’s an English teacher and a film buff. She told me about it.’

He could just imagine Ella standing under the fountain the way Anita Ekberg had, letting the water pour down on her. Making her T-shirt cling to her body like a second skin. And then he’d have the pleasure of peeling it off later …

Right now, he thought wryly, he could do with some cold water himself. Ella Chandler was making him seriously heated.

Officially, this was the end of what she’d asked to see. He knew he ought to ask her if she wanted him to escort her back to the hotel or put her in a taxi; but he found himself reluctant to let her go. Weirder still, he found himself actually giving into the impulse to keep her with him a little longer. What the hell had happened to his self-control?

‘Time for a rest,’ he said, and found them a quiet table at one of the little caffès in the nearby streets. When she’d chosen what she wanted from the menu, he ordered her a glass of spremuta, freshly squeezed ruby orange juice, and an espresso for himself. He gulped it down in one mouthful, then gave a rueful smile as he caught her raised eyebrows. ‘Sorry. It’s one of my bad habits.’

There was a tiny glitter of teasing in her eyes when she said, ‘Dare I ask what the others are?’

‘No.’ But the coffee hadn’t restored his common sense. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. ‘Do you have plans for tonight?’

‘Why?’ She sounded wary.

‘I wondered if you might have dinner with me. If you weren’t doing anything else?’

She blinked. ‘Dinner?’

‘Something simple. Traditionally Roman.’ Or maybe he could cook for her. He knew the perfect place to set a table. Even the swishest restaurant in Rome didn’t have a view as good as where he had in mind.

Dinner.

A date.

Part of Ella was surprised and pleased that such a gorgeous man was asking her out; yet part of her wanted to run as far away as she could. She might be over Michael now, but it didn’t mean she wanted to repeat the experience. To get involved with someone, even briefly. To make herself vulnerable.

And yet this was Rome. The Eternal City. How lovely it would be to share her first proper evening in Rome with someone. And Rico was only asking her out to dinner, after all. It wasn’t as if there were any future in this.

Would it really be so wrong to say yes, or to enjoy the attention? A bit of harmless flirtation might give her back some of her confidence in herself after Michael’s betrayal.

Though thinking about Michael meant that she needed to ask Rico something. It was going to be embarrassing, but no way was she going to do to someone else what Michael’s lover had done to her. ‘I’m assuming you don’t have a wife or a girlfriend?’

‘No. I’m single.’

‘Me, too.’ Just so it was clear. And she intended to stay that way. She wasn’t giving anyone else the chance to let her down, the way all the men in her life so far had let her down. Her father, her fiancé …

She was tempted to make an excuse, however flimsy. Tell him she was tired. That way, she wouldn’t risk getting closer to him.

Yet there was something about Rico that drew her. She enjoyed his company. And these three nights in Rome were meant to be fun. Given that neither of them had any ties, then maybe she should take the risk. Say yes.

‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘It’d be nice to have dinner with you.’

‘Are you vegetarian, or is there anything you don’t like to eat?’

‘No. And I don’t have any food allergies, either.’

‘Good. Then I’ll meet you at the hotel,’ he said. ‘I’ll call for you at eight.’

CHAPTER TWO

BACK at the hotel, Rico saw Ella into Reception, and then went through the back into his office. His PA was tidying her desk, clearly just about to leave for the evening. ‘Lina, I know it’s late and I’ve given you absolutely no notice, but can you clear my diary for the next three days?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Is something wrong? Your grandfather’s ill?’ she asked, looking concerned.

‘No, he’s fine.’

‘Your father?’

No, and Rico certainly wouldn’t drop everything to rush to his father’s bedside. He was well aware that Lina knew it, too; she’d worked for the Rossi chain for longer than he had, long enough to know exactly why Rico had no time for his parents and never would. ‘I’m just taking some time off.’

She blinked. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Very funny.’ He glowered at her briefly. ‘I’m not that driven.’

‘Actually, you are, Rico.’ She patted his arm to soften her words. ‘Look, nobody’s going to be around at this time of the afternoon, so there’s no point in making any calls now. I’ll deal with it first thing tomorrow and move all your meetings.’

‘Thank you. I’ll have my mobile with me if you need to get in touch. Text or voicemail, that is,’ he added.

‘I’m not going to call you. It’ll do you good to have a break.’ She paused. ‘So are you going anywhere special?’

‘Maybe.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘I should know better than to ask you a personal question.’

He grimaced. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.’

‘But everything personal is off limits. I know.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me again why I put up with you?’

‘Must be my charm,’ he teased back. Then he grew serious again. ‘Thank you, Lina. I do appreciate you.’

‘I know you do, tesoro. It’s why I put up with all your impossible demands.’ But she was smiling. ‘Go and have some fun.’

‘I will.’ His step already felt lighter. Which was crazy. There wasn’t any future in this; Ella Chandler was a tourist, only here for a couple of days. But maybe, just maybe, Lina was right. Having a little fun in his life would do him good.

Rico left his office and headed for the butcher’s. It had been a long time since he’d last gone shopping, and it felt odd to be so domesticated. He came home via the greengrocer’s, the baker’s and the deli; then rolled up his sleeves and began preparing dinner, humming to himself as he worked.

What did you wear for dinner in Rome? Ella wondered. She’d expected to find a little trattoria somewhere and just watch the crowds as she ate, or maybe study the more detailed guidebook to Rome she’d brought with her. She’d packed a pretty, floaty summer dress at the last minute; hopefully that would be smart enough, especially if she put her hair up. She knew it wouldn’t be smart enough if Rico took her somewhere seriously posh; then again, he knew the city better than most, so he was more likely to take her to a small, out-of-the-way place with amazing food and where it didn’t really matter what you wore.

At precisely eight o’clock, there was a knock on her door.

She opened it, and he smiled at her. ‘Ella, bellezza. You look lovely.’

He was wearing a different white shirt, this time teamed with faded jeans; he looked utterly gorgeous and her heart skipped a beat.

Reminding herself that this was just dinner, she asked brightly, ‘So where are we going?’

‘I thought I’d cook for you.’

She blinked. ‘You cook?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not that difficult.’

True. Though Michael had never cooked. He’d always left it to her. And she’d been fool enough to let him get away with it.

‘You have a very expressive face,’ Rico said. ‘It looks to me as if you’ve been dating the wrong kind of man.’

He could say that again. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. This definitely wasn’t the time or the place to moan about her ex. ‘But I’m over him.’ And she was following the old saying to the letter: the best revenge was living well. Thanks to her lottery win, she was going to follow every single dream she’d ever had. Ones that Michael most definitely wouldn’t have shared.

Rico took her to the end of a corridor, then tapped numbers into a small, discreet keypad to open the door. She followed him up the stairs and they ended up in the most enchanting roof garden she’d ever seen. There were tiny fairy lights twined through the greenery, and one corner was draped in wisteria.

‘Oh, this is beautiful,’ she said in delight.

He looked pleased. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

There was a table laid for two in the centre of the garden, with a candle on the table and wine chilling in an ice bucket. And she had the clearest view of the Colosseum, with the three lowest tiers lit from the inside and the moon rising above it. ‘This is just amazing. Is this your place?’

Yes. But, if he told her that, then she’d know he’d been economical with the truth about being a tour guide. And he liked the fact that she was responding to him as a man, not as the head of the hotel chain; he still wasn’t quite ready to give that up. ‘It’s borrowed,’ he said. Which was an equivocation: he was borrowing it from himself.

She looked slightly worried. ‘Are you sure the owner doesn’t mind?’

‘The owner definitely doesn’t mind,’ he reassured her. ‘Please, take a seat. May I pour you some wine?’

‘Thank you.’

He held her chair out for her, then poured them both a glass of wine. ‘I’ll just go and get our antipasti.’

He brought out a platter of bruschetta to share.

‘Wow, this is fabulous,’ she said after the first taste.

‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head, playing it cool, but inside he was pleased. Particularly as she ate without fussing about carbs or calories; the last three women he’d dated had toyed with their food, and it had irritated him hugely. He loathed pretence.

And the fact that right now he was pretending to be something he wasn’t … He pushed that aside. It was only a tiny white lie. And it meant he could be himself with her, instead of the man everyone expected him to be.

She complimented him on the pasta Alfredo he served for the next course, and on the spring lamb served with rosemary potatoes and garlicky spinach.

‘It’s very simple Roman food,’ he said with a smile.

‘And you’ve taken the time to make it. To spoil me. I appreciate that,’ she said.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he said when he brought dessert through. ‘Puddings aren’t my strong point. I bought the panna cotta from the local deli.’

‘But you’ve taken the time to present it nicely,’ she pointed out.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not a hotel inspector in disguise, are you?’

She laughed. ‘No. I’m just a boring accountant.’

‘You’re not boring at all,’ he corrected. ‘I’m enjoying your company.’ He smiled back at her. ‘And I know you weren’t fishing for a compliment, before you say it.’

‘I’m enjoying your company, too,’ she said shyly.

‘Good. Come and look out over Rome. This place has great views.’ He took her hand, drew her to her feet, walked with her to the edge of the terrace.

She leaned both hands on the balustrade to look out over the city; the churches and buildings were all lit up so brightly that every detail was visible. Rico couldn’t resist standing behind her and resting his arms on the balustrade on either side of hers, while he pointed out what all the buildings were.

This close, he could smell her perfume; it reminded him of spring violets. And, with her hair up, her nape was bare and way, way too tempting. The spaghetti straps of her dress were no barrier to his lips at all …

With an uncontrollable impulse, he dipped his head so he could kiss the curve of her neck; she shivered and leaned back against him. Her skin was so soft against his mouth, so sweet—and it wasn’t enough. He spun her round to face him and brushed his mouth against hers. He could feel her lips parting, inviting him to deepen the kiss; he loved the way she responded to him, her shyness melting beneath his mouth.

He could feel her breasts pressing against him and he slid one hand between their bodies so he could caress her. Through the thin material of her dress and the lace of her bra, her nipple was hardening; he rubbed his thumb against it, and she gave a little gasp of pleasure.

Good. So it was the same for her. This crazy, unexpected surge of desire.

And right now he really needed to see her. To touch her. Skin to skin.

His hand went to the top of the zip at the back of her dress. ‘Ella. May I?’ he whispered, drawing her back away from the edge so that the greenery gave them privacy again.

She nodded, and he slid the zip down to her waist. He hooked a finger into one spaghetti strap and slid it down, then the other, coaxing the material down to her waist. Her bra was strapless, lacy and very, very pretty; but it was in the way. He needed to see her right now. He unsnapped her bra, let it drop to the floor, then cupped her breasts in both hands. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Bellezza.’

She blushed. ‘I, um …’

Yeah. He knew. This wasn’t the time for words. He kissed her again, hot and urgent; when she tipped her head back, he kissed his way down her throat, then took one nipple into his mouth and sucked. Her hands slid into his hair, urging him on.

Rico’s senses were spinning. He was so aware of the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her perfume. When he finally straightened up and looked at her again, desire lanced through him. She looked gorgeously dishevelled, naked to the waist and with wisps of hair escaping from their confines. He wanted to take her hair down properly, see it spread across his pillows.

But the fact he wasn’t touching her had clearly broken the connection between them, because she bit her lip. ‘Rico. We can’t do this.’

Second thoughts? Well, he’d never forced anyone and he wasn’t going to start now. ‘OK,’ he said softly, and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek briefly to reassure her before he started to restore order to her clothes.

‘I mean, not here.’ She blushed.

His fingers stilled. ‘Not here?’

Her blush deepened. ‘It’s your friend’s apartment.’

No, it damned well wasn’t, and his bed was only metres away. All he had to do was pick her up and carry her there.

But he’d started the evening letting her think that the place belonged to someone else. Telling her the truth now would make things way too complicated. He was just going to have to roll with the story he’d created. And how he wished now that he’d told her the truth, right from the start.

She cupped his face with one hand. ‘But I do have a suite downstairs,’ she whispered. ‘We could go there.’ She paused and swallowed hard. ‘If you want to.’

If he wanted to? How could she possibly doubt that he wanted to? Wasn’t it obvious how attracted he was to her?

He kissed her. ‘Yes, I do. Though only if you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’ Her voice was still shy, but definite. ‘But shouldn’t we, um, clear up here, before …?’ She gestured to the table.

So very English. It made him smile. ‘It’s fine. I’ll deal with it later,’ he reassured her, and finished restoring order to her clothes before taking her hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he said softly.

They left the terrace and he led her down the corridor to her room in silence. Her fingers tightened round his; and he knew she was nervous because when they reached her door, she dropped her card key.

He retrieved it for her, opened the door and ushered her inside. He switched on the table lamps so that soft light spilled into the room, turned off the overhead light and pulled the curtains.

When he turned to face her, she was biting her lip, looking nervous.

He took her hand, drew it up to his mouth and touched his lips briefly against her skin. ‘Ella, if you’ve changed your mind, I understand.’

Tm …’ She looked away. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’

‘It’s fine to say no. I’d never force a woman.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ She still wasn’t looking at him. ‘I’m … um … maybe not very good at this sort of thing.’

Her meaning sank in. She thought she’d disappoint him because she was no good at making love? The way she’d responded to him had told him that she wasn’t hugely experienced, that she was maybe a little shy. And he had the strongest feeling that someone had damaged her confidence. Who or why, he had no idea—but he could do something to fix this. To show her that it wasn’t true. To prove to her that she was a beautiful, desirable woman.

‘Ella bellezza,’ he said softly, ‘the first time between us isn’t going to be perfect. But that’s not a problem. It means we have time to explore each other. Time for me to learn what takes your breath away, and for you to learn what makes my pulse spike.’

This time, she looked at him. ‘So it’s not a problem?’

He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No pressure, no worries. This is just you and me. And, if you change your mind, all you have to do is tell me to stop.’

‘I …’ She blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I’m being really wet, here.’

‘No. It sounds to me as if someone made you feel bad to make himself feel better. So I’d say it was his problem, not yours.’ He sat down on the bed, scooping her onto his lap. She was definitely struggling with doubts, but not doubts about him. Doubts that another man had put into her head.

The only way he could think of to reassure her was to kiss her. Softly. Gently. Coaxing her to respond to him. Stoking up the heat between them, touch by touch.

He slid one spaghetti strap down over her shoulder and kissed her bare skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back; he took the hint and kissed a line across her throat, lingering at the point where a pulse was beating hard, then nibbling the curve of her neck.

She gave a murmur of pleasure, arching against him, and made no protest when he unzipped her dress again. He slid the other thin strap down, and let the floaty material fall to her waist.

‘Yes,’ she whispered as his fingers found the snap of her bra and undid it.

Colour bloomed in her cheeks as he cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with the pad of his thumbs.

‘You like that?’ he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it.

‘I like it.’ Her voice had deepened.

‘Good.’ He guided her back to her feet, then dropped to his knees in front of her, gently easing her dress down until she stood before him in nothing but a pair of lacy knickers and high-heeled shoes.

‘Nice view,’ he said softly. ‘You’re beautiful, Ella bellezza.’

She didn’t look as if she quite believed him. Well, there was something he could do about that.

‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ he said. ‘Your skin’s so soft. And you smell gorgeous.’ He traced a circle round her navel with the tip of his tongue. ‘You taste good, too.’

He slid one hand between her thighs, cupping her sex through the lace of her knickers. She shivered.

‘I want to see you,’ he said softly. He wanted to see her abandoned to pleasure, lost to his touch. ‘I want to touch you, Ella. Taste you.’

She shivered again. ‘Yes.’

It took him half a second to stand up, scoop her up in his arms and settle her against the pillows. He’d meant to loosen her hair, but he couldn’t wait for that. All he could think about was making her totally lost to pleasure.

He kissed her, this time more demanding; this time her response was more confident. More abandoned. Just how he wanted her.

It was a moment’s work to strip the last tiny bit of lace from her skin. And then he kissed his way down over her abdomen, taking his time until she wriggled beneath him, arching her body and sliding her fingers into his hair to let him know she wanted this just as much as he did.

He could taste just how aroused she was with the first long, slow stroke of his tongue along her sex. Sweet and salt, and most definitely responsive. She whimpered as he teased her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, swirling round and then sucking hard, varying the pace and pressure until finally he felt her go rigid beneath him, and heard her cry out his name as her climax hit her.

Rico shifted up the bed and held her close. ‘OK?’

‘Very OK. Thank you.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Oh, my God. I’m completely naked, and you’re still fully clothed.’

‘Because I got a bit greedy,’ he said with a grin. ‘You can always do something about it, if you want to.’

She unbuttoned his shirt; almost shyly, she skated her fingers along his pecs. ‘You feel good.’

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