Katie’s swift intake of breath sounded unnaturally loud. ‘It is very warm in here…’ She gazed about in a pathetic attempt to distract him.

Rigo’s low voice pulsed with intent. ‘I don’t think it’s that sort of heat I can feel. Well, signorina?’ he pressed. ‘There must be something other than my swimming technique that kept you fascinated…’

Mutely, she shook her head. It was blood heat in the leisure suite, and almost dark. Just the pool lights shimmering behind her like dots of moonlight on a lake. She felt cornered by a powerful predator—a predator she had sought out—and now her reward was to be wrapped in a cloak of arousal as she waited to see what would happen next.

Susan Stephens was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern™ Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an afterdinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon® author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.

Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net—she loves to hear from her readers all around the world!

Recent books by the same author:

Modern™ Romance COUNT MAXIME’S VIRGIN DESERT KING, PREGNANT MISTRESS BOUGHT: ONE ISLAND, ONE BRIDE

The Royal House of Niroli EXPECTING HIS ROYAL BABY—Book 5

Modern Heat™ HOUSEKEEPER AT HIS BECK AND CALL

ITALIAN BOSS, PROUD MISS PRIM

BY

SUSAN STEPHENS

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Jenny, who is both inspired and inspiring.

CHAPTER ONE

SIX hours, fifteen minutes in the same hard chair at the same desk, in the same cold office, in the same northern town…

She’d lost the will to live.

Almost…

Arranging a telephone conference with Signor Rigo Ruggiero in Rome was a pain, even for a young lawyer as tenacious as Katie Bannister, because first she had to get past Ruggiero’s army of snooty retainers.

Let me speak to him in person, screeched inner Katie, whilst outwardly Katie was calm. Well, she had to be—she was a respected professional.

With no inner life at all.

No inner life? Hmm, wouldn’t that make things easy? Unfortunately, Katie was blessed with a vivid imagination and an active fantasy life, and it was always getting her into trouble. Dumpy, plain and unprepossessing became sharp and confident in the blink of an eye—especially over the phone.

In her junior position at the small solicitor’s firm, Katie wouldn’t normally be expected to deal with such a highprofile client, but this was a trivial matter, according to the senior partner, and if she wanted to work her way up the profession it would be good for Katie to cut her teeth on—

‘Pronto…’

At last. At last! ‘Signor Ruggiero?’

‘Sì…?’

The deep-pitched voice speared a shiver down her spine. But gut instinct wasn’t enough. Did it prove the identity of the speaker? Spoken Italian was sexy; distractingly so. Quickly gathering her thoughts, Katie picked up her notes and went through the security checks she had drawn up.

To his credit, Signor Ruggiero answered them all accurately and politely. To her dismay her imagination insisted on working overtime as she nursed the phone—tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to cover it. Still, this was going better than she had expected after her run-in with his staff. Now it was simply a matter of informing the Italian tycoon that he was the chief beneficiary in his late brother’s will.

‘My late stepbrother’s will,’ he corrected her.

The honey-rich baritone had acquired an edge of steel. He sounded stern, cold, uninterested.

A man who was so hard to contact would hardly want chitchat, Katie reminded herself, moving up a gear. ‘My apologies, Signor Ruggiero, your late stepbrother’s will…’

As the conversation continued Katie picked up more clues. If there was one thing she was good at it was reading people’s voices. Time spent training to be an opera singer at one of the world’s foremost music conservatoires had allowed her welltuned ear to instantly evaluate a voice, and this one had both practised charm and a killer edge.

‘Can we cut to the chase, Signorina Bannister?’

And cut out print yards of legalese? ‘Certainly…’

Katie’s reputation at the firm was founded on dogged persistence along with her ability to calm even the most fractious of clients, but after a long day in a cheap suit in a cold office, she was at the end of her tether. It wasn’t as if she was trying to serve a writ, for goodness’ sake; rather she was trying to inform Signor Ruggiero that he had come into money.

More money, Katie qualified, glancing at the magazine the girls in the office had so helpfully placed on her desk. It featured a devastatingly handsome Rigo Ruggiero on the front cover. Not that she was interested. Firming her jaw, she continued to explain to one of the richest men in Italy why she must come to see him in person. To Rome, where she had thought of going as a singer, once…

‘Well, I haven’t got the time to come over there—’

Katie snapped back to the present. ‘Your stepbrother anticipated this…’ Her heart picked up pace as she went on to read out the letter of instruction that came with the will. She was normally unflappable, but office tittle-tattle had unsettled her where Rigo Ruggiero was concerned. He was not just a successful tycoon, but a high-profile playboy who lived life in the fast lane. To say that Katie Bannister and Rigo Ruggiero were worlds apart was a massive understatement.

Everyone in the office had thought it highly amusing that the official office virgin had been appointed to deal with Italy’s most notorious playboy. Katie’s public face had remained unmoved through all this teasing banter, but her imagination had run riot. After her initial trepidation, she had thought, bring it on. What did she have to worry about? Rigo Ruggiero would take one look at dull little Katie Bannister and she’d be safe.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid your late stepbrother’s personal effects cannot be sent to you through the post, Signor Ruggiero.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ She took a deep, steadying breath. Forget the letter of intentions—shouldn’t he care a little more? And did he have to snap like that? His stepbrother had just died, for goodness’ sake. Surely he was curious to learn what he’d been left in the will? ‘Your stepbrother’s instructions are most specific, Signor Ruggiero. He appointed the firm I represent, Flintock, Gough and Coverdale, as executors to his will, and Mr Flintock has asked me to carry out the requirements therein to the letter—’

‘Therein?’

Mockery now?

‘Do you always speak legalese to your clients, Signorina Bannister? That must be very confusing for them.’ His voice was dry and amused. ‘I recommend plain-speaking myself…’

No one had ever criticised her dedication to the letter of the law before and it was becoming increasingly clear that Rigo Ruggiero couldn’t care a fig for his stepbrother. She could see him now, lolling back on some easy chair as he took the call—all preposterously white teeth, inky black hair and dark, mocking eyes. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to remain calm. ‘What I’m trying to explain, Signor Ruggiero—’

‘Don’t patronise me.’

The tone of voice both stung and acted as a warning. ‘I apologise. That was not my intention.’

‘Then I forgive you…’

In a voice like a caress. Was he flirting with her? Unlikely as that seemed, it appeared so, and her body definitely agreed. ‘So could we fix an appointment?’ she suggested, returning determinedly to the point of the call.

There was silence at the other end of the line, but somehow worldly amusement managed to travel down it anyway. ‘Whenever you like,’ he murmured.

The throaty drawl was enough to make her body quiver with anticipation. Katie stared out of the window at the cold, autumnal Yorkshire rain. That was the swiftest return to reality she could imagine. Beneath her conventional, even plain exterior, lurked a seam of wanderlust. She had dreamed at one time that it would be the opera houses of the world she’d be visiting. Did she have the courage to make this trip to Rome in her new guise as solicitor, or would the loss of her singing voice be a reminder that was too painful to bear?

‘Well,’ the deep male voice demanded, ‘I don’t have all day, Signorina Bannister. When would you like to meet?’

She longed for a break, and she could be in Rome tomorrow. Before she could stop herself the words tumbled out. ‘What about tomorrow, Signor Ruggiero? If that’s convenient for you…?’

‘I’ll make it so,’ he said.

‘Thank you for your cooperation.’ She could hardly breathe her heart was thundering so fast. Talking over the phone was easy, but when Signor Ruggiero saw how plain and boring she was in person…And when she saw Rome…

‘I look forward to meeting you,’ he said. ‘You have a lovely voice, by the way.’

A lovely voice…‘Thank you…’ Playboys were expected to flirt, and Signor Ruggiero couldn’t be expected to know that her voice had been reduced to husky ashes after a fire in her student lodgings. She had been overjoyed in the hospital when she found out all her friends had escaped uninjured, and devastated to discover that after inhaling too much smoke her voice had been reduced for good to a croak. Oddly enough, people who didn’t know her history found that husky sound attractive. But that wasn’t her only legacy from the fire. She would never sing again and had enough scars on her back to ensure no one would ever see her naked. When her singing career had crashed to a close, she had set about forging a new life as a lawyer. This was a life in the shadows rather than the spotlight, but she wasn’t interested in the spotlight; it was the music she missed.

‘Signorina Bannister? Are you still there?’

‘I beg your pardon, Signor Ruggiero. I just knocked something off my desk.’

Or wished she had, Katie thought, staring at the magazine. A towering powerhouse of hard, tanned muscle, dressed in a sharp designer suit, stared back at her from the front cover. Rigo Ruggiero couldn’t even be accused of having a smooth, rich boy’s face. His verged on piratical, complete with sharp black stubble and a dangerous gleam in night-dark, emerald eyes. Add to that a shock of thick black hair and a jaw even firmer than her own—

‘You haven’t changed your mind about our meeting, I hope?’

There was a faint edge of challenge to his voice that her body responded to with enthusiasm. ‘Not at all,’ she reassured him firmly. Reaching across the desk, she was about to send the magazine flying to the floor when she paused. The cynical curve of his mouth set her teeth on edge, but she had to admit it was the perfect frame for his arrogant voice. And, as if there wasn’t enough perfection in his life, the image showed him with his arm draped around the shoulders of a blonde girl so achingly lovely she looked like a doll rather than a living, breathing woman.

It would be fine, Katie told herself, straightening up. She could do this. The trip to Rome was business and no one could distract her from that.

‘I have a question for you, Signorina Bannister.’

‘Yes?’ Tightening her grip on the phone, Katie realised she was still transfixed by the image of the girl’s unblemished skin.

‘Why you?’ he rapped.

This was no playboy, but a merciless tycoon questioning the wisdom of sending such a young and inexperienced lawyer to meet with him. But he had a point. Why were they sending her? Because she spoke fluent Italian, thanks to her opera training, Katie reasoned, because she was plain, safe and unattached, and, as the newest recruit to the firm, she had little or no say when it came to apportioning work.

Better not let on she was so junior. ‘I’m the only solicitor in the firm who could spare the time to come to Rome—’

‘You’re not much good, then?’

‘Signor Ruggiero—’

‘Piano, piano, bella…’

Piano, bella? He was telling her to calm down—and in a voice he might use with a lover.

Italian was sexy, Katie reminded herself. The language itself had a lyrical music all its own. And when you added Rigo Ruggiero to the mix—

‘So,’ he said, ‘I’ll see you in Rome tomorrow—sì?’

See him tomorrow…

He was quicksilver to her caution, one moment stern, the next amused. But he was right to be suspicious about her credentials. She wasn’t a great lawyer. She never would be a great lawyer because she didn’t have the hunger for it. She sometimes wondered if the passion she’d felt for her operatic career would ever transfer to anything else. But the firm she had worked for since she had retrained as a solicitor had been good to her when her life had gone up in flames, and now she was scarred a role in the background suited her.

‘I’ll expect you tomorrow.’

Tomorrow…

This was exactly what she’d asked for. But since she’d suggested tomorrow her confidence had been slowly seeping away. The whole idea was ridiculous. How could she go to Rome, the city where she had dreamed of being part of the musical life, only as a second-rate lawyer to deal with one of the most acute minds around?

The only reason Katie could think of was hard, economic reality. The senior partner at her firm was talking redundancies, thanks to the economic downturn, and as last into the firm she was most likely to be first out. There was no question this trip to Rome and her meeting with someone as high-profile as Rigo Ruggiero would add some much-needed colour to her CV.

It made sense—well, to everything except her self-confidence. How could Katie Bannister, dressed by the cheapest store in town, the girl who wouldn’t know a fashion musthave if she fell over it, meet with the world’s most notorious playboy and come out of that meeting unscathed?

The plain and simple truth was, she had to.

‘I’ll book a flight,’ she said, thinking out loud.

‘I’d recommend it,’ the man in question interrupted dryly. ‘Mail me with the details and I’ll make sure someone is at Fiumicino Airport to meet you—’

‘That’s very—’

Katie stared at the dead receiver in her hands. How rude. Or look at it another way, she persuaded herself; this was a challenge, and she was hardly a stranger to that.

She had laughed when the other girls at the firm had insisted that Katie Bannister had hidden fire and would master the maverick playboy in less time than it took to say hold my briefs—maybe she had possessed that fire once, but not now—and the girls in the office hadn’t spoken to him, a man so cold and heartless he could discuss a close relative’s bequest without so much as a play of regret. And end a conversation without any of the usual niceties. Rigo Ruggiero was clearly an indulged and arrogant monster and the sooner her business with him was concluded the better she would like it.

It was just a shame her body disagreed.

She’d cope with that too. Palming her mouse, Katie brought up flight schedules to Rome. Could she make it there and back in one day? She would try her very best to do so.

Having replaced the receiver in its nest, Rigo settled back in his leather swivel chair. In spite of the unwelcome message Katie Bannister had delivered from a man he’d hoped never to hear from again, the young lawyer had made him smile.

Because he liked her voice?

It had certainly scored highly in several categories: it was female; it was young; it was husky; it was sexy. Very sexy. And intelligent. And…sexy. He already had an image of her in his mind.

So, he reflected, returning to the purpose of Signorina Bannister’s call, his stepbrother had left him something in his will. A poisoned chalice? Shares in a crime syndicate? What? He stood up and started pacing. Why should the man who had shown him nothing but contempt and hatred since the day he had walked into his life leave him anything at all in his will? And what was it about these personal effects that made them so precious only a representative from a solicitor’s firm in England could hand-deliver them?

He knew Carlo had been living in the north of England for some years, thanks to the headlines in the papers detailing his stepbrother’s countless misdemeanours, and could confidently predict that if these personal effects were gold bars they’d be stolen—likewise jewellery, antiques or art. What else would Carlo care enough about not to chance it going astray? It had to be something incriminating—something that gave Carlo one last stab at him before the gates of hell closed on his stepbrother for ever.

Rigo had been just fourteen when his father married again and seventeen when he had left home for good. He had left home after a couple of years of Carlo’s vicious tricks, when home became a cruel misnomer for somewhere Rigo was no longer welcome. How he had longed for his father’s love, but that love had found another home. So he conquered his regret and left the countryside to pursue his dreams in Rome. He hadn’t heard from Carlo, his elder by eleven years, from that day to this.

But he had a lot to thank Carlo for, Rigo reflected, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in his luxurious penthouse overlooking Rome. He lived in the most exclusive part of the city and this was only one of his many properties. Leaving the country all those years ago had led to success, wealth and, more important in his eyes, the chance to live life the way he believed it should be led.

These thoughts brought him back full circle to the girl from England he must somehow fit into his busy schedule tomorrow. Crossing to his desk, he scanned his diary. He’d just sacked the latest in a long line of hopeless PAs. Finding a reliable replacement was proving harder than he had anticipated.

Which left a vacancy on his staff…

If she was half as intriguing as her husky voice suggested, he would gladly clear his diary for Signorina Bannister. He would make the whole of tomorrow free just for her.

CHAPTER TWO

KATIE was having second thoughts. Just packing a few essentials for the trip in her shabby bag proved she wasn’t the right person for this job. She might have the heart to handle Rigo Ruggiero, but she lacked the panache. The firm should be sending someone sharp and polished to Rome, someone sophisticated, who spoke the same sophisticated language as him. Two new packets of tights and a clean white blouse did not a sophisticate make, but it was the best she could do. There was nothing in her wardrobe suitable for spending time in Rome with a man renowned for his sartorial elegance.

A few calming breaths later Katie had worked out that, as she couldn’t compete, she shouldn’t try. She should look at what she was—a competent young lawyer from a small firm in the north of England, which meant a brown suit and lowheeled brown court shoes were the perfect choice.

This wasn’t a holiday, Katie reminded herself sternly, though as an afterthought she added a pair of comfortable trousers and a sweater. With the tight schedule she had planned it was unlikely there would be any off-duty time, but if there was she could dress for that too.

But everything was brown, even her bag, Katie noticed as she prepared to close the door on her small terraced house. A life in the shadows was one thing, but she hadn’t noticed the colour seeping from it. Perhaps it had gone with the music…

She shook herself round determinedly. She was going to Rome—not as a singer as she had always hoped, but as a representative of a respectable legal firm. How many people got a second chance like that?

Locking the door, she tested the handle and picked up her bag. Tipping her chin at a confident angle, she walked briskly down the path. She was going to Italy to meet one of the most exciting men of his day. She didn’t expect to be part of Rigo Ruggiero’s life but, for a few short and hopefully thrilling hours, she would be an observer. At the very least she could report back to the girls in the office and brighten up their coffee breaks for the foreseeable future.

Signor Ruggiero had lied. Clutching her sensible bag like a comfort blanket, Katie stood bewildered amongst the crowds on the pavement outside Fiumicino Airport in Rome. The sun was beating down like an unrelenting spotlight and the heat was overpowering. She stared this way and that, but it only confirmed what she already knew, which was, no one had come to meet her. Plus everyone else seemed to know where they were going. She was the only country bumpkin who appeared to be cast adrift in the big city.

And was fervently wishing she’d handled her own transport arrangements into Rome.

What was wrong with her? She had the address…

Having found it in her bag, she looked for a taxi. Was she going to be defeated before she even started this adventure? But each time she stepped forward to claim an empty cab, someone taller, slicker and more confident than Katie stepped in front of her—

‘Signorina Bannister?’

The voice reached into her chest and squeezed her heart tight before she even had chance to look around, and when she did she almost stumbled into the arms of a man who put his photographs to shame. Her heart drummed an immediate tattoo. Rigo Ruggiero in the hard, tanned flesh was infinitely better-looking than his air-brushed images—so hot you wouldn’t touch him without protective clothing. He was the type of man Katie had spent her whole life dreaming about and wishing would notice her, but who, of course, never would—other than today, when he had no alternative.

‘Sorry…sorry.’ She righted herself quickly before he was brought into contact with her cheap polyester suit. ‘Signorina Bannister? That’s me.’

‘Are you sure?’

Her cheeks flamed. ‘Of course I’m sure…’

Thrusting her serviceable bag beneath her arm, she held out her free hand in greeting. ‘This is very good of you, sir—’ She braced herself for contact.

Contact there was none.

Startlingly green and uncomfortably shrewd eyes refused to share Signor Ruggiero’s practised smile. He was not the man in the magazine photograph. That man was a playboy with pleasure on his mind. The man in front of her was a realist, a thinker, a business tycoon, and he took no prisoners. The hand she had extended dropped back to her side. ‘I didn’t think you would come to meet me in person—’

‘It is my pleasure to do so.’

He even bowed slightly, but his tone suggested it was anything but a pleasure for him.

Katie’s worst fears were confirmed. Rigo Ruggiero was hiding disappointment. Having heard her husky voice over the phone, he had imagined he had come to the airport to meet a siren. They had both been misled, Katie reflected wryly. Now this was not business for her; it had become personal. Rigo Ruggiero had shadows behind his eyes she couldn’t resist and wanted to understand, and he was so handsome he made her heart ache.

‘You had a good journey, I hope.’

‘Very good, thank you.’

She registered the fact that he had spoken to her in a tone of voice she imagined he might use with a maiden aunt. He was so much taller, bigger and had a more powerful aura than her imagination had allowed and was far more rugged. He was the type of man who could look dangerous even in tailored clothes. The dark trousers complemented his athletic figure and the crisp blue shirt was open a couple of buttons at the neck, revealing a hard, tanned chest, shaded with black hair. The sight of this gave parts of her that were largely unused a vigorous workout. If this wasn’t lust at first sight, it was the closest Katie Bannister had ever come to it.

But what she needed now, Katie reasoned with her sensible head on, was some form of identification to prove to Rigo Ruggiero she was who she said she was. On plundering her bag she managed to spill the contents all over his designer-clad feet.

‘Allow me, Signorina Bannister…’

To his credit, he immediately dipped to rescue her passport, tickets, toffees, tissues and all the other embarrassing detritus she had accumulated during the flight.

‘Why don’t I take your bag?’ he suggested, staring her straight in the eyes as he straightened up.

My shabby, disreputable-looking bag? ‘That’s very kind of you. And here’s my passport for purposes of identification.’

‘I don’t think we’ll need that,’ he said, lips pressing down in an unfeasibly attractive way. And then, in a final cataclysmic put-down, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you put your passport somewhere safe before you lose it?’

So she wasn’t a maiden aunt, she was a child.

She’d made a great first impression. He even held the bag steady for her as she stuffed her possessions back inside. She glanced at him apologetically. He had no need to flag it up. Her clothes, her gaucheness, her red cheeks and clumsiness, all told a story Rigo Ruggiero had no interest in reading.

‘And my stepbrother’s personal effects?’ he pressed, gazing past her.

She wondered if he expected a packing case to be following on. ‘Your stepbrother’s effects are right here.’ She patted the breast pocket of her jacket to reassure him.

‘That doesn’t look like very much.’

‘Well, it is a very small package.’ She blushed violently to see him conceal a smile.

‘OK,’ he said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, ‘I’ll get the car.’

‘Honestly, I’m quite happy to take a cab—’

‘So we arrive at my penthouse in convoy?’ he suggested, shooting her a look.

How much better could this get? ‘See your point,’ she murmured with a nervous laugh.

How much better? A lot better, Katie realised as a blood-red sports car drew up at the kerb. She didn’t need to remember the blonde in the magazine to know she was hardly in this class. A sick, heavy feeling was building in her stomach as an admiring crowd gathered around the high-performance vehicle and its elegant driver. They had recognised Rigo, of course, and now they were eager to find out who he was meeting at the airport.

That was what she had to walk through to get to the car.

‘I don’t bite, Signorina Bannister.’

The throaty drawl drew her attention to the man leaning over the roof of the low-slung sex-machine.

A laugh rippled through the crowd as she locked gazes with him. Everyone was staring at her and she could feel their disappointment. She was not some famous beauty or a supermodel. She was about the furthest thing from that you could get. Steeling herself, she took the half-dozen steps required to close the distance between herself and the car. Signor Ruggiero had already stowed her bag, and so all she had to do was get in—but that meant she had to slot herself into an impossibly narrow-looking opening.

‘When you’re ready,’ he drawled.

She had already anticipated that folding her inelegant body into such an elegant car was a skill she didn’t possess. She was right and, to her horror, she got stuck.

What made it worse was that Signor Ruggiero came to help her, and all but lifted her into the formed seat, which she now discovered had been moulded around a fairy’s bottom.

But at least she was out of sight of the crowd, Katie reasoned as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

‘Comfortable?’ He glanced at her to check.

‘Perfectly.’ On edge.

Now she had to convince herself that you couldn’t die from the shock of meeting a man like this in person, and that the air in the confined cabin hadn’t changed with an overload of ions and his delicious scent. But it had. And it was charged with something else…sex, Katie realised, primly tugging down her skirt. Rigo Ruggiero radiated sex.

‘You can understand my impatience, I’m sure,’ he said.

She gripped the seat as the engine roared like a jet.

‘This bequest from such an unexpected quarter has intrigued me,’ he went on.

This was business, she told herself in a silent shout, but that reassurance was growing a little thin.

‘I ask myself,’ he said, ‘what can be so important that only a personal delivery of the documents would do?’

As he glanced at her, Katie thought: And by a girl like this? She shrank beneath a gaze that took in every stitch of manmade fibre until finally it came to rest on her sensible, lowheeled shoes. She quickly tucked her feet away, out of sight. ‘I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.’

He shrugged. ‘I must have missed you, somehow.’

Searching for that husky-voiced siren would do it every time.

‘But never mind,’ he added dryly, flashing that wolf smile of his. ‘I’ve got you now.’

‘Indeed you do.’

He shrugged as he released the brake and pulled away. The adventure begins, Katie thought, hoping she was up to it. She didn’t need Signor Ruggiero to spell it out. Katie Bannister was hardly the type of woman he would normally put himself out for.

She held on tightly to the seat as he steered smoothly away from the kerb. ‘Ten kilometres an hour OK for you?’ he murmured as they joined a crawling stream of traffic.

‘Sorry, I’m just not used to…’

How many people were used to driving in a sports car? Katie asked herself sensibly. She had entered a world that was completely alien to her, and it would take a while to adjust. Closing her eyes and wishing herself a million miles away wouldn’t work this time, because this time she really was living the fantasy.

She didn’t realise how tense she had become until she heard Signor Ruggiero say, ‘Don’t worry, Signorina Bannister. I shall strive to achieve a balance between my impatience and your obvious lack of confidence in my driving ability—’

‘Oh, I’m not—’ Her mouth slammed shut when she realised too late he was mocking her. And now the set of his jaw did nothing to encourage conversation.

He was hardly her typical client, but this sort of impatience was universal. The reading of a will was notoriously full of surprises and, whether those surprises turned out to be bad or good, human nature demanded answers fast.

Katie’s hand crept to the breast pocket of her suit, where she wished fervently for some last small legacy of love for him contained within the envelope she was carrying—though, if past experience was any guide, she was wasting her time.

OK, so meeting Katie Bannister had been a shock, but he was growing used to her unique vibe. She was as different from the women he was used to mixing with as it was possible to imagine, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, only different. He didn’t need false breasts and false smiles—but neither did he need complications. Signorina Bannister was a quiet little mouse and awkward, which meant he would have to spend more time with her than he had anticipated, but how could he throw her to the wolves in Rome? She was out of her comfort zone and had anticipated more time to prepare before meeting him. She found herself in a much bigger, faster world than her comfortable country cocoon and would have to adapt quickly. Meanwhile they had a forty-five minute journey ahead of them and he couldn’t stand this uncomfortable silence. ‘I’d like you to call me Rigo.’

She bit her lip. Her pale cheeks blazed. She said precisely nothing.

Ducking his head, he checked the road before steering north-east to Rome. It gave him an excuse to flash a glance at her. ‘Try it,’ he said, thinking she looked like a rabbit trapped in headlights. ‘Rrr…igo…’

She pressed back in her seat. He felt instinctively that this was someone to whom life had not always been kind. Did he have time to be a social worker? OK, so she brought out his protective instinct, but he was no bleeding heart. Perhaps it would help if he let her know he was no threat to her—absolutely no threat at all. ‘You don’t even have to say my name in Italian,’ he said dryly. ‘English will do.’

She said his name—a little reluctantly, he thought. ‘Bene,’ he said. ‘That was very good.’

‘And you can call me Signorina Bannister,’ she said.

He laughed. And for the first time that day, he relaxed. ‘Very well, Signorina Bannister,’ he agreed. ‘Your wish is my command…’ At least on the subject of names.

CHAPTER THREE

MAYBE the client was always right, but she was going to keep this formal. She would never get used to a man like Rigo Ruggiero in the short time available as he seemed to think she could, and so it was better not to try.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy this quietly. This tasty slice of la dolce vita was her first real adventure. Rigo Ruggiero—Roma, Italia—a real-life Italian playboy driving a blood-red sports car with Katie Bannister sitting next to him. The closest she had ever come to this before was in her fantasy world.

The view from the tinted window was extraordinary. They had cleared the boring industrial places and were driving into Rome. It was like entering the pages of a living history book—if one with a serious traffic problem, traffic Rigo Ruggiero had no problem negotiating. Her confidence had grown, Katie realised, noting how relaxed she had become. She could get used to this—the Colosseum here…Trajan’s Market there. The only place she dared not look was to her left, in case Signor Ruggiero thought she was staring at him. But she didn’t need to stare to know he was built like a gladiator and had the commanding face of a Roman general. She could feel that in every part of her.

‘Trajan’s Market has recently been reopened to the public.’

She refocused as he spoke. This conversational tone was not what she expected from the gladiator in her head, but then she hadn’t expected him to speak at all. Signor Ruggiero was being kind by entering into conversation with her—and at least it gave her an excuse to stare at him. ‘Really?’

She knew her eager gaze was gauche, but he was perfection, which made it hard not to stare. If she could have designed a man, this would be him. Even her imagination couldn’t have mapped a face so perfect or a body made for uninterrupted sin—

‘Even in AD 113,’ he went on, ‘these large shopping malls were in demand.’

As he smiled, a flash of strong white teeth against his tan made her think even more wicked thoughts. She could think of a better use for those firm, mobile lips and those wolf teeth, and when he angled that rough, stubble-shaded chin towards the remarkably well-preserved Roman buildings she felt a pulse begin to throb where it had absolutely no business doing so. Did he know the effect he was having on her? Katie wondered, blushing when he looked at her for her opinion. Hopefully not.

‘I read somewhere that Trajan’s Market was the experiment in bringing shops together under one roof,’ she said, trying to seem gripped by Roman history when the only thing she wanted to be gripped by was him.

His face creased in an attractive smile. ‘It was the first—unless you know of one dating from earlier times, of course?’

She shook her head. Obviously he knew more than she did about his own city, but she remained silent, because she thought it was safer to keep things formal rather than to chat. And she had only visited one shopping mall in her whole life. The girls from the office had persuaded her to accompany them and she had vowed, never again! The lights, the crowds jostling her, the shops full of things she didn’t need or want. Give her the wide open spaces in the country any day…

‘I think Rome is going to be quite an eye-opener for you.’

You could say that again, Katie thought as Rigo steered the sports car down a fashionable shopping street with more glitz and glamour than her poor fantasies could hope to conjure up.

Katie’s head was still spinning with all the lavish things she’d seen when she sat down in Rigo’s vast, ultra-modern study. Light flooded in, revealing every flaw—or would have done had there been any, but, as she might have imagined, Rigo lived in unimaginable luxury. His penthouse was immaculate, and his study boasted every conceivable high-tech man-toy. She found it starkly beautiful, with its colour scheme of steel and white. There was glass everywhere and vibrant modern art on the walls. Incredibly, the roof could be open to the sky, which it was. Her jaw dropped as she stared up to watch birds wheeling overhead in a flawless cobalt sky. So this was how the rich lived. After the chaos and bustle of the city streets, Rigo’s eyrie at the very top of an ancient palazzo was a haven of quiet. She could even hear the birds singing if she held her breath.

Katie forced her attention away from the aerial display as Rigo came to sit across the desk from her. He sprawled in such a relaxed fashion, while she was anxiously perching on the very edge of one of his divine cream leather chairs. It was showroom-new, like the huge glass desk in front of her—and that was another concern. What if she left a smudge on its pristine surface?

‘Do you like the view?’ he prompted.

‘I love it.’ There were windows to three sides overlooking the rooftops of Rome, but Rigo’s husky baritone attracted her more. Her heart squeezed tight as he looked out of the window and she looked at him. He was so perfect. And she would never know him, not properly. But she would never forget today, or how attractive he was, or how polite to her—though how that would affect her future when it came to men remained to be seen. They would all fall short if she compared them to Rigo.

For his part, Rigo seemed to have got over the shock of meeting her and was treating her with indulgence like a young relative recently arrived from the country.

‘There’s the Colosseum,’ he said, pointing it out. ‘Can you see it?’

And was that St Peter’s Basilica? She wanted to ask, but realised he would only think her more gauche and awkward than ever. Signor Ruggiero’s home in Rome was in one of the most fashionable squares and had a panoramic view of so much of the beautiful city.

‘I’ll draw the blinds,’ he said, when she impulsively shaded her eyes to take another look. He pressed a button and it was done. He pressed another button and a tinted glass roof closed over their heads. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, glad to be in the shadows again.

And now it was down to business—no more time wasted on wishing Signor Ruggiero could look at her and see her differently, someone with more class and polish than she possessed…and no flaws.

‘Are you cold, Signorina Bannister?’

Try frigid.

‘You’re trembling,’ he said.

‘Just travel-weary, I expect.’ By then he had pressed yet another button on the console on his desk, activating some invisible heat source.

‘Travel-weary?’ he murmured, and there was a faintly amused look in his eyes. ‘I forgot—you’ve had such a long flight.’

And it would be the same short flight home, Katie thought, knowing she would have to sharpen up with this man or be made a complete fool of. She started by putting a professional smile on her lips. ‘Shall we begin?’

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said, still looking at her with faint amusement.

Reaching for the thick manila envelope she had put in front of her on the desk, Katie opened it. But concern for its contents washed over her and she stopped. She had heard so many unkind things expressed in wills, and was well aware they could be used like a weapon to hurt those left behind. She hoped she wasn’t the bearer of some last bitter note from Rigo Ruggiero’s stepbrother.

‘What are you waiting for, Signorina Bannister?’

Yes, why should she care what was in the will? She fumbled the sheets and finally managed to spread the document out in front of her. ‘This is the last will and testament of—’

‘Cut to the chase—we both know whose will this is.’

Rigo Ruggiero’s charm had evaporated. He could change in an instant, she had discovered. It would be a foolish person who underestimated him. He had charm only when he chose to have charm.

‘My time is short, Signorina Bannister.’

And you are handling this badly, his expression clearly said. She wasn’t supposed to get involved. She had received this same criticism at work. It was her only failing, the senior partner had told her at her annual assessment. Deal with the facts, Ms Bannister. We are not employed to dole out tea and sympathy—and make sure you keep an accurate time sheet of every moment you spend with the client.

Even at times like these when she could be revealing anything to Signor Ruggiero? Was she supposed to close her heart and send the bill? She had never managed to do so before, and now she stood less chance than ever. Her clock wasn’t running. They should have sent a more experienced member of the firm if they wanted her to account for every second of compassion in her.

‘Please move on.’

She did so with a dry throat. Even her so-called sexy voice sounded strained. There was clearly no love lost between Rigo and his stepbrother. Didn’t he feel any nostalgia for his childhood? His darkening expression suggested not. She was out of place, out of step here…

Reminding herself she was merely a servant of the firm, she pulled herself together and got on with it, only to have Rigo explode with, ‘Tcha!’ as the phone rang. He made her jump as he banged the table. Obviously he didn’t want to be interrupted at a time like this, and as he reached for the telephone she spoke up.

‘If I answer it I can put them off for you. I can say I’m your PA…’

Briefly, she thought she saw something light in his eyes, and then with a curt nod of agreement he withdrew his hand, leaving her to pick up the phone.

‘Pronto?’ She shot Rigo a glance. People had different ways of expressing emotion when someone close to them died. Carlo Ruggiero had been part of Rigo Ruggiero’s life once—he must be feeling something, though he was hiding it well.

Refocusing on the call, Katie continued to talk in fluent Italian, and only slowly realised that Rigo was staring at her in astonishment.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you spoke Italian?’ he said accusingly as she ended the call.

‘I didn’t realise it would be of any interest to you.’

He looked taken aback, but quickly recovered. ‘No, you’re right. Well?’ he said impatiently. ‘Are you going to tell me who it was?’

She managed her feelings. This was none of her business. ‘It appears you have forgotten a rather important engagement…’

He jumped up immediately when she explained. Extracting a phone from his pocket, he placed a call and began to pace.

He would only break off this meeting before he found out everything for one reason and this was it. The scheme he had set up to fulfil children’s dreams came ahead of his personal concerns. If taking a child around the track in his sports car was being brought forward then there must be a very good reason for it. ‘Of course he can come right away,’ he told his friend.

Moving out of earshot so Katie Bannister couldn’t hear, he explained his schedule for the day had been thrown thanks to missing the solicitor he was due to meet at the airport—and, yes, he had found the young woman, eventually.

‘A young woman?’ his friend murmured with a knowing air.

‘A very quiet and respectable young woman,’ he emphasised, staring at the back of Katie Bannister’s head. She had thick, glossy hair the same shade of honey as her eyes, but she wore it scraped back cruelly in a way that did her no favours. He refocused on his conversation and shut her out. His friend brought her back in again.

‘What a disappointment for you, Rigo,’ he drawled, ‘but no doubt you have a plan in mind to change this young woman’s way of thinking?’

Actually, no, he had no plan, and his friend’s comment had left him feeling vaguely irritated. ‘I’m leaving now.’ He ended the call. This was not the moment to be discussing such things, and something about Signorina Bannister called for the role of protector, rather than seducer. She was far too young for him, and almost certainly a virgin—or at least incredibly inexperienced; ergo, she was not his type at all. He stowed the phone in his shirt pocket and turned back to her. ‘You’ll have to keep this reading on hold. I’ve been called away. We’ll reschedule—’

‘But my flight home…’ she said anxiously.

‘I can only apologise.’

Katie frowned. It wasn’t up to her to judge the client, but this was unforgivable. Rigo Ruggiero intended to leave something as important as the reading of his stepbrother’s will to race his sports car around a track. Couldn’t he do that some other time? His equally arrogant friend hadn’t been prepared to tell her much more, but she gathered that was the plan. ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ she said coldly, remembering the senior partner’s words. ‘After all, you’re paying for my time—’

‘Plus ça change,’ he interrupted and his expression registered nothing more than resigned acceptance of the way of things.

Now she was insulted. Her motive in coming to Rome had not been money. The fact that she had come here to fulfil his stepbrother’s last request didn’t matter to him at all, apparently.

He saw this change in her and emphasized, ‘This is something I cannot miss—’

‘And I cannot miss my flight,’ she said, standing up.

‘You can change it—’

‘I’m not sure I can—’

‘Why not?’

Because she would have to buy a new ticket—an expense that would mean nothing to this man and that in their present parlous state her firm probably wouldn’t reimburse. She had bills to pay—and the prospect of no job to return to ahead of her.

She had tried so hard to strike the right tone and be professional, but she was growing increasingly agitated as she faced Rigo Ruggiero across the desk. Like it or not, they were in conflict now. ‘Couldn’t you change your appointment?’ she suggested hesitantly.

‘No.’

‘But you are eager to get this over with?’ she reminded him. And not put off by a drive around the racetrack with the boys.

‘I assure you I am every bit as eager as I was before, but now I must go—’

‘Shall I wait for you?’

Already halfway to the door, he spun around. ‘Make yourself at home.’

Tension had propelled her to breaking point. She might be a small-town solicitor, and dull as ditchwater if you compared her to the blistering glamour of a man like this, but she wasn’t anyone’s doormat. ‘Signor Ruggiero, please,’ she called, chasing after him. ‘This just can’t wait—’

‘And neither can my appointment,’ he called back to her from the door. ‘You must be content—’

Content?

As he spoke one strong, tanned hand flexed impatiently on the door handle. ‘I will return as quickly as I can—’

‘But my flight—’

‘Book another flight.’

The next sound she heard was the sound of the door slamming on his private quarters.

Great, Katie thought, subsiding. She was going to miss her flight.

So what would she do? She would have to stay in Rome. But since the fire privacy was all-important. She’d never stayed away from home since the fire. She had never risked anyone seeing her scars. What if a hotel maid or a porter walked in on her by accident? The thought of it made her blood run cold.

She wasn’t ready for this—maybe she never would be. And where would she stay? Could she even afford to stay in a city as expensive as Rome on her limited budget?

‘Ciao, bella.’

On the point of tears, she swung around clumsily, almost crashing into the fabulous desk as Rigo Ruggiero stormed out of the apartment in a cloud of testosterone and expensive cologne. Ciao, bella? He must have mistaken her for someone else.

But her nipples were impressed, Katie realised with astonishment. Well, she could dream, couldn’t she? Ciao, bella…

Her sensible self lost no time telling her she should be concerned at these unmistakeable signs of arousal, because Rigo Ruggiero roused more than awe inside her, he roused lust.

And frustration.

And anger.

He inspired that too, because this just wasn’t fair. How long did it take to race around a track? Was she supposed to sit here waiting indefinitely for him?

She would go and find a cheap hotel, Katie concluded, putting the will back in its envelope. Wandering to the window, she took a last look out, debating whether to book a flight today, tomorrow—or next week, maybe? Who the hell knew? She was of no importance to Signor Ruggiero and had been dismissed. Far from being impatient to know the contents of his stepbrother’s will, as he had told her, he had proved himself all too easily distracted. The words play and boy had never made more sense to her. Rigo Ruggiero was like a film star—all top show. He was a man with too much money and not enough to occupy his time.

Staring down at the road a dizzying distance below, she watched his sleek red car pull out smoothly into the chaos of Roman traffic. Everyone gave way for him, of course. But not her, Katie determined, firming her jaw. Not that she’d ever get the chance. But then her dreamy self came to the fore and she wondered, if she had looked different—more glamorous, more appealing—would Rigo have taken her to the track with him?

And why should she care? It was time to stop daydreaming and start making plans.

An open ticket home was the best thing, Katie decided, and then the moment this business was concluded she could fly home. Rigo Ruggiero might have consigned her to the pigeonhole marked miscellaneous, along with all the other women who, for reasons of age, or inferior looks, had failed to meet his exacting standards, but even in her dreams she didn’t want to spend any more time than she had to with a man so self-absorbed he’d put a drive around a racetrack ahead of the reading of his stepbrother’s will.

Which naturally accounted for her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. Who was she trying to fool? Katie wondered as the phone rang again. She looked across the room. Where were the snooty staff she’d had to get past at his office? Had he sacked them all? Surely a man like Rigo Ruggiero had a PA who could sort out his appointments and answer his phone? But if he had, there was no sign of him or her.

The phone continued to peal until finally she gave in and picked it up. ‘Pronto?’

‘Signorina Bannister?’

No. A Hollywood film star, she felt like telling Rigo Ruggiero at that moment. ‘Sì,’ she said instead, forcing an agreeable note into her voice.

‘I feel bad.’

Oh, no! She pulled a face and somehow managed to sound pleasantly surprised at the same time. ‘Oh…?’

‘You should make the most of your time in Rome.’

Really? ‘But I’ll be leaving shortly,’ she pointed out, waiting in vain for the surge of relief those words should bring.

‘Have you booked another flight yet?’

Ah, so he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. ‘I was about to—’

‘Well, don’t. Not until I get back.’

Commands now? Did she work for him? ‘But, Signor Ruggiero, I’m not equipped to stay over—’

‘Not equipped? What’s your problem? Buy whatever you need and charge it to me.’

What? ‘I couldn’t possibly!’ Katie exclaimed with affront—though she did allow her imagination a five-second trolley dash through Rome’s most expensive store with Rigo Ruggiero’s credit card clutched tightly in her hand. ‘I don’t have a hotel.’

‘A hotel? Don’t be ridiculous. I have seven bedrooms.’

Now she really was too shocked to speak.

‘Signorina Bannister? Are you still there?’

‘Yes,’ Katie managed hoarsely.

‘Don’t forget we still have business to conclude, you and I. I expect you there on my return. How hard can it be?’ he added in a more soothing tone. ‘My penthouse has a roof garden accessed through the staircase in the hallway, as well as an outdoor pool with the finest views over Rome you’ll ever see. There’s a resident chef on call at the press of a button, and an entertainment centre with a gym attached to the spa. Use the place like your own. And don’t forget—be there when I return. Oh, and in the meantime—answer any incoming calls and make a note of them, would you?’

Katie was still choking out words of protest when Rigo cut the line.

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