Stay with her.
Dante knew it would be a bad move. If things carried on like this, he’d get involved with her.
Who was he trying to kid? He already was involved with her. Otherwise he would’ve made some excuse, told her he’d come back when she was feeling better and sort out the business stuff with her. But no. He’d held her close while she’d watched her childhood memories filter across the screen. When the loss had hit her and seared her soul, he’d been there to hold her. Just as she’d held him on Saturday night when his own past had come back to haunt him.
He didn’t want to make himself vulnerable to her. But how could he possibly leave her to it? Right now, she was upset and completely defenceless. She really needed him. It just wasn’t in him to leave her to it and walk away.
And, although he’d made it a rule never to spend the night with anyone, he’d break it for her. ‘Yes. I’ll stay.’
He switched off the television and, still holding her close, walked through to her bedroom. Gently, he undressed her. For once it wasn’t about needing to rip her clothes off and sate the desire between them, because desire wasn’t the uppermost feeling. What that feeling was, he didn’t want to examine that too closely—because he had a nasty feeling that he was falling for her. Her brightness, her sweetness, her relaxed and carefree attitude to life.
Bad, bad move. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to make this into a proper relationship. Not when blood ran so deep and he could end up turning into his father. Hadn’t he already hurt her, albeit unintentionally? What would happen if he let her dismantle all the barriers and all his control, and they had a fight? Would he end up doing what he feared most—repeating his father’s mistakes? Hurting her, the way his father had hurt his mother? And she’d told him that she trusted him completely. How, when he couldn’t trust himself?
On the other hand, how could he walk away when she needed him so badly?
Between them, his head and his heart were ripping him apart.
He lay awake for a long time after she’d fallen asleep; the combination of the unfamiliar bed and the unfamiliar warmth against him meant he couldn’t just relax. And it felt as if something were cracking inside him.
Much, much later, she moved against him. Murmured his name in her sleep. Pressed her mouth to his skin. And he was lost. When he responded, kissing her back, it wasn’t the usual heat between them; this was something different. Something softer, gentler, sweeter. Something that he knew had the power to destroy him.
And, God help him, he found himself welcoming it with open arms.
Carenza had recovered her bounce by their Saturday morning session. She was still wrestling with figures that weren’t working out, but she was back to her happy-go-lucky self, teasing him and tempting him. And Dante was shocked to find himself suggesting that they repeat the previous Sunday.
‘Challenging me to roller skating?’ she teased.
‘Or we could go up to Vesuvius, if you want to play with fire,’ he teased back.
The look on her face was all the reward he needed. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out.
ON TUESDAY morning, Dante looked up when he heard the rap on the door at half-past seven, and frowned when he saw Carenza in the doorway. He couldn’t remember making an arrangement to meet her today. Particularly at this time of the morning. He was about to ask her what she was doing here, when he realised how rude that sounded, and changed it to, ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.’
‘I’m your eight o’clock appointment,’ she said, surprising him.
Since when? It was the first he’d heard of it.
‘And I know it’s not eight o’clock yet, but we need to go now,’ she added, before he could ask.
He looked at her, bemused. ‘Go where?’
‘You’ll see when you get there. Come on, the taxi’s waiting.’
‘Taxi?’ What was she on about? He blew out a breath. ‘Princess, I hate to break this to you, but I have a pile of meetings this morning.’
‘I know. They’re with me. I’m also your nine o’clock appointment. And—’ she said with a smile ‘—just so you know, I’m your appointment for every single slot for the next two days.’
‘What?’ He wasn’t quite following this. Was he having some sort of weird, über-realistic dream? ‘How?’
‘Mariella moved all your meetings,’ she explained.
He felt his eyes widening. ‘She did what?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said softly as she rummaged under Mariella’s desk and retrieved a small suitcase. ‘You’re not going to be the hot topic on the staff grapevine or anything. I happen to know what today is, and this is my way of saying thank you for helping me with all the mentoring stuff. Mariella approves. She says you work too hard.’
He blew out a breath. ‘If you know what today is, then you also know that I have plans for tonight.’
‘Ah. They’ve also moved by two days. Your mum says you work too hard, too.’
He stared at her. ‘You spoke to my mother?’
‘We had coffee. And pastries. Um, and we had lunch, the other day.’ She retrieved an envelope from the top drawer of Mariella’s desk and checked inside. ‘Good: your passport. I like your mum, by the way.’
And he’d just bet that his mother liked her, too.
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. It felt as if someone had just dropped him into the gladiator’s den at the amphitheatre in Pompeii and told him he was going to fight a whole pack of lions, single-handed and with no kind of armour whatsoever.
Female lions. Scary ones. His mother, his secretary, and … Carenza. He’d had no idea that they’d been plotting together.
‘Relax. You’re going to enjoy this. Trust me.’ She stroked his face. ‘Don’t go all closed on me and shut me out, Dante. I want to spoil you a bit. What’s so wrong about wanting to make a fuss of someone on their birthday?’
He couldn’t even begin to tell her that.
‘And you’re so difficult to buy for. That’s why I wanted to give you—well, you’ll see.’
‘So where are we going?’
‘My favourite city in the world.’
Which told him absolutely nothing. Though there was one thing he did know. ‘Princess, you don’t have the money to take me away anywhere.’
‘Yes, I do.’
He remembered what she’d said about paying him for mentoring her; she’d planned to sell her jewellery. Given the way she’d crumbled over the cine film of her parents, he knew that she’d regret selling whatever it was. ‘What did you hock?’ he asked.
She lifted her chin. ‘That’s for me to know and you not to ask.’ Then she softened. ‘If you really want to know, I sold some of my shoes online.’
Her expensive designer shoes. Her big weakness. And she’d given them up for him.
As if the flood of guilt showed on his face, she said, ‘They weren’t my absolute favourites, I didn’t wear them that much and …’ She folded her arms. ‘Look, some things are just worth it, OK? I wanted to spoil you, Dante. I wanted to do something nice for you.’
And he really, really wasn’t used to this. Sure, his mother