Get into the part? How the hell did he expect her to concentrate after he’d just kissed her like that and turned her brain to mush?
It got worse when they were halfway down the street, because he took her hand. Exactly as if she really were his girlfriend and they were just out for a stroll, exploring the sights of Naples.
Her skin tingled where he touched her. Was it the same for him? Or was he mentally totting up balance sheets and working on business plans? Not that she was going to ask—even if she’d been able to get the words out—because she didn’t want him knowing just how much he distracted her. Especially as she had a nasty feeling that she didn’t distract him at all.
‘Pay attention, Princess,’ he said, as if he’d guessed anyway, and held the door of an ice cream parlour open for her.
And then things got even worse. She knew she was supposed to be making mental notes about the gelateria. What was good about it, what wasn’t so good, where it was different from her own shops. But for the life of her she couldn’t concentrate when he insisted on feeding her a spoonful of the ice cream sundae he’d ordered—because she could imagine him feeding her ice cream like this somewhere else.
Naked.
In her bed.
‘You’re supposed to return the favour, Princess,’ he murmured, and her skin heated.
Did he mean favour as in what he’d done for her last night? Or as in the ice cream?
Taking the cowardly option, she fed him a spoonful of ice cream.
‘Gorgeous,’ he purred, giving her the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. Hinting that she was gorgeous, not just the ice cream.
If he kept this up, she was going to need oxygen therapy.
And she was pretty sure he was doing this on purpose. To tease her. Or maybe to prove that she was an airhead who couldn’t concentrate—just as she’d been last night.
She gritted her teeth, and forced herself to focus on the shop. On the menu. The décor. The service.
The waitress brought the bill over to them; her smile was all for Dante, and Carenza was truly shocked to feel a flicker of jealousy.
For pity’s sake. She had no call on Dante Romano at all. He was her business mentor. For all she knew, he could be involved with someone.
Though she didn’t think he was. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. One thing she’d already worked out about Dante Romano was that he had a strict code of honour. He’d never cheat.
‘My bill.’ She scooped it up.
He shook his head. ‘You might do this kind of thing in England, but this is Italy. I’m paying.’
‘And I’m half English,’ she reminded him. ‘This is the twenty-first century. I’m paying.’
She won by the simple expedient of taking the bill and going up to the counter before he could grab the bill back from her.
‘You’re difficult,’ he said, when she returned.
And he wasn’t? She shrugged. ‘You’re the one who calls me “Princess”.’
‘Let’s go for a stroll.’ He held the door open for her, and they walked in silence to railings overlooking the sea.
He leaned against the railings, his legs slightly apart. ‘Come here.’
‘Why?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Because you’re still supposed to be in role.’
She took a step nearer.
He coughed. ‘And my girlfriend’s really going to stand as far away from me as she possibly can. Not.’
She took another step closer, and he reached out to pull her nearer still, so she was standing between his legs and his hand was resting lightly on her hip.
‘So what did you think of the shop?’
Standing this close to him, she was finding it hard to concentrate. How the hell could he talk about business and keep it all straight in his head while he was holding her like this?
‘It’s called multi-tasking, Princess. A very useful business asset.’
She groaned. ‘Did I just say that out loud?’
‘Yup.’
‘I lied.’
He glanced down at her top. ‘Try telling your nipples that. They’re standing to attention.’
‘I think I hate you.’
He laughed. ‘Then concentrate. Tell me what you thought about the shop.’
‘The ice cream was good. The service was fine. The prices are about the same as mine. Oh, and the décor was terrible.’
‘What do they do that you don’t?’
‘I … have no idea,’ she admitted. ‘More flavours?’
‘They offer sandwiches. Hot drinks. So they can keep tourists happy in the winter months.’
And then he staggered her by rattling off a detailed analysis of the shop. What it was doing wrong, what it was doing right, where it was beating her, where Tonielli’s scored higher.
How had he got all that from just one little visit—a visit where he’d seemed to be paying more attention to her than anything else, flirting with her and feeding her ice cream from his spoon and getting her to do the same to him?
A skateboarder pushed past them, causing her to move closer to Dante. And then she discovered that her mentor wasn’t quite as unaffected by her proximity as he claimed. He was definitely hard for her.
Wanting to get her own back—just a little bit—and knowing that she was seriously crossing a line here, she licked her lower lip. Slowly. She let her gaze drop to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Well, to his sunglasses. But she was pretty sure he wasn’t missing a trick behind those dark lenses.
‘You’re playing with fire, Princess,’ he warned her.
She knew that. Her body remembered just how hot he was. ‘About last night …’
‘We agreed to forget it.’
‘But I wasn’t fair to you.’ She’d taken her pleasure from him, and given him nothing in return. And that felt wrong.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Lost for words, Dante?’
He gave her a slow, wicked smile. Leaned forward. Touched his mouth to hers.
And it was like lighting touchpaper.
She became dimly aware of catcalls and whistles from a group of passing teenagers, and pulled back from him. His mouth was swollen and reddened, and she’d just bet that hers was in the same state.
And she couldn’t say a single thing.
‘Now who’s lost for words?’ he asked.
She blew out a breath. ‘This is supposed to be business. But.’ She swallowed hard. ‘You and me—this is getting in the way.’
‘You said you were going to wear something frumpy. So we could both concentrate.’
She spread her hands. ‘This is as frumpy as I get.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do-me heels and tight jeans?’
He was blaming her for this? ‘You’re the one wearing the do-me jacket and touchable denim.’
‘Maybe you need to find yourself another mentor.’
‘There isn’t anyone else I can ask.