Resisting The Sicilian Playboy

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I was bored. You looked interesting.’

She thought for a moment, but could not come up with a single response to that comment. Perhaps if he found her so interesting she could captivate him long enough to make her proposal.

She cleared her throat. ‘Just so we’re clear: I’m not a criminal. I’m a wedding planner.’ She watched as his eyes narrowed.

‘Same thing, in my opinion.’ He smirked. ‘I liked my naughty secretary theory much better.’

And just like that Dara found herself the subject of Leonardo Valente’s infamous smouldering gaze. She cleared her throat, trying to think of something—anything—to break the tension. The air was beginning to feel very thin up here on this darkened terrace, and it had nothing to do with the altitude.

‘Your theory is incorrect. I’m not here for anything like...like that.’

‘Such a pity. Nonetheless, you have my attention.’ He turned abruptly to go inside, pausing when she didn’t immediately follow behind him. ‘Unless you plan on going back down that ladder again, I suggest you follow me.’

With that he was gone, leaving Dara with no choice but to obey.

The room on the other side of the glass was twice the size of her entire apartment. She saw him press a few buttons in a panel on the wall and suddenly soft light illuminated the room. It was not an office, but nor was it an apartment. It reminded her of the lobby of a very exclusive hotel, with modern cubic seating and an impressive glass fireplace.

Exactly why a nightclub needed a room like this she wasn’t sure—maybe he used it to entertain private guests. That thought made her clutch her handbag a little tighter in front of her, and feeling the outline of her computer reminded her of why she was there.

He pressed another button on the panel and the clever door slid silently back into place behind him. She could see that it was indeed one-way glass, and her ears burned at the thought of him watching her for all that time.

He turned around to face her and for the first time she noticed the vivid colour of his eyes. They weren’t dark, as she had thought from his photographs, but a unique shade of deep forest green. Dara shook her head. Why was she even looking at his eyes, for goodness’ sake? This was a business meeting, not a school dance.

‘So, do you have a name—or will I just call you Spiderwoman?’ That smirk was still firmly in place as he took a couple of steps towards her.

Her inner professional was sharp enough to see a perfect moment. ‘I actually have my card in here somewhere...if you’d just give me a second...’ She began fishing in her bag—maybe she should launch into the entire presentation now, before he had a chance to shoot her down.

Without warning he was in front of her, taking the bag from her hand and placing it gently on the floor. ‘I did not ask for a card. I asked for your name—from your lips, preferably.’

His gaze travelled down to her mouth and she felt her stomach flutter in response. She ignored the sensation, straightening her chin and meeting his gaze head-on. ‘It’s Dara Devlin.’

He nodded, as though she had answered correctly.

‘So...Dara the wedding planner...’ His deep voice purred her name, as though he was tasting it on his tongue. ‘What gives me the pleasure of your company this evening?’

‘I’m not here for pleasure.’ She took a step back, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. ‘What I mean is, I came here to find you. To talk business.’

He raised one dark brow. ‘Who comes to a nightclub to talk business?’

‘Well, you do,’ she said confidently. That earned her a puzzled look. ‘I’m here to discuss a possible deal between you and a very high-profile client of mine. All I’m asking is just five minutes of your time.’

‘I have a swarm of media vultures downstairs in the club. Every one of them is waiting for “just five minutes”. Why should you get to skip the queue?’

‘If they deserved the time they would have climbed up here by now.’

Without warning he threw his dark head back and laughed—a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to resonate right to her core. The gesture shocked her for a moment, and her eyes moved down to take in the strong column of his throat, the dark hairs that disappeared into the casually open collar of his shirt.

Dara swallowed, her throat feeling strangely dry. She looked up—only to be pinned by that mocking emerald gaze again.

‘You know, despite the fact that you could have killed yourself climbing up here tonight, I admit that I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘You deserve those five minutes based on sheer nerve and creativity.’

Dara smiled with triumph and eagerly reached for the tablet computer in her bag. ‘Wonderful. I’ve actually prepared a short pitch, if you want to take a seat?’

‘No,’ he said simply.

Her bag flopped back down to the ground as she took in his sudden change of tone. ‘But you said that—’

‘I said I’d give you your five minutes, Dara Devlin. I didn’t say when.’

She felt a frown crease her forehead and quickly smoothed it down. This man was impossible. It was just five minutes, for goodness’ sake. They had easily spent three times that up here already.

He gestured for her to move towards the door, closing a button on his tailored suit jacket in the process. ‘You can arrange a time with my secretary. In the meantime, the party is just getting started downstairs.’

Dara felt her temper finally bubble up to the surface. ‘I’ve been calling your secretary for three weeks—why do you think I pulled this stunt?’

‘I just presumed you enjoyed a little espionage on a Friday night.’ He smirked.

She fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She needed to get to the subject of this meeting, but it had to be done just right or he would shoot her down—just like all the others who had approached him before her. Her presentation built up slowly, allowing her time to sway his thinking. He clearly wasn’t going to give her that chance.

‘Aren’t you just a little curious about what made me climb up here?’ she asked, desperate to stall him.

He moved forward so that they stood little more than a couple of steps apart in the silent room. ‘It surprises me to find that I’m quite intrigued by you.’ His eyes lowered to take in every inch of her body in one heated sweep.

Dara felt a rush of heat colour her cheeks. She might not have much experience with flirtation, but there was no mistaking the glitter in his eyes. This man was everything the tabloids made him out to be. Suave, sensual and utterly scandalous.

‘You know, I can’t remember the last time I made a woman blush.’ He stepped closer, his voice deepening. ‘Come have a drink with me, Dara. Let down that beautiful blonde hair of yours.’

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr Valente.’ She pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, feeling more than a little self-conscious under his gaze.

‘Mr Valente was my father—you can call me Leo.’ He smiled. ‘What business could be so important that it can’t wait until Monday morning?’

Dara spied her chance to turn the conversation. ‘My condolences on your father’s recent passing. I understand the funeral was held at your castello in Ragusa?’

‘So I’ve been told.’ He shrugged. ‘People die every day, Miss Devlin. I prefer to focus on more enjoyable pursuits.’

Even after bringing up the subject of his father, the man was still flirting with her. He really was a complete playboy. She decided a more direct approach was definitely needed.

‘The castello is a beautiful piece of history. It’s such a shame that it lies dormant most of the time.’

‘Why do I get the feeling this is more than idle chit-chat?’ He narrowed his gaze, all trace of flirtation gone.

‘Well, you see, it’s part of the reason that I’m here.’ Feeling a sense of foreboding, she powered on. ‘I’m here to propose a deal for Castello Bellamo that I feel you will benefit greatly from.’

She blurted it out as confidently as she could and felt the swell of victory as he froze in place. The playful charmer seemed to disappear before her eyes, his expression taking on a detached hardness.

He met her eyes, a single muscle ticking on his jaw. When he spoke his voice was somehow deeper than before, his accent more pronounced. ‘Well, it seems you have wasted both your time and mine tonight. I’ll tell you the same thing that I have told every other vulture that has approached me since my father’s death. The castle is not for sale.’

Dara shook her head, desperate for him to understand. ‘I don’t want to buy it—I want to hold a wedding there. I’m sure that we can come to some sort of—’