New Year Fireworks: The Duke's New Year's Resolution / The Faithful Wife / Constantino's Pregnant Bride

Marco took the folder. “You have your hands full, Sabrina. I’ll carry this for you.”

“Thanks.”

With the men adjusting their pace to hers, she let Donati escort them across the open courtyard.

“Luckily, February is our off-season,” the manager commented. “I indicated in my initial e-mail that we have fifty-three rooms available the week you specified. We’ve had several cancellations, so the number is now fifty-six. I have assurances from the hotel across the square that they can accommodate the remainder of your conference attendees.”

“I’ll want to see those rooms, too, before I leave.”

“Of course. Once we finalize the meal plans, I’ll provide a revised estimate incorporating those room rates.”

“Hold on, I need to make a note of the numbers.”

When she fumbled with the pen and pad, Marco stepped forward. “Let me do that for you.”

She had to grin. “Doc, duke, chauffeur and secretary. You’re a man of many talents.”

His dark eyes smiled into hers. “Ah, but wait until I present my bill.”

Damn! The man could melt her into a puddle of want without half trying.

Heat spreading through her veins, Sabrina handed him the pad and glanced up to catch the manager watching them. His goggle-eyed stare gave way to a combination of speculation and calculation.

Uh-oh! Maybe arriving at the hotel in a vintage Rolls with His Excellency in tow wasn’t such a smart move. Good thing she had Donati’s original estimate in writing. He’d better not try to pad the final figure. Sabrina would hold his feet to the fire.

She and Marco departed the hotel after lunch on a gorgeously landscaped terrace overlooking the sea. During the drive back down to the coast, she mulled over the revised estimate Donati had provided.

“How does it look?” Marco asked.

“The numbers seem high at first glance. I’ll have to compare them to the final estimates from the other hotels.”

“I’ll call Donati and see if he can do better.”

“No!”

Her sharp negative drew a surprised glance.

“Thanks,” Sabrina said, tempering her tone, “but I prefer to handle these negotiations myself.”

“My apologies. I merely wished to help.”

She winced at the ice-coated reply. When he wanted to, the doc could wield one hell of a scalpel.

“Now it’s my turn to apologize. It’s just …”

She paused, chewing on her lower lip. The stubborn need to assert her independence had driven her for so long. She couldn’t shake it, even now.

“My father doesn’t believe I can make it on my own,” she said finally. “I’m determined to prove him wrong.”

“I see.” Marco thought about that for a moment. “This is the father who taught you to play chess?”

“One and the same.”

“He underestimates your killer instinct. I have your measure now, however. You won’t win this evening as easily as you did this morning.”

She couldn’t resist the challenge. “Maybe we should up the stakes.”

“Maybe we should. What do you suggest?”

Laughing, she waggled her brows. “Ever play strip chess?”

She was kidding. Mostly. And completely unprepared when Marco dug into his jacket pocket.

One handed, he flipped up his cell phone and punched a speed-dial button. His conversation was in Italian, but Sabrina caught enough to experience a sudden shortness of breath.

“The meeting took longer than anticipated,” he informed his housekeeper. “There’s no need for you to wait for our return.”

He listened a moment and nodded.

“That will be fine. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Ciao.”

The phone went back into his jacket pocket. The slow, predatory smile he gave Sabrina told her the night ahead could prove extremely interesting!

Six

Marco lost one of his loafers in the first game. He forfeited its mate in the second.

“I’ve never seen such unorthodox moves,” he protested. “You sacrificed a queen and a knight to gain a pawn.”

“Thus opening the back door for my bishop. Stop whining and pay up.”

He gave a huff of laughter and kicked off the loafer. As they reset the chess pieces for the next game, Sabrina calculated how many additional wins she’d have to score before she had him naked.

Socks, two.

Jeans, one pair.

One each belt, silky black pullover and, presumably, briefs.

Good thing they’d cut the two-minutes-per-move time limit down to one. Anticipation was putting her into a fast burn.

Anticipation, and the fact that they were alone in the villa. Stretched out on the plush Turkish rug in the library. With one of Vivaldi’s violin concerti coming through the speakers and glasses of wine within easy reach. Since she hadn’t had to resort to the painkillers after that first, powerful dose yesterday afternoon, she was enjoying the full-bodied red made from grapes grown in the Irpinia hills outside Naples.

They’d dispensed with the table and placed the chessboard on the carpet. Sabrina sat with her back against the sofa and her foot propped on a folded cushion. Marco sat cross-legged opposite her. He’d raked his fingers through his hair after one of her more outrageous moves. No longer neat and combed straight back, it showed more curl in the dark, disordered waves.

She itched to reach across the board and comb her hand through those waves. Or feather a finger along the dark sweep of his eyebrow. Or …

“Your move.”