Her Ruthless Italian Boss

Negotiating the maze of corridors, Beth was scared in case her rusty holiday Italian let her down, but everyone she met in the building was really friendly. She soon found the executive lounge, and walked in with a broad smile.

It evaporated the instant she saw the man who was silhouetted at the window. The impressive figure had his back to her, but she still recognised him. He was the same man who had been piloting that speedboat, and the realisation hit her heart a hammer blow. Now there could be no mistake. His sable-dark hair had not been given its regulation trim in a while and now curled almost to his collar, but it didn’t matter. Beth was convinced that when the managing director of Francesco Fine Arts turned around, every word, English or Italian, would desert her. She already knew this billionaire workaholic would turn out to be the man she desired most in the world.

And the only one she would ever love.

Beth had been quiet and discreet, but Luca still heard her enter the room. He glanced over his shoulder with a smile—and then stopped. In one second his open expression turned from pleasure to deep, dark distrust. Beth went cold with dread. Although he was not handsome in the way of soap stars or male models, Luca was devastating to look at. Those dark, wide-set eyes might have lashes to die for, but the effect was compelling, not sentimental. His masculinity was carved, not manufactured. It had been honed on the assault course, giving him a form every woman wanted to touch. Beth was no exception. Despite his ten-kilowatt glare, the first thing she noticed was how pale and tired he looked.

And then his quiet words tore the years away.

‘Mio Dio…I must have died and gone to hell…’

Beth was shattered. His eyes were like chips of black diamond. The man who meant everything to her was now trying to intimidate her, not melt her. He succeeded in no time at all, because Beth’s soul still bore the indelible brand of his hard, dark anger. It had been seared into her on that last burning night in Balacha. Five years later, it still hurt.

She began inching pinches along the edge of the file she carried, measuring her embarrassment and shame.

‘Luca…I had no idea…I would never have come here if I’d known—’

He silenced her with a single, sharp gesture of his hand. Their time apart had increased his natural authority a hundredfold. His appearance had always been unconventional. Now he looked dangerous. Instead of tanned and open, his face was drawn and watchful. Those beautiful eyes with their sweeping lashes now had dark hollows beneath them. Beth was horrified, but all the old attraction was still there. She could sense it, but she could also feel waves of resentment flowing from him.

Shock and shame forced her words out in a torrent of apology. ‘Look, I can hardly blame you for being angry with me, Luca. I picked up a pen a thousand times to try and write to you but—’

‘Don’t give me any more lies, Elizabeth. Or Beth, or whatever your name is these days. I don’t need your excuses.’ His tone was like silk drawn over sandpaper. ‘I suppose you must be this indispensable PA Ben Simpson needs to keep him in check?’ He moved forward. Beth stepped back. Seeing her flinch, he exhaled angrily. ‘There’s no point in pretending to be afraid of me. We both know that’s never been the case. Besides, what’s done is done. As far as I am concerned you are part of my past, and a part that I have no wish to remember. My interest is in the here and now.’

He paused, and raised his right hand to the side of his head. Beth watched him dig his fingers into his temple before continuing. ‘I won’t go back on the agreement to employ you. Ben is fast becoming a world expert in ceramics. I want him on my team and, for that privilege, I am willing to endure anything. Even your presence,’ he finished meaningfully.

Somehow, Beth pulled herself together. Over the past couple of years she had survived a lot, but much of it had not been of her own making. Luca’s cold fury was a different thing altogether. This was entirely down to her, so she would just have to put a brave face on it.

‘Don’t worry—now I can see how things are, I won’t be staying here for more than six months. That’s the length of my initial contract with FFA, and I won’t be asking you to renew it. I wouldn’t dream of putting you to any trouble, Signor Francesco.’ She managed to keep her voice calm, but her mind was in chaos. All she knew was that she had to escape from his presence, to get away…

‘But while you are here, you will give every assistance to Ben in his job as my new Head of Glassware and Ceramics.’

It was a command, not a question.

‘Of course. That’s why you are employing me, Signor Francesco,’ Beth replied crisply. ‘But I shall make arrangements to train a replacement, so I can leave the moment my contract comes up for renewal.’

‘As long as we both know where we stand,’ Luca said grimly. He paused as if he wanted to say more, but then turned away from her. ‘Let me call for some refreshments.’

One end of the executive lounge had been fitted out as a kitchen, making everything from antipasti to zabaglione. Beth tucked the file of paperwork under her arm and set off to fetch him something. Any good PA would have done the same, but she intended this as a statement as well. She wanted to show Luca she knew her place as a loyal employee.

‘I’ll fetch you a latte and—’

‘Elizabeth, you don’t have to wait on me. Please find yourself a seat.’

Beth had never thought of Luca’s Italian accent as dynamite before. Now it was enough to send her hurtling towards one of the softly upholstered settees scattered around the room. She sat down, her eyes fixed on the edge of the table in front of her. It was piled with magazines, but she was not in the mood to look at them. After summoning a waitress and giving his instructions, Luca rejoined her. He did not sit on the settee. Instead he picked up a hard, angular chair and dropped it opposite where she was retreating into the shelter of comfortable cushions. Although he tried to hide it, Beth saw him wince. She wondered if he was in pain but thought better than to ask. The waitress, in a smart lavender apron, brought a tray to their table. The girl set down two cups of coffee and two pastries, laying a monogrammed napkin and fork beside each place.

When he saw she had brought nothing else, Luca clicked his tongue and began to lever himself up from his chair.

‘I’ll fetch you a spoon, Elizabeth,’ he murmured.

‘No! No, I can manage with just a fork,’ she said frantically, looking from Luca to the waitress and back again.

‘Nonsense.’ Luca switched on his old, devastating smile as he turned to the girl who had brought their order. ‘Miss Woodbury always eats with a spoon as well as a fork, Bella. It is her good English breeding.’

Beth burned with shame. She could not remember the last time she had been able to afford to eat pudding, let alone worry about how to do it.

‘Times change, Luca,’ she muttered when he returned from a trip to the counter for more cutlery.

‘I know. That is why you went off with the man who called himself my friend.’

‘It was a big mistake.’

‘As I told you at the time.’

Beth paused as she went to pick up her spoon and said softly, ‘I would never have thought you were mean-minded enough to say “I told you so”, Luca.’

Pained, she turned her head away. She could not afford to let him see how much he still affected her.

He paused, grazing his lower lip with his teeth. ‘You’re right, of course. I should not have gone so far. But you must admit, it was not without provocation, Elizabeth.’

‘Please call me Beth. I prefer it nowadays,’ she said faintly. ‘I’ve given up on formality.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

Luca picked up his pastry fork and cut through the mouth-watering dessert, but Beth noticed something.

‘Wait, Luca, they’ve only given you a small portion. Here—take mine—it’s much bigger.’

‘This is the way I like it.’ He spoke without looking at her. ‘I don’t eat so much these days.’

I can see that, Beth thought, eyeing him with concern. His suit was expensively tailored, but this new-style Luca was built like a greyhound rather than the mastiff she had known back in Balacha.

‘There isn’t much call for route marches and midnight manoeuvres in Venice,’ he added by way of explanation.

‘I’ll bet your girlfriend is pleased.’

He shrugged. ‘They don’t complain.’

His casual reply gave Beth almost as much of a shock as the way he looked at her before speaking again.

‘You used to do a lot of that, didn’t you, Elizabeth? Complaining, I mean.’

‘Can you blame me?’ she countered before looking pointedly at the fine lines of his linen jacket. ‘And you don’t want to lose too much more weight, Luca.’

Without breaking eye contact, he put one hand over Beth’s, and removed her plate. A wave of excitement broke over her as she felt the rough, parched touch of his fingertips, once so familiar but now moving with clinical precision.

‘It doesn’t take much to convince me.’ He nodded, replacing her portion with his own, smaller one.

‘Then it’s a good job I’m not hungry.’