Once A Playboy...: Resisting the Sicilian Playboy / Her Playboy's Proposal / The Playboy's Proposal

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—’

A flick of his hand cut her off mid-sentence. ‘I don’t care if you want to use it to house blind orphans. The matter is not open for discussion.’

‘I understand that the castello has been left in disrepair for some time now—’

‘It can stay that way, for all I care. Contrary to what people may think, these little games don’t work for me—no matter how pretty the messenger is.’ His eyes raked down to her heels, taking in every inch of her body with an exaggerated slowness before meeting her eyes once more.

‘This conversation is over,’ he gritted. ‘I’ll have someone sent up to escort you out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to attend to.’

Without another word he strode from the room, leaving Dara to stare after him in disbelief.

That had been a rather dramatic turn of events. She knew his father had died recently, and it had been tactless of her to use it as part of her argument. But what other choice did she have? The most lucrative wedding contract of her career was within touching distance and she had personally promised the bride Castello Bellamo. If she failed to deliver she could say goodbye to her miraculous gateway into society weddings. Her name would be worthless.

She was not going to be ruined without a fight.

* * *

Leo slid in behind the bar of the empty upper mezzanine of the club and waved off the young barmaid with an impatient hand. Taking down a bottle of aged whisky, he poured himself a generous glass and let the amber liquid burn down his throat in one fluid movement.

Blondie had caught him by surprise—there was no doubting that. Beautiful women were not a rarity in his world—supermodels and socialites lined up to be seen on his arm—but there had been something about that determined grey gaze that had sparked his interest in a way no woman had for months now.

No one had dared speak to him of his father since his death had been worldwide news. But to start with that and then make a move for the castle... He took another swig of whisky, a harsh bark of laughter escaping his throat. She definitely had nerve—he’d give her that.

As his temper slowly calmed he realised he was no longer alone in the private bar. Miss Devlin had come to a stop on the other side of the counter.

‘Just so we’re clear: I am not a messenger and I don’t play games. Ever.’

She was angry, and it was a sight to behold.

‘Never? You keep shattering my fantasies tonight, Miss Devlin.’ Leo took in the crisp white shirt she wore, the outline of a lacy white bra barely visible at the front. His knuckles tensed on the glass in his hand as heat rushed through his veins. Damn, it had been way too long if the sight of a bra was arousing him.

‘Do you take anything seriously, Mr Valente?’