His Forbidden Conquest: A Moment on the Lips / The Best Mistake of Her Life / Not Just Friends

He smiled. ‘Don’t push it, Princess.’

When they’d eaten the antipasti, she cooked some fresh pasta, drained it, and stirred in a simple pesto sauce. ‘Go on, then. Ask me if I bought it from a shop,’ she challenged when she put the plate in front of him.

He tasted it. ‘No, this is definitely home-made.’ The lines round his eyes crinkled. ‘Though I could ask you if your grandmother made it. Or her cook.’

She held out her left hand so he could see the plaster on her thumb. ‘All my own work. See? I cut myself chopping the basil for the pesto.’

He took her hand and kissed her thumb. His mouth was warm and soothing, and at the same time it made her ache for him.

She sucked in a breath. ‘What was that for?’

‘Didn’t you show me so I could kiss it better?’

Well, yes. Except whenever his mouth touched her skin, even if it wasn’t overtly sexual, her body went into overdrive.

She managed to concentrate for long enough to serve up the simple chicken dish with vegetables for the main course, which he ate without comment—just an appreciative smile.

And then she took the pudding from the freezer.

‘Oh, now this is a definite cheat,’ he said. ‘Brought from downstairs, was it?’

‘No. I’ll have you know, I made this myself, this afternoon.’ She paused. ‘You know what you were saying about selling more products to the same customers? I’d already started to think about that and I was trying out a different idea.’

‘Different?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘It looks like ordinary strawberry, to me.’

‘Try it.’

He did. ‘Strawberry. Though it’s very light for ice cream.’

‘I admit, it’s a slight cheat—it’s yoghurt-based. I didn’t have time to make custard-based ice cream tonight,’ she said.

‘It’s good. Very clean.’

‘I wanted to appeal to customers who want all of the taste but less saturated fat in their diet.’

‘That’d be good for the tourist market.’

Strange how his praise made her feel so good. ‘I have plans for another, but that’ll be at the opposite end of the spectrum. A custard-based one. Really rich. My favourite.’ She licked her lower lip. ‘Gianduja.’

‘Chocolate.’

Cocoa butter and ground hazelnuts. ‘Better-than-sex chocolate,’ she corrected. ‘And it drove me crazy that it was so hard to find in London. It’s one of the nice things about coming home—you can buy gianduja everywhere.’

‘Better-than-sex chocolate.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Is that a challenge, Princess?’

‘What do you think?’ She threw the question back at him.

He smiled. ‘I think I’m going to buy some gianduja before I see you next. And then …’ His eyes held the wickedest gleam. ‘I’m going to make you beg.’

‘In your dreams.’

He leaned across the table and kissed her. And even though only his mouth touched hers and he didn’t so much as lay a finger on her, by the time he’d finished her knees were completely weak.

He didn’t say a word to celebrate his triumph. He simply stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, as if to say that he knew this thing was bigger than both of them and it made him feel the same way. Upside down and inside out.

She dragged in a breath. ‘Coffee? If I promise not to throw it over you?’

‘That’d be lovely.’ He nodded at the dirty pots and crockery stacked by the sink. ‘Shall I sort that for you?’

‘No, I’ll do it later.’

‘I don’t mind.’

The idea of him being domesticated in her kitchen was a bit too much for her to handle. ‘No. Go and sit in the living room. I’ll bring coffee through.’

Dante couldn’t just sit down and wait. And Carenza’s living room was even more girly than he’d expected. Cushions. Lots of cushions. Ornaments everywhere, a mixture of the kitsch and the stylish. And the art on the walls was atrocious—brash abstracts that didn’t even begin to tell him what they meant. Not his kind of thing at all.

There were photographs on the mantelpiece. OK, so it was prying—but she’d looked at his photos, so she could hardly complain if he followed her lead. He picked them up and studied them, one by one. Some were relatively recent, of herself with people he assumed were friends; there was one of herself with her grandparents that had obviously been taken at a family occasion, and another with them when she was really small. And the one that intrigued him most was of her with a younger couple, when she wasn’t much more than a toddler.

‘Are these your parents?’ he asked when she walked in.

She nodded and set the tray of coffee down on the low table. ‘I wish I’d had the chance to know them better. Everything Nonna, Nonno and my English grandparents told me about them—they were nice people. Kind. Good to be with.’

‘What happened?’ he asked softly.

‘Car crash. Nonna and Nonno were looking after me for the weekend and my parents were going to celebrate their seventh wedding anniversary in Rome. A special treat, just the two of them—I mean, they loved me to bits, and I loved them, but time on your own with the love of your life is special.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Except … They didn’t come back.’

He could see that she was making an effort to hold the tears back, but one spilled over and dragged its way down her skin. He wiped it away with his thumb. ‘Caz, don’t cry.’

‘You’re using my name again.’ Her voice was all shaky.

He stroked her hair back from her forehead. ‘Don’t read anything into it, Princess. And we’re not getting involved with each other. I wouldn’t be good for you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do.’ She’d want far more time than he’d be prepared to give her. She’d push him and push him—and if his control snapped, it would be a disaster.

She sighed. ‘And now you’re going to go all brooding again and shut me out.’

‘Not everyone wants to bare their soul to the world.’

She nodded. ‘That’s a guy thing. I get it.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t be who you need me to be.’ He nuzzled her shoulder. ‘One thing I can do for you, though.’

‘Kiss it better?’ she asked, her eyes huge and vulnerable and pleading.

This was a bad idea. He needed to stop this, right now. But his body wasn’t listening to his head. ‘Yes.’