Italian Marriage: In Name Only

The heat of the street hit Antonio like warm nectar after the air-conditioned cool of the car. It was pleasant to be outside after the long flight from Europe, pleasant to be away from Tom Roberts. The guy really was a barracuda. But then that was why he was employing him, Antonio reminded himself sharply. He needed men on the ground at each location overseeing things. Tom was his man in Sydney. His remit was to keep the company lean, mean and able to survive the tough economic climate. And on the whole he was doing a good job. They had expanded down under; this was their tenth hotel on the Australasian continent. However, the man did need reining in—he seemed to enjoy the power trip of his position too much at times.

Antonio took his time and strolled across the wide pavement, taking in the aspects of the restaurant. Ms Heart certainly had picked herself a good location; the restaurant was on a main road beside a small leafy park, yet close enough to the sea to have sweeping views of it from the upstairs terrace. Pity it happened to be practically tagged onto the side of the building he had just purchased. If he raised his head he could see the new Cavelli hotel towering behind her restaurant, taking up more than two blocks of the Sydney street. He was having the place completely remodelled with no expense spared. The Cavelli name was synonymous with luxury and elegance and it was already booked out ahead of the doors opening in two months’ time.

Ms Heart was literally a thorn in his side. Her restaurant had to go to make way for some designer boutiques and a new side entrance.

As he entered the main reception area he noticed with some surprise the polished wooden floors and the pale sofas strategically placed to overlook the greenery of the park. Ms Heart had good taste; the layout and design was impressive. And from what he could see the main body of the restaurant was fairly busy, with a clientele that seemed to consist mainly of business people taking lunch. But there were a few spare tables.

There was no one behind the reception desk and he was about to go straight through to the restaurant when the door behind the desk opened and a young woman came out. She had a pile of files in one hand, a pen in the other and looked as if she were deep in contemplation.

‘Good afternoon, sir, can I help you?’ She asked the question distractedly without looking over at him as she put the files down.

‘Yes, I’d like a table for lunch.’

‘How many for?’ Still she didn’t look at him; she seemed to be searching for something amongst the files.

‘Just for one.’ His gaze moved slowly over her. He guessed she was in her early twenties but the dark suit she wore was more the preserve of an older woman and did nothing for her slender figure, whilst the white blouse beneath was buttoned securely up to the neck.

She looked rather like an old-fashioned schoolmarm, or a librarian from the early nineteenth century, he thought with amusement. Her long dark hair was swept severely back from her face and secured into a tight chignon, and she was wearing dark-rimmed spectacles that seemed too heavy for her small face.

Victoria found the file she was looking for and glanced up, intercepting his detailed critical analysis of her appearance. And suddenly she found herself blushing.

She’d already decided he was Italian with an accent that was bone-meltingly sexy, but the fact that he was also incredibly attractive made her feel even more acutely embarrassed. Why was he looking at her like that? How dare he!

‘So do you think you could fit me in?’ he asked nonchalantly.

‘Maybe…just one second and I’ll take a look.’ She knew very well that she had several spare tables. But it didn’t do any harm to bluff a little. ‘Yes…’ She traced an imaginary line in her appointments book. ‘Yes, you are in luck.’

He looked amused at that. And she had the feeling that he knew very well that she hadn’t really needed to consult the book.

He was very irritating, she decided vehemently. And those bold, piercing dark eyes of his were unnerving her completely.

OK, he was probably the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on—but didn’t he just know it. The suit he was wearing looked designer and expensive and he had the most perfect, powerful physique.

Quickly she pulled herself together; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that she was interested in him, because she wasn’t. He was well out of her league—a man like him would only date the world’s most beautiful women and that certainly wasn’t her.

But anyway, she had more important things to think about— namely, trying to save her restaurant. She had a meeting with her bank in an hour and she needed to be able to convince them that she could ride out this recession, otherwise…well…otherwise she could lose everything.

‘I’ll get someone to show you to your table.’ Hastily she looked around for her receptionist, Emma, but she was nowhere in sight.

Where was she? Victoria wondered anxiously. She really didn’t want to leave the security of the desk. There was something about the way this man was looking at her that was making her unbearably self-conscious.

Their eyes clashed across the counter. ‘Sorry about this—won’t be a minute.’

‘Perhaps you should show me to the table,’ he said briskly. ‘I’m on a tight schedule.’

‘Oh…yes, of course.’ Annoyed with herself for being so pathetic, Victoria tipped her chin up and moved. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. One of her strengths was that she had good people skills. She dealt with customers every day without a bother; in fact, her regular clientele loved it when she was front of house because she always remembered them and was able to engage them in conversations about themselves.

Antonio watched as she walked around from behind the desk and then led him through the busy restaurant. She was wearing flat heels that did nothing for her. But she did have nice ankles, he noticed, and her legs looked decent enough…well, the little he could see of them. His eyes moved upwards over her body. It wasn’t that she looked a mess, because she didn’t; in fact, she was smartly dressed. It was just that she was—what was the word for it?—staid, yes, that was it. For a young woman she was definitely staid. It was as if she were afraid that a man might look at her in any way that was sexual.

The notion intrigued him.

As she turned to pull out a chair for him she caught the way he was looking at her and immediately a red-hot wave of embarrassment seared through her. She’d imagined she could feel his eyes on her, assessing her from top to toe as they walked through the restaurant, but she’d told herself not to be silly. Now she was sure he had been looking at her, weighing her up with that gleam in his dark eyes as if she were some sub-species worthy of amusement.

Obviously he thought she was a real plain Jane. Not that she cared whether he found her attractive or not. She didn’t have time for such things, but strangely it still hurt.

‘I’ll get a waitress to take your order,’ she mumbled.

‘No.’ He detained her before she could move away, his manner firm, as if he were used to issuing orders and having them obeyed. ‘As I said, I’m in a hurry. So you can take my order.’

She watched as he reached for the menu that was sitting on the table. Part of her wanted to just walk away and ignore the command. But for the sake of good customer relations the sensible side of her wouldn’t allow it. ‘OK…’ She tried to snap back into work mode and forget everything else. ‘I can recommend the chef’s lunchtime specials. The Penne Arrabiata and the cannelloni.’

‘Is that so?’ He looked up at her with that gleam in his dark eyes again and she could feel the precious grip she had on her composure starting to slip. Probably recommending Italian dishes to an Italian wasn’t her best move.

‘They are very good.’ She tried to angle her chin up further. She had the utmost confidence in her chef. ‘Better than my Italian pronunciation of them, I assure you.’

He laughed at that. ‘Actually, I didn’t think your Italian pronunciation was too bad. You just need to roll your tongue around the words a little more.’ He proceeded to pronounce both dishes again in a slow smooth tone that made her blood start to heat up to boiling point. How did he manage to make two ordinary dishes from a menu sound like some kind of prelude to lovemaking? she wondered distractedly. ‘Well…I’ll…I’ll bear that in mind,’ she retorted stiffly.

‘Yes, you do that.’ Once more there was that glimmer of amusement in his eyes and then he returned his attention to the menu.

She knew her manner was uptight, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. He was having the strangest effect on her. He made her feel gauche and unsure of herself…and he made her aware of herself as a woman…

The knowledge trickled through her like ice.

Antonio glanced up and caught the vulnerable light in her green eyes. It was only there for a second before it was hidden behind a sweep of long dark lashes, replaced by that wary, guarded look of hers.

‘So have you made up your mind?’ she asked him, now fiddling nervously with the pair of glasses that sat perched on the end of her nose.

For a second he was distracted from thoughts of food as he wondered what had prompted that expression in her eyes—strange really, because he wasn’t interested in her. She certainly wasn’t his type.

He snapped the menu shut and handed it back to her. ‘Yes, I’ll go with your recommendation and have the Penne Arrabiata.’

‘And to drink?’ She pushed the wine list in his direction.

‘Water, thanks, I need to keep a clear head for business this afternoon.’ ‘OK.’ She started to turn away from him but he detained her. ‘By the way, is your boss in today?’ he asked idly.

‘My boss?’ She looked back at him with a frown.

‘Yes. The owner of the establishment,’ he enunciated clearly.

‘You’re looking at her.’

The surprise on his handsome features amused her.

‘You’re Victoria Heart?’

‘That’s right. Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?’

‘No, not really.’ For a second his eyes held with hers. For some reason he’d expected her to point out the woman now standing by the front reception area. ‘You’re younger than I expected you to be.’