The Italian's Virgin Bride

‘Arguing with women who don’t know when they’ve outstayed their welcome is not healthy. Leave. Now.’

‘Not until you hear what I have to offer.’

‘Or do I have to make you?’ His head tilted, and his lips curled, as if he was speculating on whether he’d have to, and her fear cranked up a notch. If he so much as touched her…

‘I have an opportunity for you,’ the words spilt out, before she could think too far along that disturbing path, ‘a chance to give the Silvers hotel chain the edge it’s looking for—the edge it needs.’

‘I see I’m going to have to make you.’ He moved away from the door, each step bringing him closer. Instinctively she felt herself draw back. She hadn’t been prepared for his height, nor for his sheer animal power. Right at that moment she felt more like an animal of prey than the owner and CEO of Australia’s most prestigious boutique hotel chain, with Domenic the hunter, drawing ever closer, ever more threatening.

She knew she was speaking fast. But she had to get through to him. Had to make an impression. Before the opportunity was lost to her forever.

‘Something to lift Silvers beyond this five-star mediocrity…’

He stopped, not two paces from her, and scoffed. ‘Five-star what?’

She seemed to grow a good inch taller, though his six-foot-two frame still cleared hers by six inches or so, and fire flickered in the depths of her blue-green eyes. The corners of her mouth tweaked up in such a way that told him she thought she’d just scored some kind of point.

She had a nerve, this woman. Somehow managing to get past his assistant, forcing her way into his office and accusing his business of mediocrity. Nerve, or stupidity. Either way, she was leaving.

‘Mediocrity, Mr Silvagni. Five-star used to mean something special. Now it just means more of the same. People don’t want that. People want an experience. People want to feel special.’

‘Thank you, Ms Clemenger, for your astute observations. But if I need to have my business analysed, I’m sure I can find more qualified people than you to do it.’

‘Is that so? Then if it’s so easy, why are you in Sydney at all? You’d have the resources for an army of analysts to devise the kind of strategies Silvers needs. Surely you’ve got better things to do with your time?’

He bristled, recognising the attempt he’d made to undermine her position had backfired. She’d made it backfire. Ms Clemenger was really starting to get his back up, yet for all that he was curious. Silvers did have a problem. Would it hurt to hear her out? He crossed his arms and rested one hip on the side of the desk.

‘You’ve got five minutes,’ he said. ‘Start talking.’

For a few seconds she seemed at a loss for words and for that he was grateful. For once he didn’t have to concentrate on her words, and he had a chance to focus on the forthright Ms Clemenger herself.

She wasn’t half the challenge to look at as she was to listen to. Brown hair. No, not quite brown. More like the colour of warm syrup. Full, lush mouth. Clear, almost translucent skin, with eyes that knew both intelligence and emotion. He’d noticed the way they’d widened when she’d finally raised her eyes to meet his, the flare of recognition and something else—shock or fear? But if she’d been scared, still she hadn’t backed off. He liked that.

His appraisal moved down.

Her cobalt-blue suit fitted her well enough, yet hinted at curves not quite revealed, and maybe, just maybe, if she sat down in the chair behind her that skirt might just ride up enough for him to tell if the rest of her long legs were as shapely as those calves suggested.

She remained standing.

‘Mr Silvagni.’

He dragged his attention back from speculation about her legs to her mouth—and those lips.

‘Domenic, please.’

She looked at him and for a moment he thought she was going to fight about even that. Then she nodded slightly.

‘Domenic,’ she said softly, as if testing. He liked the way she said his name. Her voice was warm and mellow and somehow her slight yet unmistakable Australian accent helped to smooth the rhythm of the syllables. She had the kind of voice you wouldn’t mind waking up to—now the desperation factor had gone from it.

‘Like other major hotel chains in Australia and, indeed, even worldwide, the Silvers chain is suffering from a downturn in occupancy rates. There just isn’t the volume of travellers to fill the hotels. The pie has shrunk and the pieces are smaller. Marketing might increase one chain’s share over another, but it’s a short-term gain and can be easily lost in the next round of media advertising.’

He shifted, unfolded his arms and dropped his hands to his thighs. Nothing she said was new. He’d been reading the same bleak news in the report that was still sitting atop his desk.

‘And assuming that your assessment is right, I take it you have a solution to this problem?’ If she thought he sounded doubtful, she was right.

She clutched her hands together and he noticed her long fingers and clear buffed nails. No rings.

‘I have an opportunity for Silvers Hotels, if you’re astute enough to appreciate it.’

‘I see,’ he said, ignoring the none-too-subtle rebuke. ‘And that “opportunity” is?’

She took a deep breath. There was no way he couldn’t notice, with her chest at his eye level. She had shape, under that suit. More than a hint now. There were breasts and hips and a cinched-in waist. He shifted his gaze upwards and was immediately rewarded by a distinct flush to her cheeks. How about that? The lady was shy.

He cocked an eyebrow, questioning.

‘Clemengers owns three six-plus-star boutique hotels, located on prime sites in each of Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane, and was founded by my late father over fifty years ago. Many of our staff have been with us for over twenty years, some more like forty. We’re a family company that never outgrew its roots, its original mission statement—to be the best, to give the best, to the best.

‘This downturn,’ she continued, ‘has affected us of course, but not to the same extent as it has Silvers. You have to ask yourself why.’

Domenic didn’t want to ask, not her, but he wanted to know. He hadn’t read anything about this in that report and one of the questions he was going to ask his finance manager once he got hold of him was why he had to learn this from the opposition, when he’d expected a comprehensive report.

‘You don’t want to know why?’ she asked.

‘I’m still listening,’ he conceded with a nod. ‘You tell me what you think.’

‘I know,’ she emphasised, ‘Clemengers offers more than just a place to stay. Clemengers offers an experience.’

‘You’re trying to say that Silvers doesn’t offer an experience? We’re one of the biggest hotel chains in the world. We would never have got there if we didn’t offer the best.’

‘But you don’t offer a point of difference. You offer a fine product, a quality five-star product, but it’s not the same thing. Just look at your clientele, for example—’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ he interjected. ‘Mick Jagger stayed in Silvers hotels during his last tour.’

‘Exactly,’ she continued. ‘You have rock stars, businessmen, and tourists who like comfort. Clemengers, on the other hand, has prime ministers, sheikhs and those who appreciate luxury.’

He pushed off from the desk, strode three paces across the room and turned around. ‘So what are you offering, then?’

‘Simply the chance to share in the most prestigious hotel market in Australia. The chance to benefit and learn from our methods, so that you might strengthen the rest of your business. I’m offering a share of Clemengers.’

It was a crazy proposal and certainly there was nothing at all like it mooted in the report he’d been wading through this morning. And yet maybe it was just the sort of strategy Silvers should be looking at. Maybe that was what was lacking in that report. It was so much ‘same old, same old’. Maybe it was about time someone thought outside the box.

‘So what’s in it for Clemengers? I can’t believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, to strengthen your own competition.’

She crossed to the window, gazing out across the vista of harbour bridge and opera house, ferry traffic and sails on a harbour that sparkled and shimmered in the early-afternoon sun, though he suspected she saw none of it.

‘You could say,’ she said, still facing the window, ‘that Clemengers has a small cash-flow problem. My father took some bad advice that got him into trouble with the taxation department. I had no idea until after he died that we even had a problem. Six months ago I discovered how big that problem was. The banks were prepared to help—for a while.’ She shook her head. ‘We were making headway, until the latest tax office penalty notices came in. Now the banks won’t extend.’

‘How much is involved?’