The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo: Alessandro's Prize / In a Storm of Scandal / Italian Groom, Princess Bride

‘You wanted to contact me,’ she prompted.

‘Before we continue, give me your new number.’

She did, and she checked each one as he repeated them.

‘I’ll collect you at seven thirty tomorrow evening. We’re meeting Giarda and Massimo at eight.’

‘I can meet you there.’

‘But you won’t.’ His voice assumed a depth that caused her stomach to execute a slow somersault. ‘How was your day?’

‘Busy.’

‘Very concise.’

‘You want detail? Cristo threw a hissy fit when his bechamel sauce curdled and he had to start over. The pan shifted on the gas hob and the flame burnt his finger. It was so not his day.’

‘James?’

‘I haven’t seen him.’

Alessandro hoped it remained that way. Although he doubted Lily’s ex-fiancé would give up easily.

‘I suggest you be on your guard.’

‘I can protect myself, Alessandro.’

Verbally, without doubt. But physically? Sophia’s concern for her niece’s safety had become his own. Instinct warned he had reason and he’d lived by instinct alone for too many years to consider ignoring it.

‘Seven thirty tomorrow evening, Lily,’ he reminded quietly.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_69feb152-6d71-5633-9901-dfc0cd3dde30)

DECIDING what she should wear to dinner involved a mental selection and discard process throughout the day.

There was a gorgeous jade silk chiffon gown with a fitted bodice and bias cut skirt that skimmed her slim curves, fashioned by a noted Australian designer, which she’d packed to bring to Milan, but had not as yet worn.

A matching wrap added a finishing touch, and with her hair pinned in an upswept style, minimum jewellery, killer heels … decision made.

It wasn’t a date, merely the first social engagement without Sophia’s presence, Lily assured herself as she put the final touches to her make-up.

She was ready with minutes to spare, and she caught up her evening purse and headed out to the lounge in time to hear the buzz of the in-house phone.

Alessandro. Yet caution had her checking the visual monitor before relaying she was on her way down.

A clutch of nerves rose in her stomach as the lift descended, and she took a deep calming breath scant seconds before the steel doors opened onto the foyer.

This was just dinner. For four, not à deux.

Sochill,smile and have a great time.

Yet she only had to look at him to know she was way out of her depth.

The chiselled facial features, the dark, almost black eyes, which saw much more than she wanted them to. As to his mouth … the memory of how it felt possessing her own was so vivid, she barely controlled a faint quiver.

Deal with it.

And she did, offering a generous smile as she moved to his side. ‘Hi.’ Too bright, too much?

‘Buona sera,Liliana.’

There it was again … Liliana. Did he know what it did to her?

‘Shall we go?’

How was it possible to look forward to sharing dinner with a man who turned her emotions every which way, when all she felt impelled to do was to retreat to safety?

It didn’t make sense.

‘You’re interested in restoring old buildings,’ Lily ventured as they purred through the streets. ‘Are you working on a project at the moment?’

‘Yes. There are various stipulations in place. Permissions to be granted, the submission and approval of plans. The legalities involved. All of which can become a long process.’

‘Bureaucracy and red tape while numerous sources confer, consult and compare,’ she lightly posed, and glimpsed his wry smile.

‘Occasionally for several months.’

‘I imagine patience is key.’

He spared her a glance. ‘You don’t consider me to be a patient man?’

Lily considered him carefully. ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘If you wanted something enough.’

The man seated at her side was capable of achieving whatever he wanted, by whatever means it took to gain his objective. For beneath the sophisticated exterior was a ruthlessness born from a need to survive at any cost.

A loyal friend, she perceived, but a dangerous adversary.

It didn’t help that she was incredibly aware of him, the primitive sensuality he generated with no seeming effort at all. He had the look of a man who knew everything there was to know about women, what they wanted, needed, and the skill to deliver—in bed, and out of it.

Where had that come from?

Like she needed another man’s touch?

She’d sworn off men, remember? All men.

Especially men of Alessandro’s calibre. With whom even the lightest dalliance would be akin to treading a precarious path through an emotional minefield.

The light touch of his hand at the back of her waist felt warm, almost protective as he guided her towards the bar where Giarda and Massimo were seated.