Resisting the Sicilian Playboy (Winner of 2014 So You Think You Can Write)

by Amanda Cinelli

‘Don’t worry. I’ll find you.’

  Leo smiled to himself as the elevator doors closed slowly, her shapely silhouette disappearing from view. He would finish this interesting interlude, and that was a promise.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LEATHER BARSTOOLS REALLY were a girl’s worst enemy.

  Dara sighed and adjusted the hem of her pencil skirt for what felt like the hundredth time. Glamorous socialites and powerful businessmen lined the dance floor, each designer dress more chic than the last. She felt hopelessly mismatched in her black skirt suit. She tapped the e-mail app on her phone, even though it had barely been five minutes since the last check.

  With a dull flicker, her e-mails vanished before her eyes. The screen turned completely blank.

  Of course—a dead battery. She stuffed the useless device back into her bag. Was there anything that hadn’t gone wrong tonight?

  She was not an impatient person, but the music in here was too loud and it was about a million degrees too warm. Add that to the fact that an extremely rude group of models had commented on her appearance the moment she’d sat down. Her designer suit might as well have been rags next to their glamorous cocktail dresses.

  At events like this she was the one who usually stood on the sidelines, barking into her headset at her team. Sitting idly at a bar just made her feel on edge.

  Out of habit she scanned the room, noticing details about the layout and décor. For such an elite event, the organisation was nowhere near as fine-tuned as she would expect. And, as she’d told Leo Valente, the staff’s uniforms were nothing short of theatrical—gauche, shiny silver tunics intended to represent the brand-name: Platinum.

  The sooner she wrapped up this meeting, the better. She was restless when she wasn’t doing something productive. Winter was low season, mostly taken up with administrative tasks. She already missed the hectic schedule of her summer wedding list.

  She huffed out an agitated breath and craned her neck to scan the crowd for the object of her thoughts once more. Her stomach lurched as she spotted him.

  He stood on the opposite side of the dance floor, surrounded by members of the media. From her vantage point she could see that he stood head and shoulders above the other men, his broad shoulders fitting his tailored suit jacket to perfection.

  She shouldn’t be noticing his shoulders. She should be furious that he seemed to have forgotten about his promise. That ‘one hour’ had been up twenty minutes ago.

  She fanned herself with a beer mat and looked up just in time to see a silver-clad bartender place an elaborate drink in front of her.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t order this.’ She pushed it slowly back towards him, only for him to slide it right back.

  ‘Compliments of Signor Valente. For his beautiful blonde companion.’ He smiled politely.

  Apparently he hadn’t forgotten her after all, she thought. Maybe this was his apology for leaving her waiting? She stared at the drink. It was a frothy cream-coloured cocktail that smelled of rich liqueur.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked as she took a small sip.

  The young bartender smirked, leaning in closer. ‘I believe in English it is called a Screaming Orgasm.’

  A screaming what?

  Her breath fought with an unfortunate sip of the offending cocktail, making her splutter her outrage noisily onto the counter.

  Dara felt her face turn bright red. The bartender moved away, but not before she caught a glimpse of him laughing to himself. Of all the most blatant disregards for propriety, this was just outrageous.

  She looked around and sure enough the group of models were now eying her even more intently. One of them commented loudly that clearly Valente’s standards must be dropping.

  Dara felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Was this why he’d asked her to stay here? Did Leo Valente expect her to sleep with him in order to get her contract? The thought sent a shiver of something suspiciously close to excitement down her spine.

  She shook the foreign sensation off with a frown. She needed his help—that was true. But not at the expense of her pride. She had been a fool to promise Castello Bellamo to Portia Palmer without researching its owner first. Her choice was to sit here and act as a billionaire’s plaything for the night or leave and face the consequences.

  Her business reputation might be salvaged, but her pride...that was another matter entirely.

  Making her decision, she grabbed her bag and pushed her way through the crowd towards the exit. Her heels ached with each step and the music seemed to be getting louder and louder. When she finally emerged out into the cool night air she felt as if she had just escaped hell itself.

  Damn Leo Valente and his perfect unobtainable castle. Standing out in the chilly October air, she remembered that her phone was dead. She stalked her way back towards the club and asked the hostess to call her a cab. The dark-haired woman looked as if she might refuse for a moment, but thankfully nodded and disappeared inside.

  Dara stood at the edge of the pavement and hugged her blazer tighter around her shoulders. Was she overreacting here? Maybe she should go back inside and give it one last try. The alternative was admitting to Portia Palmer that she had lied about being able to make her dream wedding in Monterocca a reality. The actress famously blacklisted anyone who got on her bad side.

  Promising a location that everyone had tried to get for years and then taking it away most definitely qualified as bad.

  She didn’t know what on earth had possessed her to make such a ridiculous claim. She usually played by the rules, and she always came out on top. Why couldn’t she have got landed with a kindly old man to convince rather than a hot-blooded Sicilian with a cruel sense of humour?

  The door of the club slammed and jolted her out of her reverie. Dara spun round and came face to face with the object of her thoughts.

  ‘Do you always run away from business meetings or am I just an exception?’ he said, coming to a stop in front of her on the pavement. He was breathing heavily, as though he had just run through the entire club.

  ‘I would hardly call being sat at a bar and plied with obscenely named alcohol a business meeting.’ She folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘You looked like you needed to laugh. Perhaps it was in bad taste.’ He shrugged.

  ‘You really do have a twisted sense of humour.’ Dara huffed out a breath. ‘I’m not prepared to...to play any games in order to get what I want here.’

  He raised a brow, obviously understanding her meaning. ‘Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not in the habit of coercing women into my bed.’

  Dara’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. ‘Either way, I would be waiting until hell freezes over for you to hire out your castle. You practically said it yourself.’

  ‘Castello Bellamo is my bargaining chip. Prove yourself to me and I will consider the contract.’

  ‘Prove myself to you how, exactly?’

  ‘The grand launch event tomorrow night will be very high-profile. You seem to have a lot of opinions—I’d like to see you in action.’

  Dara frowned. ‘I don’t understand...are you trying to offer me a job?’

  ‘I’m offering you an audition to convince me of why I should trust you. A temporary consulting position, of sorts. Impress me and I’ll go through your proposal. It’s more than anyone else has ever gotten.’

  She ignored the silky tone in his voice. ‘But why offer me a chance in the first place? What’s your game?’

  He made a clucking sound. ‘So untrusting, Dara. I’m curious to see if you’re as ruthlessly ambitious as you say you are.’

  ‘So if I pass the test, then you’ll trust me?’

  ‘Perhaps... But what kind of a businessman would I be if I trusted every beautiful blonde who offered me a deal?’ He extended a hand towards her. ‘So, Dara Devlin
, are you prepared to risk your perfect reputation for a crumbling old castle?’

  ‘“Risk” implies that I stand to fail.’

  She accepted his hand and felt a frisson of electricity as his gaze intensified. The heat of his body seemed to flow up her veins. All of a sudden he was closer, his scent bombarding her senses as he leaned his body towards her. He pressed his lips to one cheek, then slowly progressed to the other.

  Dara stood frozen as he eased back from her. The kiss was customary—she had got used to the gesture soon after moving to this country—but being so close to him, feeling the heat from his body scant inches from hers... She cleared the surprise from her expression, finding him watching her closely.

  ‘My driver will see that you get back to your hotel safely.’ He gestured to the town car that had pulled up by them. ‘Until tomorrow, Dara...’

  One last look and he was gone, walking back into his den of sin.

  Dara watched him go, the realisation of what she had just agreed to making her insides flutter. She had just got further with Castello Bellamo than anyone had ever come before. But she felt as though she had calmly agreed to swim in a tank full of hungry sharks. No, she corrected herself, not sharks plural. One shark in particular.

  Leo Valente was a smooth-talking predator, and she had somehow managed to catch his interest. She wouldn’t let this chance go to waste. First she would wow him with her event expertise—then present him with her proposal for the castle. She smiled as she thought of his arrogant confidence. Sometimes even sharks needed to be taught a lesson.

  * * *

  Dara’s hotel wasn’t particularly fancy, but for such short notice it was good value and it didn’t have bugs in the beds. That was good enough for her.

  She decided to take the stairs down to the lobby to use up some of the nervous energy she had accumulated since leaving the club last night. After lying awake since dawn, staring into the distance, she had sprung out of bed and begun typing some ideas she’d had for the event tonight. They were good ideas—maybe some were even great—but that didn’t mean they would be heard. After getting dressed and pacing the room for an hour, she’d decided against it.

  Whatever Leo Valente’s plan was for her this evening, she doubted it had anything to do with her organisation skills. It was up to her to convince him to contract Castello Bellamo out to her by not giving him a chance to ignore her logic.

  She decided that she might as well see the sights while she mentally tortured herself. Whatever it was that he had in store for her, she was going to give it her all.

  The lobby of the hotel had a small tourist kiosk. She approached the guide behind the counter and asked for some basic tools to see the main sights of Milan in a few short hours. The girl quickly began gathering various maps and brochures for her to plan her journey. She would need tickets for the trams, she announced, and headed through a small door behind the desk.

  Dara picked up an Italian tabloid magazine and began carelessly flipping through the pages while she waited. Her hands stopped on an image of a familiar tall, dark Sicilian nightclub owner on a page entitled ‘The Lonely Hearts Club’.

  Dara almost laughed at the thought of Leo Valente being lonely. The man had women falling at his feet wherever he went. In this particular candid shot he was pictured bare-chested, sitting by a pool, and the look on his face was one of absolute boredom rather than lovesickness. The small bubble printed next to his head indicated that ‘poor Leo’ was tired of a life of supermodel flings and was ready to settle down. ‘Is there a lioness brave enough to tame him?’ the final line wondered.

  She turned to the next page, refusing to look at him. A lion indeed—that suited him much better than a shark. She had read somewhere before that lions liked to play with their food before they ate it. If ever there was an apt description for Leo Valente, that was it.

  Her mind flashed back to the way he had looked at her last night, and she ignored the shiver of awareness that coursed through her. Sure, he was an attractive man—she could hardly deny that. But she had spent the past five years ignoring countless attractive men and she wouldn’t be stopping now. Her career plan didn’t leave time for men, and she was quite happy to keep it that way.

  ‘Brushing up on current events, Dara?’

  She snapped up her head in surprise, only to be pinned by a familiar smirking emerald gaze.

  Leo raised a brow in silent question. ‘My “lonely heart” is apparently worthy of your attention this morning... I didn’t take you as the type to read gossip.’

  Dara looked down and realised she was still holding the trashy magazine. ‘I don’t.’ She said it a little too quickly. ‘I’m just browsing while I wait for some travel information.’

  She shoved the offending publication hastily back into the stand, straightening up to push an errant tendril of hair behind her ear.

  He seemed taller and more imposing than he had the night before, if that was even possible. Dark jeans and a brown leather jacket accentuated the rough casual air that seemed to surround him wherever he went.

  How had he known she was staying here? She didn’t remember mentioning the name of her hotel to him. And besides, his event wasn’t scheduled for another eight hours. Was he here to tell her he had decided not to give her a chance after all? Last night she had been lucky. She had caught him off guard, piqued his interest. Maybe he had woken up this morning and realised that this was one impulse he could erase.

  She reflected on her black skinny jeans and warm woollen sweater, wishing she had worn something more professional. She had decided to be sensible today, choosing flat patent pumps for her plan of walking around the city. Now, as he stood in front of her, she felt short for the first time in her life. She was tall at five foot eight—especially by Italian standards. But she barely reached his chin.

  Just then the kiosk attendant returned from behind the counter and placed a small tram card on the counter next to her bundle of maps and brochures.

  ‘She doesn’t need these any more.’ Leo pushed the items back towards the attendant with a polite nod. The poor girl was clearly starstruck, with her head bobbing up and down and two bright pink spots on either cheek.

  Dara groaned. Was that what she had looked like last night? She needed to remind herself to think sad thoughts when her painfully pale Irish skin decided to play up.

  ‘I was planning to use those.’ She reached towards the documents on the counter. She didn’t care who he was—she wasn’t going to let him hijack her day on another of his whims.

  ‘The last time I checked you were mine for today.’ His eyes glittered as he leaned casually on the counter. ‘Like you said last night, Dara, I’m an impulsive man. If you want to work with me so badly, you need to learn to live by my rules. If I decide to take you to lunch, you drop your plans.’

  Dara felt a shiver run down the back of her neck. This was ridiculous. He was practically ordering her to obey. She tried to think of a witty retort—something to wipe away that confident lift of his brow. Nothing came. She was here to audition for a role, and therefore she had to play his game. If that meant dropping her plans at his request, then so be it.

  ‘Consider them dropped.’ She fitted her bag under her arm and tilted her chin in what she hoped was a confident expression. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal.’

  One corner of his mouth tilted upwards, ‘Congratulations. You just passed the first test. But I don’t intend to dispose of you, Dara—not just yet.’

  * * *

  Leo had never thought he would get such satisfaction in seeing a woman eat. The rooftop trattoria was a little gem he liked to visit when he was in Milan, but he couldn’t remember ever being so transfixed by a female companion before. She ate so carefully, spinning each forkful of spaghetti until it was wound tight before sliding it into her mouth. She refused to speak with a full
mouth, and looked positively horrified when he did so without thought.

  She had chosen spaghetti with fresh mixed seafood after enquiring about the specialities. She hadn’t asked for a menu, and had graciously accepted the waiter’s recommendations for a mixed appetiser platter they could share. The silver-haired Tuscan had positively beamed with delight at her accent when she spoke. Such a polite blonde foreigner with a clear Sicilian dialect—she was quite the novelty.

  He took a sip of his sparkling water, watching as she placed the last forkful into her mouth. She had been eating so delicately he had hardly noticed that she had demolished the entire dish.

  ‘Food is another passion of yours, I see.’ He smiled.

  She dabbed the napkin lightly at her mouth, ‘Since I moved here—definitely.’

  He followed the neat little movement of her hands as she placed her fork across the plate. The waiter promptly came and cleared the table, offering them an array of desserts which they both politely declined.

  She sighed and sat back unselfconsciously in her seat, satisfied by the large meal. He imagined that might be how she looked after other types of satisfaction, and his stomach clenched at the thought.

  Distracting himself, he stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘A woman who likes to eat is a rarity in my world.’

  She turned her head to look out of the window, across the dull Milanese skyline. ‘The women in your world must be very sad and hungry.’

  Leo smiled. ‘The siciliani must have thought they were dreaming to find such a beautiful woman in their company who finishes a full meal.’ He took a sip of the coffee, feeling the familiar strength hit his tastebuds.

  She ignored his compliment. ‘Actually, when I first moved to Syracuse all I ate were ham sandwiches and spaghetti in tomato sauce.’

  ‘That’s punishable by law in this country,’ he scolded.

  She smiled, nodding her head. ‘I found that out soon enough. I think I lasted about a week before a colleague dragged me to her grandmother’s house and made me confess my crimes.’