Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Only she says it’s urgent—she sounds quite anxious, actually!’

  ‘Tell her I’ve left for the weekend.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘But now you’ve bloody put her on hold she’s going to know I’m here!’

  ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’ Taking Tanya off hold, Caitlyn was as sweet as she was convincing. ‘I thought I might be able to catch him at Reception for you, but he’s already left for the weekend—I’ll be sure to let him know that you called, though.’

  Replacing the receiver, she waited—would wait till Monday if she had to.

  ‘Okay…’ He gave the tiniest shrug. ‘Next time just…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Just what?’ Caitlyn pushed. ‘Do you want me to put them through, check with you, or use my initiative? Which, given I don’t possess psychic powers, isn’t always going to be spot-on!’

  ‘Okay! Okay!’ He threw his hands up in exasperation before storming off. ‘I accept that.’

  ‘So do I,’ she said to his departing back. ‘Your apology, that is.’

  And for the first time in the whole week—at five past five on Friday—he smiled. Actually turned to her and smiled.

  ‘You’re pushing your luck now! I still have to ring Roberta—and call off my lawyer.’ But he was still smiling! ‘Look, why don’t you go home?’

  Which was better than an apology, given that every other night she’d been here till well into the double digits. ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Caitlyn sniffed, still refusing to completely forgive him.

  ‘Of course. You’ve worked hard this week.’ It was the first compliment he’d paid her since she’d started, and all her anger just evaporated. Finally returning his smile, she reached for her bag. ‘I’ll see you at seven a.m.’

  ‘Seven a.m.?’ Caitlyn blinked. ‘But it’s Saturday tomorrow.’

  ‘Which is exactly why I want to check out the peninsular resort. I’m considering buying it to offer my overseas clients a break from the city at weekends—so naturally I want to spend a weekend there.’

  ‘But it isn’t booked,’ Caitlyn said hopefully, visions of collapsing in the bath, shaving her legs and putting on a face mask, or just doing nothing, fading as the reality of this job caught up.

  ‘We’ll ring on the way.’ Lazzaro shrugged. ‘I’d like to see what they come up with at short notice, and we’ll use an alias—I don’t want them to even have a hint that it’s me who’s arriving.’ He registered her frown. ‘I’m always one step ahead of everyone, Caitlyn, that’s why I’m so successful. You’d do well to remember that.’

  And even though he was still smiling, somehow it didn’t reach his eyes—somehow, as Caitlyn headed for the door, she felt as if he was warning her.

  It wasn’t so much a question of juggling her life around her career, Caitlyn thought at seven the next morning, as Jeremy pressed the remote control and the heavy gates opened to Lazzaro’s impressive home—working closely with the great Ranaldi there could be no life. The role of Lazzaro’s PA, as she’d found out in her first week, was an all-consuming one. They either met at the hotel or at his home—whatever his schedule dictated—and, boy, did his schedule dictate. In the week she’d been working for him, Caitlyn had racked up more air miles than she’d had in her entire life up to now. Lazzaro used helicopters the way other people used taxis, and Interstate trips for a two-hour meeting barely merited comment. Waking before sunrise, showering and dressing before Lazzaro’s driver collected her, and the draining day began—then she’d crawl into bed, often not before midnight, only to sit bolt-upright as her alarm trilled and the whole exhausting circus started again….

  Taking a final gulp of her take-away coffee, and hoping the caffeine would get to work soon, Caitlyn wearily climbed out of the car and, fixing a smile in place, knocked on his heavy front door, wondering what sort of mood she was going to find behind it.

  ‘Good morning!’ Used to not getting an answer, Caitlyn pushed it open, her high heels echoing on the floorboards, then silencing whenever she hit one of the thick luxurious rugs. Her new shoes were already starting to hurt as she called out into the empty hallway—this was only the third time she’d been to his home in the morning, and on both other occasions Lazzaro had greeted her from the kitchen with the briefest of good mornings and a rapid rundown of their schedule.

  But not this morning.

  Feeling like an intruder, she walked along the darkened hallway—the luxurious surrounds were not quite familiar enough yet to fail to impress. His Toorak mansion home had been meticulously decorated, with no expense spared—exquisite antique furniture clashed marvellously with the latest in everything modern—but it was definitely a male home. Feminine touches were markedly absent—no flowers brightening corners, no splashes of colour to take away the rather austere lines, no photos on the heavy wooden furniture to draw the eye.

  Glancing into the lounge as she walked past, she saw the usually immaculate room was dishevelled—given the ungodly hour, it hadn’t been attended to by the housekeeper—but it was the cushions that were tossed on the floor that had Caitlyn pausing. Like a cat sniffing the air, sensing an intruder, she caught an unwelcome whiff of a heavy, exotic perfume, saw the impressive stereo system flashing like a beacon in the darkness. Presumably he hadn’t had time to turn it off before he’d headed to bed. Knowing it shouldn’t irk her, but accepting that it did, Caitlyn gave her head a little shake and her mind a little talking-to as she headed into the kitchen.

  Get used to it, Caitlyn. Living in Lazzaro’s pocket, she was going to have to get used to stumbling on his loose change—oh, and there was plenty: Lucy, Tabitha, Mandy, Tanya…Each name twisted the knife in her stomach a notch as it purred down the phone—and each time Lazzaro refused to take the call it loosened a little. Maybe it was Bonita, Caitlyn thought drily—the woman whose calls he took without question; a woman whose thick, throaty voice could haul Lazzaro out of any meeting.

  Caitlyn gave an uncomfortable swallow, wondering if it was Bonita she was about to meet and telling herself she could deal with it—reminding herself that she was his employee, his assistant.

  It mustn’t matter a jot how she felt about him.

  Still, no amount of reminding herself of her place in his life was going to stop it hurting, and as she entered the kitchen Caitlyn tried and simultaneously failed not to notice the empty champagne bottle on the stone bench…tried and failed not to notice the two glasses beside it.

  Tried and failed not to notice the lipstick marks on one of the glasses.

  For an appalling moment she wondered if she was disturbing something—braced herself as she heard footsteps on the stairwell for the sight of some ravishing, exotic beauty.

  But it was only Lazzaro!

  Bloody hell! Caitlyn thought, ducking from under the light and hoping the shadows would hide her blush as she busied herself with her briefcase. Couldn’t he at least put some clothes on?

  Dressed only in trousers, the button not even done up, damp from the shower, patting his freshly shaven jaw with a towel, the usually immaculate Lazzaro was unusually untogether—and, though not the one she’d dreaded facing, he was certainly a ravishing, exotic beauty. The swarthy olive skin that so far Caitlyn had only witnessed from the collar up or the cuffs down was blissfully exposed now…

  ‘I’m running late…’ Damp jet hair flopped over his forehead, and the musky tang of freshly applied aftershave mingling with damp skin almost asphyxiated her as he brushed past—only it wasn’t the scent that was causing her throat to tighten, trapping her breath in her lungs, it was the man wearing it. ‘Coffee?’

  A simple question—a needless one, almost, as caffeine was the one thing that had got her through the previous week. But though Caitlyn had shared more coffees with him than she could count it seemed different somehow—here in his home—with Lazzaro making it.

  ‘Coffee?’ He frowned at her muteness, at her hesitant blushing nod, then turned his back—which didn’t help matters much.
She could feel her nails digging into her palms as he stretched up and opened the cupboard above him, the simple movement allowing a teasing glimpse of muscle definition. She really wished he’d put some damn clothes on—wished normal services could be resumed. Because with Lazzaro semi-naked in the kitchen, her thought processes scattered like leaves in the wind, and she could only hope he didn’t pull out three cups—that Lazzaro’s visitor wasn’t going to be joining them or, worse, that Lazzaro wasn’t going to take her a drink.

  Lucky the woman who woke to him…

  The leaves caught in a gust, her thoughts fluttered skywards. She was picturing the heaven of that usually inscrutable face smiling down at her with tenderness upon waking, then feeling that surly mouth awakening her with a lazy kiss.

  ‘Here…’ Unlike hers, his hand was completely steady as he handed her a coffee, as he served her a front-row, best seat view of his chest, and she actually couldn’t take it from him—just couldn’t. She just sat on a kitchen stool and swallowed as he leant over her just a little bit and placed it on the bench behind her, treating her to a generous glimpse of his underarm hair as he stretched. She’d read somewhere that women shouldn’t shave there, that underarm hair was just loaded with lusty fragrances that would dizzy your lover if only you dared. Whoever had written it must have been right because, whether Lazzaro was fresh out of the shower or not, something animal was happening—her head was spinning as the air between them seemed to still. His nipple was in her face, and she wanted to lick it. Torrid, unfamiliar thoughts were pinging in—intimate thoughts. This was their morning. She glimpsed her dreams and elaborated them a touch. This was what it could be like each and every morning…

  God, but she was gorgeous. A bag of nerves, perhaps, but utterly, utterly gorgeous.

  The last week had been difficult in the extreme—with Lazzaro waiting for her to make a mistake, waiting for her to slip up, to show her true colours. Only to date all she had been was a breath of fresh air…clipping in and out of his office with her wide smile, charming his colleagues and the boss to boot! There was no question she was capable of the role—would, in fact, be extremely capable once she’d mastered a few more of the basics.

  Sometimes he actually forgot for a moment just who she was…

  At moments like this one he actually forgot that she was Roxanne’s cousin. Lazzaro could see her hands in her lap, her knees bobbing up and down, and he wanted to still them—wanted to trap her legs with his thighs, wanted to take that mouth with his and taste it. Why couldn’t he have felt like that last night? Listening to Mandy—or was it Mindy?—droning on and on. As beautiful as she was, he hadn’t even been bothered enough to shut her up with a kiss, hadn’t even felt a stirring—which for Lazzaro had proved extremely worrying. Rising to any occasion had never, ever been an issue—only it would have been last night. Which was why he’d had his driver take Mandy home—why, after a quick drink, he’d pleaded exhaustion.

  Lazzaro wasn’t tired now, though—in fact he was very, very awake. The air was thick with arousal, and the heat that was burning from her mouth warmed him. Their breathing matched. He could see the curve of her bosom as it rapidly rose and fell, and it actually felt as if they were kissing. He could see her tongue bobbing out, rolling over her bottom lip. Both were silent, both just staring, both feeling it—an it that was impossible to deny—this bit of ice that reared between them now and then. Ice that really needed to be broken…

  ‘Should we just go upstairs? Get it over with…?’ His voice was low and gruff, his eyes smiling down at hers.

  If anyone else, under any other circumstance, had said that, she’d have died. But she actually laughed, grateful that he’d acknowledged it, made a sort of joke about it, so that she could too.

  ‘Only I don’t think I can walk about like this all day—it would be extremely uncomfortable!’

  ‘Well, you’d better get used to it,’ Caitlyn retorted. ‘Because I’ve seen your schedule and we certainly haven’t got time for any of that nonsense—anyway, I’ve just done my make-up.’

  He laughed, and amazingly she wasn’t blushing any more. In fact, Caitlyn realised, she was flirting—she, Caitlyn Bell, the last virgin on earth, the most unskilled flirter alive, was actually teasing the sexiest man of them all. And she was doing it rather well, she realised, as he actually pushed just a little bit harder, and she actually glimpsed a note of regret when he smiled and winked.

  ‘Pity!’

  Now she could pick up her cup, and she took a drink.

  ‘Pity,’ he said again. ‘It would have been marvellous, you know!’

  Skimming the newspaper as they left the city behind, still he managed to dish out his orders.

  ‘Book a massage for you—all the best treatments—and book golf for me. Tell them I need to hire everything,’ Lazzaro prompted as she pulled out her phone.

  ‘Women do play golf too,’ Caitlyn responded tartly as she dialled the number. ‘Some rather well…’

  ‘Fine.’ Lazzaro bared his teeth in a smile. ‘You play golf, if you prefer—I could use a massage, actually!’

  Given the only thing Caitlyn knew about golf was that it sounded boring, she made reservations for ‘Mr Holland’ and his assistant Miss Bell, blushing as she did so. Definitely not refusing to give in, she ordered a few rather luxurious-sounding treatments for herself.

  ‘Not much of an alias,’ Lazzaro drawled as she clicked the phone off.

  ‘I’m not the one with anything to hide,’ Caitlyn teased back. But he mustn’t have got her sense of humour, or something must have been lost in translation, because instead of smirking back at her, as she’d expected, his face hardened, his eyes narrowing for a moment, staring at her as he had all last week.

  Looking at her as if he didn’t even like her.

  The mobile ringing in his pocket went unanswered, Lazzaro instead flicking his eyes away and staring moodily out of the window. The sun was rising on an already warm day, hitting the high-rise towers of the city, and despite the air-conditioned car, Caitlyn felt drained. Even after the strong shot of coffee, Caitlyn suddenly felt weary—the teasing fun they’d had this morning but a distant memory now. It was clearly going to be another very long day.

  ‘Caitlyn Bell.’ When her own mobile rang she answered without checking—glad for the diversion, actually, with Lazzaro suddenly in this black mood. ‘Oh, Antonia,’ she said, and Lazzaro looked over sharply. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Today’s the day…’ Caitlyn could hear the excitement laced with fear in his sister’s voice. ‘We’re on our way to the hospital now. I’ve tried to get hold of Lazzaro at home, and on his mobile—he’s not with you, is he?’

  Caitlyn was saved from having to answer by Lazzaro giving a rather irritated sigh and snapping his fingers for her to hand over the phone. But when he spoke to his sister his voice was light and easy—though Caitlyn couldn’t help but notice every bit of his body language said otherwise.

  ‘How are you?’ Lazzaro greeted his sister. ‘That’s fantastic!’ He paused and laughed. ‘Well, don’t be—you know they say the second labour’s always much easier.’

  Since when was Lazzaro such an expert on childbirth? Caitlyn thought, irritated. But clearly Antonia, in her present state, had no trouble voicing it!

  ‘You should know by now that I’m an expert on everything!’ Lazzaro responded. ‘I thought you weren’t due for another week.’ His fingers were tapping on his thigh as Antonia answered. ‘It’s just bad timing at this end—I can’t cancel this weekend. It’s been booked for ages.’

  And Caitlyn watched—watched as he lied through his very white teeth, and didn’t even blush as he proceeded to lie a whole lot more.

  ‘I wish I could, Antonia, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You are to let me know the second there’s news. Good luck!’

  Clicking off the phone, he handed it back to Caitlyn without a word—then turned again to the window as Caitlyn’s mind whirred like a merry-go-round. Oh,
she’d heard Lazzaro lie to women—had lied to them on his behalf on more than a couple of occasions—but what she couldn’t fathom, what she was having trouble comprehending, was that he’d lie to his own sister. A sister who, over the past week or so, Caitlyn had spoken to. A sister he seemed genuinely fond of—his sister, who was clearly in labour.

  He didn’t have to cancel this trip—they hadn’t even been expecting him!

  Lazzaro could sense her disapproval, and for once it unnerved him—though his assistant’s approval was usually the last thing he required as he got on with the business of being a Ranaldi. Yet he was tempted to tap Jeremy on the shoulder and tell him to stop the car and let him out. He wanted out of the car and away from the bloody lot of them.

  Tapping his fingers impatiently, Lazzaro dismissed the odd impulse. He didn’t really want to be alone with his thoughts today of all days. It wasn’t Caitlyn’s disapproval that was gnawing at him—it was his own dread and loathing.

  He was trying to centre himself. It was as if he was surrounded by a million scattered compasses, and the needles which had hovered without direction for so long were suddenly settling, all homing in as the universe moved the world along, as everything aligned to bring things to an unwelcome head. A new life was coming into the world—a new life that meant his shattered family would have to meet, might talk…

  That he might have to face the dead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE entire day was to be exhausting.

  Oh, the resort was fabulous—as they swept up the pebbled drive the lush green of the golf course was a rare sight after the long drought-filled summer. Water was spraying into the sun, and on appearance alone the temperature seemed surely to have dropped a few welcome degrees.

  Before his sister’s telephone call, when Lazzaro had been capable of talking in more than single syllables, he’d explained that a lot of his overseas clients tired of the city and hotel life—no matter how luxurious—and often went away for the weekends. Lazzaro had shrugged. Why not ensure that their spending money went straight into his account?