Taming the Last AcostaItalian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Now?’ she said hopefully, surreptitiously easing her thighs apart.

  ‘Maybe we should start dating first,’ Kruz said, pausing just to provoke her.

  ‘Later,’ she agreed, shivering uncontrollably with lust.

  ‘Yes, maybe we should try the beds out first, as we agreed...’ Covering her hand with his, he held her off for a moment. ‘I’m being serious about us living together,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want to rush you, Romy. I don’t want to make you into something you’re not. I don’t want to spoil you.’

  ‘This house isn’t spoiling me?’ she said.

  ‘Pocket change,’ Kruz whispered, slanting her a bad-boy smile. ‘But, seriously, I don’t want to change anything about you, Romy Winner.’

  ‘No. You just want to kill me with frustration,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you’re suggesting we go out on dates.’

  ‘Amongst other things,’ he said.

  ‘Then I’ll consider your proposition,’ she agreed, smiling against his mouth as Kruz moved on top of her.

  ‘You’ll do better than that,’ he promised, in his most deliciously commanding voice.

  ‘Just one thing,’ she warned, holding him off briefly.

  ‘Tell me...’

  She frowned. ‘I need time.’

  ‘Does for ever suit you?’ Kruz murmured, touching her in the way she liked.

  ‘For ever doesn’t really sound long enough to me,’ she whispered against the mouth of the man she had been born to love.

  EPILOGUE

  IT WAS THE wedding of the year. Eventually.

  It took five years for Kruz to persuade Romy that their daughter was longing to be a bridesmaid and that she shouldn’t deny Beth that chance.

  ‘So, for your sake,’ she told her adorable quirky daughter, who was never happier than when she had straw in her hair and was wearing shredded jeans with a ripped top covered in hoof oil and horse hair, ‘we’re going to have that wedding you keep nagging me about, and you are going to be our chief bridesmaid.’

  ‘Great,’ Beth said, too busy taking in the intricacies of the latest bridle her father had bought her to pay much attention.

  Kruz had finally managed to convince Romy that a wedding would be a wonderful chance to affirm their love, when to Romy’s way of thinking she and Kruz already shared everything—with or without that piece of paper.

  ‘But no frills,’ Beth insisted, glancing up.

  So she was listening, Romy thought with amusement. ‘No frills,’ she agreed—not if she wanted Beth for her bridesmaid.

  And a slinky column wedding dress was out of the question for the bride as Romy was heavily pregnant for the third time. Kruz was insatiable, and so was she—more than ever now she was pregnant again. The sex-mad phase again. How lovely.

  She felt that same mad rush of heat and lust when he strode into the bedroom now. Pumped from riding, in a pair of banged-up jeans and a top that had seen better times, he looked amazing—rugged and dangerous, just the way she liked him.

  Who knew how many children they would have? Romy mused happily as Kruz swung Beth into the air. A polo team, at least, she decided as Kruz reminded their daughter that she was supposed to be going swimming with friends, and had better get a move on if she wasn’t going to be late.

  Leaving them to plan the wedding...or not, Romy concluded when he finally looked her way.

  ‘The baby?’

  She flashed a glance at the door of the nursery where their baby son was sleeping. ‘With his nanny.’

  She turned as Beth came by for a hug, before racing out of the room, slamming the door behind her. A glance at Kruz confirmed that he thought this was working out just fine. She did too, Romy concluded, taking in the power in his muscular forearms as Kruz propped a hip against her desk.

  ‘Is this the guest list?’ he asked, picking up the sheaf of papers Romy had been working on. ‘You do know we only need two people and a couple of witnesses?’

  ‘You have a big family—’

  ‘And getting bigger all the time,’ Kruz observed, hunkering down at her side.

  ‘Who would have thought it?’ Romy mused out loud.

  ‘I would,’ Kruz murmured wickedly. ‘With your appeal and my super-sperm, what else did you expect?’ He caressed the swell of her belly and then buried his head a little deeper still.

  ‘I think you should lock the door,’ she said, feeling the familiar heat rising.

  ‘I think I should,’ Kruz agreed, springing up.

  He smiled as he looked down at her. ‘I’m glad you lost those red-tipped gel spikes.’

  ‘She frowned. ‘What makes you bring those up?’

  ‘Just saying,’ Kruz commented with amusement, drawing her into the familiar shelter of his arms.

  She had almost forgotten the red-tipped gel spikes. She didn’t feel the need to present that hard, stay-away-from-me person to the world any more. And now she came to think about it losing the spikes hadn’t been a conscious decision; it had been more a case of have baby, have man I love and have so much less time for me. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  ‘So, you like my natural look?’ she teased as Kruz undressed her.

  ‘I love you any way,’ he said as she tugged off his top and started on his belt. ‘Though the closer to nature you get, the more I like it...’

  ‘Back to nature is best,’ Romy agreed, reaching for her big, naked man as he tipped her back on the bed.

  ‘Will I ever get enough of you?’ Kruz murmured against her mouth as he trespassed at leisure on familiar territory.

  ‘I sincerely hope not,’ Romy whispered, groaning with pleasure as her nerve-endings tightened and prepared for the oh, so inevitable outcome.

  ‘Spoon?’ he suggested, moving behind her. ‘So I can touch you...?’

  Her favourite position—especially now she was so heavily pregnant. Arching her back, she offered herself for pleasure.

  * * *

  ‘Tell me again,’ she told him much, much later, when they were lying replete on the bed.

  ‘Tell you what again?’ Kruz queried lazily, reaching for her.

  ‘Do you never get enough?’

  ‘Of you?’ He laughed softly against her back. ‘Never. So what do you want me to tell you?’

  ‘Tell me that you love me.’

  Shifting position, he moved so that he could see her face, and, holding her against the warmth of his body, he stared into her eyes. ‘I love you, Romy Winner. I will always love you. This is for ever. You and me—we’re for ever.’

  ‘And I love you,’ she said, holding Kruz’s dark, compelling gaze. ‘I love you more than I thought it possible to love anyone.’

  ‘I especially love making babies with you.’

  ‘You’re bad,’ she said gratefully as Kruz settled back into position behind her. ‘You don’t think...?’

  ‘I don’t think what?’ he murmured, touching her in the way she loved.

  ‘I’m expecting twins this time. Do you think it will be triplets next?’

  ‘Does that worry you?’

  She shrugged. ‘We both love babies—just thinking we might need a bigger house.’

  ‘Maybe...’ he agreed. ‘If we practise enough.’

  She was going to say something, but Kruz had a sure-fire way of stopping her talking. And—oh... He was doing it now.

  ‘No more questions?’ he queried.

  ‘No more questions,’ she confirmed shakily as Kruz set up a steady beat.

  ‘Then just enjoy me, use me. Have pleasure, baby,’ he suggested as he gradually upped the tempo. ‘And love me as I love you,’ he added as she fell.

  ‘That’s easy,’ she murmured when she was calmer, and could watch Kruz in the g
rip of pleasure as he found his own violent release. ‘For ever,’ she whispered as he held her close.

  * * * * *

  Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

  For Jenny, who is both inspired and inspiring.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  SIX HOURS, FIFTEEN minutes in the same hard chair at the same desk, in the same cold office, in the same northern town...

  She’d lost the will to live.

  Almost...

  Arranging a telephone conference with Signor Rigo Ruggiero in Rome was a pain, even for a young lawyer as tenacious as Katie Bannister, because first she had to get past Ruggiero’s army of snooty retainers.

  Let me speak to him in person, screeched inner Katie, whilst outwardly Katie was calm. Well, she had to be—she was a respected professional.

  With no inner life at all.

  No inner life? Hmm, wouldn’t that make things easy? Unfortunately, Katie was blessed with a vivid imagination and an active fantasy life, and it was always getting her into trouble. Dumpy, plain and unprepossessing became sharp and confident in the blink of an eye—especially over the phone.

  In her junior position at the small solicitor’s firm, Katie wouldn’t normally be expected to deal with such a high-

  profile client, but this was a trivial matter, according to the senior partner, and if she wanted to work her way up the profession it would be good for Katie to cut her teeth on—

  ‘Pronto...’

  At last. At last! ‘Signor Ruggiero?’

  ‘Sì...?’

  The deep-pitched voice speared a shiver down her spine. But gut instinct wasn’t enough. Did it prove the identity of the speaker? Spoken Italian was sexy; distractingly so. Quickly gathering her thoughts, Katie picked up her notes and went through the security checks she had drawn up.

  To his credit, Signor Ruggiero answered them all accurately and politely. To her dismay her imagination insisted on working overtime as she nursed the phone—tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to cover it. Still, this was going better than she had expected after her run-in with his staff. Now it was simply a matter of informing the Italian tycoon that he was the chief beneficiary in his late brother’s will.

  ‘My late stepbrother’s will,’ he corrected her.

  The honey-rich baritone had acquired an edge of steel. He sounded stern, cold, uninterested.

  A man who was so hard to contact would hardly want chit-chat, Katie reminded herself, moving up a gear. ‘My apologies, Signor Ruggiero, your late stepbrother’s will...’

  As the conversation continued Katie picked up more clues. If there was one thing she was good at it was reading people’s voices. Time spent training to be an opera singer at one of the world’s foremost music conservatoires had allowed her well-tuned ear to instantly evaluate a voice, and this one had both practised charm and a killer edge.

  ‘Can we cut to the chase, Signorina Bannister?’

  And cut out print yards of legalese? ‘Certainly...’

  Katie’s reputation at the firm was founded on dogged persistence along with her ability to calm even the most fractious of clients, but after a long day in a cheap suit in a cold office, she was at the end of her tether. It wasn’t as if she was trying to serve a writ, for goodness’ sake; rather she was trying to inform Signor Ruggiero that he had come into money.

  More money, Katie qualified, glancing at the magazine the girls in the office had so helpfully placed on her desk. It featured a devastatingly handsome Rigo Ruggiero on the front cover. Not that she was interested. Firming her jaw, she continued to explain to one of the richest men in Italy why she must come to see him in person. To Rome, where she had thought of going as a singer, once...

  ‘Well, I haven’t got the time to come over there—’

  Katie snapped back to the present. ‘Your stepbrother anticipated this...’ Her heart picked up pace as she went on to read out the letter of instruction that came with the will. She was normally unflappable, but office tittle-tattle had unsettled her where Rigo Ruggiero was concerned. He was not just a successful tycoon, but a high-profile playboy who lived life in the fast lane. To say that Katie Bannister and Rigo Ruggiero were worlds apart was a massive understatement.

  Everyone in the office had thought it highly amusing that the official office virgin had been appointed to deal with Italy’s most notorious playboy. Katie’s public face had remained unmoved through all this teasing banter, but her imagination had run riot. After her initial trepidation, she had thought, bring it on. What did she have to worry about? Rigo Ruggiero would take one look at dull little Katie Bannister and she’d be safe.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid your late stepbrother’s personal effects cannot be sent to you through the post, Signor Ruggiero.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because...’ She took a deep, steadying breath. Forget the letter of intentions—shouldn’t he care a little more? And did he have to snap like that? His stepbrother had just died, for goodness’ sake. Surely he was curious to learn what he’d been left in the will? ‘Your stepbrother’s instructions are most specific, Signor Ruggiero. He appointed the firm I represent, Flintock, Gough and Coverdale, as executors to his will, and Mr Flintock has asked me to carry out the requirements therein to the letter—’

  ‘Therein?’

  Mockery now?

  ‘Do you always speak legalese to your clients, Signorina Bannister? That must be very confusing for them.’ His voice was dry and amused. ‘I recommend plain-speaking myself...’

  No one had ever criticised her dedication to the letter of the law before and it was becoming increasingly clear that Rigo Ruggiero couldn’t care a fig for his stepbrother. She could see him now, lolling back on some easy chair as he took the call—all preposterously white teeth, inky black hair and dark, mocking eyes. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to remain calm. ‘What I’m trying to explain, Signor Ruggiero—’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’

  The tone of voice both stung and acted as a warning. ‘I apologise. That was not my intention.’

  ‘Then I forgive you...’

  In a voice like a caress. Was he flirting with her? Unlikely as that seemed, it appeared so, and her body definitely agreed. ‘So could we fix an appointment?’ she suggested, returning determinedly to the point of the call.

  There was silence at the other end of the line, but somehow worldly amusement managed to travel down it anyway. ‘Whenever you like,’ he murmured.

  The throaty drawl was enough to make her body quiver with anticipation. Katie stared out of the window at the cold, autumnal Yorkshire rain. That was the swiftest return to reality she could imagine. Beneath her conventional, even plain exterior, lurked a seam of wanderlust. She had dreamed at one time that it would be the opera houses of the world she’d be visiting. Did she have the courage to make this trip to Rome in her new guise as solicitor, or would the loss of her singing voice be a reminder that was too painful to bear?

  ‘Well,’ the deep male voice demanded, ‘I don’t have all day, Signorina Bannister. When would you like to meet?’
<
br />   She longed for a break, and she could be in Rome tomorrow. Before she could stop herself the words tumbled out. ‘What about tomorrow, Signor Ruggiero? If that’s convenient for you...?’

  ‘I’ll make it so,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’ She could hardly breathe her heart was thundering so fast. Talking over the phone was easy, but when Signor Ruggiero saw how plain and boring she was in person... And when she saw Rome...

  ‘I look forward to meeting you,’ he said. ‘You have a lovely voice, by the way.’

  A lovely voice... ‘Thank you...’ Playboys were expected to flirt, and Signor Ruggiero couldn’t be expected to know that her voice had been reduced to husky ashes after a fire in her student lodgings. She had been overjoyed in the hospital when she found out all her friends had escaped uninjured, and devastated to discover that after inhaling too much smoke her voice had been reduced for good to a croak. Oddly enough, people who didn’t know her history found that husky sound attractive. But that wasn’t her only legacy from the fire. She would never sing again and had enough scars on her back to ensure no one would ever see her naked. When her singing career had crashed to a close, she had set about forging a new life as a lawyer. This was a life in the shadows rather than the spotlight, but she wasn’t interested in the spotlight; it was the music she missed.

  ‘Signorina Bannister? Are you still there?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Signor Ruggiero. I just knocked something off my desk.’

  Or wished she had, Katie thought, staring at the magazine. A towering powerhouse of hard, tanned muscle, dressed in a sharp designer suit, stared back at her from the front cover. Rigo Ruggiero couldn’t even be accused of having a smooth, rich boy’s face. His verged on piratical, complete with sharp black stubble and a dangerous gleam in night-dark, emerald eyes. Add to that a shock of thick black hair and a jaw even firmer than her own—

  ‘You haven’t changed your mind about our meeting, I hope?’

  There was a faint edge of challenge to his voice that her body responded to with enthusiasm. ‘Not at all,’ she reassured him firmly. Reaching across the desk, she was about to send the magazine flying to the floor when she paused. The cynical curve of his mouth set her teeth on edge, but she had to admit it was the perfect frame for his arrogant voice. And, as if there wasn’t enough perfection in his life, the image showed him with his arm draped around the shoulders of a blonde girl so achingly lovely she looked like a doll rather than a living, breathing woman.