Kitabı oku: «His Forbidden Conquest», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FIVE

I’D RATHER you called me with solutions than problems.

Dante had expected at least one email, if not a phone call. But Carenza was absolutely silent until Saturday. And he was shocked to discover that he was disappointed. He’d actually wanted to hear her voice.

Oh, this was ridiculous. They weren’t having a relationship, and he wasn’t going to let himself get involved with her.

And yet he found himself emailing her. Just to make sure that he was still seeing her tonight.

Still OK for mentor meeting this evening?

Her reply was short—and very, very sassy.

8. Don’t be late.

He couldn’t help a grin. And he only just stopped himself emailing her back, to say, ‘Or else … ?’

Funny, he’d never sparred with previous girlfriends like this.

Not that Carenza was his girlfriend. What was happening between them was just sex. Scratching an itch for both of them.

Though he still enjoyed sparring with her. Yes, she was a princess—but he was starting to realise that there was more to her than that. And the more he discovered about her, the more he was starting to like her. She saw life from a very different angle from his own; although it annoyed him at times, it also intrigued him.

No, he wasn’t finished with her yet. Not by a long way.

At exactly eight o’clock, there was a rap on the shop door. Carenza—who had sent her staff home early and had just finished tidying up the shop—let Dante in and locked the door behind him.

He was carrying a gorgeous confection of white roses and lilies. ‘For you.’

‘Dante, they’re lovely. I wasn’t expecting …’ She buried her face in them. The scent was glorious. These weren’t just any old flowers he’d picked up from a supermarket or market stall—these were seriously posh flowers. The kind you ordered from a florist.

He shrugged. ‘It’s usual to bring your hostess a gift when you’re invited to dinner.’

Mmm, and he wouldn’t be bringing wine, for obvious reasons. Which was probably why he’d gone so over the top with the flowers.

And she loved them.

‘It’s a business meeting,’ she said. Just so he knew she didn’t think this was a date.

He wasn’t a shark in a suit, tonight. He wasn’t dressed as a bad boy, either. He was something in between: black jeans, and a black cashmere sweater that made her itch to stroke it. Except that would lead to stroking his skin, and that would lead to kissing, and that would lead to …

Oh, she really had to stop letting her thoughts run away with her. ‘Come on up,’ she said, and ushered him up to her flat.

At the top of the stairs, she kicked off her shoes. ‘I’ll just put these gorgeous flowers in water.’

He followed her into the kitchen. ‘So how was your homework, Princess?’

So he was back to calling her that again, was he? And she had a pretty good idea why. ‘You’re right, doing all the jobs gave me more of an idea what my staff have to do.’ She gave him a level stare. ‘And, yes, I did clean the toilets.’

He laughed. ‘Good. So you’re not afraid of hard work.’

‘I told you I wasn’t.’ She contented herself with a brief glower at him, and arranged the flowers in a vase. ‘I’ll just put these in the living room. Stay here—we’re eating in here and my notes are in here.’

He looked faintly amused by her attempt at bossing him around, but he sat down at her kitchen table.

‘Coffee?’ she asked when she came back in.

‘It depends if you’re planning to spill it on me.’

She felt her skin heat. ‘Trust you to bring that up. It was an accident. I was nervous.’

‘And you’re not now?’

‘No.’ After what they’d shared together, she wasn’t nervous of him. There were times when he completely flummoxed her, but she wasn’t nervous. He intrigued her. And she wanted to learn from him—as well as take him straight to her bed.

‘Thank you, but I’ll pass on the coffee. So, homework. You know your customers?’

She nodded. ‘They’re mainly families. The most popular flavours are vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, in that order—which is pretty much the same as it is in the rest of Europe. And vanilla’s top in the States, too.’ Just so he’d know she was looking at the big picture and was capable of doing her own research. ‘And in my shops, they’re closely followed by hazelnut, coffee, lemon and stracciatella.’

‘I’m impressed. You know your product and you know your customers. So now you need to decide how you grow the business. Either you need to sell more things to your current customer base, or you need to increase your customer base.’

She frowned. ‘Who buys ice cream, apart from families?’

He coughed. ‘I thought I was supposed to be the one who asks the questions? Think about it.’ He shrugged. ‘Or think about where families buy ice cream.’

‘From a gelateria, a stall or a kiosk …’ She thought about it. ‘Actually, one of my friends in London was a wedding planner. She did a summer wedding once with an ice cream cart for the guests, and apparently the kids absolutely loved it.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘London’s a bit far to ship ice cream from Naples.’

‘Very funny. I meant maybe I could offer something to local wedding planners. Maybe we could produce tubs to the bride and groom’s specifications, with their name on it and the date of the wedding or something.’

‘That’s a good thought. Where else do you buy ice cream?’

He pushed her until she’d come up with a list including supermarkets, cinemas, hotels and restaurants. And although he was asking questions, he wasn’t leading her—the ideas were all hers. He knew it, too, because he actually looked pleased. ‘You’re a quick learner and you can think on your feet. That’s going to be good for Tonielli’s.’

His praise warmed her. ‘I’ll research the openings, see where I can do some deals. The local deli, the cinemas …’

She paused. ‘Or a restaurant chain. How about yours? Do you offer ice cream as a dessert?’

‘I do.’

‘Tonielli’s?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘But that’s what you were planning.’

‘What I planned is irrelevant, because you’re running the business now.’

‘So would you stock my ice cream in your restaurants?’

‘That depends what you offer me.’ He held his hand up to stop her talking. ‘Don’t rush into it, Princess—or into any other deal. You need to cost everything first and work out your strategy. I’ll get you a marketing primer so you can work it out for yourself, then I’ll go over the figures with you to see if I can add anything you haven’t thought of. It’s a bit of a conflict of interest, but between us we’ll come up with something that’s fair to both of us.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘Can we have a dinner break, now?’

‘That’d be good.’

She walked over to the fridge. ‘I did think about giving you nothing but ice cream.’

‘Did you now?’

‘I had a whole menu planned out. Tomato and basil sorbet, to start with. Like an iced soup.’

He sighed. ‘If that’s your idea of growing the business, I have to say it’s an epic fail.’

‘No, it was just a thought. But I couldn’t come up with a reasonable flavour for the main course,’ she admitted, ‘except maybe parmesan, served on a waffle with salad, so I gave up on it.’

‘Good. Because nothing but ice cream for dinner is just …’ He grimaced. ‘Well, it’s too gimmicky. It wouldn’t suit your customer base.’

‘So you’re telling me you’ve never eaten just ice cream for a meal?’

‘No.’ Dante pushed back the memories of the times when he’d had nothing at all for a meal. Because his father had drunk away the housekeeping budget yet again, and the local shopkeepers refused to give them credit because they knew his family was a bad risk.

‘You’re missing a trick. Having a duvet day and a tub of really good ice cream for lunch …’

‘Is that an offer?’ he drawled.

She backtracked fast. ‘Time for dinner.’ She took the plates she’d carefully arranged earlier from the fridge, a simple tricolore salad. ‘And yes, I know this isn’t proper cooking. It’s just arranging things on a plate.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re defensive tonight, Princess.’

‘That’s because you make me defensive.’

He shrugged. ‘Do you have something to be defensive about?’

How did he manage to wrongfoot her all the time? Just when she thought she knew what she was doing, everything shifted, and she found herself in the wrong. ‘I guess not,’ she muttered.

‘It’s good,’ he said after the first mouthful. ‘Fresh and simple, good quality ingredients, and nicely presented. It works for me.’

‘Was that a compliment?’

He smiled. ‘Don’t push it, Princess.’

When they’d eaten the antipasti, she cooked some fresh pasta, drained it, and stirred in a simple pesto sauce. ‘Go on, then. Ask me if I bought it from a shop,’ she challenged when she put the plate in front of him.

He tasted it. ‘No, this is definitely home-made.’ The lines round his eyes crinkled. ‘Though I could ask you if your grandmother made it. Or her cook.’

She held out her left hand so he could see the plaster on her thumb. ‘All my own work. See? I cut myself chopping the basil for the pesto.’

He took her hand and kissed her thumb. His mouth was warm and soothing, and at the same time it made her ache for him.

She sucked in a breath. ‘What was that for?’

‘Didn’t you show me so I could kiss it better?’

Well, yes. Except whenever his mouth touched her skin, even if it wasn’t overtly sexual, her body went into overdrive.

She managed to concentrate for long enough to serve up the simple chicken dish with vegetables for the main course, which he ate without comment—just an appreciative smile.

And then she took the pudding from the freezer.

‘Oh, now this is a definite cheat,’ he said. ‘Brought from downstairs, was it?’

‘No. I’ll have you know, I made this myself, this afternoon.’ She paused. ‘You know what you were saying about selling more products to the same customers? I’d already started to think about that and I was trying out a different idea.’

‘Different?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘It looks like ordinary strawberry, to me.’

‘Try it.’

He did. ‘Strawberry. Though it’s very light for ice cream.’

‘I admit, it’s a slight cheat—it’s yoghurt-based. I didn’t have time to make custard-based ice cream tonight,’ she said.

‘It’s good. Very clean.’

‘I wanted to appeal to customers who want all of the taste but less saturated fat in their diet.’

‘That’d be good for the tourist market.’

Strange how his praise made her feel so good. ‘I have plans for another, but that’ll be at the opposite end of the spectrum. A custard-based one. Really rich. My favourite.’ She licked her lower lip. ‘Gianduja.’

‘Chocolate.’

Cocoa butter and ground hazelnuts. ‘Better-than-sex chocolate,’ she corrected. ‘And it drove me crazy that it was so hard to find in London. It’s one of the nice things about coming home—you can buy gianduja everywhere.’

‘Better-than-sex chocolate.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Is that a challenge, Princess?’

‘What do you think?’ She threw the question back at him.

He smiled. ‘I think I’m going to buy some gianduja before I see you next. And then …’ His eyes held the wickedest gleam. ‘I’m going to make you beg.’

‘In your dreams.’

He leaned across the table and kissed her. And even though only his mouth touched hers and he didn’t so much as lay a finger on her, by the time he’d finished her knees were completely weak.

He didn’t say a word to celebrate his triumph. He simply stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, as if to say that he knew this thing was bigger than both of them and it made him feel the same way. Upside down and inside out.

She dragged in a breath. ‘Coffee? If I promise not to throw it over you?’

‘That’d be lovely.’ He nodded at the dirty pots and crockery stacked by the sink. ‘Shall I sort that for you?’

‘No, I’ll do it later.’

‘I don’t mind.’

The idea of him being domesticated in her kitchen was a bit too much for her to handle. ‘No. Go and sit in the living room. I’ll bring coffee through.’

Dante couldn’t just sit down and wait. And Carenza’s living room was even more girly than he’d expected. Cushions. Lots of cushions. Ornaments everywhere, a mixture of the kitsch and the stylish. And the art on the walls was atrocious—brash abstracts that didn’t even begin to tell him what they meant. Not his kind of thing at all.

There were photographs on the mantelpiece. OK, so it was prying—but she’d looked at his photos, so she could hardly complain if he followed her lead. He picked them up and studied them, one by one. Some were relatively recent, of herself with people he assumed were friends; there was one of herself with her grandparents that had obviously been taken at a family occasion, and another with them when she was really small. And the one that intrigued him most was of her with a younger couple, when she wasn’t much more than a toddler.

‘Are these your parents?’ he asked when she walked in.

She nodded and set the tray of coffee down on the low table. ‘I wish I’d had the chance to know them better. Everything Nonna, Nonno and my English grandparents told me about them—they were nice people. Kind. Good to be with.’

‘What happened?’ he asked softly.

‘Car crash. Nonna and Nonno were looking after me for the weekend and my parents were going to celebrate their seventh wedding anniversary in Rome. A special treat, just the two of them—I mean, they loved me to bits, and I loved them, but time on your own with the love of your life is special.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Except … They didn’t come back.’

He could see that she was making an effort to hold the tears back, but one spilled over and dragged its way down her skin. He wiped it away with his thumb. ‘Caz, don’t cry.’

‘You’re using my name again.’ Her voice was all shaky.

He stroked her hair back from her forehead. ‘Don’t read anything into it, Princess. And we’re not getting involved with each other. I wouldn’t be good for you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do.’ She’d want far more time than he’d be prepared to give her. She’d push him and push him—and if his control snapped, it would be a disaster.

She sighed. ‘And now you’re going to go all brooding again and shut me out.’

‘Not everyone wants to bare their soul to the world.’

She nodded. ‘That’s a guy thing. I get it.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t be who you need me to be.’ He nuzzled her shoulder. ‘One thing I can do for you, though.’

‘Kiss it better?’ she asked, her eyes huge and vulnerable and pleading.

This was a bad idea. He needed to stop this, right now. But his body wasn’t listening to his head. ‘Yes.’

Dante’s mouth was warm and sweet and soothing; it felt like balm to her soul. As if he was trying to kiss the pain away.

She took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

His black cashmere sweater so soft under her fingertips, but better still was his skin when she’d peeled the sweater over his head. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ she said, stroking his pectoral muscles. There was a light dusting of hair on his chest; she loved the friction against her fingertips.

‘So are you.’ He peeled off her strappy top and traced the lacy edge of her bra.

Her hand was shaking as she reached for the zip of his jeans; he gave a sharp intake of breath as she eased the denim over his thighs.

It took him seconds to dispose of the rest of her clothes; then he carried her over to the bed, pushed the duvet aside and laid her against the pillows before climbing in next to her.

‘You’re such a princess,’ he said, smiling as he sprawled on the mattress.

She knew exactly what he was talking about. ‘Sheets with a high thread count are comfortable. What’s so bad about that?’

‘I knew your bed would be like this. Well, actually, no. I thought you’d have hundreds of cushions and this’d be a four-poster covered in voile.’

‘Silk ribbons.’ She curved her thumb and forefinger round his wrist.

‘Is that what you’re thinking, Princess?’ He licked his lower lip and gave her a smouldering look that turned her to mush. ‘I think I like how your mind works.’

She laughed. ‘If I was still in the art business, I’d so commission a painting of you.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What kind of painting might that be?’

‘Naked. And for my eyes only,’ she said.

‘Good, because I think my mother would have a fit if there were naked paintings of me on display all over Naples—not to mention what your grandparents would say.’

‘Well, the décor in Tonielli’s does need a bit of updating,’ she teased.

‘Not with naked pictures of me, it doesn’t.’

‘It’d draw in a lot of female customers.’

‘If that’s on your business plan, I’m red-penning it already.’

‘No. This is separate. Just you and me.’

The vulnerable, needy girl had gone, replaced by a sparky, funny woman he liked a lot. And making love with her was pure pleasure. Particularly when she insisted on taking the lead and straddled him.

‘I like this. Great view,’ he said, reaching up to play with her breasts.

‘And I’m in charge.’

Only because he was letting her—and the expression in her eyes told him she knew it, too. But he was enjoying indulging her. He loved it when she lowered herself over him and began to move. And he seriously adored it when she kissed him hard, demanding a response and getting it.

Once he’d dealt with the condom and come back to her bedroom, he pulled his clothes on again.

‘Don’t tell me you’re planning to go back to work now?’

He shrugged. ‘You know me. Dull, boring businessman.’

She sighed. ‘Dante, don’t you ever give yourself a break?’

He didn’t even need to think about it. ‘No. Stay there; I’ll see myself out. Your homework this week is a SWOT analysis. Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats. The idea is to turn weaknesses into strengths—’

‘—and threats into opportunities. Got it,’ she finished dryly.

‘Good. See you Saturday. My office, seven thirty. Ciao.’

And he walked out of her bedroom.

Before he could give in to the temptation of her unspoken offer to stay.

CHAPTER SIX

ON THE Monday afternoon, Carenza came back to her office with a pile of notes following a trip to a competitor’s gelateria, to discover a book smack in the middle of her desk, with a note stuck to it. More homework: analyse your sales for the last five years. What are the trends and why? Split it by outlet. Dante. His handwriting was bold and spiky and confident, like the man himself. And she was so disappointed to realise that she’d missed him.

Ha. How pathetic was she? For all she knew, he could’ve sent the book over by courier.

She emailed him swiftly.

Thank you for the book. All homework in progress.

Though first she needed to get the sales figures. Broken down by outlet.

That was when she discovered that her grandfather didn’t have everything on a computer spreadsheet, the way Amy always had at the gallery. Everything was in paper format only. Which left her with no choice; she was going to have to talk to Emilio Mancuso and ask him for the information.

He frowned when she called in to see him and made her request. ‘Why do you want to see the last five years’ figures?’

‘So I can see the trends.’

He shrugged. ‘There’s no need. I’ve looked after things for your grandfather for the last five years.’ He paused, and gave her a significant look. ‘Since he had his heart problems.’

Heart problems? What heart problems? Why didn’t she know anything about this? Though the last thing she wanted was for Mancuso to think that she’d been kept in the dark, so she kept her worries under wraps. She’d talk to her grandmother about this later.

‘I know sales have been down, but there’s really nothing to worry about. It’s just the recession, and everyone’s in the same boat.’ He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it, carissima.’

Darling? She wasn’t his darling. And he’d just used the phrase that always made her see red. Her pretty little head, indeed. Why wouldn’t men take her seriously? Was she going to have to dress in frumpy clothes, stop wearing make-up, dye her hair mouse-brown and scrape it back into a bun, and don a pair of thick glasses before anyone would notice that she did actually have a brain?

And why wouldn’t he just give her the figures and let her see them for herself? ‘Nonno’s put me in charge, and I can’t do my job unless I have all the facts,’ she said, more rudely than she’d intended, but his attitude infuriated her. ‘I can see you’re busy, Signor Mancuso, and I’d hate to disturb you unnecessarily. Just tell me where the paperwork is and I’ll find it for myself.’

He went a dull red. ‘I already told you. You don’t need to do this.’

Another refusal. Did he have something to hide? She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘If it’s a problem for you, I could always ask Nonno.’ And she had some other questions to ask her grandparents, too. Such as why they hadn’t breathed a word about her grandfather’s heart problems.

Tight-lipped, he took her through to a dusty-looking office, rummaged on a shelf and handed her several books.

‘I hope you don’t mind me taking these back to my own office.’ Before he had a chance to say he did mind, she added, ‘Of course, I’ll take great care of them. And I’ll return them personally when I’ve finished.’ And she called a taxi to take her back to her office; no way was she going to ask him to help her get the books back to her place.

But when she looked closely at the figures, it seemed to be just as Mancuso said: sales were simply dropping, year on year. Maybe her instinctive dislike of him had been wrong. Maybe he had nothing to hide after all, and he was just fed up because Nonno had handed the reins over to her instead of letting him continue to run the business.

Though surely he realised that, if Nonno had sold the business, Dante Romano would’ve brought his own management team in—maybe even taken over the reins himself, at first? So this was pretty much the same thing.

Well, she’d make her peace with him later in the week. Right now, she had more important questions to ask.

She arrived at her grandparents’ house that evening with flowers for her grandmother and some of the little marzipan fruits she knew her grandfather adored. After dinner, she insisted on helping her grandmother in the kitchen.

‘Nonna, why didn’t you tell me about Nonno’s heart problems?’ she asked softly.

Elena Tonielli looked flustered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, tesoro.’

‘Emilio Mancuso told me today. The ones Nonno had five years ago.’ She couldn’t help the hurt spilling out. ‘The ones you didn’t tell me a thing about.’

‘You were in London, cara. You were happy. We weren’t going to drag you back here.’

She bit her lip. Had her grandparents really thought that she’d need to be dragged home? ‘Nonna, you surely can’t think that you and Nonno would ever take second place in my life? If I’d known he was ill, I would’ve got on the first plane from London.’

‘And disrupted your life. I know. But you were doing so well in London and we didn’t want to worry you. Nonno’s fine.’

So had Mancuso been lying to her? ‘So are you saying Nonno didn’t have heart problems?’

‘He had chest pains, yes, but it was more of a scare than anything else.’

But it had happened five years ago, and she hadn’t had a clue about it. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ she asked. Her grandmother’s awkward expression told her the answer, and she closed her eyes. ‘I wish I’d never left Naples. If I hadn’t gone abroad, hadn’t been so selfish and stayed away … I should’ve come back and taken over from Nonno years ago. Like Papa would’ve done.’ They both heard the words she left unspoken: had he lived.

‘We only wanted to see you happy, tesoro,’ Elena said softly. ‘It was right you should spread your wings and see a bit of the world. And you needed to meet the English side of your family. We’d been selfish in keeping you to ourselves. We should’ve sent you over before.’

Carenza swallowed hard. ‘You weren’t selfish. You took me in, you gave me a home, gave me everything I wanted.’ They’d been in their fifties when her parents had died, and dealing with a young child on top of their own grief must’ve been such a strain on them.

‘We took you in because we loved you. And having you meant—well, it meant we still had some of Pietro. We could see him in you as you grew up.’

‘So Nonno’s been ill for the last five years?’

‘He was in hospital for less than a day,’ Elena reassured her. ‘They said it was angina and told him to take it easier, that’s all, and to use a spray under his tongue if he ever gets any more pains in his chest.’

‘Nonno, take it easy?’ she scoffed.

‘I didn’t give him a choice,’ Elena said dryly. ‘I told him I’d already lost my son and I wasn’t prepared to lose my husband. So he agreed to slow it down, delegate the business to Emilio until …’

‘Until what?’ Until she was ready to come home and take over?

Elena flapped her hand dismissively. ‘Never mind. He’s fine. Now, stop fussing or your grandfather will want to know what we’re talking about.’

‘And we don’t want to worry him and give him chest pains.’

‘Exactly.’ Elena smiled. ‘Emilio’s been so good to us. He’s done so much, never asked us for a thing.’

And now Carenza had waltzed in from London and been given the business that he’d spent the last five years looking after. No wonder he was hostile towards her: she was taking everything away from him and not giving him any credit for the work he’d put in. She made a mental note to make more of an effort with him.

‘Now, let’s go and join Nonno. And not too much business talk, please.’

‘I’m doing a good job with the gelateria, Nonna. I’m not going to let Nonno down.’

‘I know, tesoro. And it’s good to have you home.’

Carenza spent the rest of the week working hard on the SWOT analysis Dante had asked for—and trying to be pleasant to Emilio Mancuso, though he didn’t make it easy for her. And, even though she kept trying to remind herself of how much her grandparents valued him and how good he’d been to them, she still couldn’t warm to the man. What it was about him, she didn’t know, but there was definitely something. Or maybe she was just taking it out on him because her grandparents had leaned on him five years ago instead of on her, and she resented that.

She sighed. Why did it all have to be so complicated?

At half-past seven precisely on the Saturday, she knocked on the door of Dante’s office.

‘Coffee?’ he asked.

She needed more than coffee. Right now, she thought, she could do with her body weight in chocolate. Probably intravenously. But coffee would have to do. ‘Thank you.’

‘So how’s the SWOT analysis?’ he asked.

‘Getting there.’ Though she’d found it hard to concentrate. Mancuso’s revelation had shocked her and, although her grandmother had reassured her that Nonno was absolutely fine now, Carenza couldn’t get it out of her head. ‘Did you know my grandfather had heart problems, five years ago?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘No.’

‘I would’ve come home, if I’d known.’

He frowned. ‘Of course you would. That’s obvious.’

She stared at his desk. ‘My grandparents didn’t even tell me he was ill.’

‘They probably had their reasons.’

‘Nonna told me. Because I was in London, I was happy, and they didn’t want to disrupt my life.’ She looked up at him. ‘You’re right about me. I am a princess. A spoiled, selfish bitch.’

‘You’re a princess and, yes, you’ve been spoiled,’ he said softly, ‘but you’re not selfish. Well, not very,’ he amended, ‘considering your background. You’re definitely not a bitch. And you forgot to add the good points.’

‘Which are?’

‘Fishing now, Princess?’

She lifted her chin. ‘No.’

‘No?’

She sighed. ‘All right. It’s been a horrible week, right now I don’t like myself very much, and it’d be nice to have just a little bit of encouragement. People need carrots as well as sticks, you know, and a bit of praise can do wonders for someone’s morale.’

‘I’m glad you’ve worked that out.’ He sat on the edge of the desk, his dark eyes glinting. ‘OK. Your good points. You realised that you couldn’t handle the business on your own and you had the sense to find yourself a mentor instead of wading in and getting into even more of a mess. You’re not afraid of hard work. You’re quick—I don’t have to repeat myself—and you have real potential as a businesswoman because you can think outside the box. And you’re starting to think about the people who work for you as people.’ There was a teasing quirk to the corner of his mouth. ‘And you wear very, very sexy shoes.’

She glowered at him. ‘Which undercuts everything else you just said. Everything comes back to the way I look, the way I dress, and I hate that.’

He stroked her cheek. ‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Caz. That’s my job.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘Yeah. You’ll always tell me like it is. Sorry. I know you were just teasing me and trying to cheer me up. I’m being a cow.’

‘You’re really out of sorts, tonight.’ ‘And I didn’t want to be, because Saturdays are the best day of the week.’

Because that was when she saw him? Although she didn’t say it, it was written all over her face. And he needed to be fair to her. He couldn’t let her rely on him, not emotionally. He didn’t do emotional stuff. ‘This isn’t a relationship, Princess,’ he warned softly.

‘I know. It’s about business.’

She sounded so disgruntled that he couldn’t help smiling. ‘Are you saying Saturdays aren’t enough for you?’

‘No, I have to resort to—’ She clapped a hand over her mouth, flushing. ‘Forget it.’