Reckless Nights in Rome

Chapter Two

  Bronte's brother glanced up from his desk and stood.

  He beamed a smile, and his sharp green eyes widened as he noted the grip on her wrist.

  "Nico, how are you? Good trip?" He stepped forward and shook Nico's hand.

  Her luck, Bronte decided as her throat went bone dry, was running bad tonight.

  Nico, she thought, good God.

  Since her brother had brought his business partner into their lives, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep. She'd managed to avoid the man when he'd done one of his flashy helicopter visits. Nico Ferranti had torn the heart out of her home. By some miracle the local planning authority were eating out of his hand. He'd brought in specialists in listed buildings. Legions of construction workers, architects and interior designers had descended on her home like locusts. These days, it looked like a plush decadent hideaway for the uber rich.

  She'd refused point blank to have anything to do with the renovations. Her brother seemed to view the man as some kind of hero. She saw Nico Ferranti as a smooth operator with his eye on the main chance. She simply couldn't bear watching the destruction, and moved to The Dower House.

  Now he was determined to have The Dower house too. He'd phoned her once. And as soon as he'd given her his name, she'd let him have an earful.

  Alexander turned to her and folded his arms. "And what are you up to, madam?"

  The tone, as if she was five years old, cranked her temper. Bronte huffed out a breath and gave another useless tug on her wrist. The last thing she needed was another argument with her brother. This evening was turning into a complete and utter nightmare.

  "It's been one of those days. Please ask your friend to let ..."

  ?Nico rudely interrupted her, "I found her climbing out of the ladies' restroom window after tossing this expensive item," he said, holding up her handbag.

  Before Bronte could open her mouth he released her and emptied the contents onto Alexander's desk.

  Her jaw hit the floor as feminine hygiene products along with an assortment of lipsticks, coins, her purse, her Blackberry, pens, a hairbrush, and a large pack of Percy Pigs sweets tumbled over the desk.

  "How dare you?" Bronte's voice rose even as her eyes grew wide. Oh. My. God. Closing her eyes, she swore an oath to kill Rosie.

  Nestled in the middle of the detritus was a box of fruit flavoured condoms - with twenty-five per cent extra.

  Alexander's shocked laugh brought scorching heat to her cheeks as she glared at him.

  "Well, well. My baby sister." His tone told her that if he had his way she'd be locked in a room until she was forty. "For the ultimate sensual experience," he read on the box. Bronte closed her eyes. She would never hear the end of this, never. "At least you're practising safe sex."

  "I am not! Ah, I mean ..."

  Her eyes slid to Nico, who studied her through narrowed grey eyes, his mouth tight. He had a half bored, half reflective expression on his face, tinged with a contempt that brought even more heated mortification soaring into her cheeks.

  Shame battled with annoyance that she should feel hurt by his attitude. What did she care what the man thought of her?

  His physical presence overwhelmed the room as he took off his coat and made himself comfortable on a wide couch of tan leather. He loosened his silk tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

  One foot shod in a Dolce & Gabbana loafer rested on his knee.

  Like a King surveying his domain, he leaned back and took his time studying her.

  Bronte couldn't help it; her gaze cruised over narrow hips and a washboard flat stomach. Sleek hair, brushed back from his high forehead, almost reached his collar, throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

  That hard jaw saved him from looking too beautiful, thank goodness, but nothing in her experience had ever caught at her lungs the way this man did.

  He simply stared at her, those amazing eyes all seeing, all knowing. His brows rose with an insolent query and Bronte realised with a surge of mortification that she was staring.

  "I might have known Rosie was at the bottom of this," Alexander said, his long suffering tone diverting her attention from the fallen angel on the couch. Her brother read the sticky label sellotaped to the box of condoms. "It says, 'just in case you get lucky, Rosie.'" He took a shuddering breath, leaned back against his desk and folded his arms. "What happened? Why were you climbing out of a window?"

  Hadn't she told Rosie a blind date with a friend of a friend's brother was a bad idea? So what if she hadn't had a date in over eighteen months, who was counting? But something about the man she'd met this evening had been a little bit 'off' and Bronte wished now she'd listened to her instincts and cut the night short. He'd badly frightened her by following her to the door of the ladies' toilets. She'd locked herself in, trapped and had simply panicked. Alexander would, she knew, staring at the hard look in her brother's eyes, go ballistic.

  Her brother looked too tired these days, and Bronte ordered herself to play it cool.

  "To avoid a scene precisely like this one," she replied. Turning to Nico, she jerked her chin in his direction. "Unfortunately, he stuck his big nose in or I would be long gone."

  Nico rubbed his nose, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at her.

  Alexander nodded. "Strangely enough, that makes perfect sense. I put money on it that Rosie Gordon is at the bottom of whatever trouble you're in."

  Irritation with him that he was right along with the silent witness merely added fuel to her fire.

  "I had a date. Not that it's any of your business."

  Alexander ran a tongue along the top of his teeth at her tone. A bad sign, she knew.

  "Who was he?"

  "Anthony."

  Her brother's green eyes drilled into hers and she fought not to squirm, especially since Nico appeared to be riveted by the scene. Bastard.

  "Does Anthony have a surname?"

  The jumpy nerves in her stomach nudged her temper. "I have no idea. Tonight was the first time I met him."

  Alexander's eyes stayed on hers. "Tell me you didn't meet him on the internet."

  It was so typical of him to jump to conclusions these days. And why was he interrogating her in front of Nico bloody Ferranti? "I didn't, but there's nothing wrong with internet dating, as long as it's done safely. Rosie knows his sister."

  "I knew it." Her brother stalked behind his desk.

  He sat and swung his leather business chair around to face Nico.

  "When they were three, Rosie stuck a crayon up Bronte's nose which meant a trip to A&E. When they were ten they fell from a barn roof, Rosie ended up with a broken leg and Bronte a broken arm. They were lucky not to be killed. At boarding school, the pair of them attempted to drink a bottle of neat vodka. You should have seen my sister. Think of Bambi, pissed. I could go on, but we don't have all night."

  Pushed beyond endurance and refusing to rise to the deep laugh from the man on the couch, or her ridiculous response to it, Bronte thrust her belongings into her favourite bag. All the while she eyed her brother and Nico with deep loathing in her heart.

  "Neither of you have any right to find what happened to me tonight funny."

  Her brother's eyes flashed green fire. "Trust me, I do not find it funny. I'm merely sharing past experiences."

  Stung, Bronte glared at him. "You have no right to ridicule me in front of a complete stranger."

  Alexander's face flushed with annoyance, his eyes warned her to back off.

  "He wouldn't be a stranger to you if you learned some manners. Nico was there when we needed him most."

  "You sound like a broken down budgie. What happened to family?" she flung back and then remembered that they weren't family. Not since they'd learned she was not, after all, a Ludlow. The ache in her heart caught her throat. "Your good friend scared the life out of me."

  Which was a downright lie, but Bronte was too far gone to care.

  Alexander's brows flew into his hairline. "You're over re
acting."

  She blew. "Am I? Am I really? You sold your heritage to a shark." Once the dam broke, Bronte couldn't stop it. "And I will not take responsibility for Anthony's behaviour either. Get off my back. Stop treating me like an imbecile just because you find it too hard to deal with ..."

  Alexander silenced her with a finger stab. Tears flooded her throat, she couldn't cope with this. He refused to listen to her or take her feelings into account.

  Nico Ferranti coughed and stood. "I feel responsible for your disagreement. I made a mistake and I apologise."

  Chest heaving, she couldn't look at him and kept her burning eyes on Alexander.

  Her brother merely nodded, looking sad and tired. And she refused to feel guilty for something that was completely out of her control.

  "You weren't to know." Alexander glanced at her face and bit his lip. "Be nice, Bronte, and shake his hand."

  With a reluctance that brought a twitch to Nico's lips and almost made her snarl, she placed her hand in his. "A pleasure, Miss Ludlow."

  The purr in his voice as his lips touched her fingers sent an unwanted pulse of awareness through her system. Bronte had been taught that if she couldn't say something nice, say nothing. So she kept her mouth shut.

  She slanted him a look as he released her hand and caught him appraising her from top to toe.

  His eyes held a gleam which made her deeply ashamed of almost washing the family's dirty linen in public. Those eyes, a cool grey now, settled on her mouth. The pupils dilated and the reaction immediately brought her hackles up.

  Her baby blonde hair, slight frame and too big eyes seemed to attract the wrong type of man. Her looks appeared to send the signal that she had the intellectual capacity of a turnip. None of it was helped by the fact that she looked seventeen instead of twenty-six. Her mother had found it hilarious and used to say Bronte would be thankful when she was forty; but she'd had to fight extra hard to attain the success she now enjoyed. Although she had to admit jumping out of a window and running away like a pathetic coward was hardly the behaviour of an adult, but she simply couldn't cope with a horrible public scene. And look what a great idea that had turned out to be. The Italian's lips twitched now as he tried not to laugh and Bronte's hand itched to smack him.

  When she dealt with Nico Ferranti, Bronte wanted it to be on her own turf and on her own terms. Not with her off balance and at a disadvantage.

  Deciding she'd had more than enough of men for one night, she picked up her belongings and headed for the door.

  "I'm leaving."

  "Hold it." Her brother's tone held an edge. "What did Anthony do to you?"

  She turned and took a steady breath, too aware of Nico's eyes on her. They were darker now, and never left her face.

  Anthony, 'call me Tony', had assumed Bronte was up for a tumble in one of the hugely expensive bedrooms. Since, he was happy to inform her, she hadn't been laid in a while and he had it on good authority that she fancied him. She'd soon disabused him of the notion and the scene had not been pleasant.

  "We had a misunderstanding."

  "And?"

  "He's nursing his thumb." She noticed the statement made Alexander frown and Nico's mouth tighten. And wondered what they'd do if she told him she'd been called a bitch of a cock tease.

  A knock at the door brought their attention to a harassed looking young waitress.

  "Sir, sorry to disturb you, security needs you. We have a young man looking for Bronte." She cast a speculative look at Bronte. "He's had too much to drink and is making a scene. He's trying to get into the ladies' restroom."

  "I'm coming." Alexander turned to Bronte and shook his head. "Stay here, I'll take you home."

  Could this evening possibly get any worse or any more embarrassing?

  The throaty cough beside her told her that it could.

  "Please, allow me." Nico smiled at her brother, before giving Bronte his full attention. "I am the one who made the mistake. I will take you home."

  Those dark eyes held a challenge and an intensity that made her pulse thrum.

  Alexander nodded with a sharp glance at Bronte that promised this was not the end of the matter, and left to deal with 'call me Tony.'

  She shot Nico a defiant look as he stood over her. His long finger tapped her chin while his eyes stayed on hers.

  "One day someone will take you up on the invitation of that chin. You should be careful."

  Who asked for his opinion?

  Her eyes locked with his in a silent battle of wills.

  "Thank you for those unasked for words of wisdom. I'm perfectly capable of making my own way home."

  Eyes cold now and filled with disapproval, Nico pulled on his coat.

  "It will be my pleasure," he said in a tone that suggested it was anything but.

  Bronte sailed past him as he held the door open. And ignored his hand at the small of her back. Sheer willpower prevented her from stepping away. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

  Nico placed himself between her and the lounge as Anthony's voice, raised in anger, made her cringe with mortification.

  Leading the way to the car park, the tall Italian didn't say a single word.

  The weather had deteriorated, sleet turning to snow as the temperature and her mood plummeted. Zipping up her black quilted jacket, she thrust her hands into her pockets all the while desperately wishing the night was over.

  Her step hitched when they reached his car.

  She might have known it.

  It was wrong of her Bronte knew, but she couldn't help it.

  Thrilled, she turned to him.

  "Well, well, a Bentley Continental GT," she said, contempt dripping from every word. "Get you, a babe magnet. Very sexy. Very pretty." She paused for two beats. "Very you."