CAROL MARINELLI - Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

‘I’m waiting for a taxi,’ Caitlyn mumbled.

‘You’ll be waiting a while—the night match at the tennis just wrapped up.’

‘I heard.’

‘Would you like a lift?’

Just like that he said it—just like any normal person would say it. Only he wasn’t just a normal person, and Caitlyn had difficulty coming up with a normal answer. She just stood there mute for a moment as a few hundred thousand dollars’ worth of sleek silver sports car pulled up and the valet handed him the keys.

‘I was expecting the limousine!’ She put on a plummy voice and raised her nose in distaste at his stunning car—then panicked that he wouldn’t get her rather offbeat humour.

‘Sorry about that… You’ll just have to slum it in this…’ He didn’t just get it, he topped it! As Geoff opened the passenger door for her, Lazzaro peered inside at the immaculate leather upholstery. ‘I can look in the boot for a newspaper or something for you to sit on, so you don’t mess up your skirt.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Caitlyn gave a martyred sigh and climbed into the seat, wriggling down in the baby-bottom-soft leather and returning his smile as he joined her, watching as he punched her address into the sat nav. And just like that she forgot to be nervous—just like that they purred off into the night, chatting about anything and everything—including her age.

‘How old are you, then?’ Lazzaro asked as she rattled on about her studies.

‘Twenty,’ Caitlyn lied. Then, realising he could look it up, she recanted. ‘Well, I will be on Thursday.’

He made a mental note to tell his PA to send flowers and book a table—Thursday suddenly seemed an impossibly long way off.

‘ Turn left at the next roundabout and your destination is on the right ,’ came the very calm voice of the sat nav.

‘The trouble with these things,’ Lazzaro said, smiling as he turned off the engine and faced her, ‘is that you can’t pretend you’re lost and prolong your journey.’

‘I know where I live,’ Caitlyn pointed out, but her heart was soaring at his blatant flirt.

‘Nice place.’ It was—amassiveold weatherboard in a very nice street, just a stone’s throw from the beach. Either there were a thousand students crammed in or, Lazzaro realised, she still lived at home. ‘Someone’s still up.’

‘My mum!’ Caitlyn frowned at the twitching curtain, wishing she’d just gone to bed, embarrassed all of a sudden and feeling about twelve years old. ‘Or my grandad.’

Only it didn’t bother him a bit—in fact, there was a certain novelty to it all. Lazzaro was used—too used—to sophisticates seductively inviting him up, having already gone down!

‘Then you’d better go in.’

He watched her face fall an inch, and, though he wanted nothing more than to reach over and kiss her, Lazzaro knew exactly how to keep a woman wanting more.

God, she was gorgeous, though, Lazzaro thought as she walked up her drive.

The front door was opening before she even got there.

Funny too, Lazzaro mused, smiling as he drove off into the night. He’d put her out of her misery and ring her on Monday—put himself out of his misery too, Lazzaro thought, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Once he’d dealt with Luca he’d ring her.

Luca.

His face hardened when he thought of his twin brother—he was not relishing a bit the task that lay ahead.

Monday suddenly seemed impossibly close.

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU bit him!’ Black eyes fixed her with a stern glare as she stood at his desk. This was the very last thing Lazzaro needed to be dealing with today, and a petty row among the domestic staff was something he didn’t usually have to.

‘I didn’t bite him,’ Caitlyn snapped, and Lazzaro actually blinked. Her denial was not what he had been expecting—especially given the evidence. But her irritation, her indignation, even, told him that this five-minute problem that had landed on his desk at five p.m. on a hellish Friday was actually a rather more serious one. Jenna, his PA, had tearfully resigned on Wednesday, and her assistant was off with the flu that had swept through half his admin staff, which meant that today Lazzaro was dealing with what was usually expertly delegated. Only maybe it was just as well he was dealing with this particular scenario. It would seem that Caitlyn—he glanced down at the file on his desk—Caitlyn Bell, had a side to her story that he needed to hear.

Even if he really didn’t want to.

‘It was just a little nip.’ China-blue eyes held his—eyes that were familiar somehow…eyes that were just as blue as Roxanne’s.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

This woman was nothing like Roxanne.

Caitlyn was as blonde as Roxanne was dark, and the woman who stood before him was petite whereas Roxanne was curvaceous, but those eyes… A tiny swallow was the only evidence of his inner turmoil—he was angry with himself that even after all this time the memories, the pain, could still wash over him at the most unexpected of times.

‘It’s not as if I sank my teeth in.’

Lazzaro dragged his mind back to the conversation, grateful to escape his own thoughts, and it was quite hard not to smile at her description, quite hard not to compare it to Malvolio’s—who had roared and ranted so loudly, his hand wrapped in a handkerchief, as if it was about to fall off. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d called her to his office. He was the last person who would normally deal with one of the hotel’s maids, and when he did they were usually cowering in the chair. But not this one.

She’d declined his offer to sit, and was instead standing at his desk—jangling with nerves, perhaps, but curiously strong. Long blonde hair that was presumably usually neatly tied back was tumbling out of its hair-tie after the incident , her arms were folded across her chest, and the blue eyes were glassy from her trying not to cry. She kept sniffing in the effort not to, and somehow, even if she was tiny, even if she was clearly shaken, somehow she was incredibly together too—her rosebud mouth pursed and defiant as she refused to relent.

‘I need more information.’

‘I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.’

‘One of my staff members has been bitten by another—’

‘Not just any one of your staff members…’

This time he deliberately didn’t blink. He held his expression in absolute check as she interrupted, and, though few usually dared, he let the fact go as Caitlyn Bell got straight to the rather awkward point.

‘Malvolio is, I believe, your brother-in-law.’

He gave a terse nod—a nod that was actually respectful, acknowledging what she had to say even while quickly disregarding it. ‘The fact Malvolio is my brother-in-law has no bearing in this matter—none whatsoever. Now, I want to hear exactly what happened.’

‘As Malvolio said, we were discussing a promotion—he tripped and, like a reflex action, he put out his hands to save himself—’

‘Caitlyn—’ Rather more usually, it was Lazzaro interrupting now, but unusually someone overrode him—someone’s voice got a touch louder and more insistent as Caitlyn spoke over him.

‘And—like a reflex action—I bit him.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘Or rather, I gave him a little nip.’

‘I want the truth.’

‘You just got it.’

‘Caitlyn, you are one of my staff…’

‘Not any more.’ She shook her head. ‘I just resigned.’

‘No.’ He wasn’t having it—he saw just a flash of tears in those stunning blue eyes, and loathed Malvolio for causing them. ‘You do not have to lose your job over this…’

‘I was already leaving. That’s why I was having a discussion with Malvolio in the first place. I’ve got an interview next week—a second interview, actually—for a PR position with the Mancini chain of hotels.’

‘A PR position?’ Lazzaro frowned. Alberto Mancini was both his friend and his rival. Both had hotels all over the world, both had formidable reputations, and both were choosy with their staff—and a chambermaid, no matter how well presented, wouldn’t cut it in PR. ‘You are a chambermaid. How can you have an interview for a PR—?’

‘I’ve been working as a maid while studying.’

‘Studying?’

‘Hospitality and tourism…’

He was only half listening—that jolt of recognition he had experienced when he saw her was explained now. That was where he knew her from. She’d been on the desk—funny that he could remember, but he did—and there had been a wedding… The Danton wedding …that was it…

‘You did work experience here while you were studying?’ Lazzaro checked. ‘A couple of years ago?’

‘That’s right…’ Caitlyn blinked, stunned that he remembered, wondering what he remembered. ‘Just for a few days. I filled in an application form at the time, and I’ve been working as a maid while I’ve been studying ever since.’

He ran a hand over his forehead and trailed it down over his cheek, fingering for just a second the livid scar that ran the length of it. And for the second time in as many moments, Lazzaro came up with another logical explanation as to why this particular woman’s face remained in his memory.

Before .

The weekend before it had happened.

The weekend before, when life had been so much easier.

When laughing had come so much more readily.

He’d kissed thousands of women he couldn’t recall. Funny that he remembered one that he hadn’t.

‘Why haven’t you applied for a position here—given your history with the place?’

It was a perfectly reasonable question, one that her family and colleagues regularly asked, but one she simply couldn’t answer—and especially not to Lazzaro.

How could she tell him that for more than two years he’d been on her mind, that the king-size crush that had hit her that night—despite her busy life, despite dancing and fun and boyfriends—still hadn’t faded?

That she really needed to get a life.

One away from Lazzaro Ranaldi and the stupid torch she carried for him.

Maybe if his brother hadn’t died…maybe if she hadn’t started work as a chambermaid…maybe if he hadn’t been linked with Roxanne and it hadn’t been on every news bulletin and in every paper or magazine Caitlyn had opened…then, after that initial meeting, she’d have moved quickly on, forgotten the feel of his eyes on hers, forgotten the thrill in her stomach as that dark, ruthless face had been softened by a rare smile. Only in the days after that meeting she’d seen the pain in those closed features screaming from the newspapers, had winced at the scurrilous gossip that had ensued, the blistering row between brothers that had preceded Luca Ranaldi’s sudden and tragic death. But still working in the hotel—instead of moving on—she had caught her breath whenever she’d gleaned an occasional glimpse of him striding through the hotel, blushing in her maid’s uniform as—naturally—he didn’t deign to give her a glance. Though Caitlyn did. That perfect face, marred since that tragic day by a livid scar along his cheek, with lines now fanning his dark eyes and his mouth permanently set on grim. She could see the tension he carried in his shoulders, and wanted somehow for him to smile again.

Just the way he once had.

She hadn’t spoken to him since that night—not even once. And thank goodness for that, Caitlyn realised, because despite more than two years between drinks, so to speak, still he absolutely moved her. Despite the angry scar on his cheek, despite the closed, much more guarded expression he wore now, despite the pain in his eyes—still he was absolutely beautiful.