CAROL MARINELLI - Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

‘I’ve never made love before.’

Did she think he was that stupid?

China-blue eyes stared up at him. That full mouth was quivering with nerves, still waiting to be kissed, and he was tempted to silence her with just that. What the hell was she playing at? He’d seen her pills in her bathroom, for God’s sake, and she’d told him— told him —that she’d just broken up with her boyfriend of six months. And now she was telling him she was a virgin.

Please!

A very scathing remark was on the tip of his tongue—whatever game she was playing with him was about to be abruptly concluded. The muscles in his arms tensed as he went to push her off—only he didn’t.

If she wanted to play virgin, if she wanted to pretend that he was her first, then who was he to stop her? In fact, somehow it made it easier—easier to block out the whys and hows, easier to lower his mouth to hers, to play whatever game it was that she was playing and lose himself.

Pulling her back towards him, Lazzaro kissed the shell of her ear as he spoke. ‘Then we’d better take things slowly!’

Carol Marinellirecently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as writer. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—writing. The third question asked—What are your hobbies? Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered swimming and tennis. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, you can guess the real answer!

Carol also writes for Medical™ Romance!

BY

CAROL MARINELLI

www.millsandboon.co.uk

‘RANALDI’S here!’

A shiver of anticipation went around the lavish hotel reception—starting with a nod from the doorman to warn the concierge, who in turn signalled to the receptionists—and Caitlyn noticed everyone’s backs seemed to straighten just a touch more, hands all moving to flatten ties or hair, as a sleek limousine pulled up outside.

‘The question is—’ Glynn, the manager, blinked nervously as he flicked his fringe back off his face ‘—which one?’

The answer was, for Caitlyn, more relevant than Glen could possibly realise.

Here on work experience, shadowing the staff and completely supernumerary, it shouldn’t have mattered a jot to Caitlyn which one of the dashing Ranaldi twins was pulling up outside—after all, both were legends.

Lazzaro and Luca Ranaldi both headed up the sumptuous Ranaldi chain of luxurious international hotels—and, along with their sister, were heirs to the vast wealth their father had created and subsequently, following his death last year, left behind.

Impressive? Yes.

Newsworthy? No.

Unless, of course, that vast wealth happened to have landed in the laps of stunning identical twins. Not one but two immaculate prototypes, who regularly hit the headlines courtesy of their jet-setting, depraved existence. Since their father’s death, and their sister marrying and settling there, the stunning pair had loosely based themselves in Melbourne—two irrepressible playboys, who made no apologies and certainly offered no excuses! Only last week Luca had been in the papers for a fight at the casino, and there had been a few drink-driving scandals recently that Caitlyn could recall.

A dark-suited man stepped out of the limousine, and Caitlyn found herself holding her breath…

‘Which one is it?’ Caitlyn whispered.

‘I’m not sure yet…’ Glynn mused. ‘They’re both identical, both divine…’

Caitlyn hoped it was Lazzaro.

Not because he was considered the most powerful, the true leader of the two, but for a reason Glynn would have trouble believing.

Watching as two strappy sandals hit the ground beneath the car door, Caitlyn chewed on her lip, wondering what on earth she’d do if Roxanne came into view—wondering how the other hotel staff would react to her if they knew the strange truth…

Luca Ranaldi was dating her cousin.

‘It’s Lazzaro,’ Glynn confirmed as, without waiting for his date, the dark-suited male walked through the gold revolving doors.

‘How do you know?’ Caitlyn frowned. ‘I thought you said they were identical…’

‘Lazzaro doesn’t wait for anyone…’ Glynn hissed out of the side of his mouth before stepping forward to greet his boss. ‘Not even a beautiful woman!’

Oh, she’d seen him before—had seen him in the papers, his photo being on the cover of a business magazine she was reading for her course—but nothing, nothing had prepared Caitlyn for the impact of seeing him up close and in the flesh. Well over six feet, as he walked in it was clear to all that he owned the place—and not just literally. Confidence and arrogance just oozed from him, and as he walked over to the desk Caitlyn realised he wasn’t just stunning—he was absolutely beautiful. His jet hair was longer than it was in the photos, with a raven fringe flopping over his forehead, and as for those eyes… Caitlyn actually gave a little sigh. Thickly lashed, they were black as the night and just as dangerous. As his gaze met hers, it was bored, utterly uninterested and he soon looked away. But, for Caitlyn, it was as if his image had been branded on her brain, freeze-framed so she could examine it at her leisure—see again that straight Roman nose, see close up his smooth olive skin and that sulky, full, incredibly kissable mouth.

Realising she was staring—gaping, even—Caitlyn tore her gaze away and looked at the woman who had walked in behind him. She was now sitting on one of the plush lobby sofas as she awaited her master—and Caitlyn couldn’t help the tiny ironic smile that pursed her lips.

Though it wasn’t Roxanne, it might just as well have been.

The raven beauty who accompanied Lazzaro certainly hadn’t been striving to achieve au naturelle when she’d applied her make-up. Dark glossy hair tumbled, albeit strategically, over shoulders that were so evenly tanned it could only have come from some serious hours on a sunbed combined with a regular spray tan.

‘Welcome, sir.’ Glynn’s outstretched hand went ignored.

‘How are things?’ Lazzaro didn’t return the greeting, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the reception area. ‘Any problems?’

‘None at all,’ his manager assured him.

‘Has Luca been in?’

‘Not as yet,’ Glynn said, discreetly omitting to mention the drunken call he’d taken earlier, demanding that the best room in the hotel be somehow vacated and prepared for his arrival.

‘How’s the wedding?’

‘Excellent,’ Glynn enthused. But as Lazzaro’s burning gaze fell on him, he coloured up just a touch. ‘Well, there’s one teeny problem, but we’re taking care of it now.’

Lazzaro raised one perfectly arched black brow, and, though he didn’t say a word, the tiny gesture clearly indicated that he wanted more information.

‘The bride’s father, Mr Danton—’

‘Gus Danton is a close personal friend of mine,’ Lazzaro interrupted, and though his English was excellent, his deep, heavily accented voice held just a tinge of warning.

Caitlyn’s eyebrows shot up just a fraction—after all, if he was such a good friend, how come Lazzaro hadn’t been at the wedding? She didn’t say it, of course, but Lazzaro was either a skilled mind-reader or had felt the breeze from her eyebrows raising, because, as if answering her very thoughts he deigned to give her a brief look.

‘There are not enough Saturday nights in a year to attend every wedding to which I am invited but—given Mr Danton has chosen my hotel, and given Mr Danton is a friend—naturally I will come in for a drink. Of course, I hoped to hear there have been no problems…’

‘Quite.’ Glynn swallowed.

‘So?’

‘Well, he’s asked that the bar remain open for another hour. Of course we’re more than happy to oblige—it’s just that his credit card has been declined. I was actually on my way to have a discreet word with him now.’

‘Bring up his details.’ He snapped his fingers in Caitlyn’s vague direction, and even though she’d been bringing up guests’ details for most of the night, this almost mastered skill had never been tested under such stressful conditions.

‘Er, Caitlyn’s only here on work experience, sir,’ Glynn said, rushing over to the computer. One black look from Lazzaro halted him. ‘She’s studying hospitality, and—’

‘Since when has a work experience student stayed till midnight on a Saturday?’ Lazzaro cut in, staring at her name badge, lowering his eyes to her suede stilettos, and then lazily working them upwards—taking in the rather cheap navy skirt and white blouse that comprised her uniform. In absolutely no hurry, as Glynn chatted nervously on, he scrutinised her face, staring into her blue eyes and doing the strangest things to her stomach.

‘Caitlyn was very keen to witness a busy Saturday night…’

God, she wished she’d had warning—wished she’d had time to dash to the loo and redo her heavy blonde hair. She could feel her attempt at a French roll uncoiling before his eyes. And she wished the mouth he was staring at had just a little bit of lipstick on.

‘And she has been dealing with guests?’

‘Yes,’ Glynn croaked. ‘Well, she’s been closely supervised, of course.’

‘She has been bringing up details for paying guests?’

‘Er, yes…’ Glynn nodded. ‘But, as I said, only with supervision.’ Which wasn’t strictly true—Glynn had been out for more smoke breaks than Caitlyn could count. Still, she was hardly going to tell Lazzaro that.

‘If she is good enough for my guests,’ Lazzaro responded, with the martyrdom only the truly pompous could muster, ‘then she is good enough for me.’

If he called her she again, Caitlyn decided, then she’d jolly well give him a piece of her mind.

As his black eyes fell on her, Caitlyn recanted.

Well, maybe she wouldn’t actually say anything. Still, she could think it—divine he might be to look at, but he was a loathsome, arrogant, chauvinist brute. Blushing with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment, she furiously backspaced as she spectacularly mistyped. After an exceedingly long moment, Gus Danton’s details finally flashed on to the screen.

Momentarily!

‘His account,’ Lazzaro snapped, clearly expecting that with a few rapid clicks Caitlyn should bring up the necessary page. But his impatience only unsettled her more.

The cursor wobbled on screen as suddenly he was behind her, standing over her, his hand hovering to take the computer mouse—effectively dismissing her efforts. She should have stepped back—only he was behind her. She should have moved her hand to let him take over—only his was above hers.

Perhaps it was the prospect of physical contact with him, perhaps it was nerves, or an impossible combination of both, but at that second precisely her hope for a glowing reference from the Ranaldi Hotel for her work experience melted away as rapidly as Caitlyn clicked the mouse—not once, not twice, but as if her finger had suddenly developed a nervous twitch. She repeatedly tapped away—panic rising as she deleted Lazzaro Ranaldi’s number-one guest’s entire financial history before his very eyes. He should step in, Caitlyn thought, frantically hitting the back arrow, sweat trickling between her breasts as his hand still hovered. His breath was on the back of her burning neck as an unfamiliar system command popped on screen, to taunt her.