Christina Hollis - Her Ruthless Italian Boss

‘Beth?’

As Luca spoke her name she trembled. She knew his touch came at a price, but she no longer cared. The same wisdom that made her desperate for him also warned she would be nothing more than his next conquest. Still she could not resist.

When his fingers traced their way around the heart-shaped outline of her face, she looked up. Tears were threatening to fill her eyes, but before she could apologise for it, he kissed her.

In an instant, all her fear and pain slipped away. Desire filled the void he had left in her body. The warmth of longing infused her. It was such a long time since he had held her with genuine passion like this. She relaxed, savouring every second of the experience.

She was in Luca’s arms.

Christina Holliswas born in Somerset, and now lives in the idyllic Wye Valley. She was born reading, and her childhood dream was to become a writer. This was realised when she became a successful journalist and lecturer in organic horticulture. Then she gave it all up to become a full-time mother of two, and to run half an acre of productive country garden. Writing Mills & Boon® romances is another ambition realised. It fills most of her time, between complicated rural school runs. The rest of her life is divided between garden and kitchen, either growing fruit and vegetables or cooking with them. Her daughter’s cat always closely supervises everything she does around the home, from typing to picking strawberries!

Recent titles by the same author:

ONE NIGHT IN HIS BED

COUNT GIOVANNI’S VIRGIN

THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE’S VIRGIN

Dear Reader

1908 was a wonderful year for lovers of romantic fiction. Mills and Boon was born, and over the years their books have helped millions of readers escape to a world filled with excitement, love and passion. I started reading them as a teenager, sharing the rollercoaster ride of couples overcoming all sorts of obstacles in the search for their happy-ever-after. My favourites were the stories where an independent, unconventionally attractive girl broke through the defences of her unattainable hero. They gave such hope to the stroppy, lumpen fourth-former I was in those days!

Writing for Mills and Boon was a distant dream for me then. When my first book was accepted, I could hardly believe my luck. HER RUTHLESS ITALIAN BOSS is my fourth Modern™ Romance for Harlequin Mills and Boon, and I’m still high on the excitement of it all. I hope you love the hero, Luca, as much as I do. Strong, self-reliant men have always fascinated me. As an ex-soldier, Luca is all that and more. If only he could forgive Beth for the way she treated him in the past, he would be the perfect man. But as far as Beth is concerned he’s always been her ideal. If she can’t have him, then she doesn’t want anyone else.

I’ve really enjoyed making Luca into a hero to continue the Mills and Boon tradition. It’s a real privilege to be writing at the beginning of the company’s second century. With you, I look forward to enjoying hours of reading pleasure in the future.

With my warmest wishes

Christina

BY

CHRISTINA HOLLIS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kate Walker, for all her good advice .

CHAPTER ONE

FROM the first moment she saw Venice from a waterbus, Beth was entranced. La Serenissima rose from the lagoon like crystals growing up through mist. If a city could be described as being like a woman, then this one was straight out of a nineteenth-century novel. Everywhere murmured with the sound of water whispering against wood and stonework. Beth could identify with all this gentle melancholy. She was miles from home, and feeling sick with fear at the prospect of arriving at the headquarters of Francesco Fine Arts for the first time. I’ll love this new job once I get there, she thought, desperately trying to convince herself. She was tired, alone and scared. There had been too many challenges over the past few years. The immortal serenity of Venice was in stark contrast to the confusion of consultants and hospitals she had needed to arrange for her father. His eventual death had been so hard to bear, and the after effects had cast her adrift from all the security she knew and loved.

A wave of excitement suddenly engulfed the other passengers in her boat. Half a dozen Venetian matrons erupted with coos of admiration, and then everyone started pointing through the fine drizzle. They were all talking at once, and it didn’t take long for Beth to see why. A spectacular craft was approaching. The thoroughbred’s streamlined beauty swept past them with an assurance that made it seem a whole lot faster than the speed limit. The pilot drew as many admiring looks as his boat did. He was tall, lean and concentrating like a perfectionist. The fingers of one hand splayed casually against the boat’s paintwork, while the other dealt with the controls. His attitude was totally out of place in that soft-focus, watercolour landscape. And yet it was strangely familiar… Beth’s heart stopped dead, and amazement pitched her to her feet.

‘Good grief! What’s he doing here?’ She gasped, before coming to her senses. People were looking at her, and grinning. Sinking back into her seat with an embarrassed grin, Beth muttered some apologies. I must be going mad with the stress of it all, she thought. Hallucinating about Luca should have stopped years ago. He was a career soldier on frontline duty, and the very last person who would be found piloting a luxury speedboat around Venice. As for dressing in Milan tailoring and wraparound shades—it was laughable, but that didn’t dull her pain. Silenced by heartache, she watched her vision disappear into the distance, sweeping off to his own private kingdom like the royalty he obviously was.

Whoever he is, he probably didn’t even see me, Beth thought.

She was right. Self-made billionaires didn’t need to notice ordinary mortals. Luca Francesco was no exception. He had checked his e-mails three times already that morning, and his mind was full of schedules and appointments. Thank God Ben Simpson’s pet PA was finally arriving from England today, he mused—the woman must be a saint to put up with him.

Reaching the headquarters of Francesco Fine Arts, Luca left his docking attendant to moor the craft, and strode into the building. Nodding in the direction of the reception staff, he stabbed the button of his private lift. He was still irritated by the reality of Ben Simpson. The man might be a genius in his field, but he had no common sense at all, and no social skills. Luca had merely waved through the request from FFA’s Human Resources department to include Ben’s girl Friday as part of his employment package. At the time, it had seemed like a harmless perk of the job. Everyone had discovered since then she must be a vital part of Ben Simpson’s life-support system.

The elevator arrived. Luca stepped in, wincing as the mirrored doors clicked shut. That final glass of vin santo last night had been a mistake. He had flown to Florence, to taste Count Guido’s latest vintage. As he always did, Luca had agreed with his host that the wine was even better than Guido’s previous releases. He had been saying that for five years. Luca had no enthusiasm for socialising any more, but his manners were faultless—right down to accepting that last shot of alcohol. Thinking about it now made him flinch. Luckily, one of his chauffeurs had been acting as co-pilot, and had flown him back to Venice a few hours ago. There had been no time for sleep, and he had accepted Count Guido’s offer of a guest wing for the night it would have pushed Luca several conversations too far. He was a man with a thousand invitations, who had lost all desire for friendship.

And now he had to force himself to face office life—again.

Luca had been sharing his own PA, Andria, while they all waited for Ben Simpson’s girl to sort out her ‘personal problems’ back in England. He was thinking of giving this shadowy wonder-woman an immediate pay rise, sight unseen. Feeling the way he did this morning, the next problem Luca met with Ben was liable to end with blood being spilled all over the executive carpet…

By the time she reached her new workplace, Beth’s heart was hammering so fast, she thought it might burst. Ben had arranged to meet her in the vestibule and escort her up to their office suite. He led her through a busy honeycomb of activity. Although it was set within a rambling old building, full of cubby-holes and squeaking floorboards, everything at FFA ran with the high-tech efficiency of an international multibillion-dollar business. While firewalls and virus checkers protected investments, the building’s real walls were draped with tapestries. As she was shown around Beth wondered if the drapes hid any secret passages. The people who lived here in the Renaissance had been high on security—in those days, lives as well as fortunes were at stake. Ben guided her through a warren of passages, stopping every so often to ask directions back to his office. Beth didn’t mind. It gave her a chance to admire her surroundings. Beautiful antique side tables and grand carved chairs were placed at regular intervals along each corridor. Her father would have loved it. He had adored treasures, and this place was stuffed with them. Each time he had gone out to buy stock, Gerald Woodbury had brought home at least one more exquisite piece he could not bear to put up for sale. Unfortunately, his bank account had emptied at much the same speed with which his beloved Rose Cottage had filled up with beautiful things.

As soon as they reached their office Beth plunged straight into her job of making Ben’s life run as smoothly as possible. Their suite had been formed out of the building’s old ballroom, and it did not take her long to convince him that his desk should be repositioned, right at the far end. He was too easily distracted to have his seat any closer to the door. Her workstation would stand guard there, fending off unwanted visitors.

Disaster struck only a short time after they had settled down to work. A frantic call drifted over to where Beth was setting up some computer records.

‘Beth—Beth—I’ve just sat on my glasses!’

‘The spare pair is in the top right-hand drawer of your desk, as always.’

‘This is the spare pair! I lost a lens from the other ones just after I got here…’

Beth picked up the telephone on her desk and made a quick call. Then she walked over and handed Ben a note.

‘Don’t panic. Here are the details of your new English-speaking optician. They’re expecting you.’

Ben beamed, stood up and pulled on his jacket. ‘If ever Signor Francesco wants to know why I need you here, I’ll tell him about little things like this!’

Seconds after Ben left, Beth came to his rescue again when the telephone on his desk rang.

‘Oh—hi, you must be Beth!’ a friendly voice said. ‘I’m Andria, Signor Francesco’s assistant. Could you send Ben up to the executive lounge, please? Signor Francesco wants to see the notes for his address to the ceramics convention next month. I thought the two of them could cosy up over a latte.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Andria, Ben’s had to dash out for a while—’

Beth heard a sharp intake of breath from her opposite number. That was a clear danger signal, and nothing could be allowed to blot Ben’s reputation. Beth sprang into action.

‘But I can deliver the notes myself. I’ve got them right here, and they’re all ready.’

‘Brilliant.’ Andria’s relief was audible. ‘Signor Francesco is a good boss, but he’s totally single-minded when it comes to work. If he thought I’d sent him on a coffee break without the chance of fitting in a bit of paperwork, I’d never hear the end of it!’