But he didn’t. He simply sketched a salute. ‘Saturday, eight o’clock. Ciao.’
‘Ciao,’ she said, and watched him slide the jacket on and drive away.
Dante Romano was the most complex man she’d ever met. Half the time she wanted to slap him; the other half, she wanted to kiss him. He confused her and irritated her and—and he was so damn sexy that he made her bones melt.
But he’d made it very, very clear that as far as he was concerned this thing between them was just sex. That he could compartmentalise work and pleasure. And it looked as if she’d better learn to do the same.
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
