firm. How many people got a second chance like that?
Locking the door, she tested the handle and picked up her bag. Tipping her chin at a confident angle, she walked briskly down the path. She was going to Italy to meet one of the most exciting men of his day. She didn’t expect to be part of Rigo Ruggiero’s life but, for a few short and hopefully thrilling hours, she would be an observer. At the very least she could report back to the girls in the office and brighten up their coffee breaks for the foreseeable future.
Signor Ruggiero had lied. Clutching her sensible bag like a comfort blanket, Katie stood bewildered amongst the crowds on the pavement outside Fiumicino Airport in Rome. The sun was beating down like an unrelenting spotlight and the heat was overpowering. She stared this way and that, but it only confirmed what she already knew, which was, no one had come to meet her. Plus everyone else seemed to know where they were going. She was the only country bumpkin who appeared to be cast adrift in the big city.
And was fervently wishing she’d handled her own transport arrangements into Rome.
What was wrong with her? She had the address…
Having found it in her bag, she looked for a taxi. Was she going to be defeated before she even started this adventure? But each time she stepped forward to claim an empty cab, someone taller, slicker and more confident than Katie stepped in front of her—
‘Signorina Bannister?’
The voice reached into her chest and squeezed her heart tight before she even had chance to look around, and when she did she almost stumbled into the arms of a man who put his photographs to shame. Her heart drummed an immediate tattoo. Rigo Ruggiero in the hard, tanned flesh was infinitely better-looking than his air-brushed images—so hot you wouldn’t touch him without protective clothing. He was the type of man Katie had spent her whole life dreaming about and wishing would notice her, but who, of course, never would—other than today, when he had no alternative.
‘Sorry…sorry.’ She righted herself quickly before he was brought into contact with her cheap polyester suit. ‘Signorina Bannister? That’s me.’
‘Are you sure?’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘Of course I’m sure…’
Thrusting her serviceable bag beneath her arm, she held out her free hand in greeting. ‘This is very good of you, sir—’ She braced herself for contact.
Contact there was none.
Startlingly green and uncomfortably shrewd eyes refused to share Signor Ruggiero’s practised smile. He was not the man in the magazine photograph. That man was a playboy with pleasure on his mind. The man in front of her was a realist, a thinker, a business tycoon, and he took no prisoners. The hand she had extended dropped back to her side. ‘I didn’t think you would come to meet me in person—’
‘It is my pleasure to do so.’
He even bowed slightly, but his tone suggested it was anything but a pleasure for him.
Katie’s worst fears were confirmed. Rigo Ruggiero was hiding disappointment. Having heard her husky voice over the phone, he had imagined he had come to the airport to meet a siren. They had both been misled, Katie reflected wryly. Now this was not business for her; it had become personal. Rigo Ruggiero had shadows behind his eyes she couldn’t resist and wanted to understand, and he was so handsome he made her heart ache.
‘You had a good journey, I hope.’
‘Very good, thank you.’
She registered the fact that he had spoken to her in a tone of voice she imagined he might use with a maiden aunt. He was so much taller, bigger and had a more powerful aura than her imagination had allowed and was far more rugged. He was the type of man who could look dangerous even in tailored clothes. The dark trousers complemented his athletic figure and the crisp blue shirt was open a couple of buttons at the neck, revealing a hard, tanned chest, shaded with black hair. The sight of this gave parts of her that were largely unused a vigorous workout. If this wasn’t lust at first sight, it was the closest Katie Bannister had ever come to it.
But what she needed now, Katie reasoned with her sensible head on, was some form of identification to prove to Rigo Ruggiero she was who she said she was. On plundering her bag she managed to spill the contents all over his designer-clad feet.
‘Allow me, Signorina Bannister…’
To his credit, he immediately dipped to rescue her passport, tickets, toffees, tissues and all the other embarrassing detritus she had accumulated during the flight.
‘Why don’t I take your bag?’ he suggested, staring her straight in the eyes as he straightened up.
My shabby, disreputable-looking bag? ‘That’s very kind of you. And here’s my passport for purposes of identification.’
‘I don’t think we’ll need that,’ he said, lips pressing down in an unfeasibly attractive way. And then, in a final cataclysmic put-down, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you put your passport somewhere safe before you lose it?’
So she wasn’t a maiden aunt, she was a child.
She’d made a great first impression. He even held the bag steady for her as she stuffed her possessions back inside. She glanced at him apologetically. He had no need to flag it up. Her clothes, her gaucheness, her red cheeks and clumsiness, all told a story Rigo Ruggiero had no interest in reading.
‘And my stepbrother’s personal effects?’ he pressed, gazing past her.
She wondered if he expected a packing case to be following on. ‘Your stepbrother’s effects are right here.’ She patted the breast pocket of her jacket to reassure him.
‘That doesn’t look like very much.’
‘Well, it is a very small package.’ She blushed violently to see him conceal a smile.
‘OK,’ he said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, ‘I’ll get the car.’
‘Honestly, I’m quite happy to take a cab—’
‘So we arrive at my penthouse in convoy?’ he suggested, shooting her a look.
How much better could this get? ‘See your point,’ she murmured with a nervous laugh.
How much better? A lot better, Katie realised as a blood-red sports car drew up at the kerb. She didn’t need to remember the blonde in the magazine to know she was hardly in this class. A sick, heavy feeling was building in her stomach as an admiring crowd gathered around the high-performance vehicle and its elegant driver. They had recognised Rigo, of course, and now they were eager to find out who he was meeting at the airport.
That was what she had to walk through to get to the car.
‘I don’t bite, Signorina Bannister.’
The throaty drawl drew her attention to the man leaning over the roof of the low-slung sex-machine.
A laugh rippled through the crowd as she locked gazes with him. Everyone was staring at her and she could feel their disappointment. She was not some famous beauty or a supermodel. She was about the furthest thing from that you could get. Steeling herself, she took the half-dozen steps
