fists and forced herself to breathe. She knew she should be grateful to him for saving her from herself, not wanting to bash him over the head with her handbag.
‘I thank you for thinking of my career.’ She spoke carefully, struggling for breath. ‘But don’t ever go over my head like that again. If anything else occurs, speak to me before acting.’
‘If you’d been thinking clearly in the first place I wouldn’t have had to go over your head.’
‘That was then,’ she contested tightly. ‘What happened to drawing a line under it all? I made one mistake...’
‘My actions prevented you making another.’
‘I made one mistake that I’m doing my best not to repeat and it’s not fair to keep throwing it in my face. Have you never made a mistake? Or were you born perfect?’
He didn’t answer.
They drove the rest of the route back to the hotel in silence and went to their respective suites without a further word.
FRANCESCA CLOSED THE folder sprawled on her lap with a sigh and rubbed her eyes. It was gone midnight. She’d been in her suite since their return to the hotel, having another re-read of the foundation’s files. She wished she’d brought some of the case files she was supposed to be studying for her traineeship with her, could kick herself for not even thinking about it. When she returned home to Pisa she would get her head down and get stuck back into her studies.
In the hours spent reading, she’d ordered room service and drunk nothing stronger than black coffee but even all the caffeine couldn’t stop the heaviness of her eyes. All those Tequila Sunrises from the night before had finally caught up with her. She was exhausted.
She really needed to get some sleep but was terrified of closing her eyes, wondered if there was some magic pill out there that guaranteed a dreamless sleep.
Her thoughts, as always, drifted back to Felipe. As the night had gone on her fury at his high-handed behaviour had slowly evaporated.
She wondered where he was. Had he left his suite that evening or stayed in as she had done? The hotel’s walls were so solid that no sound penetrated.
On impulse she leaned over, picked up the telephone receiver from the bedside table and dialled his room number.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s me. Francesca Pellegrini.’
She pulled a disgusted face at herself. Why did she give him her surname?
There was a small pause before he said, a slight tinge of amusement in his voice, ‘What can I do for you, Francesca Pellegrini?’
His words sounded like a caress. He really had the dreamiest of voices.
‘I wanted to say thank you...for digging me out of the hole I’d put myself and the foundation in...and...and...’ She forced the word out. ‘Sorry...for being so ungrateful about it.’
‘Apology accepted.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
‘You don’t want me to crawl over broken glass to show my penitence?’
A low rumble of laughter blew into her ear and curled its way down her spine. ‘An apology is enough. I’m not without blame. You weren’t being ungrateful. You were right to be angry with me. I should have consulted with you before I went ahead with my plans.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I was angry with you and the whole situation. I thought you’d behaved insanely.’
‘I did behave insanely,’ she conceded. ‘Do you normally try and fix the holes your clients dig for themselves?’
A small pause. ‘No.’
‘Do you often get angry with your clients?’
Another small pause. ‘No. It’s not my place to get angry with them or fix their problems. I’m paid to protect them, not have an opinion.’
His confession made the most wonderful warmth spread through her. She pulled her knees up and curled against the headboard and murmured, ‘I must be special then.’
Another rumble of laughter. ‘That is one way to describe you.’
‘Am I the most annoying client you’ve ever had?’
‘You’re the most challenging,’ he answered drily.
‘I’ve always been challenging.’
‘I’ll bet.’
A silence formed.
‘It’s late. I should let you go,’ she said, breaking it. But she didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to have that glorious voice speak into her ear all night. A thought occurred to her. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘I’m watching a film in bed.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘It’s bad enough to remind me why I hate television.’
‘You can’t hate television,’ she said, feigning outrage.
He groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those television addicts?’
‘I love television,’ she informed him gleefully. ‘If I was put on a desert island and only allowed to take one thing that would be it.’
‘You’re a heathen.’
‘A heathen with a large collection of box sets.’
His laughter rumbled down the line again, warming her from her lobes all the way down to her toes.
To think Felipe was lying in his bed too...
‘Did you go anywhere for dinner?’ she asked.
‘I had room service in my suite.’
‘So did I.’
‘What did you have?’
‘Jambalaya. You?’
‘The same.’
There was no reasonable answer as to why Felipe independently eating the same meal as her should make her glow.
Another silence formed, this time broken by Felipe. ‘We should get some sleep.’
‘I’m not tired.’ A lie. She was exhausted. But speaking to Felipe had recharged her. She wanted more than a conversation down the phone. The easiness of their
