in the same market as I am. Not a competitor, because you’re in a different segment,’ he reminded her, ‘but my restaurants aren’t facing the same problems you are, so it’s not just the recession. Look at your costs, Princess. Are there other organic suppliers that can give you better deals?’
‘So I just ring them up and say, hi, I’m Carenza Tonielli, give me a quote?’
‘Yup.’ He looked at her. ‘Tell me who you use now. I’ll ask them for a quote—and then you can compare that to what they offer you. That and the competitor quotes will help you drive their price down to a more reasonable level, if you want to keep using them.’
‘But they have to make money, too.’
‘Agreed—but, right now, my guess is they’re making a little too much out of you. Time to get some balance back.’
‘Thank you, Dante. I really do appreciate your help.’
He shrugged. ‘Prego, Princess.’
She was sure he called her that purely to annoy her. Though in a strange kind of way it was becoming an endearment. There wasn’t an edge to his voice any more when he called her ‘Princess’. There was something else. Something she couldn’t quite define, but something she hoped might just grow.
For pudding, she’d organised something special.
‘Is this another of your experiments?’ he asked as she delved in the freezer.
She laughed. ‘Yes. But you’ll like this one. I promise it’s not parmesan. Though I bet that parmesan ice cream would do well in a trendy London restaurant.’
‘Where they care more about the presentation than the taste?’ He grimaced. ‘This is Naples, Princess. That means substance over style.’
She fished a spoon out of the drawer, and unclipped the lid from the plastic tub.
‘Chocolate,’ he said as soon as he saw the ice cream.
‘Better-than-sex chocolate,’ she corrected, feeding him a spoonful.
‘Nope. It’s good, but it’s not that good.’ He gave her a speculative look. ‘Or maybe we should take this to bed, so I can compare them side by side …’
‘You are not getting gianduja ice cream all over my sheets,’ she said. ‘I’ll never get the marks out.’
He laughed. ‘You’re such a princess. Do you even do your own laundry?’
Her answer was to drop a spoonful of ice cream down the neck of his shirt.
‘Oh, now that was a severely bad move, Princess.’
It took him thirty seconds to get them both naked on her kitchen floor.
Ten more to smear her with ice cream.
And rather a lot longer to lick it off. By the time he’d finished, Carenza was sated and smiling.
‘I think we’ve established that the ice cream—good as it is—is still second best. You can’t bill it as “better than sex” ice cream on your menu,’ he teased.
‘Uh. Let me get some brain cells back before I have to answer you,’ she groaned. ‘And I’m still sticky.’
‘You started it,’ he pointed out.
And she’d enjoyed every second of it. She loved it when Dante stopped being serious and became her teasing, exuberant lover. And she wanted more of this. Much more. ‘I need a shower.’ She licked a smear of ice cream from his abdomen. ‘So do you.’
‘Is that an offer?’
‘Might be.’ She gave him her sexiest pout. ‘Interested?’
His answer was to pick her up and carry her to the shower. She’d run out of hot water by the time they’d finished, but she didn’t care. The smile on her face felt a mile wide.
Wrapped in towels to keep off the chill, they lounged on her bed. And there was a softness in Dante’s eyes that tempted Carenza to try to get him to open up to her. To start her private reverse mentoring.
‘So what does a restaurateur do for fun,’ she asked, ‘given that he doesn’t own a games console or TV?’
He grimaced. ‘Most TV is pretty mindless—and I hate that reality stuff. Who wants to watch that tedious rubbish?’
‘Not all TV’s like that,’ she said. ‘There are documentaries. Comedies.’ She paused. ‘Do you like films?
He shrugged. ‘My business takes up most of my time.’
‘All work and no play,’ she said, batting her eyelashes at him.
‘Are you calling me dull, Princess?’
‘No, you’re not dull.’ He had far too much energy to be dull. ‘But maybe,’ she said carefully, ‘you’re missing out on things.’
‘So what do you do for fun?’ he asked.
Was he being polite, or was he really interested? She wasn’t sure. ‘I haven’t really had a chance to go out much since I’ve been back in Naples. But in London I used go to the cinema a lot,’ she said. ‘And I’d have a glass of wine afterwards with my friends so we could talk about the film.’
‘Serious arty discussions, hmm?’ His expression told her that he thought it was more likely that she was discussing the hunkiness of the male leads with her girly friends.
She folded her arms. ‘If you call me an airhead again, I’ll … I’ll …’
‘Yes?’ He looked interested.
She subsided. ‘Sometimes, Dante, you’re so difficult.’
‘And you’re not?’ he asked dryly.
‘Not as difficult as you are, no.’
‘So you like talking about films.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Next you’re going to tell me you’re in a book group.’
‘No, I’m not. But I do like reading.’ She paused. ‘You?’
‘I read the business news. Usually online.’
She was still no closer to finding out how he let off steam. ‘OK, I give up. What do you do for fun?’
‘Sometimes I go out on the bike.’
‘And that’s it?’
He leaned closer. ‘And sometimes I have sex with a gorgeous blonde. Fairly incredible sex, actually.’
She could feel her face going beetroot, and he spread his hands and laughed. ‘Hey. Don’t complain. You asked.’
‘So I’m your
