admitting that she wanted to lock her office door, tear his clothes off, and do him. On her desk. That very second.
How had she ever thought that she could cope with Dante Romano being just her mentor?
Instead, she chickened out. ‘Why do we have to dress like tourists?’
‘Because people in business suits don’t go for ice cream at four p.m. They’re too busy working.’
‘Oh.’
He took pity on her. ‘We can hardly visit one of your competitors and make notes while we’re sitting there, Princess.’
‘Why not? They won’t know the notes are about them.’
‘Trust me, it’s easier this way. It’s called “mystery shopping”. They do it all the time in the retail trade—to check out the competition as well as making sure that their own staff are doing the right thing. We go as ordinary customers, we get treated like ordinary customers—and then you’ll know what their service standards are like.’
‘Isn’t that spying?’
‘No. You’re looking at what they offer, what they do better than you, and what they do worse than you, so you can tweak your own business and offer your customers more.’
‘Uh-huh.’ And that was another problem.
It must’ve shown on her face, because he sighed. ‘You haven’t analysed your own business, have you?’
‘Not yet. I’ve only been back in Italy for a few weeks. But I can do it.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’m not an airhead.’
‘No, Princess.’
She heard the sarcasm in his tone, and glowered at him. ‘You’re judging me when you hardly know me.’
‘Look, we don’t have time to arg—oh, forget it. We’ll do this the quick way.’ He yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Hard. Hot. Demanding. To the point where she ended up kissing him back and pressing herself against him, with her arms wrapped round his neck.
When he broke the kiss, her pulse rate had practically doubled and her thoughts were completely scrambled. Hadn’t they agreed earlier that they were going to forget last night? He’d just—just … She dragged in a breath. Her body was definitely happy about this, but her head wasn’t. ‘What the hell was that for?’ she demanded.
‘Right now, we’re tourists. You’re my girlfriend.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d help you get into the part.’
Get into the part? How the hell did he expect her to concentrate after he’d just kissed her like that and turned her brain to mush?
It got worse when they were halfway down the street, because he took her hand. Exactly as if she really were his girlfriend and they were just out for a stroll, exploring the sights of Naples.
Her skin tingled where he touched her. Was it the same for him? Or was he mentally totting up balance sheets and working on business plans? Not that she was going to ask—even if she’d been able to get the words out—because she didn’t want him knowing just how much he distracted her. Especially as she had a nasty feeling that she didn’t distract him at all.
‘Pay attention, Princess,’ he said, as if he’d guessed anyway, and held the door of an ice cream parlour open for her.
And then things got even worse. She knew she was supposed to be making mental notes about the gelateria. What was good about it, what wasn’t so good, where it was different from her own shops. But for the life of her she couldn’t concentrate when he insisted on feeding her a spoonful of the ice cream sundae he’d ordered—because she could imagine him feeding her ice cream like this somewhere else.
Naked.
In her bed.
‘You’re supposed to return the favour, Princess,’ he murmured, and her skin heated.
Did he mean favour as in what he’d done for her last night? Or as in the ice cream?
Taking the cowardly option, she fed him a spoonful of ice cream.
‘Gorgeous,’ he purred, giving her the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. Hinting that she was gorgeous, not just the ice cream.
If he kept this up, she was going to need oxygen therapy.
And she was pretty sure he was doing this on purpose. To tease her. Or maybe to prove that she was an airhead who couldn’t concentrate—just as she’d been last night.
She gritted her teeth, and forced herself to focus on the shop. On the menu. The décor. The service.
The waitress brought the bill over to them; her smile was all for Dante, and Carenza was truly shocked to feel a flicker of jealousy.
For pity’s sake. She had no call on Dante Romano at all. He was her business mentor. For all she knew, he could be involved with someone.
Though she didn’t think he was. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. One thing she’d already worked out about Dante Romano was that he had a strict code of honour. He’d never cheat.
‘My bill.’ She scooped it up.
He shook his head. ‘You might do this kind of thing in England, but this is Italy. I’m paying.’
‘And I’m half English,’ she reminded him. ‘This is the twenty-first century. I’m paying.’
She won by the simple expedient of taking the bill and going up to the counter before he could grab the bill back from her.
‘You’re difficult,’ he said, when she returned.
And he wasn’t? She shrugged. ‘You’re the one who calls me “Princess”.’
‘Let’s go for a stroll.’ He held the door open for her, and they walked in silence to railings overlooking the sea.
He leaned against the railings, his legs slightly apart. ‘Come here.’
‘Why?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Because you’re still supposed to be in role.’
She took a step nearer.
He coughed. ‘And my girlfriend’s really going to stand as far away from me as she possibly can. Not.’
She took another step closer, and he reached out to pull her nearer still, so she was standing between his legs and his hand was resting lightly on her hip.
‘So what did you think of the shop?’
Standing this close to him, she was finding it hard to concentrate. How the hell could he talk about business and keep it all straight in his head while he was holding her like this?
‘It’s called multi-tasking, Princess. A very useful business asset.’
She groaned. ‘Did I just
