The Heir: A Contemporary Royal Romance Page 5

God, all Italian men are alike. “Thank you,” I say and climb into the back seat. “I don’t know the address ...”

  “Don’t worry. Dante gives me address. He waits for you,” he says with a smile.

  Yeah, like a hawk ready to swoop down on a chicken. Well, forewarned is forearmed.

  Chapter 10

  Rosa

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3ihv5ateWw

  Another you

  (Un’Altra Te)

  The ride calms my nerves. Rome is so beautiful and so full of architectural marvels it’s hard to be anything but impressed. On every street and corner there is a statue, a gorgeous fountain, or a building of note to look at. I don’t want to be angry and shrewish tonight. I will be firm and polite. I’m not going to sleep with him or change my mind about all the decisions I have made. I have a great job and I can take care of my baby without his help.

  Tonight, I will be adult and mature.

  The little restaurant is on a side street so narrow I fear the taxi is going to scrape the sides of the buildings.

  I’m surprised to see Dante lounging against the front of the restaurant, waiting for me. He’s wearing a camel sport coat over a maroon shirt with khaki pants and light brown loafers. If it looks like a playboy, dresses like a playboy, and talks like a playboy it must be one. God, why did it have to be him? If it was anyone else I could have kept my sanity.

  He smiles slowly and walks over to open the door for me. Taking my hand as I exit the taxi, he kisses me lightly on the cheek. The scent of his aftershave fills my nostrils and makes my knees go weak. Hell, it must be the hormones, but I actually want to lick him.

  “You look good enough to eat,” he murmurs in my ear.

  I almost swoon. To cover it I abruptly pull away and pretend to be irritated he sent a taxi to pick me up. “You sent a taxi to pick me up,” I say coldly.

  “I’m sorry, bella, I was busy.” A devilish glint comes into his eyes. “But you can be sure it will be me who takes you home tonight.”

  “Busy with another naked girl in your suite?” I ask, arching my eyebrows as if the idea didn’t make my stomach turn with raw jealousy.

  “No, the only girl I want to see naked is you.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to try to seduce me.”

  Dante’s face breaks into a smile that goes all the way to his whiskey eyes making them sparkle with amusement. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  I scowl at him.

  “Let’s start again, huh? Thank you for coming, Rosa. I hate to eat alone.”

  “I’m sure you never eat alone.”

  “That’s true,” he admits, before suavely slipping his hand down to the small of my back and turning me towards the restaurant. “Come, I have a table reserved for us.”

  “What about the taxi? You haven’t paid him?”

  “Oh, he knows I’m good for the fare. I use him regularly. Besides he’ll be picking us up after our dinner and taking us back—,” Dante says as he opens the door to the restaurant for me.

  I catch his eyes. “To our different addresses.”

  His eyes glint. “You’re the boss.”

  I glance around at the seven tables, six of which are occupied by well-dressed couples.

  “Signore Dante!” the maître d’, a dapper little man, cries gaily, as he hurries toward us with quick clownish steps. “How wonderful to see you again. And who is this beautiful Signorina you have graced us with tonight?”

  Dante looks down at me indulgently. “Yes, you could say she is an English rose that England has lost to Rome.”

  I blink in confusion at the flowery praise.

  “Ah, but you are a lucky man, Signore Dante. Lucky man,” he says, looking at me with admiring eyes, but he is so good at his job, his gaze does not leave the realms of his job description. He’s just making his customers feel good. Dante for choosing a beautiful woman and me for being beautiful. “This way, please. Your table is ready.”

  “A bottle of my usual wine, please, Sergio,” Dante says, as Sergio snaps my napkin open with a flick of his wrist and lays it on my lap.

  “Yes, at once,” Sergio replies with a nod.

  “I’ll just have bottled water, please,” I say.

  “Of course, Signorina,” he says with a bow, and leaves.

  “I’m surprised he speaks English,” I say, smoothing my napkin. In the low restaurant lighting he looks like he has been carved out of hard wood by some great sculptor. My fingers itch to touch the hard planes of his face.

  “He knows that you are English. It would be disrespectful for him to speak Italian unless he was sure you understood.”

  “That’s not been my experience. You sure you’re not the owner of this place?”

  “Owning restaurants is not my thing.”

  “Pardon me, I forgot your thing is sweeping women off their feet.”

  “My only interest is in sweeping you off your feet,” Dante murmurs, his voice like dark velvet.

  “You’re doing it again,” I say tightly.

  “I love a feisty girl,” Dante says. “Make-up sex with you is going to be fantastic.”

  I swallow the sharp words that are on the tip of my tongue. Play nice, I tell myself. He brought you to this wonderful, romantic restaurant, so enjoy yourself. Don’t let him get under your skin. You can always duke it out with him later.

  “Do all Italian men think only about sex?”

  “I can’t speak for others, but I’m hard enough to chip wood just looking at you,” he drawls smoothly, as a waiter brings a bottle of red wine and begins to open it.

  “Maybe you should take your palm and go to the men’s room.”

  Dante flashes a mischievous smile. “Don’t you think I already did that before I came?”

  My eyes widen at the casual confession. Really, this man is irredeemable. I want to kick him under the table. He brings every topic of conversation effortlessly back to the issue of sex.

  Dante swirls the wine in his glass, sniffs it and nods his approval to the waiter, who then fills my glass a third full. When his glass is filled, Dante raises it. “A toast to your new job and your life in Rome!”

  The angry thoughts slip out of my mind as I raise my glass and touch it lightly to his. His lips curve upwards. How can any man be this charming? And that brings me to my next question. What the hell am I doing here with him? I’m falling for his dark, handsome looks and Italian charm like I did the first time we met. Didn’t I learn my lesson then?

  Dante raises his hand with his beautifully manicured nails and motions to the waiter. I take a tiny sip of the wine. It is very smooth. Then put it away regretfully, and reach for the water.

  “Carpaccio and osso bucco for both of us, please,” Dante tells the waiter.

  It is only then I realize we have not been given any menus. “Excuse me. Did you just order for me?” I ask incredulously.

  Dante looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “You are in Roma, Rosa. You must try the specialty of the house. They are actually famous for it. It’s cross-cut veal shanks braised with vegetables in a white wine broth. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a better osso bucco anywhere else in Italy. People come from all over the world just for this dish.”

  Ignoring Dante, I address the waiter directly. “I will have the carpaccio, but not the osso bucco. Do you have salmon?”

  His eyes dart over to Dante. Dante just shrugs so he turns back to me, and nods. “Of course, Signorina.”

  “Good. I’ll have that,” I say decisively.

  “I love a rebellious woman,” Dante says. His eyes glitter with some unspoken promise.

  I break my breadstick with more force than necessary. “Well, I don’t like men who order for me.”

  He leans back and regards me curiously.

  “What?” I ask aggressively.

  “You don’t want me to seduce you. You don’t want me to mention sex. What would you like to talk about?”

  I clear my throat and lift up my glass of water
. “It’s really hot here, isn’t it?”

  He grins. “This is nothing. Wait till August. It gets so fucking hot my balls stick to my legs.”

  I nearly spray my mouthful of water all over the table. I swallow it hurriedly, and of course, it goes the wrong way and gives me a coughing fit. Dante stands up and comes over to rub my back. His hand is warm and firm and, quite frankly, addictive. The coughing stops and strange things start happening in my belly. I use my napkin to dab at the corners of my eyes.

  “Thanks. I’m fine now,” I tell him with as much dignity as I can. I can feel the eyes of all the other diners on me. I take another sip of water while he returns to his seat.

  “Apparently, body parts are off the list too,” he remarks.

  I say the first thing that comes into my head. “If restaurants are not your thing, what is it you do for a living?”

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t work for a living.”

  “Must be nice,” I say sarcastically.

  “Ah, you are one of those people who have been brainwashed into believing that hard work equals respectability. That a life without work is somehow wasted or useless.”

  “I would be extremely bored if I didn’t work.”

  “How boring your life must be if it is only in work that you get your utmost satisfaction.”

  Before I can answer him, the waiter brings a large platter of raw beef cut so thin the slices are almost transparent. It is finished with arugula leaves and shaved parmesan. The leaves glisten with the olive oil drizzled on them. The waiter leaves the platter in the middle of the table and grinds pepper over it. I watch Dante squeeze lemon onto it.

  “Buon appetito,” he says with a smile.

  “Same to you,” I say and slip the silky bit of meat and leaves into my mouth.

  “Good?”

  “Very,” I say honestly. We finish the platter in record time, and I lie back in my chair as our plates are cleared away.

  The waiter returns almost immediately with miniature bowls of what looks like tomato soup.

  “Is this tomato soup?”

  “It’s a slow-roasted tomato bisque. They do it exceptionally well here, and I wanted you to try it,” Dante explains.

  I take a spoonful of the velvety liquid. It is rich and delicious on my tongue. “Mmm … very tasty.”

  Dante grins. “Do you know they call it pomme D’amour because it is supposed to be an aphrodisiac?”

  “As though you need something to spark your sex drive,” I scoff.

  “I was trying to spark yours,” Dante replies.

  I look unimpressed. “Then you better ask them to bring a huge pail of it.”

  “I’m mortally wounded.”

  “That will be the day. Your skin is thicker than a rhino’s.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “I like you.”

  “Well, I can’t say the same to you.”

  He leans closer and instantly my breath hitches. “I don’t need you to like me, bella. I just need you to want me.”

  I put the spoon down. “I’m never sleeping with you again, Dante. I thought I made that very clear.”

  He reaches out and lets his fingers brush my cheek. I want to jerk away, but I can’t. It feels too good. “You have a true English rose complexion. I don’t think I have ever met anyone with such fine skin.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you, Dante. I really, really mean it.”

  “I know you do,” he says softly, as he gazes deep into my eyes. I feel like a hypnotized rabbit. I can’t look away. He removes his hand and his lips curve upwards. “Now eat your bisque.”

  I tear my gaze away from him and look down into the thick, red liquid in my bowl. The next time I raise my head is when I have got my heartbeat back to normal. I lean back to let the waiter clear away our bowls.

  Another waiter brings our main dishes. In front of me he sets a plate with saffron rice and a narrow slice of salmon on it, but the truly delicious smell comes from Dante’s plate.

  “Enjoy, bella,” Dante says.

  He cuts a piece of meat, spears it with his fork, and lifts it toward my mouth. I pause a moment before opening my mouth. “You have to try,” he says softly. I open my mouth and he slips the meat in. God, he was right. It is to die for. He stares into my eyes as I chew the juicy piece of meat.

  “Is it good?”

  “It’s exquisite. I really like it,” I admit, impressed with how good it is. I was expecting the normal Italian restaurant fare of veal parmigiana and spaghetti bolognese. This is an unexpected and delightful change. I decide to bring mum here when she comes to visit.

  ‘You can still change your order. I’ll have mine kept warm and brought out again.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  He grins. “Want mine?”

  I stare at him in surprise. “No, I don’t want yours. It’s my own fault for being so stubborn.”

  “Shall we share it?”

  I smile at him. For the first time, I feel close to him. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy, after all.

  So that’s what we do. We share everything. Dante keeps the conversation light and easy and I actually start to enjoy his company and the intelligence that he mostly hides behind his shallow Casanova exterior.

  An hour later, I drop my napkin onto the table. “I can’t eat another mouthful of this dessert!” I say reluctantly pushing away the small dish with a third of the portion of goose egg zabaglione still on my glass. “But it was all very, very delicious, Dante. Thank you.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed it. This is just your first night in Italy. Just think of all the new experiences you will have.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Yeah?”

  “And probably some old experiences too,” he murmurs, his eyes sliding down to my breasts.

  I feel hot color rush up my face.

  “On that note, I think I should take you back to your apartment. It’s been a long day for you, and you must be tired.”

  “Yes, I’m tired.”

  Dante pulls out his cell phone and pushes a single button. “Salvatore, come pick us up,” he says and then puts his phone back inside his pocket.

  Then he waves for the waiter and hands him his credit card.

  The taxi is waiting by the time we walk out of the restaurant into the cool night air.

  “That was fast,” I say. “He wasn’t waiting around the corner or something, was he?”

  “Maybe,” Dante says casually, as he holds the taxi door open.

  “Bona sera,” Salvatore says.

  “To the Signorina’s apartment,” Dante instructs.

  “He remembers where I live?”

  “Of course.”

  The ride back seems shorter than the drive to the restaurant. But then returning home always seems to take less time than going to a destination. We ride with the windows down and Dante takes it upon himself to point out the different sights. Rome at night is intoxicatingly beautiful.

  “Oh, we’re here already,” I exclaim, recognizing the pizza restaurant as the taxi slows down.

  Dante gets out of the taxi and comes around to open my door.

  Having a man behave in such a courtly way is unusual to me. I have always believed that I am more than capable of opening my doors and I honestly didn’t want any man to do that for me. And yet, here I am impressed that Dante is pulling the gentlemanly routine.

  I get out and turn to him. “It was a very nice meal, Dante. Thank you. I think I am going to enjoy exploring the restaurants in Rome.”

  “How about a cup of coffee?”

  I bite my lip. “It’s late, Dante.”

  “You’re not going to deny me one little cup of coffee?”

  “I only have instant.”

  His face screws up. “My favorite type,” he lies blatantly.

  “Okay, but don’t make me regret it,” I say with a sigh.

  Chapter 11

  Rosa

  I watch him lean back into the taxi and hand the dr
iver some bills.

  “Buono notte,” the driver yells before he drives off.

  “Do you like your apartment?” Dante asks as we start walking.

  “Yes, it is lovely and the magazine has stocked it with essentials too,” I say as we go past the pizza restaurant that still seems to be buzzing with life and activity. “I definitely have to try one of their pizzas. Even though I am stuffed, that smell is doing something to me.”

  “Pizza will make you fat,” Dante says as we climb the stairs.

  “Oh God, don’t talk about getting fat. I am going to have to turn all the mirrors around when my belly starts growing. I won’t even want to look at myself.”

  “Oh, yes you will. You’ll pat your stomach and feel the life growing inside and get emotional knowing you are going to be the best mother in the world,” Dante says as I push the door to my apartment.

  “Oh yeah? And how do you know so much about it?”

  “I’ve been reading Parenting Magazine.”

  I laugh. “No, you haven’t. And I know for a fact they don’t have articles about expectant mothers in Playboy.”

  Dante smiles as he looks around the room. “Now serve me some of that terrible coffee of yours.”

  “My God, you Italians all have such a snobbish attitude towards coffee,” I tease.

  “It’s the rest of the world that doesn’t know how to appreciate good coffee.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

  He sits at my kitchen table and talks to me while I make the coffee.

  “Here we are,” I say, holding one mug out to him. His fingers touch mine, and suddenly, the atmosphere changes. The air becomes thick. For a second I can only stare at him blankly as his eyes darken, then I rush to fill the molten silence.

  “Taste it, then.”

  He takes a sip and his mouth turns down at the corners. “Undrinkable,” he declares, putting the mug down.

  I laugh at his expression. “Coffee in my kitchen overlooking that cathedral has to be worth something.”

  “It is,” he says softly. “I wouldn’t let that disgusting stuff pass my lips under any other circumstances.”

  “Dante.” I say putting down my mug. “I keep thinking how extraordinarily lucky I am to get this awesome, once-in-a-lifetime job here in this beautiful city, but the thing is I’m not exactly the luckiest person I know.”