Catherine Spencer - New Year Fireworks - The Duke's New Year's Resolution / The Faithful Wife / Constantino's Pregnant Bride

“The shower just cut off in the bathroom. Gotta go, Caro. I need to confirm the ticket change, get dressed and hit the road. I’ll e-mail a spreadsheet with the final cost estimates for the sites here in Italy as soon as I nail down the last one.”

“Okay. I’ll do the same for the sites in Spain.”

“ Ciao for now, girl.”

She ended the videoconference and sent her fingers flying over the keyboard. She’d have to pay a hundred and eighty dollar differential in airfare plus another hundred in penalties for changing her ticket. Add in the cost of a gown and the necessary accessories, and this was turning out to be an expensive stopover.

Since these weren’t business-related expenses, Sabrina intended to cover them from her personal account. Good thing she’d built up a healthy savings before walking away from the board of the Russo Foundation.

Marco emerged from the bathroom just as she clicked the confirm button to purchase the new ticket. “It’s done. I’ve changed my … Yowza!”

She froze with her fingers still curved over the keyboard, speechless at the sight of six foot one of nearly naked male.

He had a towel draped around his hips. Above the fluffy cotton his chest hair gleamed dark and damp. Below, his muscular thighs narrowed down to strong calves and disgustingly healthy ankles. With his bronzed skin and short, curling hair, he could leave a string of broken hearts from Naples to Nashville to Nepal.

“You should give a girl some warning before you stroll into a room looking like that! I almost swallowed my tongue.”

“Tongue swallowing could be symptomatic of a serious medical condition,” he said solemnly. “You’d better let me have a look.”

He had to drop the towel in order to make the necessary examination. For some reason, he also had to peel off Sabrina’s borrowed shirt.

The laptop got shoved onto the bedside table. The duvet slithered over the side of the mattress. Marco curled his hands under her thighs and tugged her down until she was stretched out under him.

“Open your mouth and say ah.”

“Now that,” Sabrina gasped when they came up for air some time later, “was what I call a thorough examination. I might have to hire you as my personal physician.”

Marco rolled onto his side and propped his head in his hand. Christ, she was beautiful. With her tangle of tawny hair and her long, supple body lying limp beside his, she made him feel smug and sated and hungry, all at the same time.

“It would be difficult for me to make house calls to the States. You’d have to stay here, in Italy.”

He said it with a lazy smile but as soon as the words were out the idea took hold. Suddenly thoughtful, he let his gaze drop to her mouth, still swollen from his kisses, and brought it up to meet hers again.

“Why not stay longer, Sabrina?”

“I wish I could. Unfortunately, my partners and I have a company to run.”

Marco curled a tendril of tawny gold around his finger and feathered the ends with his thumb. Just a few days ago he’d driven down from Rome with nothing more than a week of rest and relaxation in mind. Then this woman had dropped into his life. They’d spent less than a week together, but all he had to do was look at her to know he wanted more.

“Since your company provides support for executives doing business in Europe,” he said slowly, “perhaps you should consider the cost effectiveness of establishing a forward operating location in, say, Rome.”

Chuckling, she dropped a kiss on his chest. “That would certainly make house calls more convenient for my personal physician. Now I suggest we postpone any further doctor/patient consultation until later. We gotta get it in gear, fella.”

Marco let the subject drop, but the idea of keeping Sabrina in Italy remained fixed in his mind during the drive to the last conference site on her list, a resort some forty kilometers south of Salerno.

The Villa d’Este sat all by itself on a rocky promontory jutting into the sea. It was a new condo/time share/vacation resort that had been constructed for guests who wanted to avoid the bustle of the more popular tourist locales. The facilities were top rate and the prices comparable to the other sites Sabrina had scouted, but she left ready to cross the place off her list.

“Too isolated and difficult to get to,” she commented as the Ferrari slowed for a truck spewing a black cloud of diesel fumes. “Good thing I made a previsit. On paper, the resort looked perfect.”

With a blind curve ahead, Marco couldn’t pass. He dropped back, his nostrils flaring at the noxious fumes.

“So, which of the other three locales tops your list?”

She flipped through her notes. “I really liked the facilities and unique setting in Ravello, but that estimate came in considerably higher than either Sorrento or Capri. I e-mailed Signor Donati yesterday and asked him to take another look at his catering costs.”

Marco didn’t offer to weigh in with Donati. He’d made that mistake once, and felt the bite of Sabrina’s prickly independence. Yet he knew one phone call from him could resolve the issue.

The knowledge bothered him. He wasn’t used to sitting back while someone else took the lead. He headed a highly skilled surgical team with unquestioned authority. He made life and death decisions daily in the operating theater, and made them fast. In addition to chairing the neurosurgery department at his hospital, he sat on the board of directors for the International Pediatric Neurosurgical Association and the Gamma Radioknife Institute. He routinely loaned his name, his title and his reputation to any number of charitable enterprises. That combination carried as much weight here in southern Italy as it did in Rome.

At Sabrina’s specific request, however, he’d stayed in the background while she met with the hotel personnel in Capri, Sorrento and at the Villa d’Este. He’d shrugged off her stubborn determination to handle matters herself at the time. Now it put a decided dent in his ego. She was foolish not to use his influence, he thought as the truck in front of them belched another wave of noxious fumes.

Muttering a curse, Marco pulled out to pass. A long line of oncoming cars forced him to cut back.

“At this rate, we’ll eat his exhaust all the way back to Salerno.”

The irritated comment drew a quick glance from the woman beside him. She stuffed her notes in her briefcase with a rueful smile.

“I told you before, but I’ll tell you again. I really appreciate you playing chauffer for me this week.”

Marco didn’t want her appreciation. He wanted her. The more he thought about keeping her in Italy, the more determined he was to make it happen.

He needed to lay some groundwork first, and he couldn’t do that with this damned truck spewing fumes in his face. He caught sight of a brown sign ahead denoting the turnoff for a place of historical interest.

“Have you been to the Temple of Poseidon at Paestum?” he asked as the sign flashed by.

“No.”

“It’s too close by for you to miss.”

“Marco, we don’t have a lot of time for sightseeing. It’s almost three o’clock now and we’re still several hours from home.”

He slowed for the turn and cut the wheel. “This won’t take long.”

Sabrina stifled a dart of annoyance. After his good-natured chauffeuring, she could hardly insist they save Paestum for another day.

Still, she couldn’t help thinking of all she needed to get done. At the top of the list was putting her notes in order and e-mailing Caroline the results of her site surveys. When she received the input from Caro’s surveys, she’d have to get to work on a comparative analysis. And sometime before the ball tomorrow night she needed to squeeze in a few hours of shopping. The last thing she was interested in right now was a side trip to view some ruins.