Louise Fuller - A Deal Sealed By Passion

Following her, Massimo shrugged, his face bland and unreadable. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’ He gestured vaguely towards a box of cables. ‘Something to do with improving the internet.’

His eyes picked over the two spots of colour on her cheeks and the pulse throbbing in her neck and something in their considering gleam made her want to take some of the cable and strangle him with it. But instead she gritted her teeth. Knowing him, he was probably hoping she’d do just that so he could exercise some medieval right to remove unstable female tenants.

She took a deep breath. ‘You can’t do this, Mr Sforza—’

‘Call me Massimo,’ he said smoothly. ‘I know I’m your landlord, but there’s really no need to stand on ceremony.’

She bit her lip—he was baiting her. Worse, he was enjoying watching her struggle with her temper. ‘Yes. You are my landlord. Which means that you can’t just walk in here whenever you feel like it.’

‘You know, I thought you’d say that,’ he murmured, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘So I had one of my staff print off a copy of your tenancy agreement. Here. You can keep it.’ He glanced at the slanting pile of letters stacked against the wall. ‘File it with all your other important documents.’

Staring at him mutinously, she snatched it from him. ‘I don’t need a copy. I know what it says, and it says that you can’t just turn up without warning. You have to give me notice.’

He frowned. ‘Did I not do that? How remiss of me. I can’t imagine how that happened. And there was me, trying to be a good landlord—’

‘You were not,’ she retorted, her resolve to keep her temper hanging by a fibre optic thread. ‘If you were, your men wouldn’t be bashing holes in my walls—they’d be fixing the roof and the plumbing. You’re just doing this to try and make my life difficult. So why don’t you just take your stupid internet cable and all this other rubbish and leave before I call the police?’

He held her angry gaze, and she saw that flecks of silver were dappling his eyes like sea foam. Her heart began to thump painfully.

‘Why bother?’ he said easily, glancing at his watch. ‘I’m meeting the Chief of Police in an hour for lunch. We’re old friends. I can mention your concerns to him, if you like.’

The expression on his face was hard to define, but whatever it was it didn’t improve her temper. ‘Which presumably he’ll then ignore?’ she snapped. Damn him! Pretending he was concerned about her when they both knew the exact opposite was true.

‘There’s no need to get hysterical, cara.’ There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. ‘I’m only trying to help you.’

It was the last straw. Her voice rose shrilly. ‘You’re not trying to help anyone but yourself.’

He took a step towards her and held out his hands apologetically, placatingly. ‘I am. Truly. And I’m sorry about all this noise and mess.’ Turning, he barked out a few words in rapid Italian, and as if a switch had been flicked the hammering and drilling stopped and within seconds the kitchen was empty and silent.

She stared at him, confused.

‘Here. Drink this.’ He held out a glass of water and then as she took it, he shook his head and said softly, ‘You see. You’re already starting to wish you’d taken the money, aren’t you?’

For a moment she floundered, shocked by his malice and sheer bloody-mindedness, and then anger, hot and damp like wet earth, rose in her throat. Breathing out slowly, she put the glass on the table. She wanted to kill him.

‘Is that why you’re doing all of this?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’m doing all this for my new tenant. Your new neighbour.’

She gaped at him. ‘What new neighbour?’

‘The new tenant who’s moving in today. It was in the email.’ He paused. ‘The one that wasn’t sent.’ He smiled blandly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I hand-picked him myself.’

It took all her will-power not to throw the glass of water at his head. Finally, she said flatly, ‘Let me guess. He’s a drummer in a band. Or maybe he breeds huskies or budgerigars.’

He laughed. ‘Are you saying I’d deliberately pick an antisocial tenant to make your life hard?’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but there’s no dogs or birds. Just a nice, quiet businessman.’

Something wasn’t right.

His words nudged each other inside her head and then she knew what it was. She went hot, then cold, and then hot again with horror.

‘No!’ She shook her head, her pupils flaring. ‘No! You are not moving in here. You can’t—’

‘But I can.’

He paused, and her pulse soared as he smiled at her slowly—a dark, taunting smile that sent a shiver through her body.

‘You’re not scared, are you, cara? After all, it’s a big house.’

She felt a jolt, low down, felt suddenly horribly out of her depth. It was a big house but she knew that he would dominate every inch of it. A lump rose in her throat. It wasn’t fair. This house was her home—her refuge from the world. But how was she supposed to feel safe living with a man who looked at her with such absolute focus? Such predatory purpose?

Fear mingling with desire, she stared at him in silence, terrified that he might somehow be able to read her mind as the blue gaze lingered on her hot, flushed face.

Finally, he shrugged. ‘I’ve taken the bedroom next to yours—the blue room.’ Pausing, he smiled coldly. ‘Of course if you don’t like it you can always move rooms. Or move out.’

Her stomach clenched, and she could barely swallow her anger. ‘Over my dead body.’

Massimo smiled coldly. Normally his business decisions were based on logic and reason. But his decision to move into the palazzo had been driven by pure, elemental rage. Flora had defied him and he’d wanted to punish her defiance—to rub his power in her face.

Giorgio had been appalled. His team astonished. It had been reckless and completely out of character. And yet he’d still gone ahead and done it.

His body twitched and he stared at her greedily, a memory of her near naked body stealing into his mind like a cat burglar. For weeks it had been the same story. He’d found it impossible to concentrate, his mind drifting off, distracted by images of a fierce-eyed Flora melting into his arms—

His breathing slowed. And why not, he thought idly. He’d tried money and threats and reasoning with her and none of those had worked. So why not seduction?

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