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‘Don’t thank me.’ His hands were loosely around her waist, their bodies somehow close enough to look as if they were comfortable with each other even while barely touching—oh, but she ached, longed to move that dangerous couple of inches, to rest herself against him, to close her eyes and feel him, have him hold her. But Caitlyn knew if she did she’d be lost. ‘Don’t make me a part of it.’
‘I’m not with you—a part of it?’ Now and then he did that—his English was seemingly not quite so perfect, needing her to translate—but Caitlyn knew better. Knew he was, in fact, just buying a little more time.
‘Don’t…’ She looked up to him. ‘Don’t ever put me in that position again. I’ll lie to your girlfriends, Lazzaro—but not to their partners.’
‘I never asked you to lie…’
‘Should I have told him Bonita and I had already met?’ Her words hissed into his ears. ‘When she came to your suite. Should I have told him that the reason his young gold-digging wife’s looking so fabulous—with that flush on her face and her sparkling eyes—has nothing to do with hours at the salon, but everything to do with your—?’ Her voice stopped abruptly as his hand caught her wrist.
His words were caustic as they reached her. ‘How dare you judge me by your own standards?’
‘At least I have some standards!’
They weren’t even pretending to dance now, just standing in the middle of the dance floor, bristling, bursting with unsaid words. But thankfully the music paused then, the room rippling with applause, and Lazzaro’s hand tightened around hers, practically dragging her across the dance floor to a secluded table.
Only there was no such thing as total seclusion when you were Lazzaro Ranaldi. A waiter appeared—offering drinks, pouring water—when all they wanted was to be left alone.
‘What standards?’ Lazzaro sneered, picking up the conversation exactly where they had left it. ‘You’re the liar…’
‘Me?’
‘It was confirmed today—you never did have a second interview lined up with Mancini.’ He watched as she coloured up, watched her hands tighten around her drink, and couldn’t help but smile in triumph. It was Caitlyn playing for time now. ‘You never even had a first!’
‘No,’ Caitlyn finally answered, glad for the water that had been poured—glad that there was actually something she could do with her hands as she fiddled with her glass.
‘You never even sent them your résumé, did you?’
‘Why bother asking when clearly you’ve been checking up?’
‘Of course,’ Lazzaro answered evenly. ‘What? Did you think that I wouldn’t? Did you expect me to just trust you? Did you think that I really thought I had the hotel name wrong?’
‘I’m surprised you had time to even think of me when you were with Bonita,’ Caitlyn spat. ‘I’m surprised I even entered you head.’
‘I don’t have to explain myself to you.’ In a curiously insolent gesture Lazzaro raised one shoulder, then dropped it. ‘But clearly, after your little display, it has slipped your mind that I am in fact your boss, and you do have to explain yourself to me! So, why did you lie?’
But suddenly he changed his mind—the question he had just voiced temporarily forgotten as angrily he leant over the table.
‘Alberto Mancini is my friend—how dare you insult me—how dare you insult Bonita too—when you know nothing of what has gone on? Nothing!’
‘Then tell me,’ Caitlyn begged. ‘What the hell am I supposed to think, Lazzaro? She’s on the phone every five minutes, and coming up to your room, and clearly Alberto doesn’t have a clue…’
‘Why would I tell you? I don’t trust you,’ Lazzaro sneered. ‘So come on—why did you lie?’
‘I just did.’ Caitlyn shrugged tightly.
‘Surely in an interview you must—’
‘When I lied,’ Caitlyn interrupted, ‘I wasn’t even aware I was being interviewed. In fact, if I remember correctly, when I lied to you, Lazzaro, I was trying to leave my job, not wangle another one.’
