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He turned toward her just as his robe fell open.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
Naked, he was as dangerous looking as he was beautiful. The wide shoulders, leanly muscled torso and long legs. And the part of him that was male, that she knew so intimately, knew was almost frighteningly potent …
The air in the room seemed to turn thick and still.
Anna’s gaze flew to Draco’s face. She could hear the pulse of her blood beating in her ears. Neither of them moved until, at last, he gave a harsh laugh.
“You flatter yourself, bellissima. I have had my fill of what you so generously offered.” Slowly, confidently he dressed, then strolled to the door. “I’ll return for you in an hour. Be ready. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to deal with our mutual problem so that we can see the last of each other.”
Anna moved toward him. “Just tell me where to meet you. I absolutely forbid you to—”
“Was that an order, Orsini?” His smile was as thin as the blade of a knife. “Because you have to know I don’t follow orders.”
“Listen, Valenti—”
“No,” he snarled, “you listen! I will be back in an hour, il mio consigliere. And if you have anything in your luggage besides those lady lawyer suits and ridiculous stilettos, I suggest you wear them.”
“You’re despicable,” Anna said. “Absolutely des—”
Draco caught her by the wrist, hauled her to him and stopped the angry flow of words with a merciless kiss.
Then he was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
THE hotel doorman was not the same one as last night.
He looked shocked when Draco asked for his Ferrari.
A Ferrari? Here? No. That was impossible. Surely the signore could see that this was not a hotel at which anyone would leave such an automobile.
True enough.
The place was clean, but that was about it. Apparently, Cesare Orsini didn’t believe in providing his consigliere with a decent expense account.
Draco, fighting an anger he knew was meant for that consigliere and not for the pudgy fool dressed like an extra in a bad operetta, agreed.
The hotel was not the place for a Ferrari.
Nonetheless, he said, he had left his Ferrari here, at the curb, last evening. And as he said it, he took a hundred-euro note from his wallet and handed it over.
Ah, the doorman said, palming the bill, how could he have forgotten? He snapped his fingers, pointed at a pimply-faced kid wearing what Draco figured was a bellman’s costume, and sent the boy running. Seconds later the car was at the curb. Draco tipped the kid and got behind the wheel, burning rubber as he peeled away.
The intersection ahead was a typical snarl of traffic, cars and taxis and motorcycles growling like jungle beasts in anticipation of the green light and the chance to cut each other off.
Draco floored the gas, steered between a truck and a taxi, skidded around a motorcycle, got to the front of the pack just as the light changed and kept going. It won him a chorus of angry-sounding horns. A joke, considering that obeying traffic laws was pretty much against Roman law.
Too bad one of the drivers didn’t feel like making something of it. That big guy on the black Augusta motorcycle, for example. Hell, if he was looking for trouble …
Dio.
Draco was the one looking for trouble, and for what reason? A woman he’d slept with had said something that had angered him. If he had a hundred euros for every female who’d ever said anything that had irritated him …
