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Please, God, don’t let him have heard any of that.
She gave Maxi a quick hug. ‘I’ve got my mobile if you need to call. But I’ll check in tonight when I know where I’m staying. Give Dave and the troops the good news. And see if you can’t locate the—’
‘Issy, stop organising and go. Everything’s under control.’ Maxi squeezed her extra hard. ‘Be sure to give His Grace my extra special thanks,’ she whispered wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. ‘And please feel free to do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Issy shot her a hard stare, but couldn’t think of a thing to say that would sound remotely convincing. It seemed she had some serious thinking to do—because her trip to Florence had just got a great deal more dangerous.
‘This way, Miss Helligan. Mr Hamilton is waiting for you on the plane.’
Issy tried to take stock of the situation as the flight attendant led her past the endless queue snaking towards the security checkpoint.
‘But what about passport control and security?’ she asked, trailing behind him.
Did none of the usual headaches of air travel apply to a man with Gio’s lifestyle?
But as she followed her battered suitcase through the door the attendant held open, and watched it being whisked through an X-ray machine by her own personal security official, it occurred to her that Gio’s wealth and success were the least of her worries.
Mounting the metal steps of a sleek silver jet with the GH Partnership logo emblazoned on its tail, she tried to think rationally.
She’d planned to be in complete control here. But she wasn’t. This was supposed to
be a business trip. Plain and simple. Nothing more. Nothing less. But what if it wasn’t?
Gio stepped out of the pilot’s cabin as she boarded the plane—and she felt a traitorous thrill shoot through her. He looked relaxed and in control as he leaned against the metal portal, folded his arms over his chest and let his eyes wander over her figure. His casual attire of jeans and a faded T-shirt were at odds with the jet’s luxury leather seats and thick pile carpeting, but they reminded her of the reckless, rebellious boy.
But he wasn’t that boy any more. He was a man. A wildly successful, dangerously sexy man she’d agreed to go to Florence with. His gaze drifted back to her face. Make that a wildly successful, dangerously sexy man with a very predatory gleam in his eye.
How could she not have spotted that earlier?
‘Hello, Isadora,’ he said, his voice a husky murmur. ‘Ready for lift-off?’
Her nipples puckered into bullet points, her toes curled in her pumps—and she wondered if he was talking in euphemisms just to annoy her.
Ignoring the flush working its way up her neck, she decided to wrestle back some control. He’d bulldozed her into this. It was about time she found out exactly what was going on.
‘Is there really any paperwork to sign in Florence?’
He rubbed his jaw. ‘Now, why would you ask that?’ he said as the predatory gleam went laser-sharp. And she knew she’d been had.
‘This has all been a set-up, hasn’t it? But why…?’ Her indignation cut off as the blood drained out of her face. ‘The sponsorship? That wasn’t a joke too, was it?’
‘You can cut the drama queen act.’ He chuckled, stepped towards her. ‘I’ve already spoken to Luca and the money will be transferred tomorrow, once you give him your bank details.’
Her relief was short-lived as indignation surged back. ‘So why am I going to Florence?’
He placed his hands on her hips, his eyes darker than the devil’s. ‘Why don’t you take a wild guess?’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ She braced her palms against his chest. ‘Why don’t you give me a straight answer?’
‘All right, then,’ he said, not remotely chastened. ‘I plan to spend a few days ravaging you senseless.’
‘Ravaging…’ Her jaw went slack as fire spiked her cheeks and roasted her sex. ‘Are you insane?’
The smug smile got bigger. ‘Stop pretending to be outraged. Once wasn’t enough. And you know it.’
A sharp reprimand rose up in her throat, but got choked off when his fingers sank into her hair and his lips covered hers in a hungry, demanding kiss.
She pushed him away, clinging onto the last edge of sanity. ‘I’m not doing this. It’s…’ What? ‘A very bad idea.’
