Reckless Nights in Rome Read Online Free PDF Page A

meeting
the man who’d put his mark on Bronte and didn’t stop to ask himself
why it was any business of his, or why he should care.
    The car swept
into the car park of Ludlow Hall.
    Life, Nico
realised with a wry smile, had just become a lot more
interesting.
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR
    “I was mortified.”
    Bronte glared
at Rosie who cried laughing, wiping her eyes with the back of her
fingers.
    “I wish I’d
seen it. I can’t believe you jumped out a window and left him
there.” She leaned on the edge of the kitchen table, tore off a
piece of kitchen roll and dabbed her cheeks. “Is my mascara
running?”
    Bronte gave her
best friend a dark look, not in the mood for humour. “No. What
possessed you to set me up with that awful man?”
    “Sorry, sorry,
I thought he was a nice guy. His sister’s lovely. She told me
Anthony’s had a thing for you for years,” Rosie told her.
    “What I don’t
understand is why he thought I had the hots for him,” Bronte
responded completely bewildered. It was something that continued to
bug her. The man had been totally convinced she’d been prepared to
go to bed with him. She simply could not understand it. But then
remembering his hair trigger temper, perhaps he was delusional?
    Shaking her
head, Bronte checked the temperature on the ovens, and glanced
through their schedule for the day.
    Three trainee
pastry chefs laughed and joked in the adjacent kitchen. The sound
mingled with an iPod rocking Coldplay and the clang of pots and
pans.
    “I wouldn’t
worry about it. Put it down to experience.”
    Bronte glanced
at Rosie, still dabbing her face and frowned.
    “It’s not
funny. Nico Ferranti looked at me as if I was a slut.”
    Rosie tied a
white chef’s bandana over her dark curls, topped up their mugs with
coffee and sent Bronte a sly look.
    “I bet
Alexander found it funny. You didn’t tell him I put them in your
bag did you?”
    With a little
smile, Bronte folded her arms. “He may not be Sherlock Holmes, but
he deduced who was responsible by the note sellotaped to the
box.”
    “Ouch, okay.”
Rosie pursed her lips and widened her brown eyes. “So how was big
brother, still miserable?”
    Bronte winced
remembering how tired he appeared.
    “Worse, he had
that long suffering kicked dog look.”
    “Hmm, it’s not
often he’s vulnerable, make the most of it.”
    Sinking into a
chair, Bronte pressed fingertips to her temple, puffing out her
cheeks.
    Her eyes met
Rosie’s.
    “I need to do
the right thing and I can’t leave it any longer. The trouble is I
don’t know how to approach him. How do I tell a perfect stranger
that I’m the daughter he never knew existed?” She closed her eyes.
“God, my life is such a mess.”
    The ache in her
gut, a constant companion these days, burned like acid. No matter
how many times she went over and over the reality of her situation
she was hurting Alexander. He wanted her to forget about a man
who’d had nothing to do with her upbringing and to let the dead lie
in peace.
    Rosie gave her
a quick hug. “It’s your decision. You know I’ll back you all the
way whatever you decide.” She caught her eye and gave her a cheeky
smile. “What’s Nico Ferranti like?”
    While Bronte
considered her response, Rosie checked the cool-room temperature
and wheeled out a stainless steel trolley which held four separate
tiers of snowy white wedding cakes ready for assembly and finishing
touches.
    “He’s big.”
    How do you
describe power and sheer physical presence? Bronte wondered as she
stood. How could she describe the hum in her blood when his hands
gripped her waist? How could she explain the overwhelming desire to
give him a black eye?
    She slid four
trays of mini muffins into each oven and set the timer.
    “I need more
information.” Rosie sent her a quizzical look.
    “He’s well over
six foot, wide shouldered, long legs. You know, big.” Her cheeks
grew warm when Rosie folded her arms. “Okay, he smells fabulous.
He’s