Page 29 of Bound By The Italian’s 'I Do'

Trying her hardest to control her breathing and concentrate, Issy draped herself over the table and aimed the cue.

‘The rest of you is pretty damn sexy too,’ he said at the exact moment she took her shot. ‘Your backside is delectable.’

She misaimed the cue. The white ball scuttled off in the wrong direction, limping to a stop without hitting anything.

That pulled her together sharpish, and she glared at him. ‘You said that on purpose to distract me.’

He raised a hefty shoulder. ‘And?’

‘And?’

He took his position at the table and winked at her. ‘And what are you going to do about it?’

God how she hated how much she wanted him. Almost as much as she hated how greatly she was coming to enjoy their time together and how she could veer from amusement to full-blown desire from nothing but a tone in his voice or the raising of an eyebrow.

‘I could sing to you,’ she suggested, managing to sound reasonably normal in the process. ‘People have offered money to stop me doing that before.’

He grinned. ‘You can come up with something better than that.’ He potted the last of the reds and fixed his stare straight back on her. ‘I guarantee if you were to strip that dress off, I’d be unable to take another shot.’

She squeezed her eyes to counter the image that zinged straight into her mind of holding Gianni’s gaze and peeling her dress off for his delectation. She had to force her eyes to open again and force her voice to sound blasé. ‘I prefer the singing option.’

Chin on cue now lined up for the next shot, he smirked. ‘I don’t.’ The yellow ball potted straight into the pocket.

Knowing she needed to steer them onto safer conversational territory, she asked, ‘How come you’re so good at this? At snooker,’ she hurried to clarify before he could deliberately misinterpret her question and give a suggestive answer.

He took another shot. ‘I have a snooker table in my London penthouse and my home in Tuscany. I like to play.’

‘That fits in with your playboy image so well.’ That’s what she needed to remind herself of, she realised. When the force of Gianni’s magnetism and personality was strong enough to blur the damage he’d wrought on her family; made it seem distant and faded, she needed to remember the chain of broken hearts he’d left littered around the world.

‘I don’t have a playboy image.’

‘You do! I’ve looked you up.’ About a gazillion times. ‘You have your own hashtag. HotRossi.’

‘Not started by me.’

‘Started by your adoring groupies. You’re a playboy who loves to party.’

‘It’s not a crime for a single man to party and date women.’

‘I’m just saying your image doesn’t fit a man who must have spent hours at a snooker table to get as good as you at it.’

‘Snooker helps my brain relax. It’s a good way to unwind in the evenings...’ His lips curved in a lopsided smirk and he wiggled his eyebrows. ‘When there’s no hot woman available to help me relax, of course.’

This time she was able to maintain her composure, serenely saying, ‘You’re trying to needle me.’

‘Am I succeeding?’

‘No.’

His knowing grin showed he didn’t believe her. ‘It would be impossible for me to have such a successful business if I partied every night. I’ve reached the age where I get hangovers.’

‘Oh, no. You poor thing.’

‘Thank you for your sympathy.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘You do realise I’ve won?’

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