Page 4 of Bound By The Italian’s 'I Do'

She willed even harder to banish the image of Gianni Rossi looking at her like he would gladly eat her whole.

And willed even harder than that to forget the thrills that had run through her veins to see it.

Rob Weller, one of Gianni’s favourite architects and a good friend though an infuriating timekeeper, arrived at the same time the barman brought Gianni’s fresh bourbon to the table.

‘Man, I have just seen the hottest woman leave this place,’ he enthused as he slid his short frame onto the seat across from Gianni.

‘Bet that’s the woman Gianni just hooked up with,’ Stefan said with a knowing grin.

‘We didn’t hook up,’ Gianni felt obliged to point out.

‘I saw you give her your number.’

Gianni smiled but kept his mouth shut. While he dated widely and enthusiastically, one thing he never did was kiss and tell. Not that there had been any kissing to tell about. Just one short, incredibly flirtatious conversation...and the potential for more than flirtatious conversation.

For fifty weeks of the year, he worked his backside off. For sure, he partied hard too, but work came first. It always had. It was the same for Alessandro, his cousin and business partner. Practically raised as brothers, the Rossi cousins had been twelve when they’d determined to carve their own path in life, paths that sped them away from their monstrous fathers, and they had worked their fingers to the bone and overcome huge setbacks to make their property development company the multi-billion-euro, internationally renowned enterprise it was today. Where Gianni and Alessandro differed was on the partying side of life. Andro lived and breathed Rossi Industries. He rarely took time off. He never dated. He liked his own company so much that Gianni had long ago taken to calling him The Monk. But for all his cousin’s single-minded drive and monkish ways, he understood Gianni needed to occasionally blow off steam and recharge his batteries and so had never begrudged the two weeks Gianni spent in the Caribbean each summer. That fortnight was sacrosanct, highlighted in the diary of every one of the hundred thousand Rossi Industries employees. The company would have to be burning down before Andro bothered him during it or let anyone else do so.

‘Leggy blonde, wearing a skimpy silver dress?’ Rob asked.

‘That’s the one,’ Stefan agreed.

‘Man...’ Rob shook his head. ‘I almost threw myself into the cab she hailed so she could argue with me for it.’

‘Bit creepy,’ Gianni pointed out.

‘How else can I get a woman like that to look at me without flashing my bank account at them?’ Rob defended himself. ‘It’s all right for you. Women don’t care about the size of your wallet. You only have to look at a woman for her to want to...’

‘Did you say she hailed a cab?’ Gianni interrupted before his friend could say anything that might prompt a passing woman to throw a drink over his head.

‘Yes.’

‘There wasn’t a car waiting for her?’

‘No. She definitely hailed a black cab. Why?’

He shrugged and raised his glass to his mouth. ‘No reason.’

Intriguing. Issy had told him her friend’s driver was collecting her, which did not imply the beauty hailing a black cab.

Why the lie?

He tipped the rest of his bourbon down his throat and smiled. The only thing he loved more than a sexually confident woman was a sexually confident enigma begging to be solved.

His annual trip to the Caribbean couldn’t come soon enough. If nothing else, it certainly promised to be fun.

Once Issy’s stomach had settled a little, she took a deep breath and made the call.

‘David?’ she said when it was answered. ‘It’s Isabelle Seymore.’

‘Issy!’ he cried. She could hear music pounding in the background and guessed he was at a party somewhere. ‘What can I do for you, my darling?’

‘It’s time.’

‘Time? For what?’

‘You know what. A yacht.’

There was a long pause. ‘When do you need it for?’

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