Faye checked her watch for the third time, catching sight of her freshly manicured nails, so alien to her, clutching the proposal. This had to work. It had to. She watched the immaculate redhead murmur into the intercom, feeling self-conscious, and swept a tendril of her own fair hair back into the clip which held it away from her face. Her budget had not stretched to a professional cut too. This would have to do.

‘Mr Valenti will see you now.’ The woman spoke as if bestowing upon her an undeserved honour, and ushered her towards the elaborately panelled door.

Faye smoothed down the skirt of her new grey suit unnecessarily, her heart racing, the pressure echoing at her temples. She had spent over six years believing she would never have to lay eyes on him again, and now she had brought it upon herself. But what choice did she have? Over the course of the last year she had appealed to every bank, every possible investor she could think of, but no one would lend her a penny. At first it had been disheartening, worrying. Now it was desperate. There was no other choice—because it was this or watch her family’s restaurant go bankrupt before her eyes. And that wasn’t an option. Not just because she felt instinctively that it was her daughterly duty to prevent that happening, but because she loved the business. So much so that she was sure even if she had been born into an entirely different family she would always have been drawn—like a bird to the south—to the simple yet deep pleasure which came from seeing other people sit together around her table, enjoying good food. The way people once had at every table in Matteson’s. Which was why there was nothing left to do but to walk, as confidently as she could feign, into the enormous room.

He did not speak at first. Faye was silently grateful. For, though she had only dared flick a glance in his direction, the action had rendered her speechless. She had prepared herself for facing the old Dante, and that had been painful enough. What she had not taken into account was how time would have changed him. It was not the plush new office—he had always exuded wealth and class—nor the atmosphere of power that seemed to emanate from the ground where he stood. No, the years had somehow refined him. His luxurious dark hair seemed thicker, the irresistible slant of his jaw more chiselled, the curve of his full lower lip even more sensual. And those dark eyes, thrown into relief by that smooth olive skin, were the most changed of all: more piercing, more commanding—like ice. And, formidable though he looked, he was still the sexiest man she had ever met, and her treacherous eyes wanted to drink in every inch of him. Her memories had been distorted in so many respects, but she had never been wrong about that. No matter how much she wished that she had been.

‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Ms Matteson?’ His cut-glass enunciation of the English language with its seductive Italian undertone was as impressive to her now as it had been at eighteen, and sent long-dormant senses into overdrive. ‘I can only imagine.’

She raised her head tentatively, not able to focus her eyes above his broad chest. He gestured brusquely for her to sit on one of the black leather chairs flanking the enormous desk whilst he remained standing, making him seem even taller than the city buildings outside the window. She perched on the edge of the chair. She wished he’d remained silent, for she had not predicted the arousing effect that voice would have on her in spite of the damning intention of his words. She felt the blood course faster around her veins, making her aware of pulse-points even her unrelenting nerves had not discovered.

‘Hello, Dante.’

‘No formalities, Faye? You need not have booked this appointment through my PA if this is, after all, a personal call.’

Faye had been more than relieved last month, when she had been able to arrange this meeting without actually speaking to Dante himself. Now she suspected this whole charade would have been easier over the phone. She had mistakenly presumed she could be more persuasive face to face, but she had she failed to anticipate the sway his physical presence seemed to have over her.

‘Very well, Mr Valenti,’ she said, mimicking his formal address though her throat was dry and constricted. ‘I have come because I have a business proposition for you.’

‘Really, Faye?’ he counteracted. ‘And what could you possibly have that would interest me?’

The colour rose in her cheeks and she felt utterly exposed—all the more so because of his hawk-like advantage over her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze burning through the fabric of her suit and she wanted to take off her jacket—but she didn’t dare remove the layer of protection for fear that her cami would reveal the tingling buds of her breasts that thrust against the thin fabric against her will. Straight on with the speech, a voice inside her prompted. Don’t let him see he’s getting to you.

‘My family and I are keen to find some additional investment for Matteson’s, in return for a percentage of the profits. As someone who once showed an interest in our restaurant, I thought you might be eager to see the proposal.’ Her voice trailed off as she remembered his presence there back then: the delight that his approval had given her parents, the life he had breathed into it for her. She opened her folder on the desk and pushed it towards where he was standing at the other end. He ignored the papers.

‘Eager?’ She did not need to look at his face to catch his sardonic tone. ‘You may have been fool enough to presume I had any interest whatsoever in the restaurant back then.’ Dante dipped his eyes as he spoke, shaking his head. ‘But you must be plain stupid if you think I don’t know that Matteson’s is on its last legs.’

Faye stiffened, wondering if there was anything he could have said that would have hurt more. So it had all been a facade. He had seen the opportunity to use her, nothing more. And if he believed Matteson’s was irrecoverable, she might as well give up here and now. The thought spurred her onto the defensive. ‘Much as it might please you to believe me to be plain stupid, Dante, for your information Matteson’s is not on its last legs. I admit we need an injection of cash to continue updating some elements, but—’