Reckless Nights in Rome (20 page)

It seriously
annoyed her that Nico refused to believe shopping for clothes was
something she absolutely loathed. And shopping for clothes with a
man was a whole new experience. Two hours into new the experience
and Bronte decided it was not fun. She should have been at the
hospital with her injured brother, but Alexander had made it clear
he would see them this afternoon. His visitors would be allowed
half an hour because he was having tests. A precaution only and he
hoped to be discharged tomorrow. Nico had organised rest and
recuperation at his villa on Lake Como. After a heated telephone
discussion, Alexander had reluctantly agreed to four weeks.

When she’d
mentioned going home tomorrow Nico wouldn’t hear of it. He had a
meeting on Thursday he said, so they should stay until Friday.

Rosie was all
for it, sounding happy and ruling the kitchen with a rod of iron.
Bronte had found herself outgunned and outmanoeuvred.

Dressed in
casual Armani Nico lounged in a fancy chair looking gorgeous. The
bastard and was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Madame
Carlotta, the smart, middle aged woman who owned the shop, was
French. And she reminded Bronte forcibly of a bird of prey.

Clucking her
tongue, Madame sent Nico a reproving look.

“Bronte is not
comfortable in it, Nico. It would sit in the back of her wardrobe.
What is the point?”

Madame held up
strapless number and led a protesting and fed-up Bronte into the
changing room. She was sick and tired of being poked and prodded,
measured and sighed over as if she was some sort of damned
freak.

Her temper
bubbled and brewed. She’d endured two hours of sheer hell without a
break, without even a sip of water. How much longer was it going to
take to find a dress?

She didn’t
notice Madame’s secret smile as she zipped her into a boned sheath
of sky blue silk that fitted her like a glove, showcasing her
legs.

Bronte stalked
out, stood in front of Nico and struck a pose with attitude. Who in
their right mind would want to be a model she asked herself. If he
made one smart remark, just one, she would deck him.

Nico sat up
straight, made a twirl sign with his finger that made her growl
deep in her throat. Bronte turned in a slow circle certain the top
of her head was about to explode.

“We’ll take
it,” he said.

Madame clapped
her hands.

“Excellent
choice. And it does not require altering.”

Eyes blazing
Bronte whirled on them.

“It doesn’t
need altering. How amazing is that?”

She unzipped
and stepped out of the dress. Naked except for white lacy panties,
Bronte picked it up and tossed it into Nico’s smiling face before
she marched into the changing room.

Madame removed
the garment from a laughing Nico and took it to a table. Clucking
her tongue, she folded the dress in tissue and shook her head.

“She hates
shopping, Nico. Never did I think I would live to see the day you
would bring me such a woman.”

Nico grinned at
her. “I never thought I would live to see the day either.”

Madame patted
his cheek. With an expert flick she plucked the card out of his
hand.

“She is very
beautiful. Excellent bones. She can wear anything. It will be a
pleasure to dress her. The items will be delivered later
today.”

Face flushed,
eyes spitting fire, Bronte stalked out of the changing room dressed
in black from head to toe in jeans, knee high flat suede boots and
polo neck sweater. She’d tied her hair in a high pony tail.

Nico held out
her black quilted jacket.

She thrust her
arms into it and gave him a look that would have melted
titanium.

Only manners that had
been drummed into Bronte from childhood held her back from storming
out of the door.

She held out
her hand.

“Thank you for
all your help and assistance.”

Madame cleared
her throat, eyes sparkling as she shook hands.

“I hope to have
the pleasure of seeing you very soon.”

Nico held open
the door and Bronte breezed past him.

“Hell will
freeze first,” she muttered.

Taking a deep breath
she inhaled wonderfully cool air, spotted an empty table at a cafe
across the square and made a beeline straight for it.

Ignoring the
interested looks of the local populace she plonked herself in a
chair.

Picking up a
menu, she waved it at a good looking waiter who sprang to attention
and flicked a glance at Nico as he sat next to her.

“I’ll have a
large hot chocolate, heavy on the marshmallows,” Bronte told the
waiter with big a smile that made him blink. “A smoked cheese and
ham baguette. A glass of Frascati, make it a large one. Oh, and a
bottle of still water, thank you.”

Rummaging in
her big bag, she brought out a packet of ibuprofen.

The waiter
raised a brow at Nico who told him, “I will have the same,
grazie
.”

The water and
wine arrived.

Bronte popped a
couple of pills into her mouth, took a sip of water and sat
back.

She blew out a
long breath and met those dark slightly perplexed eyes.

“Something
tells me you do not enjoy shopping for clothes,” Nico mused.

“Funny, very
funny.”

His eyes
widened and those lips twitched as she took a sip of hot chocolate
with a little moan of pleasure.

“You never
cease to surprise me,
cara
.”

“Think of me as
a plant for a moment.” Bronte almost laughed out loud at his
bewildered expression. “Would you feed and water a plant or would
you leave it to die without sustenance?” And saw the light switch
on.

“Ahh, I should
have realised. You needed a drink? Why did you not say so?”

She looked at
him through narrowed eyes as Nico put up his hands in a gesture of
peace and Bronte continued, “I had no idea I would be spending two
hours in the place being poked and prodded as if I was some sort of
oddity. If that woman muttered or tutted one more time I was ready
to ... What?”

She took a
breath as Nico stared at her in stupefied amazement.

“Why do you
believe you are not beautiful?”

A flush of
mortification washed over her cheeks and she wriggled in her
seat.

What was he
talking about? She was okay looking.

Her school days
had been hell with her pale hair and colouring. The jeers about her
too skinny legs and pancake flat chest still had the power to
hurt.

“I don’t think
about how I look.” Liar, her conscience dug her in the ribs. Yes,
but that was the breast thing, not her appearance as such.

Nico sipped his wine,
eyeing her over the glass.

She was
actually unaware of her own impact.

“I want you to
look at all the men in the cafe.”

She stared at
him, shrugged and dug out her glasses from her handbag.

He had a light
bulb moment.

“You are short
sighted?”

Bronte tossed
him a belligerent look.

“A little. I
need them when I’m driving or when I’m working.”

“How do people
look to you without them?”

“From a
distance? A little blurry. Why do you want me to look at men?”

“Just do
it.”

So she did.
Every single one gave her a little nod, a couple even winked.

“What’s the
matter with them?”

A laugh burst
from his chest and she smiled back at him as he roared.

Nico took her
fingers to his lips and stared into her eyes.

“Never change.
I adore you, Bronte.”

He read the
wary confusion in her eyes and cursed his tongue. Too soon, Nico,
too soon.

Their food
arrived and he smiled his thanks. Relaxed, he sat back and
fascinated, watched her wolf down her food.

Most women he
knew made a lettuce leaf last for an hour.

“Why do you
always wear black?”

She shrugged.
“It’s easy. I can’t be bothered to work out what to wear every day.
When I’m working I wear my chef whites. In summer, jeans and
T-shirts.”

“Don’t you find
it boring?”

Bronte put down
her sandwich with care and met his gaze dead on.

“No. Why do you
find it boring?”

Her raised
brows dared him to reply in the affirmative.

Nico attempted
to climb out of the big hole he had dug for himself.

“Not at all. It
suits you with your colouring. Very dramatic.” He shrugged. “I am
thinking about the ball.”

Her eyes grew
huge.

“What was that
we did this morning?”

“That was a
dress for this evening.”

“What’s
happening this evening?”

“We are going
dancing.”

Her jaw dropped
as sheer delight entered her eyes.

She leaned over
and gripped his neck, pulling him close.

The green of
her eyes appeared more vivid up close in daylight, with tiny flecks
of amber in them. Her nose had a sprinkling of freckles he had not
noticed before. The scent of her surrounded him and that fabulous
mouth smiled.

“You’re taking
me dancing?” And she gave him a long lazy kiss.

Nico gripped
her ponytail and kissed her back, only his was hotter and
harder.

His heart
turned over as he tasted her soft, silky mouth. And he wondered if
she realised that it was the first time she’d made the first move.
It meant so much to him he surprised himself with the well of
emotion it opened up in his chest.

Bronte ran a
finger down his cheek with a wicked look in her eye.

A little thrill
ran up his spine. She was flirting with him and he loved it.

“After we visit
Alexander I’m going to need shoes.”

He gaped at
her. “But I thought you hated shopping.”

“Darling, that
is for clothes.”

She sent him a
pitying look as he tried to recover from the shock of being called
darling in that low sexy purr.

He’d been
called darling before but it had never affected him like this.

“Shoes are an
entirely different thing.” Eyes a dreamy emerald, Bronte gave a
couple of shoulder rolls and a little wiggle of her fingers. “I’m
in Italy, the shoe capital of the world. Bring it on.”

Unthinking she
stroked the back of his hand with feather light fingers sending a
jolt straight to his loins as she continued,

“You’re the
expert on Rome. Where do we go first to put a big fat dent in my
credit card?” He opened his mouth to protest and she placed her
finger on his lips as her eyes met his. “Oh no, Mr Hotshot. You can
buy me a dress but the shoes are all mine.”

She looked
determined and he found he didn’t want to argue. “If you are happy,
I am happy.” He glanced at his watch. They had an hour before they
could visit Alexander. “I have sent flowers, but I was thinking we
should pick up a few magazines for the patient.”

They arrived to find
Alexander looking brighter and more like himself.

Hair damp from
a shower, he sat against a waterfall of snowy pillows dressed in
navy soft cotton jogging bottoms and T-shirt. His right arm was in
a sling. With relief, Bronte noticed the swelling had gone down
over his eye which already boasted a rainbow of colours spreading
over his cheekbone.

Sitting on the
edge of the bed, she squeezed his calf and rubbed his leg.

“These are a
big improvement on that girly hospital gown. How’s the
shoulder?”

“Sore. But
it’ll be fine.” He winced as he made himself more comfortable and
nodded to the flowers, glossy magazines and overfilled basket of
fruit. “Thanks for these.”

She gave him
big eyes and tucked her tongue firmly in her cheek.

“Who helped you
with the shower? The blonde or the brunette?” she asked, referring
to the attractive young nurses lurking at the door.

He flicked a
long suffering look at Nico who only shook his head.

“Neither, his
name was Jorge. I believe he’s from Scandinavia.”

Bronte bit down
hard on her lip as he sent her a dark look.

“It’s not
funny. How would you like a member of the same sex making sure your
bits were squeaky clean?”

Her shoulders
shook as she wiped her eyes.

“God, wait
‘till I tell Rosie.”

Genuine alarm
entered his eyes and he stabbed a finger at her.

“Don’t even
think about it. What have I ever done to you? She’ll dine out on it
for months.” He turned panicked eyes to Nico. “You’ve got to help
me here. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Nico moved in,
his fingers squeezing her neck as he whispered in her ear.

“
Cara
,
be nice.”

Her brother
still looked too pale. Although he was putting on a brave face
Bronte could see he was in pain so she decided to cut him a
break.

“Okay, I won’t
tell her. But only if you agree to four weeks recuperation at
Nico’s house in Lake Como.”

He glowered at
her, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve already said I would, haven’t
I?”

Yeah, but she
knew her brother. What he said and what he did were two entirely
different things. “Swear.” She spat on the palm of her hand and
held it out. Nico squeezed her neck again and she felt his body
shake with laughter.

“I don’t
believe this,” Alexander told her, with a snarl. “What are you,
twelve?”

“It’s up to
you. If you don’t swear, I’ll phone Rosie right here, right
now.”

With a look
that could melt solid steel, he spat on his palm and gripped
hers.

“You’d better
stick to the bargain.”

“Think yourself
lucky, big boy.” She flashed him a huge smile. “It could have been
a blood oath.”

Alexander
groaned as a nurse entered with a blood pressure machine and a tray
that contained sharps.

As his sister,
Bronte knew it was her sworn duty to ensure her brother took his
medicine.