Hired: The Italian's Bride. DONNA ALWARD
getting it the way she wanted—flawless. And with an appropriate amount of distance between them.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Ross?”
She rubbed her lips together. “No, not at all.” Her voice came out thin and reedy and she cleared her throat, stretching her lips in a smile again. “Coffee in the Athabasca Room would be fine.” She’d simply have to remember what she’d put in her report and make her points as they went along.
“I look forward to hearing your ideas. Perhaps you’d take me on a tour later?” He stepped aside, letting her exit first. His voice was smooth, his smile charming. Mari exhaled again, trying to keep her shoulders down. She could do this. She wasn’t used to thinking on her feet, but she could do it. She’d just ignore what she knew about his reputation. Or the fact that he fairly exuded charm without even trying.
The lounge was nearly empty at ten in the morning. Two other couples sat at tables, sipping from large mugs and chatting quietly. Mari led him past the main bar to a smaller corner one, perching on one of the backed stools, making sure there were several inches between them. Luca took the seat next to her and the scent of his expensive cologne reached her nose. There was no mistaking the confident ease with which he carried himself. This was a man completely out of her league. Not that she was looking. She wasn’t even close to looking, not when the very thought of any physical contact with a man sent chills down her spine.
“This might be my favorite view in the whole hotel,” she began, focusing on her job, determined he see the Inn…the Cascade…at its best. The way she was turned, she could look out over the hotel front grounds and down over the valley, the turquoise-blue of the Bow River a shining snake through the gold and green hues of autumn. “And our coffee is superior. We import it from—”
“The scenery is spectacular.” He interrupted her and she realized that he wasn’t looking at the view at all, but at her. Nerves tumbled in her stomach and her voice trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He must think her provincial, not the standard of management Fiori employed. Certainly not up to bantering, like he seemed to expect.
Mari turned back to the bar and put her hand on the coffeepot that was set out. It didn’t matter. This was her job and she wanted to keep it. Wanted it more than anything else in the world.
“Coffee, Mr. Fiori?”
She looked up when he remained silent and their eyes met.
Her hand shook on the handle of the pot. He was watching her steadily, so unwavering that tightness cinched her chest. She willed it away, telling herself it was his power as her boss that had her so unsettled. It wasn’t his fault that he was so handsome. Wasn’t his fault that his eyes were the color of melted molasses toffee, only a slightly deeper shade than his hair. He wasn’t responsible for the perfectly shaped lips, either, or the way he spoke, with flawless inflection and just a hint of Italian accent. He was possibly more magnetic than he was in the pictures on the computer or in the industry magazines she kept filed on her bookshelf. She would imagine he got his way often simply from his looks and charm. But not here, not with her. There were important things at stake.
“Call me Luca, please,” he answered finally.
She forced herself to pour the coffee as the waitress returned with a basket of warm scones. “Luca, then.”
“You’re not going to tell me your first name.”
She raised an eyebrow, cautiously determined not to let him ride roughshod over her. “You own this hotel. Don’t you know it already?”
He laughed, the sound devoid of any pretence. A genuine laugh that nearly warmed her from the inside out. “Remind me, then.”
A smile crept up her lips; she couldn’t help it. She’d expected him to be practiced, but the truth was everything about him was natural. From the way he wore his clothes to his manners to his easy chuckle. There was nothing fake about Luca Fiori. His charm was innate and genuine.
And therein lay the danger, she realized. In her books, charm equaled trouble. She didn’t need trouble. In any form.
“Mari. My first name is Mari.”
“Oh, Mari, I believe you’ve short-changed me.”
She picked up a spoon and stirred sugar—a heaping teaspoon of it—into her coffee. “Shortchanged you? How?”
“Because I know your name is really Mariella.”
Her fingers gripped the spoon. She much preferred Mari now. She’d been Mari ever since moving to Banff three years ago. No more Mariella. Mariella had been scared and obedient and faceless. She hadn’t been a person at all.
“I go by Mari. Or you may continue calling me Ms. Ross.” She didn’t even attempt to keep the cool out of her voice.
Luca split a scone and buttered it. “Mariella is a lovely Italian name. It means beloved.”
“I know what it means.”
Undaunted, he continued. “It was also my grandmother’s name.”
Mari swallowed a mouthful of coffee too fast and it burned all the way down her throat. His grandmother’s name wasn’t what was important right now; it didn’t even register on her radar. She was Mari, manager of a four-star resort and she’d had to leave a lot of pain behind to get here. Mariella reminded her of things she kept trying to forget. How many times had her mother told her about her father’s so-called family? The family she’d never known?
A family she never would know. Not now. It was just one of the missing gaps in her childhood.
“Mr. Fiori…” At his raised eyebrow she reluctantly amended, “Luca, I don’t mean to sound impolite, but you are here as a representative of Fiori Resorts, here to evaluate your latest acquisition. My first name should be of little importance. Perhaps we should begin the tour now.”
Luca took another bite of scone and considered how to answer. The general manager was a prickly sort, but pretty. And he did enjoy a challenge. “And miss out on this superior blend? I think not. We’ll get to the rest. In time.”
He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, letting his eyes roam over her. Her dark hair was pulled back into a simple, elegant twist, not a hair out of place. She had great legs, but she hid them beneath a conservative navy skirt and completed the look with an equally plain jacket. She gave new meaning to the words “power suit.” Even her shoes…dio mio. His sister would have had a fit at the sight. Her shoes were plain, unadorned navy pumps. Hardly inspired. All in all she was a package that screamed “stay away.”
Until she finally looked into his eyes, and then he knew.
Hers were stunning, nothing at all like the cold, efficient package she presented. They were gray-blue and smoky, soft and sexy, holding a lifetime of secrets.
“Mariella…” He let his voice soften and was gratified to see her turn those eyes on him again. This was more than a challenge. This was unvarnished curiosity, something unusual for him. He was generally happy to skim the surface. On his arm was just about close enough for any woman to get. But there was something in Mari’s eyes that drew him in. A mystery begging to be solved.
“Mari,” she corrected coolly.
He frowned. Usually that soft tone worked on women. There was more to her than frosty order and sensible shoes, he could sense it. But as her eyes blazed at him, refusing to let him use her full name, he knew that this was one time his charm was going to fail him. With it came the unholy urge to laugh, along with grudging respect.
Who would have thought a trip to Canada would turn out to be so intriguing?
He had the most incredible desire to reach out and rest his fingers on her belligerent cheek. Even sitting on the stool, she was several inches below his face. So petite and feminine, even when she was standing her ground. What would she do if he tried such a thing? Blush? He didn’t think so. Some of the women he knew would