Bound by the Italian's Contract(4)

                “Look, I came here to discuss business that is near and dear to my heart, Mr. Duchelini. If you’re not interested in hearing my proposal, then you’re not interested in me.” She turned and strode toward the double doors with calm, precise steps, determined to walk out with her head held high and in charge of her life.

                “Stay,” he said, the command soft yet persuasive.

                She stopped, fingers tightening around the leather handle of her bag. “Why should I?”

                “I’ve a proposal that will benefit us both,” he said. “I can grant you what you want.”

                That was a fact she knew all too well. And really, could she afford to walk out without hearing his offer? No, she admitted.

                “Then let’s hear it,” she said, whirling to face him.

                “With pleasure,” he said crisply, then strode back toward his desk. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

                “No, thank you.”

                She never mixed alcohol with business, and that had never been more crucial than now. Despite his wicked reputation, Luciano Duchelini was a superb businessman, and he would expect the same of her. He could take advantage of her and her lodge if she wasn’t careful.

                Caprice crossed to the sofa angled near the balcony with her composure intact and her mind fixed fully on securing a means to fund her program. That was all she wanted from him.

                “Tregore Lodge. Tell me your plans for it,” he said, as he dropped onto a leather office chair and twirled it to face her, his long fingers draped casually over the curved chair arms.

                “Gladly,” she said as she set her portfolio beside her and dug inside it. “I plan to renovate Tregore Lodge inside and out. Foremost is establishing my alternative program for those who have never skied as well as for people who possess varying levels of aptitude on the slopes.”

                “Your program is tiered then?” he asked.

                “In its most basic form, as you’ll see by these,” she said, her confidence snapping into rapier-sharp focus as she handed him a copy of her carefully prepared prospectus.

                He lounged back on the chair and thumbed through the papers, looking relaxed and in charge, the last thing about him that was still organic. But he’d changed.

                Not in looks or physique. He was still disarmingly handsome. Still lean and fit. But he’d lost all trace of the flirtatious, teasing charmer she’d remembered so well and adopted the image of a serious businessman who detested wasting his time.

                Or maybe he simply still wasn’t attracted to her. Maybe he believed if he was too friendly, he’d have a repeat of the teenager with the monstrous crush on the star athlete. If that was the case, he need not worry.

                She had no desire in him beyond securing a business deal. “Regardless of one’s ability, I slant the program to the individual’s needs.”

                “Just what I wanted to hear,” he said at last. “This is why I am interested in you.”

                “I’m flattered,” she said, relieved he was referring to her program.

                “As was intended,” he said with a bow of his head. “Do you recall my brother?”

                “Julian? Yes, I do.” Quite well, in fact. “Years ago, he crashed often in your suite.”