Reckless Nights in Rome by C. C. MacKenzie Read Free Book Online

worth it.
    Irritated with
herself that she was such a wuss with disagreements and scenes she
actually felt sick. And irritated with him because he’d turned her
into a bitch, Bronte picked up the thick expensive envelope, almost
tossing it into the fire before she stopped herself. Her name was
written in black ink in a strong, fluid hand.
    Ripping it
open, she pulled out the stiff cream and gold embossed card and
sank to the sofa as she read.
    Mr Nico
Ferranti would be delighted and honoured if Miss Bronte Ludlow
would accept an invitation, to accompany him to a Ball to celebrate
the Grand opening of Ludlow Hall next Saturday evening, in seven
days time.
    Shit, shit,
shit.
    Bronte stared
at it in dismay, tapping the card on her palm before dropping it on
the table. He’d set her up knowing she’d assume the letter was an
offer for the house. Great, she’d just jumped down his throat over
an invitation. And now she would need to apologise.
    By the afternoon Bronte
had managed to put him out of her mind.
    At least that’s
what she told herself. The hot lump of guilt in her stomach was a
niggling reminder of the scene. Yes, she’d been unpleasant, but he
deserved it. The task in hand should be her main focus, not an
Italian who was so damned sexy he should have a warning label
tattooed to his forehead.
    The wedding
ceremony itself was being held in the old chapel in the grounds of
Ludlow Hall and she had mixed feelings about the entire business.
Today was the first time she’d really seen inside her old home
since Nico Ferranti had sprinkled money like fairy dust. Honesty
had her admit that the house looked fabulous, but she missed her
previous life and the people in it too much. Money had always been
tight with not much left over to indulge in the pretty things as
her mother had called soft furnishings.
    The grand hall
was filled with round tables and chairs covered in pristine white
cotton. Heavy brocade curtains in deep jewel colours spilled onto
the floor from windows that arched almost to the ceiling.
Glittering chandeliers, dripping with clear crystals bathed the
room in light. The effect was one of quiet good taste edged with
luxury. Pink and cream wild roses spilled out of tall centre-pieces
on the tables, swept over the arches and wound around staircase
balustrades. Nico’s expert team obviously knew how to put on a
wedding.
    She checked the
soft pink roses were still fresh between each tier of the cake and
nearly jumped out of her skin at the deep voice too close behind
her.
    “It is a work
of art. You are not a guest? I understand you are a friend of the
groom.”
    Turning to the
harsh unsmiling face of Nico, for a moment Bronte lost the power of
speech. He wore a dark bespoke suit which hugged those enormous
shoulders and lean, muscular thighs. Along with a snowy shirt and a
silk tie the precise colour of his eyes. Heavy silver cufflinks
peeped out from the sleeves. Black hair was brushed back and
immaculate, merely enhancing the smooth skin, the plains and
valleys of his brows and cheekbones. Eyes, almost black with what
looked like possession, swept over her face and settled on her
mouth. Bronte felt the heat of mortification rush into her cheeks
as she realised she’d been openly staring, again.
    Add in the fact
that he smelt amazing and Nico Ferranti in all his finery was quite
the package. He was too close and judging by her body’s reaction to
him, too dangerous.
    Rubbing damp
palms down the front of her crisp white apron, Bronte felt like
Cinderella at the Ball minus the gown and glass slippers.
    Her hormones
buzzed like bees in her system. She studied his expressionless mask
and found it difficult to swallow. He was still angry with her. It
was ridiculous to be so nervous of him. What on earth could he do
to her in the middle of a room full of staff?
    “We almost
never mix business with pleasure. It’s not a good idea. But we will
attend this evening and have a drink with the happy couple.