Bronte took a deep breath and ordered her erratic pulse to calm down.
Today he wore jeans, the seams white with wear, with as much style as his expensive suit. The worn boots and battered leather jacket, along with the tousled hair almost made her swallow her tongue. While the I-need-a-shave look had her hormones flashing on red alert.
His eyes, the colour of a stormy sky, held and trapped hers.
From a great distance she heard her friend and she turned to Rosie.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said would you like a coffee, Nico, and perhaps a little taste of something?" Rosie said, adding under her breath, "except Bronte."
Nico blinked and gave her a perfunctory smile, his attention fully focused on Bronte.
"If it is no trouble. I realise I have interrupted your work."
Bronte couldn't tear her eyes from his.
The intensity of his gaze was rather unnerving.
Her mouth went bone dry. Why couldn't she breathe?
"Take Nico into the sitting room and I'll bring it in." Rosie instructed, and then gave Bronte a poke in the back along with a firm little push.
"You are full of surprises."
Bronte debated how to respond to the remark as Nico shrugged off his jacket, turning in a circle as he took in the room with a calculating gleam in his eye that she took great exception to. The black sweater in fine cashmere accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow waist. He tossed his jacket, chose a corner of the sofa and settled himself comfortably, too comfortably.
His cock-of-the-walk attitude brought Bronte's hackles up.
Those amazing eyes pinned hers. She shivered at how dark and intent his gaze was as he studied her.
Seriously annoyed that he could affect her like this, Bronte narrowed her eyes.
"What, surprised that I work hard to make a living?"
Nico opened his mouth to reply and the door opened.
Rosie's eyes went wide as she picked up the charged atmosphere. Her gaze flicked from one to the other as she placed the tray on a table. Then she did a spectacular eye roll behind Nico's back as she left.
What on earth was Rosie thinking, Bronte fumed, bringing him into the house today of all days? And why had she used the priceless Limoges coffee set?
Bronte decided that soon, very soon, she would strangle her friend.
She poured and handed Nico a cup of black coffee in a fragile porcelain cup, watching him carefully as he added cream and stirred. A part of her brain noticed he had lovely hands, with long fingers and short nails.
"You are never going to let me forget that, are you?" he asked, those eyes, sparkling now, never left her face.
Bronte merely shrugged and fought not to smile back. He was too smooth she decided, too charming and she'd been burned once before by a slick operator.
She took a deep breath and his dark eyes sharpened.
"The house is not for sale."
Her eyes issued a direct challenge.
Nico smiled to himself.
She sat opposite and crossed long legs dressed in blue and white checked cotton trousers. Slender fingers clasped her knee. Back straight, her eyes met his unflinchingly. She was sexy and beautiful. Not in his usual style her cool beauty was a definite departure for him. The hard ache in his groin was an interesting development too.
His mind racing Nico took a sip of excellent coffee.
The issue with the business being run from the house was not an overwhelming obstacle. Although he seemed to remember a clause in a covenant which he would have his lawyers' research. However, it appeared dealing with Bronte on a personal level and The Dower House would require creative thinking. So for the moment he would back off as far as the house was concerned and see where this attraction led.
Nico wanted her, he wanted the house and he would not alienate Alexander. Taking another sip of coffee, he decided there was nothing like a challenge.
He kept his voice low, the tone friendly as he studied her pale face carefully.
"I find myself in a unique situation."
She frowned, those emerald eyes appeared confused now.
Her full mouth looked terribly vulnerable.
"I don't understand. I thought you were here about the house." She looked so cute, his mouth watered.
Nico sent her a friendly grin and watched the heat flooding her face with interest.
"I am here about the house, amongst other things."
The pulse in her neck beat furiously and Nico found himself admiring her again. Most people found him intimidating, but not Bronte. When her chin rose it didn't annoy him as it had done the night before. Instead it aroused.
He removed an envelope from his pocket placing it on the table between them.
Bronte didn't even glance at it.
"What is your problem?" she demanded.
Rising, she walked to a magnificent stone mantelpiece and placed her palms on it.
"This is my home. These bricks are rooted deep into the soil." She turned to him with a determined look in her vivid eyes. "This house anchors me to a land my family have lived in for generations. It's all I have left of them." She rubbed her head in a sad, tired gesture that he found curiously moving.
Nico was aware of a click in the region of his heart and an emotion he didn't want to identify. He frowned into his coffee.
"Do you always get what you want, Mr Ferranti?" she asked him in a soft voice.
He stared at her. To answer yes would be the simple truth. But he had the feeling it would upset her further and he found, surprisingly, he didn't want to do that.
So he shrugged and spread his hands.
Bronte's eyes narrowed into slits and she folded her arms.
"Last night you threatened me. Today you've come into my home uninvited. You refuse to take no for an answer. Who the hell do you think you are, the Cosa Nostra?"
The remark was targeted to insult and she hit the bull's eye. He was Italian. The words were more than a slap in the face. They offended his integrity, his honour and his hard won reputation.
Unwelcome heat surged into his face. She knew nothing of his father, his brother or the extended family he refused to acknowledge. No one did. His past was carefully buried in Italy. How could Bronte have discovered it?
Suspicion narrowed his eyes as Nico observed alarm flare in those stunning green eyes. He read no guile or hidden agenda. Relief warred with dismay that he'd been provoked so easily by a rank amateur. He'd made enemies; a man in his position didn't rise to the top without stepping on a few toes. But none of them had managed to get under his skin or under his guard the way Bronte did.
Taking great care, Nico placed the delicate cup and saucer on the table.
With a firm grip on a temper that appeared to be too close to the surface, his eyes lasered into hers. Colour drained from her cheeks leaving her too pale. Hands not quite steady, she placed her cup on the table.
Good, at last he had managed to get through to her.
He stood.
Pain, the memory of old hurts, old sufferings, swam through his system as he slung on his jacket. His eyes never left hers. Nico realised he'd alarmed her and couldn't be sorry for it. She had crossed a line with him. Bronte Ludlow needed her bottom paddled for her rudeness. That soft mouth trembled as the hectic pulse in her neck matched his.
The need to devour those lips, to take, both thrilled and appalled him. But Nico was honest enough to admit that his anger came as much from his physical and emotional response to Bronte as the words she'd used to insult him. No one spoke to him in that tone or challenged him in that way. She'd thrown him off balance. He could not cope with the sensation mixed with the mad desire to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Therefore he took refuge in stiff formality.
Nico didn't attempt to hide the bite to his tone or keep the anger from his voice.
"I have asked you twice before to use my name. I will not ask you a third tim
e." He gave a quick bow of his head. "I apologise for disturbing you, Bronte."