Reckless Nights in Rome

  Reckless Nights in Rome

  Though the name of her celebration and wedding cake business is up in lights, Bronte Ludlow doesn't care for the trappings of success. All that matters to her is her company, her independence and her heritage, The Dower House. Home to her ancestors since the seventeenth century, no way will she part with it to 'a man with too much money and no soul'.

  Nico Ferranti's only passions are money and power...?he's a man who stopped believing in romance long ago and Bronte's a romantic,?yet the attraction sparking between them like fireworks over the Piazza del Popolo?stuns Nico.

  When Bronte's brother is badly hurt in a car accident in Rome, Nico whisks Bronte to the Eternal City. He wants her and he wants The Dower House and Nico Ferranti always gets what he wants.

  But Bronte's heart has already been broken by one ruthless charmer and although tempted she isn't about to give up either her heart or her home to the charismatic Italian without a fight!

  Reckless Nights in Rome

  Copyright ? C C MacKenzie 2012

  ISBN: 9781909331006

  The right of C C MacKenzie to be

  identified as the author of this

  work has been asserted by her

  under the Copyright Amendment

  (Morals Rights) Act 2000

  ?This work is copyright.

  Apart from any use as permitted under

  the Copyright Act 1968, no part

  maybe reproduced, copied, scanned,

  stored in a retrieval system,

  recorded or transmitted,

  in any form or by any means,

  without the prior permission

  of the publisher.

  ?

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and

  incidents are either a product of

  the author's imagination or are

  used fictitiously. Any

  resemblance to actual people

  living or dead, events or locales is

  entirely coincidental.

  ?

  About the Author

  C C MacKenzie is a wife, and mother of three, based in South Cheshire, U.K.

  Since childhood, she dreamt of writing stories that readers would fall in love with, but put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and her careers in banking, fitness, interior design and construction. Reckless Nights in Rome is her first novel, followed by 'A Stormy Spring' in July 2012, Run Rosie Run in December 2012 and The trouble with Coco Monroe in May 2013.

  C C MacKenzie is currently finishing more Contemporary Romances for release in 2013 and 2014.

  The author has published two books in a paranormal set series, The Vampyre Legal Chronicles. Big Trouble in China was released in October 2012 and Dirty Little Secrets in January 2013.

  Contact the Author:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/CCMacKenzie1

  Web / Blog: https://ccmackenzie.com/

  Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/CCMzie

  Email: mailto:[email protected]

  Chapter One

  Nico Ferranti played to win.

  Winning was in his blood. Along with a certain raw intelligence that had served him well in the backstreets of Rome.

  The scent he inhaled now might be the heady aroma of Bentley leather, but he never forgot the stink of human garbage or the unique burn of an empty belly.

  He was a bastard. His maternal grandfather might have rescued him from one hell, but his hatred of his late daughter's illegitimate son had thrust the young Nico into another type of hell. One of cold disdain, a lack of affection and a certain controlled bullying that should have destroyed him. It had only made him harder and stronger.

  Illiterate at ten, with both hands he'd grabbed the opportunity of a Jesuit education. By the time he was sixteen he'd gained straight A's in every subject and was fluent in four languages.

  Although he hadn't exactly danced on his grandfather's grave when he turned twenty-two, he'd shed no tears. And even found it in his heart to be grateful when the old bastard left him the legacy of four hotels.

  Now, twelve years later, he was seriously wealthy. Not that he saw wealth as an achievement, but with real money went responsibilities and many pitfalls for the unwary.

  Tonight his Bentley growled to a halt in the car park of Ludlow Hall. A gust of wind slapped the car, splattering sleet onto the windscreen. Switching off the headlights, Nico relaxed for the first time in three days as he sat back and studied the building.

  January in England did nothing to dull the pleasure of his latest love and she was a beauty. Built in the seventeenth century for a trade Baron, Ludlow Hall with its one hundred and forty rooms, was built along the graceful lines of a bygone era and looked magnificent. The contractors had done an outstanding job bringing the renovations in early and more importantly, on budget.

  Nico wanted his guests relaxed and happy. The watchwords in his business were quality and class and Ludlow Hall oozed both along with an old world charm. But what underpinned the whole was sheer luxury. The food and service were outstanding in a Ferranti hotel. The rooms ran from luxurious to sumptuous. The hotel was set in fifteen hundred acres of fabulous countryside and he catered for everyone including intimate romantic breaks, clay pigeon shooting and fishing.

  But the spa was at the heart of it.

  The great and the good loved to escape from the City to indulge themselves and their latest passions. They could come for a day to be pampered, oiled and treated. Or spend a week detoxing from indulgence or experience mind and body balance for burnout. A Ferranti Hotel & Spa catered for all.

  Nico rubbed gritty eyes. He'd been travelling for thirty hours straight. His brain needed to crash and his stomach craved sustenance. With a yawn, he decided to do both, after he bid a quick hello to Alexander Ludlow.

  Nico's tired brain segued to one of the main reasons for his visit.

  Alexander's parents, Lord and Lady Ludlow had been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. Two years later, the tragedy still shook the neighbourhood and the family.

  And Alexander was suffering. He'd thrown himself into work to cope with his loss. Nico could understand it even if he'd never had a family himself. The Ludlow family had been a close-knit unit comprised of their late parents, Alexander and his sister Bronte. But recently, something had happened to blow the sibling's relationship apart.

  It wasn't bereavement or the sale of Ludlow Hall that caused the rift, Nico was sure of it. Although he knew the sale had stirred up a goddamn hornet's nest, Bronte in particular had taken it hard and refused to have anything to do with the renovations. She'd de-camped to The Dower House.

  None of it was Nico's business, but he was worried, his friend appeared too close to burnout.

  It had taken time, but he'd managed to cajole Alexander to do a spot inspection of three hotels, saying he had concerns about the management, which wasn't quite true. All of his hotels ran like clockwork. But Nico wasn't above using underhand methods to get his own way and to ensure Alexander took a break. The deal was that Nico would run Ludlow Hall in his absence and he was looking forward to it, as he rarely got the chance to get his hands dirty these days.

  He'd arrived a day earlier than expected to attend the first society wedding to be held at the Hall tomorrow. Due to the high public profile of the couple, the press were out in force.

  Meanwhile his mind segued to his next challenge, The Dower House and the elusive Bronte Ludlow who occupied far too much of his mind these days.

  His offer for The Dower House and its eighteen acres of land had been more than generous. The purchase would complete the estate. However, things were not going according to plan. />
  Bronte wasn't having any of it.

  Her initial rejection of his offer was a one word reply. No. Three subsequent offers, she'd returned to sender.

  He'd managed to speak to her by phone, once. The conversation, her part of it anyway, had been short, sharp and to the point. And, he gripped the steering wheel, she'd been obnoxious.

  She wasn't interested in selling her home to a man who had far too much money for his own good and no soul. She was, she said, perfectly content with living in a house built on land her family had lived on for generations. The Dower House was her home, was it not? Why didn't he bugger off and find something else to do with his time and money instead of harassing her?

  Impudent little witch. The unfairness of it still stung since Alexander had approached Nico in the first instance to buy the Hall.

  He was offering to help her start again. Nico knew she needed the money since her parents left their children nothing but debts. He should leave her to stew in her own juice. But he wanted The Dower House and since Nico Ferranti always got what he wanted, that was the end of the matter.

  Fingers tapping the steering wheel, he frowned. Maybe Alexander could help him?

  No, he decided, the man had enough on his plate and he didn't want to cause more trouble between brother and sister.

  Bronte would sell. Once he'd found the right button to push. In his experience that button with women, usually, was money. By her behaviour, Nico decided Ms Bronte Ludlow was a piece of work.

  A movement on the ground floor caught his eye. The window to the ladies' restroom swung open. He flicked a switch, the passenger window slid down a couple of inches as he narrowed his eyes.

  A girl with an ash-blonde ponytail tossed what looked like a jacket out of a window followed by a red handbag the size of a small town. Her toned body, dressed in black, squeezed out of the narrow opening after it. A foot stretched down searching for toe hold. It found a drain pipe and she eased cautiously over the ledge. Her heel caught in the window ledge, leaving her at a dangerous angle.

  Nico shook his head in disbelief. Was she a thief? He looked around at the expensive parked cars and pursed his lips.

  Back in the days when he'd been a street rat, he'd slipped out of plenty of windows of less reputable establishments.

  The girl had a lean, boyish figure. Nico permitted his gaze to linger on the taut little bottom, those endless legs. And he put the tightness in his thighs down to the fact it had been a while since he'd been with a woman. She was slick; he'd give her that, and probably a pro. He checked his watch. It was just after nine thirty. Yes, she'd timed it well. Most guests were in the bars or restaurants.

  Exhaustion warred with irritation as he opened the door, got out, closed the car door with a soft click and stepped forward.

  Bronte shrieked.

  Large hands gripped her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing and dumped her unceremoniously on her feet. Panic hitched her breath. Her hands fisted, ready to fight. Then the scent of an evocative cologne spun around her heightened senses and she realised it wasn't her disastrous blind date who had a firm grip on her waist.

  She turned, staggered and found herself pulled against a brick wall in a shirt.

  "Thank you," she gasped her voice breathy with relief. A fall from that height wouldn't have been pretty.

  Trembling with cold and reaction, she blinked up to a tall man with tremendous shoulders. Since the lights of the car park were behind him, she couldn't get a good look at his face.

  She gave a tug on her arm. "You can let me go now."

  "I do not think so." The deep voice was silky, tinged with a hard edge of suspicion. His hand felt too hot through her sweater.

  For reasons Bronte didn't immediately understand, the knots in her belly wound tighter. He thought she was a thief? The idea made her peer up into his shadowed features and give another tug of her arm. Comprehension dawned that he had absolutely no intention of releasing her.

  Nerves fluttered madly in her stomach making her frown up at him.

  "This is not what you think it is."

  She caught a flash of white teeth and it wasn't a smile.

  He picked up her jacket and the bag. "No? What is this?"

  "A Mulberry Piccadilly," she said, peering into the shadowed face. No sign of the teeth or of a sense of humour either.

  "Expensive and on the large side. You could fit a small car in it. Plenty of space for purloined items." His tone was ice over steel.

  Bronte spluttered on a laugh. "Nobody uses the word purloined these days. Why don't you just say what you mean? You think I'm a thief." The idea was so ridiculous she laughed and once she started she couldn't stop. The result, she knew, of too much stress and the deep mortification of being caught running away from a drunken bully.

  Bent from the waist, she tried to catch her breath, her eyes streaming.

  "I fail to see the humour in the situation." He sounded seriously annoyed now, which set her off again. "Why use the window when there is a perfectly good door?" He gave her arm a little shake. And she realised his deep voice held the hint of a foreign accent.

  Incredibly, an illicit little thrill slid up her spine. Bronte wiped her cheeks and took a couple of deep breaths. With big eyes she stared up into his face and deliberately pumped up the volume of her smile. She heard his breath catch. Yep, it worked every time.

  Feeling more confident even though her breath was unsteady, she poured charm into her voice. "It's a long story. And terribly embarrassing to be honest."

  His grip on her arm tightened. "Let us go in where it is warm. You can tell me all about it."

  He turned and her heart took a stumble as she got her first good look at his face.

  Wow. Bronte had seen plenty of good looking men in her life. But she'd never seen anyone who looked like this. Black hair with an expensive sheen was swept back from a strong, glorious face. Eyes, dark and broody, considered her with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. And that amazing face wore a do-not-mess-with-me expression. She couldn't tear her eyes from his hard mouth with that terribly sensual lower lip. Hormones, long dormant, flared triumphantly into life.

  Mouth dry, her smile slipped as Mr Hunk helped her on with her jacket.

  "Thank you, there's no need for ... Hey!" He tucked her bag under his arm. And she flinched as he held her bruised wrist in a grip that was too tight.

  Earlier in the evening another's touch had repulsed her. But this man's fingers on her skin appeared to have the opposite effect. She had no idea what cologne he wore, but he smelt fabulous; all peppery, citrusy, fresh and healthy male.

  "I insist." His voice was cool now, the tone hard.

  Bronte's feet picked up the beat of her speeding heart as she struggled to keep up with his long stride. Oh God, her brother was going to go absolutely mental.

  "You're making a big mistake." Her voice, too high now, mortified her.

  He merely threw her a look that assured her he was a man who never made mistakes.

  They entered a side entrance to the hotel to the scent of hot food, the hum of voices and soft music. The place was full she realised; grateful no one appeared to notice this little scene.

  Bronte managed to take a good long look at him. His black cashmere coat, charcoal suit and white shirt were expensive as was the silk tie which she happened to know was Armani. He had the slashing bone structure and the skin tone of a Latin. That fact along with his accent made her heart thunder in her ears.

  Surely not?

  It couldn't be, could it?

  He knocked on a door with the sign 'Alexander Ludlow, General Manager.'

  To Bronte's eternal shame, she whimpered.

  He gave her a hard look, opened the door and thrust her in before him.

  ?