My head felt funny. So did my mouth.

Blinking against the bright light shining through the thin curtains, I opened my eyes and stared up at the water stain on the ceiling. A dull ache pulsed behind my forehead, and my tongue was as dry as if I’d eaten a bag full of cotton.

I shielded my eyes from the sun and rolled to my side with a groan, thinking about getting up and making coffee, wishing I had a roommate who could take pity on my pathetic hangover and do it for me. Laney used to make me coffee after a night out. I’d always hated her sunny smile the next morning, but now I missed it more than ever.

Holding my head in my hands, I tried to think back to what I’d consumed last night and which drink had pushed me from relaxed to wasted. I remembered having a mimosa when Gio and I had first arrived at the party, and another when we’d been touring the grounds, but that was all that came to mind. Two mimosas shouldn’t have wrecked me like this. Brow wrinkling, I retraced my steps, but after Gio had shown me the lazy river, I couldn’t remember a single thing.

Unease prickled my skin, and I slowly sat up. I was in Laney’s bedroom but I had no memory of coming here. Had no idea how I’d gotten home or who had brought me back. The comforter fell to my waist, and ignoring the dull headache pounding at my temples, I looked down to discover I was wearing nothing but my bra and panties. No dress, no shoes, no pajamas…nothing else.

My unease shifted to full-on fear, and I threw back the covers and pushed to my feet. The room swayed around me, but I steadied myself and rushed across the hall. Flipping on the bathroom light, I stared at my reflection. What I saw was matted curls, bloodshot eyes, and smudged makeup I hadn’t bothered to remove before falling asleep.

This was wrong. I had a very specific bedtime routine. I always took off my makeup and brushed my teeth. And I always, always wore a tank and cotton shorts to bed. I racked my brain for any memory after that lazy river, but everything was fuzzy. I saw shadows and masks, flashing lights and swirling bodies. Nothing concrete. No real memory to grasp and bring into focus.

Fear wrapped around my throat like a python and squeezed. Gio had made suggestive comments all night long, and I’d brushed them off, assuming I was fine in such a big crowd of people. He’d gotten me that second drink. I hadn’t watched the bartender make it.

Sickness brewed in my stomach, overriding the pounding in my head. I knew all about roofies and what could happen to a woman who was slipped one. I’d been insanely careful about my drinks at parties back in college because I hadn’t wanted to end up as some campus statistic. Now I knew that no matter how educated a woman was, she could still be duped.

With trembling hands, I checked every inch of my skin for signs of abuse or—I swallowed hard—rape, but found nothing out of the ordinary. There were no marks on my skin, no scratches, nothing that hadn’t been there before the party, and I knew with one quick check that I hadn’t had sex. Breathing a little easier, I stared at my reflection again, trying to figure out what had happened, who had undressed me, and how I’d gotten home.

A knock at the front door made me jump. I whipped around. The apartment was quiet and dark. At some point, I must have pulled the curtains in the living room, though I didn’t remember doing so. Holding still against the doorjamb, I listened, sure I was hearing things. When another knock sounded, I jerked again but still didn’t move.

A deep voice, one I recognized, said, “Open the door, Ms. James.”

Shit. Shit! My pulse turned to a whir in my ears. What was the Beast doing at my apartment?

The knock sounded again, this time more insistent. “I know you’re in there,” he said louder. “If you don’t answer, I’ll be forced to get the landlord to make sure you’re still alive.”

Irritated, I stalked across the hall to the bedroom, tugged on a pair of leggings, and grabbed my Boise State sweatshirt from the top of the dresser. “Hold on!” I yelled. Then under my breath, “It’s Sunday freakin’ morning, for crying out loud.”

At least I thought it was Sunday morning. Truth be told, thanks to my little blackout, I wasn’t sure what day it was, which only pissed me off more.

Shoving the sleeves of my sweatshirt up as I walked, I wove around the couch in the living room and jerked the door open. Then faltered because Luciano Salvatici wasn’t wearing his imposingly expensive suit. He was dressed in loose jeans and a light gray T-shirt that stretched seductively across his toned chest and matched his stormy and unique eyes. In his hands, he held a pair of sleek Ray-Bans, and, leaning against my doorjamb as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he looked very little like the domineering CEO I’d encountered at Covet and every bit the sex god my still-drugged brain was suddenly morphing him into.

“Nice to see you’re still alive,” he said in that stupidly enticing accent that wasn’t quite as thick as his brother’s but for some insane reason turned my knees to Jell-O.

Heat flushed my skin—a heat I didn’t expect—and I gripped the door handle tighter to keep from stumbling. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to discuss your position at Covet.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.” Amusement simmered in his mysterious eyes. “We can either do this out here in the hall where your neighbors can hear, or you can invite me in.”

My mouth fell open at both his boldness and the fact he was here. I didn’t want him in my apartment. I didn’t want him anywhere near me. And I absolutely hated the way my gaze kept straying to his lips and that odd tingle that rippled through my belly as a result.

The door across the hall opened, and the elderly woman who lived there poked her head out of her apartment and eyed us suspiciously. The Beast turned and flashed her a tight smile, then looked back at me with raised eyebrows and a smug expression.

My irritation jumped to major annoyance. Tugging the door open, I stepped back and said, “Fine.” But mentally, I promised myself I’d only give him five minutes.

He pushed away from the doorjamb and stepped into the apartment, and as I watched the loose way he moved, I had a memory flash of a man in a Phantom mask moving casually like that last night at the party.

Heat swept down my spine, and I flinched. Luciano Salvatici hadn’t been at the party. Gio had said he never went to those parties.

As quickly as the thought hit, my stomach quivered, because I knew I couldn’t trust Gio. Not if he’d messed with my drink the way I suspected.

I pushed the door three-quarters of the way closed, leaving it partway open. I didn’t care who heard what he had to say. I wasn’t about to be stupid. Especially not after last night. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watched the Beast glance around the dark apartment.

“Nice place,” he said.

My stomach dropped. Laney’s pictures were still on the shelves. I hadn’t taken them down yet. My gaze shot that way, and I wondered if he could see them in the dim light. But he didn’t show any interest in the shelves. Instead, he focused on me as if I were the only thing in the room.

I couldn’t seem to stop myself from glancing at his lips—his masculine and, dammit, incredibly tempting lips. A vision flashed behind my eyes. A vision of those soft lips, wet and slightly swollen, muttering the word “Cazzo” only millimeters from mine.

I had no clue what the word meant, but I instinctively knew it was a something dirty and dangerously suggestive. Instead of being repulsed by it, though, heat flooded my belly, making my nipples tighten and my thighs ache to be touched.

“I’ll get right to it,” the Beast said.

Holy hell. I blinked twice. There had to still be drugs in my system. Giving myself a mental shake, I forced my gaze away from his lips and up to his eyes. His focused eyes pinned on me. His evocatively stormy eyes. His unsexy odd gray eyes, dammit. He wasn’t sexy or evocative to me at all, so why the hell was I suddenly thinking about sliding my lips over his and doing whatever cazzo meant?

He fingered the sunglasses in his big hands, and it took all the willpower in my body to keep from watching. “You’re a very resourceful woman, Ms. James. I’ll give you that. You managed to find a job within Covet without my approval, and one that paid more than the internship you initially interviewed for.”

It sounded as if he were paying me a compliment, but something in the back of my head whispered the Beast wasn’t the sort to dish out compliments without a purpose. “Is that what you came here to tell me?”

“No.” The skin near his eyes crinkled as he narrowed his gaze on me from across the space. “I came here because very few people surprise me. You did.”

He moved to the couch and sank to the arm of the sofa, his legs spread, his hands resting on his thighs in an utterly unintimidating way. He looked relaxed and casual, but I knew without a doubt that he was very much in control of me and whatever had brought him here. And, dammit, something in my chest hummed with excitement, even though I did everything to beat it back.

“You’re not qualified to work as a photography assistant,” he said. “We both know that.”

Shit. He’d come here to fire me. I’d gotten so wrapped up in his sexy lips and big hands that I hadn’t seen that coming. I dropped my arms. “I’m a fast learner.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not interested in having you learn. I’ve assigned a new assistant to Giovanni. They left this morning for a shoot in the Caribbean.”

Disbelief raged through me, and I stepped toward him with wide eyes. “You can’t fire me. Gio told me he has final say in who he hires.”

I wasn’t sure if Gio was worth defending at this point—not after last night—but I was sober enough to know I needed this job if I was ever going to find out what had happened to Laney.

The Beast’s eyes flashed from gentle rainy skies to full-on thunderstorm. “I have final say in everything that happens at Covet, Ms. James. You’d be wise to remember that.”

My heart pounded hard under his stormy stare. He was right. I knew he was right, but—dammit—I hadn’t even made it a full week at Covet.

“That being said.” The squall settled in his eyes, and he crossed his thick arms over his chest, the sunglasses dangling from one hand. “I took a second look at your résumé, and I think I found something more suited to your skills than photography assistant.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say next. You’re fired, or don’t show your face in my building ever again were both things I’d prepared myself to hear, not I found something more suited to your skills. My gaze narrowed. “What kind of something?”

“A job, of course.”

“You’re offering me a different job at Covet?”

“You successfully managed a business for two years. You obviously know how to oversee schedules and deal with the public, and, as you pointed out in your interview, you do have knowledge of the fashion industry.”

“Limited knowledge, as you pointed out,” I said, unsure where this was going, “in Boise, not New York.”

One corner of his lips curled, drawing my attention to a sexy smirk that changed his entire face and made him ten thousand times more attractive than he’d been only moments before. “Fashion is fashion. I might have downplayed that in your interview.”

Shock rippled through me, not because of what he’d said, but because of the sheepish lilt to his voice when he said it.

The smile faded, and he shifted against the arm of the sofa. “My assistant, Ms. Pascal, whom you met, has to deal with a personal affair in Philadelphia this week. I have to be in Rome to meet with a few Italian designers and attend the Rome fashion shows. She was supposed to accompany me but can’t. If you’re serious about a job with Covet, you can take her place.”

My mouth fell open. “You want me to go to Rome with you as your assistant?”

“I want you to manage my agenda, schedule my appointments, and run interference with the press so I don’t have to. Those are all things Ms. Pascal would be doing were she available. You yourself said your background in business is an asset to anyone you work with. If you want a job with Covet, here’s your chance to prove your worth.”

His challenging gaze held mine. I knew he was waiting for an answer but all I could think was…Rome.

Holy hell. I couldn’t deny my excitement. I’d always wanted to visit Rome. To travel, to see the world. My pulse roared in my ears, and my already dry mouth felt as if I’d swallowed a ream of paper. I should say no. I knew nothing about this man except that he might well be the one who’d seduced and possibly killed my friend. Or know something about who did. My life could very well be in danger if I went with him.

But I’d never have a better chance to figure out if he was the him from Laney’s letters. I’d be working with him closely as his assistant. I’d have access to his schedule and the people he interacted with. I could pump them for information, find out how well he’d known Laney, and uncover just how far their relationship had gone.

I’d also get to see Rome.

It was a dangerous plan. It was an asinine plan. It was a spur-of-the-moment plan. But with Gio in the Caribbean with another assistant and no idea when he’d be back, if I said no to the Beast, I’d have no plan. No plan and no job at Covet. And no way to ever uncover the truth about Laney.

Plus, I’d miss out on Rome.

“Well?” he asked. “What’s your answer, Ms. James?”

My heart hammered a bruising rhythm against my ribs as I stared at Luciano Salvatici. “It depends,” I finally said.

His eyes sparked. “Upon?”

I wasn’t attracted to him, dammit. And I wasn’t contemplating saying yes because of that attraction. I was contemplating saying yes because of Laney…wasn’t I?

Don’t be stupid. Be smart.

“Who else will be with us?” I asked quickly.

“We’ll have a driver on staff in Rome. You’ll also have twenty-four hour access to the hotel staff, who know me well, and a translator, if you need one.”

I didn’t speak a word of Italian, but I was suddenly dying to know what cazzo meant and why I had this sultry image in my head of him saying it to me.

His gaze traveled down my hastily grabbed outfit, then back up to my eyes. “You’ll also have access to a stylist. Fashion is, of course, our business. I’ll need you to look the part when we meet with designers.”

His words reminding me I looked like something out of the Walking Dead in my leggings, baggy sweatshirt, and smeared makeup. I didn’t care. I lifted my chin to show him I didn’t care.

On a sigh, he unfolded his muscular arms and pushed to his feet, the sunglasses still dangling from his fingers. “So what’ll it be, Ms. James? Yes or no? If you’re not interested, I need to find someone who is.”

I knew I should say no. No was the smart answer. No was the rational answer. No was the safe answer.

“Yes,” I heard myself say.

Holy shit…

“Very well.” He showed no excitement at my decision, just stepped past me and reached for the door handle, and as he did I caught a whiff of that sultry scent of his again—jasmine, cedar, and rum. “Ms. Pascal is at the office today gathering paperwork for you and the details she’s mapped out for my itinerary. I’ll need you to meet with her at one o’clock. Bring your suitcase to Covet. The car will take you from there to the airport.”

“Wait.” My eyes grew wide as I watched him pull the door open and move out into the hall. “We’re leaving today?”

“Four o’clock.” He slid on his sunglasses and headed for the stairs. “Don’t be late, Ms. James. I don’t put up with tardiness. Oh, and one more thing.” He paused on the third step down and glanced back at me, tipping his glasses down just enough so I could see the hurricane once again swirling in his gray eyes. “When we’re in Rome, you will not defy my orders as you did here. Are we clear?”

I swallowed hard, knowing I was walking a very tight rope between safety and danger, and if I wasn’t careful, I could find myself as vulnerable and defenseless as Laney. But I wouldn’t let that happen. I knew what Luciano Salvatici was, and I wasn’t about to fall like Laney had.

“We’re clear,” I said, nodding.

He didn’t answer, just eyed me one last time before pushing his sunglasses back up and moving down the stairs.

When I heard the main building door open and close three floors down, I released the breath I’d been holding and dazedly moved back into the apartment. Shutting the door at my back, I leaned against the hard wood, completely shocked at what had just happened.

I now had a job working directly with the Beast. He was taking me to Rome, a city I’d always dreamt of seeing. And we were leaving today—in a matter of hours.

A smile spread across my face. I didn’t know why he was giving me a second chance. I didn’t know why he’d picked me over the dozens of secretaries and assistants who worked at Covet. I only knew that I couldn’t let this chance pass me by. By the end of the week, I’d know for sure whether he was the him from Laney’s emails. I’d also have a good idea how I could make him pay.

---

Any fantasy I’d worked up about a dreamy trip to Italy died as soon as I met with Ms. Pascal.

The blonde Stepford assistant provided me with everything I’d need to manage the Beast’s schedule. I’d been a little overwhelmed as she’d gone through his itinerary and outlined my duties for the trip, but I knew I could handle it all. The hardest part would be the language barrier, but, as Ms. Pascal had pointed out, most of the people we would be meeting with would also speak English, so I wasn’t too concerned.

I’d wanted to ask her about the personal situation that was keeping her from the trip and about her relationship with the Beast, but in the end, I decided to bite my tongue. She was clearly not going to tell me anything, and all my prying might do was piss her off. Plus, I could need her later.

But I didn’t hide my shock too well when I discovered that the Beast—and I really needed to stop calling him that in my head so I didn’t slip and accidentally say it out loud in Italy—had already left for Rome on his private jet. For some reason, I’d thought we’d be traveling together…not that I wanted to travel alone with the Beast—er, Luciano Salvatici—it just seemed odd. We were going to the same place, after all. Would I have really taken up that much space on his fancy private plane? Instead, I was shoved into the back of a Delta jet, in a middle seat in coach, where I spent eight plus hours twiddling my thumbs, trying to figure out what the man was trying to tell me.

I might have dozed—I don’t remember. All I knew was that the flight to Rome was the longest and most uncomfortable of my life. When we finally landed—over an hour late—I shuffled sore muscles off the plane and found the nearest bathroom to check the damage. Wild hair, bloodshot eyes, and pale skin greeted me in the mirror. I looked like something out of World War Z. Definitely not the professional image I was going for with the new job.

A shower and a full night’s sleep were the only things that could fix the mess that was my appearance, but I knew I’d get neither soon. Rome was six hours ahead of New York. Since my flight had departed late in the day, it was morning in Italy. Mr. Salvatici’s full schedule started at nine a.m. Thanks to the delay, I had little more than an hour and a half now to find my hotel, drop my bags in my room, figure out where the Beast was, and try to act like I knew what the hell I was doing.

After fixing my appearance as best I could, I headed for customs and found my luggage, then wove through the crowd toward the street. Tourists spoke quickly as they searched for their transportation. I was just about to head out to grab a taxi when I spotted a man in a black suit holding a sign with my name.

“I’m Natalie James,” I said, stopping in front of him.

“Very well, signora.” The man—early forties I guessed from the lines on his tanned face—barely glanced at me as he lowered his sign and reached for my roller bag. “Mr. Salvatici is expecting you. Follow me.”

Warm summer air surrounded me as we stepped out the automatic doors. I followed the driver away from the terminal and into a parking garage. The garage was full, but I spotted only a couple of people coming and going, and my stomach tightened when I realized I’d already put myself in a precarious situation, off the beaten path with someone I didn’t know.

He led me to a sleek black Mercedes, loaded my suitcase in the trunk, and opened the back door for me. “We’ll be at the hotel in just under an hour.”

An hour? Any relief I’d felt at not being the victim in the next Taken movie faded as I slid into the backseat. There went any plans I had of unpacking and finding a blouse that wasn’t wrinkled.

I freshened my makeup as we pulled away from the airport. After checking my texts and emails—and finding nothing from the Beast—I sat back and watched the scenery. The chaos of the airport transitioned to a regular freeway flanked on both sides by farmland. The terrain was fairly flat, but I could see hills rising in the distance. I was too tired after my cramped trip to be excited as I’d been before, and from where I sat, Italy didn’t look a whole lot different from the States.

That opinion quickly changed, though, as we entered the city. The buildings on the outskirts of Rome were modern and exactly like ones at home, but as we drove closer to our destination, I spotted Old World arches symbolic of ancient Roman bridges, and obelisks I’d only ever seen in pictures. I sat up straighter, searching for a glimpse of the Colosseum.

“Vatican City is that way,” my driver said, pointing to his right.

I slid across the seat and looked out the window, but the buildings around me were too tall. Slumping back in my seat, I watched as we turned away from the Vatican and wove up a hill through a neighborhood. The buildings thinned out, and trees flanked both sides of the road. I spotted cement walls out both windows, blocking my view of what lay beyond. Just when I was sure my driver was intentionally trying to get me lost, he pulled off the road onto a private circular drive. Trees and lush plants filled the grounds. A towering fountain shot water into the air. Our car circled the fountain and finally came to a stop in front of an enormous eight-story building fronted by balconies and hanging plants.

“Hotel Cavalieri, signora,” the driver said, popping his door open.

I grabbed my bag and waited for him to open my door, but my patience was disrupted by a host of nerves. I was definitely ready to get off my butt, but I wasn’t sure which Luciano Salvatici I’d face in a few minutes—the relaxed, insanely sexy one who’d come to my apartment less than twenty-four hours ago and offered me this job? Or the cold, imposing CEO who’d told me I wasn’t worldly enough for a job at Covet?

Telling myself it didn’t matter which man I met, I thanked the driver and headed into the hotel to check in.

The lobby took my breath away and instantly intimidated me. It was wide and open with gleaming floors, plush velvet furnishings, columns and palm trees and enormous Italian landscape paintings on every open wall.

I must have looked as awed as I felt, because a slim, dark-haired woman with a sleek bob and a fitted black suit stepped up to me and said, “Signora, may I help you?”

I clearly also looked American. “Um, yeah.” I fixed the strap on my purse. “I’m pretty sure I have a reservation. James. Natalie James.“

“Oh, Miss James, of course. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Maria. Mr. Salvatici has already checked you in. I just need your passport, then I can take you to your room.”

For some reason, knowing the Beast had “checked me in” didn’t settle my nerves, but I was glad when I didn’t have to spend time fumbling for my wallet and credit card. After handing the woman my passport, I waited while she moved to the gleaming marble counter and clicked away on her computer. Short minutes later, she returned, held out a hand, and said, “This way. I’ll have someone bring your bag up shortly.”

This was clearly a top-end hotel, and I was once again surrounded by the kind of wealth and luxury that made my spine tingle with intimidation. Which sort of pissed me off.

Not intimidated, I coached myself. In control.

Following Maria down a long, wide hallway, I glanced right and left, scanning the boutique, the lounge, and the handful of restaurants on the main level. We finally came to a single elevator and drew to a stop.

Maria slid a key card from a paper sleeve, inserted it into a slot on the elevator’s wall panel, then handed me the card. “This is your private elevator. The key card is your access. Your bag should be up shortly. If you need anything at all, just give me a ring. My number is beside each phone in the suite.” She smiled and turned away. “Enjoy your stay, Ms. James.”

I fingered the card in my hand. Suite? The Beast had gotten me a suite? That made absolutely no sense, especially after the way he’d dumped me in coach.

“Wait,” I called. “What number is my suite?”

Maria glanced over her shoulder with a grin. “There’s only one suite accessible via this elevator, Ms. James.”

Her shoes clicked across the shiny floor as she disappeared down the hallway. Beside me, the elevator pinged, and the doors opened. Confused, I stepped inside the silver box and turned, my mind spinning with questions.

Less than a minute later, the double doors opened. I stepped off, expecting to be greeted with another door, but stumbled when I realized the elevator opened right into the entry of an enormous suite. A round table topped with an arrangement of flowers sat in front of me. Past it, I could see tall floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a vast view of red roofs and curved domes, plush furnishings, expensive Italian paintings, and Luciano Salvatici rising from the couch across the room.

My breath caught at the sight of him. His hard, muscular body was draped in a crisp Italian suit that fit him so well, he looked like a Roman lord or master rather than a mere man. And his stormy, mysterious, sexy-as-hell eyes were pinned on me as if I were his next willing slave.

He stared at me for several long seconds, and under that watchful look, my mouth went completely dry, and my pulse shot straight up.

“Ms. James,” he finally said in that familiar accent. Only today it wasn’t clipped or dismissive as it had been that day at my interview. It wasn’t easy and relaxed as it had been in my apartment less than twenty-four hours ago, either. Today it flowed like hot, bubbling water over every inch of my skin and seeped in deep until it hit my blood, leaving me sweaty and absolutely sizzling from the inside out. “Just when I was beginning to think you really were as smart as your résumé indicated. I guess this disproves that, doesn’t it?”

I knew he’d just insulted me. I knew I should be pissed. But I couldn’t do anything except swallow hard and grip the strap of my bag against my shoulder, because my gaze was once more on his lips and that word—cazzo—was echoing in my head just as it had in my apartment. Only now, thanks to my web search, I knew what it meant.

Fuck…

Yeah, I’d totally just disproved my résumé, because if I really were that smart, I’d never have gotten on that plane.