“Ciao bella.”

The voice is dripping honey with a hint of something dark and delicious, but that trite phrase, though. Someone please stop me from picking up my fork and stabbing it into his crotch. I let my eyes wander away from the white tablecloth. Hang on! That is one full crotch. Looks like there is something very large tucked away beneath those fine black trousers. Hmmm …

A little higher. All right. The man works out. If my washing machine packs up I could wash my clothes on his abs.

I let my eyes travel even higher. Did someone say pecs and abs? Drool, drool.

Whoa. Open shirt.

Two buttons undone: check.

Chest hair: check.

Gold chain: check.

St Tropez tan: check.

Black hair curling over the collar: Check.

What a shame. Mediterranean playboy, obviously. Still, I’m a sucker for a brown throat.

No, no, no, not a chin dimple as well. A little above the lickable dimple a sensual mouth is slightly twisted into a mocking smile. Yup, life’s just not fair.

Eyes. Jesus. H. Christ. Pools of smooth whiskey that you just want to drown in. There’s no longer any doubt. He’s obviously slept with tons of women.

The mouth opens. “You know, I’ve never banged a bridesmaid before.”

Why does God make such good-looking assholes? “Looks like today’s not your lucky day either,” I say dryly.

The smug smile becomes wider, the man is oozing confidence and something else. Something that makes me want to bite him. On his butt. He lowers that wonderful body into the chair opposite. “On the contrary, I think today is that day.”

“Oh yeah? How do you reckon that? There are three of us. Raven is pregnant, Cindy is taken, and I’m not interested.”

He leans back and looks at me curiously. “What makes you think you’re not interested?”

“What makes you think I am?” I counter.

“Because I’d make the perfect one-night stand.”

I look at the rose petal floating in my glass of champagne. Star will be so irritated to see it. She expressly said she didn’t want it. I look into his mesmerizing eyes. “I’m not looking for a one-night stand.”

He grins. He has splendid teeth. All white and gleaming. “Ah, but you are a career woman. You have no time for relationships and long-term commitment.”

Something in my belly melts. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

There is very little air in my lungs suddenly. “I’m not fucking you.”

“Ten bucks says you do.”

“What would I do with ten bucks in this country?” I ask scornfully.

“I’ll take you to America and you can spend it there.”

“That’s not how one-night stands work.”

“No, I meant I’ll fly you there tonight. We’ll have sex in a great hotel, then you can spend your money in the morning.”

“If I have sex with you then I won’t have the ten bucks to spend, will I?”

“You’ll have more than ten bucks.” He takes an expensive looking wallet out of his trouser pocket and fishes out five crisp hundred-dollar bills and lays them on the table.”

WTF! My eyes widen with shock. I look at the money and his large, bronzed hand, a gold watch peeping from a snowy white sleeve, slowly sliding away on the white tablecloth. How dare he? Calmly, I take my gaze back to his face. “First of all, five hundred dollars? How cheap are you? And second, do I look like a prostitute to you?”

“First of all: Baby, come with me and I’ll make this ten, twenty, fifty, or even a hundred thousand? Name your price.” He shrugs. “Secondly: you don’t pay a woman to have sex with her, you pay her to leave after sex, and we both know you’ll probably sneak out in the morning before I wake up.”

I cross my arms and his eyes drop to my breasts. “Excuse me. My face is up here, buster.”

“I know exactly where your face is, bella. I was looking at your boobs.”

I glare at him. “It’s a bit sad when you have to flash Daddy’s money around just to get laid.”

“Very sad,” he agrees with a grin, completely unaffected by my insult.

“Who are you?” I demand. He’s obviously from the groom’s side.

“I’m Dante D’Angelo, and you are Rosa.”

My lips part. In spite of myself I’m flattered that he was interested enough to find out my name. “How do you know that?”

“I asked the bride.”

I nod. “So how do you know the groom?”

“We’re friends.” For the first time, something in his eyes change. My mind notes the shift. He’s not all player, there’s something more beneath the glittering facade.

He leans forward slightly, his whiskey eyes swirling with desire. “Do you want to know what the bride told me?”

I frown. What on earth could Star have told him about me. “What?”

“She said, you would be perfect for me.”

My eyes dart to the dance floor. She is slow-dancing, her cheek laying on her new husband’s chest. I don’t know what I expected, but never that. She’s usually so rational and down to earth. The stress of the wedding must have affected her so much she’s told a pampered, Italian playboy I’m perfect for him. Either that or he’s lying.

“Well, I’m not going to bed with you.” My voice is absolutely firm. I’ll never go to bed with a shallow beast like him. Never. Not in a million years. He can take his gorgeous teeth, and his splendid shoulders, and his laughing, teasing eyes, and his … his … full crotch, and shove it all up his ass.