A Pawn in the Playboy's Game. CATHY WILLIAMS

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      She was curious. She shouldn’t be but she was. She was waved aside when she offered to walk Roberto up the stairs and it was only when he had disappeared from sight that she felt the power of Alessandro’s presence wrap around her like a stranglehold.

      In the busyness of leaving the house and driving to the restaurant and then doing her utmost to carry the conversation to any topic that would demonstrate Roberto’s ties to the community, she had forgotten how uncomfortable she felt in the dress.

      Now, as those dark eyes settled on her, she had to stop herself from tugging it down.

      ‘Drink?’ He looked at her for a few seconds. She was wearing a dress that was never going to win prizes at a fashion show. It was an awkward length and, twinned with serviceable boots, gave the impression of someone who wasn’t into clothes. His was a rich diet of catwalk models but he had still found his eyes straying time and time again over dinner to the way the fabric stretched over her full breasts, the way the neckline offered just a glimpse of cleavage, enough for his imagination to take flight. ‘Because I’m guessing that the only reason you volunteered to come in was because there’s something you want to say to me. A stiff gin and tonic might move things along.’

      Laura scowled. With no Roberto around, he was back to being the arrogant, obnoxious guy who thought it was amusing to needle her. She could also tell from the way his eyes had skimmed over her that he found her get-up funny—the dress, which hadn’t seen the light of day since London, and even then had only been worn once, the boots, which were sturdy, useful and most of all warm, but hardly the height of fashion.