A Deal To Carry The Italian's Heir. Tara Pammi

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      The tentative friendship had built the first day when Mario, a new board member of BFI, had brought Neha with him on his trip to Milan, and Silvio had brought Leo.

      While her mother and stepfather had postured about their wealth and connections, Neha—even then a quiet, sharp, pretty girl—had arrested his attention. She’d already been running her late father’s bakery single-handed, and had been full of ideas for new branches. Leo, meanwhile, had been roiling with anger and rage—he’d discovered that week that not only was BFI in ruins, but that Silvio had been abusing Massimo emotionally for years, and that the man he’d worshipped for all his life was nothing but a bully all around.

      Neha had listened to him rage about his father, the devastation he’d felt. She’d clasped his hand shyly and said, “But all you have to do is tell your brother that you’re sorry. That you do care about him. That... You love him.” He’d vowed that when he returned home with Silvio, he’d do just that.

      In the meantime, he’d distracted himself by offering Neha ideas about how to raise seed money to expand her business.

      And through the meteoric rise of her fame, from winning a local English village baking show contest at sixteen to transforming a chain of baking goods she’d created into a multi-million-pound business, Neha had come to him for advice and Leo had given it to the best of his ability.

      Mario had spotted the extraordinary talent and work ethic his stepdaughter had possessed even at that young age and monetized it so fast that within just a few years of Neha winning the contest and creating the first line of confectionary goods, Mario had launched her as a child prodigy that created delicious confections. He’d made her into an international brand, franchised her talents so far and so wide that So Sweet Inc. had become a world-renowned business.

      “Why is she here, then?” Massimo asked, pulling Leo from the past to the present.

      “She asked to see me. As soon as possible.”

      Massimo waggled his brows, doing quite a good imitation of a schoolgirl. “Is it really business, though? I’ve always sensed something more between you two.”

      Leo kept his expression implacable. Neha was forbidden to him, would always be. “It’s pathetic to see you act like a matchmaker just because you are blissfully in love.” He strode to the door and opened it. “Now, go back to Nat and leave me to my business.”

      Mouth twitching mischievously, Massimo walked over to where Neha waited, and hugged her with all the easy energy of a man who didn’t have the complication of wanting her and keeping her at a distance, as Leo had done all these years.

      Through the open doorway, Leo could only see the clean lines of Neha’s profile: her long neck, her brown hair tied back in a braid that highlighted those cheekbones, the elegant white sheath dress draped over her curvaceous body and the yellow pop of her pumps. It was her public persona. White dress, yellow pumps and a strand of pearls at her neck. Red lipstick that made her lush mouth look like one of her delicious creations. A dimple in one cheek and laughter in those light brown eyes.

      All that creativity and passion wrapped in unruffled composure, all those voluptuous curves with the hidden sensuality buried in the elegant, girl-next-door package she presented to the world. That subtle lure of wanting to delve beneath the elegant persona she showed the world, to ruffle all that composure... It had started on the eve of her twenty-first birthday party.

      Overnight, she had transformed from a shy, pretty teenager into a gorgeously sexy woman. The urge to undo all that elegance, to reach the woman beneath, was as fresh and urgent and intense as it had been that day. For a man who went after his goals with single-minded ruthlessness, Neha was the one thing Leonardo had had to deny himself.

      Their relationship, as much as it had stayed inside the unsaid boundaries they’d both set, and as much as it defied the media’s incessant efforts to label, was important to him. Against all the odds for a man who had problems with trusting the opposite sex, Neha had become the one genuine friend he possessed.

      He could never risk that.

      Massimo asked her how long she meant to stay in Milan, because he wanted to introduce her to Natalie. Neha’s gaze flew to his.

      Leo stilled; every bit of his attention arrested at something inexplicable that flashed in her eyes. He frowned.

      She turned back to Massimo. And gave him a circular non-answer. Thanked Massimo with a graceful smile before saying goodbye.

      Leo’s curiosity deepened as he drank the sight of her in with a greed he knew was useless to try to curb. She stood there, framed by the arch of his door, her lower lip caught beneath her two front teeth.

      Afternoon sunlight from the high windows behind him gilded her in golden light, tracing the curvy contours of her body with the same delight and thoroughness that he wanted to. He’d seen her in a million variations of the same color scheme and makeup. And yet the white dress ending a couple of inches above her knees, the high-necked bodice that showed off the swell of her breasts, the tight dip of her waist...everything that was familiar about her spiked his awareness.

      So thoroughly mesmerized was he that it took him a few moments to notice the hesitation in her gaze. The rigid set of her shoulders. The tension emanating from her.

      “Neha...” he said softly, and she snapped into the present. “Do you plan to stand there for the rest of the day?”

      She entered his office without answer, closed the door behind her, still not quite meeting his gaze.

      In the wake of Massimo’s jokes, the silence was thick, awkward.

      She walked toward the sitting area of his office, poured herself a glass of water from the carafe. Her knuckles showed white on the glass while her gaze stayed on the streets of Milan’s business district rendered colorful on a bright afternoon.

      They had always been courteous to each other through the years, close without getting personal. He’d been there when she’d called her wedding off eight years ago—calm, quiet and yet somehow devastated. He’d never asked her why, only given his support when she’d asked for his help to curtail the media swarming in like locusts at the prospect of drama and tragedy beneath the elegant, sweet public persona of hers.

      He’d never let on that she was the one woman he wanted with a desire that seemed to span years, when usually his lovers had a shelf life of maybe six months.

      As she grew older, she’d become even more irresistible. More beautiful, more elegant, more composed, which taunted his base impulses because he wanted to see beneath that perfection. He wanted to see her undone. In his hands.

      “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I know how busy you are,” she finally said, turning to him.

      “Why are you being so formal?” he countered. “Is everything all right?”

      “Everything’s fine,” she said, raising her brown gaze to his, not quite smiling, not quite serious. She studied his features with something almost bordering on desperation, searching, as if she meant to see through to his soul. It was unnerving, and yet not...unwelcome.

      “Sorry, I’m just... I don’t know where to begin.”

      “Take your time, then.”

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