The Italian Marriage. Kathryn Ross

a couple of hours on a plane.’

      ‘People will think I’m your girlfriend—’

      ‘Well, you are a girl and you are a friend, aren’t you? Anyway, do you want this interview with my big brother or not?’

      ‘That’s blackmail, Francis Rossini,’ she admonished sternly.

      ‘That’s life, Gemma Hampton.’ He grinned back.

      And so, against her better judgement, she agreed. She was hungry for success and she knew the interview would be a coup, launching her career forward in style. But she hadn’t been prepared for it to change her life quite so radically.

      Gemma remembered everything about that first meeting with Marcus in vivid detail.

      She remembered his office looked more like a penthouse suite than a place of work. Huge chesterfield settees graced one end and picture windows commanded fabulous views out over Green Park.

      Marcus was seated behind his desk but he rose to his feet as she walked in. As their eyes met she felt the impact of that glance almost as if he had touched her.

      ‘Good afternoon, Mr Rossini,’ she said politely, hoping that she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. There was something awesome about Marcus, something that made her feel suddenly shy and awkward. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

      As Gemma’s hand was grasped in the firmness of his handshake she felt a jolt of electricity flow through her.

      Had her hand lingered too long in his?

      Afterwards she wondered a lot about that. The moment had a misty blur of unreality; the only thing she knew was that she was totally captivated. It was as if those thunderbolts that she had joked about had suddenly crashed around her, an electric storm of unimaginable proportions whipping up inside her.

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Ms Hampton,’ he said formally.

      Gemma noticed that, like his brother, his English was perfect, with hardly a hint of an accent. ‘Please call me Gemma,’ she said huskily. And he smiled—a smile that did unimaginable things to her insides.

      ‘Then you must call me Marcus.’ He waved her towards the chair opposite his and then sat back down behind the desk again.

      ‘You seem to have made a big impression on my younger brother,’ he said easily.

      ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Gemma said with a smile. ‘But we are good friends.’

      ‘Just good friends?’

      The coolly asked question threw her senses into disarray.

      ‘Yes…just good friends.’ She tried to keep her voice light, unsure if he was just making polite conversation or if he was taking a more personal interest. As she looked up into his eyes she found herself hoping sincerely it was the latter.

      ‘Would you mind if I record our interview? It’s just so I can check back and make sure I have my facts right.’

      ‘By all means.’

      As she took her recorder from her bag Marcus left the office momentarily to say something to his secretary.

      ‘Sorry about that,’ he said with a grin as he returned and sat down again. ‘Now, fire away with your questions.’

      He seemed to be studying her intently and she wished that she had worn something more exciting than her blue suit and that she had put her hair up instead of allowing it to fall freely around her shoulders. She wanted to look as stylish and as beautiful as she was sure the women he dated would look.

      She cleared her throat nervously. ‘So, Marcus, would you mind if I asked you about the background of the Rossini publishing house first?’

      ‘By all means.’ He settled more comfortably in his chair, almost as if he were about to watch an entertaining film. He seemed very at ease, extremely relaxed, and there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes as if he knew she was nervous.

      Honestly, life could be very unfair sometimes, Gemma thought wryly. She had been nervous about the interview to begin with because it was her first really important one. The fact that she found herself overwhelmingly attracted to the man she was interviewing wasn’t helping.

      He just wasn’t at all what she had been expecting.

      She had thought he was going to be an older version of Freddie. But, although Freddie was almost as tall as Marcus and their colouring was similar, jet dark hair and eyes that were almost coal black, they were worlds apart in looks. Next to Marcus, Freddie, who was her own age, suddenly seemed terribly young…somehow very immature.

      At thirty-three, Marcus Rossini was spectacularly handsome and all male. There was an air of power and sophistication about him and the dark eyes that held hers were cool and serious and seemed to reach into her very soul.

      ‘Your father founded the Rossini publishing business, I believe?’ With difficulty she made herself concentrate.

      ‘That’s right. I took over the reins six years ago, after my mother died and my father lost interest in the business.’

      ‘Your mother was English, wasn’t she?’

      ‘Yes, she was from Surrey. Freddie has obviously been filling you in on the details.’

      ‘Well, he’s told me a few things. You were very young for such an awesome responsibility. Did you find the pressure hard at first?’ she pressed on, not wanting to be sidetracked from her line of questions.

      Marcus grinned at that. ‘I thrive on pressure, and I love a challenge.’

      The phone rang and he snapped it up and it was several minutes before Gemma could resume her interview.

      The same thing happened just a little while later and after the third and fourth interruptions Gemma started to get irritated. ‘Do you think you could get your secretary to hold your calls for a while?’

      He looked unrepentant. ‘I’m sorry, Gemma, but as I explained to Freddie, I am a very busy man.’

      It was then that Gemma took a calculated risk. ‘Well, maybe now isn’t a good time. Maybe we could continue our discussion in more congenial surroundings later on. How about dinner tonight?’

      He fixed her with that quizzical, deep look that she was beginning to recognise. For a second Gemma thought he was going to turn her down and tell her she either put up with the interruptions or she did without the interview. ‘Okay, dinner tonight. It’s a date,’ he said casually. ‘But on one condition.’

      ‘Yes?’ She felt suddenly breathless.

      ‘You leave your recorder at home.’

      ‘Okay, but I must warn you my shorthand isn’t very good,’ she said with a smile.

      ‘Well, I promise I’ll take things nice and slow,’ he drawled lazily.

      Something about the way he said that, the way he looked at her, made her senses leap.