Alessandro's Prize by Helen Bianchin Page A

requests you call him in connection with arrangements to dine with Giarda and Massimo tomorrow evening. I believe you have his cell-phone number?’
    â€˜I do.’
    â€˜ Ciao , darling. Be careful.’
    Of whom? Lily queried silently. James or Alessandro? A hollow laugh rose to the surface. Each man was equally dangerous. Just in a different way.
    Purchases unpacked, she retrieved her cell-phone and Alessandro’s card, then she dialled his number.
    He picked up on the fifth ring, his voice crisp as he intoned, ‘Del Marco.’
    â€˜Lily,’ she reciprocated. ‘Sophia relayed a message for me to call you.’ She paused fractionally. ‘Is this a good time?’
    â€˜If you count standing dripping wet and naked, having just stepped from the shower,’ Alessandro drawled.
    There was a second’s silence. ‘I’ll call back.’ Then she cut the connection, and released the pent-up breath caused by a vivid vision of his tall muscular frame sans clothes. Dripping wet.
    Not good for her heart rate. Or her equilibrium as heat pooled deep within causing provocative images she found unsettling. Very unsettling.
    So go do something , Lily chided, and she withdrew the vacuum cleaner from a storage cupboard. Cleaning was good. After which she’d shower, dress in comfortable clothes, prepare dinner, then she’d call back.
    An hour and a half went by before she picked up the phone and keyed in his number.
    â€˜Lily.’
    Alessandro acknowledged with a hint of amusement, and his mouth curved as she queried drily, ‘You’re not in the middle of anything?’
    â€˜At the moment…no.’
    â€˜You wanted to contact me,’ she prompted.
    â€˜Before we continue, give me your new number.’
    She did, and she checked each one as he repeated them.
    â€˜I’ll collect you at seven thirty tomorrow evening. We’re meeting Giarda and Massimo at eight.’
    â€˜I can meet you there.’
    â€˜But you won’t.’ His voice assumed a depth that caused her stomach to execute a slow somersault. ‘How was your day?’
    â€˜Busy.’
    â€˜Very concise.’
    â€˜You want detail? Cristo threw a hissy fit when his bechamel sauce curdled and he had to start over. The pan shifted on the gas hob and the flame burnt his finger. It was so not his day.’
    â€˜James?’
    â€˜I haven’t seen him.’
    Alessandro hoped it remained that way. Although he doubted Lily’s ex-fiancé would give up easily.
    â€˜I suggest you be on your guard.’
    â€˜I can protect myself, Alessandro.’
    Verbally, without doubt. But physically? Sophia’s concern for her niece’s safety had become his own. Instinct warned he had reason and he’d lived by instinct alone for too many years to consider ignoring it.
    â€˜Seven thirty tomorrow evening, Lily,’ he reminded quietly.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    D ECIDING what she should wear to dinner involved a mental selection and discard process throughout the day.
    There was a gorgeous jade silk chiffon gown with a fitted bodice and bias cut skirt that skimmed her slim curves, fashioned by a noted Australian designer, which she’d packed to bring to Milan, but had not as yet worn.
    A matching wrap added a finishing touch, and with her hair pinned in an upswept style, minimum jewellery, killer heels…decision made.
    It wasn’t a date, merely the first social engagement without Sophia’s presence, Lily assured herself as she put the final touches to her make-up.
    She was ready with minutes to spare, and she caught up her evening purse and headed out to the lounge in time to hear the buzz of the in-house phone.
    Alessandro. Yet caution had her checking the visual monitor before relaying she was on her way down.
    A clutch of nerves rose in her stomach as the lift descended, and she took a deep calming breath scant seconds before the steel doors opened onto the