Page 4 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“I know how important this time at the villa is to you,” his grandmother said gently. “But you’re one man. The villa has twelve rooms. Sixteen and a half if you count the bathrooms. Surely there’s space enough for both of you.”

“If this is one of your matchmaking schemes—” Dante trailed off, rolling his eyes. The effect was obviously lost on Nonna but not on Zoe, who rolled hers right back at him.

“I told you, it was Antonio’s idea, and I agree with him. Not just because of the extra income. It’s a shame Bella Vista sits unoccupied most of the year. I want people to enjoy it.”

“I was planning on enjoying it,” Dante drawled. “Alone.”

“Zoe and I have a contract. And if I know Antonio, he made sure she paid for the entire month. Up front.”

“I’ll give her a full refund. And help her make alternative arrangements.” Hell, he’d even pay for her to stay somewhere else if he had to. It wasn’t like they needed the money. Thanks to Luca’s culinary genius, their restaurants in Florence, Naples, and Rome had more reservations than they could handle. And Dante, who managed things on the financial and administrative side, had plans to expand the business.

Big plans.

“Absolutely not,” Nonna snapped. “I forbid it.”

He swallowed a laugh, imagining his grandmother, in her Sophia Loren–inspired pearls and heels, trying to block his way as he tossed Zoe’s bags out on the front porch. “You forbid it?”

Zoe let out a decidedly unladylike snort and stuck her tongue out at him. The juvenile gesture should have irritated him. But instead, he found himself focusing on the way her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, picturing it doing the same thing to his mouth, then trailing down his neck and over his chest and abs to his…

“Don’t forget whose name is on the deed.” Nonna’s pointed reminder brought his runaway libido to a screeching halt.Solitude, he scolded himself.Not sex.

“Until I’m six feet under the ground, Bella Vista belongs to me,” his grandmother continued. “And I say Zoe is welcome to stay as long as she wants.”

As long as she wants.

Dante eyed Zoe, a plan beginning to form. “Fine. She can stay.”

He said a terse goodbye to his grandmother before she could wheedle any more promises out of him, pressed the end call button, and tossed his phone back on the nightstand.

“I don’t want to say I told you so, but—” Zoe bounced up off the bed. “I’ll get my bags and you can show me where you want me.”

He could think of a few places he wanted her, none of which he was about to show her, no matter how much his disobedient dick protested.

“And don’t worry,” she continued, clearly oblivious to his inner torment. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

Not likely, he thought as he watched her sashay past him out of the room, his traitorous eyes tracking every victorious sway of her ample hips. Having her underfoot was going to be a giant pain in his ass.

But he was a man of his word. He’d agreed to let her stay as long as she wanted, and that was what he was going do. That didn’t mean he had to make things easy for her, however. And if conditions at Bella Vista weren’t to her liking and she decided to cut her stay short, well…

A smile played about the corners of his mouth. Zoe might have won their first battle, but the war was just beginning.

Chapter Two

Zoe yawned and rubbed her jet-lagged eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen, trying to focus on the scene unfolding in front of her and almost immediately regretting it when she did.

Did the man own any clothes?

Okay, yesterday he’d worn those damn linen pants. Eventually. Not that they’d concealed much. They were so paper-thin she could practically see the outline of his monster cock. And they’d done nothing to hide the perfect curve of his bubble butt. Then there was his muscled, lightly furred chest, which he hadn’t bothered to cover up. Maybe he was low on shirts.

But this morning he’d gone even more minimalist, stirring something on the stove in nothing but a form-fitting pair of boxer briefs.

That had to be dangerous, right? You never saw Gordon Ramsey cooking in his unmentionables.

Zoe pulled out a stool at the counter and sat, determined not to be intimidated. For the next month, this kitchen was as much hers as his. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” Dante shot back without turning around, his attention still on whatever was starting to steam in the pot in front of him. “Making breakfast.”

“I can see that, Captain Obvious.” She rested her elbows on the granite countertop. “I meant where are your clothes?”