Give a Little

“Perry’s storytelling skills just keep getting better and better!” –
Romantic Times Book Reviews

“Can’t wait for the next in this series…simply great reading. Another winner by this amazing author. “
–Romance Reviews Magazine

“Hot! Recommended!” –
Bookpleasures

“Exciting and simply terrific.”
–Romancereviews.com

“Kate Perry is on my auto buy list.”
–Night Owl Romance

“A winning and entertaining combination of humor and pathos.”
–Booklist

Please note that the author took certain liberties. Like the London Motorexpo doesn’t take place in the spring, nor does it include concept cars in its exhibits. But this is Kate’s world, and she rules it with an iron fist.

Three weeks.

Three weeks since Luca had returned the knickers she’d left in his bed.

Three weeks, and not even a careless
ciao
from him.

Beatrice whirled away from her desk to look at the London skyline stretched out before her, her mobile lowered despite all the messages she’d yet to answer. That was the problem: the damned racecar driver had burrowed under her skin, and she couldn’t get him out.

Only he hadn’t tried to contact her in the past three weeks. He’d said the game was on, but so far she hadn’t seen any evidence. So far there was only waiting and wondering when he was going to show up.

Why
hadn’t he contacted her? Was he already regretting their affair? Was it her? The fearless, confident Beatrice Summerhill she projected to the world knew it wasn’t.

But the self-doubting teenager who still lived inside her—the one who’d never been good enough—couldn’t help but wonder if it was her.

No one knew the teenager still existed except her. Bea was good at disguising her insecurities. Her sister Imogen wasn’t the only actress in the family.

Damn him.
She glared out the floor-to-ceiling windows. He was a bastard.

A charming bastard, who kissed like he’d never get enough of her.

Closing her eyes, she touched her lips with her fingers. Most men didn’t know how to kiss, with little pecks that were more annoying than arousing, or slobbering tongues that plundered like Viking marauders.

Of all the faults Luca had, kissing wasn’t one of them. Luca kissed like he only had an hour to live. He kissed like he wanted to taste every last bit.

Luca kissed like a god.

Three weeks without his kisses was a lifetime.

Not that she’d ever tell him.

Frankly, this was all her fault. She closed her eyes, pressing her mobile to her forehead. What had she been thinking, going to his place? Once was bad enough. Once she could chalk up to a lapse of judgment—to one too many martinis. There was no excuse for five times.

What was worse: She wasn’t sure she wanted an excuse. Each time she’d left wanting more.

It was unheard of. She should have been bored with him by now. She never lasted more than three dates with any man. By the third date, she always had a list the length of her arm why she should stop going out with him, and usually it was topped with BORING.

Luca defied reason.

In business, she was known for her risk-taking, she trusted her intuition when it came to mergers and acquisitions. She didn’t do risky in her personal life.

Luca was the very definition of risk.

The door behind her opened, and she heard her assistant’s sauntering footsteps.

Sighing, she composed her expression and turned around to pretend she was thinking about the paperwork on her desk and not the Italian in her head.

Inga’s head was lowered over the folders in her arms, her fingers shuffling through them as she walked in. To look at her, a person thought supermodel: Inga had the awkward grace of a giraffe and a stunning face that stopped men in their tracks.

That was partly why Bea had hired her—as a distraction to her competitors. What most people didn’t know was that behind Inga’s perfect face was one of the sharpest business minds Bea had ever encountered.

The week Bea had offered Inga the job, she’d also been offered a modeling contract. Inga had taken Bea’s offer and never looked back. Why would she? She was Bea’s right hand and had a handsome stake in every deal that came through.

Tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder, Inga set the folders neatly on the desk. “You haven’t signed these contracts yet.”

“I still need to go over them,” she said, pretending to be intent on her mobile. Her focus had been shite lately. In the past three weeks, she hadn’t been able to concentrate properly on anything: not work, not her sister Rosalind’s upcoming wedding, and certainly not other men.

Truthfully, she hadn’t thought of other men since she’d met Luca Fiorelli.

Inga’s eyebrows peaked as she gave Bea a shrewd once-over. Instead of commenting, she said, “I had an interesting call from Pixel Dust. We outbid Fraser for them.”

The news was surprising enough that Bea lifted her head to look at her assistant. “Sorry. I thought I heard you say we outbid Scott Fraser for the hottest special effects company in Europe.
In the first round
.”

“You heard correctly,” the young woman said with a telling look as she adjusted her glasses. She tapped the new stack of papers on the edge of the desk. “The deal is ours as soon as we sign.”

Bea looked at the files. Suspicious. Fraser never lost a deal to her without a struggle, and he barely made an effort this time.

“No, he didn’t,” Bea murmured, tapping her mobile to her lips. She and Scott Fraser had a longstanding rivalry, extending back to their first jobs, at the same investment company. Fraser had taken credit for a deal she’d put together and had been promoted because of it.

The businesswoman in her respected him for the move and was grateful for it; she’d never made the mistake of trusting the wrong person again.

The rivalry it’d sparked was part of the reason she’d become the mogul she was today. She was as determined to best Fraser in every deal as he was to best her, which made it doubly suspicious that he’d let this one slip through his fingers.

As if reading her mind, Inga said, “The legal team and I touched every page, so if they were lined with poison, we’d already be dead.”

“Good to know.” She leaned back, touching her mobile to her chin. “Do we know anyone at Fraser Enterprises?”

“I believe I have an acquaintance or two there,” her assistant said casually.

“Excellent.” She smiled. “Perhaps you can call them and have drinks.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Inga nodded and marched out of the office.

“What are you up to, Fraser?” Bea mumbled as the door closed. She swiped on her mobile and checked her email for messages from him. Nothing, which was suspect in itself, because he always emailed her sour grapes when he lost out on a deal.

She frowned at the screen. She’d find out what was going on.

Frankly, it was a relief to have this to think about. It distracted her from other things—
other things
being Luca.

Inga came back half an hour later, striding in without knocking. “My friend at Fraser Enterprises sends his regards.”

Bea smiled. “I trust he’s doing well?”

“Yes, but he’s been working overtime doing research on a company called Stallon-E.” Inga gave her a flat look. “Apparently it’s an electric car manufacturer that launched their prototype this week at the London Motorexpo.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about them.” She opened an app on her phone and pulled up the Forbes article she’d seen earlier that week.

“Apparently this company has technology that’s going to revolutionize the automotive industry.” At Bea’s raised brows, Inga shrugged. “I read that on their website.”

“I don’t usually invest in automotive companies.”

“Neither does Fraser,” Inga pointed out. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Apparently Fraser is experiencing financial setbacks and looking to diversify. He’s consolidating so he has resources on hand. They’re readying for a large move.”

“Are they?” Bea crossed her legs and looked at her shoe while she thought about it. Her instincts were usually spot-on, and they were telling her to investigate Stallon-E. “What sort of name is that anyway?”

“Italian,” Inga replied. “Stallion in Italian is
stallone
. Stallon-E combines that with the
E
for electric. It explains that on the website as well.”

“Italian.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Do you have something against Italy?” her assistant asked mildly.

“Pasta is hard on the hips.” The last thing she wanted to do was deal with more Italians, but she saw no recourse. She was damned if she’d let Fraser pull one over on her. She scrolled through her address book until she found his number. “I think I’ll give him a call.”

Inga’s eyes widened. “You aren’t tipping your hand, are you?”

She raised her brow.

Her assistant relaxed. “You had me worried. You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Fortunately, the line picked up so she didn’t have to reply to that.

“Call to gloat, Summerhill?” Scott Fraser said in the proper clipped accent he hadn’t had when she’d first met him almost twenty years ago.

“Of course not, darling.” She turned to face her windows. Adding smugness to her voice, she said, “I called to offer you condolences on your loss.”

“I’ve always commented on how caring you are, Beatrice.”

She heard her office door close, and she crossed her legs. “Well, we
have
known each other a long time, which is precisely why I’m surprised you didn’t push harder on this deal. You aren’t feeling a pinch from the economy, are you? I’m happy to lend you money if you need.”

“Like I said, you’re all heart.” His voice lowered into a purr. “Go out to dinner with me, and we can discuss terms.”

This again. He’d been trying to get under her skirt from the first moment they’d met. “Is your wife going to join us?” she asked sweetly.

“Only if you’d like her to.”

She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps when hell freezes over.”