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Chapter Seven

Luca had been born in Italy but had been raised all over the world and spoke perfect Oxford English. He only turned on the Italian to use as a weapon, wielding it his advantage.

Without a word, Nick started to close the door.

Luca quickly stuck his fancy Italian loafers to stop it. "Nico, is this really how you treat an old friend?"

"Friend?" he asked his rival incredulously. "Didn't you try to run me off the course in Abu Dhabi just last month?"

"Si, certo, but that was professional courtesy." He pushed his way inside.

Rubbing his neck, Nick took a deep breath and closed the door. "Don't get comfortable. I have to leave."

"There's nothing comfortable about this visit, Nick," Jon piped up from the kitchen. He exchanged a handshake with Luca. "Fiorelli, tell me you aren't having crazy thoughts."

"Like having three women at once in my bed?"

"That's not crazy. For you, that's reality," Jon pointed out. "Nick is considering leaving Formula One."

"Non ci credo." Luca threw his hand in the air. "It is not possible."

"Ask him."

Luca turned to him. "Tell me this isn't true."

Nick grabbed his coat from the counter, where he'd left it the night before. "It's been a pleasure, gentlemen, but I need to go."

"Where do you go, Nico?" Luca asked, as though very concerned.

"To my sister's."

"You have a sister?" Luca perked up visibly. "Is she available?"

"Not to you." He gestured to the door. "This way out."

"Nick, you have definitely become less entertaining lately," Jon grumbled as he moved to leave. "You're going to make me discuss representation with Fiorelli."

"Feel free. Go to the Red Witch in Mayfair to discuss it. There's a redhead there you'll like."

Luca put an arm around his shoulder. "You must race this year, my friend."

He raised his brow. "I must?"

"I haven't beat you at Monte Carlo yet. But this is my year, and you have to allow me that pleasure." Luca grinned winningly. "We'll discuss this, and then you'll race again this coming year so I can prove once and for all that I'm the superior driver."

For a moment he was tempted to say he'd race the next year, just to put Luca in his place. But he'd deal with it later. He was meeting Summer for lunch and didn't want to be late. She became unbearable when she hadn't been fed.

Once he escorted the men out of his place and sent them on their way, he took the tube to Summer's flat. He arrived five minutes late, and the fact that it wasn't a problem told him that something was going on. He studied her face. "You have that look."

"What look?" She widened her eyes innocently, which was a warning sign in itself. Hugging him, she dragged him into the living room.

Rosalind Summerhill sat in there, blinking at him with her gorgeous eyes.

He stopped in his tracks, knowing if he didn't collect himself he'd go and take her in his arms.

Damn Summer. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. She knew he'd washed his hands of her mad scheme-he'd made it clear in her office. This was blatant manipulating.

The devil's spawn batted her eyes innocently, blithe and seemingly clueless. "Nick, I wanted you to be here to discuss my wedding dress, too."

"Hello, Nick," Rosalind said, smiling at him.