The Ice Prince by Sandra Marton Page B

could not bear the thought of that happening again.
    He turned from the window.
    There was a solution, and he would find it, but not by concentrating on it. He would, instead, do what he always did at moments of stress. He would think about anything but the problem at hand. He would think logically. Rid his thoughts of emotion.
    Draco rang the intercom. His PA answered.
    “I have some letters to dictate,” he said.
    But, damnit, Anna Orsini would not stay in the mental file drawer in which he’d placed her. She kept appearing in his mind, front and center.
    Ridiculous, because she was not really the problem. Her father was.
    Then why did he keep seeing her face, that sleepy, sexy look in her eyes when she’d lain in his arms last night?
    Why did he keep remembering the way she dressed, the conservative suit, the do-me stilettos?
    What did she have on under that suit? Was it the equivalent of banker’s gray? Or was it silk and lace, as sexy as the shoes?
    “Sir?” his PA said.
    Draco blinked.
    “Sorry,” he said briskly. “Uh, where was I?”
    “The Tolland merger,” his PA said, and Draco nodded and picked up where he’d left off in his dictation.
    Five minutes later, he gave up.
    “That’s all for now, Sylvana,” he said.
    His PA left the room. Draco rose to his feet, grabbed his suit coat and went to lunch. He followed that with a long, hard workout at his gym.
    He still had not come up with a way to handle the Orsini situation.
    Worse, Anna Orsini was still in his head.
    At five, he called for his car.
    “Where to, sir?” his driver said.
    Draco thought of the various answers he could give.
    He could go out to dinner. He had no reservations anywhere, but that would not matter. There was not a
ristorante
in Rome that would not give him its best table if he showed up at the door.
    He could take out his BlackBerry, phone one of a dozen beautiful women. There wasn’t one in Rome who would deny him anything he might ask of her, even at the last minute.
    That made him think of his mistress, waiting for him in Hawaii.
    Cristo,
he had not thought of her once the entire day.
    “Take me home,” he told his driver, and while the big car made its way through the crushing end-of-day traffic, Draco put through a call to her.
    “Hello?” she said in a sleepy voice.
    What time was it in Hawaii, anyway? No way was he going to ask.
    “It’s me,” he said. “How are you?”
    “Draco,” she said. He could picture the look on her face. Sultry, sexy, pouty. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
    Draco rubbed his temple with his free hand.
    “How did you spend your day?” he said, because he knew he had to say something.
    She laughed.
    “I spent it shopping, darling. Well, window-shopping. I have a whole bunch of gorgeous things picked out for you to buy me when you get back.”
    Draco closed his eyes and imagined the hours she’d expect him to spend in a dozen different boutiques.
    “When
will
you be back, Draco?” Her voice turned husky. “I miss you.”
    The truth was she missed the status that came of being seenwith him. The knowledge that he would buy her whatever she’d shopped for today. She missed his title, his status, his money.
    And, yes, his looks, and his expertise in bed.
    It would be foolish to deny that women liked both.
    “Darling? When will you be back?”
    He wouldn’t be.
    The realization was sudden, and so was its full meaning.
    Draco cleared his throat.
    “Something’s come up,” he said. “So, ah, so here’s what I suggest. Stay on a few more days. Do some shopping—tell the shops to phone my office and they’ll okay the charges. Take your time. Enjoy yourself. When we’re both back on the coast, I’ll give you a call.”
    Silence. Then she said, “And when, exactly, will that be?”
    Her tone was cool. She was not a stupid woman, not when it came to men and the ways of the world. Their two-month relationship was over; Draco had not even realized it until this minute.
    “I