Читать книгу A Sicilian Husband - Kate Walker - Страница 8

‘SO WHAT are you doing in England? You don’t look like a tourist and you said you’d planned on meeting someone from work. A business meeting?’

Gio nodded slowly, dark eyes shadowed in the candlelight.

‘I’m a lawyer—and we were to discuss how the case went in court today. A post-mortem if you like.’

‘And how did the case go?’

‘We won.’ It was said with total calm; no hint of any false modesty.

Of course he’d won. Gio didn’t look as if he had ever known failure or defeat in his life.

A faint touch of wary apprehension slid coldly down her spine just at the thought. She wouldn’t like to come up against Giovanni Cardella in court. He would have to be counsel for the prosecution, and she just knew that his approach would be deadly, his questions swift and lethal as a cobra’s strike. In fact she wouldn’t want to come up against Gio in any situation. He would be a formidable opponent, whatever the circumstances.

‘Was it an—an important case?’

She stumbled over the question because her treacherous mind chose just that moment to throw at her the image of another, totally different way she could possibly be against Gio. For a few, feverish seconds, her imagination ran riot at the thought of how it might feel to be held close to that lean, hard body, crushed against the wall of his chest in the grip of those powerful arms that the sleek tailoring of his jacket did nothing to disguise.

‘Important enough. International fraud—a man who’s been making millions… What are you smiling at?’

‘Nothing—I mean—I didn’t know I was…’

The pictures her wayward thoughts had been conjuring up of the way the devastating man opposite her might look with the sophisticated elegance of the jacket and shirt stripped away vanished in a second as the bubble of her fantasy was popped by his probing question. For a moment her hands wavered uncertainly in front of her face while she struggled with the temptation to cover her burning cheeks and hide behind them, away from his searching gaze. But then she forced them down again, reaching instead for her wine glass and taking a much-needed restorative sip.

‘If you must know I was feeling like Cinderella at the ball. I mean—all this…’

The hand that held her glass waved rather wildly as she used it to indicate her luxurious surroundings, the heavy linen tablecloths, the silverware and crystal glasses, the immaculately uniformed waiters, their footsteps hushed on the thick, rich pile of the red and gold carpet.

‘It’s hardly how I was expecting to spend my evening.’

A sudden memory slid into her mind. The image of Claire and Anna, just emerging from the doors of the conference room, their mouths agape and a look of total consternation and disbelief on their faces as they had seen her crossing the foyer with Gio at her side. By rights she should be with them now, sharing the cold buffet, thinking about packing, about leaving tomorrow morning.

She could only pray that Gio hadn’t seen them too. That he hadn’t caught the way they’d stopped dead, giggled, nudged each other, and then, most embarrassingly of all, given her a blatant ‘thumbs up’ sign of approval.

‘I was thinking that if I pinched myself I might suddenly wake up and find it was all a dream.’

‘And that I had turned into a pumpkin, hmm? Isn’t that how the story goes?’

‘Oh, no. Not at all! Prince Charming wasn’t transformed into anything. He stayed a prince all the way through.’

‘And is that how you see me?’ His tone was casual enough but there was an unexpected light in his eyes, one that made every tiny hair on the back of her neck suddenly lift in nervous apprehension. ‘Am I truly Prince Charming?’

Was he? Was he really the person he seemed? The delightful, easy-going dinner companion, the man who was politeness personified. Who had told her to order whatever she wanted from the menu, who made sure that her every need was attended to—her meal served, her glass filled, her plate cleared, even before she had realised that she wanted anything herself. Was this the real Giovanni Cardella or was there another side to him? What about the man who appeared in court?

‘You certainly can be charming when you choose,’ she said carefully.

‘Choose?’

‘Well—I get the feeling that you’ve deliberately set out to be this way. That you mean to be nice to me. That you—’

‘And why would I not?’ Gio cut in with a touch of sharpness. ‘You are a woman—and a beautiful one at that. Wouldn’t any man want to treat you like this? Wouldn’t any sane male want to “charm” you, to please you? To see you smile?’

‘I have to admit that it’s not exactly what I’m used to,’ Terrie murmured, totally thrown off balance by that softly emphasised ‘beautiful’. ‘The men that I’ve dated haven’t had your…flair—your skill—at this. Or the money to bring me here, for that matter.’

‘And the money is important?’

Gio recognised his mistake as soon as the words were out. Those soft grey eyes flew to his face, narrowing sharply as she caught the note of cynicism in his voice. So the lady didn’t want the truth being stated too openly? Well, he could go along with that. Part of his attraction for her might be that he obviously had the wealth to give her a good time, but she clearly preferred to pretend that it went deeper than that.

‘I’m not—’ Terrie began indignantly.

‘You’re the one who described yourself as Cinderella at the ball,’ Gio pointed out with calm reasonableness. ‘I got the impression that you weren’t used to being in a place like this. Was I wrong?’

‘Well—no…’ Terrie was forced to admit. ‘I don’t normally end up in posh restaurants—or hotels for that matter. It’s only because I was at this conference and the company’s paying that I’m here at all.’

‘The company that you have now decided you no longer want to work for?’

‘The same.’ Terrie nodded, her expression rueful. ‘So I expect that this will be my one and only taste of such luxury for a long, long time. I can’t expect fairy godfathers to come along every day of the week, can I?’

She looked deep into his eyes as she spoke, her lavender-coloured gaze wide and intent above the soft, full mouth. Watching her, Gio felt desire give him such a hard, demanding kick that he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

‘A moment ago I was Prince Charming, now you’ve cast me in the role of Fairy Godfather.’

Or she’d like to put him in that role. Well, if a long-term sugar daddy was what she was after then she was doomed to disappointment.

‘Perhaps you’re both?’

Though of course there was no way that the ‘Fairy’ part of the description fitted, Terrie reflected, her whole body tingling in sensual awareness of the strength and power of the hard masculine body seated opposite her. One lean brown hand rested on the starched tablecloth, the tanned skin standing out sharply against the crisp white damask, and, having dropped her gaze to it for a moment, she suddenly found herself unable to drag her eyes or her thoughts away again.

What would it feel like to have those long, strong fingers caress her skin? How would his touch move over her sensitive flesh? Would it be soft and tantalising or hard and demanding? Every female instinct told her that he was a man who would know how to love a woman. How to arouse her, to stir her senses until she was barely conscious with longing, to set her whole body quivering…

Oh, lord, what was she doing? Just to think like this was turning her on, making heated passion uncoil in yearning demand in the pit of her stomach. Clumsily she reached for her glass, swallowing down some of the wine in an attempt to ease the sudden dryness of her throat.

‘Of course, I suppose to you this is quite commonplace,’ she blurted out, desperate to move the conversation along and so distract herself from her wanton thoughts. ‘You must always be in places like this.’

‘My legal work takes me all over the world.’

‘That must be exciting—working in so many different countries.’

‘Not really.’

Gio shrugged off her comment.

‘When you’ve seen one hotel room, you’ve seen them all. And usually I’m working so hard that I don’t get to see anything of the places where I’m staying.’

And that was how he liked it. The truth was that he didn’t need to work; not financially at least. Thanks to the huge corporation owned by their joint families, both he and his half-brother Cesare were independently wealthy enough never to have to work again if they didn’t feel like it.

But working filled the long, empty hours of the day. It tired him so that at least he had some hope of sleeping at night and it stopped him from thinking—from remembering.

‘That’s a terrible pity! Such a waste. I’d love to see all those—’

‘I’m there to work,’ Gio interrupted crushingly. ‘And at the end of a long day in court I’m hardly in the mood for sightseeing.’

Perhaps now she’d get the message that he wasn’t prepared to listen to her unsubtle hints.

Leaning back in his chair, he too reached for his wine glass and sipped at his drink slowly, all the while watching the woman before him. Did he care that she was so obviously attracted by his wealth? he asked himself. And that she was trying to insinuate that maybe they could spend some time together?

No. Quite frankly, he didn’t give a damn. He was in the mood for some female company tonight—and for tonight only. And because of that he couldn’t care less what she found attractive about him. Only that she did find him attractive. Because with those huge, soft eyes, the tumble of pale hair, the moist, inviting mouth, she was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a long time.

Did she know the way the candlelight caught on her hair, raising sparks of brilliant gold in the ash-blonde strands? Was she aware of the way that it gave her skin a softly luminous sheen, like the glow on a string of the finest freshwater pearls? And had she sensed that when she leaned forward to talk to him the low V-neck of the white cotton top she wore gaped slightly, giving him a tantalisingly erotic glimpse of the shadowed, perfumed valley of her cleavage?

Of course she had! In fact, he suspected her of making that movement quite deliberately, knowing it had to intrigue him, set his pulses racing.

She was doing it again now, coming partway across the table, her arms resting on the cloth as she leaned on them. He just wished she’d take the jacket off to give him a better view.

‘I wasn’t hinting!’ she protested, actually managing to sound sincere.

‘Of course not.’

His response didn’t seem genuine, even in his own ears, but he didn’t care. If she thought he didn’t believe her, well, tough!

He reached for the bottle in the centre of the table.

‘More wine?’

‘No, thanks.’

Terrie was beginning to suspect that she’d already had more than enough. The alcohol was warming her blood, which, together with the heat in the room, made her whole body glow uncomfortably. Perhaps she’d feel better without the suit jacket.

‘Have you finished your meal?’

He might as well have asked if she could read his mind, because it seemed she could. No sooner had the thought that he would like her to remove her jacket crossed his mind than she had promptly obliged. And the effect of her actions, the way that her shoulders went back, pushing her small, high breasts forward, the small, sensually wriggling movements she made as she inched the linen sleeves down her arms, was like a neat shot of brandy in his veins, flooding him with heat.

‘Yes—thank you. I couldn’t eat another thing.’

‘Nothing sweet?’

‘I’d love something but I don’t think my figure could take it.’

The protest was accompanied by a smoothing movement of her hands from her ribcage, down and over her waist.

‘Don’t tempt me!’

If anyone was tempting, then it was her. That gesture had been designed to draw attention to the feminine curves of her shape, the swell of her breasts and the hips that were just barely visible before the flow of the tablecloth covered them. And just the thought of his own hands tracing the path that her fingers had taken made his body clench in cruelly hungry desire.

‘Your figure is quite perfect, and you know it.’

He had given up on any attempt to pretend that he was interested in eating. Even the rich red wine was ignored, his half-full glass abandoned, his attention wholly on her.

‘You don’t have to fish for compliments.’

‘I wasn’t…’

‘Of course not.’

There was something about his smile that caught on her nerves, but she couldn’t focus her thinking enough to try and decide just what it was. She felt as if that dark-eyed gaze, his irises more black than brown in the shadowy candlelight, was an intangible force, holding her mesmerised and unable to move.

‘But it doesn’t matter. You can have all the compliments you want.’

‘I—I can?’

His proud head nodded slowly, black eyes locking with grey-blue.

‘What would you like me to say? That you are beautiful? Believe me, you are. That your skin has the delicate softness of a perfect peach?’

That he couldn’t wait to strip the clinging top from her body, expose the creamy flesh it covered, feast his eyes and his hands, his mouth…?

‘That your eyes are the colour of a dove’s wing and every bit as—’

‘Oh, stop! Stop it!’ Terrie cried, mortified into leaning forward and catching hold of his hand in order to shut him up. ‘You’re going way over the top.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

Embarrassed beyond speech, she could only shake her head emphatically, sending the pale cloud of hair flying.

‘You’re flattering—’

‘I never flatter.’

His tone stopped her dead, making her blink in confusion.

A single strand of wheat-coloured hair had caught at the corner of her soft pink mouth and, leaning across the table, he reached out and eased it free again. But once he had the silky lock in his hand he didn’t release it but lingered, slowly twisting the delicate strands round and round his finger until she was forced to incline her head even closer to him, to avoid him tugging on her scalp.

‘Never…’ he murmured, his mouth seeming only inches away from her own. And the look in his eyes, the unconcealed passion that burned there, was positively indecent in such a public place.

Twice Terrie swallowed hard, vainly struggling to ease the dryness in her throat. Twice she opened her lips, trying to speak, but no sound would come out.

The rest of the room seemed to have faded into a buzzing haze, the murmured voices of the diners, the faint clatter of plates, the clink of glasses all blurring into one indecipherable mass. But in Terrie’s mind, or at least the part of it that would focus, there was only herself and this sensually devastating man before her.

Releasing the pale strand of hair, Gio tucked it back behind her ear with a gentleness that wrenched at something in her heart. And the path that his hand had traced burned against her skin like a mark he had left there, a brand that said she was his and his alone. It would be totally invisible to the naked eye, but she would always know it was there—and so would he.

‘Remember that…I never flatter.’

His dark gaze dropped to where her hand still lay on his, looking pale and delicate in contrast to the tanned power of his fingers. Twisting his hand in hers so that they were palm to palm, he linked his fingers with hers, smoothing his thumb softly over her skin.

‘So, no sweet,’ he said, reverting to the conversation of moments before. ‘Coffee? A liqueur?’

‘C-coffee would be nice.’

Somehow she forced her tongue to work, wincing inwardly when she heard the way that it croaked and fractured at the end of the sentence.

‘We’ll take it in the lounge.’

It was a command, not a suggestion, and she could only nod a silent acquiescence to the tone of his voice.

He didn’t release her hand as they stood up, but kept his fingers locked with hers, pulling her to his side as soon as she had moved clear of the table. With his free hand he scooped up the discarded red jacket, tossing it over his arm, barely waiting for her to collect her handbag before he headed towards the door out of the restaurant.

She knew how he felt, Terrie reflected shakenly. She shared that sudden need to be somewhere quieter, less public—more intimate. The thoughts that were in her head, the feelings that his words and his touch had triggered off, were not at all appropriate for the public rooms of a big London hotel. She felt sure that the sensual inferno raging in her blood must be etched onto her face, stamped onto her forehead in letters of fire for all to read. Even if they found the darkest, the most secluded corner of the lounge, she suspected that the heat of the yearning that had her in its grip must radiate from her, scorching anyone who passed.

But if they had wanted peace and quiet, as soon as they entered the lounge she saw that they would be disappointed. The comfortable chairs and cushioned settees dotted around the huge room were all occupied. Almost all the guests who had eaten in the restaurant had chosen to take their coffee here, and they looked as if they planned to linger late into the evening.

‘We’re out of luck.’ Gio’s tone was flat, unrevealing of what he was thinking.

Perhaps they were in luck. Terrie swallowed, made herself speak before her nerve broke completely.

‘Do you think they would bring the coffee to our—to my—your room?’

Such simple words but she almost felt the reverberations that followed from them echoing through the room, making the floor suddenly unsteady beneath her feet. And Gio’s sudden silence, the total stillness of his long body beside her, made it clear that he was thinking much the same thing.

‘It would be quieter—more private.’

‘Is that what you want?’

He was watching her again, waiting for her reply. But all Terrie’s strength had deserted her, along with her ability to speak. She could only nod silently, unable to put into words the way she was feeling.

She didn’t care if it was foolish, if it was the craziest, the most rash decision she had ever made. Ruthlessly she pushed aside the protesting cries of her offended sense of self-preservation, the promptings of innate caution. It didn’t matter what the end result would be, what risks she was running. She only knew that she couldn’t let this evening end now, here, in this public room. She couldn’t let this man go, walk out of her life, without seeing just how far this unexpected relationship might go.

She knew she would regret it for the rest of her life if she did.

So she nodded again, more firmly this time, and wetted her painfully dry lips, praying that her voice would obey her this time.

‘Yes,’ she said rawly, thankful that at least she could speak even if the word sounded horribly rough round the edges. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I want.’