Читать книгу Rome's Revenge - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

THIS is lunacy, thought Cory, and I should run out of here and have myself committed immediately.

But she couldn’t. For one thing, she was too sore to run anywhere. For another, her wallet and keys were in her tote bag, which Rome d’Angelo must have rescued after her fall and which was now hanging from one muscular shoulder as he waited at the counter in the coffee shop.

So, she said, perforce, to stay where she was, perched in rigid discomfort on one of the pretty wrought-iron chairs at the corner table he’d taken her to.

Round one to him, it seemed.

And all she had to do now was ensure there wasn’t a round two.

Because every instinct she possessed was warning her yet again that this was a man to avoid. That he was danger in its rawest sense.

Anyone with a year-round tan and eyes like the Mediterranean was out of her league anyway, she reminded herself drily. But the peril that Rome d’Angelo represented went far deeper than mere physical attraction.

It’s as if I know him, she thought restlessly. As if I’ve always known him…

She felt it in her blood. Sensed it buried deep in her bones. And it scared her.

I’ll drink my coffee, thank him politely, and get the hell out of here, she thought. That’s the best—the safest way to handle this.

She was by no means the only one aware of his presence, she realised. From all over the room glances were being directed at him, and questions whispered. And all from women. She could almost feel the frisson.

But then, she certainly couldn’t deny his eye-catching potential, she acknowledged unwillingly.

He was even taller than she’d originally thought, topping her by at least five inches. Lean hips and long legs were emphasised by close-fitting faded denims, and he wore a collarless white shirt, open at the throat. A charcoal jacket that looked like cashmere was slung over one shoulder, along with her tote bag.

He looked relaxed, casual—and powerfully in control.

And she, on the other hand, must be the only woman in the room with damp hair and not a trace of make-up. Which, as she hastily reminded herself, really couldn’t matter less…

Pull yourself together, she castigated herself silently.

She saw him returning and moved uneasily, and unwisely, suppressing a yelp as she did so.

‘Arnica,’ he said, as he put the cups down on the table.

‘Really?’ Her brow lifted. ‘I thought it was café latte.’

‘It comes in tablet or cream form,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It will bring out the bruising.’

‘I think that’s already escaped,’ Cory admitted, wincing. She eyed him as he took his seat. ‘You know a lot about herbal medicine?’

‘No.’ He smiled at her, his gaze drifting with deliberate sensuousness from her eyes, to her mouth, and down to her small breasts, untrammelled under the cling of the ancient tee shirt, and then back to meet her startled glance. ‘My expertise lies in other areas.’

Cory, heart thumping erratically, hastily picked up her cup and sipped.

‘Yuck.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘This has sugar in it.’

‘The recognised treatment for shock.’ Rome nodded. ‘A hot, sweet drink.’

‘I fell down a couple of steps,’ she said. ‘I’m sore, but hardly shocked.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But you didn’t see your face just before you fell.’ He paused, allowing her a moment to digest that. ‘How did you enjoy the ball?’

Pointless to pretend she hadn’t noticed him, or didn’t recognise him, Cory realised, smouldering.

She managed a casual shrug. ‘Not very much. I didn’t stay long.’

‘What a coincidence,’ he said softly. ‘Clearly, we feel the same about such events.’

‘Then why buy a ticket?’

‘Because it was in such a good cause. I found it impossible to resist.’ He drank some of his own coffee. ‘Don’t you like dancing?’

‘I don’t think it likes me,’ she said ruefully. ‘I have this tendency to stand on peoples’ feet, and no natural rhythm.’

‘I doubt that.’ Rome leaned back in his chair, the blue eyes faintly mocking. ‘I think you just haven’t found the right partner.’

There was a brief, seething silence, and Cory’s skin prickled as if someone’s fingertips had brushed softly across her pulse-points.

She hurried into speech. ‘Talking of coincidences, what are you doing here?’

‘I came to look over the facilities.’

‘You live in the area?’ The question escaped before she could prevent it.

‘I plan to.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope that won’t be a problem for you.’

Cory stiffened. ‘Why should it?’

‘My appearance seems to have a dire effect on you.’

‘Nothing of the kind,’ she returned with studied coolness. ‘Don’t read too much into a moment’s clumsiness. I’m famous for it. And London’s a big place,’ she added. ‘We’re unlikely to meet again.’

‘On the contrary,’ he said softly. ‘We’re bound to have at least one more encounter. Don’t you know that everything happens in threes?’

Cory said shortly, ‘Well, I’m not superstitious.’ And crossed her fingers under cover of the table. She hesitated. ‘Are you planning to take out a membership here?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’ His blue gaze flickered over her again. ‘Although, admittedly, it seems to have everything I want.’

‘And separate days for men and women,’ Cory commented pointedly, aware that her mouth had gone suddenly dry.

‘Except for weekends, when families are encouraged to use the place.’ His tone was silky.

Cory played with the spoon in her saucer. ‘And is that what you plan to do? Bring your family?’

His brows lifted. ‘One day, perhaps,’ he drawled. ‘When I have a family.’ He paused again. ‘I’m Rome d’Angelo, but perhaps you know that already,’ he added casually.

Cory choked over a mouthful of coffee, and put her cup down with something of a slam.

‘Isn’t that rather an arrogant assumption?’ she demanded with hauteur.

He grinned at her, unabashed. ‘And isn’t that a defence rather than a reply?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cory said, feeling one of those hated blushes beginning to warm her face. Oh, no, she appealed silently. Please, no.

He said, ‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘To do what?’ Fall over again, send the table crashing, spill my coffee everywhere?

‘To tell me your name.’

She said with sudden crispness, ‘I’m grateful for your help, Mr d’Angelo, but that doesn’t make us friends.’

‘I’d settle for acquaintances?’ he suggested.

‘Not even that.’ Cory shook her head with determination. ‘Ships that pass in the night.’

‘But we didn’t pass. We collided.’ He leaned forward suddenly, and, in spite of herself, Cory flinched. ‘Tell me something,’ he invited huskily. ‘If I’d come down to the ballroom last night, and asked you to dance—what would you have said?’

She didn’t look at him, but stared down at the table as, for a few seconds, her mind ran wild with speculation, dangerous fantasies jostling her like last night’s dreams.

Then she forced a shrug, only to wish she hadn’t as her bruises kicked back. ‘How about, “Thank you—but I’m here with someone.”?’

Rome’s mouth twisted. ‘He seemed to be doing a great job.’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Cory fought back. ‘Will you please accept, Mr d’Angelo, that I don’t need a saviour, or a Prince Charming either.’

‘And your circle of friends is complete, too.’ He was smiling faintly, but those incredible eyes glinted with challenge. ‘So what is left, I wonder? Which of your needs is not being catered for?’

Cory’s face was burning again, but with anger rather than embarrassment. She said, ‘My life is perfectly satisfactory, thank you.’

He was unperturbed by the snap in her voice. ‘No room for improvement anywhere?’

‘I have simple tastes.’

‘Yet you wear Christian Dior,’ he said. ‘You’re more complicated than you think.’

Suddenly breathless, Cory reached down for her tote bag, jerking it towards her. Then rose. ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ she said. ‘And for the character analysis. I hope you don’t do it for a living. Goodbye, Mr d’Angelo.’

He got to his feet, too. His smile held real charm. ‘Until next time—Miss Grant.’

She’d almost reached the door when she realised what he’d said, and swung round, lips parting in a gasp of angry disbelief.

But Rome d’Angelo wasn’t there. He must have used the exit that led straight to the street, she realised in frustration.

Her mouth tightened. So, he liked to play games. Well, she had no intention of joining in—or of rising to any more of his bait.