Читать книгу Scandals Of The Powerful - Sarah Morgan, Carol Marinelli - Страница 13

CHAPTER FOUR

EMILY WAS almost glad to be away from Anton, just grateful for the moment to gather her thoughts. It was as if the soft contact of their mouths had bruised her, for she could still feel him on her lips, and now she gave in and ran her tongue over them. She looked out to the sultry Palermo night. The moon was glittering on the ocean and the boats were bobbing in the gentle breeze. It all looked so tranquil and calm, unlike the busy restaurant behind her.

Unlike herself.

No man had ever affected Emily so.

She tried to think of one that had even come close but no-one ever had. As she stood there, every thought, every safe assumption, was fast coming undone. Emily didn’t believe in lightning bolts or attractions so intense that she might consider going to bed with a man whose surname she didn’t even know.

Yet here she was considering it.

More than that, she was picturing it.

Right here, right now her mind was trying to delete images, because just the memory of his mouth on her ear had her neck arching to one side with sinful imaginings.

It was then she heard the door open and close behind her as a couple stepped onto the balcony, and she remembered the reason Anton had sent her out here. She smiled briefly to the woman but the man’s eyes did not wander to her, so she turned back to the view. But so devastating was the impact of Anton that Emily had to remind herself she was here to eavesdrop on the couple, and she was surprised to hear that they were speaking in English.

When the conversation became heated and to stay would appear intrusive, Emily headed inside to find their mains had been served.

They chatted about the stunning view as the waiters did the cheese-and-pepper thing, and after a suitable pause Anton asked what she had heard.

‘She was telling him to slow down his drinking. That he needed to be sober.’

‘You speak Italian?’

‘No, they were speaking in English.’

‘Okay.’ He gave a slight impatient shake to his head. ‘I do not know her, but that is nothing new. No-one can keep up with the women he dates. That is Santo. Tomorrow he is best man.’

It was the strangest night. She was acting, yet she was surrounded by glamour, by beauty, and there was just this thrum between them, and the laughter and conversation came from a more natural place than the woman she was portraying.

He watched as she struggled to finish her pasta.

‘It is the best in Sicily,’ he said as she put her cutlery down and pushed her half-finished plate aside.

‘It’s divine.’ It was, except her hand did not want to be swirling strings of pasta around a fork when it could be held by his, and her mouth did not want to be eating when she could be speaking with him. The restaurant was suddenly too noisy, too busy, all distractions unwelcome. Emily shook her head when the waiter came over with champagne but he ignored her protest and poured two glasses.

‘Tonight, we celebrate,’ Anton said, still holding her hand, and even though he’d prewarned her, Emily’s surprise was genuine when, with his free hand, he went into his pocket and he pulled out a ring. For a while there she had forgotten they were acting, just completely caught up in the moment, enjoying being with this stunning man, and she took a breath to steady herself as he took her hand and slipped on the ring.

It was exquisite, Italian gold with yellow diamonds and tiny seed pearls in an antique setting, and there was no question it was real.

‘Where...?’ She did not understand. They’d only been apart an hour.

‘It was my mother’s.’

Of course they were acting, Emily thought, out-of-place tears suddenly filling her eyes, for lucky was the woman this night belonged to.

‘Is that a yes?’ Anton asked.

She heard the murmur from a few tables. It was just so overwhelming. Her face was burning as she nodded, and as she did, the patrons in the restaurant started tapping their glasses, urging the couple to seal things with a kiss.

‘Anton...’ As his hands held her cheeks, she was petrified to kiss him, not because he was a stranger but because there could then be no denying her pleasure and want.

‘The things you have to suffer for your craft.’ Anton smiled as his mouth moved in.

Yes, she could be in Wales now, was her last thought as his mouth met hers and the tension from brief kiss that had teased was both relieved and inflamed with much-needed pressure. A five-star kiss in a five-star restaurant, his mouth soft yet suggestive on her lips, his scent, the feel of his warm hands on her burning cheeks. There was a moment where he increased the pressure, where he shifted just a little and she felt as if they were both lost, not in the moment or in the couple they were pretending to be but in each other.

Anton was.

He tasted her lips and he wanted more; he felt them part and he wanted inside. He wanted her head on his pillow and her legs wrapped around him, but more than that he wanted the morning.

He pulled his mouth back, jolted by private admissions, fighting the urge to reclaim her mouth and lose himself again.

‘You make tonight possible.’ His forehead was resting on hers and both were breathless. ‘They do not even glance over,’ Anton said. ‘They know we are turned on.’

‘We’re good actors,’ Emily attempted.

‘Some things you cannot fake,’ Anton said, and it would be pointless to deny. They both fought to remember then the real reason that they were here. ‘What is happening?’

Emily glanced over. ‘The old lady looks as if she is about to go.’

Anton called for the bill.

‘I’m getting this.’ Emily reached for her bag but he simply ignored her and she let him. It had long ago stopped being simply work. His hand was completely steady as he put his card in the heavy velvet folder.

‘They will stay about two minutes after she has gone. They are here only for her sake.’ Anton’s face was close. ‘Soon I’ll kiss you again,’ he warned. ‘Soon we give the bodyguards our reason to leave.’

‘She’s standing.’ His thumb was playing with Emily’s bottom lip.

‘So are her bodyguards,’ Anton said, and she saw in her peripheral vision that two men at another table had stood.

The credit card was back.

‘Don’t look,’ Anton warned. ‘Not once.’

He didn’t have to worry. The second his mouth touched hers, Emily forgot all about the Correttis. His lips were warm. His hands moved to the back of her head, pressing her into him, and she struggled to stop her lips from parting until, as if remembering where they were, he stood.

‘Come.’

They walked through the restaurant and down the steps that led to the entrance but he halted her on the bend midway, kissed her hard against the wall, and her mouth stopped fighting instinct then, simply opened up and let him in, his tongue repeating his thumb’s motions in her mouth—circling, pressing, probing. Emily was kissing him back for dear life, tasting him as if she recognised him, absolutely forgetting where she was as she gave in to the thunderbolt that had struck. He cupped her buttocks and kissed her senseless. Her hands moved to his chest, into his jacket, and suddenly the kiss halted, his hand catching hers, stopping hers, but not before she felt the cool metal of a gun.

‘Keep kissing.’ The doors were opening, people were coming out and she was in terror. He was kissing her thoroughly. She could hear the conversations from the Correttis as they walked down the stairs past them and out into the night. Only then did he release her lips, which were trembling in fear.

‘No wonder you didn’t want to give your name!’ What the hell had she been thinking? Maybe she did need to toughen up, as she had never been more terrified in her life. He was holding her and telling her to calm down.

‘It’s not what you think, Emily. I’m a detective.’ He took out his wallet and showed it to her and all the little things he had said made sense now. ‘Which is why the Correttis would prefer that I did not know them at times.’

Her breath was coming back but still her heart would not slow down.

‘I did not expect what just happened.’ He looked at her. ‘That things would get so out of hand.’

‘You should have told me.’

‘I tell few people,’ Anton said, ‘but I would have told you later tonight.’ Her eyes flashed at the inference. Her mind searched for a sharp retort to his presumption but they both knew it would be a lie. ‘I took a phone call when I was speaking with you earlier this evening. A colleague told me where the Correttis were dining. I eat there sometimes.’

Her eyebrows raised because she didn’t really imagine that the five-star restaurant would be frequented regularly on a detective’s wage, but she didn’t have time to properly process that as Anton continued.

‘To get a booking, given they were dining there tonight, I had to give a good reason.’ He looked down to the ring on her hand. ‘I went home and got this. There wasn’t time for anything else. Emily, had I told you I was a detective and this was my plan, we would never have pulled it off.’

Emily nodded. She could see that now.

‘Having seen them, perhaps now you understand better their world. It is almost impossible to get close to them at such a function.’

‘And we did.’ A pale smile stretched her lips, but just as she was starting to calm down, he spun her into confusion again.

‘Spend the weekend with me.’ He looked at her. Two nights with one woman was a big deal for his black heart, but two nights with Emily, he could do. Feelings were surfacing, ones that had been locked in a vault and entombed in cement. No-one got close. And yet she had. Though it unnerved him, the saving grace was that by Sunday she would be gone.

‘I can tell you everything you want to know about them.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to spread the word, not just about the Correttis but they would be a very good place to start.’ And then he looked at her and gave her the other reason, the words unfamiliar to his lips. ‘I would like to spend time with you, to get to know you some more,’ Anton said, safe in the knowledge that soon she’d be gone. He released her then and took her hand as they walked out into the dark street. It had been evening when they had entered, and it was night-time now. Just a space of a few hours and yet so much for Emily had changed.

His car had been brought around and they drove in silence to her hotel, Emily wrestling with indecision. Tonight she had glimpsed not just wealth and glamour but the dizzying presence of Anton, and the combination was undeniably heady. She wanted the information he would give her, but in truth it played no part in the decision she was coming to. A holiday romance, Emily thought. A working-holiday romance....

Although the word romance did not really equate with Anton.

She sneaked a look at him, scarcely able to believe what she was considering, but in thirty years on this earth she hadn’t even come close to tasting the passion she already had tonight, had never been more intrigued by another. This was a man she so badly wanted to get to know.

He pulled to a halt at the foyer. The car door was opened and she turned in her seat to step out.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Emily frowned because the engine was still idling and he was making no indication of getting out.

‘I’m not staying here.’

‘Oh!’ She had assumed, given it was where they had met, that he was. Emily had hoped for a drink in the bar to see where that led, for some time to make up her mind.

He had, in effect, driven her home, Emily realised.

‘I think you’re the guy my mother spent years warning me about.’ She tried to make a small joke but he just stared back at her.

‘Was she wasting her breath?’ Anton asked.

It was a good question. The choice now was completely hers. She pushed a foot towards the ground, went to remove herself from the car, but already she could taste the regret that would surely plague her forever if she denied herself this time. And in that moment Emily followed not her head but her heart.

She turned to his waiting eyes and with one smouldering look he confirmed her decision was the right one. Emily wanted wild and irresponsible. She wanted her weekend with this beautiful, sexy man.

‘Completely,’ was her response.

Nervous, unsure, hopelessly aroused, she pulled in her legs and closed the door and, most unexpectedly, a moment later she found herself laughing. He told her to put her belt on as the car pulled off, and he turned on the hidden sirens and lights. She was pressed back in her seat as he sped her through the dark streets of Palermo.

‘Do we need the siren?’ she shouted.

‘Unless you want me to stop and take you over the car.’

He took her hand and placed it where nature surely intended.

There was a moment where she considered tapping him on the shoulder and telling him that she did not do this sort of thing.

‘Anton, I—’

‘Don’t.’ He felt a decade younger; he felt as if he was living. She did not need to offer excuses. This night was theirs. ‘There is no explaining it.’

There was no explaining it and so she did not try. It was the most reckless night of her life, but the best one.

He turned the lights and sirens off as they left the town centre, but he drove at breakneck speed through the rocky hills to his vast home. Huge security gates opened and closed behind them as a garage door opened and they slid inside.

The garage alone was twice the size of her house and about ten times more luxurious. She could barely stand as she climbed out of the car and he walked around to take her hand. She’d had two sips of champagne, yet she felt as if she’d drunk the bottle.

He started to kiss her but she moved her head back. One taste and they’d be doing as he had teasingly suggested, but her willpower was rather lacking when Anton was around.

Just one taste....