Читать книгу A Tainted Beauty - Шэрон Кендрик, Sharon Kendrick - Страница 11

‘SO WHAT do you think, Lily? I know it’s a bit small.’

Fiona Weston’s soft voice penetrated Lily’s thoughts as she stared out of the dusty apartment window onto the street below. The village wasn’t exactly in a throbbing metropolis, but it still seemed unbelievably noisy when compared to the peace and quiet she was used to. A cluster of men were standing outside The Duchess of Cambridge pub, all clutching pints and puffing away at cigarettes. A man shot past on a scooter and Lily winced as it emitted a series of ear-splitting popping sounds.

Well, she was just going to have to get used to it. No more fragrant roses scenting the air outside her window—and no more gazing out at the distant woods or gently rolling fields. Instead, she was going to have to learn to live with the sound of people and cars—because the village car park was only a short distance away.

‘It’s… it’s lovely, Fiona,’ said Lily, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, though it wasn’t easy. The brandy she’d knocked back earlier had left her with a splitting headache and she couldn’t get Ciro D’Angelo’s dark face out of her mind. Or the memory of the way she’d responded when he’d caught hold of her wrist.

It was bad enough that his purchase had caused this dramatic turnaround in her fortunes, but it was made much worse by her reaction to him. He had made her feel vulnerable and he’d made her feel frustrated, too. And while a part of her had hated the rush of pleasure she’d felt when he’d touched her—hadn’t the other part revelled in the feeling of sexual desire? She forced a smile. ‘Absolutely lovely,’ she repeated.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Fiona doubtfully. ‘You can move in any time you want.’

Lily nodded like one of those old-fashioned dogs her grandfather used to have in the back of his car and she remembered his positive outlook on life. Shouldn’t she be more like that? To start counting her blessings? ‘I can’t wait! It’s such a fantastically compact little apartment—and with a lick of paint and a few pot-plants, you won’t recognise the place.’

‘It could certainly do with a facelift,’ said Fiona. ‘Though I don’t know where your brother’s going to sleep when he’s home from school.’

Lily had been wondering the same thing herself. ‘Oh, he’s very adaptable,’ she said, wondering if sixteen-year-old boys ever stopped growing. ‘And I’m going to splash out and buy a lovely new sofa-bed,’ she added.

‘Good for you.’ Fiona smiled. ‘Anyway, I’ve kept the rent nice and low.’

She mentioned a sum which seemed outrageously modest. ‘I can’t possibly let you charge me something like that,’ said Lily shakily.

‘Oh, yes, you can,’ said her boss, sounding quite fierce for once. ‘You’re a hard worker, Lily—and it’s your cakes which keep the customers coming back for more.’

On an impulse, Lily reached out to hug the kindly woman who had given her flexible working hours since the village tearooms had opened. The undemanding job had provided refuge during the dark days of her mother’s illness and her father’s rapid remarriage. Hadn’t it been a kind of release for Lily, to be able to lose herself in the simple routine of serving people cups of tea and slices of cake? And hadn’t the reassuring routine helped numb the horrible reality of the district nurse arriving daily, to give Mum another pain-killing injection?

From working on Saturdays and during school holidays, Lily had gone full time at the age of eighteen and had never really looked back. She’d started as a waitress—and when Fiona had discovered that she had a gift for baking, she’d asked Lily to supply the cakes, which she’d done ever since. For a non-academic girl who needed to be there for her brother, the job had been a gift.

Turning away from the window, Lily smiled. ‘Well, if that’s all settled, I’d better get to work or we’ll have some very discontented customers on our hands. And we can’t have that.’

‘No, we can’t!’ Fiona laughed as the two women went downstairs.

Pleased at having made a decision which seemed to be the only bright light on the horizon, Lily changed into her pink uniform and slipped on a pair of sensible shoes. But as she tidied her hair in front of the mirror she was horribly aware of the feverish glitter in her eyes and the two spots of colour which highlighted her pale cheeks.

She looked different.

Unsettled.

A little bit wild.

But it wasn’t just shock at her changed circumstances which was responsible for her altered appearance. It was the reawakening of sexual desire, too, and she knew very well who was responsible for that.

The afternoon shift was hectic, but she was on duty with her friend Danielle, whom she’d known for ever. The tearoom’s proximity to a church reputed to be the birthplace of a famous saint meant that there was always a steady stream of customers, but on a glorious sunny day like today the place was packed. The new ice-cream range was popular, they ran out of lemon drizzle cake—and Fiona had to drive to the cash-and-carry to stock up on strawberry jam. Yet Lily was grateful to be busy, because it stopped her from wondering just where her life was heading and what the future was going to be like now that the house had been sold.

Just before closing time, the last customer had wandered out and Danielle had disappeared to start the washing up, when the tinkling of a bell announced a new arrival. Stifling a sigh, which she quickly turned into a smile, Lily looked up from rearranging some cakes on a stand and looked straight into the dark eyes of Ciro D’Angelo.

Her smile froze to her lips as a shiver begin to skate over her skin. It didn’t seem to matter that she was still angry with him—he seemed capable of creating a powerful reaction just by being in the same room. When he looked at her like that, she could feel the prickling of her skin in response.

‘We close in ten minutes,’ she said.

‘I’ll wait.’

Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘Wait for what?’

‘For you to finish.’

‘Excuse me, but I think you might have mistaken me for somebody else.’

‘I don’t think you’re easy to mistake for anyone else, Lily,’ he said softly, making no attempt to hide the appreciative gaze which lingered on the luscious curve of her breasts. ‘I’ve certainly never met anyone quite like you before.’

Angrily, Lily shook her head. There it was—another of those meaningless compliments which seemed to flow from his lips like honey. How many of those did he trot out on a daily basis, she wondered—and how many women ended up falling for them? She found herself lowering her voice, even though Danielle was well out of earshot and any sounds were drowned by the clatter of washing up. ‘Didn’t we just have a huge row?’ she asked. ‘And didn’t I imply that I didn’t want to see you again?’

Ciro shrugged. ‘Things sometimes get said in the heat of the moment.’

‘Things do—but I meant every word of them,’ she insisted.

‘Well, I’m here now—and the sign on the door says you’re still open,’ he said, pulling out a chair and lowering his powerful frame into it. ‘So I’m afraid you’re going to have to serve me.’

Lily shot an anxious glance at the door—longing for Fiona to return and yet dreading it at the same time. She wanted him to go and yet she wanted to feast her eyes on him. In a place filled with paper doilies and flower-sprigged cake stands, he made the tearoom look completely unsubstantial. It was as if a giant had walked into a model village and taken up residence there.

‘I want you to leave,’ she said breathlessly.

His eyes sent her a mocking challenge. ‘No, you don’t.’

His silken taunt had an alarming effect on her and so did the sensual message which underpinned it and Lily could feel the distracting tightening of her breasts. She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Obviously, I can’t physically eject you.’

He elevated his dark brows. ‘I agree you might have a little difficulty,’ he murmured.

She glanced at her watch. ‘We have exactly seven minutes until closing time—so I’d advise you to place your order quickly.’

‘That’s easy. I’d like some lemon cake—something like the one I missed out on last week.’

‘I’m afraid we’re right out of lemon cake.’

He gave a lazy smile. ‘Is there anything else you recommend?’

‘Well, since I make the cakes which are sold here, I’d recommend them all.’

Ciro’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do?’

‘Yep.’ She whipped out her order pad. ‘And we’ve only got coffee or chocolate left—so which is it to be?’

‘Scrub it.’

‘Scrub what?’

‘My order.’

He began to get up out of his chair and Lily felt her heart lurch with something which felt infuriatingly like disappointment. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

‘Sì, ho cambiato idea. I have changed my mind.’

His sudden, seamless switch into Italian disorientated her, as did the fact that he had stepped up close to her—close enough to notice that dark rasp of new growth at his jaw which she had so wanted to touch before. And the stupid thing was that she still wanted to touch it. She wanted to touch him—to see whether he could possibly feel as good as he looked. ‘What does that mean?’ she questioned suspiciously.

‘I’m agreeing with you. I don’t want to sit here while you wait on me with that tight and angry look on your face,’ he said.

‘I’m glad you’ve taken the hint to leave me alone.’

‘But I haven’t.’ He smiled with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what her response was going to be. ‘Not until you’ve said you’ll have dinner with me.’

Lily felt the crashing of her heart as those dark eyes bored into her. She could feel her cheeks growing hotter by the minute. He was so… so… sure of himself. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘I think I am a little, sì,’ he said, unexpectedly. ‘Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I keep remembering the way you stood in that kitchen, with flour all over your hands and an apron around your tiny waist, looking like some old-fashoned domestic goddess. And believe me, it is not usual for me to be so preoccupied with a woman.’

‘I suppose it’s usually the other way round, is it?’ she observed sarcastically. ‘Women completely obsessed by you from the moment they set eyes on you?’

‘Can you blame them?’ came his unapologetic response accompanied by the faintest suggestion of a smile. ‘But my undoubted appeal to the opposite sex isn’t why I’m here today. I want you to know that I feel bad about what’s happened.’

‘At least there’s some justice left in the world.’

Ciro bit back a smile. ‘It was wrong of me not to have told you I was buying the Grange. But you must agree that I found myself in a difficult position.’

In spite of her determination to resist him, Lily found herself hesitating because surely that was genuine contrition she could read in his eyes? And it wasn’t really his place to keep her up to speed on what was happening with the house, was it? ‘Suzy should have told me sooner,’ she conceded.

‘Yes, she should.’ Sensing capitulation, Ciro smiled. ‘So if there’s no quarrel between us, then why not let me buy you dinner?’

She sucked in a deep breath. Maybe she should just be straight with him. Because Ciro D’Angelo was clearly a player and she didn’t go in for casual sex with men—no matter how rich or how gorgeous they happened to be. ‘I don’t go out with men very often.’

‘I find that very hard to believe.’

‘Believe it, because it’s true.’

‘And I think you ought to make an exception in my case,’ he murmured.

Lily stared into his dark eyes. His soft words were like fingertips whispering erotically over her skin. She should say no. Of course she should—because he was making her want to do things she didn’t want to think about. Things she’d forgotten about. Or, rather, the person she’d forgotten about. The woman she’d been before her fiancé had dumped her. He made her want to wear silk stockings and tiny little scraps of barely there underwear. He made her want to feel his fingers tracking their way over her body and splaying against the cool flesh of her thigh. He made her feel things she’d forgotten she was capable of feeling—like pleasure and desire and a pure, raw yearning. And he might as well have had the word ‘danger’ stamped across his forehead in big red letters. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

Ciro smiled. He loved her hesitation. Loved it. ‘Please.’

‘And I’m just wondering,’ she said slowly, ‘why a cosmopolitan and obviously successful businessman like you is buying a big house in the middle of the English countryside.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘How would I know, when it seems that I’m the last to know anything?’

There was a pause. ‘I’m planning to turn it into a hotel.’

Lily’s eyes widened. A hotel? ‘You’re going to turn the Grange into a hotel?’ she breathed in horror.

‘It will be a beautiful and tasteful hotel,’ he defended. ‘My hotels always are. Ask around if you don’t believe me.’

But taste was subjective, wasn’t it? Lily imagined the bedrooms turned from their faded familiarity into places with horrible swagged four-poster beds. She thought of corporate beige carpeting and those over-the-top hotel displays of flowers, which always made her think of funeral parlours. ‘And that’s supposed to reassure me?’

He felt like telling her that it was not her place to be reassured, yet he wanted her so much that he was prepared to overlook her impertinence. ‘If it means that you’ll have dinner with me, then, yes—be reassured. Come on, Lily. Just one evening. One dinner. What are you so frightened of?’

She wondered what he’d say if she answered ‘everything’. If she told him that the whole world looked a terrifying place just now. That she was worrying about her brother’s future. About how the two of them were going to adjust to living in that tiny apartment.

But hot on the trail of her fears came the realisation that she was becoming a bit of a hermit. She tried to remember the last time she’d been tempted to go out for dinner with a man. Her broken relationship with Tom had damaged her, yes—but wasn’t she in danger of letting the damage deepen if she locked herself away, like some medieval woman in a tower? When had she last done something really reckless, just for the hell of it? Why shouldn’t she spend the evening with Ciro D’Angelo—unless she really thought herself so spineless that she’d be unable to resist falling into bed with him?

‘I don’t want a late night,’ she warned.

Ciro smiled as a feeling of triumph spread through his veins. ‘What’s your number?’

‘407649,’ she said, noticing that he didn’t bother writing it down as he took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.

‘I’ll call you,’ he said.

A figure appeared at the window—a middle-aged woman carrying jars of jam—and Ciro automatically got up to hold the door open for her, noticing her curious glance as she passed. Stepping outside into the sunlit day, his senses began to fizz with excitement. Because for a moment back then, he’d thought that Lily Scott was going to refuse to have dinner with him. A moment when he had tasted the unfamiliar flavour of uncertainty.