Chapter Two

“You are joking, right?”

Panic flared in Anna’s eyes for perhaps a quarter of a second, only to be extinguished almost immediately with a cool, suspicious frown. Nick hadn’t expected his idea to be an easy sell, but against the odds, he’d fantasized about an immediate positive reaction.

Which obviously, he wasn’t going to get. Maledizione! She was so poised and in control nowadays. Far more buttoned up than she once was. He wondered sourly if associating with dull, safe men had suppressed her natural wild streak as well as her sometimes fiery temper.

If so, it was high time he rescued her from that, even if only for the duration of a temporary arrangement.

“On the contrary, I’m completely serious.” He allowed Anna to extricate her hand from his, half fearing that she might wipe her fingers on her fetching silky dress to wipe his touch away. She didn’t, but her eyes were still wary. “I’ve never been more serious in my life,” he added.

Those green eyes, once so hot and full of passion, narrowed. “Well, in that case, I think you’re completely mad.”

Feeling the stirrings of anger and frustration, Nick still had to admire her measured, even tone. Her control, and the way she skirted around derision but didn’t descend to it, had a startling and very visceral effect on him. He imagined what it would be like to crack such control, in bed, and make her moan.

Careful. Stay cool. Maintain your own control, man.

It was hellishly difficult though, when suddenly and painfully, he wanted her more than he’d ever done before.

“Why would you say that?”

Projecting nonchalance he wasn’t feeling, he lounged back against the upholstery, the thinking part of his mind trying the time-honored trick of focusing on figures, balance sheets, fiscal projections. Anything rather than fly back to that night at the Villa Rosa and the heat and scent of their coupling in his bedroom.

Which would make him hard again.

Anna laughed. Nervously? Feeling perverse, Nick hoped so.

“We’ve barely seen each other for four years, Nick. Isn’t it going to look a bit peculiar if we’re suddenly engaged?” She seemed calm, but at the same time, she was rubbing obsessively at the edge of one of her fingernails, as if intent on a flaw in her shimmering rosy nail lacquer. “Not to mention the fact we’ve both been seeing other people.” She paused, pursed her lips for a moment. “Quite a few other people in your case.” Impatiently, she abandoned the fingernail as if she’d just realized she was exhibiting a poker tell. “And as I remember the last time we were actually alone together, in what could generally be termed an intimate situation, we didn’t part all that well, if you remember?”

“How could I forget?”

Base machismo surged in his gut, slipping its leash. She was fraying around the edges just a bit, he could tell, and suddenly a deep, pain-soaked part of him was glad of a reaction in her rather than the cool self-possession.

But when a veil of soft pink blush gathered across her porcelain cheekbones and developed across her throat and her cleavage, his own composure began to fracture. Her beautifully rounded breasts rose and fell beneath the thin fabric of her delicate eau de nil silk and lace dress, pure provocation as she clearly fought for equilibrium.

On his feet without conscious thought, he resumed his pacing. He didn’t want her to look at him too closely and see his erection. It was much easier for women, if they were aroused it wasn’t as obvious, and that gave them an advantage. How could he work through the justification of his plan, especially when it was so vaguely thought out in his own mind, if he was sporting a raging hard-on and she was looking at it?

I should have known this would happen. I got stiff looking at her picture, how in God’s name could I avoid it seeing her for real, touching her skin, smelling her scent?

At the window, Nick stared out into the damp garden and composed himself. They’d have to get past that night at villa. Their elephant in the room. It was no good thinking they could go on ignoring what had happened. Perhaps they’d been fools to blank it from their lives for so long?

Especially as it was the most defining event of his life.

Could that be true? No, it couldn’t. It mustn’t.

The illumination, sudden and sharp, swept through him, bringing confusion in its wake that was so unlike his usual hard-focused clarity. Aware she might think he was crazy, he shook his head to clear it, but couldn’t do away with the sense of sand shifting beneath his feet.

Concentrate. Stay on message. Remember the plan. Remember the way you conduct your life.

Whirling around, marshalling the steel and purpose that usually served him so well in business, he said, “We have to talk about that night, Anna. We’ve danced around it since it happened and it’ll only fester if we leave it any longer.”

“What’s to discuss?” Anna held his gaze, and the lack of fear in her eyes was awesome, almost warrior. He wasn’t the only one who’d pulled himself together. “I made a mistake…and you informed me of it in no uncertain terms. There’s nothing more to be said.” Her voice was steady, but huskier than before. And the blush in her cheeks was pinker, hotter.

Oh hell, he wanted her more than ever.

“It was a lot more than that. And we need to talk about it.” He moved to push his hands in his pockets, then thought better of it and crossed his arms in front of him.

Suddenly, Anna was on her feet, fists clenched at her sides. “Yes, there was a bit in the middle that you seemed to enjoy—quite a lot as I recall! But after that, all I remember is you suddenly turning into the Reverend Father of Good Sense and Moral Rectitude and preaching me a sermon along the lines of ‘You young idiot!’ and ‘How could you be so stupid?’ and ‘Per Dio, what on earth were you thinking?’”

Per Dio indeed! That night he’d lost his cool completely, just as he was in serious danger of losing it now.

There had been a delicious, drowsy awakening, then shocked realization, then an almost fatalistic slide into the most soul-drenching pleasure. And afterwards, another rollercoaster plunge, but this time into another realization. The fact that he’d just had sex with exactly the type of woman, exactly the woman whom he shouldn’t have allowed himself anywhere near.

Remorse had shocked him in its agonizing intensity. Anna hadn’t been one of his no-strings sophisticates who knew the score. Not then, and maybe not now. His plan was stupid…stupid, but he couldn’t forget the way his father’s weary eyes burned with hope at the mention of her name.

And yet, there was the other thing too. The need to get past that night, exorcise their demons and move on properly. Surely she wanted the same? Or was he just fooling himself so he had an excuse to bed her again? His thoughts whirled, round and round, and his temples ached from the urge to shake his head again.

“I was harsh. I shouldn’t have been. I admit that.” It seemed a hollow concession at best, and he hated the memory of her lovely face crumpling in distress.

“And presumptuous,” she flung back at him, “and arrogant.”

“Okay, yes, it was arrogant of me to presume that because you wanted to fuck me you’d expect me to get into a serious relationship with you afterwards.” Odd voices, yearnings, muttered in his head. “And it was a shock realizing you were a virgin…it was…was a responsibility.”

“Which you don’t like. I know that. I only wanted to get rid of my virginity with a man I knew was likely to be pretty damn good in bed.” Anna’s delicate chin came up as she spoke. Her expression was determined and brittle and he didn’t like it at all. “I picked you because I knew you were a player and you could get the job done.”

Sudden outrage barreled through him, but at her or himself, he wasn’t quite sure. Nevertheless it swept aside all better judgment and pragmatism. It was one thing to have a reputation as a seasoned stud—deserved, admittedly—but to be told he’d been chosen purely as a stallion hurt like a punch in the gut. Especially as he still wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

He wanted a drink. He wanted to clear his head, which was suddenly aching. He wanted release, and whether it was emotional or just pure sex, he didn’t care.

“Well, in view of the fact that I never asked you for specifics at the time…was I satisfactory?” he demanded, “Did I ‘get the job done’, as you so delicately put it?”

To his surprise, Anna laughed. A light, sexy laugh that should have broken the tension, but didn’t. “Nick! You are kidding, aren’t you? If you couldn’t tell from all the—” her eyes skittered away just a second, and she swallowed furiously, “—all the fuss I made, then you obviously aren’t the all-conquering sexual love-rat everyone believes you to be.”

“Reports of my sexual prowess have been greatly exaggerated,” he murmured dryly, but inside he found a smile, stupidly pleased at the idea of “getting the job done” and well.

Because she’d pleased him. Per Dio, how she’d pleased him. He’d never had quite the same sublime experience since, and he’d had lovers who were world-class beauties, sexually voracious and practiced seductresses to boot.

Looking down at Anna’s face, he saw courage and fire in every perfect contour. Her mouth was luscious yet determined and her eyes held his, not quailing, not hiding anything.

She did want him, but she was wary. Her slender body had an almost feline quality of readiness, as if she were gathering herself to dart away from him if he made the slightest wrong move. Either that or she was poised to attack him. Even ravish him.

But everything about her made him want to launch his own counterattack. To haul her against him and kiss her until the last sub-atomic particle of hostility in her had melted and she was eager and aroused in his arms. As eager and aroused as he was.

Instead, he dropped onto the sofa again, taking care to observe her personal space while every fiber of his being howled at him to invade it. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m a love-rat?” He patted the seat beside him, and felt a ridiculous, almost boyish happiness when she sat too.

He recognized his peril when close proximity surrounded him with the delicate drift of her perfume. It was very light, yet as rich as a basket of summer flowers, and it was exactly the same fragrance she’d worn in bed at Villa Rosa. It had been the only thing she’d been wearing that night and it had filled his head with madness.

As it did now.

“It’s a pretty crude way of putting it, but essentially…yes.” She glanced down at his thigh, and hers, almost touching, and he could tell she wanted to move, but he wasn’t quite sure whether away or closer. “According to those—” she nodded to a pile of shiny magazines lying on the nearby coffee table, “—and what everybody says, you do seem to work your way through a lot of women.”

“So you believe the made-up tales of trashy magazines and evil-minded gossips?” he murmured, irrationally wounded, but knowing he shouldn’t blame her. He as good as promoted that image of himself, so his lovers wouldn’t be cruelly disappointed when forever wasn’t on offer. “I’ve always credited you with more intelligence than that, Anna.”

Nick felt an intense desire to defend himself. Take her by the shoulders, look deep into her intelligent green eyes and convince her by sheer force of personality that he wasn’t the unprincipled womanizer the sensationalist press and his self-created persona portrayed him to be. But what would be the point of that? She was safer thinking he was a womanizer. At least that way she knew where she stood.

“I enjoy women,” he conceded, “And I enjoy variety. But I don’t set out to misrepresent myself. Every woman I sleep with knows the score. No strings. No commitment. No wedding bells. Long-term relationships and me aren’t a viable mixture, Anna. Haven’t I always told you that?”

Anna’s eyes narrowed again, and her brow pleated beneath her feathery blonde fringe. “And yet you’re asking me to marry you.”

He’d almost forgotten what he was here for. Her intimate proximity, her scent, the reality of her unique beauty… It was difficult to stay on message this close to her.

“No.” Starkly, he dragged himself back to his purpose. “What I’m asking you is that you become engaged to me. Just that, and for a strictly limited period. If Carlo thinks he’s got his wish, it will give him just the boost he needs to start fighting back to health.”

Momentarily, he saw the dull exhaustion in his father’s eyes. And then, the older man’s entire face aglow on hearing that all his hints and urgings with respect to the girl he most wanted as a daughter-in-law were finally set to be fulfilled. For the first time in days, there’d been real strength and vigor when Carlo had embraced him.

“So it’d all be an empty façade?”

She was frowning again. Always frowning. He wanted to kiss the porcelain-pale skin of her forehead and smooth away her suspicion.

“A fiction. For a good cause.”

There was a long silence. The scheme had made perfect sense when he’d formulated it in a flash of inspiration at his father’s bedside. But confronted with Anna, on whom it all hinged, it sounded as if he’d lost his mind, not to mention all sense of the judgment and savvy he prided himself on.

The moments stretched on, and finally, Nick lost patience, with himself as much as with Anna.

“Well? Will you do it?” he demanded, “Aren’t you going to answer?”

 

What could she answer? The whirl of a million conflicting feelings contrasted starkly with the slow, steady tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

Focus, woman! Think. Breathe. Don’t let him see that you’re in a flat spin and don’t know what to think or do.

But it was a tough task, especially with Nick so close and looking and smelling and sounding so good. He’d always been as handsome as a fallen angel and he just seemed to get more attractive and sexually irresistible with every year that passed. She should have distance and self-control and a resistance to him after all this time, but it just seemed more impossible than ever. Especially as she sensed there was even more to his preposterous suggestion than the dramatic performance of the fake engagement.

“You don’t expect me to answer right now, do you?” She met those blue, blue eyes as coolly as she could. “It needs at least a bit of mulling over. You must at least allow me that.”

“Carlo isn’t getting any better, Anna.”

Oh, so cold all of a sudden. It was like a rabbit punch, but he was right, of course. She saw Carlo’s craggy face for a moment—always smiling, always kind and always generous. She’d been planning to fly to Italy as soon as he came off the critical list and could see visitors.

“Yes, I know that. Do you think I don’t care?” she flung out, “I’m certainly a lot more concerned about his welfare than I am about yours.”

Idiot. Don’t antagonize him. Things are sticky enough already.

“Then say yes for him, not me.” There was no getting around him. He was determined. And when Nick set his mind on something he’d always got his way. His will was as steely and unyielding as his superbly muscled body.

No, don’t think about his body!

“I need a little time, Nick. I won’t be coerced.” In an attempt to distract him, she shot to her feet again. “But I won’t keep you waiting long.” She fixed her eyes on the door and her path of escape, back to the party.

In what seemed only the blink of an eye, he was on his feet too, blocking that path.

“Very well, Anna,” he murmured. He was average tall, but not massive, and yet he seemed to loom over her in a way that was completely and unequivocally male. “But not too long, eh?” He tilted his head, and the light from the chandelier above seemed to turn his blond hair to some fabulous mystical metal. One long-fingered hand reached out and touched her cheek, and it felt like a brand. His mark. On her.

“Thank you, cara mia.” His voice was soft, almost sweet, but the addition of the Italian endearment was a subtle taunt. “But there’s one little complication you need to attend to, I think.”

“What’s that?” She watched his mouth, and the insolent curve of his full lower lip, as she waited for enlightenment. Or something.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend, Anna?”

Oh hell, Martin.

Nick’s smile broadened. He was hugely amused by the fact she obviously hadn’t given Martin a single thought since she’d opened the door. Admittedly, she and Martin were only casual, and she’d decided not to keep stringing him along because it wasn’t fair to him…but still. How could she forget him completely? That was awful.

“My real relationships are no business whatsoever of yours, Nick.” She looked at him boldly, chin up. It would have been easier if he wasn’t still touching her, but she couldn’t seem to move her head and shake him off. “You’d better concern yourself only with this false one. If I decide to go through with it.”

Irked by his grin, she held his gaze and was rewarded by a faint flash of irritation in Nick’s eyes. “And anyway, how do you know whether I’m seeing anyone or not? Have you been spying on me?”

Nick’s fingers were like five burning points against the skin of her cheek, and they curved slightly as if coaxing her closer. “I have my sources.” His voice was a low, thrilling whisper, and his eyes were fixed on her mouth. To her consternation, Anna imagined she could actually feel the scrutiny, a tingling sensation that made her lips more sensitive, redder and more enticing.

Don’t be mental. You’re imagining things. Just back away and make a dignified break for the party. Do it now!

But it was as if she was trapped in some kind of warm, delicious and infinitely pleasant-feeling glue. Her body was immobilized, her senses intoxicated. Nick’s own mouth tempted her like chocolate or some luscious tropical fruit, primal and sinful.

“Is that how thrilling he is?” Nick breathed, “Five minutes with me and you completely forget he exists?”

“No! That’s not true.”

The words were hollow and she hardly had the strength to get them out. Nick was so close they were sharing the same oxygen, and his spicy cologne invaded her mind like dark alchemy.

“Oh, it is, tesoro mio, it surely is.” His words faded to a sultry murmur as he angled his gilded head and brought his lips down slowly and with complete confidence on hers.

The pressure was so gentle, like velvet gliding over her lips. His taste was so sweet—as mind-altering as the smell of him—and it compelled her to succumb. In one last defensive gesture, she put up a hand, fingers spread against his chest with the intention of pushing him away. But a moment later both her hands were sliding around his back of their own volition to hold on tightly to him as if her very life depended on it.

And all the time his eyes were open, intent on hers, darkened to the intense midnight hue of a moonless night. Stunned by their power, Anna let her own lids flutter closed.

And when his mobile, questing tongue sought entrance into her mouth, it was as if all the interminable years apart had disappeared, counting for nothing. She was back with him in his bed, naked and free, their bodies pressed together inch for inch. In a weird confluence of past and present, she seemed to feel every contour of his musculature, the very heat of his satin skin, the fierce insistence of his erection against her belly.

Which was no fantasy.

Anna’s eyes flew open and she jerked, but Nick slid his arms around her and held her closer than ever. Bizarrely, the firm hold soothed her sudden panic and it was easy, oh so easy to succumb to him.

Their tongues darted against each other, playing and challenging, Anna giving back now as good as she got, reveling in the thrills. She heard—and felt—Nick laugh deep in his throat, but the kisses were so delicious that she couldn’t be bothered to get angry with him. Couldn’t be bothered to do anything other than what came perfectly naturally, which was to circle her belly against his loins, hungry and wanton.

“Anna,” he groaned, wrenching his lips from hers and burying them in her hair, “I’ve spent four whole years wondering if you’d still feel like this.” His fingers massaged her spine, then slid lower, compelling her sex closer to his.

Anna’s eyes prickled. Her name sounded so different on his lips when he was aroused. The way he spoke normally was almost completely accentless and English, but when he muttered, “Anna” again, it sounded as Latin and romantic as high opera, and at the same time, tender and intimate.

Her softly breathed name had been on his lips as he’d entered her body. She remembered the fleeting jolt of pain, his moment of hesitation, and then the awesome sensation of being filled and possessed by him, at last. Reaching up to touch his face, she urged his mouth back down on hers, then wound her fingers into his thick, damp hair, relishing its silkiness and the wild way it curled.

Holding him, savoring the taste of his mouth and the feel of his lean, potent body against her, Anna wanted the kiss to go on forever. Like this, there were no issues between them, no problems, no history. They were just male and female, meant for each other, perfectly matched.

Then the creak of the library door and an exaggerated stage cough snapped the spell, and everything was pretty much wrong again. Anna shot away from Nick and whirled around to see her father standing in the doorway, his jolly, jowly face pink above his bow tie and dress shirt and a pleased-as-punch grin plastered across it.

“Nick! How good to see you, my boy,” Clive Felgate exclaimed, striding forward. “I’m so glad you could make it.” He grabbed Nick’s hand and pumped it for dear life, slapping the younger man on the arm as if he’d just scored a winning goal or come first in a marathon. “I hope this means that Carlo is doing much better?”

Still reeling from the kiss, Anna hung away from the two of them, relieved to be ignored for a second or two. She needed breathing space to compose herself. Nick, she noted, didn’t appear to need time out. He’d segued instantly into comfortable bonhomie with her father, as easily if Clive had found them discussing the weather. Smiling and relaxed, he chatted easily about Carlo and congratulated Clive on his birthday.

“I have a gift from Carlo and myself, but it’s slightly too large to have brought it along tonight.” Despite the fact that Nick infuriated her, Anna had to admit to a genuine gratitude as he told her father about the gift, a watercolor by one of his favorite artists. The way Clive’s face lit up was enough for her to cut Nick a fair bit of slack. Her father’s recent money problems, which he’d refused to discuss with her, had suppressed his naturally cheerful nature, so it warmed her heart to see him smiling and excited like this. Nick’s gift—both extravagant and thoughtfully chosen—had lifted his spirits no end.

But was it just the watercolor? She suspected not, shuddering at implications that alarmed her. Clive had had been grinning like a loon already when he’d happened upon them. The wink and the encouraging look her father flashed her over Nick’s shoulder only confirmed her worst fears.

Oh no! You haven’t said anything to my dad already, have you, Nick Lisitano? Please don’t tell me you’ve told him you’re proposing…

To Clive it didn’t matter she’d been seeing Martin. Her father adored Nick, and always had done, and without being overtly hostile, he’d made it plain he wasn’t impressed with Martin and thought him dull.

“Thank you, my boy. You’re far too generous,” Clive went on, shaking Nick’s hand anew, then suddenly laughing and shrugging and giving him the sort of bear hug he’d definitely give a prospective son-in-law. Nick was the son Clive had never had, and, even though Anna knew he loved her unstintingly, had always wanted. It warmed her heart to see the fondness between the two men, but at the same time, she felt doubly angry with Nick for raising her dad’s hopes with his blatantly false charade.

Oh, this is such a mess. It’ll end in tears. She manufactured a smile as Clive gestured for her to join them. And maybe not just mine, by the look of it.

 

 

If a party could be judged to be both roaring success and an unmitigated disaster, this was it, Anna decided a while later as she circulated, clutching an untouched glass of champagne in her hand like a fragile lifebelt.

The volume of conversation and civilized laughter was bouncing cheerfully off the walls and the supplies of hors d’ouvres, champagne and cocktails were holding up well despite the arrival of several more guests than had been expected for the sit-down dinner to follow.

With a fake grin, Anna stared across the room, where the one guest she still wished hadn’t arrived was holding forth to a couple of adoring, simpering older women. Nick looked like a Renaissance prince with his own personal court of cooing matrons, she observed grimly. He was just shameless. He clearly couldn’t resist turning the charm on full beam.

You really think you’re God’s gift to womanhood, don’t you?

Hurling a quiver of silent daggers at him, she flushed pink when he glanced back at her, his knowing smirk suggesting he might have heard her thoughts.

You arrogant monster! She only just stopped herself mouthing the words when he flashed her a hint of a wink.

“They don’t call him The Golden Italian for nothing, do they?” said a voice in her ear, and she turned to find Lydia, her aunt, also studying the sight of Nick and his impromptu mini-harem. “Lord, if I were twenty years younger I’d take a crack at him myself,” Lydia sighed, quaffing quickly from her glass of champagne. “Not that he’d even look at me… He has other interests,” she intoned, tapping the side of her nose.

“What, you mean shagging half the actresses and most of the supermodels in Europe?” snipped Anna, turning her back on the source of her ire to give Lydia her full attention. “Hey, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Himself over there seems to know all about me and Martin and he says he’s got ‘sources’. What have you been telling him? How come he’s so au fait with my love life all of a sudden?”

“What love life?” said Lydia dismissively. “You don’t count that uptight little mummy’s boy Martin as a love life, do you? Because if you do, you should seriously rethink your idea of what constitutes a lover, my sweet.”

Lydia paused to wave to Nick across the room, champagne sloshing dangerously as she did. “That’s what a lover should look like, pet. And the sooner you realize that the better.”

“Martin is very—” a suitable adjective eluded her, “—very nice.” How half-hearted did that sound? “And of course Nick looks like a lover. He’s a serial womanizer with all the moral fiber of a wild boar in rut. What else would he look like?” She leant forward, trying to get Lydia back on track. “And that still doesn’t answer my question. What have you been telling Nick about me?”

“You mean what has he been asking?” Lydia grew more serious. “I’ve no idea what happened between the two of you four years ago, but I know something did…and ever since then, he’s been coming to me regularly to find out what’s going on with you. I told him not to be an idiot and to ask you himself, but it seems where you and he are concerned, he’s just as ridiculous as you are.”

The room was warm, but still Anna shivered. What was the hell was Nick up to monitoring her like that? He’d made it known in the plainest of terms that night at Villa Rosa he wasn’t interested in her romantically, so why continue to check up on her?

“Nothing happened between us,” she said, tamping down her irritation with Lydia. Her aunt was the most well-meaning person on the face of the earth, and clearly thought she’d been acting in the best of interests. “I think Nick and I have just sort of outgrown each other over the years. I did have a crush on him at one time, but we’ve both found new friends, new interests.”

Was he still watching her? Her body seemed to think so. She had visible goose bumps on her arms, and unless it was due to some unexpected adulterant in the champagne that was affecting them, her lips were still tingling from that kiss.

Lydia snorted and said a rude word. There was no fooling her, even when Anna realized she’d sort of managed to fool herself. Almost… “If he’s outgrown you, why on earth did he—” She stopped short, then bit her lip as Anna focused on her. “Look forget it. Let’s enjoy the party.”

“Why on earth did he what?” Anna demanded. What had Nick done? What on earth had he done?

“Nothing,” persisted Lydia.

“Tell me, Lyd! If it’s to do with me, I’ve a right to know.”

Her aunt had the decency to look shamefaced, but she stopped prevaricating. “Well, he offered to invest in Traditional Temps, that’s what. He knew how important the business is to you, and he wanted to ensure we got off to a good start.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you accepted and pretended that it was your own money.” Agitation swirled in Anna’s throat. The idea of Nick exerting control over the only thing she considered to be truly hers—the business she and Lydia had started together—was deeply unnerving, almost horrifying. His Machiavellian schemes were extending into all corners of her life, it seemed.

“No, of course not,” said Lydia, shaking her head. “For one thing I wouldn’t be able to fake the sort of funds Nick was offering. And two, I knew you wouldn’t accept it—for some reason best known to yourself—so I declined.” Her eyes brightened. “But he did say the offer would always be on the table if we changed our minds.”

Anna sighed. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said dryly, then turned around, only to find, of course, that Nick was still watching her closely. His slight, insolent smile only increased her disquiet and made her even more convinced that he’d acquired demonic powers somewhere along the line and could read her mind.

If only she could charge across and have the whole business out with him, here and now. But it was her dad’s party, and the last thing she wanted was a scene. But as dinner was announced, the temptation to confront Nick still simmered in her gut.

 

Oh, why does this not surprise me?

Lydia had clearly rigged the place settings too. There was no other logical explanation for finding herself sitting next to Nick. Summoning a fair attempt at a carefree, convivial, dinner-party smile, she allowed him to draw out her seat for her, then tuck it neatly behind her knees when she sat. Anticipating a frontal conversation attack, she braced herself, but was saved his individual attention by the guest on his other side. A large, over-dressed, over-made-up, over-perfumed woman, the wife of one of her father’s many friends, engaged Nick in animated conversation and a display of her ample cleavage.

Enjoy! thought Anna savagely, knowing it was only a matter of time before her turn came.

“So, Anna, is Traditional Temps thriving?”

Nick’s voice was casual, social and warm, but beneath the surface it was loaded and provocative. Ding dong went the warning bell in Anna’s brain.

She turned to look at him and found his beautiful eyes scoping her out, assessing, monitoring. It was blatantly obvious he knew that she knew.

Anna kept her voice even and low, grappling not to reveal any hint of antagonism. “You tell me, Nick,” she observed, “It seems you know more about my life these days than I do. Both business and personal.”

He had the grace to look perplexed for a microsecond, but when he answered, his tone was as unabashed, unrepentant.

“Busted.” He put up his hands in a quick, graceful gesture of surrender.

“Why, Nick? Why spy on me?” she murmured, leaning back to let one of the hired waitresses take her barely touched plate.

“What you so dramatically call spying is merely concerned interest, Anna. Don’t you follow the course of my life too? You admitted yourself that you’re an avid reader of magazine articles.”

Heat blossomed in Anna’s face. If Lydia had revealed to him the extent of her obsession with the celebrity press, and the way it so often featured him, there was little point in denying it.

“I never said ‘avid’, and I only read those things because the mind boggles, wondering whatever you’re going to get up to next. Or who you’re going to get up to it with. There doesn’t seem to be a single high-profile woman on two continents that you haven’t been linked with.”

“Oh, that again.” He gave a cool little shake of his shining head. “It seems to me that you’re far more interested in my love life than I am myself.”

By rights, it should have been Anna’s turn to say busted and backtrack gracefully, but she couldn’t.

“The whole world can’t help but follow your love life, Nick. Those pictures at the Cannes Film Festival with Maria Rossi all over you like a rash…well, they were borderline pornographic.”

And those photos had hurt. Seeing Nick with Italy’s hottest and most beautiful young actress entwined around him had been a shock, inducing a reaction that Anna didn’t want to think about.

Nick remained unfazed.

“You’re exaggerating, Anna. And anyway, Maria is Italian, and we Italians tend towards the demonstrative. Don’t you and your adorato Johnson ever show affection to each other in public?”

Red mist floated in front of Anna’s eyes, and she wanted to say a very bad word and tell him it was none of his business. He’d hit a particular nerve with stinging accuracy. Martin was reserved and a little old-fashioned, and not prone to demonstrating his feelings. It was one of the main reasons she’d come to the conclusion they were completely unsuited, should go their separate ways and both be happier and better off. She longed for a touch, a possessive kiss that others might see, and unfortunately, much as she tried to deny it, her heart knew from whom she wanted those touches and kisses. Worse, she knew that if Martin had been anything like Nick, nothing on earth could have stopped him from publicly proclaiming she was his, almost caveman style.

Don’t go there!

Drawing in a deep, invisible breath, she searched for a calm centre. The only thing for it was a radical change of tack.

“Why did you offer to invest in my business, Nick?” she questioned in an undertone, “Looking for a way to get control over me or something?”

“God, you’re a cantankerous woman, Anna.” There was a silvery edge of exasperation in his voice that made Anna feel aggressive and guilty, yet at the same time a tiny bit pleased with herself. So, the mighty Niccolo Lisitano wasn’t completely unflappable after all. “Can’t you just believe that I wanted to help you? Without strings?”

“No. I can’t.”

Doggedly, she glanced around to make sure that curious ears were not tuned their way, “You’re devious, Nick, and you’re a power-tripper. And I know you’re not averse to underhanded tactics if they’ll get you what you want.”

Nick took a sip from his water glass before he replied. “And I’m not the only one,” he said, soft and low and sexy, his eyes darker now, full of sensuality and thrilling masculine threat.

Anna’s silver fork clattered onto her plate and everybody did look their way.

Was he never, ever going to let her forget that night? Was she going to have to suffer to the end of her days for once being young and foolhardy and head over heels in puppy lust with him?

It seemed that way.

“I’m sorry, cara, but you asked for it.”

Dripping with double meaning, his silky tone seemed to vibrate through Anna’s nerves as he reached for her hand and held it. The contact was feather-light, but infinitely unsettling.

“When I offered to invest it was a genuine offer of help. There was no agenda.” His fingertips moved, ever so slightly, and Anna felt butterflies the size of golden eagles cavorting around in her chest. “What kind of a man do you think I am that I would try to leverage you that way?”

The butterflies, and her heart, bashed wildly against her breastbone. Maybe she had misjudged him? Maybe she was overreacting? Summoning her courage, she met his gaze boldly, searching for clues.

The moment of dark, sexual threat seemed to be gone. His smile was open, guileless, almost gentle.

And yet…and yet… Surely he knew what effect the touch of his hand was having on her? All the time he was playing his Mr. Sincerity act, he was employing the dirtiest of lowdown tactics to confuse her and slyly impose his will on her.

“I don’t know what kind of a man you are, Nick.”

Her response was slow, and she was worried that the faint, almost reedy note in her voice gave her away. She had to pull herself together and not let him get to her. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever known. I thought I did once, but then you confounded me. I…I…” She turned away, longing to snatch back her hand, but unable to.

Back to that night again, she thought in despair. Would its thousand-mile shadow ever lift from her life and let her forget?

“I was wrong. I admit that,” Nick said quietly, “Can’t you forgive me? Let it rest? So we can start again now and do something worthwhile?”

His voice was so beguiling that Anna felt her defenses disintegrating. Then a second later, there was the purest shock as he spoke again, his voice crisp and decisive. “Let’s talk later. This is Clive’s party. It’s neither the place nor time to debate the past…or the future.”

Anna’s head shot up and she snatched a glance at him. And saw him looking not at her, but at the table beyond. One or two of the other guests were still observing them, clearly straining their ears to the limit to follow their exchange. Even though she and Nick had kept their voices low, their body language must have been semaphoring the conflict between them.

“Of course.”

Reacquiring her bright smile and nodding to one or two people before returning her attention towards Nick, she continued quietly, “You’re right. This isn’t the place.”

With a quick squeeze, Nick released her hand, and against everything that was good sense, Anna felt instantly bereft.

“But we will talk.” His tone was hushed, but he was making a statement of intent, not asking a question.

Oh yes we will, unfortunately, thought Anna as she nodded, not relishing the prospect of stirring things better left unstirred.