“I wouldn’t want you to think…I mean—I don’t normally let…”

To her embarrassment, the faint lift of one black eyebrow mocked the struggle she had to get her words out.

“I don’t normally talk to strange men in bars.”

Was she truly as nervous as she sounded? Gio wondered. Or was it just an act? Surely the woman who had given him such a deliberate and unashamed appraisal couldn’t now be feeling uncertain and ill at ease.

“And I don’t normally talk to women I don’t know, either,” he returned smoothly.

The faint scent of her body mixed with a light, floral perfume to send a sensual message straight to his brain, making his body harden in hungry demand. But rushing things would be a mistake. The evening would be much more enjoyable if he took his time and enjoyed the journey as well as the final arrival at his destination.

And the conquest would be all the sweeter as a result.

“So why don’t we introduce ourselves, and then neither of us will be complete strangers?”

Mamma Mia!

Harlequin Presents®

ITALIAN HUSBANDS

They’re tall, dark…and ready to marry!

If you love marriage-of-convenience stories that ignite into marriages of passion, then look no further. We’ve got the Mediterranean heroes you love to read about—and the women who tame them.

Watch for more exciting tales of romance, Italian-style!

The Italian’s Marriage Bargain

by Carole Marinelli

August #2413

The Italian’s Suitable Wife

by Lucy Monroe October

#2425

Available only from Harlequin Presents®!

A Sicilian Husband
Kate Walker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE man at the other side of the bar was beautiful.

Beautiful.

Terrie could find no other word to describe him that fitted those devastating looks quite so well. And she had tried. Because beautiful didn’t seem like quite the right word to use about someone so masculine, so totally male. And yet it was the only one that worked.

She’d tried handsome and it was too weak, too ‘pretty’ somehow. It didn’t allow for the straight, firm slash of a nose, the sharply defined cheekbones. And good-looking was way too bland. This man was more than good-looking—he was superb!

Attractive didn’t even come near the truth, and, although gorgeous fitted with the lush warmth of his mouth, the stunning deep, deep brown of his eyes, the sleek olive skin that gave away the fact that he was most definitely not English, both attractive and gorgeous lacked the hard edge that this man wore like a suit of armour, the hint of danger that lurked in those deep-set eyes. And she suspected that that mouth, although apparently sensual, could soon harden to a dangerously cruel line.

His disturbing blend of supreme confidence, bordering on arrogance, and an aura of total ease in his surroundings and himself made him stand out in the crowded room as clearly as if a spotlight had been switched on, its beam centring on the glossy mane of jet-black hair.

No, beautiful was the only word that was right. He had a starkly masculine beauty that had caught and held her attention from the moment she had walked into the room. And now she couldn’t drag her eyes away, even though she suspected that the intensity of her gaze must soon get through to him. Surely he would sense that someone was staring at him, feel it like a faint touch on his skin—and then he would look up.

And even as she thought it, the heavy-hooded lids that had been lowered suddenly lifted, and the burning golden-bronze eyes blazed into hers through lush black lashes.

And the look of cold disdain, the molten glare he turned on her, the obvious distance that he clearly wanted to put between them, was so clear, so sharply cutting that it made Terrie actually jump in her seat. Hastily she looked away again as quickly as possible. Heat screamed along the nerve paths of her body, searing a sense of burning embarrassment and humiliation at being caught staring like that. It was the behaviour of some lust-smitten adolescent confronted by the boy-band focus of her latest crush. She had never done anything quite so crass in her life before.

Stop it! she told herself in furious but silent reproof. Stop this nonsense right now!

The woman at the other side of the bar was staring straight at him, Giovanni Cardella realised. Staring straight at him with a mindless, dumbstruck expression on her face that made it look as if she had never seen a man before in her life. Sliding another glance in her direction through the concealment of thick, dark lashes, he frowned deeply, and dropped his eyes again to stare down into his glass.

Another woman.

Another woman who wasn’t Lucia.

Another woman who was making it plain that she found him attractive when that was the last thing on God’s earth that he wanted.

He was no fool. He knew that he had the sort of looks, the colouring, the height, the build that drew female eyes his way. And that when their gaze rested on him, it lingered. As soon as it had become known that he was alone, they had been there. The female vultures had gathered, all seeking to ‘comfort’ the rich widower.

But he had no time, no inclination for other women. There had only ever been one woman in his life—Lucia. And Lucia had been all he had ever wanted.

And this woman was no Lucia. For one thing, she was a pale ash blonde with the sort of delicate complexion that came with the impossible weather on this rain-soaked island. And she was tall; even though she was sitting down he could tell that. Lucia had been petite; slight, dark and stunning. This woman, with her blue-grey eyes and fair hair, was like the opposite. The negative to Lucia’s positive.

And she was still looking, damn her!

Today of all days, her bold stare felt like an invasion. It pushed into the privacy of his thoughts, intruded into his memories. And he hated that.

‘Madre di Dio!’

Hot fury washed over him, driving him to lift his eyes again, when he would far rather have kept them fixed on the ground. His gaze swinging to her face in a rush, he turned on her a blazing glare that held all the force of the rejection of her unsubtle approach that burned in his soul.

‘Oh, damn!’ Terrie muttered under her breath, horrified by the response her unthinking reaction had caused. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’

And the trouble was that even looking swiftly away and down at the table did nothing to ease the sensation of embarrassment and unease. She could still feel the scorch of his contempt searing over her skin, stripping her of a much-needed layer of protection.

‘Well, it’s time we got back.’

Beside her, Claire and Anna drained their glasses and made moves to get to their feet, picking up handbags, pushing back their chairs.

‘You coming, Terrie?’

‘What? No—I think I’ll give this last session a miss.’

What was she doing? This was the perfect opportunity to sneak out of there, disappear before she made an even greater fool of herself. If she went now, then she and this man, the stranger she had been caught staring at, would probably—hopefully—never catch sight of each other again. If she could hide herself in the bustle and crowds of the conference she had come here to attend then hopefully he would forget about her and her faux pas would be overlooked as well.

But the truth was that she really didn’t want to go. Even before she had come into the bar with her friends she had determined that the last session of the sales conference was more trouble than it was worth.

‘Are you sure?’

Terrie nodded emphatically, shaking loose some of the blonde locks that she had forced into a hopefully disciplined chignon at the start of the day so that they fell in disordered tendrils around her oval face.

‘Absolutely. I’ve been bored out of my skull from the start, and I really can’t take any more. Before I came here, I was beginning to suspect that a career in selling baby clothes just wasn’t for me—and now I’m absolutely positive that it’s not. As soon as I get back to Netherton, I’m handing in my notice and looking for something else. So there’s no point at all in my going back to hear the MD spouting about quotas and new lines.’

It sounded totally rational, clearly thought through. Nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that her sense of reality had just been severely rocked as a result of being confronted by the most devastating specimen of manhood she had ever seen. It had nothing to do with that, she told herself fiercely. Nothing at all.

‘Well, if you’ve made up your mind.’

Claire still looked uncertain, but Anna was pulling at her sleeve, tugging her away towards the door through which the other conference delegates were already streaming, heading back to the ballroom.

‘Definitely. I’m going to finish this drink and then go to my room and pack, ready for an early getaway tomorrow.’

‘Then we’ll see you at dinner?’

Terrie nodded abstractedly, her attention elsewhere. Until she had heard herself speak the words aloud, she hadn’t really been aware that she planned to say them. But now that she had, she knew that she meant everything she’d said.

She was bored. If the truth was told, she hated her job. Hated the long hours and the travelling involved in it. Hated trying to persuade people to buy overpriced, second-rate items. She didn’t know how she’d stuck it this long.

Well, from now on everything was going to change!

And for a start she wasn’t going up to her room to pack after all. She was going to stay here and have another drink and relax. Recover from the endurance test that had been the sales conference.

And she wasn’t even going to so much as glance in the direction of the wretched man on the other side of the room, she told herself as she got slowly to her feet. There was no way on earth that she wanted to risk another of those glares. She was still smarting from the scorching effect of the one she had already received.

Despite his determination not even to look in her direction again, Gio found that the woman’s movement drew his attention once more. She uncoiled her slim body like a cat, he couldn’t help reflecting, fascinated in spite of himself. Her movements were slow and sensual, the short stroll from her table to the bar making her slender hips sway underneath the deep red suit with its fitted jacket and narrow pencil skirt. The blonde hair was clearly fighting against the restraints of the too-severe knot she had twisted it up into, and feathery strands of it were blowing about her face, wafting onto her neck.

With a sigh of impatience that he caught even where he sat, she paused, reached up, pulled out a couple of strategically placed pins, and shook her head determinedly. The result caught Gio totally by surprise.

As the pale blonde swathe of hair came loose and tumbled down her back, flowing over her shoulders like a golden wave, he found himself suddenly a prey to an urgent, twisting pull of sensual demand low down in his body.

It had the force of a kick in his gut, hitting with the sort of intensity that he had thought that he would never experience again in his life.

‘Inferno!’ he swore under his breath, struggling to force his attention away and onto the narrow gold watch that encircled one wrist. Though even as he concentrated fiercely on its square face, he knew that every male instinct he possessed was still in a state of heightened awareness of the woman at the bar.

Where the devil was Chris Macdonald?

Drinks and a meal, and a chance to discuss how the day’s events had gone in court, he had suggested, and the prospect had seemed like a lifesaver to Gio, who had been dreading spending the time on his own. Once he’d talked to Paolo on the phone and wished his little son sweet dreams, the evening had stretched ahead empty and dark, filled with bad memories. He had snatched at the opportunity to have company on this, the anniversary of the worst night ever in his life.

But Chris showed no sign at all of putting in an appearance. Their meeting had been arranged for six, and it was now half past.

The realisation had barely crossed his mind when his mobile phone rang sharply. As if summoned by his thoughts, there was Chris Macdonald’s number on the screen.

Flicking the case open with an impatient hand, Gio lifted it to his mouth.

‘Sì?’

A few seconds later he snapped the phone off again and tossed it down onto the table, glaring at it as if the inoffensive gadget were in fact Macdonald himself.

Chris was not coming. He had to stay at home, he had said. His young daughter was ill and they had just called the doctor.

‘Non c’e problema!’ he had assured him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

But he had been lying through his teeth. There was a problem. The problem of the long, lonely night that lay ahead of him.

He should be used to long, lonely nights. He’d lived through enough of them since he had lost Lucia. Lying awake, staring blank-eyed into the darkness, in the big, empty bed that had suddenly seemed so cold and uncomfortable without the warmth of her softly curvaceous body beside him.

And if he managed to fall asleep then it was even worse. Because then he woke to a moment of forgetfulness, a brief, merciful spell of believing that it had never happened. That she was still there, with him. Until he reached out and felt the coldness of the empty space beside him, and the reality all came flooding back.

‘Dio—no!’ he muttered savagely, both hands clenching into fists as he tried to push away the black thoughts that flooded his mind.

Tonight he had thought that he would escape them. That with friendly company, a meal, and perhaps a glass or two too many of a fine wine, he might find some relief from the emptiness that was always there, like a dark, dangerous chasm in his mind, just waiting for him to fall into it. But Chris’s phone call had just shattered that hope.

‘And what can I get for you, Miss Hayden?’

‘Dry white wine, please.’

Behind him, Gio heard the bartender’s question, the soft, feminine tones of the reply, and knew without a moment’s hesitation that it was the blonde who had spoken. The blonde who had been eyeing him up so blatantly.

‘Your friends not with you tonight, then?’ The bartender almost echoed Gio’s own thoughts.

‘No, they’ve gone into the final session of the conference. I’ll be joining them later for dinner, I suppose.’

‘You didn’t fancy going with them?’

‘No.’

He could almost hear the shudder in her voice.

‘I’ve had more than enough of sales figures and targets. I’ve been bored stupid the past two days; I couldn’t take any more. In fact, I’ve decided to chuck the job in.’

Bored, huh?

The word seemed to echo inside Gio’s head. She was bored, and she had been eyeing him—and she had deliberately stayed behind when her friends had left.

Coincidence or invitation?

The clamour in his body wasn’t easing. If anything, the sound of her voice had made it worse. It was soft, musical, and faintly husky. The sort of voice that made him think of murmurs in the darkness of the night, the heat of a sensual bed, the whisper of her breath across his skin as she spoke.

And it had been so long. Too long for any red-blooded male.

‘This conference has been no fun at all. I’ve decided I need some other way of making a living. So I think I’ll just hang around here for a while and see what happens.’

The thread of laughter through the words was the last straw. It seemed to carry an electrical charge with it, sparking off hot little arrows of hunger that ran along every nerve, bringing them so stingingly awake that he had to bite his lip to keep back the groan of reaction.

So she wanted fun, did she? And he…he wanted anything, anything other than to be alone for another long, dark night. He wanted a warm, living, breathing, responding body in his bed after far, far too long.

He hadn’t felt this interested, this alert, this alive in years. And he wasn’t going to turn his back on the chance to let this feeling continue for as long as he could.

He was on his feet before he had actually finished the thought, turning and heading for the tall, slender figure at the bar.

Terrie rested her elbows on the polished wood, stared down into the cool, clear liquid in her glass and wondered just what she had done.

Burned her boats, the answer came back from the sensible, rational part of her mind. She had well and truly burned her boats, or her bridges, cut off her nose to spite her face… Insert whatever other clichéd sayings described her uncharacteristically rash and unthinking gesture.

She was probably in trouble with her job, for one. James Richmond, her immediate manager, would have noticed her absence from the MD’s speech and she had no doubt that he would haul her into his office as a result. He was that sort of man. And people just did not skip what he considered to be vital parts of this conference—at least, not with impunity. The last time that had happened, the offending person had been shown the door pretty fast.

So even if she didn’t resign herself, she was almost certainly unemployed. And, as a result, in financial difficulties, owing rent on her flat, and with no way to keep up payments on her car. OK, so her job had been a bore and a grind. But it had been a job. One that paid her way at least. And she had put it at risk on some foolish, impossible impulse that she couldn’t even explain to herself.

That man. The thought rushed into her mind, driving everything else before it.

It had been the sight of the beautiful man at the other side of the bar that had somehow pushed her into this crazily impulsive mood. The sort of stupid, irrational mood in which she threw up a perfectly decent job and behaved in a way that meant she just didn’t recognise herself.

For example—just what was she doing standing here, propping up this bar, when everyone else was completing the schedule of the conference before the final dinner and going home? What was she waiting for? Hoping for?

Did she really think—was she actually hoping that the stunning and exotic-looking stranger was going to come up to her and change her life?

Fat chance!

Terrie actually snorted cynically at the idiotic path of her own thoughts. She really couldn’t believe that!

Picking up her glass, she twisted on her heel, turning so that she was half facing the rest of the bar, but at an angle so that if the intriguing stranger was looking again she wouldn’t risk being seen by him. Just one experience of that furiously cold-eyed glare was bad enough. She didn’t want to go through a repeat performance.

The wretched man had actually gone!

‘Well, thanks a bunch!’ Terrie muttered against the rim of her glass as she lifted it to sip at her wine. ‘Thank you so very much!’

Foolishly, she felt as if he was responsible for the pickle she was in. She had made this crazy, impulsive gesture of throwing in her job in some non-typical response to his presence. Had stayed in the bar when she would have been far better to stick with her friends and go to the final session, however boring. Had even…

Admit it! she declared to herself. She had even hung around in the bar in the hope of meeting up with and discovering more about this man who had had such an impact on her.

And the so-and-so had got up and made his way out of the bar while her back was turned, without so much as a second look. He must have walked within inches of her and she hadn’t even noticed!

So much for changing her life at a stroke!

Scowling as much at her own foolishness as at the absent stranger, Terrie lifted her drink in a bleak parody of a toast, inclining it in the direction of the stranger’s now empty seat.

‘To ships that pass in the night,’ she muttered.

And froze as, from her right-hand side, another hand reached out, deliberately clinking the glass it held against hers in acknowledgement of the toast.

‘Salute, signorina!’ a deep, lyrically accented voice murmured in her ear.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT?’

The shaken exclamation was pushed from her lips as her nerveless fingers lost their grip on her glass. Slipping from her grasp, it tumbled downwards, spilling its contents on the way, and crashed onto the floor, splintering into a thousand tiny pieces.

‘Oh, look what you’ve done now!’

Even as the words escaped her, she was acknowledging how irrational they were. It was her own disturbed feelings that had twisted her nerves so tight she was ready to jump like a startled cat at the slightest thing. And as for feeling that seeing him had somehow pushed her into making rash decisions about her life, well, that was just nonsense. She had been ready to make a move long before she had ever set eyes on him.

But acknowledging that fact and reacting accordingly were two totally different things. Especially when she was now up so close to him that she could see that his eyes were closer to bronze than ebony and that fascinating little gold flecks burned like slivers of flame at the heart of their irises.

‘Perdone, signorina.’

The voice was even more devastating close up, too. Pure warm, liquid honey, with just the tiniest touch of gravel in its husky undertone.

‘Forgive me…your skirt…’

A long tanned hand lifted in an autocratic summons to the bartender, and before Terrie even had time to realise just what he had in mind a clean, damp cloth had been provided without a word having to be spoken. The next moment she found herself looking at the top of the stranger’s downbent head, staring fascinated at the sheen on the night-dark strands, as he set himself to wiping away the splashes of wine from her skirt.

And this was worse than ever. The stroke of the cloth over the lower part of her body, even with the linen of her skirt acting as a buffer, made her heart thud unevenly, her breath catch in her throat. And when he moved lower, wiping away a few glistening droplets that were clinging to the fine nylon of her stockings, she shifted uneasily, uncomfortably.

He was too close. Far, far too close. If she inhaled she could breathe in some shockingly sensual scent. The tang of bergamot and lemon, mixed with the other, more intensely personal aroma of his skin.

‘No—it’s all right… Please…’

Her skin was prickling with sensation, heat racing through her veins. And when the side of his hand brushed her leg, skin almost touching skin, she had to clamp her mouth tightly shut, teeth digging into her lower lip, against the moan of response that almost escaped her.

‘It will dry!’ she declared with more emphasis than was necessary. Anything to stop him, to distract him from these disturbingly intimate attentions. ‘And it’s only a cheap suit.’

‘Then let me at least buy you another drink.’

Terrie was so relieved by the way he straightened up, tossing the cloth onto a nearby table, that she would have agreed to anything. She didn’t spot the look or gesture with which he summoned the bartender, barely heard the swift commanding notes of his order. Yet somehow he had manoeuvred her into a seat at the far side of the room, settling her on the burgundy velvet chair before taking the one opposite her in the privacy of the booth. And the next moment a full glass was brought and placed carefully in front of her.

‘It was dry white wine, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh—yes…’

Her response was even more distracted because as he lounged back in his seat and stretched out his long legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles, she discovered to her horror that her skirt had not been the only victim of the accident with the glass. The smart silver-grey trousers that were now in her view were liberally splashed with wine too—and his was only too clearly not a cheap suit. In fact, if the perfect fit, immaculate tailoring and fabulous material were anything to go by, it was an extremely expensive item of clothing.

‘But there’s no need… You don’t have to go to any trouble.’

‘It is no trouble,’ he assured her, his voice low and as intent as the gleaming eyes that were fixed on her face. ‘On the contrary, it’s a pleasure.’

The words should have been reassuring, but to Terrie’s total consternation they had precisely the opposite effect. She felt uncomfortably as if someone had scraped away a vital protective layer from her skin, leaving her nerves raw and uncomfortable, and that unnervingly direct stare made her shift uneasily on the velvet-covered chair.

Up close, he was just too much. Too beautiful, too big, too sexually disturbing, too male, for any female with the normal amount of hormones to be able to cope. And every single one of Terrie’s feminine instincts was on buzzing red alert at simply being faced with him.

‘I really think…’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid!’

Her tone of voice belied it, starting high-pitched and rising even further until it ended in an inelegant squawk at the end of the sentence.

‘Then drink your wine.’

Softly spoken as it was, it was clearly a command, and one he intended to have obeyed at once and without question. Just for a second Terrie was tempted to argue. But the impulse to rebellion died as soon as she looked into his dark face and met the forceful blaze of those tawny eyes head-on.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, reaching for the glass.

But with the drink halfway to her lips she suddenly paused again.

‘I wouldn’t want you to think…I mean—I don’t normally let…’

To her embarrassment, the faint lift of one black eyebrow mocked the struggle she was having to get her words out.

‘I don’t normally talk to strange men in bars.’

Was she truly as nervous as she sounded? Gio wondered. Or was it just an act? Surely the woman who had given him such a deliberate and unashamed appraisal couldn’t now be feeling uncertain and ill at ease.

Wasn’t it more likely that, having won his interest, she had now decided to change tactics, preferring to act as the prey rather than the hunter? Well, he would play along for the moment, though he wasn’t in the mood for subtlety or games. And as they were both only after one thing, then quite frankly he didn’t see the need for them.

‘And I don’t normally talk to women I don’t know either,’ he returned smoothly.

If he had had any doubts about the way he was going to handle this, then they had evaporated as soon as he had seated himself opposite her. This woman had class. The slim, elegant body, the fall of pale blonde hair, the porcelain-pale complexion, all had a touch of exoticism to a man used to being surrounded by women with a much darker natural colouring. The faint scent of her body mixed with a light, floral perfume to send a sensual message straight to his brain, making his body harden in hungry demand. But rushing things would be a mistake. The evening would be much more enjoyable if he took his time, enjoyed the journey as well as the final arrival at his destination.

And the final conquest would be all the sweeter as a result.

‘So why don’t we introduce ourselves and then neither of us will be complete strangers?’

One long, powerful hand was held out over the table, the fingers elegant and square-tipped.

‘My name is Giovanni Cardella. But most of my friends call me Gio.’

He pronounced the name like a softened version of ‘Joe’, though in his beautiful accent it had nothing like the ordinary solidity of the English form.

‘Terrie Hayden…’

Did she really have to touch that hand? She had reacted badly enough to the brief, faint brush of it against her leg. How much worse would she feel if she had to grasp those strong-boned fingers, feel the heat of that satin olive skin against her own?

But it seemed she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she put her own hand into his, sharp white teeth digging into her lower lip as his strength closed around her. The sensation of grasping a live electrical wire sent a powerful, burning reaction zigzagging up her arm, making her head swim so that she missed Gio’s murmured response.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Terry?’ he repeated, frowning faintly. ‘But that is a man’s name—no?’

‘It’s Terrie—with an i and an e, not a y.’

Carefully she eased her hand away from his, struggling to resist the impulse to cradle it against her, as if his touch had actually burned her skin.

‘It’s short for Teresa actually. But, like you, no one ever calls me by my proper name.’

‘I would. Terrie is not right for you—but Teresa…’

He made it sound so very different, Terrie registered with a sense of shock. After so many years of being called Tereesa, then his lyrical pronunciation of Terayza had a lovely, musical sound that made her smile unconsciously.

‘I will call you Teresa.’

He could call her anything he liked, if he would just continue to speak to her in that wonderful voice; if he would smile into her eyes in that enticing way. The effect of that smile was to make her feel as if she was bathed in the warm sun of some Mediterranean country, which was obviously where he had been born.

‘What part of Italy are you from?’ she asked impulsively.

‘I am a Sicilian. My home is in Palermo.’

It fitted. Italy would have given him the smooth sophistication that he wore with the sleek ease of an elegant cat. And Sicily had added the dangerous, untamed streak that burned in the tawny eyes, the curl of his mouth. Knowing he came from Sicily was like opening the door to the family pet cat, only to find that in its place a dark, dangerous, predatory jaguar had prowled into the room.

‘I’d love to visit Sicily! I’ve never been further abroad than a weekend trip to Bruges, and I’d really like to travel more.’

‘Well, perhaps now that you’ve decided to “chuck the job in” you’ll get the chance to do just that.’

At first Terrie thought that it was just the way that the slang phrase sounded strange on his tongue that made her pause, considering it thoughtfully. But next moment came the stunning realisation that he was quoting her own words directly, making her head whirl in shock.

‘Chuck the—you heard that! You were listening!’

‘You weren’t exactly quiet. I wasn’t aware that what you were saying was a state secret. If you hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear then you should have kept your voice lower.’

Was she really trying to pretend that she hadn’t meant him to ‘overhear’? After that openly interested look, the way that she had announced that she was bored and looking for some fun was a deliberate come-on if ever he’d heard one. It was too late for her to back down now.

And, if the truth was told, he would be disappointed if she did. He had no time for games, for the two steps forward, one step back dance of seduction. For the flirtatious pretence of needing to be wooed in order to be won. He knew what he wanted out of this—and, he was sure, so did she. So why were they playing around?

‘Have dinner with me.’

‘What?’

The question came so sharply, so unexpectedly that it caught Terrie totally off guard. It also caught her mid-swallow of another sip of wine and she had to close her mouth hurriedly and gulp it down hard so as not to choke.

‘What did you say?’ she asked, lavender eyes opening wide in apparent shock.

Was this not what she wanted, then? Of course it was, so why did she look so startled, as if the invitation was a total surprise? Or was it that he had acted too fast, cut through some of the expected moves, the polite chat, the ‘getting to know you’ that she had been anticipating?

Hadn’t she expected him to be quite so forthright?

Well, he wasn’t in the mood for observing convention, even if waiting increased the pleasure for her.

‘Have dinner with me. Oh, come on, mia bella! Don’t look so shocked! It’s not as if I’ve asked you to come to bed with me right here and now. It’s only dinner.’

Only dinner! Terrie’s head was spinning with the suddenness and the shock of it all. It was only—what?—less than half an hour since she had first spotted this man on the opposite side of the room. No more than twenty minutes since he had caught her eye and given her the most furiously off-putting glare it had ever been her misfortune to encounter. Then he had sneaked up on her, frightened her into dropping her glass, and now…

‘You want me to have dinner with you?’

‘And is that so hard to understand?’

The beautiful voice had developed a hard edge that reminded her unnervingly of the glare he had turned on her earlier.

‘I know English is not my first language, but I would have thought…’

‘Your English is perfect and you damn well know it! But after the look you gave me a while ago—when you were sitting over there…’ Terrie waved a hand in the direction of the Sicilian’s previous seat. ‘I would have thought that you couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’

‘Ah, that…’

Gio had the grace to look a little shamefaced. The sensual shape of his mouth twisted slightly as he swirled the last drops of his wine round and round in the bottom of his glass.

‘That wasn’t meant for you,’ he murmured, his attention apparently fixed on the rich red liquid. ‘I was angry with someone else—someone I had expected to meet.’

‘Another woman?’

Of course. It figured. He had been stood up and now he wanted to fill the unexpectedly empty hours with someone else.

‘Well, you certainly know how to make a girl feel second best.’

‘Come?’

Those heavy lids flew up, stunning eyes fixing on her face, his confusion apparently genuine.

‘No—you have it totally wrong. The man I was supposed to meet was someone I work with—it was a business meeting. He rang a short time ago to say that he couldn’t make it.’

‘So you’re all on your own?’

She tried to make it sound grudging, as if she was not fully mollified, but only succeeded in coming across as making a hasty reassessment and coming close to conceding.

‘All on my own—a stranger lost in London… You don’t believe me?’

Her expression had given her away.

‘You’re no more lost than I am! Less, in fact. You look more at home here than I do. In fact I’d be willing to bet that you know your way around London as well as you do Palermo.’

‘I’ll concede you that.’

The admission was accompanied by another of those smiles that had the force of a thousand-watt electrical charge, the effect of it sizzling straight through every single nerve in her body and making her toes curl in instant reaction inside her elegant court shoes.

‘But I am still on my own. And I’m hungry. And I would prefer to have company while I eat rather than spend the rest of the evening alone. I have a table booked for two. It would seem a waste not to use it, when you are looking for company too.’

Something about that ‘looking for company’ snagged on a raw edge in Terrie’s mind, making her hesitate sharply. But even as she was rethinking hastily he leaned forward and looked straight into her eyes, fixing her with the hypnotic force of his deep, dark gaze.

‘Per piacere,’ he said softly, huskily. ‘Please have dinner with me.’

She should say that she was having dinner with her friends—with the rest of the conference. She was going to say exactly that. She actually opened her mouth to form the words, only to hear herself say exactly the opposite.

‘Yes,’ she managed a touch breathlessly. ‘Thank you.’

If he had put one foot wrong in his reaction… If he had so much as looked in the least bit self-satisfied or triumphant, then she would have retracted immediately. She would have rushed to her feet, told him that no, she’d changed her mind, she was already booked for this evening. She would have rejoined Claire and Anna and eaten the buffet meal that came as part of the conference package. And, although she would have probably always regretted not accepting his invitation, she would have told herself that it was safer this way—that she wasn’t putting herself at any sort of risk.

But Giovanni Cardella did nothing of the sort.

Instead he simply reached out one long, elegant hand. The bronzed fingers touched hers where they lay on the polished wood table-top, rested lightly, warmly, briefly—just for a moment—and then lifted and moved to pick up his glass once again.

‘Thank you,’ he said, lifting it to his lips and draining the last of his wine. ‘Shall we go through to the restaurant?’

And as she nodded silently Terrie admitted to herself that it had been the brevity of that touch that had been her undoing. Delicate and swift, it had been like the feel of a butterfly alighting and then flying away again. And it had left her feeling lost and unsatisfied. It had just been enough to awaken those electric feelings that had fizzed over her skin. Awaken them and then leave them—and she wanted more. Much, much more.

She didn’t know whether it was those feelings, or simply coincidence, but as she got up from her chair to follow him she caught her foot on something and stumbled awkwardly.

At once Gio was at her side, hands coming out to support her, powerful arms taking her full weight with only the faintest tensing of muscle to reveal any effort. And as he held her close, her cloud-coloured eyes flew to his and locked with ebony darkness.

‘Careful!’ The single word shivered over her skin.

Would he kiss her now? Terrie wondered, the question flaring so swiftly in her mind, burning so fiercely that she felt sure that Gio must see it in her eyes and recognise her need in an instant. And it was that need that stunned her, shaking her rigid because she had never felt anything like it before in her life.

Oh, she had been attracted to men, obviously, in her past. She had even come close to wondering if she was in love. But nothing had lasted. Nothing had taken root and settled and flowered into something greater, something stronger, something…

Something permanent?

Just the thought shocked her rigid.

No, she had to be kidding. Had to be fooling herself. Jumping in feet first where someone wiser and more thoughtful would hold well back. Feelings like that didn’t just hit home and set in the space of a couple of seconds. They took time to grow, to develop and become a vital part of you. They came with knowledge and understanding and she knew little enough about this Giovanni Cardella—and understood less.

‘Th-thank you.’

She didn’t know if it was the stumble or the realisation of what she was feeling that put the tremor into her voice. She only knew that she needed to touch him—really touch him! Feel that smooth olive skin without the barrier of his jacket or hers in between.

And so she lifted her hand, raising it to his face. And let her fingers rest against his cheek, lying along the hard line of his jaw, supremely sensitive to the warmth of his flesh, the power of bone, the faint roughness where the hairs of his beard lay just below the surface of his skin.

‘Thank you,’ she said again, amazed that this time her voice sounded stronger when inside her stomach the nerves were twisting themselves into tight, painful knots, squeezing harder and harder with each breath she took.

‘Di niente. No problem.’

His hand touched hers again, pressing it softly against his cheek. Then his fingers closed around hers, lifting them, turning them so that he was looking straight down on to the delicate tips, the oval-shaped, shell-pink painted nails.

‘No problem,’ he murmured again, but with a very different intonation this time. One that Terrie struggled to interpret.

But, even as she was reaching mentally for the indecipherable note in his voice, he moved again, and this time he blew her thought process right out of focus. He lifted the hand he held; lowered his head towards it. And when his mouth and her fingers met he pressed a long, lingering kiss first on their tips and then, slowly and sensually, all the way to the back of her hand.

‘Gio…’

His name was just a sigh from her lips, faint as a breath, and she was stunned and bewildered to find that sudden tears stung her eyes. Tears of confusion and delight. Of almost fearful sensitivity to each and every movement that this man made.

Did he know what he was doing to her? Did he realise that, when she was used to the fumbling, clumsy, grabbing advances of men closer to her own twenty-four years, his gentleness, his gallantry—his courtship—were infinitely more seductive than any more passionate approach?

A moment before, she had longed for his kiss. The image of him taking her mouth in passion had flared in her mind like the blaze of lightning. But he had kissed her hand, and the delicacy of the gesture, the gentleness of his touch, had had so much more power over her feelings than any more overt approach.

‘I’d love to have dinner with you,’ she managed, needing to say something to show him a touch of what she was feeling, and yet afraid to let him in fully. To reveal just how deeply he had affected her.

His smile was swift, flashing on and off with the speed of a neon sign.

‘I thought we’d already agreed on that.’

This was going exactly the way he wanted it, Gio reflected as he took her arm to lead her out of the bar and towards the ornate glass doors into the restaurant. At least now Terrie—Terrie! What sort of a name was that for a woman? Now that Terrie had stopped pretending that she needed to be persuaded to spend time with him, they both understood what the evening was all about.

She had wanted him to kiss her a moment ago. It had shown in her face. But a kiss was not what he had in mind. At least not a kiss on the mouth. The only woman he had kissed on the lips since Lucia had been Megan. Gio let a brief, fleeting smile cross his lips at the thought of his new and hugely pregnant sister-in-law. She had brought some much-needed warmth into his half-brother’s life and, he admitted, into his own. Megan he would kiss and hug willingly. And his mother. No one else.

And certainly not this woman. Not some passing stranger he had picked up in a bar purely at the prompting of his most basic masculine urgings. A one-night stand was all it was. All it could ever be. And Teresa understood that. For a moment there he had had his doubts, but the way she had accepted his invitation to dinner, the carefully staged stumble so that he would be forced to take her in his arms, had reassured him of the facts. She knew exactly what was going on; how to play this game.

It should be plain sailing from now on. A meal. Some social chat. A touch of flattery, some light flirtation across a candlelit table. A shared bottle of wine—a nightcap…

And they would share that nightcap in her room. Her room, not his. Taking her to his room implied more than he meant her to take away from this encounter. And, after the nightcap, they would share a bed.

For tonight. And for tonight only.

And tomorrow he would go on his way—alone.

CHAPTER THREE

‘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.’

CHAPTER FOUR

THE lift doors had barely closed before he reached for her.

Terrie could still hear the rumble of the heavy metal moving across the empty space, the sound of the engine starting up, as Gio’s hands closed about her arms, pulling her to him. And the slight jolting of the enclosed compartment as it lurched into motion threw her even harder up against his strong frame, her face buried in his shoulder.

‘Bellezza… Mia bella…’

The rough sound of his muttered words was blurred by the heavy pounding of his heart under her cheek, a throbbing that was echoed in her own veins as she surrendered willingly to his embrace.

Earlier in the evening she had dreamed, wondered—fantasised—about the way his touch would feel, the sensations that being in his arms might produce. And she hadn’t even managed to come close. The reality was so much more—more intense, more sensual, more arousing—more than she had ever imagined it could be.

The heat of his body enclosed her. The scent of his skin was in her nostrils. The sound of his breathing filled her ears at the same time that the warm current of his breath whispered over her sensitive skin, making the delicate nerves tingle all the way down to her toes.

‘Teresa…’

Once again that delightful accent turned her name into something new and exotic, something special only to him, and simply hearing it made her heart turn over in delight.

From the moment that she had made her decision it had been simply a matter of seconds to find a waiter, put in the order for the coffee to be taken to her room.

‘Of course, Signor Cardella,’ the man had said, clearly knowing only too well just who Gio was. ‘Shall I bring it to your suite?’

‘No.’

An abrupt shake of his head had emphasised the crispness of his answer.

‘To…’ Ebony eyes had been turned on Terrie, a question and a prompt combined in the one glance.

‘Room five three four.’

Five three four. Her room was on the fifth floor of the hotel, which meant that, even in the speedy, efficient lift, it inevitably took some time to reach their destination.

Some time in which Gio laced his hands around the fine bones of her skull, lifting her face to his, hard fingers massaging her scalp. Time in which his kisses drifted over the surface of her hair, the warmth of his mouth touched her forehead, her closed eyelids, her temples, but never reached her mouth. And most of all time in which the hard, hot pressure of his body revealed forcefully and dramatically the potent power of his desire for her, the swollen force of his erection up against her stomach triggering off a near-delirium of yearning that made her head spin wildly.

‘Gio…’

Her fingers clenched in the fine material of his shirt, pulling it loose at his narrow waist. She could no longer wait for the sanctuary of her room and the privacy it would afford them. She wanted to—needed to—touch his skin, feel him properly now.

Her hands shook as she ran them up the ridged strength of his ribcage, stroking the warm satin of his skin, brushing across the scattering of crisp hairs that her fingertips encountered. She felt him shudder violently in reaction to her touch and with a muffled curse he rammed her into the far corner of the lift, opposite the door, with her back against the cold metal of the compartment.

His body was against every inch of hers now. Chest to breast, thigh to thigh, his heat and desire crushed into the cradle of her pelvis. And his hands were urgent on her flesh, stroking down her face, along her arms, roughly tugging the white top up to expose more of her skin to his knowing fingers. Moaning aloud, Terrie writhed against his imprisoning strength, throwing her head up and back to allow for more of the hard, snatched kisses that plundered her face and neck.

But still he hadn’t kissed her mouth. And she felt that she had never known what it was to feel deprived until this moment, when he continued to deny her that basic intimacy.

‘Gio!’ she gasped again. ‘Gio—kiss me!’

But still his mouth eluded hers. Even though his hands roamed higher and wilder. Even though he caught and cupped the soft swell of her breasts in his hard fingers, sensually tormenting her by rolling her aching nipples in a touch that was such a devastating form of pleasure it came so very near to pain, still he didn’t kiss her.

‘Gio, damn you! Please!’

Driven beyond endurance, she pulled her hands out from under his shirt, hearing something rip faintly as she did so. Ignoring it, she reached up and fastened wildly clutching fingers in the midnight-dark silk of his hair, forcing his head down to meet her own upturned face.

At first she felt his resistance, thought she would never overcome it, but just when she was convinced that he had won and a faint whimper of defeat almost escaped her, she made one desperate, final effort, and at last his mouth touched hers.

For a second or two Terrie thought she might actually faint in sensual delight. That the warm, firm caress of Gio’s lips would actually send her tumbling into an oblivion of pleasure, a world in which nothing mattered but herself and this man and the union between them. But then two things happened at once to jolt her back to the present, reality intruding on her with a jarring shock.

At first she was aware only of Gio’s sudden stillness, the swift, disturbing stiffening of his powerful body, the way that his mouth hardened on hers, not in desire, but in a rejection that tore at her heart, slashing a deep wound into it. The other, more mundane event was the creak of the lift, its slowing to a halt, juddering faintly as it reached the fifth floor and stopped.

It was a moment or two before Terrie had collected the composure to realise where they were, drawn in enough breath to mutter, ‘I think this is our floor.’ And even then she realised that she had recovered well before Gio; that he was not anything like as alert as she had been. When she looked into his face he seemed to be only barely conscious, his eyes glazed and unfocused, two vivid flares of colour scoring along the high, wide cheekbones, his breathing raw and uneven.

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