The Sicilian's Passion. Sharon Kendrick
conservatory!’
‘But perhaps Miss Connors has lost her… appetite?’ he murmured, and his eyes darkened in predatory challenge.
She most certainly had—and he knew it, too! Kate met a mocking blue gaze and knew that this was something she could not refuse—and when she thought about it, why ever should she? Why let this contemptuous individual put her off, when during every other visit she had enjoyed a congenial and delicious meal with Lady St John before setting off back to London? Surely she was accomplished enough in the ways of the world to be able to act indifferently when she wanted to?
‘I haven’t eaten since six this morning,’ she said truthfully. ‘I’d love lunch!’
Giovanni looked at her, and wondered if she was one of those women who could eat with genuine appetite and remain as slim as a blade of grass. Or would a hearty lunch mean that she would exist on nothing but water and fresh air for the next three days?
‘Good! Come on, Giovanni,’ said Lady St John resolutely. ‘Let me show you colours that could rival your Sicilian flora!’
He gave a benign but disbelieving laugh. ‘I do not think so!’
Once they had gone, Kate took out the heavy brocade curtains, and set about pinning them up, running her fingertips down their shiny pleats. When she worked she was focused, seeing nothing more than colour and texture taking shape before her eyes, and she put the dark-haired Sicilian out of her mind.
She had just finished when she heard a soft footfall behind her, and she turned on her stepladder to find Giovanni standing there, his gaze arrested by the brilliant glimmer of deep blue and gold.
And then the gaze was lifted almost reluctantly to her face, and Kate felt herself imprisoned—impaled, almost—by a shaft of blinding sapphire light.
‘You look surprised,’ she observed in a low voice.
He was. He had expected… what? That she was too modern, too up-to-the-minute, and that the fabric she chose would look shockingly out of place in this beautiful old house.
‘A little,’ he conceded, with a very Sicilian shrug of his shoulders.
‘You thought I would have poor taste?’
He looked at her. She had perception, he noted. And such green eyes. And hair like fire. He felt some unknown and unwanted sensation washing over his skin. ‘You should not ask questions to which you do not wish to hear the answers.’
How ridiculously old-fashioned he sounded! ‘I’m a big girl, Mr Calverri—’
‘Signor Calverri,’ he corrected softly.
How could he possibly make his own name sound so beguiling? ‘And?’ she challenged in a husky voice she didn’t quite recognise as her own. ‘On the question of taste?’
He saw the quickening of her breath, and felt it fire a rapid response in his heart. ‘Your taste is quite exquisite,’ he said quietly.
Kate let her eyelids flutter down before he read the unwelcome hunger in her eyes. She didn’t like him! So why did she want to keep running his compliment round and round in her head like an old-fashioned record?
‘Thank you,’ she said breathlessly, feeling as uncoordinated as a giraffe as she slowly stepped down off the ladder, unspeakably relieved to see his godmother appear, her face one of delight as she surveyed the finished effect.
‘Oh, Kate! It’s perfect!’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Better than I could have hoped for in my wildest dreams!’
Kate found herself having some pretty wild dreams of her own—and most of them seemed to involve the unsmiling face of Giovanni Calverri, trying to imagine what it would be like to be undressed by him or to be kissed by those hard, sensuous lips.
‘Why, Kate,’ said Lady St John, with a little frown of concern, ‘you’d better come and have some lunch—you’ve gone quite pale!’
‘H-have I?’ She touched her fingertips to her cheeks, and prayed for co-ordination to return.
The three of them walked to the light-filled room which overlooked the garden and Giovanni found his eyes being drawn to the graceful curve of her neck, feeling his senses spring into life as he told himself that she was resistible. Easily resistible. But the sunlight that flooded through the windows had made her hair look even brighter—as though someone had put a flame to it, and the waves were made of dancing fire.
He was unsmiling as he waited for the two women to sit down, and Kate thought that she had never seen a face quite so devoid of emotion. Or so compelling. And she became aware of the sudden soft rush of colour to her cheeks.
Giovanni saw her blush, and interpreted the unmistakable reason behind it, feeling his heart begin to hammer in his chest as he realised how much she wanted him.
‘Have a glass of wine, Kate,’ smiled Lady St John.
Kate shook her head as she tried to avoid the clash of that blue stare, the small but knowing smile which was playing at the corners of a mouth which looked almost cruel. Wine was the very last thing she needed. ‘Just water for me, thanks—I’m driving. And I have to get back to London straight after lunch.’
What a pity, Giovanni found himself thinking and then, with a huge effort of will, pushed her green-eyed temptation to the very recesses of his mind.
It was an endurance test of a meal which Kate forced herself to eat. Because if she pushed her food round and round her plate, wouldn’t he be able to tell how debilitated she felt in his presence? How aware she was of those long, olive fingers as they casually broke bread and then sensuously placed a fragment in his mouth? Why, she was in danger of acting like an overgrown schoolgirl, with a schoolgirl’s crush! At twenty-seven, for heaven’s sake!
She cleared her throat and forced herself to look directly at him, unprepared for another sudden, sharp tug of longing. He isn’t your type, she told herself again. He isn’t!
‘So are you just over here for business or for… for—’ she got the next word out with some difficulty ‘—pleasure?’ she finished on a gulp.
He noted the faltering quality of her voice without surprise, the tremble of her mouth which made him long to taste its sweetness, and was appalled at his own weakness. ‘Business brings me to England,’ he said, his accent deepening. ‘But it is always a pleasure to see my godmother.’
Kate persevered, forcing herself to continue as if he were just anyone and she was networking. ‘And what is your business, exactly?’
‘This!’ Lady St John waved an elegant hand at the solid silver candelabra which adorned the centre of the table and at the exquisitely fashioned knives and forks they were using. ‘The Calverri family exports silver all over the world,’ she said proudly.
And suddenly Kate made the connection—if she hadn’t been quite so reluctantly dazzled by the man she might have made it a whole lot sooner. ‘Calverri silver?’ she asked him faintly. ‘You mean, the Calverri silver?’
‘There is only one,’ he told her arrogantly.
Which explained the outrageously expensive car and the outrageously expensive suit—his air of only being used to the very best. Because Calverri silver—recreating classic, antique pieces, or creating timeless new ones—was a must-have for anyone with taste and plenty of money.
‘Your company is doing very well,’ Kate offered.
‘But of course! Under Giovanni’s guiding hand, it has become truly international,’ said Lady St John, with another proud smile at her godson.
He shrugged. ‘We have an exemplary workforce, Elisabeth,’ he murmured. ‘I am simply a small cog in a very well-oiled machine.’
Kate thought that modesty