Redemption Of The Untamed Italian. Clare Connelly
were looking in her direction. Cursing her recognisability, and the fact Laurence had chosen this celebrity hotspot in an attempt to impress his would-be investor, she nodded jerkily. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She forced herself to walk sedately towards the facilities. Once inside, she lingered with her back against the cold, marble wall and her eyes swept shut.
She’d likely never see Cesare Durante again after this night. She was there for one reason and one reason only: to help Laurence secure him as an investor.
She had to help her cousin—there was too much at stake to risk ruining the evening because she couldn’t stop looking at Cesare and imagining what those broad, capable hands would feel like running over her body... Heat flushed her cheeks because she knew they’d feel good. Better than good. But that was beside the point—nothing was going to happen between them. She needed to get a grip.
Sucking in a deep breath, she quickly checked her appearance in the mirror, pausing just long enough to reapply her soft coral lipstick and finger-comb her generous, side-sweeping fringe so it artfully covered one eye. She sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and pulled the door inward, stepping into the wallpapered, dimly lit corridor that led to the amenities. At one end, there was a sideboard with a huge bunch of lilies sitting on top of it. A nostalgic smile briefly curved her lips.
As a child, Almer Hall had always had flowers. Huge arrangements, just like this, grand and fragrant. She paused in front of the vase, her fingertips lifting on autopilot to gently stroke the petals—like silk, dewy and tender. She inhaled the scent and swept her eyes shut, remembering the feeling of visiting her grandparents as a child, running down the marbled hallways. In summer, the fragrance had been almost overwhelming.
There were no flowers now. More than two-thirds of the house was shut down, doors closed, furniture—what remained of it—covered in sheets. The family quarters, whilst cheery, were modest and beginning to look tatty in parts. What she wouldn’t do to see the house as it used to be, tables in each room groaning under the weight of arrangements such as this.
Laurence had to pull this off. It was the only way they’d be able to save Almer Hall, to stave off the necessity of its sale. She couldn’t see it pass into other hands. It would be the final straw for her parents, who had already lost so much.
She pinged her eyes open with a swirling sense of discontent, but when her eyes naturally landed in the mirror above the flowers her gaze connected sharply with a pair of eyes that had been fascinating her all evening, and they were watching her with undisguised speculation. Her breath began to clog in her throat, making her feel light-headed.
‘Did you get lost?’ A sardonic lift of one brow was accompanied by a smile that set off a sudden round of fireworks in her belly. The desire she’d been trying so hard to fight lurched through her anew.
She shook her head, her throat parched at this man’s sudden appearance. Even more so when his eyes lowered, carrying out a visual inspection of her body in the pale-grey silk slip she wore.
Her heart in her throat, she turned to face him, the action bringing them toe to toe.
‘You’re shorter than I would have thought,’ he murmured so that it was Jemima’s turn to lift her brows in silent enquiry. ‘Most of the models I know are closer to my height.’
‘And I suppose you know lots of models?’ The words emerged husky and soft, and for some reason she didn’t step back from him, even when it would have made sense to put a little distance between them.
‘A few,’ he confirmed in a way that made her certain he was intentionally under-stating the facts. But then his expression sobered and he was looking at her more intently, concentrating on her features as though committing them to memory. ‘You are tiny. Like a little bird.’
Her lop-sided smile was spontaneous. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.’
He continued to stare at her and her smile dropped. She was conscious of everything: the feeling of her breath in her body, the sound of his, the warmth from his chest, the parting of his lips.
‘Anyway.’ She shifted her eyes towards the door with effort. ‘Laurence will be wondering what’s keeping me.’
Cesare’s expression shifted immediately. ‘On the contrary, I think it is fair to say his entire focus is on whether or not I’m going to save his ass from financial ruin.’
At that, Jemima’s gaze skittered back to Cesare. No one knew about Laurence’s situation. He’d taken great care to hide the parlous state of the fund, particularly given the risky investments he’d been making with other people’s capital. She tried not to think about the fact that he’d drawn her into this mess, nor to wonder whether that made her some kind of accessory. No one was supposed to know. Surely this man, this fascinating, handsome hunk of an Italian tycoon, couldn’t really have any idea as to the full extent of Laurence’s situation?
‘You’re surprised?’ He correctly interpreted the look flitting across her expressive face. Her skin paled, her lips parted, and she stayed resolutely silent—for lack of any certainty about just what to say.
His body shifted, moving ever so slightly closer to hers—by only a matter of degrees, but it was enough. Enough for everything about him to become bigger, stronger and more overpowering and for all the temptations she’d been fighting off to threaten to consume her. ‘Do I strike you as a man who would come to a meeting like this—or to any meeting, for that matter—unprepared?’
‘No.’ The answer was intuitive.
Approval warmed his face and he nodded, just once, not moving his eyes from her face. ‘So you’re, what—bait?’
She frowned, not understanding.
‘Did Laurence think that having you at the table would distract me sufficiently to make me rush into this investment? That I’d put aside common sense and offer to buy into his hedge fund to the tune of half a billion pounds just because the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen happened to be fluttering her lashes at me all evening?’
It wasn’t really a compliment, yet butterflies beat their wings against the sides of her belly. There was an insult in there, or at the very least the hint of condemnation. A need to defend her cousin stiffened her spine. ‘On the contrary, Laurence simply wanted it to feel like a pleasant evening rather than purely business.’
Cesare’s wolf-like smile showed how little he believed that statement. ‘This is business.’ He growled the words out. ‘And I never let anything affect my judgement where business is concerned.’ He moved closer, so now his arm brushed against hers, and she had to suck in a sharp breath of air—which was a mistake, because it tasted of him, all hyper-masculine and citrusy.
‘Although, you have made that hard to remember at times.’
Another compliment buried in a tone that was somehow derisive. She stared up at him, the pale overhead light catching her hair so it shone like threads of precious gold. ‘Have I?’
His expression was droll. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware.’ He lifted a hand, running a finger across her cheek, and she trembled in response. ‘It was an excellent gambit.’ His thumb padded across her lower lip and desire sparked like flames against her sides. ‘I can see why he would think you might win me over.’
‘That wasn’t his intention.’ Her voice came out stiff and cultured, her tone plummy enough to please even her mother.
Cesare’s laugh spread through her veins like warmed caramel. ‘Yes, it was. Perhaps he didn’t inform you of that, but I have no doubt your cousin believed that serving you up on a silver platter would make this deal go through more smoothly.’
‘I’m not being served up, to you or anyone,’ she demurred without moving backwards, even when she knew she had to. ‘I often accompany Laurence on business meetings.’ It wasn’t particularly convincing.
‘Really?’ He lowered his hand to her shoulder,