Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding. Sharon Kendrick
sì, senz’altro—scusi, scusi.’ His voice dipped effortlessly into English. ‘Cassandra Summers with the amazing eyes. How could I possibly forget?’
Cassie swallowed as nerves began to assail her. Don’t back him into a corner. Show that you have a legitimate reason to ring him in case he’s looking for an out. ‘Actually, I’m ringing up because you forgot your candles?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You bought six very expensive c-candles and you didn’t take them with you.’
His long legs sprawling in front of him as he reclined in a squashy leather sofa, Giancarlo looked up at the huge canvas which dominated the wall above the blazing log fire, and gave a slow smile. ‘So I did. And that’s the only reason you’re ringing me, is it?’
‘Well, I…’ Flustered now, Cassie didn’t know how to respond. Did she tell him that maybe she’d been a bit too hasty in turning him down—and that dinner sounded wonderful—or would that make her sound like some sort of desperado?
‘Or maybe you’ve changed your mind about having dinner with me?’ he prompted silkily.
Just say yes…he isn’t planning to kidnap you and send you to the ends of the earth. Just say yes! ‘That would be very…nice,’ said Cassie blandly.
Giancarlo gave a soft laugh. Nice wasn’t what he had in mind. Nothing near ‘nice’, in fact. Something dark, erotic and horizontal was closer to the mark—he knew that and he suspected that deep down she knew that, too. Because nobody could deny the sparks which had flown between them today—sparks hot enough to make him act on impulse, to chat up the kind of woman he would never have met at a dinner party.
And yet, in a way, he had preferred her a little more when she’d lifted her chin and fixed him with those violet eyes and proudly said she was doing something else tonight. Wasn’t it slightly disappointing that she’d rung and become just like all the others—joining the endless line of women who wanted him and didn’t mind showing him how much? In a few short moments she’d gone from goddess to doormat and he’d known enough of those in his time. His mouth flattened. Wouldn’t it have excited him if he’d had to do the chasing for once—instead of the inevitability of yet another luscious creature falling into his bed because he had snapped his fingers?
Still, he shouldn’t knock it. At least, not until he’d tried it.
‘So what time shall I expect you?’ he murmured.
‘Expect me?’ Cassie squeaked. ‘You mean have dinner with you tonight?’
‘Of course. What did you mean? Unless you have eaten already?’
‘Well, no—but it’s…’ Cassie glanced down at the bright pink waterproof watch which encircled her slender wrist. ‘It’s getting on for nine o’clock!”
‘So?’
‘Well, isn’t that…?’ Something stopped her from expounding her mother’s theory that food lay heavy on your stomach if it was consumed too late in the evening. He didn’t seem the kind of man who would be interested in that kind of information. ‘A bit late to eat?’
‘Not at all. In Spain, they eat at eleven.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
‘You’ve never been to Spain?’
‘Never.’
‘Then maybe I shall take you there one day,’ he murmured. ‘We could drink Rioja under some of the starriest skies in the world and eat tapas with our fingers. But in the meantime—why don’t you get in a cab and come over here and we’ll see what we can find in my cupboard? Where do you live?’
‘Greenford.’
‘Near Park Lane?’
‘No, no—that’s Green Park,’ she corrected, because it was a common mistake. As if she could ever afford to live anywhere near Park Lane! ‘I’m miles out,’ she forged on. ‘Even with a fast car I couldn’t possibly get there much before ten and—no matter what they do in Spain—that really is too late for dinner. Especially when I have to get up early for work tomorrow.’
It wasn’t too late for what he had in mind but even Giancarlo wouldn’t dream of issuing such a blatant invitation unless he had a woman in his arms and was kissing her into dreamy submission. He stifled a sigh—because this now seemed to be escalating into something other than an impromptu dinner with the inevitable conclusion he’d had in mind. The last thing he wanted was hassle. He didn’t do hassle—and certainly not from women. Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen after all.
‘That’s a pity,’ he murmured.
Cassie could hear the dismissive note in his voice bringing the conversation to an end—and all she could think of was that her chance to see him was slipping away. And that she would never meet a man like Giancarlo Vellutini again.
‘But I’m free tomorrow night,’ she blurted out.
Giancarlo stared up at the ceiling, wondering why nothing was ever perfect, for now she sounded a little too keen. Should he tell her he was busy? It wasn’t really a fabrication since he was always busy—and there was enough paperwork left over from the American deal to keep him occupied for days.
And then he thought of her face. Of her rose-petal lips and those eyes—the most vivid, violet colour he’d ever seen. In fact, come to think of it, he’d never seen a pair of eyes like that. He found himself thinking beyond her face. Wondering what kind of panties she favoured. And what she liked best to do in bed. And he swallowed down the sharp tang of lust which had dried in his throat.
‘Then we must have dinner tomorrow,’ he said unevenly. ‘I’ll send a car to collect you. What time do you finish at the store?’
‘I…’ Cassie’s thoughts began rattling through her head as she tried to work out the logistics. She could take an outfit into work and get changed afterwards. ‘That would be great. Tomorrow I finish at seven-thirty.’
‘The car will be waiting for you. A domani,’ he said softly, and hung up.
Cassie was left listening to the click as he cut the connection, her heart racing as she replaced the phone in its cradle. She thought of the sensual curve of his lips and way his hard black eyes had glittered when he looked at her. She remembered the way her body had trembled when his hand had brushed over hers and she had the strangest sensation of standing beside a deep, dark lake and getting ready to dive in without really knowing anything about what might lay beneath the surface.
The only thing she knew was that she was going to be way out of her depth.
THERE must have been some kind of mistake.
For a moment Cassie froze as she stared up at the imposing white mansion. Yes, she’d guessed that Giancarlo was rich—very, very rich—but surely he couldn’t live somewhere like this? Not looking out over the lush gardens of Kensington Palace and slap bang next door to an embassy where a flag was fluttering in the cold December breeze.
Already the evening felt as if it were happening to someone else—and yet it had barely begun. She kept thinking that if she pinched herself hard enough she might wake up and find herself on the bus going home to Greenford instead of in the back of a chauffeur-driven car which had just stopped in front of one of the most prestigious crescents in London.
After finishing work, she had changed into a simple black dress and a pair of cheap, high-heeled shoes that she’d hastily run out and bought during her lunch hour. Adding a touch of lipstick, she had untied her hair and tried to quell her steadily rising nerves as she dragged a brush