Sara Craven Tribute Collection. Sara Craven
saw you,’ he said quietly. ‘I wanted to know you better. Is that so surprising?’
Yes, she thought. Yes.
She lifted her chin. ‘Why—because you felt sorry for me—leading contender in the Worst Dressed Woman contest?’
He said slowly, ‘I promise you—pity never entered my mind.’ There was an odd silence, then he went on, ‘So—what can I do to become less of a mystery?’
‘You could answer a few questions.’
He poured some mineral water for them both. ‘Ask what you want.’
Cory hesitated, wondering where to begin. ‘Why are you called Rome?’
‘Because I was born there.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess my mother was short on inspiration at the time.’
‘What about your father?’
Rome’s mouth twisted. ‘He wasn’t around to ask. I never even knew his name.’
‘Oh.’ Cory digested that. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need,’ he told her levelly. ‘My mother made a mistake, but she had enough wisdom to know that it didn’t have to become a life sentence. That she could survive on her own.’
‘But it can’t have been easy for her.’
‘Life,’ he said, ‘is not a cushion.’ He paused. ‘Or not for most of us, anyway.’
Sudden indignation stiffened her. ‘Is that aimed at me?’
‘Are you saying you’ve grown up in hardship?’ There was a strange harshness in his tone.
‘Materially, no,’ Cory said curtly. ‘But that’s not everything. And you’re not exactly on the breadline yourself if you can afford a place in Farrar Street, over-priced tickets to charity bashes, and the joining fee at the health club.’
He shrugged. ‘I make a living.’
‘And how do you do that?’ she said. ‘Or is that part of your mystery?’
‘Not at all.’ Rome smiled at her, unfazed by the snip in her voice. ‘I sell wine.’
‘You’re a wine merchant?’ Cory was disconcerted. There was something about him, she thought, something rough-edged and vigorous that spoke of the open air, not vaults full of dusty bottles.
‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Because the only wine on offer is my own.’
She stared at him. ‘You own a vineyard?’
‘Own it, work in it—and love it.’
His voice was soft, suddenly, almost caressing. This was a man with a passion, Cory realised. And the first chink he’d shown in his armour.
Would his voice gentle in the same way when he told a woman he loved her? she wondered. And had he ever said those words and meant them?
Instantly she stamped the questions back into her subconscious. These were not avenues she should be exploring.
She hurried back into speech. ‘And is that why you’re in London? To sell your wine?’
A selling trip was unlikely to last long, she thought, and soon he would be gone and her life could return to its cherished quiet again, without troubling thoughts or wild dreams.
‘Partly,’ he said. ‘I’m always looking for new markets for my wine, of course, but this time I have other business to transact as well. So my stay will be indefinite,’ he added silkily. ‘If that’s what you were wondering.’
Wine-grower and part-time mind-reader, Cory thought, biting her lip.
It was a relief when the waiter arrived to take their order, and there were decisions to be made about starting with pasta or a risotto, and whether she should have calves liver or chicken in wine to follow.
When everything, including the choice of wine, had been settled, and they were alone again, he said, ‘Now may I ask you some personal questions?’
‘I don’t know.’ She could feel herself blushing faintly as she avoided his gaze. ‘Maybe we should keep the conversation general.’
‘Difficult,’ he said. ‘Unless we sit at separate tables with our backs to each other. You see, mia bella, you’re something of a mystery yourself.’
She shook her head, attempting a casual laugh. ‘My life’s an open book.’
‘If so, I find the opening chapters immensely intriguing,’ Rome drawled. ‘I keep asking myself who is the real Cory Grant?’
Her flush deepened. ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘Each time we meet I see a different woman,’ he said softly. ‘A new and contrasting image. The silver dress was too harsh for you, but tonight you’re like some slender ivory flower brushed with rose. The effect is—breathtaking.’
Cory discovered she was suddenly breathless herself. She tried to laugh again. To sound insouciant. Not easy when she was shaking inside.
‘Very flattering—but a total exaggeration, I’m afraid.’
‘But then, you don’t see with my eyes, mia cara.’ He paused, allowing her to assimilate his words. ‘So, I ask again, which is the real woman?’
Cory looked down at her glass. She said huskily, ‘I can’t answer that. Maybe you should just choose the image you like best.’
‘Ah.’ Rome’s voice sank to a whisper. ‘But so far that image is just my own private fantasy. Although I hope that one night it will become reality.’
His eyes met hers in a direct erotic challenge, leaving her in no doubt over his meaning. He wanted to see her naked.
She felt her pulses thud as she remembered her certainty that he’d been mentally undressing her at the ball, and her colour deepened hectically.
She said unsteadily, ‘Please—don’t say things like that.’ And don’t look at me like that, she added silently, as if you were already sliding my clothes off.
His brows lifted. ‘You don’t wish to be thought attractive—desirable?’
‘Yes, one day—by the man I love.’
Oh, God, she thought. How smug that sounded. How insufferably prim. As if she’d turned into the heroine of some Victorian novel. And waited for him to laugh.
Instead he sat quietly, watching her, his expression unreadable.
At last, he spoke. ‘Tell me, cara, why are you so afraid to be a woman?’
‘I’m not,’ she denied. ‘That’s—nonsense. And I really don’t like this conversation.’
Rome’s brows lifted sardonically. ‘Have I broken another rule?’
‘I’d say a whole book of them.’ She wanted to drink from her glass, but knew that he’d see her hand trembling as she picked it up and draw the kind of conclusions that she could not risk.
‘No kisses and no questions either.’ Rome shook his head. ‘You don’t make it easy.’
She forced a taut smile. ‘But life isn’t a cushion. I’m sure someone said that once. And here comes our first course,’ she added brightly.
She hadn’t expected to be able to swallow a mouthful, but the creamy risotto flavoured with fresh herbs proved irresistible, and the crisp white wine that Rome had ordered complemented it perfectly.
She said, striving for normality, ‘We should be drinking your own wine.’
‘Perhaps next time. Alessandro and I are about to strike a deal. I came here early so I could talk to him.’
‘Until