Scandals Of The Powerful. Sarah Morgan
She smiled to his mouth. ‘Err, no.’
‘Oh, we are,’ Anton said. ‘At least according to our fellow guests.’
‘Couldn’t you have told me all this in the car?’
He smiled at her, his fingers moving from her chin and coiling around a lock of her hair. ‘You walked straight past them without so much as a glance.’ He watched her blink in silent admission, for of course it would have been near impossible not to look. ‘This was the only way to pull it off.’
His mouth moved to her ear, and she closed her eyes, not for the sake of curious onlookers, just for the feel of him close. His jaw was rough and unshaven on her cheek. His cologne was subtle, yet it made her dizzy. ‘The old woman in black...’ His words were business, his voice pure pleasure, as he lightly kissed her ear. ‘That is Teresa, the matriarch. She is the reason some of the two sets of cousins are here. You would not see Luca at the same table as Santo and Alessandro otherwise.’
She knew his caress was for the benefit of others and yet her body responded as if it were solely for her. Emily felt a shiver run through her as his breath blew gently on her ears, felt her stomach fold over a little as his mouth dusted the sensitive skin, and when he pulled his head away and looked into her eyes, for Emily, in that moment, the Correttis were forgotten.
‘So now,’ Anton said, ‘you see why I had to not tell you.’
‘I do.’
He dropped contact then, for a waiter stood over them, and Anton ordered for them both.
It was incredibly exhilarating to be sitting with this beautiful man with Sicily’s most notorious just a breath away. They started with antipasto and it was more heavenly than anything she had tasted—asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto and balsamic-glazed cipollines, which he explained were like shallots. Yes, it tasted like heaven, or was it more the unexpected company she kept? Emily could hear the low murmur of conversation from the Corretti table, the occasional burst of laughter or the slight raise of voices.
Just knowing who they were gave Emily the thrill of imminent danger—and then there was Anton.
She had given up moving her knees. They had been lightly pressed against each other and now, as their plates were cleared, not quite so lightly, as if in warning.
‘If you look over again,’ Anton said when he caught her eyes wandering, ‘we change places or,’ he said, ‘I kiss you properly this time.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Shame. He thought it but did not say it. Anton looked to where she sat beside him and though he was rarely intrigued, he found he was. ‘Tell me about you,’ Anton said, but as she opened her mouth to protest he got in first. ‘We are being watched not just by them but by bodyguards. It is time to speak just about you.’
Emily nodded, felt the heat rise on her cheeks as he took her hand, and reminded herself for the hundredth time they were acting. Except her body was on fire. Not even his question doused it.
‘Why has your career been shot?’
‘I really don’t want to think about it,’ Emily said. Adam and Dianne seemed light-years away and were a place she did not want to visit, but Anton was insistent, as was his thumb in the palm of her hand.
‘Why would I want to share information with someone who doesn’t have the capability to properly report it?’ He watched her struggle to come up with a suitable answer and suppressed the smile from his lips. ‘Don’t worry, like you, my memory is not good.’
‘Liar.’ She smiled.
‘Said the liar.’
She was looking down at his hand, beautiful, long fingers that curled around hers, and whatever he was doing with his thumb was making it rather hard to think. Their foreheads were almost touching to enable them to keep their voices low, and so intimate was the contact that when she spoke, the words just came out in a jumble. ‘Three months ago everything was fine. I was going out with Adam. My editor.’
He made a tutting noise.
‘I know it was stupid to get involved with someone from work, but...’
‘But you did,’ Anton said.
‘Foolish me. Anyway, we were fine but then Dianne joined.’ Emily pursed her lips for a moment, clearly trying to think how best to describe the woman, and Anton watched a mouth he wanted to kiss tighten. He loved reading faces and hers was fascinating. He watched the little flickers of spite light her china-blue eyes, watched her mouth open and hesitate, and still, even as she went to speak, she chose her words. ‘She’s very savvy, very beautiful and completely determined to make her mark on the world.’
‘She wants your job.’
He watched her cheeks flood with colour as she gave a brief nod.
‘And she’s doing whatever it takes to get it.’
‘Including Adam,’ Anton checked, hearing her sharp exhale.
‘I really don’t want to discuss it.’
‘Well, I insist that you do. Finally we look as if we’re having a real conversation....’ His voice faded. It was a long time since Anton had sat holding hands in a restaurant and engaged in anything other than seduction. It was a long time since the goal for the night had not simply been bed.
He would have removed his hand, the contact—his thought process was suddenly unbearable—but Emily started talking then. ‘I’ve been working on a huge case. It’s messy, espionage, possibly murder. I’d heard the police are going to be dredging a lake.’ She looked at him and he didn’t even blink. ‘I was supposed to be heading up to Wales this weekend to be there when the news breaks but instead I was sent here.’
‘Poor Emily,’ he said. His thumb resumed stroking her palm and making her toes curl in her sandals. ‘Stuck in Sicily, being wined and dined and about to cover one of the most interesting weddings in Sicilian history.’
‘I know.’ She gave a small smile. ‘I don’t think Adam realised just how huge this wedding was when he gave it to me.’
‘Too busy with his hand up Dianne’s skirt,’ Anton said, and he made the horrible better, actually made her laugh.
Emily could scarcely believe she was here, seated just a table away from the most scandalous family, and on the night before the wedding, too. ‘I’m good at what I do,’ Emily said determinedly. ‘Though according to Adam I’m not tough enough.’
‘He is wrong,’ Anton said, moving his face closer. ‘Nervous is good. A little naive, a little sweet,’ he said, his mouth terribly near hers. ‘If you had a secret, if you had something it might be better not to disclose, who would you feel inclined to be indiscreet with? The tough bitch or...?’
How could a thumb stroking her palm feel indecent?
How did he make her so wanton, so weak?
‘That’s a terribly difficult question to answer,’ Emily attempted.
‘Why?’
‘Well...’ She could hardly breathe. ‘From the female perspective—’ she could feel his breath on her lips now ‘—I’d far rather prefer to be indiscreet—’ it was coming out all wrong, but his smile made it right ‘—with the tough bastard.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t know!’ Emily said. He was making her dizzy. ‘Could you stop with your thumb?’
‘You could always remove your hand.’
It was he who removed his. ‘Go out onto the balcony and take in the view for a moment and then return. See what you can find out.’
His eyes were everywhere, Emily realised, because one of the Correttis was standing, and for it to not