by Lucy King
‘Not in the least,’ she lied, instinctively going for self-preservation.
‘Not worried about losing your job?’
‘They won’t notice for a while.’ That wasn’t a lie at all.
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘I think the world would notice if you were absent.’
He was so far from right but, for just this once, it was nice to go along with it and believe a slightly cheesy line delivered by a sinfully serious man. Her nerves sharpened as awareness shivered along her veins. The sky had darkened further and now they were softly lit by the glow of those small bulbs. It could so easily be mistaken for a fairy den of magic and mystery and enticing amusement... And this flight of flirtish fancy? This ripple of temptation? This was not her. Ever.
She didn’t think it was him either. But he wasn’t moving and nor was she because there was something in the air.
She made herself swallow. ‘Shouldn’t you get back to doing your security rounds?’
‘There are plenty of us here. Besides, I’m keeping an eye on you.’
‘I’m not about to steal anything.’ She half laughed.
‘But you already have.’ He jerked his chin towards her hand.
‘Oh.’ She glanced down. She’d forgotten all about the stem of the Monstera plant she’d swiped. Now she realised she was gripping it so tightly it was a wonder she hadn’t minced it to pulp. ‘That.’
Amusement flickered again, ripping an irreparable tear in his serious facade, and he suddenly smiled—lopsided—as if it was an unfamiliar sensation stretching on his face. ‘Yes. That.’
He reached out and took the frond from her and she just let him because now he was smiling. Which meant that now he was spellbinding. Her heart raced in response to his move closer. She was so aware of him that she had to consciously not take a step back. It wasn’t that he was a danger but that he was a threat of another kind. A threat that was also a temptation. Especially when he smiled.
‘Any particular reason for this?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t want a flower?’
‘If I picked a flower it would die sooner.’
‘So you care about the plants?’ he mused. ‘This wasn’t wilful destruction?’
‘Of course not.’
His smile deepened as he stepped closer again and revealed a dimple beneath that perfectly sculpted cheekbone. Rosanna stood immobile as he threaded the stem into her hair. He didn’t touch her directly but she couldn’t breathe. She remained still even after he’d finished. Because he didn’t move. He just stood there looking into her eyes. And she looked back—unable to do anything else. The tension stretched. His expression was devastatingly hot. Was he really flirting with her? Did it happen like this—so quickly? So easily?
Guys never flirted with Rosanna. They never noticed her. And if by some chance they did, it was only to request to borrow her notes or to get something from the lab supply cupboard. And she definitely didn’t attempt to flirt—too shy, too wary of awkward rejection. Relationships weren’t something she had much experience with. Only right now there wasn’t just a flutter of anticipation inside her, there was a fizzing sensation and a temptation to lean closer and say something...stupid, probably. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
‘You’re not going to make me pay for it?’ she asked. ‘No punishment for petty theft?’
The terrible thing was she was curious as to what sort of ‘penance’ he might require—might it involve skin?
What was wrong with her?
His eyes widened slightly. That fizzing built the pressure inside her—threatening to explode in a way she wasn’t sure would be wise.
‘Why would I want to punish passion?’ he asked softly.
Passion? An unfamiliar flare of heat swept over her. She felt passion for plants, yes, absolutely. But this was different. He was unbearably handsome, and his all-serious intensity called to something within her. Mortified at her thinking, she glanced away from him. Small talk wasn’t her thing either. She’d always been shy, but she had to get herself out of this, quickly.
‘It’s an amazing view,’ she muttered awkwardly.
He didn’t reply.
‘And it’s the most beautiful terrace,’ she added, her nerves growing. ‘It’s weird because you know you’re in the heart of a massive city, but it’s quiet and secret up here.’
She didn’t usually fill silences. She wasn’t usually around people long enough for awkward silences to develop.
‘You’ve seen the other apartments?’ he asked.
‘The ones that are open, yes.’ She glanced up at him and couldn’t help a burr of defensiveness. ‘I’ve not been sneaking through others. I’m not a thief.’
‘No?’ Something flickered in his expression. ‘How do I know there aren’t other things you’ve taken?’
That glint in his eye ignited a fire beneath her skin. A sense of playfulness—of challenge—filled her.
‘You can’t take my word for it?’ she murmured. ‘Or are you going to pat me down?’
She experienced a sudden craving for touch that was so strong and so unlike her that she shivered.
‘I can imagine a strip-search.’ His gaze grazed down her body as if he had X-ray eyes able to see through the black satin to the plain black underwear she wore beneath.
He was like a shadow in which you found danger—enter depths you might get lost in and thus never emerge into the sunlight again. Rosanna was most definitely lost already.
‘The only thing I’ve taken is the frond,’ she said.
‘Why that one in particular?’ he asked softly. ‘I saw the way you looked at the plant—as if it was something precious. What makes it so special?’
How long had he been watching her?
Embarrassment curled. ‘The coloration on the leaves. I wanted to see if I could grow it from a cutting,’ she mumbled.
‘So it wasn’t just a whim?’
‘I don’t tend to do things on a whim.’
His eyes crinkled. ‘Nor do I.’
She suddenly smiled because that she could well believe—he seemed too intense to indulge in spontaneity. ‘I shouldn’t have taken it without asking.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘We’re all tempted to take things we shouldn’t sometimes.’
His huskiness fuelled the fire of temptation already melting her.
‘I won’t tell if you won’t,’ he added softly.
That whisper with its promise of secrecy forged something between them. Something illicit. Something tempting. She had the feeling this guy could get away with almost anything. He had an aura, not just of power or command, but of unshakable capability.
‘Do you do that often?’ she asked.
‘Not tell?’
‘Give in to temptation and take what you shouldn’t.’ That heat scaled over every inch of her skin.
He hesitated for a moment before his smile emerged and went ever so slightly lopsided again. ‘Not often, no.’
She believed him—the discipline, the decency, the duty, rolled off his demeanour.
‘Although that doesn’t mean I can’t be persuaded by the right person,’ he suddenly added. ‘A temptation strong enough.’
That frisson of danger reared again.
‘You look strong enough to withstand any temptation,’ she said. ‘You look like you have a lot of discipline.’
He half laughed. ‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘But not everything in an appearance can be faked.’ Breathing, real, right in front of her, there was no dispute that those muscles of his weren’t honed. Muscles like that took work. ‘Or are you saying you’re not as strong as you look?’
‘You think I look strong?’
‘Yes. That’s part of your job, right?’
He cocked his head, that smile flickering around his
mouth. ‘You look like a cat burglar. You act like one too. Yet you cry innocence.’
Rosanna blushed. She was more innocent than he’d probably imagined. A virgin at twenty-six—basically a mythical creature, right?
She breathed, wishing the heat would ease. Her skin was so pale that a barely heightened heartbeat showed up on her face as if she’d seen the most embarrassing thing imaginable. The merest hint of adrenalin in her system turned her into a tomato, which then clashed with the orange of her hair. Her awareness of it only made it worse. Her mother always recommended she smother her skin in make-up for contouring and complexion control. That way she could obliterate the millions of freckles at the same time and make her appearance smooth and inoffensive. She’d not bothered tonight. She should have.
She shrugged. ‘There’s nothing else I want to take from here.’
‘No?’ He almost pouted. ‘Now that is disappointing.’
‘What did you want me to take?’
‘Anything really, then I’d have to apprehend you.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Or you could just take me.’
That tension twisted.
‘I’m not strong enough to take you on.’ Nor experienced enough.
‘I think you’re underplaying your attributes.’
What attributes were they?
But he was watching her, his head slightly cocked to the side, his indigo eyes glinting as they caught that tiny light.
She was swamped by a rush of something so primal, so fierce, it stole more than her breath. The crazy urge to kiss him was so overwhelming it scared her. ‘I’d better get back—’
He took her hand, his touch instantly silencing her. That heat thickened. She didn’t—couldn’t—move, though his clasp was loose and she could’ve broken away easily. She stared up at him, lost in the unwavering blue of his eyes, stilled by the gentle rub of his thumb across the back of her hand.
He regarded her intently, his voice little more than a husky whisper. ‘Stay a little longer.’
Copyright © 2021 by Natalie Anderson
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ISBN-13: 9780369706881
Invitation from the Venetian Billionaire
Copyright © 2021 by Lucy King
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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