An emotional minefield Francesca had no intention of entering. ‘Would you like coffee?’
‘Please.’ Her eyes sharpened fractionally. ‘You look—different.’ Speculative interest was evident. ‘Yes. Definitely.’ Her mouth curved. ‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’
A man. It seemed such a tame description for someone of Dominic Andrea’s calibre.
‘Now why would you think that?’ Francesca countered evenly, and her mother smiled.
‘Am I right?’
‘Not really.’
‘Ah,’ Sophy declared with ambiguous satisfaction, and changed the subject. ‘You have yet to mention Mario’s mother. So sad. There was a nurse, of course?’
‘Yes, round the clock.’ Francesca didn’t add that she’d shared each shift and snatched sleep as and when she could.
Frequenting the trendiest café ensured there were interruptions, as first one, then another of Sophy’s friends stopped by. Introductions rarely identified Francesca as Sophy’s daughter. Age was something her mother guarded jealously and refused to acknowledge to anyone—for how did a woman who looked thirty admit to a twenty-five-year-old progeny.
Armand duly arrived to collect his amour, and Francesca wondered how her mother could not see that the man was too attentive, too smooth, and too intent on feeding not only Sophy’s ego but his own.
However, Francesca had long given up worrying about her mother’s succession of paramours. Sophy was aware of all the angles.
The day after...next week... whenever. Dominic’s words echoed inside Francesca’s head as she considered calling him to say she’d changed her mind about meeting him.
Except she had the feeling all that would do was postpone the inevitable.
Perhaps it would be better to get it over and done with. They’d talk, eat, and discover whatever he thought they had in common didn’t exist. And pigs might fly, she denounced disparagingly.
What existed between them was primeval chemistry, pure and simple. The question was, what was she going to do about it? More pertinently, what was she going to allow Dominic to do about it?
Oh, for heaven’s sake. What are you afraid of? she silently berated herself.
Good question, Francesca noted wryly as she entered Claude’s and was greeted by the maître d’.
‘Ah, yes. Mr Andrea is already here.’ His smile charmed, as it was meant to do. ‘Please. Follow me.’
It was crazy to feel nervous. Act, a tiny voice prompted. You’re good at it.
Dominic watched as she threaded her way through the room. He observed the number of heads turn in her direction, witnessed the speculation and admiration, and felt a certain empathy for their appreciation of Francesca’s beauty.
Experience had taught him that the packaging didn’t always reflect what existed in the heart, the mind, the soul, and that physical lust was an unsatisfactory entity without love. Consequently, he refused to settle for anything less.
As she drew close he sensed the imperceptible degree of nervousness beneath the sophisticated veneer, and discovered it pleased him.
He rose to his feet as she reached his table. ‘Francesca.’
Her response was polite, and he smiled, aware of the defence mechanism firmly in place... and wondered how long it would take to demolish it.
The maître d’ held out a chair and she sank into it. ‘Madame would prefer a few minutes before she orders a drink?’
‘I’ll have an orange juice.’
‘I shall inform the drink steward,’ he said gravely, and with a snap of his fingers a formally clad waiter appeared out of nowhere, took her order, then disappeared.
The lighting was low, the tables small. And Dominic seemed much too close.
Francesca looked at him carefully, and his features seemed more finely chiselled, the bone structure more pronounced in the dim illumination. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark suit. It accentuated his breadth of shoulder and emphasised a physical fitness most men would aspire to.
A complex man, she decided instinctively, who was capable of savagery and great tenderness. It was evident in his painting, for he possessed hands that could slash bold colour on a canvas yet brush strokes on another with such sensitivity the contrast was vast—too vast to imagine the artists were one and the same.
And as a man, a lover? Was he wild and untamed? Sensitive and loving? Were his emotions always under control? Did she want them to be?
Oh, God, where had that come from?
With a sense of desperation she picked up the menu and began to peruse it.
‘If I say you look beautiful, will you hold it against me?’
His voice held mild amusement, and she lowered the menu, cast him a level look, then offered him a singularly sweet smile.
‘Probably.’
A soft chuckle escaped from his throat. ‘Should we aim for polite conversation, or opt for companionable silence?’
‘You could tell me what you did yesterday, then I’ll tell you what I did,’ she said with marked solemnity. ‘That should take care of ten minutes or so.’
‘Yesterday? I caught an early-morning flight to Melbourne, attended a meeting, lunched with a business associate, flew back mid-afternoon, and played squash.’
‘You were meant to stretch that out a bit, not condense it into thirty seconds.’
He reached for his wine glass, lifted it, sipped from the contents, then replaced it onto the table. ‘And you?’
‘Sat on a panel judging junior models, caught up with my mother.’
‘And thought of any number of reasons why you should cancel lunch today?’
It was a stab in the dark, but an accurate one. She opted to go with honesty. ‘Yes.’
One eyebrow slanted. ‘Do I pose such a threat?’
‘You unnerve me.’ The words slipped out without thought.
‘That’s a plus,’ Dominic drawled.
She decided to set a few boundaries. ‘We’re sharing lunch. Nothing more.’
‘For now,’ he qualified. ‘Shall we order? I can recommend the escargots.’
It was an acquired taste, but one she favoured.
The waiter appeared, noted their selection, and disappeared.
Francesca lifted her glass and took a long sip of iced water, then set the glass carefully on the table. Her eyes met his, their expression wary, faintly wry.
‘Do you have anything planned for the weekend?’ Dominic queried, and she rested the fork onto her plate then took time to dab her mouth with the napkin before answering.
‘A quiet few days—no family, no social engagements.’
‘Time out?’
Her fingers strayed to toy with the stern of her drinking glass. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s a function in one of the major city hotels tomorrow evening for which I have tickets. Gabbi and Benedict suggest we join their table.’
Gabbi was a dear friend, whose company she enjoyed. Dominic was something else entirely. The thought that he had no willing partner he could call upon was ludicrous.
‘I lend my support to a few charities, but rarely attend their social functions.’
Was her expression so easily readable? She wouldn’t have thought so, yet this man possessed an uncanny ability to read her mind.
‘Then why are you attending this particular one?’
He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with studied ease. ‘Because it provides me with an opportunity to ask you out.’
‘And no doubt you meant to sweeten the invitation by joining up with two of my best friends?’
The waiter cleared their plates, and inclined his head as they declined dessert and settled for coffee.
‘A simple yes or no will do,’ Dominic mocked, and she gave him a brilliant smile.
He always seemed to be one step ahead of her, and for once she felt inclined to reverse the process by doing the unexpected. ‘Yes.’
He didn’t display so much as a flicker of surprise, nor did he indicate satisfaction at her answe
r. ‘Let me have your address and I’ll collect you.’
She wanted to protest, acknowledged the foolishness of taking independence too far, then gave it, watching idly as he penned the apartment number and street on the back of a card.
It was after two when they emerged from the restaurant.
‘Where are you parked?’
Francesca felt the touch of his hand on her arm and wanted to pull away, yet stay. A true contradiction in terms, she acknowledged wryly as she fought the deep, curling sensation that slowly unfurled and began spreading through her body.
‘About fifty metres to the left.’
It was mid-afternoon and there were several people within close proximity. So why did she feel threatened? Fanciful thinking, she dismissed, and resisted the inclination to dismiss him, here, now, and walk quickly to her car.
Minutes later she paused at the kerb and withdrew her car keys.
He seemed to loom large, his height and breadth intimidating, and the breath caught in her throat as his head lowered down to hers.
A kiss, brief, in farewell. She would accept the firm brush of his lips, then step back and smile, slip into her car and drive away.
Francesca wasn’t prepared for the warm softness of a mouth that seemed far too attuned to her own, its wants and needs.
Unbidden, her hands crept up to tangle together at his nape as he pulled her close, and a soft protest rose and died in her throat as he deepened the kiss to something so intimate, her whole body flamed with an answering fire.
An invasion of the senses, exploring, savouring. He conquered in a manner that made her forget who she was, and where.
When he lifted his head she felt lost, almost adrift, for the few seconds it took for her to regain a sense of reality.
Her eyes were wide and luminous, and she felt a sense of shock. And shame.
‘Tomorrow,’ Dominic reminded her gently. ‘Six-thirty.’ His smile was warm. ‘Drive carefully.’
He wasn’t even breathing quickly, whereas she felt as if she’d just been tossed high by an errant wave and carried breathless and choking into shore.
She didn’t say a word. Couldn’t, she rationalised as she stepped from the kerb and crossed round the car to unlock her door.
With every semblance of calm, she started the engine, reversed the necessary metre to allow her clear passage into the flow of traffic, then moved the car out onto the road.
It wasn’t until she was several kilometres distant that she began to breathe normally, and later that night, as she lay sleepless in bed, she could still feel the possession of his mouth on her own, the imprint of his body against hers, and the intoxication of her senses.
Francesca woke early, and after a leisurely breakfast she showered and dressed, then drove to a Double Bay clinic for her scheduled massage, facial and manicure.
Lunch was followed by a leisurely browse through several boutiques. One outfit really impressed her, together with shoes and matching bag. Her experienced eye put them all together and transposed them onto her stepsister’s slender frame, and she smiled with pleasure as she anticipated Katherine’s reaction when she received the gift.
There was time for a coffee with Margo, and it was after four when she slid into the car and headed home. The sun was strong, and she automatically reached for her sunglasses, only to discover they weren’t atop her head. They weren’t in her bag, either, and she cursed beneath her breath at the thought of having misplaced them.
Sensitivity to strong sunlight occasionally triggered a migraine, particularly if she was under stress, and it was a situation she took precautions to avoid.
By the time she reached her apartment block the familiar ache had begun behind her right eye. If she was lucky, ordinary painkillers would arrest it, otherwise prescription pills and several hours’ rest were the only source of relief.
Francesca gave it half an hour, then she rummaged in her bag for Dominic’s card and reached for the phone.
He answered his mobile on the third ring. ‘Andrea.’
The sound of his voice increased the splintering pain in her head. It hurt to talk, and she kept it as brief as possible.
‘I’m in the vicinity of Double Bay. I’ll be there within minutes.’
‘No, don’t—’ It was too late, he’d already cut the call.
She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want anyone here. Even thinking hurt, so she didn’t even try to qualify anything, she simply retrieved the packet of prescription pills and took the required dosage.
When the in-house phone buzzed she answered it, then pressed the release button as Dominic identified himself.
Francesca was waiting at the door when he came out of the lift, and he took one look at her pale face, the dark bruised eyes, then gently pushed her inside the lounge and closed the door.
‘That bad, hmm?’ He brushed his lips to her temple. ‘You’ve taken medication? OK, let’s get you into bed.’
She struggled between comfort and propriety. ‘The couch.’ Her protest was less than a whisper, for it would be heaven to rest her head against his chest and close her eyes.
Ignoring her, he put an arm beneath her knees, lifted her into his arms, and took a calculated guess as to which room was hers.
The bedroom was much as he had imagined it would be. Feminine, but not overly so. There were no frills, no clutter on flat surfaces, and the colour scheme was pale peach and green.
Without a word he closed the drapes, folded back the bedcovers, then, ignoring her protest, he carefully removed her outer clothes and gently deposited her onto the bed.
‘Comfortable?’
The medication was allowing her to sink into numbing, almost pain-free oblivion. ‘Yes.’
Dominic drew the sheet up to her shoulders then sank into a nearby chaise, his expression enigmatic as he watched her breathing deepen.
Unless he was mistaken, she’d sleep through until the early-morning hours. He’d stay for a while, then he’d leave.
She looked peaceful. Her features in repose bore a classic beauty, the facial bone structure in perfect symmetry, alabaster skin as soft and smooth as silk. And a generous mouth that could tilt with laughter and curve with sensual promise.
Yet there was a vulnerability evident he knew she would just hate anyone—him especially—to witness. An inner fragility that tugged at something deep inside him and made him feel immensely protective.
Dammit, he wanted the right to be part of her life. To earn her respect, her trust. And her love. The forever kind. Commitment. Marriage.
After one union that had ended tragically, it wasn’t going to be an easy task to persuade her to marry again. Nor would she readily believe it was love he felt for her, not merely physical lust.
The temptation to cancel out of tonight and be here when she woke was strong. However, she’d resent such vigilance rather than thank him for it.
He left quietly, secured the door, then took the lift down to the lobby and drove home.
It was dark when Francesca stirred, and she opened her eyes long enough to determine she was in bed, then she closed them again, drifting easily back to sleep.
The sun was filtering through the drapes, lightening the room when she woke again, and she groaned as she glanced at the bedside clock.
Food. And something to drink. She tossed the sheet aside, slid to her feet, then padded into the kitchen.
A glass of fresh orange juice did much to begin the revitalising process, and she switched on the coffeemaker, slid bread into the toaster, and nibbled a banana while she waited. Cereal, a hardboiled egg, toast and an apple ought to do it, she mused as the coffee began to filter. Toast popped up, and when the coffee was ready she sank onto a high stool and took the first appreciative sip of caffeine. Bliss. Absolute bliss.
When she’d finished eating she’d take a leisurely shower, then dress and decide what to do with the day.
Meanwhile, she reflected on Dominic’s ministrations, and his presence in her
bedroom before the medication had taken its full effect. How long had he stayed? And why? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.
The phone rang twice while she was in the shower, and when she checked the answering machine the first call was from Dominic, the second from Gabbi.
She dialled Gabbi’s number first, and apologised for her absence the previous night.
Gabbi’s voice was full of concern. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Fully recovered and ready to face the day,’ she reassured her. ‘How were things last night?’
There was a momentary pause. ‘It was a sell-out. Dinner was fine, and everyone declared the fashion parade to be a huge success.’
‘You’re hedging, Gabbi. I take it Annaliese played up?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Much as it goes against the grain, I think you’re going to have to get down and dirty with that young lady.’
‘Ah, now there’s a thought. Any suggestions?’
‘Yell? Throw something?’
‘All out war, Francesca?’ There was amusement evident. ‘Think of the repercussions.’
Francesca wrinkled her nose. ‘Benedict wouldn’t give a damn.’
‘Annaliese and her mother are a formidable pair,’ Gabbi responded soberly.
Indeed. Francesca considered herself fortunate her own step-siblings were of the loving kind. And Madeline, although fiercely territorial, wasn’t sufficiently vindictive to deliberately drive a wedge between Rick and his daughter.
‘I suggest you sharpen your claws,’ Francesca indicated with a touch of wry humour, and heard Gabbi’s laugh echo down the line.
‘Filed and ready.’
They ended the call on a light note, and Francesca was about to punch in the digits to connect with Dominic’s mobile when the phone rang.
‘Francesca.’ Her pulse quickened and went into overdrive at the sound of Dominic’s voice. ‘You slept well?’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ she added politely.
‘For what, precisely?’
His indolent query raised goosebumps where goosebumps had no right to be. Why was she thanking him? For caring enough to be there for her? Ensuring she was comfortably settled and waiting until the medication took effect? ‘Just—thank you.’
The Marriage Campaign (Harlequin Presents) Page 7
