She lifted her face to his. ‘Do I get a choice in the matter?’
‘No.’ Removing the glass from her hand, he placed it on the tray of a passing waitress, before sliding his hand proprietorially around her waist and propelling her towards the dance floor. ‘I’m afraid you don’t.’
She told herself that she didn’t have to do this. She could excuse herself and walk away. Because he was unlikely to start behaving like a cave-man by dragging her onto the dance-floor—not with all his new in-laws around.
Except that she left it a split second too long and suddenly it was too late for objections. Suddenly, she was on the dance-floor and his arms were round her waist and the worst thing of all was that she liked it. She liked it way too much.
‘You can’t do this, Niccolò,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s over-the-top alpha behaviour.’
‘But I just can’t help myself,’ he said mockingly. ‘I’m an over-the-top alpha man. Surely you knew that, Alannah.’
Oh, yes. She knew that. A block of stone would have known that. Alannah swallowed because his hands were tightening around her waist and making her feel there was no place else she would rather be. She told herself it would cause a scene and reflect badly on both of them if she pulled away from him. So endure it. One dance and it will all be over.
She tried to relax as they began to move in time with the music and for a while they said nothing. But it wasn’t easy to pretend that it meant nothing to be wrapped in his arms again. Actually, it was close to impossible. His body was so hard and his arms were so strong. His unique scent of sandalwood and raw masculinity seemed to call out to something deep inside her—to touch her on a subliminal level which no one else had even come close to. She could hear the thunder of her heart as he lowered his head to her ear and even his voice seemed to flood over her like velvety-dark chocolate.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he said.
She swallowed. ‘I was before you forced me into this farce of pretending we have a civilised enough relationship to be dancing together.’
‘But surely you can’t have any complaints about what we’re doing, mia tentatrice. Aren’t I behaving like a perfect gentleman?’
‘Not with…’ Her words tailed away, because now he had moved his hands upwards and his fingers were spanning her back. She could feel their imprint burning through the delicate material of her bridesmaid dress and her throat constricted.
‘With what?’
‘You’re holding me too tightly,’ she croaked.
‘I’m barely holding you at all.’
‘You are a master of misinterpretation.’
‘I am a master of many things,’ came the silken boast, ‘but misinterpretation wouldn’t have been top of my list.’
She looked up from where she had been staring resolutely at his black tie and forced herself to meet the mocking light in his eyes. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered.
‘Dancing with you? Isn’t it customary for the brother of the bride to dance with the bridesmaid at some point—particularly if both of them are single? Or were you holding out for the best man?’
‘I’m not holding out for anyone. And I don’t remember telling you I was single.’
‘But you are, aren’t you? And if you’re not, then you might as well be.’ He met her eyes. ‘Because you are responding like a woman who hasn’t been touched by a man for a very long time.’
She was tempted to snap back at him with indignation, but how could she? Because he was right. It was a long time since she had been touched by a man. It was a long time since she had danced with a man too, and it had never felt like this. Not with anyone. It had only ever felt like this with him.
‘I don’t understand what it is you want,’ she said. ‘Why you’re dancing with me. Taunting me. Trying to get underneath my skin. Especially when you don’t even like me—and the feeling is mutual.’
He pulled her closer. ‘But not liking doesn’t stop us wanting, does it, Alannah? Desire doesn’t require affection in order to flourish. On the contrary, sometimes it works better without it. Don’t you find that, mia tentatrice?’ He stroked a reflective finger along her waist. ‘That sex can be so much more exciting when there is a frisson of animosity between a man and a woman?’
Her skin still tingling from the lazy caress of his finger, she pulled away from him, trying to focus on the presumptuous things he was saying, rather than the way her body was reacting. ‘Stop it,’ she said weakly.
‘But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘And I don’t have to. Just as I don’t have to stand here and take any more provocative comments. My duty dance is over.’ With a monumental effort, she pulled away from him. ‘Thanks for reminding me what a consummate player you are, Niccolò. And thanks for reminding me that ten years might have passed but you don’t seem to have changed. You still treat the opposite sex as if—’
‘I wouldn’t generalise if I were you,’ he interjected and now his voice was edged with steel. ‘Because you have no idea how I treat women. And believe me when I tell you that I’ve never had any complaints.’
The sexual boast was blatant and Alannah suddenly felt as if her skin were too tight for her body. As if her flesh wanted to burst out of her bridesmaid dress. Her breasts were tingling and she knew she had to get away from him before she did something she regretted—or said something she would never live down. ‘Goodnight, Niccolò,’ she said, turning away and beginning to walk across the dance-floor. ‘I think we can officially declare our truce to be over.’
Niccolò watched her go and felt frustration mount inside him, along with an even greater feeling of disbelief. She had gone. She had walked away with her head held high and her shoulders stiff and proud, and all his hunter instincts were aroused as he watched the retreating sway of her silk-covered bottom.
He swallowed.
He had played it wrong.
Or maybe he had just read her wrong.
She had been right. He didn’t particularly like her and he certainly didn’t respect her. But what did that have to do with anything? He still wanted her in a way he’d never wanted anyone else.
And tomorrow she would be gone. Leaving New York and going back to her life in London. And even though they lived in the same city, their paths would never cross, because their two lives were worlds apart. He would never know what it was like to possess her. To feel those creamy curves beneath his fingers and her soft flesh parting as he thrust deep inside. He would never know what sound she made when she gasped out her orgasm, nor the powerful pleasure of spurting his seed deep inside her. She might be the wrong type of woman for him on so many levels—but not, he suspected, in bed.
Still mesmerised by the sway of her bottom, he began to follow her across the dance-floor, catching up with her by one of the bars, where she was refusing a cocktail.
She barely gave him a glance as he walked up beside her.
‘You’re not leaving?’ he said.
‘I can’t leave. At least, not until Michela has thrown her bouquet and driven off into the night with Lucas. But after that, you won’t see me for dust, I promise.’
‘Before you make any promises—I have a proposition you might like to hear.’
‘I don’t need to hear it,’ she said flatly. ‘I wouldn’t need to be a genius to work out what you might have in mind, after the things you said on the dance-floor and the way you were holding me. And it doesn’t make any difference.’ She sucked in a deep breath and met his gaze. ‘I’m not interested in having sex with you, Niccolò—got that?’
Niccolò wondered if she knew how blatantly her nipples were contradicting her words—but maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her.
‘But what if it was a business proposition?’ he questioned.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of business proposition?’
He looked at the waxy white flowers which were woven into her hair and he wanted to reach out and crush them between his fingers. He want
ed to press his lips on hers. He wanted to undress her and feast his eyes on that soft, creamy body. In a world where he had managed to achieve every single one of his objectives, he suddenly recognised that Alannah Collins had been a residual thorn in his flesh. A faint but lingering memory of a pleasure which had eluded him.
But not for much longer.
He smiled. ‘You said you were an interior designer and suggested I have a look at your website, which I did. And you are good. In fact, you are very good. Which means that you have a skill and I have a need,’ he said.
Her mouth thinned into a prudish line. ‘I don’t think that your needs are the kind I necessarily cater for.’
‘I think we’re talking at cross purposes, Alannah. This has nothing to do with sex.’ He slanted her a thoughtful look. ‘Does the name Park View ring any bells?’
‘You mean that enormous new apartment block overlooking Hyde Park which has been disrupting the Knightsbridge traffic for months?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s mine. I own it. I built it.’
Alannah blinked. ‘But it’s the most…’
‘Don’t be shy, Alannah,’ he said softly as her voice tailed off. ‘One should never be shy when talking about money. It’s the most expensive building of its kind in the world—isn’t that what you were going to say?’
She shrugged. ‘I fail to see how your property portfolio could possibly interest me.’
‘Then hear me out. A friend of mine—a brilliant Greek named Alekto Sarantos—is about to complete one of the penthouse apartments.’
She lifted her hand to adjust a stray petal on her headdress. ‘And is there a problem?’
‘Sì. Or at least—he certainly seems to think there is.’ A note of irritation entered his voice. ‘The problem is that Alekto doesn’t like the décor, even though it has been overseen by one of the most popular designers in the city.’
‘Let me guess.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Cream walls? Bowls of big pebbles lying around the place? Lots of glass and neutral-coloured blinds?’
He frowned. ‘You must have seen photos.’
‘I don’t need to, but I’d recognise a bandwagon anywhere—and every interior designer in the business seems to be jumping on it. Presumably this friend of yours doesn’t do bland and that’s why he doesn’t like it.’
‘No, Alekto doesn’t do bland—in fact, he is the antithesis of bland. He described the décor to my assistant as a “tsunami of beige” and unless I can transform the place to his satisfaction before the Greek new year, then he says he’ll pull out of the deal and go to Paris instead. It has become a matter of pride for me that he chooses London.’ He gave a hard smile. ‘And maybe that’s where you could come in.’
‘Me?’
‘You want a break, don’t you? I don’t imagine they get much bigger than this.’
‘But…’ Somehow she managed to keep the tremble of excitement from her voice. ‘Why me? There must be a million other designers itching to accept a job like this.’
His gaze swept over her like an icy black searchlight—objective, speculative and entirely without emotion.
‘Because I like your style,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I like the way you dress and the way you look. I always have. And if you can satisfy my exacting friend with your designs—then the job is yours.’
Alannah felt ridiculously thrilled by his praise, yet she didn’t want to be thrilled. She wanted to feel nothing. To give nothing and take nothing. She met his dark gaze. ‘And the fact that you want to go to bed with me has nothing to do with your offer, I suppose?’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, but it has everything to do with it, mia sirena,’ he said. ‘As you said yourself, there are a million interior designers out there, but your desirability gives you a distinctive edge over your competitors. I cannot deny that I want you or that I intend to have you.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of offering you the job unless I thought you were capable of delivering.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘NICCOLÒ WILL SEE you in just a moment, Alannah.’ The redhead sitting outside Niccolò’s office wore a silk blouse the colour of the lilies on her desk and when she smiled her lips were a neat coral curve. ‘My name’s Kirsty, by the way—and I’m one of Niccolò’s assistants. Take a seat over there. Can I get you a coffee? Some tea perhaps?’
‘No. I’m fine, thanks.’ Carefully putting down her mood-boards, Alannah sank onto a seat, wondering if any of her reservations showed in her face. Whether her nerves or sick dread were visible to the impartial observer.
Ever since she’d left New York, she had listed all the reasons why she should say no to Niccolò’s offer of work and during the cramped flight she had checked them off on her fingers. He was arrogant. Tick. He was dangerous. Double tick. He was also completely unapologetic about wanting to take her to bed. Only he hadn’t even said that in a flattering way. He’d made it sound as if she was just something he needed to get out of his system. Like an itch. Or a fever. She bit her lip because his attitude brought too many memories flooding back. She hated men who regarded a woman as some kind of object, so surely self-respect and pride should have made her turn his offer down, no matter how lucrative?
But he was offering her work—legitimate work. His proposition had been like a cool drink when your throat was parched. Like finding a crumpled ten-pound note in your jeans before you washed them. She thought about the scarcity of jobs in her highly competitive field, and the ridiculously high mortgage on her tiny bedsit. She couldn’t afford to turn him down—which was why she’d spent all weekend coming up with ideas she thought might appeal to a Greek billionaire who didn’t like beige. And through it all she had realised that this was the vital springboard her career needed and she was going to grab at it with both hands.
She stared at the cream lilies on Kirsty’s desk, trying to concentrate on their stark beauty, but all she could think about was the way Niccolò had stroked his finger over her when they’d been dancing at the wedding. Her heart began to pound. It had been an almost innocent touch and yet her response had been anything but innocent. The intensity of her feelings had shocked her. She had wanted him to peel the bridesmaid dress from her body and touch her properly. She had wanted him to kiss her the way he’d done all those years before—only this time not to stop.
And that was the problem.
She still wanted him.
She had done her best to quash that thought when she’d emailed him some suggestions. And had attempted to ignore her spiralling feeling of excitement when his reply came winging into her inbox late last night.
These are good. Be at my offices tomorrow at 7 p.m.
It hadn’t been the most fulsome praise she’d ever received, but it was clear he considered her good enough for the job and that pleased her more than it should have done. And hot on the heels of professional pride came a rather more unexpected feeling of gratitude. She had stared at his email and realised that, no matter what his motives might be, Niccolò was giving her the chance to make something of herself.
So she’d better show him that his faith had not been misplaced.
A buzzer sounded on Kirsty’s desk and she rose to her feet, opening a set of double doors directly behind her.
‘Niccolò is ready for you now, Alannah.’ She smiled. ‘If you’d like to come this way.’
Alannah picked up her mood-boards and followed Kirsty into a huge and airy office, blinking a little as she looked around her, because she’d never been anywhere like this before. She gulped. It was…spectacular. One wall consisted entirely of glass and overlooked some of London’s more familiar landmarks and Alannah was so dazzled by the view that it took a moment for her to notice Niccolò sitting there and to realise that he wasn’t alone.
Her first thought was how at home he looked in the luxury of his palatial surroundings. Long legs stretched out in front of him, he was reclining on a large leather
sofa in one corner of the vast office—and opposite him was a man with black hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. This must be Alekto Sarantos, Alannah thought, but she barely noticed him. Despite his unmistakable gorgeousness, it was Niccolò who captured her attention. Niccolò whose outwardly relaxed stance couldn’t quite disguise the tension in his powerful body as their gazes clashed and held. She could read the mockery in his eyes. I know how much you want me, they seemed to say. And suddenly she wished that the floor could swallow her up or that the nerves which were building up inside her would show her some mercy and leave her alone.
‘Ah, Alannah. Here you are.’ Black eyes glittered with faint amusement as he looked her up and down. ‘Not jet-lagged, I hope?’
‘Not at all,’ she lied politely.
‘Let me introduce you to Alekto Sarantos. Alekto—this is Alannah Collins, the very talented designer I was telling you about.’
Alannah gave an uncertain smile, wondering exactly what he’d said about her. They were friends, weren’t they? And didn’t men boast to their mates about what they’d done with a woman? She could feel her cheeks growing slightly warm as she looked at Alekto. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
‘Do sit down,’ he said, in a gravelly Greek accent.
Alannah saw Niccolò pat the space beside him on the sofa—and she thought it looked a bit like someone encouraging a dog to leap up. But she forced herself to smile as she sat down next to him, unwinding the vivid green pashmina which was looped around her neck.
Alekto turned his startling blue gaze on her. ‘So…Niccolò assures me that you are the person who can replace the existing décor with something a little more imaginative.’ He grimaced. ‘Although frankly, a piece of wood could have produced something more eye-catching than the existing scheme.’
Christmas in Da Conti's Bed Page 5
