by Julia James
Alicia was glad of the distraction, her face was still burning. She looked up. ‘Hello, Patrizia.’
The girl blushed, giggled lightly and left the room.
Alicia sighed. A serious case of hero worship. And who could blame the girl? She busied herself with food, feeling her appetite return for the first time in days. That made her think of the pasta Dante had had sent up to her in her room in the villa at Lake Como. The way the housekeeper had taken care of her. The way he’d just smiled at Patrizia. She sneaked a glance at him. He was engrossed in the paper, long brown fingers holding it up. And then she remembered the feeling of his hand on her breast, the calluses. The evidence that his hands weren’t soft, but hard. Her breathing stopped, her nipples tightened. She dropped her knife with a jarring clatter and Dante looked up with a frown.
‘Sorry …’ Alicia furiously willed down the rising tide of shame.
He put down the paper and Alicia concentrated on spreading jam on a rapidly crumbling croissant.
‘I’ve booked you into the boutique this morning, we leave in an hour.’
She looked up, her hands stilling. ‘We?’
He nodded. ‘I have some things to attend to at my offices here; I’ll drop you off and come back to pick you up.’
‘Oh.’ Relief flooded her.
He smiled and it was predatory. ‘Shopping has always bored me to tears, so don’t worry, not even the thought of seeing your delectable form draped in all kinds of silk would induce me to sit for hours while you posture and preen.’
And simultaneously, as he said those words, Dante had a sudden fantasy image of her naked body, wrapped only in silk, and couldn’t imagine anything he’d want to see more. Before he could give himself away—his out of control reactions—he drained his coffee and stood. ‘I’ll see you in the hall, then.’
Alicia’s mouth gaped as she watched him leave, a whole list of retorts which she hadn’t had the chance to get out trembling on her lips. Posture and preen? She hadn’t postured and preened even in her teenage make-up experimentation years. The man was insufferable. And, even more disconcerting, he thought her form delectable? She took a big gulp of coffee and yelped in pain when it burned her mouth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I’LL be back for you in a couple of hours. I’m looking forward to never seeing those shapeless garments again.’
Alicia had her hand on the car door handle and nearly fell out when the driver opened it for her. She just looked at Dante murderously. Her mouth still smarted painfully from the coffee. She wanted to say something—anything—and had to settle for an incoherent grunt.
‘Ciao …’ came softly from behind her in the car and she took great pleasure in slamming the door shut, much to the driver’s surprise.
Two hours passed quickly. Alicia hadn’t known that it was possible to spend so much time in one shop. Between fittings, she’d stood in her tatty underwear, surrounded by fabric and shoes. It was the kind of place where you had to ring a bell to get in and when she’d arrived she’d almost expected to be turned away, and had wondered for a second what she would do if that happened. Alone with no money in a foreign city. No phone number for Dante, no phone. Instead of feeling relief, she’d actually felt something much more confusing.
But then the door had opened and a tall woman with silver-grey hair and impeccable carriage had taken one look at her and said in perfect English, ‘Ah. You must be Alicia. Dante described you perfectly. I am Signora Pasquale.’
Alicia’s cheeks had burned for about the umpteenth time that morning, as the woman and her assistants had proceeded to strip her completely. Every now and then the very intimidating Signora would come in and look at Alicia, tutting, ‘You are so tiny. What can I do?’ And, with her arms in the air, she’d go off again.
Eventually Alicia heard the bell ring authoritatively and knew it was him. Stupidly, she wrapped her arms around herself, even though she knew he wouldn’t see her. Butterflies fluttered in her belly. She heard the low rumble of his voice, the tinkling laughter of Signora Pasquale and, even though the woman was eighty, something very disturbing flared in Alicia’s chest. One of the assistants came in then with rosy cheeks. Alicia’s mouth tightened. She was going to start calling it the Dante effect.
‘Here are some casual clothes; the Signora had them delivered. They will do you for day wear until the main clothes arrive at Signore D’Aquanni’s villa in a couple of days.’
The girl held out a beautifully folded pile of clothes and what looked like a leather weekend bag, also full of clothes. When Alicia unfolded them she found a silk camisole top in burnished copper, a cream skirt and matching underwear. Kitten heel sandals in a dark complementary gold—very simple, very Italian and very stylish. As much as she hated this—the waste and extravagance—the feel of the silky fabric against her skin made her close her eyes with a stirring of guilty pleasure. It had been so long since she’d let herself feel anything like it.
With the bag in one hand and the matching jacket of the suit in the other, Alicia emerged. Dante was sitting down, drinking a cup of coffee, talking to the designer. He looked up and his hand stilled on the way to his mouth. His whole body stilled. Apart from the tantalizing glimpses he’d had while she’d lain sleeping on the bed in his villa and that all too brief moment in his lap on the plane, he’d had to imagine her shape.
She looked at him defiantly and Dante felt as if they were the only two people in the room, the designer and her assistants forgotten. What she was wearing wasn’t in any way overtly sexy but … with her delicate curves filling it out, he’d never seen anyone so alluring. Everything was in proportion—every curve, every swell. He imagined spanning her waist with one hand. Her skin was lightly tanned—soft and silky. For the first time in his life, he was rendered speechless.
Alicia tilted her chin. If he didn’t stop staring at her as if she were some kind of alien just landed on planet earth she was going to scream. Thankfully, Signora Pasquale got up and fussed around her. ‘Oh, good. These clothes fit perfectly. They will see you through the next few days and we will have the rest delivered by your plane as soon as they are ready.’ She looked at Dante. ‘This time of the month I presume it’ll be on its usual run?’
Dante nodded absently. Alicia blanched and looked at the woman. By plane? Dante saw her reaction and stood smoothly, coming over and taking Alicia’s bag, guiding her out of the shop with a hand on her upper arm, burning it.
In the car she rounded on him. ‘Is a plane really necessary just to bring clothes for me to wear? I mean, really, that is the absolute height of—’
‘Alicia—’ his voice was like the crack of a whip ‘—I can afford it and—’
‘I don’t—’ she tried to interject, but he raised a hand, stopping her.
‘If this is just a facade, a veneer of trendy environmental concern, then give it up now, because I’m not interested. You might try to pretend to others that you didn’t leave your bleeding heart behind in Africa, but you won’t fool me.’
Alicia gasped. ‘It’s not a veneer or a facade. If you can justify sending an entire airplane into the skies just to bring me some clothes, then go right ahead. And if you can sleep with your conscience, then so be it, but I think it’s disgusting.’
Dante watched her with fascination. She was leaning forward, face alive, luminous. And all he wanted to sleep with right then was her. Her quick condemnation burned him again but he would not give in to the satisfaction of telling her the truth. Let her stew.
‘Well, then, you’d better get ready to be disgusted because we’re on the way to take a helicopter to Lake Como right now. And just remember, you weren’t disgusted when that plane was available to take you back to England at a moment’s notice.’
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the censure in his. Yet again he’d managed to make her feel in the wrong.
She turned her head and looked unseeingly out of the window, her whole body tense and taut. She felt unbelievably
exposed in the silky top and flimsy skirt. The silk of the new panties was also an unwelcome sensual reminder every time she moved, of the man who lounged on the seat only inches away. Little had she known that her actions would have brought her to this … back in Italy, to be paraded as Dante D’Aquanni’s newest lover. She might as well be part of the harem of some desert king. What she’d just endured was the equivalent of being washed and sent to his tent.
Dante ached with the restraint it took not to reach out and haul her into his lap. But he imposed an iron will and he’d just remembered something. Her apparent ease and knowledge of the helicopter must have come from working with them in Africa. It made something uncomfortable lodge in his chest, and for the rest of the journey they were mutually silent.
The same benignly smiling housekeeper showed Alicia to her room. It was a different one from the one she’d spent that night in. The room she’d been locked in. She tried to hang on to that feeling of outrage as she sat on the bed and looked around, but it was hard. It was fading. Dante had surprised her by showing her where the study was and informing her that she could use it whenever she wanted to call Melanie.
Then he’d handed her over to the housekeeper, who he’d introduced as Julieta, and informed her that they’d eat at five p.m. He’d told her to make herself at home. A far cry from the last time. She stood somewhat shakily and went to look out of the window. The lake was spread out before her and took her breath away in the early afternoon sunshine.
Exploring a little, she looked around the room, found the en suite bathroom and then another door. Assuming it to be a dressing room, she opened it, only to find herself in another bedroom. His. She knew it without a doubt. It was huge, dominated by a massive king-size bed. Simple yet discreetly elegant furnishings—not too stark and masculine but enough of a stamp to make it unmistakably male.
At that moment his door opened and Alicia stood there, her eyes growing round, transfixed when he walked in. He was pulling off his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt and then stopped, seeing her.
His eyes raked her up and down. Took in her slight form, the jacket gone, the smooth skin of her shoulders bared. Took in her exquisitely shaped calves, her tiny bare feet. She had kicked off her shoes. Her hair was pulled back and one long tendril lay over her shoulder.
‘I thought this might be a dressing room …’
Dante spread out an arm, a hard smile playing around that seductive mouth. ‘By all means, you can dress in here if you want.’
She stood stiffly. ‘You know what I mean.’ She turned. ‘I’ll go. Sorry for disturbing you.’
He muttered something in Italian behind her and she turned again. ‘Excuse me?’
He looked slightly tortured for a second and something in that look made an answering quiver erupt deep in her groin. But she couldn’t trust what she’d seen—it had to be her mind playing tricks.
‘Nothing. Go. You should rest. You’re going to need it.’
A fear of something powerful moving through her made her blurt out, ‘Do we have to have adjoining rooms?’
He nodded and walked towards her. She backed away. ‘The guests will expect that we will be sharing a room, not merely occupying adjoining rooms, but here we can get away with it.’
She shook her head. ‘But—’
He interrupted her. ‘But when we go to South Africa we will share a room, whether you like it or not.’
Alicia’s head swirled ominously. ‘Hang on a second.’ She put out a hand. as if that might stop him from advancing. ‘South Africa? Since when were we going to South Africa?’ She felt all the conflicting emotions arise again—the reason she’d run there in the first place, the heartache, the unimaginable pain she’d witnessed, the physical pain, hardship and scars she still bore.
Dante saw the colour drain from her face and frowned. ‘I said that the first week would be here. South Africa is the venue for the last two weeks and the main part of the negotiations. That’s where we’re proposing to finalize the deal and embark on our first project which will be the construction of a huge sports stadium just outside Cape Town. That has been at the centre of this merger. Thousands of companies competed for the job and we got it on the basis of the merger being successful. So even that at this stage hangs in the balance.’
Alicia felt weak. She wanted to sit down. ‘You never mentioned that.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked sharply, coming closer.
Alicia stepped back jerkily. She felt far too vulnerable to be under close scrutiny.
‘Nothing.’ She tried to smile, ‘I just hadn’t expected to be going back there so soon, that’s all …’ She’d be fine. She wasn’t going back to the same place. She’d be at the other end of the continent. She turned and put one foot in front of the other. ‘I’ll see you at five.’
And once in her own room, she closed the door and leant back against it breathing shallow breaths. She’d had no idea the thought of returning to Africa would affect her this badly.
Minutes later she paced up and down the floor. It wasn’t as if she’d experienced any more or any less than any of the other aid workers. But still … the remembered fear gripped her and the pain seemed to flare in her lower back … it could have been so much worse. And she’d stuck it out after that, determined not to be weak, to give in … but then when he’d arrived, that had been the final straw and she’d returned home. And that still made her feel guilty. That she’d let a man influence her actions—again. He’d driven her there, and then away too.
She sat down on the bed and felt cold. She didn’t want to think about him, but right now there were too many uncanny similarities.
Raul Carro. Dr Raul Carro. The man who had taken her heart and watched it beating in his hands before calmly crushing it to pieces.
Or at least that was what it had felt like at the time. Almost two years ago now. The dark and dashing Spanish doctor working briefly in England had captivated her, and her heart.
And here she was, in close proximity to another of his ilk. Too good looking and powerful for his own good. A Latin magician. She knew this situation was nothing like the one with Raul, who had seduced her with ruthless guile. And she was quite certain that the physical contact Dante had initiated so far was nothing but cold calculation, designed to unnerve her. So why did she feel then as though she were on a precipice, about to fall off again?
It was only when in her shower a short time later that shock stilled Alicia’s body as she remembered Dante’s assertion that they would be sharing a room in South Africa. She rested her forehead against the tiled wall under the spray. Dark and treacherous desire rose up to taunt her. And then she stood straight. She would not allow herself to be used like that again. She would protect herself this time. And she got on with scrubbing her body. It wasn’t as if Dante D’Aquanni was really attracted to her anyway. A man like him would play around with her for pure idle sport.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THAT EVENING AT dinner Alicia tried to eat her wild mushroom soup, pulling again at the top which kept slipping down her shoulder. She had changed purely because the skirt and camisole top had felt too flimsy, too revealing, but this was almost worse.
Dante felt prickly and irritable. He’d spent the afternoon castigating himself for insisting on bringing this woman here. And all the very good, valid reasons for bringing her here had immediately jumped out at him, not least of which was the fact that he still didn’t trust her or her sister an inch. But he knew, if he was honest with himself, that all of his reasons were about as rock-solid as he’d wish to make them. If he didn’t desire her as much as he did, and if that top fell off her shoulder one more time—he stopped his fevered thoughts—then he knew she wouldn’t be here, it was as simple as that.
Alicia put down her spoon and yanked the top up again, but already the material was making its treacherous descent. She sighed and gave up. She heard an inarticulate sound and looked up to see Dante staring at her with such intensity that her
insides melted.
‘What … what is it?’
‘Leave your top alone,’ he gritted out.
Alicia felt confused for a second. ‘My … oh …’
And as if on cue, the shoulder of the light golden silk top slipped again, baring her down to her upper arm. Alicia had hummed and hawed before picking it out of the bag earlier. It had been the next most casual thing in there, along with the linen trousers. She wasn’t able to wear a bra as its design was meant to show off the shoulders.
His voice sounded tortured. ‘It’s meant to fall like that.’
Dio! Didn’t she know that?
Alicia’s stomach felt tight. ‘I know that. I’m just trying not to look like some half naked wanton as we eat dinner. I’d be much happier in my own clothes—’
Dante shuddered delicately. ‘No. They should be burned.’
Alicia rolled her eyes. ‘I mean my real own clothes. My suitcase didn’t make the journey home. That’s why I had a limited wardrobe to choose from. I did a big clear out before going to Africa and, as Melanie is about five inches taller than me, her clothes swamp me. It might be hard to believe, but I’m not a total hick, Dante.’
The hand which held his spoon fell back to the plate and he frowned lightly.
All of a sudden, all she could see and think about was how handsome and compelling Dante looked dressed, in a black shirt and dark trousers. She chattered to fill the silence. ‘I mean, you must wear jeans sometimes. T-shirts?’
‘That’s the first time you’ve said my name.’
‘Didn’t your—what?’
‘The first time you’ve said my name.’
So she had. And it had come out easily—too easily—without thinking. Familiarly. Alicia shrugged and the feel of a light breeze on her bare skin made her shiver slightly. She focused on her soup. ‘Well, I’m going to have to get used to it. I presume I can’t be calling you Mr D’Aquanni in front of the others …’
