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Willow brushed a lock of dead-straight blonde hair out of her eye. ‘You do realise that he’s an international playboy with a reputation as a heartbreaker?’
‘I sort of guessed that for myself.’
‘And that every glossy magazine worth its salt has been trying to gain access to do a feature on him? Jessica, what are you like?’
Jessica shook his head. ‘I didn’t know that—and I don’t care and it’s no good you looking at me that way, Willow. I know you work for one of those glossies and I know you’d love an exclusive, but you’re not getting it via me. Salvatore is my boss—one of the reasons I have that job is because I’m discreet.’
‘But it’s a rubbish job!’
‘Which means I can pay my bills here!’ Jessica retorted, thinking of the steep sum she had to shell out for the tiny boxroom of the three-bedroomed house. But then, unlike Willow and Freya, she wasn’t cushioned by the comfort of family money if her finances ran into real trouble.
‘Perhaps some time you could tell him that your friend would love to do a sympathetic interview and he could even have say on the final copy? I’d be eternally grateful.’ Willow shook her elegant head. ‘And he’s taking you out,’ she said. ‘Unbelievable!’
Jessica could understand her incredulity only too well. Her housemate lived up to her name—she was tall, blonde and stylish and legions of men were always attempting to beat their way to her door. Yet not even Willow had managed to attract a man of Salvatore’s calibre—and here was mousy little Jessica doing just that.
‘It is a bit incredible,’ she admitted.
‘So why has he done it, Jessica?’
Jessica dipped a teabag into a mug of boiling water so that her face was partially hidden. Wouldn’t it be humiliating to have to tell the whole truth—that essentially she was being taken out as some kind of deterrent to other women? Wouldn’t it be acceptable to allow herself the fantasy, just this once—especially as it was just going to be once?
‘I think he just wants company,’ she prevaricated.
‘Yes, but—’
Jessica turned round as suddenly the reality made her heart sting. ‘But what, Willow? You mean what’s a rich bloke like him doing with a poor, plain girl like me?’
‘No, I didn’t—’
‘Yes, you did,’ interrupted Jessica gloomily. ‘And what’s more—you’re right. Don’t you think it was the first thing which occurred to me?’ She walked back into the sitting room and sat down on the battered sofa, her fingers clutching at her steaming mug of tea. How could she have been naïve enough to think about maintaining a fantasy like this for more than a second? Who would ever believe it?
‘These people he’s having dinner with are trying to set him up and he’s fed up with people trying to marry him off,’ she explained. ‘So he’s taking me as a defiant gesture, in the hope that word gets out and they’ll stop trying.’ She saw Willow’s face and knew that further explanation was indeed necessary. ‘And presumably he’d picked me and not someone else more glam because I won’t get any false hopes in my head. Because I know my place and I’ll just accept the evening for what it is.’
‘Is he paying you?’ asked Willow sharply.
Jessica put her mug down with a shaking hand, her cheeks flushing. ‘You’re making me sound like some kind of…of…hooker!’
Willow shook her head. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. But it seems to me that you’re doing him a pretty big favour—so what’s in it for you?’
Jessica bit her lip. Honesty not only made you vulnerable, it also made you weak and in a modern world you needed all the bolstering defences you could get. But suddenly she didn’t care. ‘I just fancy a glimpse into a different kind of life for a change. I’ve certainly been on the outside looking in for long enough. The only trouble is whether I can fit in and what I’m going to wear.’ She looked up at Willow hopefully. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help.’
Willow, who was at least four inches taller and several pounds lighter, smiled. ‘Oh, I think I can help. Don’t worry, Jessica Martin—we’re going to make sure you knock his sizzling Sicilian socks off!’
The next day Jessica skipped lunch so she could leave the office early and spent far too long in the bathroom. She nicked her ankle when she was shaving her legs and her nerves built up as the bathwater grew cold and the sky outside the window darkened.
Under Willow’s critical eye, she must have tried on twenty different outfits before finding one that she felt comfortable enough to wear, automatically rejecting anything too tight or too low because she thought that would make her look cheap.
By the time eight o’clock arrived her hands were shaking with nerves and when the doorbell rang it didn’t surprise her when she heard Willow yelling: ‘I’ll go!’
She sprayed on some perfume, took one final glance in the mirror and went to find her boss, who was standing by their rather tatty velvet sofa talking to Willow. And the moment Jessica looked into the narrowed sapphire eyes she knew that her nerves had been justified. In the office he was distracting enough—but tonight he looked as if he should be carrying a government health warning.
His immaculately cut dinner suit emphasised the long legs and the narrow, sexy hips. He looked expensive, urbane, and so totally out of her league that Jessica’s heart began to race and she felt the hot pin-pricking of nerves at her forehead. Suddenly she felt daunted. What the hell was she going to talk to him about?
‘Hello, Jessica,’ he said softly.
‘H-hello.’
‘You look very…different,’ he said slowly.
‘Well, that’s a relief!’ she said quickly and caught Willow’s warning glance. If she spent the whole night emphasising the differences between them, then the evening was going to be a disaster. ‘Er, thank you,’ she amended.
Salvatore watched while she picked up her coat. The fitted black silk dress was a little conservative, it was true, but he liked that—and it accentuated a figure which was really very good. His eyes narrowed. Very good indeed. Her hair was thick and shiny and it swung in a healthy bell around her neck. She looked better than he had anticipated—though she was still light years away from his normal type.
But wasn’t it strange how your whole opinion of someone could alter in a single moment? Suddenly he was seeing more than the clear grey eyes and the pure skin—now he found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the way the black silk skated so tantalisingly over her pert bottom. His breath was a little unsteady as he took the coat from her and held it open. ‘Here, let me.’
Jessica had grown up in a world where men and women considered themselves equals. No man she knew would ever dream of holding open a door or a coat for her, and as she slid her arms into the garment she thought how stupid it was that such a simple little gesture should be so disarming. Was she imagining the lingering brush of his hands and the corresponding quickening of her heart? Had he meant to touch her like that?
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘My car is outside.’
‘Bye, Salvatore—nice to meet you,’ said Willow, with a megawatt smile. ‘Hope to see you again.’
They walked out to the waiting limousine, but as the driver opened the door Jessica looked up at the Sicilian and his face looked shadowed in the moonlight.
‘Did you…did you tell them you were bringing someone?’
‘I did.’
‘And what did they say?’
Shaking his head, he placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her into the car, suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea after all. Was she too unsophisticated to cope with the evening ahead?
‘It doesn’t matter what they said,’ he said softly as the car pulled away into the traffic. But then she crossed one leg over another and all he could think about was whether the sheer, dark silk which covered her slender legs was tights, or stockings.
Maybe you’ll find out later, taunted a voice inside his head as they drove through the darkened streets, and Salvatore cursed silently and shifted in his seat as unexpected and unwanted desire again began to tug at his senses.
It was just at that point that his phone rang and he pulled it out with a feeling of relief and began to speak.
Jessica stared out of the window as Salvatore spent the entire journey conducting a telephone conversation in rapid Italian, which seemed to magnify her feeling of not belonging. And that feeling only intensified when the car drew up outside an enormous house in Knightsbridge, which looked like something you might see in a film.
‘Oh, my goodness—it’s huge,’ she breathed.
He glanced at her. ‘It’s just a house.’
To him it might be just a house—but to Jessica it was the kind of place for which you’d normally have to pay an admission fee. Inside were uniformed staff who whisked her coat away and someone else who guided them through to the murmuring guests, who all looked up as she followed Salvatore into the glittering room.
She was aware of a blur of names and faces as they were introduced, but Jessica’s overwhelming feeling was that the women looked like birds of paradise in their jewels and bright dresses and that she had been a fool to come in black—because wasn’t that what all the waitresses were wearing?
Their host and hostess were Garth and Amy and there were two other women called Suzy and Clare—neither of whom seemed to be attached to a rather bloodless-looking man named Steve and a wiry individual with light brown hair who introduced himself as Jeremy. And that was it.
So it really had been a set-up, thought Jessica as the redhead named Suzy shimmied over to stand directly in front of Salvatore.
‘Hi, Salvatore—do you remember me?’ she was asking him, with a coy smile. ‘We met in Monte Carlo and I told you that Sicily was my favourite place in the whole world.’
Although she was straining to hear while trying to look as if she weren’t, Jessica didn’t quite catch Salvatore’s response, but she turned away with a sudden pang, telling herself that feeling jealous about her partner certainly wasn’t on tonight’s agenda.
‘Champagne?’ questioned Garth, offering her an engraved flute with pale liquid foaming up the sides. ‘It’s rather a good vintage.’
‘Yes, please.’ Jessica smiled as if she drank vintage champagne every day of her life. She took a sip and began to chat to Jeremy, who—despite his unlikely appearance—turned out to be something very powerful in the City.
‘And what about you?’ he questioned. ‘Do you work?’
Jessica supposed that this was a world where women didn’t have to work. ‘Oh, yes, I’m…I’m…’ Oh, why hadn’t she prepared something? Jessica looked up to find Salvatore watching her.
‘Jessica is training to be an office manager,’ said the Sicilian smoothly and she blinked at him in surprise. Had he really remembered that?
‘Oh, is that how you two met?’ butted in Clare. ‘In the office?’
Jessica’s gaze locked with his. Say what you want to say, those blue eyes seemed to tell her.
‘Kind of,’ said Jessica, and blushed.
Salvatore hid a smile. Oh, but she was perfect for the role! Perfetto. The way the blush of rose crept into her cheeks made her look coy and sweet—as if she were embarrassed about a supposed office romance. So that no one, not even the woman Clare with her heavy eye make-up and brazen cleavage—would have had the guts to interrogate her any further.
‘Let’s go in to dinner, shall we?’ said Amy sharply.
A table was laid up with gleaming crystal and silver and studded with tightly bunched white roses in small vases. As she unshook a giant napkin over her knees Jessica found herself wondering whether she was going to be presented with any unfamiliar foodstuffs which she wouldn’t have a clue how to eat, even though Willow had given her a crash course in posh dining while she’d been getting dressed. Oysters and artichokes were apparently the biggest hurdles to clear, but thankfully neither of them made an appearance and so she was able to concentrate on what was being said around the table.
Which was easier said than done. Most of the conversation went right over her head and she noticed that most of the food remained uneaten—though everyone seemed to drink plenty of wine.
She forced herself not to feast her eyes on Salvatore—whose black hair and blue eyes and formidable physique seemed to dominate the entire table. Maybe everyone else was aware of him, too, Jessica thought—because the women certainly didn’t seem to be intimidated by the fact that he had brought a partner with him. They flirted with him as if flirting had just been invented.
Did he ever get bored with such a gushing reaction? she wondered suddenly as she turned to talk to the man beside her.
What she knew about banking and takeovers could be written on the back of a postage stamp, but she gently quizzed Jeremy about what he did to relax. It turned out that he was mad about fishing and real enthusiasm entered his voice as he told her about digging for bait.
‘Rag worms or lug worms?’ she enquired and a silence fell over the table.
Jessica looked up to find Salvatore’s gaze on her, the bright blue eyes narrowed in mocking query.
‘They’re talking about worms—ugh!’ shuddered Clare theatrically, her breasts pushing against the fine silk of her pink dress as if they were fighting to get out.
‘You like to fish, do you, Jessica?’ questioned Salvatore softly.
For some stupid reason, colour stole into Jessica’s cheeks and she shrugged her shoulders a little awkwardly as she answered him. ‘Oh, I did a bit, when I was a child.’ In that faraway time when her parents had still been alive and the days had always seemed full of sunshine and games. Her mother would take her down to the riverbank and Jessica would sit solemnly with a hook and line dangling from an old gardening cane.
‘Presumably you must have been a tomboy,’ observed Suzy.
It was like being in one of those awful nightmares where everyone was staring at you waiting for an answer and you couldn’t speak. Except that this wasn’t a nightmare and she could speak. So stand up for yourself, Jessica, she thought. Don’t let this woman intimidate you just because she’s crazy about Salvatore.
‘I liked climbing trees and fishing and swimming in the river, yes,’ she said. ‘But I never considered them pastimes which were exclusively for boys—why should they be when they’re such fun?’
‘Bravo!’ said Jeremy softly, and laughed.
She felt on a bit of a high for the rest of the meal, especially when Jeremy offered to take her fishing in Hampshire, where apparently he owned a stretch of the river—and he pressed his card into her hand as she was leaving.
But her exhilaration evaporated the moment the car door closed on her and Salvatore and they were enclosed in their own small, private world.
Slowly, he let his eyes drift over her as if reassessing her potential. ‘So I have seen the little English mouse in action,’ he murmured.
‘What…what’s that supposed to mean?’
In the darkness his eyes gleamed. ‘Quiet. Unassuming. Then she throws off her overall and becomes the unlikely temptress—’
‘Temptress?’ echoed Jessica. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Ah, but you tempted Jeremy—that much was plain,’ mused Salvatore silkily. There was a pause. ‘And you’re tempting me. Right now.’
Too late she sensed the danger in the air and too late she read the sexual intent in his eyes.
It was too late for everything, because Salvatore Cardini had pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her with a passion which took her breath away.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3ea0dc64-ab96-53bd-96f0-0eaeb8a53c01)
FOR a moment Jessica thought that this must be like drowning—when they said your life flashed before you. As Salvatore’s lips covered hers she saw the past speed by—with its good and bad, its sadness and joy. But it was as if she had been only a shadow of herself before and his powerful kiss was awakening all her senses.
He tasted of wine and desire and promise and Jessica’s lips opened beneath his, her fingers reaching up to clutch at his broad shoulders as if she was afraid that she might collapse. But that was just how it felt—as if a sudden gust of air might blow her clean away.
‘Salvatore—’ she breathed into his mouth, shockingly aware that it was the first time she had ever used his Christian name, but surely such a situation demanded it.
‘Sì?’ Groaning, he caught her by the waist, his hands moving beneath her coat to rest proprietorially on the silk of her dress. He slid his palms up to her breasts and cupped them, as if he were examining their weight, before fingering their peaking points through the straining silk.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, in shock and delight.
He stroked her hips. Her bottom. The curve of her thighs—his hunger for her tempered by a sudden shaft of objectivity. This was crazy, he told himself. This was not what he had intended—not at all. Was that why it suddenly seemed unbearably exciting—because he liked to control a situation and here was one which seemed to have blown up in his face? ‘Tell me what you like to do, cara,’ he whispered. ‘Show me what you like.’
She touched her lips to his neck; she couldn’t seem to stop herself as her every dark fantasy sprang to life. ‘Salvatore…’ she whispered again.
Her hand had fluttered down to alight like a butterfly on the tensed muscle of his thigh and his head jerked back as it moved away again. ‘I live not far from here,’ he bit out. ‘Come on—we’re going. Adesso!’
His hungry words wove themselves into her consciousness as her fingers wove into the silken tangle of his dark hair. Jessica felt as if she had stepped on an escalator which was hurtling her towards a shockingly unexpected pleasure. But even while her body gave itself up to the sensations which were washing over her with such sheer, sweet allure she felt the first unwelcome stir of protest in the back of her mind.
‘Salvatore—’
‘Mmm?’
His lips were at the base of her neck now, drifting in a tantalising path down towards her breasts. And she held her breath, not wanting to break the moment nor the feeling even as some stubborn resistance reared again its unwanted head. Go away, she told her doubts fiercely—but somehow those doubts refused to die. ‘I mustn’t—’
‘Sì, you must.’ He smiled against her skin as the tip of his tongue flicked against her skin. ‘You want to. You know you do.’
