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She shook her head. ‘I don’t have that sort of time.’ This man was so complicated that she suspected it would take a very long time to even begin to work out the kinks in his personality. ‘This is just one dinner date.’
His dark lashes lifted from the razor-sharp angle of his sculpted cheekbones. Dervla’s stomach flipped as their eyes connected.
‘It doesn’t have to be one dinner date.’
The earthy warmth in his steady scrutiny made her stomach flip. She tried to laugh to reduce the tension that had sprung up in the confined space, but her vocal cords were paralysed.
‘You are probably right not to commit yourself. Wait and see how this evening goes.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
DERVLA wanted to tell Gianfranco that the evening was going nowhere but the excitement circulating in her bloodstream resisted her efforts. Her heart was thudding so loud that she was sure he must be able to hear it.
A few moments later their sumptuous ride drew to a halt—an abrupt halt, and equally abruptly Dervla shot forward. She gave a knee-jerk scream and closed her eyes as impact with the glass panel separating them from the driver seemed inevitable.
At the last moment she found herself pulled backwards, anchored to the seat by an arm like a steel band around her waist.
The glass partition slid down and the driver’s anxious face appeared. ‘Sorry about that. A dog ran out,’ he said, speaking excellent English but with a more pronounced Italian accent than his employer.
‘You avoided it?’
The driver nodded. ‘Lucky you were wearing seat belts back there.’
‘Very lucky,’ Gianfranco agreed, his sardonic gaze levelled on Dervla’s guilty face.
The glass partition closed and while the driver got out to open the passenger doors Gianfranco’s arm slid from her waist.
He was still so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell the shampoo he used on his silky ebony hair. She struggled against a sudden crazy impulse to sink her fingers into that lush pelt.
‘I always wear my seat belt,’ she said defensively.
‘Clearly not always …’
Her breath came a little easier as he moved away, but every nerve ending in her body remained painfully inflamed. ‘Well, always before today.’
She turned her head and connected with his dark eyes.
Her rueful smile guttered.
His eyes were blazing, a nerve beside his clenched mouth throbbing and the bruises on his forehead stood out livid against his deathly pallor. Gianfranco looked incandescent with rage.
‘Are you a total fool?’
Dervla’s first instinct was to defend herself against his blighting scorn, but it was pretty hard to defend the indefensible.
‘How many people have you seen brought into Casualty after going head first through windscreens?’
From his expression Dervla suspected he had witnessed such an event himself, maybe even been personally involved, which would explain his somewhat dramatic reaction to the incident.
‘All right, I should know better,’ she admitted, shamefaced.
‘That face could have been …’ His chest lifted as he dragged in deep before he reached across and placed one big hand around the curve of her cheek. A distracted expression drifted into his deepset eyes as he rubbed his thumb in a circular motion across the apple of her cheek.
Dervla, mesmerized, stared up at him, her eyes half closed as the friction of his thumb against her skin increased the growing liquid ache low in her pelvis.
‘Next time I might not be there to save you. Promise me,’ he demanded huskily, ‘that you will never do that again.’
Dervla had no trouble supplying the promise he demanded, but she did have trouble making it audible as her enraptured eyes stayed locked on his lean face, her throat clogged with emotion she couldn’t put a name to.
The opening of the limo door provided the necessary distraction to allow her to escape the sensual thrall that held her immobilised and break free of that intense stare.
Dervla was so flustered that she didn’t immediately register as she stepped out into the damp night that there were no eateries, casual or otherwise, in the residential square.
‘This isn’t a restaurant,’ she said, levelling an accusing glare at him as they approached the porticoed entrance of a large Georgian building.
‘This is my house.’
‘Which part?’
‘All of it.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’
The door was opened before they reached it. A dark-haired woman in her thirties wearing a navy skirt smiled pleasantly at Dervla, who, impelled forward by firm hand in the small of her back, stepped forward into the elegant hallway lit by chandeliers and dominated by a sweeping staircase a full orchestra could have been neatly tucked away beneath.
Dazzled by all the gleaming splendour, she didn’t catch the name as Gianfranco introduced his housekeeper. After a brief exchange in Italian the soft-voiced older woman bid them a polite goodnight and vanished through one of the many doors that opened onto the reception area.
‘Come.’
Left with little choice Dervla did as he bid, though his autocratic manner really grated on her. He led her through a series of doors and down a long corridor. When they reached the end he opened the door and signalled for her to precede him.
Dervla stepped inside. It was a kitchen, though not like any kitchen she knew. The only place she had seen rooms like this was in the pages of glossy magazines. She ran a hand across the surface of a tall larder unit, the burred-oak finish smooth under her fingers.
‘This is the kitchen.’
‘Well spotted,’ he approved, slinging a quick ironic grin in her direction as he slid off his jacket. ‘You like risotto?’
Dervla stared as he pulled open the doors of a massive fridge and began to extract ingredients. ‘You cook?’
‘That surprises you?’
‘It frankly surprises me that you know where the kitchen is.’
He laughed, the crinkly lines around his eyes deepening.
Oh, help, he is so attractive!
He looked, she decided, more relaxed than she had ever seen him, but given the environment she had seen him in up to this point perhaps that was not so very surprising.
‘Don’t you have a chef?’
‘Several. I also have a driver, but that doesn’t mean I can’t drive a car. Though my lifestyle does not allow me the opportunity to practise my culinary skills as often as I would like. Why does that make you laugh? Do you not believe I can cook?’
‘Oh, it’s not that.’ She was quite prepared to believe he could do anything. ‘You have several chefs and think that’s normal … It’s just you’re so super-rich …’ Hands outstretched, she looked around the gleaming, stylish room. ‘It’s as if you live on another planet.’
He gave a fluid shrug. ‘We live on the same planet, Dervla. The important things in life still have no price tag.’
‘Unlike that little lot,’ she observed, nodding towards the gleaming state-of-the-art equipment.
‘The chef likes his gadgets, but I hope you do not think worse of me that I prefer a slightly more … hands-on approach. But a good knife, that is a different matter.’ He took a chef’s knife from a wooden block and balanced it lightly in his hand.
The less she thought about his hands, the better, Dervla decided, sucking a deep sustaining breath before she admitted, ‘I’ll take your word for it. I’m more of a microwave-meal girl myself.’
‘I honestly don’t spend much time in the kitchen myself,’ he admitted. ‘But when I do I find it relaxing. The secret of a good risotto is the stock,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves, and for the second time that day her attention was drawn to the sinewy strength in his forearms.
Actually she was pretty much riveted by him full stop. ‘Can I do anything?’ Like worship at your feet? suggested the sarcastic voice in her head.
‘You can take off your coat, pour us some wine … the wine cooler is just to your left.’ He tilted his dark head towards a glass-fronted cabinet. ‘And make yourself comfortable.’
He tugged out a chair beside the scrubbed table he had placed his ingredients on. Slipping her damp coat off, she folded it across a chair back and, dropping down to her knees, opened the cooler. ‘What wine?’ she asked, feeling totally out of her depth as she stared at the bewildering array of wines on display.
‘Just close your eyes and take pot luck,’ he suggested, before turning his attention to an onion that he proceeded to dice with professional speed. ‘Corkscrew,’ he added, reaching into a drawer to his right and tossing the item in question towards her. ‘Good catch.’
Dervla opened the bottle after a short tussle and filled the two glasses. Sitting in a chair, she set her elbows on the table and, nursing her glass of wine, watched as he continued to chop, slice and stir with economic dexterity.
It was not long before the room was filled with a nose-twitching smell.
‘That looks good.’
His eyes lifted from his creation. ‘You hungry?’
She nodded. Actually the empty feeling in her churning stomach had no connection with anything as simple as hunger.
‘Good.’ He lifted a spoon to his lips, gave a critical nod of approval. ‘About done. If you stir it I’ll set the table. Don’t worry, it won’t bite,’ he added, looking amused as she looked at the spoon suspiciously.
‘That’s it, just keep it moving.’ His fingers brushed hers as he released the spoon to her and the light contact sent a surge of tingling lust through her body that excited and terrified her.
What am I doing here? I don’t belong in this world. She turned her head to look at him through the silky sweep of her lashes and thought, His world. This is his world and I don’t belong in it.
‘Have a seat.’ He pulled out a chair and motioned her to sit as he lit the candle he had produced from somewhere.
Soft music and it would be the classic seduction scene.
Even the faintest possibility should have had her running for the door, but she wasn’t running. Her heart was beating faster, she felt breathless, almost light-headed.
Anyone would think I wanted to be seduced.
She rejected the idea with a tiny shake of her head. She had never been tempted by casual relationships; the idea of intimacy without love left her cold.
So why was her skin crackling with heat?
‘You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble on my account,’ she said, staring into the flickering flame worriedly.
‘It was my pleasure.’
She turned her head and saw he was watching her, his mouth curved into a sardonic smile. She had the horrible feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘But as I have gone to so much trouble, it would be churlish of you not to eat the results of my hard labour,’ he chided softly.
Not quite meeting his eyes, Dervla shivered inside, flashed him a half-smile and took her seat.
She would eat and leave. She was in danger, she told herself, of overcomplicating this, making way too much of a casual glance or an ambiguous comment. She had to stop seeing things that weren’t there.
Gianfranco took the seat opposite. He bent forward to top up her glass, but she shook her head and murmured quickly. ‘Not for me.’
She noticed he didn’t replenish his own glass either. He made no effort to pick up his fork, but waited, elbows pressed on the table, his chin resting on his hands, for her to try the food.
‘Well?’
‘It’s delicious,’ she admitted truthfully. ‘Are you going back to the hospital tonight?’
He shook his head. ‘No, Alberto has asserted his independence and thrown me out.’
‘He has more guts than the rest of us.’
While they ate the subjects of conversation remained similar safe, desultory topics and Dervla began to—relax was too strong a word, but her defences lowered slightly and the tension slipped out of her rigid spine. But all the time they spoke and said little she was still very conscious that this was Gianfranco Bruni who was a dangerous man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
And if he wants me?
Dervla took a jittery gasp and got to her feet so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over.
‘That was lovely, but it is late.’ Late to pretend she wasn’t attracted to him and hadn’t been from the moment she had laid eyes on him. ‘I really should be going.’ I really should never have come.
Gianfranco set aside his napkin and rose with the fluid grace that typified all his actions.
‘It’s early,’ he protested, walking around to her side of the table.
Dervla stood there, her heart hammering, twisting the white linen napkin in her hands, her feet nailed to the ground as he came to stand beside her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body.
She kept her eyes trained on her half-full glass on the table. ‘I really should …’
He touched his thumb to the full outline of her lower lip and she started violently, her questioning sea-green eyes lifting.
‘Your mouth—it looks so soft and lush.’
Their eyes connected and the heat and hunger Dervla saw reflected in the dark surface of his sent a sensual shock wave along her tingling nerve endings.
‘This evening isn’t going where you seem to think it is,’ she blurted, pressing a hand to her breastbone. Behind it her heart was trying to batter its way to freedom.
