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Renowned for his stupendous retail mind, his financial wizardry and his ferocious talent in the bedroom, Dante Vitale was a one-night wonder. With the exception of his wife, Natalia, of course. If she remembered correctly, that had been a two-month wonder. Almost as long as her father lasted with one of his fine specimens.
The worst thing was, she’d been so pathetically enraptured with him she would’ve taken one night. But his taste ran to sultry brown eyes, sleek brunettes with svelte sun-kissed bodies. Pure Italianesque. Little wonder he’d never given Eva a second glance. Until she’d literally thrown herself into his path. And even then...
Her face began to burn as the mortal humiliation came back to her in a torrid rush of heat. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle.’ Feet bolting, she managed two steps before a steel arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her back to the bar.
Eva shuddered from top to toe, the melting sensation back with a vengeance as a lock of his shockingly thick hair fell across one eye as he tossed her a ‘stay put’ look.
He ordered a finger of single malt and pinned her in place with the wide span of his hand, only his thumb and forefinger touching her satin sheath. The tiniest contact enough to send all the heat from her face down to her knickers.
‘Don’t you think your dress is a little revealing, Eva?’ he said with a satiric bite. ‘This is a charity fund-raiser, not a nightclub.’ He knocked back the shot and carefully lowered the glass to the polished mahogany bar.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my dress and you know it.’ It was nun-like in comparison to what his usual dates wore. ‘Why are you here, Dante? I understand what Finn was trying to do. He has no idea what happened. But you...’ She shook her head. ‘You should’ve refused. Especially since you can’t bear to look at me for more than five seconds.’
As if to deny her accusation, he deigned to look at her—with such cold detachment he might as well have tossed the whisky-coated rocks in her face.
‘I’m here because I owe Finn, nothing more. As you’ve accurately pointed out, I have far more pleasurable things to do than babysit a loose cannon. But if you think for one minute I intend to break my word to him, you are sadly mistaken.’
She closed her eyes momentarily. ‘People grow, people change.’
‘No. They do not.’ He leaned a touch closer and she went strangely woozy. ‘Especially when they still have the power to stop traffic.’
Only Dante could twist a compliment into an insult with that cynical mouth. His dark eyes flickered down her body and she cursed her penchant for decadent ice cream.
Then he continued in that same thick, dark drawl, ‘That was quite a pile-up you caused in Piccadilly Circus. Did you enjoy the world staring at your body?’
Distaste filled her mouth. ‘That billboard was a campaign for—’
He waved her off with a dismissive flick and Eva sighed. What was the point of arguing with a man who saw everything in black and white? So she stuck with the facts, praying he’d just walk away. ‘Go home, Dante. I don’t need a chaperone.’
‘Apparently you do,’ he said, his caustic gaze dropping to the mineral water she held in a death grip. ‘At least you’re not plastered.’
She gasped. And to think she’d once thought herself in love with the guy!
‘You’re locked in the past. You don’t know me. I drown in work these days.’
‘Really.’ One word, brimming with derision, and she wondered if he even knew what she did for a living. He’d been in Singapore for the past year or so, Italy before that, but he’d seen Finn on occasion. Maybe he didn’t care enough to ask, but frankly she’d had enough of being dragged through the wringer.
Her mouth shaped for speech, ready to tell him what she’d achieved. All about her stunning new boutique, the new contract for the soon-to-be Duchess she’d fought tooth and nail for—
When suddenly he snorted like a displeased horse. ‘And what work would that be, Eva?’ Eyes glittering, he traced her décolletage, a look that turned almost cruel—a striking contrast to the velvet now stroking his voice. ‘Slipping between the warm sheets of the morning papers...hot off the press. Now I’m back in London, what will I wake to find tomorrow? I wonder.’
Eva gritted her teeth and tightened her fingers around her clutch, the temptation to swipe the mocking look off his face far beyond her usual realm of control. Honestly, what was the point of defending herself? He’d made up his mind. It shouldn’t hurt so much, it really shouldn’t. And the only reason her insides felt as if they were being picked apart was because she wanted him gone.
Chin up, she was determined to stand her ground. This time there would be no regrets.
‘Is this the support you promised Finn? To come in here, berate me, when you obviously have no idea what I’ve been doing for the past few years? Claw at my confidence before I have to go on stage? Wow. I’ll be sure to tell him what a grand job you did. Now, get your hand off me and disappear into the night. That is your usual parting gift, after all.’
* * *
Dante tightened his grip on her warm stomach and felt the muscles clench under his palm, the tiny contractions spiking his pulse so hard his jaw set. It took no more than a second to convince himself he was misreading the pain in Eva’s eyes. Then he snatched his hand back and set her free.
A wisp of her sultry scent drifted up his nose as she spun with the grace of a ballerina and sashayed through the clumps of dowdy patrons—a dark pink firework amongst a sea of sickly candy, her position as co-founder of the charity blatant in her choice of colour.
Dante tore his gaze from her sinful behind and ordered another shot of single malt.
Maledizione! He’d handled that really well. And she was right. He should’ve told Finn to find someone else. The crackling atmosphere was like a dark storm brewing in the room, threatening to rain destruction on them all.
Flawless, that was the word people used for her beauty. But it was a lie. Her flaws lay buried deep, hidden under dark lashes, lurking in the wary shadows of her mesmerising mossy-green eyes.
Assuming he’d buried his memories was his first mistake, because he could still feel the damp warmth of her blanched almond skin beneath his lips, the pure tone hinting at an innocent enchantment that was her dangerous allure. The only truth was her curves, which should, quite frankly, be illegal.
Heat, swift and decadently erotic, flooded his veins.
Eva St George. Wild child. Fantasy pin-up for every hot-blooded man.
Raising the glass to his lips, he downed the second finger of Scotch, the warm amber liquid lubricating his throat and inflaming the annoyance swirling in the pit of his stomach. He should not have touched her again. But if there was one thing Dante loathed it was a woman turning her back on him. He did the walking. He was in control. Always.
It didn’t help that the only time he’d ever lost it was with Eva. No matter how many times he insisted he had merely been comforting her on the night of her mother’s funeral, he couldn’t escape the fact that sanity had slipped from his grasp. And he’d almost taken her...Cristo, on the floor of the pool-house!
And tonight. She must be hurting. That was the pain in her eyes. That was why Finn had asked him to come. Because he knew Dante would remember. For all her wild ways, she’d loved her mother and watching her struggle with remembered grief was not a sight he relished. That, he insisted, was because of his loyalty to her brother, his friend.
The thought of Finn brought him back down into the ballroom with an almighty thud. He had to forget the past, deliver on his promise to Finn and get the hell out of here. He could be nice. For at least twenty minutes.
Sliding a fifty across the bar, he turned to face the bustling glitterati, taking less than five seconds to find her, courtesy of the dress that smothered her luscious body as if poured with silken oil.
Eva now had a flute of champagne in her long slim fingers and curved those famous do-me-now lips to lure another man. You don’t know me. People change, she says!
He didn’t want to hear it. For the first fifteen years of his life he’d hoped, prayed, pleaded for such change from his equally wild mother. So he’d switched off years ago to Finn’s ramblings about his precious little sister. Diverting conversation had quickly become an art form. Finn naturally had a soft spot for her and Dante liked the man too much to smash his rose-tinted view.
Shaking his head, he crossed the space between them, the stark light of the bar fading as the crowds parted and he moved deeper into the extravaganza; where butlers in black and white vintage garb enticed the waifs with canapés and tall glasses of pink froth, and the pianist seduced with classical opera which seeped through his skin and eased the tension from his spine. By the time he caught up, Eva sat alone at one of the huge round tables, washed in a soft peach hue courtesy of a thousand tiny crystal tea lights.
Sitting on the deep velvet seat beside her, he pinched the stem of her champagne flute and handed it to a passing waiter before ordering his senses to go on mute. ‘Here we are again.’
Her dark blonde head snapped around, the long, luxuriant waves swaying about her bare shoulders. ‘Can’t you take the hint? I. Am. Fine. You need to. Go. Home.’
Dante leaned back, knowing full well he projected ennui. ‘No.’
Her eyes glittered with the first sparks of her temper but he had to give her credit because she banked the fire, no doubt disinclined to cause a scene. ‘What are you doing back here anyway? I thought Singapore had captured your full attention.’
‘Impossible. Nothing is enough to capture my full attention.’
She leaned her perfect body into the back of the chair and crossed her arms, the action slow, controlled, pushing her breasts upward, affording him a delicious view of her satiny cleavage. He allowed his eyes to drop. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? His full undivided attention. It wouldn’t last—it never did.
‘How stupid of me to forget,’ she said, her husky voice mocking. ‘Guess I thought business was different.’
Dante tore his eyes from her. ‘Singapore was a huge success. Two Vitale department stores in twelve months and one of the most lavish malls in the world.’
‘You sound disappointed. That wasn’t enough?’
‘It’s never enough.’ Now he had his sights set on the biggest prize of all. The jewel in the Vitale crown would be the Knightsbridge store he’d wanted for almost a decade. He just needed to convince the seller that Dante was the superlative choice. Problem was, Yakatani, the staunch Japanese businessman, wanted a family man and that particular vessel had sailed four years ago. Flying the flag of treacherous betrayal.
A swell of rabid emotion, black and cold, inflated his chest and he fisted his hand where it lay on the pristine white tablecloth. When he caught Eva glancing down he stretched his fingers wide.
‘So what now?’ she asked, a small furrow lining her brow. ‘Why come to London?’
‘Why not?’ he said with a careless shrug that tore at his stiff muscles as he tamped down on the dark current of unwanted, loathsome feeling.
‘There’s more to it than that. I can see it in your face.’
She saw far too much.
Dante cleared his throat and glanced around the room, content that she would drop the conversation when he wasn’t forthcoming. Seconds blurred into minutes of warding off the waves of sensuality that poured effortlessly from the woman beside him, which only served to heighten his determination in what now felt like an enjoyable exercise in self-restraint.
So he focused on the towering glass vase taking centre stage on the table, overflowing with cream and dusky pink blooms, each rose delicately wrapped in ivory voile to cup the open bud, and streams of pearls cascading from a lofty hydrangea to pool upon the tablecloth. And, before he knew it, his mind’s eye trailed those very pearls over every inch of Eva’s body, skimming up those long satiny legs and teasing them between her thighs, where she was hot and wet—
Cristo, for the life of him he could not understand why fatal attraction still poured through his blood...scoring his cheekbones. For a second he wondered if he’d made a sound.
‘Dante, are you okay?’
There, he had his answer, Dante noted, without allowing himself to react.
Lazily, he shifted in his seat. Turned and raised one dark brow. ‘Sì. Of course.’
‘Well, you didn’t answer me,’ she said. And for a second he was thrown, his back nudging the velvet pad of the chair. When was the last time someone had the audacity to demand an answer from him? Then again, this was Eva and he should’ve expected nothing less. Any woman who could turn sweet grieving vulnerability into an all-out seductive war on mankind took daring to a whole new level.
Dante yanked at the sleeves of his white dress shirt until shards of diamond light bounced off his platinum cufflinks. He didn’t suppose Eva would be a risk to his deal. She was more front page scandal than the business section type and he needed to talk about something before he touched her.
‘I was considering your question: why London?’ He drew his answer out. Waited until he had her rapt attention. Waited to feel the power of the word on his tongue, the weight of it lifting his spirits. ‘One word. Hamptons.’
‘Nooo,’ she breathed, evidently interested. Although he guessed it was merely the conditioned response of a practised woman.
Still, he allowed himself a small smile. It was almost his. He could feel the power of ownership fizzing in his blood.
‘Hamptons have the most beautiful departments I’ve ever seen,’ her voice now wistful.
Dante cottoned on to the reason for her enthusiasm. Shopping. Every woman’s idea of nirvana. To someone like Eva, he imagined the experience akin to an orgasm.
With mind-blowing speed and precision, his imagination inflamed, offering him an erotic image of Eva exploding under his fingertips...beneath his mouth...coating his tongue. Her glorious body arching like a bow...
A loud female voice shot through the haze and Dante winced. Maledizione, he needed sex—to drive out the tension of the last few weeks that had slowly, surely pervaded his body. That was the issue here. It had nothing to do with her.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to our co-founder, Eva St George.’
Rapturous applause filled the air and Dante watched the rose hue drain from Eva’s cheeks. Watched her throat work, the slender column pulsing.
‘Eva? What is it?’
‘Nothing. I’m fine,’ she said with such ease that he realised his imagination was playing tricks on him. Again.
‘Of course you are,’ he said as he nodded towards the podium where the operatic beauty who was tonight’s entertainment stood waiting. If the card she’d slipped him earlier was anything to go by, she was more than willing to perform personally at his request. ‘Show them Eva St George, the Princess of the Press.’
She looked at him then. Properly. For the first time since he’d arrived. Her eyes were swirling tempests which spoke of barely concealed anger. Was she still vexed with him? Even after he’d sat and spoken to her for at least ten minutes?
Dante almost asked what more she expected of him, but each guest now stood waiting. Watching.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘What are you waiting for? Go.’
‘It’s not that,’ she said, scratching at her lower lip. His eyes narrowed on her short, unpolished fingernails. ‘Dante, listen. If I only ever ask this one thing of you, will you do it?’
He didn’t like the sound of this. Women and favours were a risky business. There were only three things to be certain of in this life. Ownership, power and control.
‘Ask me,’ he said.
‘Will you leave? Now. Please.’
* * *
Eva stepped down from the podium, willing her ribbon-like legs to keep her upright. She’d never thought it was physically possible to want to cry and whoop at the same time but now she knew. All she’d had to do was stand on a stage—in front of hundreds of people—on her own, and pour her heart out.
But she’d done it. She’d actually done it!
Slightly deaf from a thundering show of hands, she gripped the hand rail and tottered down the steps from the stage. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father beckoning and the temptation to go to him was so strong her feet altered course. But the sight of Claire, wife number six, tugging on his arm stopped her mid-step and she feigned ignorance. There was a happy bubble floating in her chest and no way was that woman popping it.
After a few obligatory handshakes, Eva spotted the heavy gold brocade curtains shrouding the double doors leading onto the terrace. She’d prefer a hot bath and eight hours’ sleep, but in her position leaving early was out of the question. So she’d take ten minutes’ peace instead. Escape beckoned and, like a prowling cat, she edged around the room, slinking around the guests. She slithered through the small gap in the curtains onto the terrace beyond and quietly closed the door behind her....
And walked into a dense wall of nipping icy air. The fight left her body in one long rush and her shoulders slumped. ‘It’s over.’ Done. For the girl who’d always found large crowds intimidating, she wished her mother could’ve seen her standing tall.
Wrapping her hands around her upper arms to ward off the chill, she tipped her head skyward, gazing at the beauty of nature’s palette—the richest blue imaginable, sparkling with diamanté-studded brilliance. Focused on the biggest, the brightest star and revivified the words she spoke every year, only on this night. ‘I miss you. I’ve made mistakes—so many mistakes—but I’m trying to move on. Make something of my life. Be the person you knew I could be. And I swear I’ll make you proud if it’s the last thing I do.’
Closing her eyes, she became lost in time, remembering the sight of her mother teaching her how to work with her nimble fingers. How to stitch another beautifully perfect pearl on dense shot silk and create someone’s dream, fill it with romance and beauty and love—all the things she would never have. Only gift. Just as her mother had for women the world over. Until the dark shadows had come knocking and the world went black, everyone left.
Dante.
Thank God he’d left earlier. The thought of him watching her. His beautiful, intense gaze was like a brain-wiping device—
‘Eva.’
She flinched and spun around as her hand flew up to her chest to stop her heart bursting through her skin.
‘Dante,’ she breathed. ‘I thought you’d gone. I asked you to.’
He stood in the shadows, face dark, body rigid, his hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets. ‘I gave my word to Finn. Let us call it a compromise.’
‘So you sat out here the entire time?’
‘Like I said, I promised Finn I would be here if you needed me.’
I needed you once. You left.
