A Sicilian Seduction

‘No,’ he confirmed, but kissed her again to soften the blow before he added huskily, ‘We will not do this now. The timing is bad. We have an apartment to view. I have an important meeting to attend in less than an hour. I should be ashamed of myself. You deserve better than a quick roll on the nearest bed we can find. I beg your forgiveness. Next time I will show a little more—finesse, I promise you.’

‘Finesse,’ she repeated, seeming to register only that one word out of everything he had said. Her eyelashes fluttered down, making the tip of his tongue tingle with a desire to reach out and follow their gently curving spread against her cheekbones. Her body drew back, her fingers trailing very slowly from his nape to his chest, where his gaping shirt proved no barrier against the burning touch of her palms as she flatted them against him—then pushed him away.

He had hurt her, he could see it. She felt humiliated and cheap. But he couldn’t change the unpalatable fact that having suspected that she was thinking of Edward just when he’d kissed her had effectively ruined what had been promising to be a mind-blowing experience for him.

Because no woman, he vowed with an inner harshness that narrowed his eyes when she flicked up those lashes to look at him again—no woman thinks of another man when she should be thinking of Giancarlo Cardinale! In fact, the next time he brought Natalia Deyton to a point of complete surrender, he would make absolutely certain that she did no thinking at all!

So, ‘Unless, of course, you prefer the quick roll?’ he offered with just enough of a taunt in his tone to make her eyes flash.

‘Why?’ she came back like the flick of a whip. ‘Is that all that’s on offer?’

Oh, very good… He began to grin. The English had a saying for this, he mused, something to do with being foisted or hoisted on one’s own petard. He began to laugh. He was enjoying himself again.

While she looked ready to attack him like a deranged cat.

Well, that was okay. He could deal with that. In fact, he would look forward to it. Only this particular cat would be purring for him by the time the deed was done…

I’ll swing for him. I promise I will! Natalia vowed as she turned and walked stiffly away. When she’d managed to calm down a little she would begin to appreciate what a lucky escape she’d had!

For the man was a tease—an arrogant tease. He ought to know better at his age. Unless, of course, leading women on then backing off once he had them where he wanted them was the way Giancarlo Cardinale got his sexual kicks!

And she had surrendered. That telling little truth shuddered through her on a shaft of self-disgust as she stepped through the first opening that she came to—then stopped dead in utter surprise at what her eyes were being treated to.

Because she had never seen anything quite like it. The room—if you could call it a room—opened out into a square-shaped arena with a high white ceiling and a polished maple floor, which went down in steps to a sunken seating area furnished with soft cream leather sofas and chairs. In its centre sat a slab of marble that was supposed to be a table, she assumed. And the walls were painted in the palest yellow, the long plain hung curtains of lined white voile.

‘I think we have found the sitting room,’ a sardonic voice murmured behind her.

She would have stiffened in revolt, but she was just too overcome by what she was seeing. ‘You’re really going to live here?’ she asked, unable to imagine anyone actually using this place!

‘Looks like it,’ he answered, stepping past her to walk down into the seating area, where he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and began to look around.

He’d done up his shirt, Natalia noted. In the short walk from where she had left him to him joining her here, he had tidied away all the evidence of his little after-lunch diversion. Even his tie was back around his neck, though hanging loose there, at least.

‘Come down here and take a look at this,’ he said, unaware of the bitter thoughts going through her head.

She went because it was easier to do that than argue. ‘Some bachelor pad,’ he drawled, nodding towards one of the walls where another doorless opening led straight into a bedroom. You could even see the bed—a vast low-slung thing covered in snowy white linen. ‘I even have the sacrificial altar on which to lay out my victims.’

He was amused, but as she looked at the slab of marble posing as a table through a new set of eyes she felt herself blushing like an idiot.

‘Not yet,’ he whispered close to her ear, sending her nerve-ends screaming for cover.

But before she could retaliate with something really cutting, he was frowning at his watch and already turning away. ‘We are running out of time,’ he clipped out as if the other provocative remark had never been uttered. ‘Let’s see the rest of the place. We need to find somewhere to set up operations before a team of technicians arrive to connect us up.’

The idea of having to work here with him on a daily basis was becoming less palatable by the minute. But she followed him through room after room of minimalism gone mad. The dining room, for instance, almost matched the living room in style and texture. The kitchen was more white floor tiling, more maple wood, with more marble and some stainless steel thrown in as a feature.

As he’d said. The perfect bachelor pad.

There was even a room set up ready as a designer office. ‘Ah,’ Giancarlo said, glancing round them. ‘At last I begin to see why Fredo suggested this place.’

So could she. Thinking of it from a strictly business point of view—and she was determined to keep her view of this situation strictly business from now on—this was absolutely ideal for what she assumed was required of the busy venture capitalist wanting to work from home.

All it lacked at the moment was its communications hardware to link him into anywhere he wanted to go. The rest was already provided for. The workstations, the chairs—even the sunlight he professed to need for his Sicilian blood to run smoothly through his veins was managing to filter in through the voile-covered window.

It was her own needs which were beginning to trouble her because there was no separate office for her to escape to for a bit of relief from his relentless personality.

Also, it was right on the other side of town from Knight’s—and her own home in Chelsea.

‘What’s the matter?’ As sharp as a needle, he picked up on her concern.