You mean apart from her being an over-indulged princess, nearly fifteen years younger than me?
‘Any man would think themselves privileged to marry my Giavanna!’ Roberto’s eyes had narrowed again. ‘You don’t need me to tell you, Salvatore, how closely enmeshed we already are—so many joint ventures between us. Marriage to Giavanna would ensure they continue, make our partnership even closer.’
Salvatore’s face had become even more expressionless. So that was what was behind this absurd notion! Well, his response would be adamant and ruthless, and then it would clearly be time for him and Roberto to end the business association that dated back to his father’s days.
It could not happen instantly, however—there were ongoing ventures which either had to be completed, or from which Salvatore had to extricate himself without loss or complication. He did not want Roberto fighting him, or blocking him, by refusing to give up on the idea of his marrying his daughter. Somehow he had to convince Roberto it was a non-starter.
Making himself scarce had been the a first step—this impromptu visit to London and the fashion show...unnecessary but timely. He glanced around him, taking another brooding mouthful of champagne. But as he lowered his flute the mass of people parted, shifting his view. And into his sight came someone who stilled the glass in his hand.
Por Dio, but she was fantastic! Golden hair piled high, a racehorse figure robed in a skin-tight scarlet and crimson evening gown that slithered down her long, slender body and even longer legs. He could not take his eyes from her. The room was full of show-stopping women dressed to the nines. But there was something about this one—
His gaze lingered.
Bellissima...assolutamente bellissima...
The fulsome description fitted her perfectly. Perfect features, high cheekbones, wide-set eyes...and a mouth made for kissing.
He felt his hormones kick in and moved forward.
The blonde’s head turned slightly and she saw him.
And she stilled completely.
Lana froze. A man was walking towards her. People stepped aside as he did so, and she knew why. Knew, too, why her pulse had suddenly given a kick—why her head had turned to let her eyes focus straight on him.
Tall—taller than herself—in a tuxedo whose jacket was set superbly across lean shoulders, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and with Latin looks that—
Take my breath away.
Chiselled features, mobile mouth, winged eyebrows over night-dark eyes. And with something about him that effortlessly radiated wealth and power.
A money man. One of those unseen backers of all this, whose money pays for all of us and who collects the profits we make for him.
But she didn’t have time to think any more. Or to analyse. Or consider.
He’d stopped in front of her.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, there was no one else in the crowded room except him.
Salvatore stopped. His eyes had never left her. Up close she was even more spectacular. He could see the vivid green of her eyes, like jewelled emeralds—could see, too, with a kick of his hormones, that they had flared wide at his approach.
He lifted his glass of champagne to her.
‘Don’t tell me...’ he said, and his voice was a drawl. He inserted an edge of humour into it. ‘You’re a model.’
For a second she did not respond. Then—‘Don’t tell me,’ she echoed. ‘You’re a money man.’
Deliberately she echoed his gesture too, lifting her glass to him.
Salvatore gave a laugh, short but genuine.
‘Well, I’m certainly not one of the birds of paradise here—male or female!’ he riposted.
He felt himself relax, settle into the exchange. His hormones were cruising along nicely, and in his head new thoughts were shaping. He could do with diverting them from the problem of Roberto and his pernicious pampered daughter. And this fantastic female here could divert them very, very easily...
‘Tell me,’ he said, relaxing his stance, wanting to engage her in conversation. ‘How will this collection go down, do you think?’
She made a slight face. ‘Word is two of the fashion editors here like it—the one from New York is less keen. But the Chinese guy is smiling, which everyone will like, because that market is massive. Which,’ she said pointedly, ‘you don’t need me to tell you.’