The next moment her body was moulded to his—her body had a mind of its own, as she’d noticed since arriving in Tuscany, but it wasn’t long before the music wooed her. Marco wooed her. Pressing her close against his iron-hard frame, he seduced her into dancing with him, while the melody soothed her, reminding her of so many happy days in Tuscany. It wasn’t hard to dance with him at all. The Italian music was just so beguiling. It had a charm all its own...
* * *
‘You’re a good dancer,’ he said.
No one was more surprised than she was by that comment, but when he added, ‘You should dance more,’ he sent tremors of excitement racing through her.
But then she reasoned, who was she going to dance with—and where? Marco surely didn’t mean she could dance with him—on what occasion? But what could possibly compare with this? She would never dance with another man again, because it could only be a disappointment after Marco.
This was turning into a magical night, and a magical occasion, and she was going to make the most of it, because she knew deep down that it would never happen again.
And then one of the sponsors asked if he could cut in. Marco stopped dancing and smiled. ‘It would be ungracious of me to keep you all to myself,’ he explained. ‘Do you mind if I allow the ambassador to dance with you?’
‘You? Allow?’ she queried softly, out of the ambassador’s hearing, she thought, but the ambassador had overheard, and he laughed.
‘It appears that this young woman knows you, Marco. And quite right, my dear. It’s up to you to choose your partner,’ he added, smiling at her warmly.
‘Then I would love to dance with you,’ she said as she slipped out of Marco’s arms.
When she started dancing with the ambassador, she noticed Marco watching her. It might not be sensible, but she liked that he was watching her.
* * *
He had grudgingly—very grudgingly—given way to the ambassador. He missed having Cassandra in his arms. He missed the warmth of her soft body pressed up close to his.
He was paying the woman to be here, he reminded himself. He should not mistake this for anything more—though there was nothing to stop him enjoying her company while they were in Rome.
He could tolerate the older man dancing with her, but when one of the younger sponsors tried to cut in, he returned to the dance floor and reclaimed her.
‘Excuse us, Ambassador. I’m sure you’ll understand.’ He didn’t care if the man understood or not. Cassandra was coming with him. ‘The auction is about to start soon. Cassandra?’ he prompted.
She looked daggers at him, though she was charm personified to the ambassador, who was a courtly old man and hadn’t deserved his rough treatment. ‘I apologise for denying you the company of this young woman,’ he felt bound to add, brought to book by the piercing stare of his assistant gardener. He had to do some serious thinking on that front, but as the auction was about to start...
‘I quite understand,’ the ambassador told him, with a look that said he did—absolutely. ‘I’ll see you again someday, my dear, I hope.’
‘I hope so too,’ she said, with what even he had to admit was a lovely smile.
‘There are some wonderful things in the auction,’ Cassandra told him with enthusiasm as soon as they were seated back at the table.
Of course, he thought. All the items on sale were unique and extremely valuable, in order to raise as much money as possible for the charity.
‘Have you seen something you like?’ Placing a bid was the least he could do when she had worked so hard to charm his guests.
‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ she said.
‘Tell me,’ he prompted indulgently.
‘It’s that lovely sketch of a dachshund puppy—the Hockney? In my fantasies, I imagine taking it home for my godmother as a gift. Don’t worry,’ she said before he had chance to say a word. ‘I know they fetch tens of thousands, hundreds, probably—maybe millions by now—but it doesn’t cost to dream.’
They both knew that works by the artist David Hockney could go for a fortune. All the auction lots would go for fabulous amounts of money, their value further increased by the fact that they were being sold for charity. Part of him wanted Cassandra to bid—he’d cover any amount she went to. But what would that say to the watching world?
Surprising himself, he covered her hand with his, as if to reassure her. Tender gestures were not his thing, but there was something about Cassandra...