Well, what else was she going to do—scrub around in an empty fridge, trying to find something on the TV which wasn’t a game show and trying not to think about what she could have been doing? An image of Giancarlo’s mocking eyes swam into her memory as, with a frustrated little yelp, she slung the salad and the garlic bread into the empty fridge and went to change.
Wearing a pair of jeans and a warm coat over her sweater, Cassie walked through the cold night air to the pub. Her footsteps rang out on the icy pavement and bright stars spangled the clear skies. Even from the end of the road she could hear the noise and the bustle and when she opened the door of the pub, she was hit by a solid wall of sound.
Every inch of the place was packed. Beneath a swirl of paper streamers, people were swaying and singing along to a song about wishing it could be Christmas every day—which had been played every year since Cassie could remember. And, given the current decibel level and crush of bodies, it was not a sentiment she currently agreed with.
The queue to get to the bar was five-deep and heaven only knew where Gavin and the others were. Could she face battling her way through the crowds to sit nursing a mediocre glass of warm white wine for the rest of the evening and shouting to make herself heard above the noise?
No, she could not. With a decisiveness which surprised her, she turned and walked out of the pub again—her feet taking her straight back to the flat while a preposterous idea grew in her mind.
Only, maybe it was not so preposterous at all. He had given her his phone number, hadn’t he? Told her to call him—and she had a good reason to call him, even if you discounted the fact that he was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.
Letting herself into the apartment with a fast-beating heart and grateful for the quietness, Cassie punched out his number with a trembling finger before she could change her mind. She could hear the phone ringing and ringing. Maybe he was one of those people who screened their calls and, since he didn’t recognise the number, wasn’t going to bother answering. She was just about to hang up when she heard a click—and then that distinctive velvety, accented voice sounded in her ear.
‘Pronto. Giancarlo Vellutini.’
‘Giancarlo?’ She swallowed down her nerves. ‘It’s me…Cassie.’
‘Chi?’ There was a pause. ‘Who?’
This was humiliating. He didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t remember. He’d spoken to her for about five minutes and given her his business card on a whim. Cassie would have hung up there and then if it hadn’t been for the candles which were still sitting on the side, wrapped in glittery gold and claret paper. ‘Cassandra Summers. I work at Hudson’s department store. We met today—do you remember? You bought some—’
‘Sì, sì, senz’altro—scusi, scusi.’ His voice dipped effortlessly into English. ‘Cassandra Summers with the amazing eyes. How could I possibly forget?’
Cassie swallowed as nerves began to assail her. Don’t back him into a corner. Show that you have a legitimate reason to ring him in case he’s looking for an out. ‘Actually, I’m ringing up because you forgot your candles?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You bought six very expensive c-candles and you didn’t take them with you.’
His long legs sprawling in front of him as he reclined in a squashy leather sofa, Giancarlo looked up at the huge canvas which dominated the wall above the blazing log fire, and gave a slow smile. ‘So I did. And that’s the only reason you’re ringing me, is it?’
‘Well, I…’ Flustered now, Cassie didn’t know how to respond. Did she tell him that maybe she’d been a bit too hasty in turning him down—and that dinner sounded wonderful—or would that make her sound like some sort of desperado?
‘Or maybe you’ve changed your mind about having dinner with me?’ he prompted silkily.
Just say yes…he isn’t planning to kidnap you and send you to the ends of the earth. Just say yes! ‘That would be very…nice,’ said Cassie blandly.
Giancarlo gave a soft laugh. Nice wasn’t what he had in mind. Nothing near ‘nice’, in fact. Something dark, erotic and horizontal was closer to the mark—he knew that and he suspected that deep down she knew that, too. Because nobody could deny the sparks which had flown between them today—sparks hot enough to make him act on impulse, to chat up the kind of woman he would never have met at a dinner party.
And yet, in a way, he had preferred her a little more when she’d lifted her chin and fixed him with those violet eyes and proudly said she was doing something else tonight. Wasn’t it slightly disappointing that she’d rung and become just like all the others—joining the endless line of women who wanted him and didn’t mind showing him how much? In a few short moments she’d gone from goddess to doormat and he’d known enough of those in his time. His mouth flattened. Wouldn’t it have excited him if he’d had to do the chasing for once—instead of the inevitability of yet another luscious creature falling into his bed because he had snapped his fingers?