'There is always the exception that proves the rule,' he said darkly.
'The world is full of so-called exceptions, then.' She settled back in her chair, eyeing him angrily. 'My parents, for one. You can't lump the whole human race together and say there is no such thing as real love.'
'And you? Have you ever been in love?' he asked suddenly, his gaze on the soft red sheen of her hair before it slowly moved over her creamy skin to hold her velvety brown eyes with his own.
She stared at him for a full minute, quite unable to answer at first. 'I thought I was once,' she said at last, unaware of how expressive her face had been to the big dark man watching her so closely.
'And now? Do you think you were now, with hindsight?' he persisted softly.
'No.' Her voice was flat.
'So what changed?' he asked quietly. 'You do not accept that your love was an illusion, that it couldn't really last?'
'No.' She twisted in her seat as she spoke. 'That's not it—not really. I realise now…' She shook her head, finding the self-analysis painful with those deadly eyes trained on her face. 'The thing is that Jeff wasn't who I thought he was. He had never been the person I imagined. I don't know if it was me being blind or whether he consciously tried to project a different image—I'
m not sure—but I do know that when I found out who he really was I didn't like him.'
'And so you finished with him?'
'No.' She looked him straight in the eyes then, and hers were cloudy with pain. 'He had finished with me some time before that, actually, after I had had an accident and he knew I would be in hospital some time. He…he found someone else.'
He swore very softly, in Italian, but she couldn't doubt the meaning, and then said, 'What a fool he must have been,' as he reached forward over the table and took her hands in his. 'What a blind, stupid fool.'
She was quite still, she didn't even dare breathe, and then he rose slowly to touch her lips with his own, cradling her face in his cupped hands for a moment when he raised his head, one finger stroking the soft, full contours of her lips caressingly before he sat down again and picked up his menu.
She felt totally, utterly shattered by the contact, by the tenderness he had displayed that was so at odds with what she knew of Romano Bellini and the image he projected so ruthlessly.
And she had thought she'd got it wrong with Jeff? she thought numbly as she lowered her head and gazed unseeingly at her own menu. That might have been a mistake but it was minuscule compared to the one she had made about Romano. Because she wasn't just physically attracted to this man, it was more, much more than that—as the brief moment of gentleness had forced her to realise.
She loved him. She loved a man whose love for his dead wife had shut his emotions up in solid ice, who was more complicated than any other human being she had ever met, who was wildly handsome, fabulously rich, and as much out of her grasp as the man in the moon.
'Claire?' She came out of the whirling confusion to the knowledge that the waiter had been standing patiently waiting for her order for some minutes, that she hadn't even seen the dancing black letters on the gilt-embossed menu, and that her brain wouldn't allow her to focus on anything but the awful realisation that she had fallen in love with Romano Bellini. 'What would you like?' Romano prompted quietly.
'I…I don't mind—anything,' she stammered awkwardly.
'Perhaps a pasta dish first?' Romano said helpfully. 'Or rice? They do an excellent risotto here. And we could follow that with the fish dish this restaurant is renowned for. The fish is coated in cream and wine and then baked under a coating of breadcrumbs and served with vegetables or salad.'
'Fine, fine.' She nodded feverishly. 'That sounds lovely.'
It was lovely. The restaurant was lovely. The wine was more than lovely. And, in her effort to combat the big black cloud that had settled on top of her head and was pressing her into a state of nightmarish panic, she consumed three enormous glasses of it to help her force down the delicious food that stuck in her throat like dry bread. And then she accepted a large brandy with her coffee.
She hadn't got the faintest idea what they had talked about during the meal but she must have made sense, to Romano at least, as he was his normal cool, urbane self, self-assured and coldly in control of himself and those about him. Whereas she… She was mental, crazy, possessed of a death-wish, she told herself bitterly.
Romano. Romano of all people! And he said he didn't believe in love any more? She could tell him a thing or two, because one thing was for sure; if she could have chosen to fall in love with someone he would have been the last person in the world she would have nominated. But love wasn't like that; it didn't allow one to choose in the same way as deciding on a comfortable pair of shoes or a new hat. No, it hit with all the force and destructive power of a ten-ton truck when one least expected it.
'Would you like to dance?' Several couples had taken the floor as they had eaten their meal, and now, as she finished her coffee and brandy, Romano glanced across at her, his dark gaze unreadable.
And be compared in his mind with the woman who still held his heart? she thought painfully. She just bet Bianca would have danced beautifully. That slim, supple body she had seen in the photographs couldn't have done anything else.
'No, thank you, I…I'm a hopeless dancer—two left feet,' she murmured quietly, her cheeks flaming.
'I doubt that.' To her horror he stood up, reaching out his hand for her across the table and drawing her to her feet. 'I doubt that very much.'
'Romano, I really don't want to.' But the trouble was, she did, and as they walked hand in hand to the edge of the dance floor and he turned and took her in his arms, drawing her close into his dark frame, she knew she was the nearest she'd ever be to heaven on earth.
He nuzzled his chin on the top of her head, the smell and feel of him encompassing her in a delight that was sensual and fierce and very, very painful, and after a few moments he drew back to look down into her face, his own warm and smiling. 'I thought you said you couldn't dance?' he challenged softly.
'I can't.' The smile she returned was the best bit of acting she'd ever done. 'I'm just following you, that's all.' She didn't have to dance. She was floating, skimming the air…