The Sicilian's Bought Cinderella

But there were moments when she would catch something in his eyes that made her stomach clench and a lower part of herself melt.

It had been a relief when, after breakfast that morning, Dante had taken her to Viale Strasburgo, Palermo’s designer boutique Mecca, where they had been introduced to Aislin’s designated personal shopper.

Dante’s unobtrusive but always present staff were a calm reassurance but nothing beat having lots of other people around and something constructive to focus on to distract the mind.

Aislin had been taken into shops where the choice and richness of what she could have had almost overwhelmed her. It had been tempting to scoop everything up, but she’d stuck to the brief of buying a minimum of four casual daytime outfits, two evening dresses, one of which should be fit for a ball, an outfit for the wedding itself, shoes and accessories and a designer suitcase to put all her new purchases in.

She still didn’t understand why she’d allowed the personal shopper to talk her into buying new underwear. Her own were perfectly functional and it wasn’t as if anyone would see what she wore beneath the fancy clothing. But she had gone along with it, probably out of guilt for refusing the utterly gorgeous golden ballgown the shopper had insisted was perfect for her. Perfect for a catwalk model, maybe, but not for a student from Kerry.

It made her cheeks flush to imagine Dante’s face when he received the bill for it all. She knew he wouldn’t begrudge buying those items, but what if the bill was itemised?

Would he imagine her wearing that underwear? And why did it make a far more intimate part of herself flush to think that?

It would be easier if he’d had any input on her clothing choices but he’d been insistent that she choose for herself without any influence from him. While she’d shopped he’d kept himself busy working on his tablet, taking her out at regular intervals for coffee and more conversation.

Three more days and this would be over, and this unwelcome longing would disappear as quickly as it had come.

Nothing could come of it. Her imagination might like to see things that weren’t there but, even if the look in his eyes actually meant something, meant he had an awareness for her sexually too, she would not allow anything to happen. Dante had many excellent qualities, and she trusted him to keep his word where the money was concerned, but when it came to women he was a cad. In that respect, Riccardo D’Amore was right—Dante was just like his father.

He was not above deception either. The charade he was paying her to play her part in this weekend was proof of that. It would be a foolish woman who gave her heart to Dante Moncada...

A deep male voice startled her from her thoughts.

Aislin craned her neck to see Dante talking to Ciro.

Her heart roared in her ears as he approached her, a bottle of beer in his hand.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AISLIN WAS FURIOUS with herself for lingering too long in the pool when she’d intended only a quick dip and fought to hide her embarrassment.

She hadn’t felt an ounce of self-consciousness to be dressed in only a swimsuit with Ciro around but Dante... This was a man who had bedded many of the world’s most beautiful women. Next to them she would look like a sack.

Her only saving grace was that the silvery evening light meant he couldn’t see what lay beneath the water’s surface.

‘How are you enjoying the water?’ he asked when he reached her. He spoke with a light tone but she sensed a tension in the tall, lean frame.

‘It’s lovely. Do you mind me using your pool? I’m sorry, I should have asked...’

‘The pool is here to be used. You need to relax. These last few days have been a little...’

‘Full on?’ she supplied.

He nodded and took a swig of his beer.

‘Did you get the emergency sorted?’ she asked.

His lips tightened int

o a grim smile and he nodded again.

Aislin’s heart clenched. He’d gone to fix something at his childhood home. He’d only buried his father three months ago.

‘Do you find it hard going to the villa?’ she asked tentatively.

Dante gazed into the grey eyes ringing at him with astute compassion and suddenly wondered why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to stay away for a bit longer.

His father’s old housekeeper had called about a water leak in one of the bathrooms. Usually he would send his maintenance man to deal with it. This time he’d gone with him.