“I know you’re that good and you’ve earned it by your hard work and dedication,” he acknowledged, and he flashed a fleeting smile before continuing with, “You’ve brought so much new work into the practice.”
He leaned towards her, and she was enfolded in the smell of vanilla essence and it made her think of sweet ice cream on a hot summer’s day.
Glory fought back the yearning to drape herself around him and lose herself in the intensity of his kisses and the command of his body.
• • •
Edoardo was wondering what she would do if he kissed her. Kiss her? Why didn’t he simply drink battery acid? It would be smarter.
He wanted things to return to normal. A nod of salutation, and a how-was-your-weekend greeting as they met each other in the elevator.
This was supposed to be simple, Glory pretending to be his girlfriend, him achieving his goal of becoming Mayor of Melbourne and then, with click of his fingers, they would go back to what had been between them, respect, admiration and loyalty.
And he was vividly conscious that was what Glory wanted too.
Thank God, it was nearly over. It was October now, the election was a couple of weeks before Christmas. The inaugural ball was the week after Christmas and then — supposing he won? And he had reason to believe he would. Then, after he was mayor, they could pretend to drift apart. They both could relax as the practice closed down from Christmas Eve until the second week in January. They both needed this time to recuperate, and set their heads right.
When Mamma had gone into her spiel about the wedding at first he was amused. But why hadn’t he stopped her before she’d become full blown? Why had he allowed the situation to get so out of hand?
It didn’t make sense.
Of course he’d every intention of setting his mother straight, and, as soon as the time was right, he’d do just that.
He looked out the car window. The night was black and the stars were bright, like the stars in Glory’s eyes when she was excited or pleased with something.
He drew in a deep breath. “Seems to me,” he said softly. “I’m getting the most out of this bargain; me and Kate that is; doesn’t seem quite fair somehow.”
He turned his head and looked right into her lovely eyes. He managed to keep his gaze steady and even. “I wonder if there’s any way I can make things up to you.”
Glory didn’t answer for a moment, until she said quietly, “I’m okay.”
Her eyes were bright, her mouth soft, and the moon shining through the car window bathed her in a celestial light. She looked lovely in glow of the soft moonlight and he fought the intense desire to kiss her senseless. It was difficult for him to understand what was going on. He’d never had problems with women before. If he wanted to kiss them, then he kissed them and if it went further, great! No hang-ups, no tension, and certainly no arguments. So why did he want Glory in his bed? With all the angst between them why didn’t he play it straight, shake hands and thank her for her time?
And another thing. He hadn’t dated another woman since all this began. Hell, was he losing his grip? Was he, he mentally shuddered, thinking about buying felt slippers and a pipe? He’d have to be more remote from Glory, back to being work-mates. the slap on the back and how ya goin’ mates. Yes, that was the answer.
And he found himself saying, “You’re beautiful, has anybody told you that?”
Hell, was he completely crazy? This wasn’t what he wanted to say; to the opposite.
She didn’t reply and then, quietly, said, “Are you coming on to me, Edoardo?”
He couldn’t shut-up; there was a tiny fat baby with a bow and arrow on his shoulder feeding words into his mouth. “I’ve never known a woman like you. Your sense of fair play, your humour, the way you’d do anything for the people you love. That’s something else, don’t you know.”
She lowered her eyes. “Heck, Edoardo, you make me sounds like a saint.”
“Saint Glory. Has a certain ring to it.” He took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over her knuckles. Her hand was soft and warm and the impulse to kiss her was hard to ignore.
If Glory understood a portion of what was going on between them, he would give his right arm if she’d explain it to him.
He didn’t have a clue about why he was so deeply passionate about her, or why adrenalin rushed every time he looked at her, and how he had to fight the urge to run his hands through her hair, touch her in an intimate and possessive way.
Her eyes grew dark and his heart clamped in his chest.
Lately, every time he was with her, he had to fight the impulse to kiss her luscious mouth. He liked kissing her. And at this particular moment, he didn’t feel like fighting that impulse. Her perfume invaded his senses, filled him with longing.
Edoardo tilted her head back, and then lowered his mouth to hers.
“Edoardo,” she whispered against his mouth. “Oh, Edoardo.”
He caressed her exposed throat and kissed the soft skin beneath her ear. The sweetness of her skin sent his heart pounding in his chest. He moved in closer, so close that he could see the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.
He lightly grasped her shoulders and began stroking her back.
It was as if he had reached a destination that he’d pursued all his life, some strange exotic place he had only before dreamed about.
Her hands moved up to his hairline softly kneading his neck sending hot shivers down his spine.
When he lifted her hair away and brushed the back of her neck with his lips, he heard the breath catch in her throat. Her hand was on his chest.
He took her hand and moved it so he could kiss her palm and then her wrist.
Never in his life had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted Glory. Now, this moment. “I want you, amore,” he whispered.
Outside the car, a gentle wind was breathing through the trees as the moon disappeared and black night took hold of the earth.
Both were oblivious to anything else but each other and the burning need each inflamed in the other.
He took her in his arms and their lips met in a shatteringly kiss of passion and the world spun around him in a confused whirl.
Her tongue, easy and warm against his.
His heartbeat was erratic as thrill after thrill raced through him.
He moved his head until his cheek touched lightly against hers, her fingers softly caressing the side of his face.
Her head tilted forward as his seeking lips found the cradle of her neck.
The aroma of sweet roses filled the car.
A loud toot of a horn drew them apart. “Hell, Glory,” he said as he brushed cupid from his shoulder. He wasn’t the least sure what he wanted to say. Most probably something about how he had lost control there for a moment.
The night, her perfume, the close proximity inside the car all stirred his senses.
“I suppose you were thinking about someone else that made you want to kiss me?” she said and he desperately wanted to deny it. He didn’t want her hurt or upset through any of this and it seemed that was happening more each day.
Instead, he murmured, “It won’t happen again.” But he really wasn’t that sure.
“So you keep telling me.” Her hand was juggling with the car door-handle. “I’d appreciate that you don’t jump on me again.”
“Put it down to the heat of the moment.” She made his blood boil. She made him so that he couldn’t think straight. She made him … “I suppose I should thank you for being so nice to Mamma.”
Now the door was open. Don’t go, stay with me.
He couldn’t take a chance on love. Not again, not ever again.
Marriage meant jealous hysterics and heartache. Marriage meant unfounded accusations and tearful scenes. Marriage meant control i
nstead of mutual respect. Marriage was so not for him.
Keep with women who were only interested in his money and being seen at the right places. Show them a good time, lavish them with gifts and wish them a bon farewell and move on to the next.
“It was easy being nice to your mother. I didn’t realize how much I’d like her,” Glory quipped. “Tell me, were you adopted?”
Then Glory was out of the car, and swashbuckling that cute little backside towards the entrance of her apartment block.
He stuck his head out of the car window and with a disapproving look, yelled, “Thanks for nothing.”
Shoving the car into gear, Edoardo drove away at top speed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Here we are,” Edoardo said as he braked in front of a tall, impressive house in Toorak.
The last week of October into the first week of November had been hectic and tonight they had been invited to Raoul Abdulhamid’s for cocktails and light entertainment. Raoul was Chairman of Committee for Melbourne and supported new and ground-breaking commerce development. He supported Edoardo in his bid to be Mayor and had arranged this evening to introduce Edoardo to some very important people. Tonight was very important to Edoardo and the campaign.
Edoardo knocked on the door. They were admitted by a maid and ushered into a large room illuminated by a center row of crystal chandeliers.
The furniture consisted of low divans and cedar wood tables. Several people were seated on divans, others clustered around in small intimate groups. A pianist tinkled out Gershwin, while black and white clad waiters glided about unobtrusively.
Their host was a giant, prematurely bald and dressed in a black dinner suit and white open-neck frilled-front shirt. A red cummerbund encircled his massive waist. He reminded Glory of a genie out of a magic lamp.
“Raoul, allow me to introduce Glory Sandrin, Glory, Raoul Abdulhamid, our most gracious host.”
They shook hands. “I make you most welcome in my humble home.”
“Thank you, Raoul. I feel most welcome,” Glory said. “I notice that you have some wonderful antiquities.”
“Ah, yes, my passion.”
“Me too,” said Glory. “I’ve always been interested in Egyptian art.”
“Hey, oddly enough so have I,” Edoardo said. They were finding more about each other, they smiled.
“Then allow me to show you something wonderful.” He led them to the corner of the room where, resting on a marble pedestal sat a tablet showing Queen Nefertiti bestowing a kiss on her daughter Merytaten.
“My God,” breathed Edoardo. “This is exquisite.” He studied the sculpture.
“Demonstrating feelings is most rare in Egyptian art.” Raoul ran his finger across the face of the Egyptian queen. “Her features have been deliberately obliterated. A sign of the devastation visited on images of her and her husband after his death.
“I have much more to show you, Edoardo and you too Glory. Perhaps another time you could come for lunch and I’ll show you my collection. I guarantee it is most breathtaking.”
“We’d be delighted to come, Raoul, and much honored.”
Bowing slightly, Raoul led them to a seat, which was barely above floor level. “Please enjoy your evening, and Edoardo we will meet with many people whose greatest desire is to meet with you, while the ladies have their coffee and talk as only women can.”
“Thanks, Raoul, I look forward to it with pleasure.”
• • •
Edoardo looked down at her, then at the low divan on which they were presumably to sit.
“Who’s going down first?”
“Me, I suppose.”
He grinned and watched her flop on to one of the brightly colored cushions. Sinking gracefully to the floor brought a sense of smug satisfaction when, almost without warning, he slumped down beside her. The weight of his body bounced her off the satin cushion, sliding her along the highly polished floor as if her backside was greased with oil.
His big hand reached over, grabbed the waist of her dress and tugging her back along the floorboards scooped his hand beneath her buttocks and lifted her back on to the cushion. “Sorry. I forgot to allow for weight displacement.”
“I enjoyed the trip.”
A waiter appeared from nowhere offering drinks and small savories. Glory accepted a drink while Edoardo took both.
At one end of the room stood a strikingly tall young woman magnificently dressed in a red silk strapless fish tail evening gown, the bodice clustered with Swarovski crystals, her long auburn hair was thick and curly. She held a violin. She smiled brightly at her audience, gave a slight nod of her head and tucked the violin under her chin. The atmosphere was hushed and energized, and Glory felt a prickle along her spine.
The woman began playing a section from Tchaikovsky Sibelius. How soulfully she made the instrument sing at the opening. Glory turned to Edoardo with a questioning glance, but he seemed rapt in the music. The music was making Glory feel strangely incorporeal. As the last note wafted through the air, she drew in a long breath, and closed her eyes lightly for a moment. As the musician moved away, her audience awarded her with wild applause.
Edoardo stood and offered Glory his hand. “Now that was something else.”
“It was wonderful.”
“Let’s mingle?” Taking her by the hand, Edoardo led her across the room to where Raoul was standing with a group of people. “Ah, Edoardo, Glory. Please allow me to introduce you to Lord Havenish. Lord Havenish, Edoardo Pisani and his partner, Glory Sandrin. Basil is here in Australia strictly for pleasure, is that not true, Lord Havenish?”
The tall thin man, with a most aristocratic nose, smiled and said, “Is there anything else?” He smiled at Glory, reached out a hand, and clasped Edoardo’s. “I’m also greatly interested in local politics, and you’re just the fellow I want to talk to.”
Around an hour or so later Edoardo returned to her and took her by the hand. “Boy, did he chew my ear,” he said. “I couldn’t get away from him. Nice bloke, though.” He took her hand as if it was the most natural thing to do. People were taking their leave. “The party’s over. Let’s say our goodbyes.”
• • •
Outside in the night air, Edoardo held the car door open for her. “Let’s go somewhere,” he suggested as he slid behind the steering wheel.
“Where?”
“Somewhere we can talk.”
“Talk? What about?”
A smile hovered around his lips. “Work.”
“We can discuss work at work,” she said easily.
“Oh, come on, Glory. Let’s go to Southbank and have a coffee.”
Twenty minutes later they reached their destination. He helped her from the car. They found a café and sat at a table overlooking the Yarra River.
She glanced at his hands that were holding a menu. Strong, yet compassionate hands. Hands that could caress a woman with such gentleness it would leave her wanting — hands that would stroke and spell out a message of love and such passion that a woman would give herself to him totally, and willingly.
Her cheeks grew hot. She couldn’t seem to control her racy thoughts while with Edoardo. She reached for a glass of water, her hands trembled.
“Any special type of coffee?”
She looked at him over the rim of the glass. “Short black, no sugar,” she said.
“Something to eat?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
Edoardo gave the order. Their coffee came and for a few moments they drank in a comfortable silence. “It’s lovely here,” he said.
“And popular on weekends. Of course, the Casino is a strong attraction.”
“Want to go there?”
“Do you?”
“I’d rather talk.”
“Me too.”
“You’ve been great, Glory. I couldn’t ask more of anyone.”
“Seems our subterfuge is working, everyone believes I’m your girl.”
He didn’t answer, and then said, “Won’t be for long now, only a few more weeks to the election.”
His statement hurt her. She’d wanted him to say something wildly wonderful, like, you’ll always be my girl, or let’s make this pretence real. “Then back to normal.”
“Whatever that may be.”
“It’ll be whatever we want it to be.”
“Early morning meetings, penciling in court hearings, interviews with clients.”
“You want something more, Edoardo?” Say yes. Say, I do want more. Say, I want you, cara.
“Nah, just rattling on. Another coffee?”
“No thanks.” She moved her cup away from her.
“How about a walk alongside the river?” He held her hand as they walked from the cafe to the edge of the river.
They moved through a night that was suddenly mild and sprinkled with silver stars that reflected in tiny pools of light on the murky waters of the river. There was an easy silence between them, broken only by the tinkling of a piano somewhere in the background. The tune was familiar but its name eluded her.
She glanced at him. He was such an attractive man. His black hair tempting her to run her fingers through its wild array. His well-shaped lips could wander into such a wicked grin. And his magnificent liquid blue eyes — eyes that saw right through her. She had to be on full alert because she had this sneaking suspicion that his eyes could control her.
She turned to him, and heard the involuntary catch of her breath as his head lowered toward her — the wild beating of her heart.
He circled his fingers around the back of her throat while placing soft kisses all over her face. He traced one finger along her collarbone and across the soft material of her dress outlining the gulf forged by her breasts. Wild excitement pulsed through her.
Through eyes translucent with emotion, he met her gaze. Looking at him all but took her breath.
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