by Sara Craven
Afterwards she relaxed on one of the comfortable padded benches set back around the pool, and read some of the book she’d brought with her, but to her annoyance she found her concentration fragmenting.
In spite of herself, she kept thinking of the previous evening, and that brief, disturbing glimpse she’d had of Rome d’Angelo.
She found herself trying the name over in her mind, silently cursing Shelley as she did so.
I really didn’t need to know his identity, she thought. He was easier to keep at bay when he was an anonymous stranger.
Although she’d been aware of a connection between them, as powerful as an electric current.
Suddenly, shockingly, she felt her body stir with excitement, as if she’d been touched. As if her mouth had been kissed, and her breast stroked gently to pleasure. Beneath the cling of her Lycra swimsuit her nipples were hardening to a piercing intensity, her body moistening in longing.
Cory sat up, pushing her hair back from her face.
It’s time I took a shower, she thought, her mouth twisting. And maybe I should make it a cold one.
The changing rooms on the floor above were reached by lift. The women’s section was beautifully equipped, with mounds of fluffy towels, gels and body lotions and other toiletries, hairdriers, and a selection of all the popular fragrances in tester bottles for the clients to try.
Cory didn’t linger today as she usually did. She showered swiftly, then dressed in her usual weekend uniform of jeans and a plain white tee shirt.
She’d have some lunch at the salad bar on the ground floor before it got busy, she decided, as she shrugged on her leather jacket and picked up her tote bag. She was on her way out when she swung round, went back to the vanity unit, and sprayed her throat and wrists with some of her favourite ‘Dune’.
And why not? she demanded silently as she made for the wide central stairway.
She was two thirds of the way down, head bent, moving fast, when she suddenly felt her warning antennae switch to full alert, and glanced up, startled.
She saw him at once, standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her.
Recognition was instant, sending her pulses into over-drive.
She felt her lips frame his name, then stiffened in sudden, almost violent negation. Because he couldn’t be here—he couldn’t be…
Her foot caught the moulded edge of the step, and she stumbled. As she fell, she grabbed at the rail and managed to check her headlong descent, but she couldn’t prevent herself sliding down the last half-dozen steps on her hip, and landing in an untidy huddle at his feet.
She lay for a moment, winded, hearing a buzz of comment, aware of shocked faces looking down at her. Of one face in particular, dark and coolly attractive, with vivid blue eyes fringed by long lashes, a high-bridged nose, and a mouth redeemed from harshness by the sensuous curve of its lower lip.
She realized too that he was kneeling beside her, and she was lying across his knees, his arm supporting her.
His voice was low and resonant with a faint accent she could not place.
‘Don’t try to move. Are you hurt?’
‘No.’ The denial was swift, almost fierce, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position. ‘I’m fine—really. It was just a stupid accident.’
She was going to have the mother of all bruises on her hip, but she’d deal with that tomorrow. At the moment, her main concern was getting out of the club with what little remained of her dignity.
But his hand was on her shoulder, forcing her to stay where she was.
‘Maybe I should take you to the nearest casualty room—get you checked over.’
‘There’s no need for that. No damage has been done.’ She hunched away from him. She felt dazed, her body tingling, but instinct told her that had more to do with his hand on her shoulder than the tumble she’d just taken.
‘Then perhaps you’d take me instead.’ His face was dead-pan, but there was a glint in those amazing eyes. ‘I’m not used to having girls fall at my feet, and shock can be dangerous.’
‘Oh, really?’ Cory glared at him as she hauled herself painfully upright. ‘Now, I’d say you’d spent your adult life stepping over recumbent women.’
Oh, God, she thought, appalled. What am I doing? I can’t believe I just said that.
His brows lifted. ‘Appearances,’ he said softly, ‘can be deceptive. Something I also need to remember,’ he added quietly as he, too, got to his feet.
Cory was almost glad to see one of the physiotherapists hurrying towards them. She answered his concerned questions, declined having her ankle examined, and agreed to fill out an accident report.
‘But later.’ Rome d’Angelo took her arm, and apparent control of the situation. ‘Now the lady needs something to drink.’
Cory hung back, trying not to wince. She was altogether more shaken than she’d realised, but the fall was only partly responsible.
Now she needed to get away before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
She said, controlling the quiver in her voice, ‘I’m really all right. There’s no need for you to concern yourself any more.’
‘But I am concerned,’ he said softly, as the crowd began to melt away. ‘You threw yourself, and I caught you. And I’m not prepared to put you down yet. So, are you going to walk to the coffee shop with me—or do I have to carry you?’
Cory heard herself say, ‘I’ll walk.’ And hardly recognised her own voice.
CHAPTER THREE
THIS is lunacy, thought Cory, and I should run out of here and have myself committed immediately.
But she couldn’t. For one thing, she was too sore to run anywhere. For another, her wallet and keys were in her tote bag, which Rome d’Angelo must have rescued after her fall and which was now hanging from one muscular shoulder as he waited at the counter in the coffee shop.
So, she said, perforce, to stay where she was, perched in rigid discomfort on one of the pretty wrought-iron chairs at the corner table he’d taken her to.
Round one to him, it seemed.
And all she had to do now was ensure there wasn’t a round two.
Because every instinct she possessed was warning her yet again that this was a man to avoid. That he was danger in its rawest sense.
Anyone with a year-round tan and eyes like the Mediterranean was out of her league anyway, she reminded herself drily. But the peril that Rome d’Angelo represented went far deeper than mere physical attraction.
It’s as if I know him, she thought restlessly. As if I’ve always known him…
She felt it in her blood. Sensed it buried deep in her bones. And it scared her.
I’ll drink my coffee, thank him politely, and get the hell out of here, she thought. That’s the best—the safest way to handle this.
She was by no means the only one aware of his presence, she realised. From all over the room glances were being directed at him, and questions whispered. And all from women. She could almost feel the frisson.
But then, she certainly couldn’t deny his eye-catching potential, she acknowledged unwillingly.
He was even taller than she’d originally thought, topping her by at least five inches. Lean hips and long legs were emphasised by close-fitting faded denims, and he wore a collarless white shirt, open at the throat. A charcoal jacket that looked like cashmere was slung over one shoulder, along with her tote bag.
He looked relaxed, casual—and powerfully in control.
And she, on the other hand, must be the only woman in the room with damp hair and not a trace of make-up. Which, as she hastily reminded herself, really couldn’t matter less…
Pull yourself together, she castigated herself silently.
She saw him returning and moved uneasily, and unwisely, suppressing a yelp as she did so.
‘Arnica,’ he said, as he put the cups down on the table.
‘Really?’ Her brow lifted. ‘I thought it was café latte.’
‘It comes in tablet or
cream form,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It will bring out the bruising.’
‘I think that’s already escaped,’ Cory admitted, wincing. She eyed him as he took his seat. ‘You know a lot about herbal medicine?’
‘No.’ He smiled at her, his gaze drifting with deliberate sensuousness from her eyes, to her mouth, and down to her small breasts, untrammelled under the cling of the ancient tee shirt, and then back to meet her startled glance. ‘My expertise lies in other areas.’
Cory, heart thumping erratically, hastily picked up her cup and sipped.
‘Yuck.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘This has sugar in it.’
‘The recognised treatment for shock.’ Rome nodded. ‘A hot, sweet drink.’
‘I fell down a couple of steps,’ she said. ‘I’m sore, but hardly shocked.’
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But you didn’t see your face just before you fell.’ He paused, allowing her a moment to digest that. ‘How did you enjoy the ball?’
Pointless to pretend she hadn’t noticed him, or didn’t recognise him, Cory realised, smouldering.
She managed a casual shrug. ‘Not very much. I didn’t stay long.’
‘What a coincidence,’ he said softly. ‘Clearly, we feel the same about such events.’
‘Then why buy a ticket?’
‘Because it was in such a good cause. I found it impossible to resist.’ He drank some of his own coffee. ‘Don’t you like dancing?’
‘I don’t think it likes me,’ she said ruefully. ‘I have this tendency to stand on peoples’ feet, and no natural rhythm.’
‘I doubt that.’ Rome leaned back in his chair, the blue eyes faintly mocking. ‘I think you just haven’t found the right partner.’
There was a brief, seething silence, and Cory’s skin prickled as if someone’s fingertips had brushed softly across her pulse-points.
She hurried into speech. ‘Talking of coincidences, what are you doing here?’
‘I came to look over the facilities.’
‘You live in the area?’ The question escaped before she could prevent it.
‘I plan to.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope that won’t be a problem for you.’
Cory stiffened. ‘Why should it?’
‘My appearance seems to have a dire effect on you.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ she returned with studied coolness. ‘Don’t read too much into a moment’s clumsiness. I’m famous for it. And London’s a big place,’ she added. ‘We’re unlikely to meet again.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said softly. ‘We’re bound to have at least one more encounter. Don’t you know that everything happens in threes?’
Cory said shortly, ‘Well, I’m not superstitious.’ And crossed her fingers under cover of the table. She hesitated. ‘Are you planning to take out a membership here?’
‘I haven’t decided yet.’ His blue gaze flickered over her again. ‘Although, admittedly, it seems to have everything I want.’
‘And separate days for men and women,’ Cory commented pointedly, aware that her mouth had gone suddenly dry.
‘Except for weekends, when families are encouraged to use the place.’ His tone was silky.
Cory played with the spoon in her saucer. ‘And is that what you plan to do? Bring your family?’
His brows lifted. ‘One day, perhaps,’ he drawled. ‘When I have a family.’ He paused again. ‘I’m Rome d’Angelo, but perhaps you know that already,’ he added casually.
Cory choked over a mouthful of coffee, and put her cup down with something of a slam.
‘Isn’t that rather an arrogant assumption?’ she demanded with hauteur.
He grinned at her, unabashed. ‘And isn’t that a defence rather than a reply?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cory said, feeling one of those hated blushes beginning to warm her face. Oh, no, she appealed silently. Please, no.
He said, ‘Now it’s your turn.’
‘To do what?’ Fall over again, send the table crashing, spill my coffee everywhere?
‘To tell me your name.’
She said with sudden crispness, ‘I’m grateful for your help, Mr d’Angelo, but that doesn’t make us friends.’
‘I’d settle for acquaintances?’ he suggested.
‘Not even that.’ Cory shook her head with determination. ‘Ships that pass in the night.’
‘But we didn’t pass. We collided.’ He leaned forward suddenly, and, in spite of herself, Cory flinched. ‘Tell me something,’ he invited huskily. ‘If I’d come down to the ballroom last night, and asked you to dance—what would you have said?’
She didn’t look at him, but stared down at the table as, for a few seconds, her mind ran wild with speculation, dangerous fantasies jostling her like last night’s dreams.
Then she forced a shrug, only to wish she hadn’t as her bruises kicked back. ‘How about, “Thank you—but I’m here with someone.”?’
Rome’s mouth twisted. ‘He seemed to be doing a great job.’
‘That’s none of your business,’ Cory fought back. ‘Will you please accept, Mr d’Angelo, that I don’t need a saviour, or a Prince Charming either.’
‘And your circle of friends is complete, too.’ He was smiling faintly, but those incredible eyes glinted with challenge. ‘So what is left, I wonder? Which of your needs is not being catered for?’
Cory’s face was burning again, but with anger rather than embarrassment. She said, ‘My life is perfectly satisfactory, thank you.’
He was unperturbed by the snap in her voice. ‘No room for improvement anywhere?’
‘I have simple tastes.’
‘Yet you wear Christian Dior,’ he said. ‘You’re more complicated than you think.’
Suddenly breathless, Cory reached down for her tote bag, jerking it towards her. Then rose. ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ she said. ‘And for the character analysis. I hope you don’t do it for a living. Goodbye, Mr d’Angelo.’
He got to his feet, too. His smile held real charm. ‘Until next time—Miss Grant.’
She’d almost reached the door when she realised what he’d said, and swung round, lips parting in a gasp of angry disbelief.
But Rome d’Angelo wasn’t there. He must have used the exit that led straight to the street, she realised in frustration.
Her mouth tightened. So, he liked to play games. Well, she had no intention of joining in—or of rising to any more of his bait.
But at the same time she found herself wondering how he’d found out her name. And what else he might know about her.
And realised that the swift shiver curling down her spine was only half fear. And that the other half was excitement.
‘You’ve met her? You’ve talked to her?’ Matt Sansom’s laugh rasped down the telephone line. ‘You don’t waste much time, boy.’
‘I don’t have a lot of time to waste,’ Rome reminded him levelly. ‘I have a life to get back to, and work to do.’ He paused. ‘But believe this. She isn’t going to be any kind of push-over.’
‘That’s your problem,’ his grandfather snapped. ‘Failure doesn’t enter the equation. What woman can resist being swept off her feet?’
In spite of himself, Rome felt his mouth curve into a reluctant grin as he remembered angry hazel eyes sparking defiance at him from the floor. Remembered, too, how slight she’d felt as he’d lifted her. Felt a small sensuous twist of need uncoil inside him as he recalled her pale skin, so clear and translucent that he’d imagined he could see the throb of the pulse in her throat as he’d held her. As he’d breathed the cool sophisticated fragrance that the heat of her body had released.
‘This one could be the exception,’ he drawled. ‘But I’ve always preferred a challenge.’
‘So when will you see her again?’ Matt demanded eagerly.
Rome smiled thinly. ‘I’ll give her a couple of days. I need the time to find an apartment—establish a base.’
‘I’ve told Capital E
states to prepare a list of suitable properties,’ Matt barked. ‘They’re waiting for your call. And don’t stint yourself. You need a background that says money.’
And he rang off.
Rome switched off his mobile and tossed it on to the bed, frowning slightly.
Well, he was committed now, and there was no turning back, he thought without pleasure. But Montedoro was all that mattered. All that could be allowed to matter.
And he had somehow to overcome his personal distaste for the means he was being forced to employ to save his vineyard.
Although, to his own surprise, not every aspect of the deal was proving as unpalatable as he’d expected.
Cory Grant was the last girl he would normally have pursued, but he could not deny she intrigued him. Or perhaps he just wasn’t used to having his advances treated with such uncompromising hostility, he thought, his mouth twisting in self-derision.
Whatever, he’d enjoyed crossing swords with her in this preliminary skirmish.
The invisible circle still surrounded her, but within it she wasn’t as prim and conventional as he’d thought. Under that ancient tee shirt she’d been bra-less, and at one moment he’d found himself, incredibly, fantasising about peeling the ugly thing off her, and discovering with his hands and mouth if her rounded breasts were as warm, and soft, and rose-tipped and scented as his imagination suggested.
But that wasn’t in the equation either, he reminded himself grimly. Because he intended to keep all physical contact between them to an absolute minimum. He’d have quite enough to reproach himself for without adding a full-scale seduction to the total.
So, he was planning an old-fashioned wooing, with flowers, romantic dates, candlelit dinners, and a few—a very few—kisses.
Not as instantly effective as tricking her into bed, he thought cynically, but infinitely safer.
Because sex was the great deceiver. And great sex could enslave you—render you blind, deaf and ultimately stupid. Make you believe all kinds of impossible things.
Just as it had with Graziella.
He sighed harshly. Why hadn’t he seen, before he’d got involved with her, that behind the beautiful face and sexy body she was pure bitch?