by Anna Cleary
He scanned her face with a veiled gaze, then shrugged. To her relief he said, ‘I see. Well, then. We’d better meet in the city.’ He slipped a mobile phone from his pocket and flipped it open. ‘We should exchange numbers.’
She took out hers and he keyed in his number, while she did likewise.
He flicked a glance up at her. ‘Shall we say the bar at the Seasons at seven?’
‘Oh, the Seasons.’ Her heart made a skittery little tremor, but she enquired with polite unconcern, ‘So you’re staying there?’
‘Where else?’ He smiled then, and his eyes gleamed like the devil’s.
She turned for the door, then paused with her hand on the knob. ‘This-won’t be a date, Alessandro.’
‘Won’t it? What will it be, then?’
‘Well. You know. It’ll be-a meeting. Dinner between two adults.’
‘Two adults,’ he echoed musingly. ‘Would that be two consenting adults, tesoro?’
‘No, it would not,’ she snapped. ‘It would be two adults with a-a situation to resolve.’
As the door closed Alessandro’s smile faded, and he turned to the window and stared down at the George Street traffic. He should have known when the Sydney takeover flashed up on the head office radar that Fate was somehow involved.
However he looked at it, whether she liked it or not, he was tied to Lara Meadows.
And her child.
He wondered idly who the child resembled. Probably took after her mother. It was to be hoped so, although surely he’d read that the dark-coloured gene was more likely to be dominant in determining eye colour. He would hardly be human not to be curious.
It would be a pity, if a man happened to have created a child, just one small soul among all the zillions that had ever existed, never to see its face.
Her face.
Lara tottered back to her desk and collapsed in her chair to plan what she would wear. Not that it was important. She wasn’t trying to beguile him, or anything. There was no point, if he was flying back to the other side of the world in the not too distant future.
Of course, if there’d been any possibility of him staying she might have considered having another shot at it. He still seemed very attracted, while she…And he was gorgeous, he made her heart race like a mad thing, and-She put her hands to her face.
He was the father of her child.
Funny how last night he hadn’t wanted to hear a thing about Vivi, while today…
Today she could have sworn he’d listened closely to everything she said.
CHAPTER NINE
FIVE o’clock took an eternity to arrive. Lara was first out the door, knowing she had to run for the early train home, see Vivi settled with Greta, try to make herself gorgeous, and rush back into town.
She only hoped her little black dress would be good enough. She’d loved it when she bought it for the staff dinner, but the woman Alessandro had chosen to marry, be it ever so briefly, was a fashionista of the first order. How could she compete with that? Single mothers couldn’t afford Milano dresses, and a man of his sophistication would be sure to realise her dress’s lack of pedigree.
But there wasn’t much choice. It was either the black or a tea-dress she’d worn to a wedding the year before.
She made an impatient gesture at herself. How pathetic she’d become, worrying about this kind of detail when six years ago she’d hardly given a thought as to whether Alessandro admired her clothes. It had been enough then that he’d appreciated her in whatever she wore.
Well, seemed to. Last night had certainly felt like appreciation. The trouble was, it had knocked her completely off-balance. How had a tense, serious situation reignited such smouldering passion? And there was no use blaming Alessandro. In her heart she had to acknowledge she’d been equally aroused. Perhaps, on his side, it was just the inevitable hangover from the past, but on her side the sweet old painful feelings lingered on. Trouble was, heartbreak was wrapped up with them now.
Still, somehow her emotions had to be put aside for Vivi’s sake. Whatever happened tonight, she couldn’t forget its significance for Vivi’s future.
Later, though, surveying herself in her black lacy bra, undies, and sheer, silky stay-up stockings, in spite of her resolutions her excitement jumped a notch. They looked right, as if the real Lara Meadows, the sexy, feminine Lara, who wasn’t afraid to be frivolous with clothes, had been called up and given a last brief chance at life.
Vivi looked on with big, solemn eyes as she paraded herself in front of the mirror, only just restraining herself from giving her hips a wiggle.
The babe was back.
She slipped on the dress. It was a dramatic sheath that fell to just above her knees, with a simple but stunning reliance on her curves for shape. The sleeves were elbow length, and, though it wasn’t a wild plunger, the bodice dipped to reveal a generous glimpse of cleavage. At least she had a cleavage now, thanks to her darling.
She hardly ever wore earrings for fear of drawing attention to the scar tissue that travelled from behind her ear, down her nape almost to her shoulder, but the dress demanded them. After a quick search she fastened in some pearls that nestled in her lobes. Hair swinging halfway to her waist, stockings, stiletto heels, eyeshadow, red lipstick…She should pass, shouldn’t she?
Saying her goodbyes to Vivi in the kitchen where Greta was preparing dinner, she tried to act as if it were any other evening out and she weren’t stirred up with an excitement that bordered on fever.
‘And don’t worry, Mum. I’ll make sure I’m back before eleven. You’ll have plenty of time to make your shift.’
As she let Vivi slide to the floor Greta said casually, ‘Do you think he might change his mind?’
Lara restrained herself from glancing down at Vivi. For a second she held her breath. ‘I don’t know. Last night-I wouldn’t have thought so. Today-I can’t predict.’ She met Greta’s all-too-perceptive eyes. ‘I know, I know. But Venice is a long way from here, Mum. Think of that.’
And she had to remember what tonight was all about, she thought, slipping on her black coat. She really needed to cool it. Trouble was, it was overwhelmingly clear to her now that she’d only been half alive for the past six years. It was impossible not to look forward to seeing him, to relish meeting him at the Seasons just like before, fired up with the old anticipation that felt so much like joy.
If only she remembered to keep control of herself, stick to the script and not-not-agree to go upstairs to his room.
As she closed the front door behind her she noticed a sleek black limousine parked across from the house, dominating the smaller cars parked along the narrow street with its size. Heavens. One of those air hosties had landed a big one.
As she reached the gate the driver got out and, to her bemusement, started crossing the street to her. When he reached the footpath on her side he said, with a respectful tilt of his cap, ‘Miss Meadows?’
Oh, God.
Alessandro stepped from the lift and strolled across to the bar. He was early, but he wanted to catch sight of Lara first. He chose a stool at one end that gave him a strategic view of the entrance.
The bartender glanced at him, but Alessandro shook his head. Not yet. He needed a clear brain.
He glanced at his watch, musing on times he’d met her here before. She’d rush through those glass doors, all lit up as if switched on with some internal glow. It had seemed to him that she stood out in any crowd-he’d always been certain other men must notice her and would try to win her away from him. At that time he’d seemed to possess some magic faculty that had helped him to sense her presence in a room, even before he’d actually seen her.
As if to taunt him, something drew his gaze to the door, and held it fast while his pulse jumped. She was there, paused inside the entrance, taking her bearings and unbuttoning a black coat that came to her mid-calf, somehow emphasising the slenderness of her legs and fine slim ankles.
He was aware of that rare sensation in his c
hest.
She caught sight of the bar and started to make for it, the chandeliers catching the gloss of her hair, expectation in her face. After last night, he was noticing the changes in her. She wasn’t the giddy girl she’d been when he first knew her, always rushing, bubbling over with exuberance. He could see now she walked with a graceful, womanly glide, the confidence of maturity in her steady gaze.
But she still had the glow, he recognised with a quickening of his blood, seeing her search for him, her eyes bright, lips ever so slightly parted. That heart-stopping glow.
Their gazes connected, and his pulse jumped. He strolled to meet her, controlling an urge to run across and catch her up in his arms.
‘Hello.’
He embraced her and bent to brush her cheeks with his lips. They were cold, nipped to rosiness by the wind even in the transition from the limo to indoors, but the fragrance of her skin and hair rose in his nostrils like an intoxication.
With last night hot in his blood, he felt the irresistible stir in his loins. She was wearing something black under the coat, with a neck-line that revealed an alluring hint of her breasts. Her eyes were as seductive, with shadow on their lids, her luscious mouth a rich deep red. Their gazes connected only fleetingly, but long enough for him to see the feverish little sparkle. The buzz in his veins escalated. Whatever she said, this was a long way from a mere meeting.
She spoke very rapidly, slightly breathless, the way she always had when her excitement was on the simmer.
‘That was extremely nice of you to send the limo. I hardly know what to say.’ She made a gesture as though to touch him, but her hands fluttered in the air then drew back without making contact. ‘Thank you so much. It was lovely and warm, though, honestly, there wasn’t the least need.’ She smiled. ‘I only hope the neighbours were watching.’
He smiled too, conscious of the spark in his own blood. ‘The least I could do, since your home is off-limits. For the moment, at least.’ She looked quickly at him, but he only smiled and with a tilt of his head indicated the bar. ‘Would you care for a drink before dinner?’
‘Oh…er…do you mind if we order dinner somewhere more or less straight away? I can’t stay too late.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I promised Mum I’d be back by ten thirty. She has to work later. I can’t leave-her alone.’
Her. No, of course not. Though this certainly curtailed the possibilities. Unless…
Well, Dio mio, how he loved a challenge.
He kept his expression grave. ‘That’s a pity. We’ll just have to see what we can fit in between now and ten-thirty. Would you prefer to stay here where it’s warm, or walk down the street to one of the restaurants?’
She hesitated and glanced about, and he watched the indecision flit across her face. Whether to dine here, with his bed calling from upstairs, or to brave walking out into the cold with nothing to protect her legs from the wind except that faint Lycra shimmer?
She met his eyes, a small determined gleam in hers. ‘I think-down the street.’
‘Ah,’ he said, amused. Did she really think she could out-manoeuvre Alessandro Vincenti? ‘I thought you’d say that. I booked us a table at one of the places around the corner.’
She started buttoning up again, and he took charge of the top two buttons, enjoying the conscious flutter of her lashes, knowing how intimate the gesture was, how tempted she was to look up into his eyes. Then he took her arm-purely a friendly gesture, surely. When the glass entrance doors opened before them, they were met by new arrivals coming in, a perfect reason to slide his arm around her waist to steady her against his body.
Even through the layers of her clothing his fingers thrilled to the response in her vibrant flesh, and it stirred his blood like no aphrodisiac ever could.
When he released her outside, the all too brief, tantalising touch stayed with him, and he’d have been willing to bet his billion dollar share in Scala Enterprises that her slim, supple body felt the same yearning loss.
Nothing like a meeting.
He signalled the valet to summon a taxi. The distance wasn’t great. If the evening had been warmer the walk past all the boutiques, tourist shops and historic byways of this old section of the city would have been pleasant, but his aim was to warm her up, not chill her down.
CHAPTER TEN
THE restaurant was an old converted terrace house, charmingly furnished with antiques, its floorboards slightly uneven, but to Lara’s relief it was warm, courtesy of a combustion stove in the crowded front room. A jazz quartet occupied one corner, and while her ear responded to a sultry rendition of ‘The Man I Love’ her mouth watered at the tantalising aromas issuing from the kitchen.
Her pleasure in those old dining experiences with Alessandro came rushing back. How he’d adored restaurants, and she’d plunged into his enthusiasm with him. Food was of the most immediate importance, he’d once sternly told her, shocked by her cavalier attitude to what she ate. She’d felt so sophisticated, dining with a connoisseur of fine food and wine. She remembered how easy and casual he’d always been then, how generous to staff.
The waiter led them through several packed rooms to a table in a smaller room beyond, where Alessandro had to duck his head to avoid the lintel. Two other tables in the room were unoccupied. After a second Lara realised there were no place settings on those other tables.
She glanced quickly at Alessandro, looking so darkly handsome and assured in his elegant suit. Her knees had only just started to recover from the sight of him strolling towards her at the Seasons. Would the Marquis of the Isles have arranged for them to have this private little dining room all to themselves?
She slipped off her coat and handed it to the waiter. She could feel Alessandro’s gaze and turned to see him assessing her in her black dress. The wolfish hunger in his eyes thrilled through her with a delicious awareness of her femininity. She’d almost forgotten the sensation of being desired by a gorgeous man, of feeling beautiful and sexy and fascinating.
Oh, Lord. How had she survived for so long without it? Without him?
His dinner setting had been placed adjacent to hers, and as he took his chair she absorbed the graceful old-fashioned furnishings, long lace-edged linen cloths, tall windows draped in long swathes of blue satin. A chaise longue set against one wall extended a silent, though potent, invitation.
‘This is very intimate,’ she said with a smiling lift of her brows once the waiter had delivered their menus and departed. ‘Perfect for a serious discussion, isn’t it?’
His eyes gleamed, then flickered down to where her bodice dipped to the valley between her breasts. ‘And we have a lot to talk about, don’t we, tesoro?’ He flashed her a devil’s smile, then opened the wine list and started to study it.
‘Something to start? A cocktail, perhaps?’ She nodded and satisfaction settled in the chiselled lines of his sexy mouth. ‘Good. Something to warm you up. Let’s see now…you like strawberry…a Strawberry Kiss?’ His brows edged together as he perused the list. ‘No, too icy. We can do better than that. How about a Between the Sheets? Or perhaps a French 69? A little gin, some champagne…’
‘I think I’d prefer mine straight, thank you. Just straight old-fashioned champagne.’
His sensuous lips gave a very faint twitch. ‘Straight up it will be. Though we’d better be careful,’ he murmured, returning to the list. ‘I don’t want to get you drunk. Not now you’re a mother.’
She smiled and raised her brows, pleasantly stimulated by the delicious little bout of sexual innuendo. ‘Can’t mothers enjoy themselves?’
‘I’ve been led to believe that mothers can be very puritanical.’
‘That isn’t always the case. I think it might depend on who the mothers are with.’
‘Ah.’ He flicked her a smiling glance. After a moment his eyes veiled and he said, ‘How is-what did you call her? Vivi?’
Her heart skipped up a gear but she smiled and she gave a wary nod. ‘That’s right. Short for Vivienne. She’
s-fine. She should be in bed round about now. Grandma will be reading her a story.’
‘She has another grandmother, you know,’ he said absently, scrutinising his menu. ‘I’m guessing you’ll order the pumpkin soup. Yes?’
Her heart made an alarmed lurch, and it wasn’t inspired by his amazing recall of her passion for pumpkin soup.
‘Does she?’ The words sounded as if they’d been through a strainer, courtesy of a sudden blockage in her larynx. It was probably caused by her daunting vision of an elegant Italian woman swanning across the marble floors of a palazzo with frescoed walls. The dowager Marchesa of the Venetian Isles, matriarch of a rich and powerful family. A family with a strong sense of commitment to possessing what was theirs.
‘Don’t look so alarmed, carissa.’ His eyes glinted. ‘I’m not a clairvoyant, just a guy with a very good memory.’
She collected herself, and managed a smile. ‘I’m immensely flattered.’
The waiter came back to assure Alessandro that the fish had been swimming in the sea no longer than two hours prior to this moment. The young man whisked away with their orders, then bustled back with champagne and tall flutes, removed the cork from the bottle and poured them each a glass.
After they’d clinked glasses and tasted the effervescent nectar, Alessandro said, ‘I have spoken to my lawyers today. As soon as you provide your banking details funds will be deposited into your account.’
She flushed, frowning. ‘Oh, do we have to talk about money? I never intended…This is not about that.’
‘Whether you like it or not, it has to be about that, Lara.’ His eyes were all at once cool and steady, like a man who would brook no opposition.
‘But-’ It was painful, but she had to say it. ‘Surely you will want to see the DNA evidence before you take any steps. I’ve looked it up on the Internet. There are plenty of local labs who will do it for us without you having to be-personally involved with-with Vivi. They send you a kit.’