'My dear Emma, how can your company be an imposition? Besides, think how disappointed my daughter will be if you don't come with us,' he remarked musingly. 'Tomorrow you are to visit some of the city's famed fashion houses with Rosa,' he reminded with unruffled ease. 'Annalisa will have to make do with me, so why not indulge her today?'
His gaze was level, yet his eyes held latent amusement and an element she was unable to define. Damn him, she cursed beneath her breath. He was steadily infiltrating her life, placing her in an increasingly invidious position, where to refuse made her seem exceedingly rude and ungrateful. And he had supposedly innocent assistants in his subterfuge, for if it wasn't Rosa urging her to accept, Annalisa was the mastermind of all matchmakers!
'I would be quite happy to spend the day here, and swim,' she said evenly.
'Is it your intention to be contrary?' His deep, husky laugh was almost her undoing, and she shot him a look of mild antipathy.
'You flatter yourself if you think I sit here quivering at the mere thought of your invitation.'
'Quivering, Emma? What an evocative thought,' Nick mused with a degree of cynicism, then he added softly, 'You sound almost afraid. Are you?'
'Of course not,' she retorted swiftly. Yet deep inside she wasn't so sure. Damn him! Who did he think he was, for the love of heaven? Then a hollow laugh rose in her throat. He knew exactly who he was. Not only that, his every action was calculated with implacable precision.
Her eyes slid over his broad shoulders, down to his tapered waist, noting the lean hips, the forceful thrust of muscled thighs beneath the fine material of his trousers. Just by looking at him she could almost feel again the touch of his mouth on hers and, as if possessed of some diabolical form of mental telepathy, he caught her eyes and held them, his gaze steady, missing nothing as they swept her expressive features.
The mere sight of him stirred her senses, reawakening the seeds of desire, and she experienced a feeling of shocked disbelief at the wayward trend of her thoughts. Perhaps it was the aura of power which surrounded him, an elemental magnetism that combined self-assurance and latent sexuality; a dramatic mesh of male charisma that was infinitely dangerous.
'Shall we endeavour to get away about eight-thirty?'
His voice was a mocking drawl, and she was darned if she'd meekly comply. Unbidden, the germ of an idea took root in her mind, and she directed him a look that appeared completely without guile.
'Very well, if you insist.' Her eyes assumed a deep tawny hue. 'Will you mind if I browse among some of the boutiques and shop for clothes? A devilish imp prompted her to offer him a singularly sweet smile. 'You'll probably be bored to death.'
'Annalisa, however, will be in her element,' he responded lazily, and without a further word she rose to her feet and made her way upstairs to change into suitable attire, hollowly aware that she had been defeated.
Three hours later his arms held a variety of multicoloured packages and carrier-bags, and the sight of such an obviously masculine man thus encumbered brought forth a devilish smile.
'Are you suffering?'
'Wasn't it your intention that I should?'
That he was aware of her perversity merely made her determined to prolong the shopping expedition. 'I haven't finished yet,' she declared blithely as she caught sight of a shop displaying exquisite lingerie. 'Perhaps you'd prefer to wait outside. I won't be long.'
One eyebrow rose with quizzical mockery. 'Why should you imagine I will be embarrassed? The female form adorned in such wispy fripperies holds no surprises for me.' His eyes gleamed with merciless humour. 'You may even appreciate my opinion.'
Before she had the opportunity to demur he moved into the shop, utilised deliberate charm with the young assistant, then proceeded to indicate a selection of garments which he considered flattering—for Emma, as well as Annalisa.
It left her feeling helplessly angry, although she had no intention of letting him guess he'd got beneath her skin.
'Shall we deposit these in the car, then find somewhere to have lunch?' Nick suggested blandly when they emerged out on to the pavement.
'Yes, please, Papa. I am hungry,' Annalisa agreed with alacrity.
Food. Now that she gave it some thought, she was ravenous. Besides, the heat was beginning to have an enervating effect, and the thought of walking the city's streets no longer held any appeal, especially as everything would soon close for the afternoon.
'Thank you.' She even managed a faint smile.
Nick chose a charming ristorante and ordered wine while Emma perused the menu, selecting after very little deliberation a portion of lasagne which, when it duly arrived, proved to be utterly delicious.
'I adore the dress you bought,' Annalisa enthused as she forked pasta into her mouth. 'I can't wait until I am old enough to wear something like that.'
'A few years yet, piccina? Nick commented indulgently, and Emma offered the young girl a sincere smile.
'You'll knock all the boys for six,' she assured her gently, adding with a touch of humour and a quick glance towards the man at her side, 'and doubtless give your father a few extra grey hairs in the process.'
'Do you think so?' Annalisa asked, clearly intrigued.
'About the grey hairs? Assuredly,' concluded her father wryly.
'I have just had a wonderful idea. Why don't you take Emma out to dinner tonight?' Her eyes sparkled with youthful enthusiasm and the sureness of one who is convinced of success. 'Emma could wear her new dress.'
'Why not, indeed?' Nick concurred smoothly, and Emma met his gaze, her eyes cool and infinitely clear.
'Perhaps we should first check with Rosa? She may have made plans which include us.'
Rosa hadn't, and expressed delight that her godson intended escorting Emma to dinner—so much so that, between Rosa and Annalisa, Emma didn't stand a chance.
The calf-length dress in deep turquoise silk-textured fabric possessed a pin-pleated skirt which floated softly with every movement she made, while its camisole-styled bodice with twin shoestring straps over each shoulder lent emphasis to her slim curves and accentuated the delicate glow of her skin. Slim-heeled gold evening sandals, a gold chain at her throat and matching bracelet at her wrist added understated elegance, and to complete the outfit she added a silk beaded evening jacket in matching turquoise. The whole effect was stunning, and she stood back, pleased with her mirrored image.
Nick was waiting in the lounge, a crystal tumbler in one hand, looking the epitome of male sophistication in a dark superbly tailored evening suit, pale blue shirt and a black bow-tie. He exuded more than his fair share of raw virility, and Emma felt her pulse-beat quicken and begin an erratic, hammering tattoo.
'This is becoming something of a habit,' she declared almost ten minutes later as Nick eased the Ferrari through the impressive gates guarding entrance to the villa.
'Hardly that. This is only the second occasion we have dined out in the evening. Most nights have been spent at the villa in the company of Rosa, Enzo and Annalisa, have they not?' he queried smoothly.
It was true, for she had enjoyed the family atmosphere generated by Rosa and Enzo, the games of cards and the lengthy discussion over a leisurely meal.
'Where are we dining?' she queried lightly.
'I've reserved a table at a restaurant on the Piazza Navona,' Nick informed, concentrating on urging the car through the flow of traffic. 'Parking within walking distance will be almost impossible, and the attempt merely time consuming. Hence the need for a taxi for a minimum few kilometres.'
The establishment he'd chosen was well patronised, its decor steeped in traditional elegance, and the service they were accorded held the impressive deference normally reserved for the rich and famous.
'You come here often.' It was an observation, never a query, and his answering smile held a touch of cynicism.
'Whenever I am in Rome, yes,' he conceded, and she felt a tingle of pink colour her cheeks that he might have guessed her thoughts. 'The chef t
reats the preparation of food with practised artistry, hence the result is always a gastronomic delight.'
'You are an obvious connoisseur,' she commented drily, and incurred his dark, slanting glance.
'Food, specifically, of course,' he drawled with hateful mockery.
'Naturally. Although I don't doubt such superiority extends to every sphere,' she offered sweetly, and caught the gleam of silent laughter in the depths of his eyes.
'Especially of women. Isn't that what you meant to imply?'
She met his gaze unflinchingly. 'Perhaps I find, it difficult to believe you would accord entertaining the widow of a distant relative anything but a boring duty.'
Now he did laugh, a mocking, husky chuckle that hit an exposed nerve and made her feel vaguely uncertain.
'Boring, Emma? How could an enchanting auburn-haired young woman whose golden cat's eyes hide a multitude of emotions be regarded as anything other, than intriguing?' An eyebrow lifted in quizzical query, and she was unable to suppress the tingle of electricity that filtered through her veins.
'Don't regard me as a challenge, Nick.' For some reason she felt like a butterfly caught in a trap, and unsure whether fate would be kind or cruel. Her eyes swept to meet his, widening measurably at his unwavering regard.
'Relax,' he bade silkily. 'I have no intention of harming so much as a hair on your beautiful head.'
If only she could believe him! He possessed an elemental charisma to which most women would be attracted, as a moth to flame, perhaps uncaring that such captivating appeal could lead to their own destruction.
'Have some wine,' he coaxed quietly, and she obediently lifted the fluted goblet to her lips and savoured its contents, glad of the slow warmth that crept soothingly through her body.
'Shall we order?' Nick inclined smoothly. 'I suggest fettucini al funghi starter, followed by breasts of chicken in a delicate honey and almond sauce. I prefer salad, but there is a choice of hot vegetables available.'
It was at least an escape to pretend an interest in the menu, and despite a fondness for mushroom sauce with pasta she elected to settle for spaghetti marinara with a salad to follow.
If he perceived her selection as a small act of defiance he made no comment, and merely sipped his wine, while Emma let her gaze skim round the room with seeming fascination.
'Annalisa has persuaded me to coach her at tennis tomorrow while you are out with Rosa, followed by a swim in the pool.'
His lazy smile was warm and reached his eyes, and she said with total sincerity, 'Annalisa is a delightful child.'
'Yes. We are very close.'
The pasta was delicious, and she forked it into her mouth with practised ease. She was no stranger to Italian-style food, for Marc's mother was an excellent cook and Emma had. shared Sunday dinner with Marc and his parents for almost as long as she could remember.
'Caro! How wonderful to see you.'
Emma turned slightly and caught sight of a stunning brunette who looked as if she'd just stepped out from between the pages of Vogue. Tall and superbly slender, her dress was a Dior original. Diamonds studded each earlobe, a matching choker graced her neck, and her classical features portrayed a flawless skin exquisitely adorned with skilfully applied make-up. Perfume, easily identifiable as Dior's Poison, exuded from her body in a soft, wafting cloud.
It was obvious she exulted in being the focus of attention. Also apparent was her adoration of Nick, for her eyes swept over him with thinly veiled hunger before swinging back to the man at her side.
Emma let her gaze drift as Nick stood to his feet and performed introductions with sophisticated ease.
'Danielle, my cousin Vincenzo. Emma Martinero.'
Danielle Fabrese. Emma wondered why visual recognition of the internationally famous model hadn't been synonymous, then it registered- The hairstyle. Previously shoulder-length and worn in a contrived windblown look, the model's tresses were now much shorter and cut to give her delicately boned face an elfin appearance.
'You have no objection if we join you?' The query was delivered With deliberate coquetry and gave Nick little opportunity to refuse as Danielle instructed a hovering and obviously enamoured waiter to increase the seating arrangements by two.
'Vince, order more wine, piacere,' the model implored with a faint, pouting smile. 'I am thirsty.'
'Perrier?' His teeth gleamed white. 'I refuse to be the subject of your wrath if a glass or two of wine tips the scales against you tomorrow.'
There was a family resemblance between the two men, slight but evident none the less, Emma perceived. However, Vince was younger by a few years, and lacked four or five inches of his cousin's height.
There was something vaguely amusing in being an innocent observer, Emma conceded as the meal progressed. Nick portrayed smooth-spoken urbanity without any effort at all, while appearing seemingly detached from the effect of Danielle's scintillating charm. He gave the appearance of being fascinated, but the keenest eye could detect that the attraction was merely superficial, and Emma couldn't help but wonder why. The model had it all; beauty, personality, fame. She could have any man she wanted with the merest flick of her exquisitely curled eyelashes. Except, maybe, Nick Castelli. Perhaps she had had him, Emma decided, for it didn't take much perception to read the sexual tension evident in the other woman's manner.
Whatever the reason, it seemed one-sided, and Emma felt a pang of pity. To be rejected by a man must be hell, especially someone like Nick Castelli. Perhaps that was why Danielle monopolised the conversation with witty anecdotes, and deliberately indulged in according Vince a number of adoring glances in the hope that Nick might be swayed towards jealousy.
A faint grimace flitted momentarily across Emma's features. Somehow she couldn't imagine Nick being the jealous type. He possessed sufficient nous to enable him to hold any woman he chose to pursue, and he was enough of a chauvinist to insist on being the hunter rather than the hunted.
'Martinero. The name is Italian,' Danielle declared with a careless gesture of her exquisitely manicured hand. 'But you are not, I think?'
Emma unconsciously stiffened, aware of a certain malevolence evident in the model's polite query. She caught the swift, spearing glance the brunette accorded to the ring adorning her left hand and was aware of the speculative interest it aroused.
'My husband was Australian-born of Italian parents,' Emma explained quietly.
'Was? Danielle repeated with delicate emphasis.
'Yes.' She met the other girl's glittery gaze with remarkable steadiness, considering the discordant state of her nerves. 'Marc was killed in a car accident last year.'
There was an imperceptible silence, followed by an audible breathy sigh. 'Ah, I see. How sad for you.'
She didn't look in the least sad, Emma decided disparagingly.
'How kind of Nick to take pity on you.' The smile was fixed, curving her luscious mouth into a mere facsimile. 'I presume you are holidaying in Italy?'
'Emma is Rosa's and Enzo's granddaughter-in-law,' Nick revealed indolently, and Danielle's eyes hardened with instant comprehension.
'Then you are both staying at the villa.'
The air crackled with latent animosity, and Emma's eyes widened slightly as Nick drawled, 'Yes. You are aware Annalisa and I spend each summer vacation with Rosa and Enzo.'
'So—convenient, Emma, for you to have timed your visit to coincide with that of Nick's,' Danielle shifted her attention with a swift flick of her immaculately mascara-brushed lashes. 'I can vouch he is an attentive and amusing companion.' For a brief second the lashes swept upward and her eyes fixed Emma with a venomous glare, then it was masked as she centred her attention on her companion. 'Vince, we must call on Nick while he is at the Martinero villa. You are related, after all. How long are you staying, Emma?'
'Three weeks altogether.' It was on the tip of her tongue to explain she had been barely aware of Nick Castelli's existence until last week, and that if she had known Rosa and Enzo were entertaining
guests, she would never have come to Italy.
'Would you care to dance with me, Emma?'
She turned slightly and glimpsed Nick's faintly hooded gaze. The slightly cynical edge to his tone brought a defiant sparkle to her eyes, and she was sorely tempted to refuse.
If they had been alone, she would have had no hesitation, and his lips twisted fractionally in recognition of her indecision. Damn him, he knew she had little choice but to agree. To do otherwise would only play into Danielle's hands, and Emma was darned if she'd give the model that satisfaction.
The restaurant wasn't large, and the floorspace allocated for dancing could only be described as inadequate.
Perhaps she should have been prepared for the inevitability of physical contact, the strangeness of being in another man's arms. Dancing hadn't been one of Marc's favoured pursuits, and she felt awkward, ill at ease, and all too aware that being held by Nick Castelli was a highly evocative experience, despite his conventional hold. Some mystical, illusory chemistry had to be responsible for the tingling warmth that sprang to life and began pulsing through her veins.
'Relax,' he bade quietly, but it was easier said than done, and when the music quickened in tempo she moved backwards, out of his grasp, her features pale.
'I think I'd like to go—' She almost said 'home', except home was several thousand kilometres distant, on the other side of the world. To the villa. If you don't mind.' She added the last few words as an afterthought, and missed his narrowed gaze.
'Soon. An early escape will be seen to be precisely that, and I am damned if I will allow Danielle to win a slight advantage and use it against you.'
'Should I take that as a compliment?'
'You are fathoms out of your depth, cara? he drawled. 'Why not appear to be enjoying each other's company?'
'And dance ?' Her nerves seemed to be shredding into a thousand threads, and her eyes mirrored an anguish that went right down to the depths of her soul.
'Would it be such a hardship?'
She caught his smile as he gently pulled her back into his arms. His hold was possessive, almost intimate, and she attempted to move back without success.
An Awakening Desire Page 6