Cinderella In The Sicilian's World (HQR Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  Salvatore was still looking doubtful.

  ‘I’m not sure it suits me,’ she said, thinking that the same thing certainly couldn’t be said for him. With a dark dinner jacket clinging to his broad shoulders and impeccably cut trousers emphasising the length of his powerful legs, the Sicilian tycoon looked cool, handsome and impossibly inaccessible.

  ‘You don’t like it,’ she continued when he failed to contradict her, her hands falling to her sides and brushing impatiently against the heavy material.

  ‘I didn’t say that. You look chic and sophisticated,’ he amended smoothly. ‘Wasn’t that supposed to be the whole idea?’

  ‘I guess so,’ she said, but suddenly Lina felt like a fool. In principle the idea had seemed so simple—in reality, less so. Buy a poor girl a fancy dress and then take her to the ball. Why hadn’t either of them stopped to consider that a Cinderella-type transformation might not work in her case, since the raw material was too rough to ever be properly smoothed off at the edges?

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Since we’re already fashionably late and the car is outside, we really ought to leave. Are you ready?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go. You go without me. You’ll have a better time.’

  ‘Falling at the first hurdle?’ His blue-hued gaze was direct and mocking. ‘I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that, Lina. Or have you had a sudden personality change from the woman who begged me to take her to America so she could start a whole new life? Isn’t this what you wanted?’

  On one level she was aware he was goading her, but somehow it worked. Because what else was she going to do, if she pulled out? Hang around the estate all evening and risk annoying Henry, or ruffling the feathers of the chef, who wasn’t expecting either of them to be home this evening?

  ‘It’s true. I can’t back out now.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘I nearly always am.’

  His arrogance almost made her smile and, ignoring the matching cobalt clutch bag which the in-store dresser had insisted on foisting upon her, Lina grabbed one of the embroidered velvet bags she’d brought with her from Sicily. With its distinctive beading and flouncy tassel, it was obviously home-made and didn’t particularly match the severe dress she was wearing. But at least it was hers—she had made it herself—and right now it felt like the only authentic part of her appearance.

  The waiting limousine purred them through the steep streets until they reached a luxury hotel, not far from the glittering waterfront. Soaring up into the starry sky, its floodlit pillars reminded Lina of a Grecian temple she’d once seen in a book. Outside, thick scarlet ropes kept back hordes of onlookers brandishing cell phones, and the whole scene was illuminated by the bright flash of paparazzi cameras.

  She could feel herself freezing, wondering how on earth she was going to get out of the car in front of such a massive crowd of people. Her legs were so wobbly that, once again, she was paralysed by fear. She shook her head. ‘I can’t go in there,’ she husked.

  ‘I thought we’d already had this conversation,’ he said, not bothering to hide the boredom in his tone. ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘My heels are too high.’

  ‘They look pretty good to me.’ She saw the glint of something vaguely unsettling in his eyes as he focussed his gaze on her footwear. ‘You can hold onto me if you’re worried about your balance.’

  ‘Salvatore, you don’t understand.’ Lina clutched the handle of her little velvet bag. ‘I’ve never been anywhere like—’

  ‘I understand better than you think.’ He cut across her words. ‘Don’t you think I’ve experienced exactly what you’re going through right now, Lina? Or do you imagine I was admitted to these types of glittering affairs with open arms? That society matrons didn’t feel they had to lock up their daughters whenever I put in an appearance, while their billionaire husbands nervously watched their backs in case I deposited a blade in between their shoulder blades?’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Yes, they did. They saw me as a threat.’ His mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘Because I was. My hunger to succeed made me ruthless and my determination to escape the shackles of my past drove me on. I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way to get what I wanted.’ There was a flicker of a pause. ‘Can’t you try and do the same?’

  Lina shook her head. ‘That’s easy for you to say. People don’t judge you on your appearance or whether you can walk straight in a pair of shoes so high you feel as if you’re on stilts. You’re a man.’

  ‘Then don’t let yourself be judged,’ he urged. ‘Wasn’t that one of the reasons you left Sicily? Don’t forget how much you wanted to get out of there. It’s not going to work for you unless you’re prepared to be brave.’

  It was difficult to think of bravery when he was sitting so close to her, making things more complicated than they needed to be. She thought how much simpler it would be if she hadn’t had sex with him. Wouldn’t that have made it easier to concentrate on what lay ahead, rather than on the tingling sensation that his hard thigh was mere millimetres away from hers?

  ‘Maybe I should just have stayed where I was in Caltarina and ridden out the storm,’ she said.

  ‘And done what? Carried on slaving away doing something you didn’t really like, for a woman who took you for granted? Squandering your youth and your beauty while the years passed you by?’ Suddenly he put his hand on her forearm, but with the impersonal touch of a dentist patting a child’s arm and reassuring them that it wasn’t going to hurt. ‘You don’t have to do that any more, Lina. You have a chance to make something of yourself here. A career, most certainly, if you’re prepared to work. And a husband, perhaps, in time. Isn’t that what most women of your age want? Some all-American boy who can provide you with the white picket fence and roses round the door.’

  Lina could tell he was trying to reassure her and supposed she should feel grateful for that, but the stupid thing was that his words hurt. They hurt far more than they should have done. She turned her head to stare fixedly out of the window, blinking furiously, terrified by the sudden threat of incipient tears. How dared he talk so casually about the husband she might or might not one day have, as if he didn’t care about her? To paint a picture of a future which most definitely didn’t include him?

  Because he doesn’t care.

  He’d made that clear. Right from the start.

  He had told her very definitely she was not what he was looking for. That no woman could give him what he wanted other than sex. So maybe it was time she started believing him.

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘Okay. You’re right. Let’s go in. I’m ready now.’

  ‘Take my arm.’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Take it,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Anything is preferable to spending the night in the emergency department if you’re genuinely afraid of tripping over on those killer heels.’

  That did make her smile, and she nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  But Salvatore could feel the nervous pressure of her fingers as they ascended the marble stairs leading into the famous Westchester Hotel, in a flurry of flashbulbs. He didn’t know why she was so worried about her appearance, not when she looked so arresting. In fact, he’d barely recognised her, and not just because her hair had been intricately fashioned on top of her head, drawing his attention to her delicate profile and the graceful line of her neck. He’d found himself thinking that the style was light years away from the billowing curls which had flowed from beneath her dusty crash helmet as she had ridden away in the Sicilian sunshine. That young woman had been replaced by a sophisticated socialite with darkened lashes and provocatively gleaming lips. He’d never seen her wearing make-up before, just as he’d never seen her voluptuous body sculpted in a way which seemed to have made her exceptional curves
disappear. She no longer looked like the vibrant woman he had seduced—more like an identikit version of the type of partner who usually graced his arm.

  Did that make her more or less desirable? He couldn’t quite decide. It certainly made her seem more...manageable.

  He could hear the ripple of interest from the milling crowd as they entered the ballroom and every head in the place turned to look at them, though that came as no surprise. His appearance at this kind of events always excited fascination—though never more so than when he had a new woman in tow. The press were always trying to marry him off—as were the matrons who had once spent so much time trying to shield their daughters from him. Yet there hadn’t been a woman on his arm for a long time. There had been speculation that his heart had been broken or that he was conducting an affair with a married woman, but neither of these were true.

  The reason for his lack of a partner he put down to a growing cynicism about the way his fortune impacted on those around him, especially women. It had at first made him feel deeply uncomfortable, and then to grow exceedingly bored by the predictability of it all. He’d discovered that as his wealth grew, so his lovers had started going out of their way to accommodate him. To be understanding and undemanding. They made sure they were up to date on current affairs and knew a healthy amount about his various businesses. He’d noticed too that they became increasingly daring in the bedroom—or out of it. No matter how high-powered their working lives, at the end of the day they’d all seemed cast from the same mould. They suggested newfound erotic diversions alongside their determination to craft the perfect mille-feuille pastry, as if by combining all these attributes and presenting them to him in a sleek and very sophisticated package it would make them the perfect wife material.

  But he wasn’t looking for a wife. He never had been. To him, marriage had always seemed something to avoid. And even though some of his best friends had recently succumbed—Lucas Conway and Matteo Valenti being two cases in point—Salvatore’s fixed stance on matrimony hadn’t altered. He suspected that his distrust of women had been the reason why he’d been so susceptible to a brief fling with someone like Lina—a simple country girl who seemed to possess no airs or graces. That night with her had been the first time in a long time that he’d felt control slipping away, and it had disturbed him. And he had succumbed to her again during the flight from Sicily, despite his determination to resist her.

  But he had clawed back that temporary loss of control, hadn’t he? He hadn’t kissed her after dinner last night, despite his overwhelming desire to do so. He had concluded that maybe he would wait a little longer before he made love to her again, but when he’d called for her tonight and seen her dressed up and ready to go out, his resolve had wavered, big-time.

  He wanted her.

  He wanted her now.

  ‘Salvatore?’

  Lina’s soft Sicilian accent broke into his thoughts and Salvatore focussed his attention on the fractured light from one of the chandeliers which was painting rainbow hues over the dark coils of her hair.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is that Siena Simon over there?’

  He glanced across the ballroom in the direction of her gaze, where a glamorous woman in a pale dress was surrounded by an adoring group of younger men. ‘Yes,’ he said absently. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Gosh.’ Lina felt a flare of disbelief as Salvatore confirmed that one unbelievable fact—because the world-famous American dress designer had long been a hero of hers. Everyone in Sicily went wild for SiSi clothes, though not many people could afford to buy the real thing. ‘I’d love to meet her.’

  Salvatore flickered her a brief smile. ‘Then why don’t you go up and say hello?’ he suggested softly.

  ‘I can’t just walk over there and introduce myself!’

  ‘Why not? You can do anything you set your heart on. It’s called networking and it’s what you have to do if you want to get on in the big city. Go on.’

  His tone was weirdly encouraging but Lina’s heart was in her mouth as she walked across the ballroom and hovered nervously on the edge of the circle until one of the flamboyant young men noticed her and drew her in. And that was when she was introduced to Siena Simon. Clad in a sculpted cream gown, the international designer was gracious as she extended her hand, though her gaze kept flickering to the little velvet bag which was dangling from Lina’s arm. And even though Lina wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, she found herself confiding that SiSi clothes were the most popular rip-offs on Sicilian market stalls, and Siena actually laughed.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ she murmured, in her soft American drawl. ‘And don’t they say that imitation is the best form of flattery?’

  After that, her confidence boosted, Lina met loads of people. To her surprise, the evening passed in a blur of chatter, champagne and a very fancy dinner—during which she was seated between an Australian entrepreneur and an actor called Sean MacCormack, who was apparently a big star on a daytime soap she’d never even heard of. At first she was so nervous she could barely get a word out and terrified that her Sicilian accent would make her difficult to understand. But both men were absolutely charming, and Sean told her she was welcome to go and watch him filming any time she wanted. When dinner ended, the band began to strike up a tune at the far end of the ballroom and Lina’s heart gave a predictable punch of excitement when Salvatore returned to her side.

  ‘Can we go now?’ she asked him.

  He seemed surprised. ‘Are you sure? The dancing is about to start.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘So let’s dance.’

  ‘I thought you’d already said you didn’t want to spend the night in the emergency department. I might stab your foot with my heel.’

  ‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’

  She wondered if his words were intended to be provocative and Lina was unbearably tempted to take him up on his offer, but what would be the point? He’d already kept his distance from her since their intimacy on the flight and had made it clear that was the way he wanted it to stay. And deep down she was sensible enough to know that was the right decision, even if every pore of her body was desperate to feel his fingers and lips on her again.

  But dancing with him would be insane—an exquisite kind of torture to be held in his arms in public. So close and yet not close at all. Their bodies touching and tantalising, reminding her of things she was trying very hard to forget. And wasn’t she getting a little tired of the conflicting messages he kept sending out to her? ‘I’d rather not,’ she said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind. My feet really are killing me.’

  He looked shocked. There was no other word for it. As if no woman in her right mind would have turned down such an opportunity and Lina experienced a fleeting feeling of triumph of having asserted herself as they left the crowded ballroom.

  But her satisfaction only lasted as long as it took to get in the waiting car, when she suddenly found herself thinking about all the balls Salvatore would go to without her and she got an odd, twisty kind of feeling in her stomach. Did all women feel this powerfully connected to the man they had given their virginity to, she wondered—as if they were joined by some invisible life force?

  In the dim light of the limousine she was having to avert her gaze from the sculpted perfection of his profile and suddenly she felt a great rush of unwanted longing.

  Stop it, she thought. Just stop it.

  ‘So, did you find the evening helpful?’

  His question broke into the silence and Lina nodded, pleased to have some respite from the muddle of her emotions. She nodded. ‘Very helpful. Siena was really interested in my handbag.’

  ‘Your handbag?’

  She held the tasselled velvet bag aloft, although all you could really see was the glitter of the beads and the shimmer of the tassel. ‘This. She asked where I’d got it from and I told her I’d made it
myself. She wants me to call into her studio tomorrow. Says she might be able to do something for me.’

  ‘Wow,’ he said softly. ‘That is some result.’

  Resisting the desire to bask with pleasure beneath his obvious approval, Lina gave another brief nod. ‘Possibly. But I’m not going to build my hopes up until I’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘Yes.’ Deliberately, she averted her gaze from him to stare fixedly out of the window as the San Franciscan night flashed past.

  Salvatore observed her stiff shoulders and off-putting body language as she sat beside him and told himself he should be grateful she was sending out such an offputting subliminal message because, in theory, that should make it easier for him to resist her. But all he could think of was the growing desire which had been plaguing him with infuriating persistence all evening. He’d told himself she was still off-limits. That putting space between them for a while was necessary—for her sake mostly, so she didn’t start having unrealistic expectations. And for his own sake, too—to reassure himself that he could take her, or leave her, as he did all women.

  But somehow the chic sophistication of her appearance was skewing his thoughts and making him rethink his decision. Because which of them was benefiting by his unasked-for restraint? Not him, certainly—and not her either, he suspected. Suddenly he wanted to peel off that armour-plated dress and feast on the soft flesh beneath. He wanted to see her writhing helplessly in his arms just like she’d done before.

  ‘Lina,’ he said softly as she turned her head to look at him. ‘Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?’

  He heard the shuddered intake of her breath. ‘I got... I got the distinct impression that was something you definitely didn’t want,’ she managed, as if the words had cost her a lot to say.