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'Now just you look here!' He'd done it again. In spite of all her good intentions, he'd got right under her skin—but she just couldn't help it. He was so utterly arrogant.
'Sì?' The car swerved off the road and executed a neat emergency stop that brought a fine dust-cloud feathering into the air. 'Sì, Claire, I am looking.' His voice was very deep now, and soft, and although she wanted to maintain her annoyance it nevertheless caused her toes to curl. 'I have to confess I like to look, that I have been looking a lot today. You are very good to look at—'
'Stop it.' She made the mistake of turning to glare at him, and then froze at the expression in his eyes, her whole being becoming still as the glittering gaze held hers.
He lifted a lazy hand to her face, raising her chin slightly as he slowly bent forward and took her mouth in a warm, coaxing kiss that brought desire pounding through her veins and a delicious dizziness to her senses—a dizziness that had her shutting her eyes and just going with the flow before she realised what she was doing and brought her eyes open with a little snap as she jerked away. 'Don't,' she whispered shakily.
'"Stop it." "Don't",' he mocked softly. 'But your body is saying something quite different, is it not?'
'No, it is not.' She was pressed against her door now, her body half turned to his and her face hot. 'And even if it was, it's just chemistry, physical chemistry. That doesn't mean a thing.'
'And this…chemistry that doesn't mean a thing—you are telling me you have felt it with all your other boyfriends?' he asked silkily. 'That you feel it with Attilio?'
'Attilio?' Was he mad? Was he quite mad? she asked herself incredulously. What on earth had Lorenzo's tutor got to do with this? 'Attilio isn't a boyfriend any more than you are,' she snapped heatedly. 'And my love-life—' or lack of it, she amended silently '—is nothing to do with you.'
'True.' He leant back now, crossing muscled arms across his broad chest, his eyes narrowed. The stance did nothing for her equilibrium, emphasising, as it did, the dark, brooding force that was an intrinsic part of his attractiveness.
'So?' She had waited for a full minute until the silence was too much to bear. 'Are we going home or not?'
'Not.' He turned in his seat and the Ferrari growled into life.
'Not?' Her voice was too shrill, but for the life of her she couldn't moderate it as she squeaked, 'What do you mean, not?'
'I mean I do not want to take you back to Grace and Donato yet,' he said with a curious lack of expression in his voice as he swung the car back onto the road. 'Not until we have had dinner at least.'
'But they're expecting me back,' she said frantically, her face panic-stricken. 'Besides which, I'm not dressed for going out to dinner.' Especially after that kiss, she acknowledged desperately, a kiss that had made her feel wild, excited, tempting her mind into all sorts of forbidden avenues—
'You are dressed perfectly.' The jet-black eyes glanced her way for a moment and she felt their power catch her breath. 'For me, that is.'
'Romano—'
'Just dinner, Claire.' His voice was a soft murmur, caressing, dark. 'You have to eat, as do I, so why not together?'
'But—'
'And I will phone Grace to tell her of our plans, OK?' That hard profile wasn't going to take no for an answer, she knew it, and what could she do apart from throw herself out of the car like some thirties heroine with a villain attacking her virtue? Claire asked herself helplessly. But she didn't want to have dinner with him. She knew it was dangerous, that she was playing with fire, and yet on the other hand…she wanted it more than anything in the world. Oh, this was crazy. She was crazy—
'OK?' he persisted softly.
Oh, why not? Why not? She knew why not, but it didn't stop her mind from continuing. She had had four years of an uphill battle to come to terms with who and what she was since the accident, to put Jeff's betrayal behind her, to control any bitterness and anger that her life had been ripped apart through no fault of her own, to put the harsh memories of the crash, that surfaced occasionally in nightmares even now, behind her.
She had lost all confidence in herself for a time, had reached the bottom of the pit of despair. But she had clawed her way out of it, day by day, week by week, month by month. And one day she would work with children again, would possibly meet someone. It would happen. So she wasn't afraid of having dinner with Romano Bellini, she wasn't. She wouldn't let herself be.
He wasn't asking her to go to bed with him—her hand instinctively touched her stomach—he was merely suggesting dinner, and she wanted to eat with him, she acknowledged silently, so why not?
'Why not?' She spoke the words out loud, her voice slightly dazed.
'Why not indeed?' There was a great deal of satisfaction in the deep voice.
And if she had pondered on the sudden rush of adrenalin, the shivery feeling that swept over her from head to toe and caused goose pimples to sprinkle her skin, she might have known why not, but she didn't. She smiled brightly, forcing the breath of chill perspiration dewing her skin away with sheer will-power as she told herself that she was young, single, and it was the most normal thing in the world to accept an invitation from a handsome man for dinner. The most normal thing in the world…
'Oh, it's lovely. It's a gorgeous place, Romano, but I'm not dressed for somewhere like this—'
'Nonsense.' His arm was around her waist, his touch light but firm as he guided her through the archway and into the sottoportico, a little passageway beyond which a magnificent restaurant could be seen, bathed in light from a hundred or so tiny lanterns. 'All sorts of people eat here, from kings to paupers,' he said easily.
Yes, and she knew exactly which category she'd fall into, Claire thought wryly as they walked through the main doors and into a vast room which was almost medieval in its decor.
&n
