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He said in a low voice, as if mindful they might not be totally alone, ‘I don’t appreciate being ambushed in public.’
‘That’s rich coming from you!’ Keelin said with reproof, still vibrating angrily from that explosive kiss. Not that she could even blame him!
She turned her back to the view. ‘And what do you call staging that party and inviting my parents if not an ambush?’
Gianni’s bow tie was undone, his top button open—as if he’d done it with impatience, looking for her? She tried not to notice how dark and gorgeous he was against the lush backdrop of the hotel garden.
He narrowed his gaze. ‘Seeing you with your parents certainly was interesting.’
Keelin tossed her head and batted away the vulnerability. It wasn’t her fault her parents didn’t love her, even though she’d not truly believed that for a long time. They were just supremely selfish people who never should have had a child.
‘Believe me, they’ll be only too happy to wash their hands of me and hand me over like some kind of medieval chattel. Does that make me a little less palatable?’
He smiled but it was hard. ‘Not in the least. I won’t have to endure interminable in-law dinners with them.’
His obduracy pushed Keelin over an edge. She threw up her hands. ‘This is crazy! We should just call it off here and now. It’ll never work.’
‘That’s the problem, you can’t call it off and I won’t,’ Gianni pointed out calmly enough to make her frustration increase. ‘It’ll work just fine. You’ll have everything you could possibly need. I’ll make sure you’re happy.’
Keelin stalked forward, quivering with anger. ‘You wouldn’t have the first clue about what might make me happy but I’ll give you a hint—you’re nowhere near the vicinity of that picture.’
She was shocked to find herself feeling so agitated and hated it. It reminded her of the futile rage she’d felt growing up that had ended up in bids for attention and she was damned if she was going to let this man induce it again. She forced herself to calm.
Gianni’s voice had an edge. ‘You know, I think I preferred it when you were vacuous and shallow.’
Something awfully like hurt gripped Keelin inside. ‘Most men would prefer that easier option, my father certainly does. And tell me,’ she asked in a rush, ‘where exactly will I fit into your life—presumably while you’re off building your empire?’
She put up a hand. ‘Wait, don’t tell me—I’ll be tied to a bed, awaiting your return for the next bout of conjugal rights?’
Gianni folded his arms, making muscles bunch. Keelin hated being so aware of him.
‘I’ve never indulged in bondage before,’ he drawled, ‘but I’m certainly willing to give it a go. I hear it’s the in thing.’
To her shock and horror, an image popped into her head of Gianni on his back, naked, with his arms tied high above his head, as she straddled him and bent down, her hair trailing over his chest, mouth watering at the prospect of tasting his skin—
She abruptly shut down that very rogue thought and blurted out hotly, ‘You’re impossible. This whole situation is impossible.’
‘Like I said before, there’s nothing stopping you from walking out the door, Keelin. I’m no gaoler,’ he pointed out unhelpfully.
She made a pfft sound. ‘As if you’d let me thwart your chances now.’
Gianni shrugged and gave all the appearance of being at ease but she could sense the tension in him. ‘I’m sure I can find a deal to achieve global distribution elsewhere, but not with half the kudos that O’Connor’s can bring me, so no, I won’t let you thwart my chances.’
In a fit of angry frustration, Keelin turned back to the view, aghast to feel the prickle of hot tears. Dammit. She would not let this man make her cry.
‘You looked happy in the photo in your father’s office.’
Keelin blinked and went still, surprised as much by the abrupt change of subject as the fact that Gianni had noticed that photo.
Slowly she turned around again, crossing her arms tight across her chest. ‘What did you imagine, Gianni? That the picture was taken by a loving father indulging his daughter in her favourite activity?’
She answered herself. ‘As you’ve seen this evening, that’s hardly the case. That picture was taken on a hacienda in Andalusia. I went out there one summer with a schoolf
riend—’ She just stopped herself in time from saying, Because my parents were too busy to spend time with me, hating the moment of self-pity.
‘One of the trainers took the picture. When my father saw it on my phone he insisted he get a copy of it. It’s not in his office as a tender reminder of his daughter. It’s there because he likes to promote the myth that we are a normal loving family.’
Gianni’s face was inscrutable. ‘What was it about the horses that you liked so much?’
