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But liaisons and connections with memb
ers of the opposite sex, after that single traumatic event with Matt two years ago, had been permanently delisted from her life.
Aware that her whole body was clenched in peculiar expectancy, as if awaiting some sort of trigger to bring her back to life, she attempted to drag herself free of his forcefield.
A throat was cleared, disrupting the charged atmosphere.
‘Signor...’ A man, who thankfully did resemble a lawyer, spoke in low tones from behind the formidable figure.
The formal address was the only thing Faye understood. The rest of the hushed Italian buzzed in her brain as more men filed into the room, leaving him at the door, still blatantly staring at her.
The team of four sat across from Faye at the gleaming conference table, each casting surreptitious glances at various parts of her body. Had she not been wholly enthralled by the man who now sauntered forward with an animal grace that belied his towering height and size to settle into the seat directly opposite hers, she might have been amused.
But this wasn’t a jaunt to the pub. Or one of those bring-your-own-instrument-for-a-singalong gatherings her mother spontaneously threw when she was lucid.
She was here because Luigi Caprio had left an indelible mark on her, with the kind of familial love she’d never experienced before, then exited her life without explanation, leaving a worse wreck than he’d found and two lives spiralling out of control.
Faye tried to numb herself against the never healed pain, raked open by Carlotta Caprio.
‘How very good of you to make it, Miss Bishop,’ the man drawled, once he’d settled his sleek, animal-like frame into the chair, his eyes—which she noted were a rich tawny gold—spearing into her.
Unlike his words, his expression was anything but cordial. For some reason this man despised her.
Her hackles rose, along with a bone-deep shame. Dear God, did he know? Had Luigi done the unthinkable and shared Faye and her mother’s secret with this man? Would he have been so cruel?
Dread crawled across her skin even as she reassured herself that it didn’t matter. Once she left this place she needn’t set eyes on this enigmatic man, or any of Luigi’s kin, ever again.
She raised her chin. ‘I made a promise to Carlotta,’ she replied.
It was a promise the other woman had had no business demanding of her. And yet she had. And, because of the curse of the unknown that had always plagued Faye, she’d given in.
The man’s lips twisted. ‘Ah, si... A promise to attend a will reading but not to pay your last respects?’
Her spine snapped straight at his contempt. ‘For your information, Mr...whoever-you-are, Carlotta didn’t tell me she was ill. Not until our last conversation three weeks ago. After that I didn’t think it was appropriate to just...turn up. Not when I was a stranger to her.’
‘And yet here you are now,’ he said, his deep, rumbling voice and disturbingly attractive accent stretching out the words. Deepening their barbed meaning. Thickening their accusation.
Finally her muscles obeyed the commands she’d shrieked at her brain and lent her enough strength to stand. She pushed back her chair and grabbed the hobo bag she’d tossed on the floor beside her. ‘Save your accusations. I was already thinking this was a mistake before you walked in. You’ve just confirmed that I shouldn’t have come here. Let’s not waste each other’s time any longer. I’m leaving.’
‘I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy, Miss Bishop.’
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. ‘What isn’t? And, seriously, are you going to introduce yourself, like a normal person, or is your identity some mystery I’m supposed to unravel to get to the next level of why I’m here?’
More than one lawyer gasped. Her impression of stepping deeper into a minefield heightened as the stranger’s gaze swept downwards in a slow, languid journey from her face, her throat, her chest, to rest on the three-inch gap between her midriff-baring pink top and the waistband of her bohemian ankle-length, patchwork skirt. There it rested, partly in disbelief, partly with a sizzling indecipherable look that sent gooseflesh skittering over her skin.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded after an aeon, his voice barely above a murmured rumble.
Faye couldn’t, because the look in his eyes had paralysed her again. And as he continued to watch her, other sensations crept in, adding to the chaos. Weakness swept through her frame. Her breasts began to tingle, shooting warnings that her bra-less state was about to become glaringly obvious.
To counteract that impending discomfort, Faye folded her arms and aimed a glare across the table. ‘Why?’ she asked, very much aware that his interest had shifted to the inked flowers decorating her arm. That he looked even more...intrigued.
Intrigue didn’t last long before his gaze hardened.
‘Because I’m about to lay a few facts on you, Miss Bishop. Contrary to what you think you’re here for, my revelations will far exceed your wildest dreams. Unfortunately for you, those dreams come with strings. Of course once I’m done you can still insist on taking this dubious high road you’re posturing about. And should you decide to relinquish your inheritance—’
‘My inheritance? What inheritance?’ Surprise made her voice cringingly squeaky.
‘Sit down and I will tell you,’ he instructed again.
