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He stayed silent as they walked through the grounds, trying to concentrate on something other than the whisper of her skirt in the light breeze and the way it swayed over her curvy buttocks. But as she stopped in front of the door, with the scent of flowers heavy and potent in the night air, and the black curls streaming over her thrusting breasts, he felt a rush of desire so powerful that he almost succumbed to it.
It would have been so easy to take her into his arms and kiss her. Too easy. Despite everything he’d said on the plane, he was beginning to realise that resisting Lina Vitale might not be as simple as he’d thought. Would it hurt to retract his words? To override his original intentions and give into the most powerful sexual attraction which had ever come his way? Surely it was insane to deny them both what they wanted, when this kind of physical chemistry was so rare.
He swallowed. Maybe, at a later date—when he was certain she could accept his boundaries and his limitations. Because if—when—he had sex with her again, it would be at a time of his choosing. When he was certain Lina understood that he was the one in the driving seat. The one with all the control. He would make himself wait, because not only would it increase his hunger, it would prove he didn’t need her. Maybe the time would come when they could be friends with benefits, yes, but it could never be anything more. And in the meantime, he needed to ensure she had some kind of focus other than him.
He stopped outside her doorway and looked at the moonlight-dappled darkness of her hair. ‘One of my charitable foundations is giving a gala ball tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come along?’
‘You mean, as your guest?’
Deliberately, he downplayed it. ‘Why not? You’ll get a chance to meet some people. Contacts which may come in use, if you’re going to start looking for a job. You might actually find something to do with your life which is a little more exciting than sewing drapes and curtains. Isn’t that what you came here for?’
‘Yes, yes. Of course it is. It’s just that...’ She hesitated as she fingered the flared fabric of her dress before lifting her gaze to his. ‘I’ve never been to a ball before.’
‘I don’t imagine they’re a big feature of life in Caltarina,’ he said drily.
‘Which means I don’t have anything suitable to wear,’ she continued. ‘And there won’t be time for me to make anything suitable.’
‘No problem. I can buy you something.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant, Salvatore. I can’t possibly let you do that. You’ve already been more than generous.’
‘The subject isn’t up for debate’ he said coolly. ‘I can afford it and you can’t. You can add it to the list of things you say you’re going to pay back.’
‘I say it because I mean it!’ she clarified fiercely. ‘I’ll pay back every cent.’
He gave a slow smile, because in that moment she reminded him very much of himself. ‘Okay. Now go and get some sleep,’ he said softly. ‘It’s been a long day.’
He turned and walked away and Lina watched him, still trying to absorb everything that had happened. He’d told her about his childhood, which had made her heart bleed for him. Things which had made her want to wrap her arms around him and comfort him and try to take some of his pain away. She bit her lip. Her own mother might have been stupidly strict, but at least she’d been there for her. And Salvatore’s face had looked so stern as his story had unfolded, his troubled features shadowed by the flicker of candlelight. He had obviously intended to convince her that the past no longer had the power to affect him, but Lina had detected the faint dip of vulnerability in his voice. She had seen the ravaged expression which had darkened his face when he’d described his mother driving away in the salesman’s car. And she had died before they’d had an opportunity to resolve their broken relationship. Of course it must still hurt, no matter how hard he tried to deny it to himself. She suspected he’d buried it away so deeply that he’d never really allowed himself to grieve.
And his father had left him, too. So wrapped up in his own bitterness and heartache, he had neglected the little boy who must have been missing his mother—and, in so doing, had managed to destroy yet another area of trust.
Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her, leaning heavily against it and closing her eyes. Had she thought he might kiss her when he’d walked her to the moonlit cottage? Yes, she had. Of course she had. And even though she was starting to realise that she couldn’t just keep being available whenever he snapped his fingers, she couldn’t deny that she wanted him.
But she couldn’t afford to behave like a passive puppet around this undeniably sexy and charismatic man, because she had come to America to make something of herself.
Not to get her heart broken.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE KNOCK ON the cottage door sounded imperious and Lina felt a ripple of apprehension as she opened it to find Salvatore standing there, his muscular physique dominating the star-sprinkled sky behind him. And despite all her intentions to do otherwise, her heart began pounding frantically beneath the fancy fabric of her new dress.
It was a little under twenty-one hours since she’d last seen him. Twenty-one hours of trying to get to know some of the staff a bit better and asking Henry if there was anything she could do to help. Answer: no. In theory, twenty-one hours to build up some immunity against the charismatic tycoon. So why hadn’t it worked? All the stern talking-tos in the world didn’t seem to have changed her body’s instant response to him, which was as powerful as ever.
It was as if she’d been stumbling around in the dark for a long, long time and Salvatore had suddenly become her bright, hard focus. Whenever he was around her skin felt sensitive—her limbs weightless and her senses soft. It was as if the very substance of her was capable of dissolving whenever he was in the vicinity.
He flicked his gaze over her and Lina wondered if she’d imagined the brief flash of disbelief in his eyes. She doubted it. Hadn’t she experienced a similar reaction when she’d stood in front of the mirror a little earlier and surveyed the image reflected back at her? She shifted her weight on her stiletto heels because sh
e was doing everything she could to avoid getting a blister this evening. She wasn’t used to wearing an evening dress, nor shoes this high, and as she waited for Salvatore’s verdict on her appearance her already jangled nerves felt even more frazzled. It was exactly as she’d thought. She looked a disaster. She was going to let him down. She would turn him into a laughing stock. ‘You don’t like it?’ she said.
There was a pause as he continued to study her with an unhurried scrutiny which was making her nipples tighten.
‘You look different,’ he concluded eventually.
It wasn’t the reply she’d wanted but maybe it was the only one which was appropriate. Because she felt different. She felt... Lina shook her head, but not a single hair of her perfectly coiffed head moved, thanks to the careful ministrations of the in-store hairdresser. It was difficult to describe exactly how she felt. Disorientated might be a good place to start. She’d never been to an upmarket department store before, nor been assigned a personal shopper—but apparently this was perfectly normal when you possessed the platinum store card to which she’d been given unfettered access by Salvatore di Luca. But nothing could have prepared Lina for the lavish interior of the sumptuous San Franciscan store, nor the expensive outfits of her fellow customers, who glided over the marble floors as if they had been shopping there all their lives. Never had she felt quite so poor or provincial.
Her relief at being given guidance by the personal shopper was tempered by the realisation of how many of the dresses—which all looked remarkably similar—she was expected to try on.
After countless hours she ended up with a simple floor-length robe in cobalt-blue—which wasn’t her usual style or colour, but which she was assured made her look stunning. The shopper had arranged for a make-up artist to apply unfamiliar cosmetics to Lina’s face and, in the brand-new and restrictive underwear which was containing her curves beneath the dress, she felt like a sausage about to burst out of its skin. She was dressed up like a painted doll in an expensive dress so narrowly cut that she had to take ridiculously tiny steps in order to walk.
