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‘Got a phone?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither. The truly successful never carry phones to events like this, do they?’ he mused. ‘That would make us far too accessible to the big wide world—and there’s always someone to take our messages for us.’
For a moment Jennifer was surprised by the unfamiliar note of cynicism which had crept into his voice. ‘Surely Matteo d’Arezzo hasn’t become disenchanted with the jet-set world which brought him riches and fame?’
‘Isn’t that inevitable?’ he questioned drily. ‘Doesn’t it happen to everyone?’
‘Not to you.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought that success was your very lifeblood.’
‘Success on its own isn’t enough,’ he said tightly. ‘I don’t want to stay on this merry-go-round of a life until it chews me up and spits me out.’
Jennifer blinked. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
He looked at her and his eyes were like chips of jet. ‘Was I really so ruthless, Jenny?’
She thought about the way they’d pored over their working schedules like two prospectors who’d just struck gold and now she recognised her own ruthlessness, too. Oh, how stupidly short-sighted you could be when fame came tapping at your door. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Maybe we both were.’
She felt the hot pricking of sweat on her forehead and ran her tongue over parched lips, noticing that his black gaze was trying not to be drawn to them. She hoped to God that he didn’t think she was giving him the come-on. Fractionally, she moved away from him.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘We don’t have a lot of choice. We wait.’
‘For how long?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ Did she think this was easy for him? Her standing so close and off-limits—her luscious body barely covered in some flimsy gown which made her look like…
‘Do you want to sit down?’ he suggested carefully. Because surely that way he wouldn’t have to be confronted by the tantalising thrust of her breasts?
Jennifer didn’t know if she dared move. She was aware that her panties were growing damp and that if she wasn’t careful Matteo would guess. He had always been so perfectly attuned to her body and its needs that his senses would be instantly alerted to the physical manifestations of desire. Briefly, she shut her eyes, summoning thoughts which would kill that desire stone-dead. But it wasn’t easy.
‘You’re okay?’ he asked softly.
She opened them. Think of his betrayal. Of his doing with another woman what he had stood up in church and declared was for her and her alone. ‘Oh, yes—I’m absolutely fine! Just wonderful! I’m trapped in a service lift in a foreign country with my cheating ex-husband. Exactly the way I would choose to spend my Saturday night!’ She rubbed her fingertips against the necklace which was digging into her throat.
‘Why don’t you take that off?’ he suggested, as he saw the red mark she’d left there. Her skin was moist and a damp tendril of hair was clinging to her neck.
She met his eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He gave a snort of savage laughter. ‘Madre de Dio—don’t look at me like that!’
‘I wasn’t looking like anything!’
‘Oh, yes, you were,’ he contradicted softly. ‘With shock and horror written all over your face. As if I were suggesting some kind of striptease when all I meant was that your necklace doesn’t look very comfortable.’ He ran a disparaging glance over the heavy, wide choker which gleamed around her slender neck. ‘Studio told you to wear it, did they?’
‘Yes.’ But he was right. She was aware of the costly gems digging into her flesh, making her feel as if she was wearing some upmarket dog-collar. Blindly, her hand reached up behind her, tried to reach the clasp, but failed—and there was no mirror…
‘You want me to do it for you?’ he questioned.
Jennifer hesitated, because it seemed almost too intimate a thing to do. The putting on and the taking off of a necklace was the kind of thing a husband did for his wife in the seclusion of their bedroom when they were properly married—not about to enter one of the biggest divorce battles of the year. Yet what choice did she have?
‘I guess so. Never has the word “choker” seemed so appropriate,’ she added sardonically.
He gave a wry smile. ‘Turn around, then.’
But, confronted with the sight of her bare back, Matteo found his mind slipping into forbidden places. He silently cursed as he felt his erection grow even harder, thankful that she couldn’t see his face—for he was certain that it had contorted into a pained expression of exquisite sexual frustration.
