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Her throat tightened. And Vicenzu was the baddest of them all.
His reputation as a playboy and pleasure seeker stretched far beyond the Italian Riviera and it was easy to see why.
Reluctantly, her gaze darted towards him again, drawn like a moth to the flame of his absurdly beautiful features.
He was standing slightly to one side, taking advantage of an overhanging canopy of flower-strewn greenery, which made him both screened from view and yet still the most conspicuous person there.
With dark hair, a teasing mouth and a profile that would grace any currency, he stood out among the stocky Sicilian and Italian businessmen and their wives—and not just because he was a head taller than most of them.
Glancing up through her eyelashes, she felt a cool shiver tiptoe down her spine. In their formal suits and dresses, quite a few of the guests were perspiring beneath the heat of the sun, but he looked effortlessly cool, the impeccably fitted white shirt hugging his lean, supple body and perfectly setting off his dancing dark eyes.
At that moment he turned, and those same dancing eyes met hers, and before she had a chance to blink, much less move, he was sauntering towards her, a lazy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
‘Immacolata...’ He made a disapproving face. ‘You don’t play fair, do you, Ms Buscetta.’
‘Play fair?’ She stared up at him, her pulse beating with fear and fascination, trying to look calm and unaffected. How could he talk about being fair, looking like that? ‘I don’t understand.’
Up close, his beauty was so startling it felt like a slap to her face. His eyes, that beautiful, curving mouth, the clean-cut lines of his features... All made her mind go completely blank and made her feel bare, exposed, in a way that no other man ever had.
‘Playing hide-and-seek without telling me...’ He shook his head. ‘That was sneaky.’
‘I wasn’t hiding,’ she lied, desperately wanting to turn and walk away and yet held captive by the soft, baiting note in his voice. ‘I was looking after my guests.’
‘Not all of them,’ he countered. ‘I was feeling very neglected. Quite light-headed, actually. In fact, I think we might need to go somewhere quiet so you can put me in the recovery position.’
She felt her cheeks go red and, hating this instant and—worse—visible response to the easy pull of his words, she lifted her chin and glanced pointedly past his shoulder. ‘There are cold drinks on the terrace, and plenty of seating.’
He grinned. ‘Don’t you want to know why I’m feeling so light-headed?’
‘No, thank you. I’m perfectly fine as I am.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said slowly.
As he spoke his eyes meandered over her body in a way that made her feel breathless and on edge. Fighting to keep control she glanced down at the lapel of his jacket. ‘Vicenzu, I—’
His eyes glittered. ‘It’s okay. I get it. You thought I was just a pretty face, but now we’ve got to know each other a bit better you’re starting to like me. It happens all the time. But don’t worry—I’m not going to tell anyone.’
Her face flamed. ‘Actually, I was just going to tell you that you’ve lost your boutonnière,’ she said stiffly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on—on something. In the kitchen.’
Before he could say anything she turned and began walking blindly away from his mocking gaze, her panicky response to him echoing in her ears.
Panicky and prim and gauche.
Gritting her teeth, she smiled mechanically as people greeted her. What was the matter with her? She was an educated woman, had been top of her class at business school, and she was the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Sicily, soon to be CEO of her father’s latest acquisition. So why had she fled like a rabbit from a fox?
But it hurt to look at him—and hurt even more to look away, even though that was what she’d been doing her very best to accomplish ever since he’d arrived at the church.
Only as they were maid of honour and best man, there had been no avoiding his laughing dark eyes during the service.
It had been equally impossible not to be swept along by the beauty and romanticism of the ceremony, and as a shaft of sunlight had gilded his extremely photogenic features she had briefly allowed herself to fantasise that it was her wedding, and Vicenzu was her husband...
Her pulse twitched. It was nearly five years since she’d been remotely attracted to anyone, and her response to him was as shocking as it was confusing.
Three times she’d lost her place in the order of service, distracted by his gaze—a gaze that had seemed never to leave her face, making her tremble inside.
But no woman—particularly one who had zero actual hands-on experience of men—would consider Vicenzu Trapani husband material. Unlike the rumours about her father’s links to organised crime, the stories about him were not just idle gossip. On first impressions alone it was clear he’d earned his flirtatious reputation.
Not that it mattered, she told herself quickly as she skirted around the chattering guests. She had absolutely no intention of falling in love with anyone ever again—and especially not with a man whose behaviour was as provocative as his smile.
