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His heartbeat slowed. She was wavering. He could hear it in her voice. Impulsively, he leaned forward and pulled her closer. She pushed her hands against his chest, but it was a token gesture of resistance. Feeling a rush of triumph, he closed the gap between them.
‘I don’t understand me either,’ he said softly. ‘But I do know that I don’t want to fight with you.’ He shook his head. ‘I want it to be like it was earlier.’
She bit her lip and then nodded slowly. ‘I do too.’
He watched a flush of colour spread over her cheeks and, feeling a sudden overwhelming need to touch her, he reached out and gently stroked her face.
She looked so young and, remembering the sadness in her eyes when she’d told him about her mother’s death, he felt a sudden urge to protect her. To turn the yacht out to sea and sail away into that glorious, cinematic sunset.
He sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I know I said we could spend the night on the boat but we can’t,’ he said slowly. ‘I forgot I’ve got a dinner. Tonight. And I can’t not be there. It’s business. Well, politics and business. I’m having dinner with the prime minister.’
Watching her eyes widen in shock, he shook his head. He still couldn’t quite believe that it had slipped his mind. It had certainly never happened before. Eyeing him sideways, Flora felt a rush of disappointment but as he met her gaze, she held out her hand.
‘It’s fine. Give me that bikini. I can swim home.’
She was back to teasing him. Relief swept over him and then swiftly faded. He didn’t want to leave her behind. Nor did he want to be stuck in some soulless hotel room with just the mini-bar and his thoughts for company.
But why should he be alone?
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him. ‘How would you like to go to Rome with me?’
* * *
‘I think—perhaps—if we do this...’ Frowning, Massimo got to his feet and, standing in front of Flora, folded the shimmering blue fabric below her collarbone. ‘Would that work?’
Elisabetta, the tiny and incredibly chic head assistant at the Via dei Condotti fashion house, nodded approvingly. ‘It would indeed, Signor Sforza.’ With swift fingers, she deftly pinned the silk in place and then, turning to Flora, she smiled. ‘Perhaps you would like to see yourself now, signorina?’
Smiling weakly back at her, Flora nodded and stepped tentatively in front of the mirror. She stared at herself in silence, jolted by her reflection.
It fitted perfectly. As it should, she thought wryly, after two hours of pinning and pinching. It was all so exciting. She’d never had a dress made for her before, and she’d loved every moment. More exciting though was the way Massimo had dominated the huge fitting room, not a single stitch escaping his glittering blue gaze.
Watching him, it had been easy for her to see why he was so successful in business: he had given her dress the same focus as he gave to driving his sports car or teasing her to orgasm with his tongue.
And lucky for her that he did, she thought, gazing raptly at her reflection in the trio of huge mirrors that lined one end of the room. The dress was utterly divine.
She caught sight of Massimo watching her in the mirror and blushed. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘It’s lovely, really, and incredibly generous of you.’
He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘It’s my pleasure. Truly. And the dress is lovely, but it would be nothing without you, cara. You take my breath away.’
She smiled mechanically. His voice was soft, his gaze softer still, but that didn’t make his remark true any more than it made the evening a date.
Heart hammering, desperate not to let him see how much she wanted his words to be true, she reached up and pressed a trembling finger against his lips. ‘Then don’t say any more,’ she said lightly. ‘I don’t want you collapsing on me.’
It had been like a rollercoaster ride.
They had flown to Rome in Massimo’s helicopter and a chauffeur-driven limousine had met them at the airport and whisked them across the city to the salon just as it had been about to close. It was yet another reminder that Massimo was no ordinary man. And that in his world shops were always open, restaurants always serving food.
Now the limousine was slipping smoothly through the traffic-clogged streets. She blinked as a flash of blue light swept past them.
‘I still can’t believe we’ve got a police escort. I thought only world leaders had those.’
Massimo squeezed her hand. ‘I don’t normally have one. But we’re guests of the prime minister; that’s why security’s a little over the top.’
Lounging beside her like a modern-day Roman emperor in a dinner jacket and dress shirt, he looked as though he could rule not just the country but the universe, she thought helplessly. He was just so perfect. As though sensing her focus, he turned, his gaze locking onto her and horrified that he might actually be able to read her thoughts, she took refuge in humour. ‘It certainly is. Your ego is bulletproof. You certainly don’t need any encouragement—’
She broke off, her breath snagging in her throat, as he jerked her towards him and she felt the hard length of his arousal through his trousers.
‘Not with you, I don’t.’ He groaned softly. ‘I can’t bear being this close to you and not being able to do anything.’
