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The word got trapped in my throat before I could utter it.
Grazie a Dio.
What was wrong with me? We’d kissed, once. And yeah, it had been spectacular, and unexpected. And I wanted more. But I wasn’t about to beg her to stay. So I took a different tack. ‘Where are you going in such a rush? Stay and have a drink,’ I said, attempting to sound relaxed and persuasive.
I tugged her round to face me, disturbed by the sparkle of moisture in her eyes. I’d been expecting tears. But the sheen of distress looked genuine, something she was making every effort to contain, not use to guilt-trip me about my win.
How could she seem so fragile and breakable now, when she’d been so strong and determined earlier in the evening? And why did I still want her so much? Because her vulnerability wasn’t doing a damn thing to stem the tidal wave of longing that had tortured me ever since our kiss.
Surely it was all an act? It had to be. But why couldn’t I convince myself of that?
‘Bella...’ I cupped her cheek, brushed my thumb across the soft skin, stupidly relieved when her pulse jumped against my palm. And her eyes darkened.
She still wanted me too. I hadn’t imagined that much, at least.
‘It’s only money,’ I said, certain the cause of her distress had to be her parents’ reaction. Perhaps her father would be angry. What man wouldn’t be at a million-euro loss, even an indulgent father?
‘You’re good. Just not good enough on this occasion. But I’ll give you a chance to win it back, if that’s what you want.’
‘Thank you. That’s very generous of you,’ she said.
‘Then you’ll stay, join me for a drink?’ I hated the element of doubt in my voice. We both knew I wasn’t just talking about her staying for a drink—the promise of that kiss was still snapping in the air around us.
‘Yes, okay,’ she said.
‘Good,’ I said, more relieved and excited than I should have been at her concession. I placed a light kiss on her forehead, pleased when her breathing stuttered. I forced myself not to take her lips again though, before we were both ready.
She drew away and I had to stop myself from dragging her back into my arms, the desire to stake my claim on her all but overwhelming.
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Can I go and freshen up first?’
‘Of course,’ I said, even though I wanted to demand she stay.
I wasn’t possessive with women. And I had no idea where the ludicrous desire not to let her out of my sight came from, so I ignored it.
But, as I watched her leave the room, the rush of blood to my groin became all but unbearable.
I poured myself a glass of expensive single malt Scotch while I waited for her, to calm my frustration and my impatience.
Walking to the window, I savoured the smoky liquor as it burned down my throat. Once she was in my bed, and I had begun to tap the heat we had ignited with that kiss, Edie Spencer would soon forget the mon
ey she’d lost. And the problem of explaining it to her father.
Hell, if we were as good together as I was anticipating, and that kiss had suggested, I could offer to support her until the fire between us burnt out. She clearly had expensive tastes, no income of her own and enjoyed the thrill of gambling with money she hadn’t earned. Perhaps I could employ her as a hostess for the week-long party I was throwing at my new estate in Nice at the end of the month? Edie would be perfect for such a role, smart, beautiful and classy—and well versed in how to charm elite businessmen after her privileged upbringing. Her skill at the table might also be useful.
Of course, I might have a job on my hands persuading her to work for a living. But after her reaction tonight to losing her father’s million euro stake, I didn’t think it would be that hard to persuade her to take the job. I was a generous employer. Plus taming that free spirit of hers could be enjoyable for both of us.
I bolted back the last of the Scotch, finally feeling more like myself. The burn in my throat matched the warm weight in my gut—a weight which I understood now and knew would be easily resolved once Edie returned.
I glanced at my watch, surprised she was taking so long.
My cell-phone buzzed. I lifted it out of my pocket and read Joe Donnelly’s text.
We’ve got a problem. Call me.
I sighed, tempted to ignore the request. It was four in the morning and Edie would be back soon.
But my innate professionalism took over. Joe wasn’t the hysterical type, so if there was a problem he couldn’t fix it must require my attention.
