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He knew she was lying but didn’t care, because at the same moment her cheeks had turned the same colour as the tomatoes his lobster had been served with, her wide eyes had held his, darkening and pulsing with the same heat that had plagued him since he’d spotted her from his balcony that morning.
His euphoria lasted seconds, the time it took for her to have a sip of her replenished wine and fix her eyes back on him.
The only thing to read in them was friendliness.
Damn it, whatever he’d seen had goneagain.
He watched her even more closely over their next course, looking for even a flicker of the desire he now thought he’d seen twice that day. But there was nothing. She answered his questions about what she liked so much about the latest painting she’d hung on the wall with the same animation as when she’d explained her love for the ambassador daughter’s painting, but there was no intimacy in her body language. She didn’t subconsciously lean forward to be closer to him or play with her hair. When he deliberately rested his hand at the mid-point between them on the table, she didn’t inch her fingers closer to it. Her eyes didn’t linger on him with anything approaching seduction.
This was driving him crazy! He could be sharing a meal with his sister for all the attraction Elsbeth was displaying towards him.
Had those glimmers of desire been conjured by his overinflated ego being unable to accept that a woman could share his bed and keep her feelings compartmentalised? He could laugh at the irony that his intention at the outset of his marriage to a Fernandez was for the whole thing to be kept compartmentalised. It bruised his ego that Elsbeth was perfectly content with the separation he’d imposed while he was the one suffering.
Draining his wine, he determined that his suffering wouldn’t last for long. Whatever else she might feel, he knew Elsbeth had a basic desire for him. It had been there, just like his own initial basic desire, from the night they’d consummated their marriage. That was simple chemistry. Put two willing, sexually compatible people in a bed together and their bodies would do what needed to be done. All he needed to do was draw that basic desire out of her into the flame currently consuming him, because doing what needed to be done wasn’t enough any more. He wanted more. Much more. He just needed to gorge himself on her and then he would be satisfied and this strange fever for her would cool back to its original apathy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THISWASHORRENDOUS.
Elsbeth had never in her entire life worked so hard at maintaining outward composure. It wasn’t just dining alone with Amadeo causing it, it was all the signals her needy brain was interpreting. His stare didn’t leave her face, his green eyes seemed to drink her in with an appreciation shemustbe imagining.
When he put his first mouthful of their divine dessert into his mouth and slowly sucked the dark chocolate off his spoon, the motion was so sensual she came close to spontaneously combusting.
How on earth was she supposed to keep control over herself when he joined her in bed for their Duty later, when just watching him eat was turning her on so much that she could feel arousal over every inch of her skin?
Stop looking at me!
Quickly eating her chocolate torte in the hope he’d follow her lead as if by osmosis, she was ready to scream when she noticed he still had over half his portion left.
Washe doing it deliberately?
She pushed her empty bowl to one side and determined to distract herself from the eroticism of watching Amadeo eat. ‘Now you know I like bold and quirky art and furnishings and English gardens, it is only fair you tell me of the things you like. I assume motor racing is one. I mean as a sport and not just as an investment.’
He pulled the spoon out of his mouth. ‘You assume correctly.’
‘Cars or bikes?’
‘Both, but cars are my preference. I’ve attended nearly every Grand Prix held on Ceres National Racetrack since I was a small child. One of my earliest memories is watching a race with my father and being jealous that he was allowed to present the trophy and champagne to the winner on the podium while I was forced to stay in my seat.’
‘I bet it was a good seat.’
The spoon sliced back through the torte that still wasn’t disappearing quickly enough for Elsbeth’s sanity. ‘The best in the stadium. We were so close to the track I was made to wear ear defenders.’
The divine lips closed over the chocolate-filled spoon. All she could do was cross her legs tightly and take another drink of her wine and hope it cooled her down. ‘Have you ever driven a racing car?’ she asked.
Remembering the school project in which he’d taken the lead in building a go-cart and then made the mistake of telling his parents and being instantly forbidden from driving it, Amadeo shook his head. ‘It’s considered too dangerous an activity for the heir to the Ceres throne.’
The point had been drilled into him that being heir meant he must not do anything that could endanger him. He’d had to watch from the stands while the go-cart he’d designed and engineered in his sixth form years was driven over the finish line in second place by his second-in-command. If he’d been driving it, he would have won. That wasn’t arrogance talking—and Amadeo would be the first to admit he had as much arrogance as testosterone in him—just cold fact. Before he’d been banned, he’d test-driven it around the track. His lap times had averaged four seconds quicker than the winning go-cart.
It had been as humiliating as being excused from playing rugby. He’d had to watch in envy from the sidelines while Marcelo, the younger brother and therefore expendable, had barged his way through opposing players, sending them flying like bowling pins. But he’d swallowed that humiliation, lifted his chin proudly and cheered his brother on, just as he’d cheered on Sébastien, his number two.
‘Dominic was guest of honour at a Grand Prix in France a few years ago,’ she told him. Amadeo couldn’t stop the curl of his lip at this nugget of information but strove not to let his revulsion at Dominic’s name show on his face. ‘He ignored his advisors and talked one of the teams into letting him drive their test car when the race was over. He crashed it.’
That brought a smile back to his face. ‘Was he hurt?’
‘Unfortunately, no.’
The deadpan way she’d said it made him laugh.
