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‘Just make sure you don’t stand on one when you’re down on the beach,’ he said, not the least bit fazed by her heated expression.
More mockery. More...everything. Wicked eyes...Fabulous teeth...Bad, bad sexy mouth.
‘Are you ready, Eva?’
For anything. ‘If you say so,’ she conceded grudgingly, somehow managing to drag her gaze away.
She pointedly ignored Roman’s offer to hook her arm through his and walked past him. ‘Thank you so much for helping me to style my outfit... It’s almost impossible to find a good stylist these days.’
‘Don’t push it, signorina,’ he growled somewhere far too close behind her.
Her spine tingled at his proximity, but if Roman Quisvada happened to be lifting one of his arrogant ebony brows right now, he could stick his courtly airs and graces where the sun didn’t—
‘You look great,’ he said, catching up with her easily, and matching his stroll to her purposeful stalk towards the stairs.
‘Thank you,’ she managed tightly. Her voice was about the only thing that was tight. Unfortunately for her, Roman gave great sensation in places she normally didn’t waste much time thinking about. Would blanking sensation even be possible with this man? To distract herself she fell back a few paces to see what all the fuss was about. Apart from obviously looking amazing, Roman Quisvada exuded confidence and moved with the ease of an athlete. He wore his thick, wavy black hair long, which she liked, especially when it was still damp and wavy from the shower—
‘Keep up, Eva. I don’t want to be late.’
She pulled a face behind his back as he started across the hall, but not before her senses had registered the curve of his sensual mouth as he turned his head to issue this instruction. He was certainly one arrogant piece of work. She had never encountered anyone like Roman Quisvada before—
‘Eva,’ he rapped, swinging the front door wide.
Did he have to stand waiting for her with his thumb tucked inside his belt with his long lean fingers directing her gaze to the main attraction?
‘Shall we?’ he invited mockingly.
Not if I can help it, she thought, having taken in the size of the attraction.
* * *
By the time they reached the beach it was already packed with party guests. Roman was greeted like returning royalty. Which was great for Roman and a whole new experience for Eva—especially the compliments she received from the men. Not for the first time since she landed in Italy, she was glad she spoke the language. It wouldn’t have been half so much fun if she hadn’t understood all their chat.
‘I feel like Cinderella at the ball,’ she admitted, hot-faced after the latest round of attention from a hunting pack of Roman’s male friends.
He didn’t seem too impressed. ‘My friends find you...intriguing.’
‘Because they haven’t seen me before?’ she guessed. ‘Or because they wonder what I’m doing with you?’
‘Neither. You’re attractive and they’re hot-blooded men with a healthy interest in attractive women.’
Attractive? She was attractive? That was news to her. And it was the first time any man had said that about her in her hearing. Stubborn. Argumentative. Competitive. Tempestuous. Or just plain stroppy—these were all labels she was familiar with. Could the ‘attractive’ label account for the black look Roman was giving his friends?
Really?
She wanted to smile.
‘Something amusing you?’ he said, turning back to her, frowning deeply.
‘No,’ she said, acting surprised. Seeing his face, she could almost believe Roman was jealous. That probably didn’t sound like much to a normal woman, but it was certainly unique in Eva’s experience. Men shied away from her in Skavanga, unless she was dressed in jeans and giving them a hard time, while here in the Med they flocked around. And, actually, she was quite enjoying it, especially as she knew she was at absolutely no risk at all—not from Roman and not from his friends. At least, not while he was around. Roman had made it quite clear that he was leader of the pack and no one trespassed on his territory.
As Roman chatted to some more guests who eyed her up speculatively, she toyed with the pretty belt and thought of her mother. Utta Skavanga had made no secret of the fact that she despaired of Eva ever developing feminine traits. And the harder she’d tried to instil her femininity in Eva, the more Eva had rebelled. She’d felt a failure compared to her beautiful sisters, and had chosen to become a tomboy instead. The tomboy she still was today.
