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He turned to look at her. He had been so deep in thought during the journey that at times he had almost forgotten she was there. He swept her an assessing look, silently applauding his insistence she acquire the services of a personal shopper, because the Nicola Bennett who was outlined against the green and gold of the Tuscan countryside looked like a completely different woman. Her summer dress caressed the high curve of her breasts and the floaty skirt outlined her slender thighs in a way which was...
He swallowed.Compelling.There was no other word for it. Her hair was piled on top of her head in its usual helmet style, but it showcased her long and swan-like neck. Suddenly Alessio found himself imagining how it would feel to have her in his arms and the taste of her soft lips beneath his. Suddenly he wanted to trail his tongue over that soft flesh, only this time to find the rose-shaped birthmark above her breasts and explore it. He wanted to strip her bare and lose himself in the hidden and forbidden areas of her body and he wanted all these things with an urgency which took his breath away.
Yet she had done nothing to this incite the potent stir of desire which was heating his blood. She hadn’t flirted, or chatted. In fact, she had been almost completely silent during the journey, which had pleased him—though conversely it had also irritated him that he wasn’t having to bat off the predictable remarks women often made when you put them in a powerful car and drove through some very expensive real estate. He frowned. Even on entering his private jet, she had failed to make the usual calculating murmurs which always served to reinforce his many prejudices about her sex.
‘What do you want to know?’ he questioned silkily.
‘Who’s going to be there, for a start.’
‘My mother, obviously. And my stepfather.’
‘Okay. So did...?’ She pushed her sunglasses further up her nose. ‘You haven’t really talked about them. Did your parents get divorced, or did your father die?’
Impatiently, he pulled over and killed the engine, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. ‘Why on earth is that relevant?’
‘Because I’m going to be a guest in their home,’ she said. ‘I’m just operating on a need-to-know basis, that’s all—I’m not interested in anything else. And it’s useful to discover some of the background behind their relationship, should the subject come up.’
‘I can assure you that there won’t be any discussion about their relationship,’ he said, with a short, cynical laugh. ‘My stepfather’s name is Edward Bonner. Lord Bonner,’ he elaborated, because the man had always been a crashing snob and woe betide Nicola Bennett if she had the temerity to call himmister.
‘You mean he’s...he’s a member of the aristocracy?’
He heard the note of apprehension which had entered her voice.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘And he’s English?’
‘Yes. He’s been married to my Italian mother for nearly thirty years.’
‘Wow.’ Some of her caution evaporated. ‘That’s...well, that’s wonderful.’
‘In what way is it “wonderful”?’ he questioned sarcastically.
‘To have such a long marriage. Especially second time around. You know the stats forthose. Doom and gloom.’ She hesitated. ‘They must be very happy.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Since you know nothing about the background, isn’t that a somewhat naïve assumption to make—especially coming from a woman who says she isn’t interested in marriage?’
‘Just because marriage doesn’t appeal to me personally, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate one which has overcome the odds!’
Alessio didn’t enlighten her. Why be the one to destroy her ideals? Let her discover for herself just where his family featured on the happiness register. He gave a bitter smile. Wasn’t that what he was paying her for? To tolerate a weekend of dysfunction and make it more bearable. ‘My younger half-brother and half-sister, Sebastian and Lydia, will be there. There’ll be a quiet family dinner tonight and a big party tomorrow.’ He started the engine again. ‘Anything else you want to know?’
Yes, there was plenty, but his tone sounded so forbidding that Nicola shook her head as the car pulled away. What a difficult man he was turning out to be, she thought, tearing her gaze away from his wind-ruffled hair. Increased exposure certainly hadn’t altered her negative opinion of him.
He’d barely said a word on the flight over, just buried himself in a heap of work—and she had taken the hint and kept quiet. He’d even taken a phone call from a woman and agreed that he’d take her out for dinner next time he was in Munich, which for some reason Nicola had found intensely irritating. Plus, he hadn’t even remarked on her new clothes or changed appearance, which was oddly hurtful as he’d been so critical of it before. Especially as she had reluctantly accepted the ministrations of the personal shopper he had arranged to take her in hand.
Against the backdrop of one of London’s glitziest department stores, it had been a surreal experience to realise that as many new clothes as she needed for the weekend were to be hers, with money no option. Imagine that. Nicola had blinked in disbelief at one of the price tags, while the stylist had been rifling through the rails. She’d seen these kinds of clothes on the women who came into the gallery but wearing them herself was a completely new experience. She wondered what it must feel like to have unlimited wealth at your disposal. Did you become blasé if you never had to think about the cost, and would that explain some of Alessio’s cynicism?
Yet despite her inner pep talks, she could feel her palms growing clammy as the powerful car whipped through the stunning Tuscan countryside and she thought about what lay ahead. Alessio’s stepfather was a lord, which was a pretty big deal to someone from her background, and he was English. Did that explain Alessio’s unique accent—the slightly crystal inflection which underpinned his sexy Italian drawl and made him so hard to pin down?
Nicola had done a lot of work on her own way of speaking and had smoothed out the worst of her early accent. But what if his family saw through her and realised the kind of person she really was? Suddenly, she was nervous. Because, yes, she was employed by a successful man and no stranger to the trappings of wealth—but those things had always been at a distance removed. Maintaining an air of confidence at an art show after-party with her influential boss was very different from spending a whole weekend under the microscope as a bogus date, with people who were of a completely different class to her. What if she let Alessio—or herself—down? What if she committed some terrible cringe-making gaffe, like the time she’d almost drunk the bowl of lemon water after eating shellfish, instead of dipping her fingers into it? Would that mean he wouldn’t pay her?
Nicola’s heart raced.
Hehadto pay her.
Because she had gone round to Stacey’s bedsit last night, her stomach sinking as she’d registered the dirty dishes cluttering up the sink and general air of neglect. She had opened up the empty fridge, slotting in the cartons of soft fruit, olives and hummus she’d brought with her—which would hopefully tempt the pregnant woman into eating more than the biscuits which had been the only food on show.
It had taken an effort but Nicola had injected a note of forced jollity into her voice as she’d surveyed the sullen profile of her brother’s girlfriend. ‘I’m going to have a surprise for you after the weekend, Stacey,’ she announced.
