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Her accompanying smile made her words seem light—almost flippant, but they were not flippant. They were... He narrowed his eyes. They were dismissive.Sì.Definitely dismissive. And so was she. He saw the way she glanced at her wrist, even though she was trying to disguise it by fiddling with the cuff of her white shirt, as if she were doing nothing more than innocently checking that the button was secure, rather than looking to see the time.
She was bored, he realised incredulously. And she wanted him gone. Alessio could feel a pulse thudding at his temple as a warm flame of anger heated his blood. Because for a moment it had felt as if Miss Cool was judging him, and that pressed all the wrong buttons to someone who had spent much of his life being judged. It took a moment for the feeling to pass and he gave an impatient shake of his head.
What was thematterwith him? Since when had he started caring about what some unknown English shopgirl thought, and allowed it to impact his mood? She was nothing to him. Pity his poor friend Sergio Cabrera, who was forced to study her chilly countenance day after day. Pity even more her boyfriend. His lips hardened. That was if any man would be capable of enduring the company of such a cold fish as she.
‘Have the painting shipped to my Manhattan address, would you?’ he clipped out, pulling out his phone to direct his chauffeur to pick him up from the Mayfair gallery.
‘With pleasure,’ she answered politely.
Alessio couldn’t help thinking that a woman like this would surely be a stranger to pleasure. He certainly couldn’t imagine her showing it. Why, a plank of wood would display more emotion than Nicola Bennett!
And speaking of pleasure...
He thought about the evening ahead and the plea made by a man who’d been pivotal during the construction of the latest di Bari factory. Karl Schneider was young and dynamic, determined to see as much of London’s nightlife as he could during his brief stay in the capital. Last night had been all about the theatre and dinner at an award-winning restaurant, but tonight...
Tonight was something which needed to be endured. Alessio wasn’t crazy about Soho, or nightclubs—and old-school drinking establishments staffed by partially clothed women were definitelynothis thing. He sighed. But he would go along with it because business was business and he liked Karl.
Maybe the place would surprise him and prove to be the one bright spot in a week over which a heavy black cloud was looming. He had no desire to attend his mother’s birthday party, but this was one of the few occasions in his adult life when he felt as if he had no choice—an unwelcome acknowledgement for a man for whom control had always been key.
With a brief nod to the cool blonde who was opening the door for him, he swept from the gallery towards his waiting limousine and slid onto the back seat. He wondered just what form the forthcoming ‘celebration’ would take. And he wondered just how bad it was going to be.
A ragged sigh left his lungs.
A whole weekend to endure, with nobody but his toxic family for company.
CHAPTER ONE
THESUMMERRAINwas torrential. It splashed up the back of Nicola’s calves and dripped back down into her shoes, making them squelch as she walked. Already she was soaked to the skin and her flimsy umbrella was proving useless against the driving wind. Also, she was cold and very hungry and these were the factors which should have been her sole focus this evening, especially as she had a long shift ahead of her.
But it wasn’t just that she hadn’t had time to sit down and eat before coming here—all Nicola could think about was Alessio di Bari. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t seem to shift his image from her mind, or block out the memory of his mocking, silken voice.
She’d often thought he was a bit of a contradiction. His appearance did nothing to suggest he was a highly successful chemist, with factories dotted around the globe—and most people agreed that he looked more like a movie star than a scientist. He possessed a dark and sensual beauty which made her go to pieces every time he walked into the London art gallery where she’d worked for the past three years, often with a beautiful woman hanging onto his arm—although not lately, she noted. Gorgeous sensual creatures with legs up to their armpits and amazing boobs, often dripping with diamonds, which the Italian billionaire had probably lavished on them.
Nicola had never seen or met anyone like him. He exemplified power and strength and intellect. She’d seen the way people turned to look at him and she totally understood why—and it had nothing to do with his expensive suits or chauffeur-driven cars or private jets. But she hated the way he managed to storm his way into her thoughts, like some sexy, heat-seeking missile. Just as she hated his effect on her—although a lifetime of keeping her emotions hidden meant she was confident he had no idea about her feelings for him. She always put up her defences whenever he was around—yet somehow he managed to knock them down without trying, leaving her aching and vulnerable in a way which felt exciting, scary and unfamiliar.
She swallowed as his hard, chiselled features swam into her mind. Those bright sapphire eyes, set in skin of burnished gold. That mane of ebony hair which framed his face and that honed, muscular body, which no amount of handmade tailoring could disguise. Yet he had a particular skill in looking down his nose at her and Nicola resented him for that. Her carefully maintained poise always threatened to desert her whenever Alessio di Bari was around. She found herself wanting to touch him. To kiss him. To press his hard body close to hers and never let him go.
How insane was that?
Especially since she was that embarrassing thing which nobody of her age should be.
A virgin.
Snapped out of her thoughts by a buzzing sound from the depths of her handbag, Nicola sighed. She didn’t have to look at her phone to know who was calling, which was why she chose not to ignore it. With a shiver, she sheltered underneath the dripping awning of a shop selling vintage comics and pulled out the vibrating handset.
‘Nicky?’ whined a familiar voice.
‘Hello, Mum. Look, I can’t talk for long. I’ve got to go to work. What’s up?’
‘It’s Stacey.’
Of course it was. It was always Stacey. As ever, Nicola’s heart plummeted at the mention of her brother’s girlfriend. ‘She’s okay, isn’t she?’ she questioned urgently.
‘Suppose so.’ The deep inhalation of a cigarette was followed by a brief, rasping cough. ‘Says she’s fed up with the weather and thinking of going to Majorca. Apparently her auntie’s got a time-share out there and says she can get her a job in some fancy café on the beachfront.’
Nicola bit back the obvious response that an eight months pregnant young woman with a lifelong aversion to work was unlikely to walk straight into a jammy job abroad—even if she could get a work permit sorted out in time, which Nicola doubted.
Clearing her throat, she attempted to project an air of calm. ‘Mum, listen. Tell her everything’s going to be okay. I’ve got some money I’ve been saving up for her and the baby and she’s going to get it very soon.’
