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Suspiciously, Nicola identified his deliberate switch to charm, which did nothing to mask the steely resolve underpinning his words. Because that was something else she’d discovered about rich people. They were used to getting what they wanted,whenthey wanted it and she suspected that Alessio di Bari wouldn’t go away until he had got what he’d come in for.
She couldn’t imagine what hispropositionwas, but would it really hurt to humour him? Maybe even pretend to be flattered to receive an invitation from him—as she imagined most women with a pulse would be. She could come up with some cock-and-bull story about why she was moonlighting in the West End. She could explain that she needed new furniture. Which was true. Maybe even persuade him to keep her little secret to himself, so that Sergio would be none the wiser. She smiled and now it washerturn to switch on the charm—another lesson she had learned from watching other people. She tried to smile with her eyes, the way she knew you were supposed to—even though sometimes her eyes felt as empty as dry wells.
‘Okay, then,’ she said. ‘Where did you have in mind?’
‘My driver will pick you up.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘Let me have your address.’
‘No.’ Nicola felt a sudden flicker of apprehension as she imagined this powerful man turning up at an apartment which barely had enough room for one person, let alone two. But it wasn’t so much that she was ashamed of her home—more that she couldn’t contemplate all his powerful charisma being contained in such a modest space. It would be like trying to trap a hurricane in a matchbox. ‘I’ll meet you at the restaurant.’
His blue eyes narrowed. ‘Are you always this guarded?’
‘Always,’ she affirmed coolly, plucking an ivory card from the edge of the glass desk and handing it to him. ‘Here’s my card, with my number. Text me the name of the restaurant when you’ve booked it.’
Alessio took the card, the brief brush of her fingers making his pulse rate soar, and he wondered how such an innocent touch could feel so unbelievablyerotic. Was it because he’d never had to work this hard to get a woman to agree to have dinner with him which made her so fascinating? Or because he couldn’t shift the memory of the way she had looked last night, in her fishnet tights and feathery miniskirt with that cascade of blonde hair gleaming down her back, which was a world away from today’s buttoned-up appearance?
Reluctantly, he heaved out a sigh. ‘As you wish. Seven-thirty okay? I have an early flight in the morning.’
‘Make it eight-thirty, would you?’ she amended crisply.
‘Are you always this...difficult, Nicola?’
‘I’m not being difficult. I...’ Some of her composure seemed to leave her. ‘I have a few errands I need to run after work, that’s all.’
Shopping most probably, he thought, with the sudden beat of satisfaction—rushing to the nearest store to buy a new dress in order to impress him. But his mood had soured by the time his car drew up outside the gallery, because coming second to a bunch oferrandswas a novel experience for him. He gave a hard smile. Still. Let her play her little games. He rather relished the idea of having someone to cross swords with. It would certainly make a change from his usual dates, most of whom had taken submission to a whole new level. Even the smartest of women seemed to spend spent an inordinate amount of time trying to gauge his mood. Trying to work out how to become...
What?
Indispensable?
Probably. And from there they imagined it was one short step to getting a wedding band on their finger and a baby in the crib.
But no woman was indispensable and no woman was ever going to become his wife, because marriage was a flawed institution and one he despised. Yet no matter how many times he repeated his distaste at the thought of commitment, every woman thought she could be the one to change his mind.
Maybe that was the real reason why he’d been celibate for almost a year now, aware that the recent publicity surrounding his elevation to the super-rich list had made him something of a marital quarry. And,sì, his body might sometimes ache with a sexual hunger which was fierce and raw, but in a way it had been liberating not to have to meet a pair of reproachful eyes over his breakfast coffee when he explained he was going away on business. Or having to explain why he couldn’t possibly commit to Christmas, when it was only July.
He spent the rest of the day in meetings, but when he returned to his hotel to change before dinner, he couldn’t deny the unfamiliar ripple of excitement which had little to do with the proposition he was about to put to the enigmatic Miss Bennett. Standing beneath the powerful jets of water, he could feel the heavy throb of desire.
Did she have a man in her life? he wondered idly as icy droplets rained over his heated skin. His hair still damp, he walked over to the hotel window with its sweeping views of Green Park, bright with flowers on this warm summer evening. But he wasn’t really concentrating on the view. His thoughts were still preoccupied with Nicola. Because if shewasseeing someone, there was the very real possibility she might turn him down, and that was unthinkable. Pulling a silk shirt from the wardrobe, he felt the whisper of silk cool against his flesh as he acknowledged that he found her a challenge.
And he couldn’t remember the last timethathad happened.
CHAPTER THREE
ITWASN’TWHATNicola had been expecting. A tiny restaurant in an unfashionable part of London, with a weathered sign which hung beneath the faded awning saying Marco’s. She frowned as she checked her phone, wondering if she’d made a mistake. Whether the crazy thundering of her heart when she’d received Alessio’s message had made her misread the text and brought her to a decidedly unflashy part of town. But no. This was definitely the right address.
So where were the neat bay trees standing sentry by the door? The bouncer discreetly keeping away the common people while making room for the press? Pushing open the door, she could hear the buzz of lively conversation as she stepped into a room to be instantly greeted by a beaming maître d’.
‘Buona sera,signorina.’
‘Good evening.’ She gripped her clutch bag a little tighter. ‘I’m meeting—’
‘Sì, sì.I know exactly who you are meeting.’ He gave a flourish of his hand. ‘Come this way,signorina.’
Either the man was a mind-reader or Alessio had tipped him off, because she was being led past tables decked with old-fashioned red-and-white-checked tablecloths, adorned with small vases of plastic flowers—plastic!—towards a booth right at the back of the room. And Nicola felt her throat drying with a mixture of disbelief and longing, because there was Alessio di Bari, waiting for her. Waiting forher. It was like a scene from a film, or maybe a dream, and she could do nothing to prevent the sudden thundering of her heart. He was rising to his feet to greet her, looking impossibly gorgeous in a beautifully cut charcoal suit which defined the broadness of his shoulders, the long legs and narrow hips.
She tried not to feel nervous, but the truth was that she did—because this felt too much like a date and she’d given up on dates, a long time ago. Why had that been? she wondered fleetingly. When she’d realised that she didn’t fit in anywhere? Not in the world she had left behind, nor the shiny new one she had embraced. When she’d accepted that on some level she had been disappointing the men who had taken her out for drinks, or dinner—because she wasn’t what they expected. Despite her fancy job in one of London’s most sophisticated galleries, she wasn’t posh and she certainly hadn’t been to the ‘right’ schools. She wasn’t who she appeared to be from the outside.
And she could never let them know who she truly was.
