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Jensen bit back laughter. “Perhaps he’s had some kind of trauma with snakes.”
“Trauma to the head,” Filomena suggested, tapping her gray-haired temple.
Jensen burst out laughing. She had just recovered and taken a big bite of the melt-in-your-mouth pastry, when a deep male voice broke up the party.
“Sono in ritardo, Filomena. Un caffè da asporto, per favore.”
Cristiano swept into the kitchen, a blur of purposeful motion as he informed the housekeeper he was late and needed his coffee to go. His gaze moved from Filomena to Jensen, who sat frozen, her mouth full ofcornetto, his eyes a sharp, brilliant blue that rivaled the morning sky. “Care to share the joke?”
She shook her head. Attempted to swallow. He lookedincredible. Like sex poured into a suit, his long, lithe limbs filled out with enough muscle she decided it must be the perfect ratio. That the suit was clearly custom cut to mold every centimeter of his spectacular body didn’t hurt. Clearly one of Pascal’s, she concluded, reaching for her cappuccino before she choked on the pastry she’d consumed.
Disaster averted, she set the cup down. “You’re late leaving today.”
“An early conference call. I did it from here.” He leaned a hip against the counter as Filomena bustled around, preparing his espresso. Moved his gaze down over the sweep of her cheek, to her full mouth, resting there in a lingering appraisal that made her cheeks heat. “You have chocolate on your face.”
She lifted a hand. Scrubbed self-consciously at her mouth. “I was starving. They’re so good, I couldn’t stop.”
His mouth curved in an amused smile. “The breakfast of champions, clearly.”
Jensen’s stomach flip-flopped. She could ignore the attraction between them when he was being his typical arrogant, slightly insufferable self. It was a whole other ball game when he turned on the charm. Given she’d spent the last few days studiously avoiding him after thatalmost-kissthe other night, in which she’d nearly done something stupid and unwise, as she suspected he himself had been doing, it felt like a minor setback. However, she concluded, inhaling a deep breath, sanity had now prevailed, and she was intent on sticking with it.
“All good?” he probed, his azure gaze speculative, sensing her inner turbulence.
“Perfetto,”she replied, plastering a smooth, even-keeled look across her face.
“Bene.”He surveyed her a moment longer before accepting the coffee Filomena handed him with a murmured thanks. “I thought,” he drawled, “that we could attend the party together tonight. We are meeting the Zhangs at the event. You can occupy Ming Li, show her a good time, while I work through some things with Nicholas.”
Spend the entire evening with him?Her heartbeat quickened at the idea, accompanied by an equally strong surge of dismay. Surely that wasn’t necessary? But, she conceded, if the plan was for her to show Ming Li a good time while Cristiano schmoozed Nicholas Zhang, she would hardly spend much time at his side. Very little, in fact.Safe, in the great scheme of things.
“Fine,” she agreed. “Will we leave from here?”
“Si. I will pick you up when I get home from the office.”
She nodded. He pushed away from the counter and picked up his briefcase. She was halfway out of her chair, plate in hand, when he stopped in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.
“Jensen?”
She looked up at him.
“Ming Li is an impressionable sixteen-year-old. Keep it PG tonight.”
She absorbed the concern written across his face. He really had bought into the headlines about her. Which, until the past few weeks, had been an ancient replica of her that had nothing to do with reality. It dug into her gut, stoked the frustration simmering inside her. Because that wasn’t her anymore. But all she could do was swallow it and let him think what he was destined to do.
“I will be on my best behavior,” she assured him, hiking her chin. “Strike any worries from your head.”
The paparazzi were lined up three rows deep at La Scala as the world’s glitterati arrived to celebrate the current innovators of Italian fashion. The cocktail reception, held in the Palazzo La Scala outside the majestic opera house, was in full swing as Jensen and Cristiano stepped from his midnight-blue two-seater on a still-warm, sultry night, black-coated waitstaff serving cocktails in advance of the dinner to follow, a string quartet providing the music.
All eyes were on them as they worked the red carpet, done tonight in Italy’s national colors of red, green and white, negotiating the blindingly powerful camera flashes as they stopped to greet the people they knew, the crowd a virtual who’s who of global fashion.
They made their way toward the step-and-repeat banner emblazoned with the logos of the famous Italian fashion conglomerates represented that evening. Besieged with questions about Prince Alexandre and the current scandal, Jensen refused to give credence to the tabloid rumors tossed at them from the teeming pack of hungry reporters, focusing instead on presenting the details of Francesco’s dress she was wearing.
Together, she and Cristiano worked their way through the crowd. If she could sense the gossip percolating beneath the surface of the aristocratic gathering, with herself and the prince as its focus, perfectly concealed in that cultured, subtle way the Milanese used to dig their way beneath your skin, it was blunted by Cristiano’s presence at her side. An absolute refusal by the elite to visibly slight a gilded member of that aristocracy, despite the chatter happening beneath the surface.
A glass of champagne in her hand, Cristiano’s palm at her back, she focused on dazzling the crowd. Exchanging the witty repartee she was known for. And if his touch evoked a warm, tingling sensation, a reaction she couldn’t seem to avoid, as the man himself did, she ignored it. Because tonight, she was not going to get sidetracked.Distracted. Ambushed. Tonight she was going to beperfect. Her career depended on it.
Midway through the packed throng, she felt Cristiano’s attention shift, his fingers tightening at her back, before he bent his head to hers. “Nicholas Zhang and his daughter are on your right. In the black tux and the fire-engine-red dress.”
Jensen took in the distinguished-looking Zhang, known for his cutthroat deal-making. Handsome in the stern, aristocratic sense, with an aquiline nose, the sharp, hard lines of his face seemed to reflect his legendary personality. His daughter, on the other hand, was delicate and lovely, with luminous dark eyes and a perfect oval face, framed by a swath of silky dark hair. She also, clearly, had a formidable fashion sense in the way she wore the gorgeous red silk dress Jensen and the design team had sent over, with a scarf and glittering heels to match.
