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She was stronger than this. Shewouldbe stronger than this. Because everything depended on it.
“It won’t happen again,” she stated, in a voice filled with conviction.
“Jensen.” Cristiano’s gaze darkened as he stepped toward her.
She held up a hand. Stopped him in his tracks. “We both know this is a bad idea. Better to end it right here. Because tomorrow wewillregret it.”
Turning on her heel, she walked out of the kitchen and into the warm summer night.
CHAPTER FIVE
“OHMYGOODNESS.” The words slipped from Jensen’s mouth, half gasp, half sigh, as she and Ilaria found themselves standing in front ofthedress—the one that had made Francesco famous, worn in the seventies by one of the original supermodels, Isabella Müller.
They’d been cataloging the designs for the anniversary party dress auction in an afternoon that had been a bit like a dream for Jensen. Never had she imagined she would ever be in the same room as Isabella—her idol—let alone walk a runway with her. That she would be closing the show in Francesco’s stunning midnight-blue couture gown he’d created for her before he’d died, which might be more beautiful than all of them.
Ilaria smiled and ran a finger down the gossamer fabric of the stunning metallic silk dress. “It’s gorgeous,” she murmured. “She’sstill gorgeous. I couldn’t believe it when she walked into the room. It’s as if she’s sailed through time, unscathed, except for a fine line or two.”
Jensen attempted to quell the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She hoped her own career would prove as resilient as Isabella’s.
But right now, her only focus was on delivering for Francesco Vitale, as she’d promised she would. Justifying the trust Cristiano had placed in her. Which had involvednotthinking about that kiss they’d shared in the kitchen, as she’d navigated the various public appearances and meetings they’d done together since, necessary collisions she’d treated with a fearsome determination to ignore it all. Howunwisethe whole thing had been. How unbalanced it had made her feel. How unforgettable it was proving to be—no matter how hard she tried.
Cristiano, apparently, had decided the same thing. Not once had he addressed the chemistry still pulsing between them. The palpable tension. He’d simply focused on business, polite in his usual, cordial way during the interactions they’d had. Which might sting a little, given what had taken place between them. Which was simply lust, she lectured herself sternly.
And wasn’t she used to that anyway? Men desiring her, then deciding they didn’t want her after all? She’d taught herself not to care. To protect herself against that hurt. This time would be no different. Except, she acknowledged, it did hurt that he’d seemingly turned things off between them. Which was ridiculous, because she’d asked for it.
She made a note of the gown Isabella would wear in her notebook, and they walked back to the front of the studio to chat through the following night’s wrap party, designed to thank everyone who’d worked on the shoot and commercial for their hard work. They were just about through when Cristiano walked into the room, a distracted look on his face, a sheaf of papers in his hand, his sister’s name on his lips.
His gaze flicked to Jensen, perched on a table with her notebook in hand, then back to his sister.“Mi dispiace,”he murmured. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“We’re just finalizing some details for tomorrow night.” Ilaria said. “Are you joining us? It will be nice for everyone to blow off some steam. Get some appreciation for their efforts.”
A frown twisted his dark brow. “I’m going to try. I have a dinner thing. Maybe afterward.” He shifted his attention to Jensen, his sapphire gaze moving over her face, taking in the pencil she had perched between her teeth, her thinking cap on. His perusal lingered on the lush, full line of her mouth for a moment longer than it should have, that electric attraction sparking between them on a wave of powerful energy, before he seemed to catch himself and moved on, scrutinizing the lines of fatigue dug into the sides of her mouth and eyes. “You look tired,” he said. “Have you taken on too much?”
She shook her head, absorbing the air of intensity that emanated from him. The barely leashed energy he seemed to wear like a glove. “I’m having fun. I think you’re going to be very happy with how this turns out.”
“She’s being modest,” Ilaria interjected. “She’s a genius. She has all the models doing teaser videos with clues in them that hint at Isabella’s appearance. It’s creating a ton of buzz online.”
“Bene,”he murmured, a tired smile twisting his mouth. “I like it when things fall into place. That’s good to hear.”
His cell phone pealed from his jacket pocket, commanding his attention. Muttering a goodbye to both of them, he left the room, a blur of dark, purposeful motion. Ilaria moved her gaze from the door back to Jensen, a curious look on her face. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”
Jensen dug her teeth into her lip. “No, why?” she said as casually as she could manage, because there wasn’t, was there, really?
“Because the tension between you two is palpable every time you’re in a room together. And that dance at the Associazione Nazionale della Moda Italiana party?” She hiked a brow. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed. It was fairly electric.”
Jensen shrugged a shoulder. “We strike sparks off each other, that’s all. Besides,” she added, unable to help herself, “he belongs to Alessandra, doesn’t he?”
Ilaria’s azure gaze turned speculative, making Jensen instantly regret her words. “To be honest, I thought he’d have already pulled the trigger on that one. She’s a perfect fit for him. Our families go way back. But,” she said, hiking a shoulder, “something seems to be holding him back. Maybe he’s too busy. Or maybe he’s decided it isn’t going to work. Which would throw off a lot of people’s plans,” she conceded with a wry smile. “My family has its heart set on it.”
Yet another reminder that the decision she’d made to walk away from him had been the right one. That she would be setting herself up for a fall if she perpetuated this thing with Cristiano—this fairly wild attraction they shared. That the best thing she could do was pretend that kiss had never happened.
She pushed her attention back to the plans for the following evening, intent on avoiding the subject entirely. “Right,” she said crisply. “So, what do we have left?”
Cristiano arrived at the wrap party when it was well under way, the crew who’d shot the campaign and commercial, as well as the cast and models, enjoying drinks and hors d’oeuvres in the gardens surrounding the villa. His dinner meeting having wrapped at a reasonable hour, his mind and body tapped out with the exhaustion searing his bones, his deal with Zhang well in hand, he’d decided to take his sister’s advice and put in an appearance at the party. Demonstrate leadership at a crucial time for the company.
He stripped off his jacket and slipped into the crowd, where drink and laughter flowed liberally, a buoyant mood to the festivities, and found Antonio Braga standing beside the director of the commercial, famed Italian filmmaker Claudio Uberti.
“Perfect timing,” his CMO murmured. “We’ve put together a rough cut of the spot. It’s brilliant.” An amused glitter lit his dark expression. “We couldn’t have written the script any better given the current headlines. She’s amazing.”
