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She gave a familiar inner sigh.
It was exactly the same breath-stilling impact he’d made on her the very first time she’d set eyes on him at that wedding reception, unable to tear her gaze away from him.
For a second—an instant only—she felt emotion flare through her, pain and longing. Familiar and, oh, always so hopeless...
But she couldn’t just stand there like a dummy, gazing upon the physical perfection that was Dante. She gave a slightly jerky lift of her hand, to indicate that she’d seen him, but he did not return it. He seemed to be quite motionless. She started forward, burningly self-conscious, heading towards him.
It was only a short distance to where Dante was sitting, still unmoving, his martini glass suspended in his hand. His face was utterly expressionless, and she felt her heart start to thud uncomfortably, nerves plucking at her, breath tight in her lungs.
She stopped dead in front of Dante, stuttering a little as she said, ‘Um...sorry I’m late. The traffic was awful.’
Dante still hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. His face frozen in that blank expression. Then...
‘Connie?’
The disbelief in his voice was searing. She felt colour flush up her cheeks, and for one hideous moment she felt like the biggest fool in the world. Humiliation rushed like a furious tide in her veins.
Oh, God, he thinks me completely ridiculous!
Her face worked. She swallowed painfully. Then something broke from him in rapid Italian, which she couldn’t make out.
He swapped to English, his expression still incredulous. ‘You look absolutelyamazing!’
The warmth in his voice was like a balm to her. And the expression in his eyes...
She felt heat rise in her, and a sense of wonder so deep that it made her feel faint. Her legs were suddenly weak. Everything in her was trembling. She was made weak by the way he was looking at her, the way his gold-flecked dark, expressive, long-lashed eyes were fixed on her. Warm. Appreciative. Admiring.
She grabbed at the empty bar stool next to his and hoisted herself up onto it, needing its support. Her heart rate was hectic, and there was still a strange, utterly novel and incredible feeling coursing through her.
Because Dante Cavelli is looking at me....
And looking at her as he had never looked at her before.
As I have always longed for him to look at me...
‘I’ve had a makeover,’ she said. Probably unnecessarily. She took a breath. ‘It started at the resort, getting myself fit again, getting back into shape, eating sensibly, taking exercise and long walks. Then today... Well, I’ve spent the afternoon in Knightsbridge, having my hair done, professional make-up, all that stuff—and buying this dress.’ She looked abashed for a moment. ‘It was hideously expensive, Dante, but for once I just wanted to splash out!’
As she spoke she was blissfully conscious of the way his intent gaze was resting on her. She knew it was the exquisitely beautiful dress that had grabbed his attention. Slub silk, peacock-blue, it hugged her newly svelte, tautly toned body so lovingly, accentuating her enticing curves, moulding her breasts, skimming her sheer-stockinged legs. Not only that, but her newly cut, coloured and chicly styled hair, and her complexion-flattering, eye-deepening, cheekbone-enhancing make-up, including the most luscious lipstick, was allcreating exactly the impression she’d hoped for, and Dante’s response made her head spin.
Elation coursed through her, and she was only dimly aware that the barman had approached them, asking her what she might like to drink. She blinked for a moment, and a sudden memory came to her of that snooty stewardess on the private jet winging them to Milan on her wedding day...of how she’d all but ignored the frumpy, dumpy, badly dressed female presuming to travel with so divine a male as Dante Cavelli.
‘Champagne,’ she heard herself say, just as she had said so defiantly to that disdainful stewardess. ‘A champagne cocktail, please.’
As the barman nodded and glided away, she turned to Dante. There was still a look of incredulity in his expression, and it warmed her just as much as the open admiration in his eyes.
She gave a little laugh. ‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ she admitted. ‘A posh frock and all the trimmings works wonders!’
He gave an answering laugh, warm and appreciative. ‘Ah, it was there all along, Connie. But you had other, more important things to focus on.’ He nodded. ‘Now you can start to live your own life.’
A shaft of sadness shadowed her face. ‘I wouldn’t have had it any other way, Dante, truly not.’ Her voice lifted, ‘But all the same I know Gran would want only good things for me.’
The barman was placing her champagne cocktail in front of her, and she lifted the glass. Dante did likewise with his martini glass.
‘To all the good things for you, Connie,’ Dante toasted, his voice as warm as his eyes.
Into her head, yet again, came the toast he had given on the private jet on their wedding day.
‘To getting what we want...’
