Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding. Sharon Kendrick

      ‘Well, sort of,’ she prevaricated.

      ‘Sort of?’

      ‘I told my flatmates I’d have dinner with them.’

      ‘And what if I asked you to have dinner with me instead?’

      ‘I can’t,’ she breathed.

      ‘Why not?’

      She stared into his narrowed black eyes and her stomach gave a funny little lurch. ‘Because I don’t…I don’t even know you.’

      ‘So why don’t I introduce myself and we’ll get that problem out of the way?’

      A hand was extended, and with proprietary ease, it captured hers. Cassie’s hand had been shaken many times in her life—often by departing guests at the little B&B run by her mother. Or when she’d won a prize for ice-dancing, which was something she was particularly good at.

      But never had it felt quite like this before…

      His big hand made hers seem so tiny—and the warm touch of his bare skin against hers seemed, well…intimate, really. Or was that because his thumb brushed almost negligently against her palm—a movement so brief that she might almost have imagined it? Except the responding shiver of her skin told her she hadn’t imagined anything.

      ‘My name is Giancarlo Andrea Vellutini,’ he said softly. ‘I am Tuscan by birth and global by nature. What else would you like to know? That I have a house in London and my diary is empty tonight? I was planning to catch up on a stack of paperwork, but you…’ he leaned forward and read her name badge ‘…Cassandra Summers…have tempted me into changing my plans.’

      Cassie couldn’t deny being tempted, too—and not just because the way he said her name made it sound like pure poetry. Invitations to dinner were pretty thin on the ground—and nobody remotely like this man Giancarlo had ever asked her out before. In fact, the most recent date she’d been on had consisted of someone from the computer department who’d taken her for a disgusting burger in a fast-food chain—and then claimed to have forgotten his wallet!

      Yet instinct warned her against accepting this far more tantalising offer. That same deep instinct which had alerted her senses when she’d first set eyes on him. The one which told her that this man was dangerous—and not for the likes of her. He was too good-looking. Too urbane. Too rich. Too everything. And wasn’t it more than a little arrogant of him to assume that she would drop everything and fit in with him just because he had decided he would change his plans?

      ‘It’s very sweet of you, but I’m afraid I can’t let my flatmates down,’ she said apologetically.

      Giancarlo’s eyes narrowed. The little shop-girl was turning him down? Inconceivable! ‘You have a boyfriend?’ he questioned curiously. ‘Someone waiting at home for you?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s no one. But my flatmates are relying on me to bring half their supper home from the delicatessen here.’

      He wondered if she was playing games with him. Perhaps imagining that she would make herself more desirable by playing hard to get. Or was it possible that here was a woman who wasn’t his for the taking—a woman with enough self-respect to say no? His lips curved into a thoughtful smile. Doubtful.

      Pulling a thick cream business card from his wallet, he slid it between her unresisting fingers. ‘Well, why don’t you call me if you change your mind?’

      She met his eyes, again feeling the unmistakable tingle of her skin where he’d touched her and wondering if he could feel it, too. She swallowed, plucking up every bit of courage she had. ‘Or perhaps you could always come in another day?’

      Dark eyebrows were elevated. ‘And ask you again?’

      ‘Well, yes.’

      She thought he was about to start haunting the department store like some lovelorn young suitor? ‘I don’t think so,’ he said silkily. ‘Ciao, bella.’

      And to Cassie’s consternation, he turned on his heel and walked away—just like that. For a moment she stood there watching the tall, striking figure in the cashmere coat until he had disappeared—and began to wonder if she had imagined the entire interlude. And then she looked down at the neatly wrapped package which was still sitting next to the till and realised that he had forgotten to take his candles and that it was too late to run after him.

      All the way home on the bus, with the brightly wrapped candles lying on her lap, Cassie could have kicked herself. How stupid could she have been? Batting his invitation away as if men like him were queuing round the block to date her. How many times in life did an opportunity like that present itself—a gorgeous man offering to sweep you off your feet?

      Her father’s prolonged illness had been heartbreaking and she had been longing to get away from Cornwall. But hadn’t she also come to London partly because she felt her life was passing her by and she wanted a little adventure? And surely it would be difficult to imagine a greater adventure than some tantalising Tuscan asking her to have dinner with him.

      Still, at least she could comfort herself with the thought that she was a loyal friend and flatmate—and that she hadn’t let the others down. Until she let herself into the apartment to find that the flat was empty and all the pasta had been eaten. Gavin had left her a note saying they’d all got too hungry to wait and had gone to the pub—and would she care to join them?

      Well, what else was she going to do—scrub around in an empty fridge, trying to find something on the TV which wasn’t a game show and trying not to think about what she could have been doing? An image of Giancarlo’s mocking eyes swam into her memory as, with a frustrated little yelp, she slung the salad and the garlic bread into the empty fridge and went to change.

      Wearing a pair of jeans and a warm coat over her sweater, Cassie walked through the cold night air to the pub. Her footsteps rang out on the icy pavement and bright stars spangled the clear skies. Even from the end of the road she could hear the noise and the bustle and when she opened the door of the pub, she was hit by a solid wall of sound.

      Every inch of the place was packed. Beneath a swirl of paper streamers, people were swaying and singing along to a song about wishing it could be Christmas every day—which had been played every year since Cassie could remember. And, given the current decibel level and crush of bodies, it was not a sentiment she currently agreed with.

      The queue to get to the bar was five-deep and heaven only knew where Gavin and the others were. Could she face battling her way through the crowds to sit nursing a mediocre glass of warm white wine for the rest of the evening and shouting to make herself heard above the noise?

      No, she could not. With a decisiveness which surprised her, she turned and walked out of the pub again—her feet taking her straight back to the flat while a preposterous idea grew in her mind.

      Only, maybe it was not so preposterous at all. He had given her his phone number, hadn’t he? Told her to call him—and she had a good reason to call him, even if you discounted the fact that he was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

      Letting herself into the apartment with a fast-beating heart and grateful for the quietness, Cassie punched out his number with a trembling finger before she could change her mind. She could hear the phone ringing and ringing. Maybe he was one of those people who screened their calls and, since he didn’t recognise the number, wasn’t going to bother answering. She was just about to hang up when she heard a click—and then that distinctive velvety, accented voice sounded in her ear.

      ‘Pronto. Giancarlo Vellutini.’

      ‘Giancarlo?’ She swallowed down her nerves. ‘It’s me…Cassie.’

      ‘Chi?’ There was a pause. ‘Who?’

      This was humiliating. He didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t remember. He’d spoken to her for about five minutes and given her his business